by Cate Masters
Might as well admit it; she’d get it out of him eventually. “On the drive over. We made a fueling stop at the same time.”
“Ohhh.” The smile came through in his mother’s lilting tone.
It chafed his already ruffled nerves. “No, it wasn’t a positive meeting.”
“I bet if you visit her at work, she’d love to see you. No one likes those fueling stops, and she probably had a lot on her mind.”
An understatement. Holy crap. Ted killed so suddenly? Carter still couldn’t comprehend it, or imagine how she must feel. Of course she’d seemed sad yesterday. She must still be in mourning. A cold lump formed in his stomach. “I can’t. I’m not staying in town long.” His appetite lost, he carried his plate to the sink.
“Not even long enough to say hello?”
The garbage disposal drowned out his grumble. And get shot down again? “I have no idea where she works.”
“The Sweet Spot, honey,” she called over the noise until he switched it off. “It’s still in the same place it always was. I’ll bet she’s there today. She always was a hard worker.”
Like he could ever forget where the shop was. He’d memorized her sweet spots long ago. It killed him to think of anyone else finding them. Touching them…. His jaw tightened. “I should probably get on the road.” Even though the very idea made his gut churn.
She glanced pointedly at the sweater and jeans. “You’re not working today?”
“I work every day.” Had to, if he wanted to keep his business on the cutting edge. “But today’s meetings are only conference calls. I can wear a robe and slippers and no one would care.”
She waved him off as she cleared her dishes from the island. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you in a robe and slippers.”
Neither could he, but such was life on the road. He preferred to travel light. Cozy, though, to lounge around at home. To have a home.
“So,” she said, setting her plate in the sink. “You’re headed back already?”
“Uh, no.” Maybe he should clue her in? No, she’d make a fuss. He didn’t want to create any drama before Thanksgiving. “I’m still on the road.”
“Yes, so you said.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I hope you’ll stop again on the return trip.”
“Maybe.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for the grub.”
She caught him in a quick hug, and began to wash the dishes. “I’ll have better grub Thursday. Dinner’s at five.”
“Thursday?” he asked absently.
She swung her head around and fixed him with an incredulous look. “Thanksgiving, honey. You will come this year, won’t you?”
“Oh, right. I’ll see what I can do. My schedule’s been really grueling, though.”
“Isn’t it always? You deserve a holiday.”
Man, he was ready for one, too. A long one. “See you.”
He shoved the suit under his arm, grabbed the keys off the table near the sofa, and strode to the BMW. Pressing the clicker did nothing. You never locked it. When had he last gone anywhere and not locked his car? Cell phone sat on the console, laptop and briefcase on the passenger seat, in full view. Undisturbed.
Bliss. Nothing changed there.
After easing the Beemer onto the street, he headed toward the center of town. He still needed a replacement phone. The Sweet Spot had always served as the hub of information. If the O’Briens couldn’t steer him to the right store, someone else in the shop undoubtedly could. So long as he went inside, he’d have another coffee. Maybe one of those delicious muffins, too.
And while he there, he could learn more about Mrs. Thomas.
***
Ensconced in soft down, Sierra floated down from her dreams, the one place she always found safety. Her body acknowledged the bed, the sunshine stinging her eyes drawing her back toward reality. Reluctantly, she pried open one then blinked both open. After a moment of confusion, she knew where she was: home. In Bliss.
Dreams of Carter had helped make the night blissful, too. While she rose and puttered around, making the bed, a vivid image of him stayed in her mind. How the heck had a decade improved his looks? Carter 2.0. Oh yeah, he’d love that, with all his cutting-edge technological developments, he’d become one of Steve Jobs’ main competitors. Unlike Jobs, Carter’s sharp, professional appearance lent an unapproachable air, the expensive suit he’d worn the day before cut so well to his figure it looked tailor-made. It probably was. The soft fabric had surprised her. So had the taut muscles beneath the suit. Carter kept himself in shape. He had everything in life he could possibly need. A pang of regret sliced through her.
