“Mine, too.” I understood all too well what it felt like to have your family torn apart.
“I was sorry to hear about your dad.” His voice was wrought with sincerity. Then he leaned toward me and placed his hand on my arm. “He was an amazing person.”
“Thanks.” Even through my sleeve, my skin felt warm where his fingers wrapped around my forearm. I felt my emotional walls giving way a bit. The envelope in my hand suddenly felt like lead, and I held it toward him with the top facing upward. “I just came from my mom’s house. She found this letter my dad wrote to me before he died.”
“She just gave this to you today?” He watched me nod, then lines formed between his brows as his gaze dropped to the envelope. He took it from me and flipped it over as if checking the seal before meeting my gaze again. “You haven’t read it?”
“No.” I shook my head, surprised that I’d shared something so personal with him. But once we’d started talking it had felt natural to tell him.
“You said you wanted to be alone . . .” He glanced from me to the envelope, and a look of understanding crossed his face. “That’s why you came here. To read his letter.”
I nodded.
He threw his gaze upward, shaking his head. “And here I’ve been babbling on like an idiot, thinking you were just trying to get rid of me because . . .” His voice trailed off, then he stood. “I’m sorry, Melinda. I should’ve given you your space right away.”
“Don’t worry about it.” My heart rate sped up since I could tell he was going to leave and part of me wanted to ask him to stay. We’d been such good friends when we were young, but I’d let my stupid feelings get in the way by kissing him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been so hurt by him not calling me and would’ve reached out to him myself when I’d heard his parents were divorcing.
“I’ll be at the bakery if you need anything,” he said, backing away.
“Thanks.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to wait, but he turned and strode across the lawn to the motorcycle I hadn’t noticed parked at the curb. Seconds later, it roared to life and he sped down the street.
As soon as he disappeared out of sight, I inhaled a deep breath, then ripped open the envelope. I pulled out a watermarked piece of stationery, customized with an “E.M.” monogram at the top for my dad’s name, Edward Morgan. My eyes watered at my dad’s familiar handwriting, and I read:
My beautiful princess,
Since you’re reading this letter, I’ve passed on to my next adventure. I’m proud to say I married the love of my life, had you for my daughter, and lived as fully as any man could want or deserve. I am truly thankful for this.
Nothing would make me happier than for you embrace life completely like I did. If you’ll indulge Daddy a wish, I have created a Carpe Diem list for you to complete at your earliest opportunity:
Rescue a dog.
Host a girls’ night.
Only date someone who leaves you breathless.
Fix your biggest regret.
Don’t be upset with Daddy for giving you homework. It’s only because I believe this list will help you seize more of what life has to offer like you deserve. I left a list for your mother as well. Please take care of each other. My love will be with you both forever.
Always remember that each breath of air is precious, every bird’s song is magic, and when you look up to find where the sky is shining brightest blue, know that’s where I’ll be . . . smiling down at you.
Love,
Daddy
I reread the letter over and over, hot tears spilling over my cheeks. Since he’d died unexpectedly, we never got to say good-bye to each other. Now, in some way, he’d been able to tell me good-bye. But why had he told my mom that my inheritance hinged on my completing this Carpe Diem list? He said in this letter that he wanted me to seize life, but instead he’d put up a big blockade to my dream.
I scanned the list again. Rescue a dog? Why would he ask me to do such a thing when losing Checkers had been so utterly painful? Host a girls’ night? Like anyone would show up if I did. He used to bug me to have girl friends over, and I’d rolled my eyes every time. He never did get that I was the queen of being excluded from exactly this kind of event, and he was still pestering me about it from the great beyond.
Only date someone who leaves you breathless? The problem with this task was that the kind of guy to leave me breathless was the exact type of guy to break my heart. Um, hello? Two words: Nate Carter. And Fix your biggest regret? That would prove to be a little difficult, considering it would involve going up in a hot air balloon with my dad who happened to be dead.
