by Nicole Deese
The word we once again caused me to picture the face I’d told myself to forget.
Shep unhooked an emerald-green half apron from the wall and tied it around his waist. “Go ahead and hop up on that barstool. I’ll be right out with your plate.”
“Oh, uh . . . I actually hadn’t planned to stay long, Shep.” In the most literal sense of the phrase. I glanced back over my shoulder at my packed-to-the-brim Subaru that only last week Davis had snuck in to his mechanic for an oil change. I wouldn’t have to think of the kindness of that gesture for another three thousand miles.
“Can you not smell that bacon?” Shep hitched a thumb toward the kitchen. “It’s expertly cooked, by the way. So just sit down and stop pretending you have something better to do. Because nobody has something better to do than eat bacon.”
How could I argue with that logic? Although once I pulled out of our contract for the mural, he’d likely regret taking the time to feed me. I climbed onto the cushy barstool and watched him burst through the padded side door, complete with an oval cutout in the center.
Not two minutes later, he was back, sliding a stacked-to-the-max club sandwich down the glossy bar top.
“Mmm. That looks delicious.”
“It should. It’s what you ordered.”
I scrunched my forehead. Had I mentioned I was hungry when we spoke on the phone? Surely not, since I’d barely had a full meal in four days.
“Not today—a couple months back, I mean.” He reached under the counter and slapped a laminated menu to the side of my plate. “See, right there?”
He tapped a finger on the bolded heading: COMFORT SANDWICHES.
At the very top of the list was: THE CALLIE.
He turned it around to read straight from the source. “The remedy to any heartbreak. Thick crusty bread layered with three types of hormone-free deli meats and pepper jack cheese. Special touches include herbed mayo, extra-crispy bacon, and a heaping side of avocado slices.”
I pressed my lips together, not trusting the sound traveling up my throat.
“I’m gonna take your speechlessness as a compliment,” he said.
I couldn’t blink away my tears quickly enough. Kindly, Shep offered me the dish towel draped over his shoulder. I didn’t dare ask him where he’d last used it.
“I’m not gonna lie,” he said. “I don’t have much practice with the whole sage bartender thing, but I’m willing to give it a go if you want to hash something out.”
Regaining my composure, I shook my head. “Thank you for this, Shep. It means . . . a lot.”
I’d written my signature hundreds of times in paint all over the country, but this was the first time someone had chosen to ink my name for me—in a town I’d grown to love, almost as much as the residents who lived in it.
“Yeah, well, I’m guessing your tears have less to do with my menu and more to do with why your Subaru looks like it’s about to give birth to a second Tiny House.”
I picked at the crust of my bread. “I’m leaving town.”
“You don’t say.”
His perfect deadpan brought my head up. “Wait—you knew I was leaving? Then why did you ask me to bring over the sketches?”
He cocked a grin I imagined he’d used on many a weepy woman. “How else was I supposed to get you here?” He plopped down on the stool beside me and swiveled like a boy half his age. Again, he pushed the plate closer to me. “Eat up, ginger.”
“I’m trying—it’s delicious, really.” But the truth was, I hadn’t had much of an appetite since Davis had dropped me off after the gardens.
“There’s no can’t in ba-can.” He flashed a cheesy thumbs-up and scooped half the sandwich off my plate. “Tell you what, I’ll help you out with this side.”
He wasted no time in taking down his half of the sandwich and pounding back a full glass of Coke. “Do I get to take a look at those?”
I handed him the sketches I’d worked on every time inspiration struck. “I’m not sure if what I’ve worked up is exactly what you’re wanting, but I figured I’d leave them with you. I can also give you a few names of some contacts I trust. Of course, you’d have to pay their travel fees in addition to their quote price.”
Shep uncurled the plans and balanced on his forearms at the edge of the bar, scrutinizing every last detail. I took a bite of my sandwich, hoping not to appear desperate for his feedback. He wasn’t my client anymore. He wasn’t bound to feed my ego the way he had my stomach.
I dabbed at the corner of my mouth. “It’s really okay if you don’t like it—it was just an idea, based on some things you’d said once about comfort food and seasons of life.”
A dozen people, painted in different shades and patterns, all in different stages of life, had been captioned with comic-style talk bubbles, speaking out their favorite custom order from Shep.
“I know exactly what you based this on, and it’s perfect.” He straightened and crossed his burly arms over his chest, his jolly mood fading as quickly as he’d drained his soda. “But the problem now is I don’t want anybody else to paint this on my wall but you. It would be like me hiring somebody else to cook my signature dish. That’s never gonna happen.”
“I’m sorry, Shep. I wish . . .” I could stay. “Things had worked out differently.”
“I don’t usually give relationship advice—seeing as, well, seeing as I’m me, but I’m about to make an exception.”
“Shep, really, you don’t have to say—”
“If Davis had to endure it, then it’s only fair you get to hear what I have to say, too.”
He leaned forward as if to share a sacred piece of wisdom with me. “You’re being an idiot.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Pretty sure that’s not classified as advice giving.”
“I told you I’m still working on the sage thing.”
