Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8)

by Brenna Jacobs

  If “under control” meant a Pinterest explosion on her laptop, then yeah. Totally under control. Minimizing the tab that promised “yummy yams for the pickiest eaters,” Hadley answered the ringing phone. “Second Glance, how can I help you today?”

  “Hi, honey, it’s Rose.”

  She shut her laptop and gave the call her full attention.

  “Hi, Rose. How are you feeling? Treatment day, right?”

  A soft laugh came through the line. “You sweetheart. Thanks for remembering. Yeah, I’m fine. Little tired. Listen, I could use some help.”

  “Of course. Anything.” Hadley pulled her coat from a rack behind the register. “I can be there in five minutes.”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” Rose said. “I just need your hands for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “You do?” Hadley couldn’t hide her surprise. She hung her coat back on the rack.

  “Do you have plans?” Rose said.

  “Actually,” Hadley answered, “my family is coming in for dinner. Staying the weekend. Scrutinizing all my life choices. Finding fault. You know, the usual.”

  “And you’re cooking? Hosting at your place?”

  Hadley leaned her elbows on the counter. “Maybe you could help me talk through this. What do you think if I feed them here in the shop? That way my mom can eat without searching every forkful for stray dog hair. She doesn’t need to know Edison’s ever been inside the shop.”

  “I love it. What a great idea,” Rose said. “I might be having a brilliant plan. How about this: after work Wednesday, you come spend some hours here helping me prepare pies and rolls and sides. Thursday morning, after we get a turkey in your oven and a couple in mine, we can decorate and set up your space, then we can go over to the station and do mine. By the time birds are ready to come out of the oven, we’ll be prepared to host all the finest guests.”

  “You’re making dinner for the station?” Hadley asked. She knew Rose used to do that when her husband had to work holidays.

  “Well, someone has to be on shift, and they really ought to eat.”

  Hadley turned around to lean her back against the wall. “Have you always been this awesome, or did you age into it?” she asked.

  Chuckling, Rose asked, “Are you suggesting that I’m getting sweet in my old age?”

  “I’m suggesting that you are amazing. If I didn’t already say it, yes, please. I’d love to let you help me serve my family the most terrifying meal of the year. And while we’re at it, we can feed those strapping firefighters a few bites, too.”

  “Great. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  “Thank you, Rose.” Hadley hung the phone on its cradle and realized she was smiling. She wondered if Rose somehow knew how desperately outmatched Hadley was by this holiday hosting thing, or if she’d really only called to ask for her help.

  And they’d managed to not mention Fletcher, although he was obliquely part of the conversation about eating at the station.

  It was very possible that she’d see him when she and Rose went over to set up the meal. And that would be fine. She’d smile at him and try to ignore the swooping in her stomach. She’d pretend it didn’t break her heart that he had turned so cold. She’d forget how it felt to have him back in her life for a while.

  No. She’d never, ever forget that.

  Since he’d turned to stone, she realized how much she longed for his small compliments. She wasn’t interested in anyone telling her she was fabulous and shaking pom-poms in her face. This wasn’t a pep rally. He had given her sincere, positive feedback on a project that she’d put her entire heart into. If he couldn’t wholeheartedly accept the bookshop as a great investment, at least he loved the game room idea.

  Fletcher Gates had given her what she’d always craved—the one thing she couldn’t give herself: He’d applauded her efforts in a sincere and respectful way and made her feel like her contribution was meaningful.

  Right up until he’d stopped talking to her altogether.

  She sighed.

  A text came through—a shopping list from Rose. She glanced through it and realized that Rose had taken it easy on her. She was giving her responsibility, but not a whole lot of ways to mess it up. She didn’t say “buy apples.” She said, “Get seven pounds of Granny Smith apples,” which made it so much easier to get it right.

  In fact, she was feeling so capable that she shot off a quick message to her parents.

  Can’t wait to have you here for dinner Thursday!