Wiping my cheeks with the back of my sleeve, my brows furrowed as I wondered how long it would take me to complete this list. Because one thing was for certain: I had to complete this list in time to save the bakery.
****
Bernie and I spent the afternoon together, with him catching me up on all of the bakery’s current procedures, which comically hadn’t changed that much since I was in college. After confirming that I was fully capable of caring for his business, he finally went home to rest.
I didn’t tell Bernie that I wanted to buy the bakery because I wanted to make sure I could complete my dad’s Carpe Diem list and get my inheritance money first. While Bernie was briefing me, I’d spotted Nate once or twice in the kitchen, but then he disappeared. Part of me wanted to tell him about my dad’s letter and my desire to buy the bakery. But I knew the urge to confide in him was just an old habit that had been conjured up by seeing him again.
Avery, Bernie’s new barista, had taken the news that I’d be supervising her in stride. Her only concern was whether or not her hours would be cut, and Bernie assured her they wouldn’t. When it was time to close up shop, I was getting ready to leave when Avery asked if I’d help her wipe down the tables and clean up. I found her request odd since she didn’t strike me as the kind of person who asked for favors.
“I have to admit, I didn’t peg you as the type to work in a café.” Avery scrubbed a wet cloth over the top of a bistro table, causing the pretty purple knot of hair at the base of her neck to bob back and forth. “More like editor of a fashion magazine or something.”
Her tone held humor so I wasn’t sure if she meant her comment as a compliment or an insult, but I immediately felt defensive. “Actually, I was the lead customer service rep for one of the top office software companies in Sacramento.”
“Didn’t see that one coming,” she said, her tone containing that same hint of humor. “What brings you to the world of baked goods?”
“I’m helping Bernie out,” I said, since it was the truth. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about my plan to hurry through my dad’s frustrating Carpe Diem list so I could buy the bakery. Spotting a fork under a table, I bent down and picked it up then put it in the dirty silverware bin. “I worked here for a few years in college, so I told Bernie I’d fill in as manager.”
“You’re just ‘filling in’ as a manager? Must be nice.” Her tone was suddenly laced with sarcasm, which irritated me. Although, I supposed my casual approach to managing the bakery could come across as a bit snooty to someone working as a barista.
“What’s your story?” I asked. Normally, I wouldn’t pry into someone’s private life. But Avery had felt fine prying into mine so I figured it was fair play. I fully expected her to clam up and give me one of those “back off” looks.
Instead, she shrugged, and said a little wistfully, “You know the drill. Bad relationship. Even worse break-up. Now I’m starting over in a new city. Yada-yada.”
“Wow.” Not the most revealing answer, but I was kind of surprised she’d opened up to me at all. Women only opened up to me . . . well, pretty much never. Except for Mary Ann the other night, who’d opened up to me big-time. Was something in the air? “I’m sorry to hear about all of that, but change can be good.”
Unless it’s the kind of change that forces you complete an entire list of tasks that make p
oking your eye out with a marshmallow stick sound preferable. Ugh. Why did I have to think about the word “marshmallow” when those deliciously tempting marshmallow fudge bars were only a few steps away?
Maybe they were all gone. I certainly was not going to check.
“Interesting.” Avery’s voice held her signature humorous tone.
My gaze snapped over to her. “What’s interesting?”
She glanced up at the clock on the wall, then leaned against the broom handle she was holding. “That look on your face. I’m dying to know what you were thinking. Care to share?”
Normally my answer would be a firm “no.” But I’d been holding in all of the day’s events, so I found myself taking a deep breath. “My dad died when I was fourteen. This morning, my mom gave me a letter from him containing a Carpe Diem list he wants me to complete. I’m not looking forward to completing the tasks, but I don’t have a choice.”
She swept the broom across the floor in short pushes even though I remembered her sweeping that area about fifteen minutes ago. “What’s on the list?” she asked.
My stomach knotted. “For one, host a girls’ night, which sounds like torture.”
