“Shhh, shhh, sweetheart. He’s going to be just fine, I promise you. Shhhh, shhhhh. We’ll help him through this. You know I’m not leaving that man’s side.”
I couldn’t speak. All I could do was nod as I held on to her for dear life feeling every emotion pour through me. In all of my adult life, I’d never been so grateful to be in the comfort and safety of my mother’s arms.
I pulled away, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I should be the one comforting you.”
“And you are, just by being here. You left your best friend’s wedding to be by your father’s side. You have no idea how comforting that was…that you were here with him when I couldn’t be.”
I nodded, gathering my composure.
“Where’s Cara?” Mom asked, looking around. “Did she head home already?”
Even my mother who was vacationing in Napa remembered I’d brought a date to Scott’s wedding.
God, you really are a moron, Peter.
“It’s a long story, Mom.”
Mom reached into her purse and opened her wallet, popping four quarters into the machine and selecting a bag of shortbread cookies. My favorite.
“And I’ve got nothing but time.” She winked. “Let’s get some coffee.”
Chapter 5
MAREN
Two weeks later…
“Maren, we need you on the floor,” Lyra called into my candle workshop. “We’re getting slammed.”
Removing my mask, I glanced at my watch, realizing I’d taken an hour longer to pour this batch of candles than I had planned. Saturday afternoons were our busiest time, and Lyra and Cheryl needed support on the floor.
“Two minutes, I’ll be out.”
“Thanks.”
I checked the temperature on my last pot of wax, knowing I needed to use my time as efficiently as possible.
Two more minutes.
While I waited for the mercury of the thermometer to dip into its sweet spot, I placed all of my dirty pots, thermometers, and spoons into the large farmhouse sink, making note to clean them as soon as soon as we closed for the day.
One more minute.
Stirring the pot one last time, I slowly poured the cooling wax into the empty jars on the wooden slab table. Once they were poured and wick bars had secured the wicks in place so that they would set up just perfectly, I scanned the table for any missing wick bars.
Aha, found one.
Right in the middle of the table was a jar with its wick resting against the side of the jar. If I hadn’t seen it in time, it would have set up that way and been a pain to fix. Without hesitation, I grabbed a wick bar and centered it on the jar’s rim.
All done.
I took a step back from the table, hands on my hips as I surveyed my production for the day. Seventy-two freshly poured candles.
Not bad, Maren.
The thermostat was set to just the right temperature, and the air purifier was running strong. It was time to assist some customers in the shop.
“It’s about time,” Lyra called with a wink from the cash register. “Our fearless leader has arrived.”
“Have a great day,” Cheryl said with a smile as she handed a large paper shopping bag to a smiling customer. Two long lines had formed, and Cheryl stood at the second register as they processed their sales as quickly as they could. I positioned myself between them, assisting with rolling the fragile glass candles in thick brown paper before placing them in their bags.
Once we had control of the lines and only a few customers lingered in the shop, I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost five. That went by quickly.”
“You were in the workshop most of the day,” Lyra said.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just…needed to make a lot of candles today. Lot on my mind.”
“Something going on?”
“No,” I said with a laugh. “You know everything going on in my life.”
I’m just pining over a guy who never called.
“It’s the son, isn’t it?”
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I nodded, feeling foolish. We’d only met once. It was ridiculous for me to be so disappointed that he’d never called me. He was grateful that I helped his father. That’s it. That’s all. End of story.
“I can tell you’re embarrassed, but don’t be. It’s his loss.”
My chest tightened as I thought back to the undeniable connection I felt with Peter. It just didn’t make sense. Was it all one sided? Was I so ready to have romance in my life that I invented a spark with someone who didn’t feel it in return?
“I feel dumb,” I said with a shrug. “Obviously he didn’t feel what I felt.”
“It was a stressful day for both of you. Emotions were running high. Maybe the adrenaline coursing through your veins felt like something else at the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“When something traumatic like that happens, it heightens our emotions. Everything seems bigger, more intense than it actually is. Don’t blame yourself; blame the adrenaline.”
A reluctant laugh left my throat. “Blame the adrenaline.”
“Maren, do we have any more Booklover candles in the back?” Cheryl asked from the front of the store.
“I’ll see just a second.”
Hustling to the back room to check inventory, I found the slot labeled “BOOKLOVER” totally empty. It was one of our most popular scents, smelling like old book pages, freshly brewed hazelnut coffee, and cinnamon-sugar doughnuts. It was difficult to keep it in stock. Walking back to the front, I approached Cheryl and the two customers she was helping. The man looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders and blond hair, his companion petite and gorgeous and wearing hospital scrubs. Seeing her scrubs made me think of Burton’s accident and Peter. For fourteen days, thoughts had been going back to Peter, and I was starting to annoy myself. I could only imagine how irritated Lyra must have been with me.
“Sorry, we’re out of Booklover, but I just poured more today. They’ll be on the floor next week,” I said with an apologetic smile.
“We’ll come back then, thank you,” she said, giving me a genuine smile. “It’s my favorite, so I was hoping to stock up.”