  No reply. Of course. Because they were busy people fitting in a week of important work in the few days before the holiday.

  It certainly wasn’t personal, so Hadley kept reminding herself not to take it personally.

  Wednesday, Hadley locked up the shop and put the “Happy Thanksgiving” sign that a kid had left in the poetry room up in the window. On the bottom of the sign, she’d added a note: “See you at 10:00 on Friday!” She hoped she would see some people Friday. Please, she said to the cold sky. Let me see someone on Friday. She took Edison for a quick run around the block, unloaded her fridge into the car, and drove to Fletcher’s house. Strike that. To Rose’s house.

  When Rose opened the door, Hadley was enveloped in a cloud of delicious smells.

  “How long have you been working already today?” Hadley asked.

  “Not as long as you have,” Rose answered. Hadley leaned over and kissed her cheek, a more affectionate display than either of them expected, but Rose hugged her and took a bag from her hands.

  “It smells like heaven in here.” Hadley shrugged off her coat and tossed it onto the couch.

  “Agreed. Heaven definitely smells like onions and garlic sautéing in butter with a little rosemary and thyme thrown in.”

  Hadley shook her head. “But only in autumn. In summer? Definitely honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass.”

  “Baby heads,” Rose said. When Hadley gave her a weird look, she said, “Trust me.”

  “Movie theater popcorn.” Hadley ducked her head in shame, until Rose agreed.

  “Pine sap.”

  “Mmm. But today, I just want to put this smell in a jar and keep my nose in it forever.” Hadley did a big, exaggerated sniff. “All right. I’m filled up now. What’s my job?”

  “Want to chop vegetables or roll pastry?”

  “I’m almost sure I can do both. Which one do you need first?”

  As Rose led Hadley to the cutting board where two stalks of celery balanced on a huge pile of onions, Hadley let herself relax into the moment, into the idea of doing simple work that would lead to very happy results. As she chopped celery into tiny pieces, she realized that this was the kind of work she was made for. Not food prep, but small, unassuming projects that would end in someone’s satisfaction. Which was exactly what her store was for her. And as tears ran down her face while she cut onions, she understood that it didn’t matter if her parents found her work worthwhile. She did. She felt proud of what she had created. She loved sharing her shop with her community. So she’d never be rich. She’d be satisfied. Happy. And that had to be enough for her parents. It was enough for her.

  Almost enough.

  When all the vegetables were in pieces and Hadley wiped her face, Rose showed her how to mix the vegetables with butter and dry bread for stuffing.

  “You’re actually going to stick this inside the bird carcass,” Hadley mused. “How is that even going to taste good?”

  Rose shook her head. “The problem is that you’re overthinking it. It’s a disgusting prospect, but you’re going to love the result. There are a few things in life like that, but I’m not going to talk about any more of them now. You’re welcome.”

  Hadley laughed, and recalled yet again how Fletcher’s sense of humor was so like his mom’s. “You’re good company, Rose.”

  “Not so bad yourself,” she replied.

  The bowl covered, they washed up and moved on to pastry. Rose had already made all the pie dough, and now she showed Hadley how to r
oll it out between sheets of plastic wrap until it was the right thickness. It took her a couple of tries, but within a few minutes, there were six pastry shells lining six pie pans.

  “Did you have to borrow these, or do you actually own six pie dishes?”

  Rose looked a tiny bit guilty. “I have at least a dozen. I know I don’t need that many. Nobody needs that many. But I love pie. And Paul loved pie. And once you’re making one, you might as well make three. I’m telling you this because I am likely to send you home with a few extras.” She pointed to a box of graham crackers, a sleeve of Oreo, and a tin of gingersnaps on the counter. “There are the rest of the pies, the ones that don’t need pastry.”

  Hadley put her hands on her hips. “How many?” she demanded, pretending to be cranky.

  Rose ducked her head. “Eleven, but one of them I figured we’d start eating tonight, so it’s not like we can serve it tomorrow.” She grinned. “Will two be enough for your family? Or should we send you with three?”