Or did he? She headed to the bathroom and twisted the faucet knob. Steam began to fill the small bathroom as she stepped inside the shower. It hadn’t escaped her notice when Forbes listed him in its Top 40 Under 40. She’d been happy for his success, but something about those media photos grabbed her attention, and she lingered over them. His smile appeared too rehearsed, empty of happiness. Sometimes pictures showed a woman clinging to him, her embrace cloying and possessive rather than loving.
Toweling off, she tried to remember his current wife’s name. It escaped her; he’d married at least twice. A bitter chuckle escaped and she wiped the mirror free of steam a little harder than necessary. And you thought you were the love of his life. Obviously, he didn’t have one—he had many.
She frowned at her hazy reflection. After reading another article she’d run across online in some pretentious magazine like Architectural Digest, she’d questioned whether she ever really knew the man. His wife—Barbara, maybe?—had had their initials monogrammed on everything throughout their McMansion. A beautiful place, but cold. Overbearing. Nothing like the boy she’d once loved.
You’re not exactly the same girl, either. Gaunt face, pale skin, and dark circles beneath her eyes. Not for long. Carter had made his mark on the world and she intended to do the same. Much smaller than his, of course, but she didn’t need to conquer the universe. A state or two might be nice, though.
“Oh, Carter.” He’d left his mark on her, too. Ten years had melted away when she’d seen him the day before, the two minutes leaving a vivid impression. Throughout the night, in the haze of sleep, memories of the two years they’d shared filled her with sublime happiness. How bright the future had appeared then.
She straightened. It will be. A little late, but starting over would give her the opportunity to make it better this time.
In the front room her cell chimed with a text message. She retrieved it from her handbag. Left some coffee and French toast over here for you. We’re off to the shop. Mom.
After a quick blow dry, she laced up her running shoes and stopped at her parent’s house to clean up their kitchen before heading to The Sweet Spot. Until her own business got underway, she’d promised to help out at the shop. It might be difficult, at first, fending off probing questions from townsfolk about Ted, but the sooner she put up a brave face, the sooner she could get on with her life.
The crisp autumn air hastened her steps along sun-dappled streets. She tilted her head back and breathed in the earthy scents. Sunshine tipped the few remaining yellow and orange leaves with brilliance, a sight that lightened her heart. Made her want to dance. Whatever darkness she’d lived in the past few years wouldn’t haunt her there.
The Sweet Spot bustled with customers and she hurried inside. The moment the bell jingled over the door to announce her arrival, everyone sent her a smile in welcome.
Ellie O’Brien rushed over and rocked her in a hug. “Sierra! It’s so good to see you, sweetie. I saw your car last night, but didn’t want to wake you.”
“Great to see you, too.” Great to be back home.
Her mother pulled away to inspect her. “You should have told me you were coming last night. Did you get my message? Did you eat?”
“Yes, thanks for the breakfast. You didn’t have to go to such trouble, but it was very thoughtful.” If she’d let her mother know she was on her w
ay, she would have worried until her arrival and probably stayed up late to welcome her. Her parents had enough to do without fussing over her.
“I can’t have my new helper working on an empty stomach. Besides, you could use a few pounds.” After one last squeeze, she headed to the table she’d abandoned. “Whenever you’re ready, jump in. No rush.”
“I’m ready.” In her pink polo with the shop’s new logo, stepping behind the counter seemed like stepping back in time.
A jug atop it begged for spare change, and she turned it to read the label. Who are my parents helping now? A photo showed a man holding a hiking staff, a large German shepherd by his side. No one she recognized, but no surprise there. Help Jack get the operation he needs.
“What sort of operation does Jack need?” she asked. Her mother bustled past with a rack of clean cups, and she fell in behind to help hang them on the rods above the back counter.
Without slowing, her mom said, “A complicated one, apparently. The poor thing was hit by a truck. The worst part is, he’s homeless.”