“Might I suggest Lazy Reader?” I asked, not wanting to lose a potential sale. I grabbed an 8-ounce amber jar from a nearby table. “This one smells like fresh roasted coffee, pancakes, and maple syrup. It’s a little different from Booklover but has similar notes. A lot of my customers purchase them together.”
The man dipped his nose into the jar and his blue eyes widened. “Yes, wow. This one, for sure.”
“You sure?” the woman asked, knitting her brow. “I think I prefer Booklover.”
“Meg, you’ve been burning that same scent for months. Let’s mix it up. C’mon, sweetheart,” the man pressed. “This smells sooo good—like breakfast in bed.”
“Will, it’ll make us hungry,” she said with a laugh. “And then you’ll want pancakes.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” he said with a boyish grin. They were seriously adorable. “You love my pancakes.”
“Fine, fine. Grab two of them.” She playfully rolled her eyes.
“Any candles that smell like bacon?” he asked, his eyes wide and bright. He was like a kid in a candy store. My favorite kind of customer.
“Don’t push your luck,” Meg said, joining me at the counter. Will placed two candles on the counter along with a couple of coffee-table books. “Where do you guys make your candles?”
“Right here in the shop. I pour them in back.”
“No kidding?” she said, looking impressed. “I’m such a fan of these things. They burn so clean and smell amazing.”
“Thanks so much. If you want, I can put a few Booklover aside for you.”
“Would you? I would love that.”
I placed a pad of paper in front of her. “I just need name and cell number and I’ll send you a text when they’re cured an
d ready. How many would you like?”
“Five, please,” she said, looking embarrassed. She shrugged and smiled wide. “Told you it’s my favorite.”
“No shame in knowing what you like. Hopefully you won’t regret today’s purchase.”
She laughed, handing the pad of paper back to me. “I’m sure I won’t. Your stuff is the best. I tell everyone to shop here when they need candles.”
“I love hearing that,” I said, glancing down at the pad of paper. “Meg Montgomery. So nice to meet you, and thanks for coming in today.”
Montgomery, Montgomery, Montgomery.
It was on the tip of my tongue. What was her husband’s name again?
“Will, are you ready?” she said, walking to the door.
Will Montgomery. Holy crap!
Cheryl’s mouth dropped as we both watched the football star, Will Montgomery, walk out of the shop, his arm around his beautiful wife. His beautiful wife who loved my candles.
“How did I miss that? My boyfriend makes me watch football every Sunday,” Cheryl said, a confused look on her face.
“They do walk among us,” Lyra said sarcastically. Lyra, born and raised in Los Angeles, was never one to get impressed over celebrities. To her, it was perfectly normal to see an Oscar winner buying tomatoes at the farmer’s market or a sitcom star grocery shopping with her movie star boyfriend. But I couldn’t help but be excited to have someone as well-known as Will Montgomery shopping in my store—and loving my candles.
I shook my head, closing my eyes briefly. “Don’t rain on my parade, Lyra. That was awesome.”
“Sorry,” she said, raising both eyebrows in contrition. “They were adorable; I’ll give you that.”
“Weren’t they? I hope they come back soon,” I said with a satisfied smile. Running my shop was a dream that I’d put into motion just two years earlier on my twenty-eighth birthday. Jackson, my ex, thought it would close within a year. He didn’t think there were enough booklovers in Seattle who also burned candles. He didn’t think it would catch on, that it was trendy enough. He thought it was missing something.
I’m so glad I didn’t listen.
Just two years later, we were turning a decent profit. I was able to keep three people on staff and collect a livable wage of my own. And with our mailing list growing each month, in addition to our sales, I was feeling more confident by the day. And now, local celebrities were part of my clientele. As sappy as it may seem to someone like Jackson, a cynical and glass-half-empty type of person, it was a dream come true for me.
The buzz of the Montgomerys shopping at my store kept a smile on my face as I started to reface all of the displays. It was fifteen minutes until closing, and Lyra and I had plans to attend a dinner party across town at seven o’clock, so I needed to make sure the store was prepped and ready for the next morning.
Opening the cabinets below, I retrieved candles to replace the ones we’d sold from the display. The rich smells of caramel apples and pomegranate cider tickled my nose as I placed assorted fall scents on the Halloween-themed table that was covered in Halloween-themed YA and mystery novels. The bell from the door opened, and I heard footsteps approaching as I grabbed one more candle and closed the cabinet doors.
“Welcome to The Lit Wick,” I said with a friendly wave, candle in hand. A woman with blond hair gave me a forced smile and nodded. The man with her had his back to me as he closed the door. “Let us know if you need anything.”
“Maren?” the man asked, and I froze.
Peter.
“You know each other?” the blond woman asked, looking irritated as she raised one eyebrow. Her pointed nose flared as she scanned me from head to toe.
Peter looked just as flustered as the day he came rushing into his father’s hospital room. But why? He’s the one who never called, not me.
“Hi, Peter,” I said, swallowing hard, feeling my cheeks redden.
“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is…uh…umm—”
“Cara,” the blond said, walking toward me with arm extended. “And you are…”
“This is Maren. She saved my father’s life.”