  Hadley laughed again. “One is plenty.”

  Without letting her finish, Rose broke in. “Two is the bare minimum, because one of the great joys of Thanksgiving is the pleasure of saying, ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly have a piece of pie,’ and then taking two because you couldn’t choose between them.”

  “I’m going to defer to your expertise on this one,” Hadley told her.

  “Apple, pumpkin, cherry, chocolate mousse, lemon custard, and key lime,” Rose said, pointing to ingredients lined up on the counter.

  Hadley felt her mouth begin to water. “This is the best story I’ve ever heard. Keep talking.”

  “I’ll talk. You peel.” She moved a stool with her foot and Hadley sat. She peeled all of the apples, sliced them, and added sugar and spices. Rose managed to direct her every move while still making Hadley feel like she was doing the work herself and would therefore deserve the credit.

  Rose mixed up pumpkin pie and put it in the oven while Hadley squeezed lemons and limes and looked over her shoulder, wondering if Fletcher was going to come in. Maybe hoping he would. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t. She couldn’t decide, so she listened as Rose told stories about Thanksgiving dinners in her childhood, about the first time she’d made a turkey for Paul and hadn’t known she was supposed to take the bag out of the bird first. Hadley made a mental note to find out what kind of bag might be inside the bird that had been thawing in her fridge for the past three days.

  “It’s so great of you to keep putting all this work into the station dinner,” Hadley said as she folded whipped cream into melted chocolate and reminded herself not to lick the spoon.

  “It’s an excuse, really,” Rose said. “I hate the thought of doing Thanksgiving alone. The idea of one pie feels kind of pathetic to me. So I go all out, but I need someone—a lot of someones—to eat it for me. Well,” she said, reaching over to stick her finger in the bowl Hadley was mixing, “to eat it with me.”

  “Thank you for including me,” Hadley said. She wished she could say more. Something about how she always felt more at home here than she ever did anyplace with her mother, something about how glad she was for all the years she was together with Fletcher because they had made possible her friendship with Rose.

  Before she could decide on the right way to say any of that, the front door flung open and Fletcher shouted, “Pie night!”

  Hadley felt nerves bubble up in her stomach. How would he respond to finding her there? She was determined to be pleasant. She hoped he would be, too.

  She heard him kick off his shoes and throw his coat on the chair. “Tell me you made chocolate mousse, please, or I’ll have to move out of town again.”

  Hadley raised her eyebrows at Rose when she heard this threat, but Rose only nodded. Apparently, this kind of behavior was expected.

  When he jogged into the kitchen, Hadley turned and gave him what she hoped was a friendly but not desperate smile. He stopped in front of her, his face a mix of every emotion except the cheerfulness she’d heard in his voice. There was some kind of battle going on in his head that made his body go tense but couldn’t hide the longing she saw in his eyes.

  “We only made one, and that one is going to dinner with the Booths,” Rose said, an air of unconcern in her voice.

  “Let me see,” Fletcher demanded, and Hadley pointed to the bowl she was holding, filled with pillowy folds of chocolate mousse. He looked from the bowl to her, the longing in his eyes growing more intense. Unsure whether the look was for her or the pie filling, Hadley held out the bowl. Fletcher reached for it, cradling it in his arms like he would love it and protect it from harm.

  “One? One chocolate pie? Woman,” he said to Rose, his puppy-dog eyes blinking at her, “do you not know me at all?”

  “You’re going to have to fight Hadley for it,” Rose said, unaffected by his face. Hadley wished she could say she felt the same. She was undoubtedly affected by his face.

  Fletcher glanced at Hadley, and she could have sworn she heard him let out a sigh of resignation, but before she had time to think about it, he’d set down the bowl and taken her by the arms.

  “Wait—what?” Hadley asked just as Fletcher maneuvered her out of the kitchen.