I picked at the leftover mural paint on my nails and tried not to wonder what Davis had confided to Shep. Had it really been so cut-and-dried for him? So black-and-white? Or had he lain awake these last few nights, too? Had he wondered if another compromise could work?
Or had he simply been able to slice our relationship out of his heart the way I’d tried—and failed—to do?
“You won’t find someone better—if that’s what you’re thinking,” Shep said, a fist resting on his bar. “I’d bet my restaurant on that.”
“I know I won’t,” I conceded on a hard breath. “But please, if your next piece of stellar advice is about greener grass . . . then feel free to save it for a paying customer.”
“Nope, unfortunately, that one’s not in my repertoire yet.”
Probably for the best. I scooted off my stool and lifted my dish off the pristine countertop. “For the record, Shep, I really do wish you the best with the opening. Lenox could use a feel-good restaurant like this.”
I could sense his gaze trailing after me as I set the dish in a basin of sudsy water on the opposite side of the bar.
“I told you I have six brothers, right?”
I gave him a questioning look. We’d had that discussion at length. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s not actually true. I miscounted, I have seven brothers. One of my own choice—Davis Carter.”
I pressed my eyelids shut, hoping to steel my heart against whatever emotion he was about to elicit from me.
“I stood with Davis at his wedding and then again at Stephanie’s funeral. I’ve watched him raise a kid on his own like a champ, and I’ve watched him rebuild that old clinic from the ground up. But last fall I watched him invest his time, sweat, and finances into a project considered to be ‘too high risk to yield a good return.’” Shep looped the dry towel back around his neck, tugging on both ends, all amusement on his face swiped clean. “During one of my more costly remodel blunders, I asked him if he regretted signing those papers with me. You wanna know what he said?”
My nod betrayed me.
“He said, ‘I care more about investing in the right person t
han I do about the right project.’”
Shep tipped his head and moved behind the bar. “Just thought you’d like to know who you’re about to drive away from.” He gave me a final salute and started to whistle as if to expedite my leave.
I hadn’t even made it halfway to my car before the worst heartache of my life set in, along with the reality of all that I was leaving behind. And for the first time in nearly two decades, the thrill of exploring new places, new people, new towns . . . didn’t feel much like freedom at all.
Instead, it felt a whole lot more like cowardice.
I sagged against my hood, tears blurring the shapes of the buildings and shops that had become as familiar as my sister’s front porch.
In my attempt to keep all my options open, to live a limitless life, I’d neglected the one thing that could ever truly bring me freedom.
Love.
And suddenly, the fear of staying wasn’t nearly as crushing as the fear of running away from the hope I’d found here.
After a failed attempt at opening my car door, I finally slumped into the driver’s seat, placed my head on the steering wheel, and did the one thing I hadn’t done since I was a teenage girl. I asked for God’s direction. For His guidance. For His help.
And then I listened.
Not to my artist’s instincts.
And not to the tainted words of my father.
But to the voice of the same divine God who cared enough to lead me to Lenox.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
DAVIS
Marie handed me the last clipboard of the day, and I skimmed down the margin of checked boxes and symptoms.
“An Irish setter?” I double-checked the breed.
Marie nodded. “Yeah, she’s in pretty rough shape, too.”
I lowered the clipboard. “And she was picked up as a stray?”
“Yep. I know, strange.”
“Very.” Labradors and boxers were the most common strays I saw, but a setter? That breed was coveted. “Can you let Dr. Julie know I’ll take care of those callbacks tomorrow morning?” I started for the hallway.
“Will do. And, boss?”
I turned back.
She smiled. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Marie.”
I slipped the clipboard into the plastic pocket on the exam door and knocked twice, stretching my neck side to side before pushing it open and taking a step inside.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Car—”
Perched on the steel table in the center of the room was not an Irish setter but an Irish woman.
Callie’s wavy hair hung loosely around her face and spilled down her shoulders, hovering only a few inches above her waist. Her denim shorts, complete with fringe that cut off at her freckled kneecaps, emphasized the gentle swing of her legs, and the same carefree attitude I’d fallen so hard for this summer. Yet somehow, while she looked every bit herself, there was something distinctly different about her.
“So you’re my stray,” I said evenly.
“I am.” She matched my professional tone with ease. “I’ve been wandering for over a decade.”
“That’s quite a long time.”
“It is.” She held my gaze. “And most recently, I’ve developed a few issues.”
I didn’t move an inch. “Such as?”
“Well, let’s see, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Like I’m in this constant state of restlessness. Then there’s my appetite: I’m starving yet nothing ever tastes good. But my very worst symptom is this incessant pain in my chest. It never leaves.” She placed her hand on her patterned blouse. “I was hoping you might listen to it, see if you can hear anything strange.”
Hesitantly, I crossed the small room, the faint scent of her shampoo mingling with memories I’d stored close to the surface. She adjusted her hand to allow my stethoscope access. The rapid tu-tump, tu-tump, tu-tump of her heartbeat was as beautiful as the gaze that searched my face.
“I’m afraid I don’t detect anything out of the ordinary.” I slipped the scope around my neck again, and tentatively, she stretched her arm out to take my hand. Without a word, she placed my palm in the same place where my stethoscope had hovered.
Feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric, my body thrummed with awareness.
“Do you hear it now?” The raspy quality of her voice caused my breathing to shallow. “Because I can’t escape it, and for the first time in my life, I don’t want to.” She tipped her face to mine. “I’m choosing to stay. Here. In Lenox. Because I love you, Davis. So, so much. And leaving . . .” She shook her head, her throat straining against the words. “You were right. The freedom I want, the freedom I crave . . . I was never meant to find it on my own.”
As she shifted to frame my face between her hands, I slid her toward me on the metal table. “No,” I said, turning my head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “You weren’t.”
The soft sound that escaped her when I kissed her opposite wrist heated my blood. She pressed the pad of her thumb against my lips to stop me from moving up the length of her arm. “And,” she said, a bit breathlessly, “while I agree not to take a step back, I am going to ask that we take steps together. One at a time. At the same speed.”
“Done.”
The confusion etched into her brow made me smile. “Just like that?”
I moved to plant my hands on either side of her hips so I could stare directly into her star-bright eyes. “Callie, I can be a very, very patient man when I need to be. As long as we’re both committed to the same path, then you can set the pace.”
With challenge in her gaze, she tilted her chin higher. “I’m committed.”
Two words I would never take lightly.
“So am I,” I said against her mouth.
She nipped at my bottom lip. “Then kiss me already.”
“Happily.”
Epilogue
DAVIS
Five months later
“Oh, there’s Callie!” Brandon said, sliding to the far side of the booth in anticipation.
Callie stomped the snow off her new boots and shook out her scarf as she entered Shep’s Place. My fiery girlfriend looked just as beautiful dusted with post-Christmas snow as she did with sun-kissed skin. I hadn’t seen her since I’d picked Brandon up from the airport last night, but walking toward her now reminded me just how long twenty-four hours could be.
“Hey, you,” she said with a smile that brightened her entire face. “Did you two have a nice reunion?”
“Yes, although it’s even better now.” I moved to help her with her coat and scarf and stole a kiss that did little to keep my desire in check. With a conspiring wink that said, There’ll be more of that later, she plopped down beside Brandon and ruffled his hair—a greeting Brandon pretended to hate but secretly loved, given the side smile he was currently trying to hide.
“Okay, so tell me everything you did, only don’t tell me how warm it was because I’m having a serious case of sun envy right now. Somebody”—she shot me look—“failed to mention how cold it got here in winter.”
“Your sister lives here, too, you know.”
“True.”
“And I did buy you those extra-warm snow boots for Christmas.”
“True again,” she fake-grumbled. “But seriously, I may need to get a happy light to put in my studio if the sun doesn’t show up soon.”
“You don’t need a light. You’re always happy,” Brandon said matter-of-factly.
Callie smiled at him and swung her gaze back to me. “I do have quite a lot to be happy about.”
“Oh, and Oma said to tell you thanks for the painting of the bleeding heart. She wants to order more for the foundation.”
Callie raised her eyebrows at me.
“Look who’s just been knighted into the Lockwood sacred circle,” I said. “It’s like a true Christmas miracle.”
She laughed. “I told you art was the ultimate connector.”
“That you did,” I mu
sed.
She shook her head once as if to focus her mind and then turned back to Brandon. “Anyway, I want to hear all about the museums you visited and the pottery class you took at the Art Institute. Did you enjoy it? Your pictures looked awesome. And that vase that you made . . .”
I sat back against the cushy vinyl and sipped my coffee, studying the two people I loved most in this world connect on a level I never dreamed possible. Between Callie’s animated hand gestures and Brandon’s consecutive head bobbing, I settled in for a good ten minutes of conversational entertainment.
And I couldn’t be happier.
“How did my favorite ginger sneak in here without me noticing?”
Callie swiveled in her seat to face Shep. “I thought maybe the color of my hair had toned down due to winter.”
Shep wiped his hands on his apron. “Nope. Definitely not. Your hair is still as bright as the flame on my gas stovetop.”
“How ever do your lady friends handle such poetic compliments?” Callie asked with a laugh.
Shep flexed. “Who needs poetry when you got these?”
Brandon and I groaned in unison.
“Did you see I got the Pac-Man arcade in while you were gone, B? It’s there in the back room. I have a roll of quarters on my desk if you want to snag it before somebody else does.”
Brandon planted his palms flat on the table. “Seriously? Yes! I thought it was coming after the New Year.”
Callie scooted out for Brandon to pass by her and then called out to him, “Hey, okay, but I still want to hear about your new brush set from the Lockwoods.” She turned to me, her eyes rounding. “Do you have any idea how much money they must have spent on those, Davis? Those brushes are custom. I couldn’t believe it when he texted me that picture after he unwrapped them.”
“Oh, I have an idea, all right. They don’t ever go cheap. On anything,” I said.
Shep chuckled at that. “The bright side is you two will probably get a monthlong stay at an exclusive Hawaiian resort as a wedding gift from them someday,” he teased. “Having a connection to the Lockwoods can’t be all bad, right, Callie?”