“The poor guy. How frightening.” He looked too young to be without a home.
“Which reminds me, Oren usually comes in around ten. Give him whatever he wants, no charge.” Finished, Ellie lifted the empty rack and headed toward the kitchen again.
Confused, she followed. “Who’s Oren?”
“The homeless man.” Passing by the counter, her mother nodded to the photo.
Sierra stopped to look at it again. “Then who’s Jack?”
“Jack’s his dog. Oren depends on him for everything and, without an operation, Jack won’t be able to walk right again, certainly not for long distances.”
“Oh, how sad.” And yet wonderful that the town pulled together to help.
“Rainey Ridinger said she’d do the operation for the cost of the surgical materials. We already raised half, but Oren’s hoping to head south before the first freeze, so nudge people to put in what they can.”
“I’ll write a check after work.” She had some money left over from selling the house, though most of it had been earmarked for expenses and her business launch.
“That’s sweet.” Her mother squeezed her shoulder. “Lots of people have offered him chores to help pay for the operation. The list is on the counter. Oren will ask for it to see where he needs to be today.”
Sierra arranged the container in a prominent place then settled easily into the comfortable routine she loved. Before she knew it, the clock read ten. As predicted, the man in the photo crossed the street and approached The Sweet Spot. Entering the shop, he nodded to the occupants of every table he passed, who greeted him by name.
He shuffled up to the front. The scent of the outdoors clung to his flannel shirt, not unpleasantly. He appeared more youthful in person, late twenties or so. An unplaceable drawl and clear brown eyes displaying sharp intelligence gave him a timeless air despite the bandana wrapped around his loosely braided reddish-brown hair. His six-foot height exaggerated his lanky appearance. After checking the contents of the jug, he knit his brow. “You’re new here.”
She withheld a chuckle. Long time since she’d heard that. Even stranger to hear it in her parents’ shop. “I’m Sierra. Sorry to hear about your dog.”
“Thank you. Jack’s everything to me.” He stared at the photo with longing.
An ache swept over her. The poor guy looked so lost and lonely. “Don’t you worry, my parents are great fundraisers. Your dog will be better than new after the operation.”
His gaze searched hers. “Your parents?”
Now she felt like the stranger in her own town. “The O’Briens. I’m their daughter.”
He brightened and extended his hand, shaking hers warmly. “Oh. Pleased to meet you. Everyone in Bliss has been amazingly kind, but most of all your parents.”
So genteel. How did he end up traveling alone with a dog? “Are you hungry this morning? Mom made her famous cranberry orange muffins. I could heat a few in the oven if you’d like.”
He scanned the display case. “That sounds wonderful. If it’s not too much bother, could I have a coffee, too?”
“Of course. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll bring it to you?”
“First I need to find out who needs my help today.” He lifted the chore sheet, worry evident in his face.
He must need more work. Sierra tried to appear casual. “When you have some time, I could use help with yard work.” Dad probably already took care of everything, but she’d come up with something for him.
He gave a nod. “Happy to do whatever. Thank you.”
After he meandered off, she warmed three muffins and arranged them on a plate with packets of butter and jelly. By the time she poured a large coffee, his table by the window was surrounded with locals.
She had to excuse herself to get through their midst and deliver Oren’s meal. “Here you go. Let me know if you’re still hungry.”
A high-pitched squeal sounded, its familiarity tugging at Sierra. She knew before turning who’d entered, but couldn’t wait to see. Rosalie.
“Sierra!” She rushed over, her blonde curls bobbing beneath a vivid purple-pink beret, as raspberry as the one in the Prince song. Probably not by coincidence, either. Since they’d been kids, Rosalie demonstrated her musical influences through such details.
Caught up in a bear hug, Sierra laughed. “Rosalie.”
“It’s so great you’re back.” Her friend leaned away, beaming. “We have so much to catch up on.”
“I know.” Not that she wanted to burden her with her past. “Mom said you perform here on weekends?”