  “You know I’ve always held you in the highest regard, Hadley Booth,” Fletcher said, the look on his face completely serious, “but if you take my chocolate pie, you’re not going to live through the night.” He picked her up and tossed her onto the couch, then stood over her and said, “If you want it, you have to beat me to it.”

  She jumped off the couch at the same time he sprinted toward the kitchen. Hadley ran after him, but he beat her to the bowl and had it back in his arms by the time she got there.

  “How can you live with yourself, calling it your pie?” Hadley planted herself in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Your mom bought the ingredients. I made it with my own hands. You wander in here and demand your pie? Seems to me you’re going to have to earn it.”

  Fletcher scooped a finger full of filling from the bowl and stuck it in his mouth. “Are you hearing this?” he asked Rose. He turned back to Hadley and said, “Since time immemorial, it has been woman’s duty to make the chocolate pie. And man’s privilege to eat the chocolate pie. Ask any historian. This is the way of the world.”

  “That is the most demented view of history I’ve ever heard.” Hadley held back a laugh while holding out her arms for the bowl. But even though she knew he was joking, it did make a little sense where he was coming from after hearing Rose talk about how much she enjoyed organizing this meal for the people she loved.

  “Rose, I think you created this monster,” Hadley said.

  Rose laughed and said, “There is only one sure way to cure this injustice. In the future, man’s privilege will be to make the pie for the pleasure of the women.”

  Hadley held up a finger for Fletcher’s attention. “And I think it’s only fair to warn you,” she said, leaning close and delivering the warning in a whisper, “the future starts now.”

  “She’s right, son. Give her the filling back,” Rose said, threatening him with the spatula she held.

  Fletcher laughed and handed Hadley the bowl. “I accept this future,” he said. Their hands touched as he passed off his treasured pie. He smelled of soap and shaving cream, and she guessed he’d showered at the station.

  Standing here, in this warm kitchen filled with delicious smells, surrounded by these people she had loved for so long, Hadley allowed herself to feel completely secure. Knowing the entire scene was driven by hunger didn’t make it any less delightful for every moment it could last.

  Chapter 15

  Fletcher sat down at the table his mom and Hadley had spent the morning setting up and decorating. It hardly looked like the station at all. There were real plates, flowers, tablecloths, and so much homemade food.

  Everything smelled divine, and there was enough for everyone to have as much as they could handle. Rose had made two turkeys and a ham, mounds of ma
shed potatoes, buttery rolls, and a whole table full of pies. Including two chocolate mousse pies that his mom had made before she even called Hadley to come over. Rose just loved to make him act like a crazy person. Not that he’d minded. Hadley had seemed to like watching Rose mess with Fletcher. Playful Hadley was as much fun as he remembered her being.

  He only wished she was doing something other than playing. He wished she wanted to be serious. But he knew her, and he knew that if she’d wanted him, she’d have said so. Loudly. Frequently. Unmistakably. He’d made a mistake not keeping his distance from her yesterday. Now all he could think about was her waist in his hands when he’d thrown her over his shoulder. Seeing her in his old house again had brought back too many memories and sucked him back into what they used to be. It had been a moment of weakness that he couldn’t let happen again.

  A couple of the guys’ families had come by the station to join them for dinner, so there were a few little kids, and three teenagers who looked unwilling to be part of the whole thing until they saw the food. Hadley and Rose had won them all over with the feast.

  Nick was sitting across the table from Fletcher, Savanna in the chair next to Nick. There might have been space between them, but it was one of those particle physics things, where the distance couldn’t be measured by the human eye.

  That had happened fast. Wasn’t it last week that Savanna had scorned every firefighter simply because of his job? Didn’t she despise them all? And then there was the thing about Hadley. Two days ago, everyone knew (or at least thought they knew) that Nick was crazy about Hadley. And now, here he was with Savanna. Earlier this afternoon, Fletcher had cornered Nick to ask him about it.

  “So, you and Savanna,” he said, unable to form the words to ask when/how/why he’d gotten over Hadley.