“Oh,” Cara said, looking back and forth between Peter and me. I placed both hands into my apron and waited for him to say something, anything else.
This is mortifying.
“How is your dad?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“Good, he’s really good. Back at work now.” Peter looked at me, but looked away quickly, avoiding eye contact.
Look at me, Peter. Please.
“Yeah, we just saw him earlier today,” Cara said, narrowing her eyes at me.
I get it, Cara. He’s yours. Message received.
Peter sighed. “So, you work here, huh?”
“It’s my shop.”
I searched his face for some sort of expression, but he was impassive.
What on earth is happening?
“We were just walking by, heading to dinner,” Cara continued, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Thought I’d see if you had any Christmas scents yet.”
“In a few weeks. We roll them out after Halloween.”
“Ahh,” Cara said, “you should just carry them all year round. It’s ridiculous that we can only get them a few weeks every year.”
Peter looked annoyed and uncomfortable. He spoke under his breath, “That’s not how it works, Cara.”
Lyra approached our awkward threesome and placed a gentle hand on my elbow. “We’re closing soon. Why don’t you two look around and just let us know if you have any questions.”
“Actually, since you don’t have what I need, we’ll just get going. Right, Peter?”
Peter scratched the back of his neck and nodded, but paused, looking at me with pained eyes.
It’s fine, I wanted to say. You have a girlfriend, and I misread everything that happened.
“Take care, Maren,” he said, his brow knitted.
“Oh,” I said, a flutter of wings in my belly once again. “Um, thanks. You too.”
Peter and Cara left the shop, and he didn’t look back. Feeling frustration build, and completely overwhelmed by what had just taken place, I excused myself and walked to the back room.
“Maren, wait,” Lyra called behind me.
“I just need a minute,” I said, pressing my hand into my forehead, wishing that interaction had never taken place. It felt like lemon juice on a paper cut. It was bad enough that he hadn’t called, but I couldn’t get over how cold he’d been.
“Was that him? Was that Burton’s son?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking.
“He’s cute.”
“Ugh, I know,” I said, sitting in my desk chair. “He’s more than cute.”
“Cold, though.” Lyra said, “Didn’t seem like your type. I pictured him as friendly, kinda funny, and charming. But I didn’t see any of that. Up until that last comment, he almost seemed pissed off.”
“Right?” I exclaimed, puzzled by his behavior. “He wasn’t like that when we met. He was warm, sweet. I don’t know who that was just now. Obviously he was embarrassed to run into me.”
“Well, you only met him once. And emotions were—”
“I know, I know,” I said, my stomach clenching. “I just…felt something, like an unspoken connection. But you’re right—it must have just been the adrenaline of it all.”
“Blame the adrenaline,” Lyra said with a shrug. “I did like his beard; it suits him.”
“He didn’t have it two weeks ago. Probably had to shave for the wedding,” I said, thinking about the stubble and how it made him even sexier than the day we met. “It looks so good. Too good. Damn it.”
“Listen, we just need to go out tonight and get him off your mind. Maybe you’ll meet someone at the party.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said reluctantly. But, But I knew thoughts of Peter and our awkward exchange would haunt me for the rest of the night.
Turns out, I did meet someon
e at the party. His name was Marcus, and he was an advertising exec. We’d chatted for most of dinner and agreed to meet up next weekend. No fireworks or immediate spark to speak of, but he was friendly and funny, overall a very nice guy. The least I could do was give it a chance.
The store was quiet on Sunday morning, as it usually was. I spent most of my time organizing the shop and taking a casual inventory of what was on the floor. The bell on the front door rang just as I was expecting Lyra to show up.
“Right on time,” I said with a smile, placing a book back on the shelf. But it wasn’t Lyra. Instead, Peter walked into the shop, fire in his eyes. Despite his flustered appearance, he looked ridiculously handsome wearing dark jeans, a button-down shirt, and leather jacket. His beard was freshly trimmed, and I could smell the fresh, almost minty scent of his cologne as he stormed toward me.
“Peter, what are you doing he—?”
“Why did you give me a fake number?” he interrupted, his voice clipped and angry.
Fake number? What?
“I didn’t.” I shook my head and narrowed my eyes. “You never called me.”
“I thought there was something here…” He moved his hand in the space between us. “I did call…the day after we met and I got some guy named Bruce. He was a real charmer.”
“Peter, I swear, I didn’t give you a fake number. I thought we had a connection too. I was hoping to hear from you.”
He ran his hand through his hair, then pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Two seconds later, he placed the phone in front of me.
555-7524
My stomach flipped. “Oh no! It’s off by one number. I swear I didn’t mean to do that. I must have hit the wrong key. Fat fingered it.”
Smooth, Maren.
Peter said nothing, and the intensity of his glare didn’t change. It was both unnerving and incredibly sexy. He was brooding, hot and dangerous when he was mad, and I surprised myself with how much I liked that.
“Seriously?” he asked, swallowing hard, his posture softening slightly. “Because you should just tell me if you’re not interested. I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never have to see me again.”
Melt With Me: A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel Page 4