“That’s kind of an odd thing for a dad to ask.” She squatted down, then swept a few specks of dirt into the dust pan. “But what’s the problem? Invite some people over.”
I sighed, humiliated by what I was about to admit. “I’m afraid nobody would show up. I wasn’t exactly popular at my last job.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She suddenly froze, then glanced over at me, seeming to notice that my jaw had pretty much hit the floor. “Sorry. That totally slipped out. But you had to know that about yourself, right? I mean, look at you. No hair out of place, size four I’m guessing, and you’ve got to be glossing off and on all day in the bathroom because nobody’s lip shine lasts that long. Anyway, women tend to find that kind of perfection intimidating.”
I blinked in shock, wondering if that could be true. “When I was young, girls used to call me ‘Marshmallow Melinda’ because I’d been kind of pudgy. I’m committed to leaving that nickname far behind forever.”
“Mission achieved.” She emptied the specks of dirt from the dustpan into the garbage then glanced at the clock on the wall again, making me wonder if she was in a hurry to leave. “Girls can be cruel. I won’t even get into all of the names I was called when I was in grade school. You can’t let mean people keep you down.”
“I know.” My brows furrowed as I ran my rag over the last dirty table. “But it’s not like I’ve had any luck with friends as an adult, either. Thus, my problem with hosting a girls’ night.”
“I’ll come to your girls’ night,” she said, as if it were no big deal. “Name the time and place. What kind of drinks are you going to be serving?”
“You’d really come?” I bit my lip, surprised that she was interested in hanging out with me. She probably just felt bad because I’d complained about completing my dad’s list. For most, hanging with the girls was no big thing. For me, this would be an epic hurdle to jump over. Feeling nervous, I inhaled slowly. “How about Friday night? I can serve champagne to celebrate crossing one of the tasks off my dad’s Carpe Diem list.”
She let out a laugh, then checked her watch. “Carpe Diem? I can’t wait to hear what else he put on a list with that kind of name.”
I frowned, wondering why she was checking the time yet again.
As if on cue, the ding-a-ling of a bell chimed. My gaze flew to the now-opened front door, and in stepped Nate Carter. He wore dark pants, his black leather jacket, and held a white-handled paper bag in his hand. What was he doing here? It was well after five and the bakery was closed.
“It’s about time you got here.” Avery strode toward him, and set the broom against the wall. “There’s only so many times I can sweep the same area.”
“Sorry, I’m late. There was a long line for pick-up orders.” He turned to me, and his mouth curved upward. “Hope you’re hungry for Italian.”
Avery leaned over the front counter so far her body was hanging over, showing off the rhinestone crosses on the back pockets of her jeans. She retrieved her handbag, then slid off the counter and made her way to the front door. “Looking forward to the girls’ night, Melinda. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Wait . . .” I called out as she slipped through the door, which swung shut behind her, leaving me alone in the bakery with the very sexy boy-next-door who’d crushed me. I turned to him. “Did you have Avery stall me after the bakery closed?”
He turned the lock on the back of the door. “Only because I remembered Café Mattia is your favorite restaurant, and it’s all the way across town. I thought I’d be here sooner, so I had to recruit reinforcements.”
“To ambush me,” I pointed out. Holding the wet rag in one hand, I put the other on my hip. “Normally one invites someone to have dinner with them.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I did and you turned me down, remember? Can we discuss this upstairs? I don’t want our dinner to get cold. I assume angel hair pasta marinara is still your favorite?” He turned and started up the stairs that led to the private rooftop terrace. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. “Come on, Melinda. One meal with an old friend. What’s that going to hurt?”
It could hurt plenty. Just like that one kiss years ago that had ripped me apart. But I reminded myself that I wasn’t that same young girl anymore. I was a strong adult, who had worked in this bakery and resisted those tempting chocolate marshmallow fudge bars. So I could certainly resist the equally enticing Nate Carter.