Rosalie nodded. “Yep, I’m still playing guitar, writing songs.” Her smile widened. “No one’s complained yet. Your mom’s such a doll to let me play here.”
No surprise. Just as they had with Oren, her parents went out of their way to help anyone in need. “I can’t wait to hear you.”
“And I can’t wait to find out what’s been going on with you. I thought maybe you’d moved to Siberia. You didn’t write, you didn’t call….” Her grin became lopsided.
Two women entered the shop, giving Sierra the excuse she needed to dodge the question. “I have to go wait on these customers. Are you staying awhile?” She headed across the room. “Do you want something to drink?”
Rosalie followed. “Yes, that would be great. My usual’s a medium chai latte.”
“Coming up.” Unlike an explanation for why she hadn’t responded to her old friend’s calls. Bad enough to have to live with Ted’s mood swings, but she hadn’t burdened anyone else with them.
After taking the women’s orders, Ellie shooed her away. “Get some lunch. Go visit with Rosalie.”
Her stomach grumbled in agreement, but she hesitated. “Are you sure? The shop’s pretty busy.”
“Honey, your dad and I have handled it for years. We’ll be fine. You take a break.”
“Those new sandwich bites do look delicious.”
Ellie shrugged and held a hand to her hip in a proud way. “They should, they’re made from your recipes. I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help myself after reading your blog.”
“Of course I don’t mind. I’m flattered.” She read my blog?
Her mother handed her two plates. “Take some extra for Rosalie. She especially loves the turkey and goat cheese.”
Taking the dishes, she scooped up a few from the glass-encased display. “Thanks, Mom.” She hesitated on the way over, and nerves killed her appetite. Rosalie would want to know everything. No way did she want to discuss her marriage. Then, don’t.
She plastered on a smile. “Hey there. Hungry?”
“Famished.” Scooting over to make room, Rosalie patted the cushion beside her. “Can you sit for a while?”
“Absolutely. I’m kind of hungry myself.” She perched on the sofa.
“Excellent. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” Rosalie stared at the plate.
“Of course not. It’
s a little strange to be working here again. I don’t want to get fired for goofing off.”
Her friend waved her off. “Fat chance. Your parents never fired anyone, did they?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She waited for her to sample the food then tasted it as well. Her taste buds almost sighed in delight. Chicken salad with honey mustard dressing, a hint of Vidalia onion, and something she couldn’t place, an addition to her own recipe. The flavors were a perfect mix.
Rosalie closed her eyes and chewed. “Ambrosia to the palate.”
She nodded. “It’s so great Mom used the recipes from my blog.”
Excited, Rosalie angled toward her. “You started a blog? What’s it about?”
“It’s kind of fast food for nutrition-conscious people. I’ve come up with tons of great-tasting, easy recipes that are budget-friendly.” The premise for her new business, catering included.
“You sold me already. And so cool, you inherited your mom’s culinary skills after all.”
“Finally, yeah. They came in handy after Ted lost his job. I learned to mix odd ingredients, you know, whatever happened to be in the pantry, to make delicious food and stretch it out over a week. Great for busy families and moms who are tired of thinking up new ideas for meals.”
“What a fantastic idea,” Rosalie said, her enthusiasm contagious.
Sierra hardly shared details with anyone besides her mother, but her reservations melted away. “In three years, my blog has four thousand followers.” It still blew her mind.
“Seriously? You’re a star.”
“No, I just like helping people, especially if they’re having a rough time.” She might as well have said, like me and Ted. She forced a brighter tone. “Anyway, it will be a real boost to be able to say the new menu specials are a success.”
“Definitely. They’re my favorites.” Rosalie gulped another bite. “Hey, on the way over, I saw Carter’s BMW at his parents’ house.”
The news snapped her spine straight. “He’s here?” Oh, God. The possibility had occurred to her, but she hadn’t let herself believe it.
Rosalie rolled her wide eyes. “Funny, huh? I don’t think he’s been back since graduation.”
