It took a good hour, but finally the tree met everyone’s approval. They stepped back and admired the lights as they reflected off the ornaments and reached into the corners of the room. Presley nudged Brandon with her elbow, a familiar gesture from high school, and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
As the smell of her strawberry scented shampoo hit his nose, desire coursed through his body. It was hard being this close to her and not being able to shower her with kisses. Her hand splayed across his chest, and it took all his strength not to tug her from the room for a private moment.
The grandfather clock on the wall bonged seven o’clock and Presley jumped. “Oh, dear, I didn’t realize it was getting so late. I need to go feed Niko.”
Brandon’s own stomach rumbled at the mention of food, but it could wait until he walked Presley home.
“I’m hungry too, Daddy.”
“Why don’t you come with me, Joy,” his mother said, “and we’ll figure out what we can rustle up for dinner.”
After Presley bid goodnight to everyone and donned her coat once again, they stepped out into the chilly night air. Brandon’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining. He couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed holding hands, but he relished the moment now.
“Presley, are you happy here?” The air was still and quiet around them; their footsteps crunching in the snow the only sound.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s nice to be home anyway.”
Her words pierced his good mood. He’d been hoping she would say she missed the city life and wanted to return.
“You seem happy here too.” She squeezed his hand.
“I’m happy with you.” He wanted to believe it was just her and not the town working its magic on him again. He’d bought into that fairy tale once and it hadn’t worked out well, but he couldn’t deny there was a pull to the town. There was a simplicity and a friendliness that you didn’t get in big cities, and a part of him not only missed that but wanted something similar for Joy growing up.
Before he had sorted out his thoughts, they reached Presley’s apartment. As she turned to face him, he wanted to throw open her door and carry her into the bedroom, but Presley had always been adamant that she would wait for marriage. Brandon leaned into her, pushing her against the door, and took her face in his hands.
His eyes fixated on hers, an ocean of blue. Slowly, his thumb trailed down her cheek and across her lips, which parted at his touch. Her chest rose in anticipation, and he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling it to him.
The kiss was urgent in need. He had been teased with the sight and smell of her all day and unable to do anything to satisfy the desire, and the floodgates of passion opened. His hand moved from her cheek to the small of her back, pressing her deeper into him. Her body contoured against his, and his heart began to pound in his head.
Her hands ran up his chest, but instead of wrapping around his shoulders or his neck as he hoped, she pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss.
“We need a break.” Her voice was throaty and breathless.
“Presley.” Her name was almost a moan on his lips as he leaned in again, but she was resolute.
“Brandon, we need a break. I . . . I want to do this right.”
Those were not the words he wanted to hear, but he respected Presley’s wishes and backed off. “You’re right,” he said though his body was screaming otherwise. “Thank you for a wonderful day. Can Joy and I come see you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that.” She placed a soft, quick peck on his lips before turning and opening her door. She stood in the doorway, an angel with a purple streak, and waved goodbye.
As the door closed and he began the walk back home, his mind rehashed the day. His life felt so different with Presley in it, but he wondered if he was falling too fast, and he worried about Joy. What if Presley wouldn’t come back with them? He might get over it, but he was not sure Joy would.
Chapter 12
Presley had just finished arranging the pastries in the display case when the overhead bell jingled.
“Hi, Presley, can I help you today and learn how to bake?” Joy’s excited voice carried across the room before she even looked up.
“Well, hello Miss Joy.”
“I’m sorry, but she really wanted to come see you today, and I need to help Mom around the house a bit. Is it okay if she stays for an hour or so? I’ll come back before lunch, I promise.” Brandon’s face was apologetic and sincere.
“Of course, it’s okay. Come here, Joy, and we’ll make some cookies.”
“Yay, cookies.”
As Joy ran behind the display case to see the back, Brandon reached for Presley’s hand. “Thank you for this.” He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed the back of it with his lips.
“No problem. Joy is great, and I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
He held her eyes a moment longer before reminding Joy to be good and walking out of the shop.
Presley turned to the brunette angel beside her. “I started baking when I was about your age, so I guess it’s time you learn. Okay, we need flour and sugar. Let’s go to the back and get some from the pantry.”
Her brown eyes, so like Brandon’s, widened. “You have a pantry back there?”
“Of course.” Presley chuckled. “Where else would I keep all the ingredients? I also have a big refrigerator and freezer for the cold ingredients.”
Joy grabbed Presley’s hand as they walked to the large pantry. Her hand was tiny in Presley’s, but her grip was strong. It was obvious Joy was missing a mother figure. Presley had guessed it from the amount of time Joy spent with her yesterday, but every gesture of hers was confirming it.
“Wow, there’s so much stuff in here.” Joy’s voice brought her back to the present, and she glanced around the pantry. It was rather large, the size of a large closet, with five shelves reaching from about knee height up to just beyond her head. Sugar, flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, yeast, and many other dry ingredients lined the shelves.