Chapter Four
I followed Nate up the stairs until we reached the top of Bernie’s two-story building, then I stopped and looked around. The private rooftop terrace had a three and a half foot railing surrounding the tiled space, with various plants scattered around the edges. Under the dark evening sky, I glanced out at the surrounding rooftops, admiring the bird’s eye view of this charming neighborhood.
This outdoor space felt so special that it seemed like a shame Bernie had never used the terrace as part of his business. When we were in junior high, Nate and I used to sneak up here with his friends while his dad was working downstairs. When it was late enough in the evening the boys would tell ghost stories, which had always freaked me out.
Thinking of the multitude of memories, a smile formed on my lips. It had been years since I’d been up here—or maybe since anyone had been up here, judging by the dead leaves and grime. This place could really use some T.L.C. Glancing around, I pictured a few improvements I could do, then immediately envisioned hosting elegant parties up here once I owned the bakery. Perhaps an exclusive Saturday night dinner where guests had to purchase tickets in advance. The concept excited me.
Suddenly I pictured groups of ladies dressed up enjoying my Saturday night parties with their friends, and something tugged at my heart. I thought I’d gotten over longing to be included in a group of friends that seemed so easy for most women. Maybe the “forced” girls’ night this Friday was putting the spotlight on the fact that I’d always be an outsider.
I sighed. At least I would love my job.
In order to buy Bernie’s Bakery, though, I had to get through the four tasks on my dad’s Carpe Diem list pronto before someone else put an offer on the building. The girls’ night was already in the works for Friday night. I’d also texted Ginger earlier to see if she’d allow me to have a dog at her condo—the local shelter was full of poor pups needing a home, right? Now I was waiting to hear back. I’d run out to the shelter as soon as Ginger gave me the green light.
That left me two more tasks to work on. Only date someone who leaves you breathless, and fix your biggest regret.
The last guy I’d dated was a successful financial analyst—my mom clearly shouldn’t have married so adventurous, so I stuck with cautious business men who don’t go riding off into the sunset on wild mustangs then break their necks halfway down the trail—and although he
had sounded good on paper, he hadn’t come anywhere close to leaving me breathless.
And fix my biggest regret? That would prove problematic since it meant going up in a hot air balloon with my dad and he was dead. I’d wanted to say “yes” to him each and every time he’d invited me, but I’d been scared. Now it was too late.
Why had my dad given me such difficult tasks? Instead of helping me seize life, they were starting to seize me a headache.
Needing to get this dinner over with so I could work on my dreaded list, I turned in the direction Nate had gone when we’d arrived up here. Next to one of the railings sat a white-clothed table with two candles in the center that he’d apparently set up. There was also a bottle of wine on a nearby cart.
Nate stopped next to the table, set the white paper bag with our dinner on the cart, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. I frowned as he lit the candles.
This “friendly” rooftop meal looked way too romantic. Also, it was pretty nervy of him to secretly arrange this dinner after the way he’d left things between us when he’d moved away. I needed to keep it crystal clear that this meal was in no way an actual date. In truth, we weren’t really even friends since he’d ended that relationship by never calling me again.
Pivoting back toward the hatch we’d come through, I flipped on the light switch, illuminating the neglected terrace. I nodded. “Much better.”
Nate twisted my way as I strolled toward the table. “What gives?”
“Dim lighting reminds me too much of a date.” I draped my blazer over the back of a chair, set my purse on the floor beside it, then turned to him. My heart tugged at his disappointed expression. “You and I don’t need candlelight to eat a meal together. I’m actually confused as to why you’re going to all of this trouble to have dinner with me, anyway.”
His eyes flicked to mine. “Maybe I’ve missed you.”
My belly fluttered at his words, but I steeled my gaze. “That makes no sense. You moved away fourteen years ago without so much as a word to me. Now you appear out of nowhere and want to pick up our friendship where we left off? What would be the point of that? You’ll probably take off when you’re dad’s feeling better, then I’ll never hear from you again.”
Déjà Date Page 4