Presley dropped Joy’s hand long enough to grab flour, sugar, salt, brown sugar, and vanilla. She handed the vanilla and salt to the girl, and they headed to the mixing table and placed the ingredients down. Then it was back to the refrigerator for butter, eggs, and chocolate chips.
The refrigerator, also grand, earned another wide-eyed stare from Joy. Presley handed her the chocolate chips, and they journeyed back to the table. As they placed the ingredients down, the bell jingled. “Be right back,” Presley said to the little helper and stepped into the main room.
Layla stood there with her daily order of muffins and bread for the inn. She was Presley’s favorite customer as she kept her in business. Today she looked super smart in khaki pants and a pink flowered top. Her brown hair skimmed her shoulders.
“Presley, was that Brandon Scott I saw you with at the dance Saturday night?” Her voice held just a note of teasing laced with her interest.
“It was. He’s back in town for a time to help out his father.” Presley hoped Layla wouldn’t say something unfortunate with Joy around.
“Oh, yes, I heard about that. Well, you two looked good together, but then again, I’ve thought that since you were in high school. Why did you never date?” Layla ran the local inn. Though not typically a gossip, she had a pulse on everything that happened in the town.
Presley shrugged in answer to her question. “Timing was never right, I guess.” As Layla handed over her list, Presley boxed up her muffins. Four chocolate, four blueberry, four flax, and one apple cinnamon which she was almost certain was Layla’s personal choice.
“Ah, yes, timing. Well, as you know it took ten years for Max and me to come around. I hope your time is shorter.”
“Me too.” Presley chuckled a little because even back in high school, the romance between Layla and Max had been the talk of the town. They all knew Max had liked her – he kept a special seat reserved for her in the diner, yet she had se
emed unaware. And there had been rumors she had feelings for him, but she had never told him. Presley would have to ask Trudy what finally brought them together as it had happened while she was in Paris.
She finished boxing the muffins and grabbed the loaves of bread Layla had requested as well. Two sourdough loaves and one cheddar bread – the bread changed day to day but there was always at least one sourdough. Layla slid her card across the counter, and Presley handed her the merchandise. After signing her name, she waved, and the bell signaled her exit.
“Joy, are you still okay back there?” Presley was a little worried as it had been quiet, and while she didn’t have kids, she had grown up with a younger brother and knew quiet usually meant disaster.
“Mmmhmm.” Her reply was garbled as if her mouth was full of something. The chocolate chips. Slapping her head, Presley hurried back there to find half the bag gone and Joy’s cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.
“Oh, Joy. You are going to get a tummy ache from all that sugar, and your dad is going to have my hide.”
Her big eyes filled with tears. Presley hadn’t meant it seriously or at least not all seriously, but she forgot how literal young children were.
“Joy, don’t cry. It’s okay. Just spit it out, and I’m sure your tummy will be fine.” She hoped that was the truth, but she had no idea how much Joy had shoved in her mouth before getting caught. The bag hadn’t been full, but she could have sworn it had been three quarters full.
Presley steered Joy to the big silver basin sink, and she leaned over and opened her mouth. Chocolate chips cascaded like barrels over a waterfall out of her mouth. As they kept falling, Presley wondered how she stuffed that many in her mouth. She would have to keep a closer eye on her.
“There, that’s better,” she said when Joy was finally done.
“Please don’t tell Daddy.” Her soft, pleading voice pulled on Presley’s heartstrings.
“I don’t think he would be too mad, honey.” She patted the girl’s hair rhythmically. It was soft, like spun gold, but the color of chocolate. She buried her face in Presley’s hip.
“But it will stress him out, and he’s working so hard.” Her voice hitched; tears wouldn’t be far behind.
Presley’s heart went out to her, and she wondered if Brandon had any idea the stress his need to succeed was having on his daughter. She guessed he didn’t because she couldn’t see him as the type of person who wouldn’t care about that. “Okay, Joy, I won’t tell him.” She wouldn’t tell him what happened, but she would be talking to him about the need to spend time with his daughter.
She had firsthand knowledge of this as her father left when she was four. He up and decided he no longer wanted to be a father. Her mother, who had been staying home with them, then had to find a job and since her father disappeared off the face of the Earth and paid no child support, she’d had to find two jobs. Though Presley loved her, she had rarely seen her, and it had caused her to withdraw into her art and baking. It was only meeting Brandon that had finally pulled her out of her shell.
Her younger brother had taken the opposite road; he had begun acting out as she tried to be a sister and a mother to him, so she had seen both sides of what could happen when kids didn’t get enough attention, and she didn’t want to see either of those happen to Joy.
“Do we still have enough to make cookies?” Joy wiped her eyes with her small hand and turned big doe eyes up at Presley.
“I think we do. I’ll grab some peanut butter chips, and we’ll add those to make sure. Chocolate and peanut butter make a great combination.”
“Thank you, Presley.” She let go of Presley’s pant leg and hung her head. “I promise not to eat any more.”
“Well, at least not until we’re done cooking.” Presley tipped up her face and gave her a smile.
After grabbing the peanut butter chips, they began mixing the ingredients and rolling out the dough. Joy reverted back to her sunny self, but Presley was still worried about her and why she shoved the chips in her mouth in the first place.
Chapter 13
“Brandon Scott, what do you think you are doing?”
His mother’s hands were akimbo on her hips as he stepped into the living room. He removed his coat and hat and hung them on the rack before turning back to her.
“I’m here to help you with Dad, Mom. What do you mean?” He thought they had covered this last night after he returned from walking Presley home. Was his mother going senile? Would he have to deal with that as well?
“That is not what I am talking about, Brandon. I’m talking about Presley.”
His brow furrowed together. “Presley? What about Presley?” He felt like he’d just entered an episode of the Twilight Zone and that his mother had started this conversation with another him – a doppelganger or something.
“I’m talking about you leading that poor girl on. Unless you’ve changed your mind about staying.” Her hazel eyes stared pointedly, and he was reminded of the feeling when he was five and caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“You know I haven’t, Mother. I’m still working on this promotion, but I’m not leading her on. I’m,” he paused as the words that were about to come out of his mouth, he hadn’t vocalized to anyone.
“If you break her heart again, Brandon, I may beat you myself.”
“Again?” Her words halted the direction his mind was going and caused it to turn full circle. “When did I break her heart the first time? We never dated.”
She stared at him, her anger softening to disbelief. “You mean you didn’t know?”
“Didn’t know what, Mother?” Brandon threw his hands up in exasperation. “I feel like you are speaking riddles to me.”
“Brandon, you’re the reason she went to Paris. She was finally going to tell you how she felt, but when she came to tell you, you told her Morgan was pregnant.”
His mouth dropped open as his mind swam back to that day.
A knock sounded on the door. He was just about to text Presley to ask her over to share the good news, but it could wait. Opening the door, surprise and delight filled him. Presley stood on the other side in a flowered skirt, unusual for her, but he didn’t ponder the reason for it.
“Presley, I was hoping you’d come by.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her into the apartment, shutting the door behind them.
“I have something to tell you.” Her words come out as a stutter, again a little odd, but he was so focused on his good news that he passed it off as excitement. Had someone already told her? She and Morgan weren’t close, but he supposed it was possible.
Brandon propelled her to the hand-me-down couch. As they sat and the rusty springs squeaked, he remembered the day they bought it.
At the age of eighteen, he had decided to step out of his father’s shadow and his money and try to make it on his own. After he had signed the lease, his first stop had been Presley’s. He wanted her help in furnishing the apartment as she was not only his best friend but had a much better aesthetic eye than he did.
The first stop had been the local Goodwill in the next town for some furniture. This couch was the only one available that day, and though it had a few cringeworthy stains and wasn’t very comfortable, the price tag of twenty dollars had been too good to turn down. They had loaded it, along with another chair and a few tables into the back of his black Chevy truck – the one thing he had kept from his parents.
After another stop at a store for kitchen items, plates, and bedding, they had returned to his new and very empty apartment and set the place up. Hours later, exhausted, they had collapsed for the first time on the couch. The resulting cacophony of squeaks had kept them laughing for a good ten minutes.
As the memory faded, he grabbed her hands, unable to contain his excitement any longer. “Morgan is pregnant. I’m going to be a father.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes blinked repeatedly. “That’s” – the words seemed stuck in her throat – “That’s wonderful, Brandon.�
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“I know. I’m so excited. Now, tell me your news.”
She swallowed and bit the corner of her lip before pasting her own smile. “I’m going to France.”
Suddenly the reason for her flowered skirt and stuttering words that he had dismissed as nothing on the day made sense. His mouth parted, and his hand raked across his beard.
“I didn’t know, Mom.”
She took a step toward him and touched his arm. “What happened then is in the past, but you have control over your future.”
He nodded but was more confused than ever now. Should he stop seeing Presley? Should he just be open that he planned on leaving soon? But, she already knew that.
“Come on.” His mother moved her hand to circle through his arm. “Your father needs to walk, and he’s being stubborn about it.”
She led Brandon through the living room and into the family room where his father was seated in the large recliner. His bruised eye had faded more today, and he was able to open it completely. The scrapes he received stood out on his bald head, pink reminders of his bad decision. His feet were propped up on the reclining leg bar, and a walker stood to the side.
“Hey, Dad, you ready to go walking?” Brandon forced cheeriness he didn’t feel into his voice; his mind was still focused on Presley.
“No.” The word was short and almost snippy. His father, at least before Brandon left, had never been grumpy, so it was very different from the man Brandon was used to.
“He’s still mad he has to use a walker,” his mother explained.
“I don’t need it. I just need to walk slower.” He crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip like a petulant child.
Brandon’s mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’ll leave you to deal with him.” She patted his arm one more time before making her exit.
When Love Returns Page 8
