Sweet Somethings

by Barbara Freethy

  "Timing. Her father." Vincent shook his head. "A lack of courage."

  "But you did love her."

  "It wasn't enough."

  "Could you try again?" Juliette had really rubbed off on him. He didn’t usually get involved in other people's love lives.

  "We're old now. There's no time left."

  "You're not dead yet," he said bluntly, because that's the kind of plain talk his grandfather understood. "If there was ever a time to take a chance, it's now."

  "I can't imagine her reaction if I even said hello to her after all these years."

  "You don't say hello?"

  "Sometimes our eyes meet, but then one of us looks away."

  "So next time, don't look away."

  "Next time?" Vincent asked warily.

  "We should go to the Sweetheart's Dance tonight. Everyone will be there—probably Cecelia. And it's for a good cause. The ticket sales are going to support the homeless shelters in town."

  "I know that, but if I'm going to a dance, I'm not going with my grandson," he said roughly.

  He grinned. "I admit you're not my choice of a date, either. We can meet there. Maybe we won't end up alone at the end of the night."

  "You've got your eyes on Juliette," Vincent said with a gleam in his eyes.

  "Hard not to," he admitted.

  "She's a beauty," his grandfather agreed. "And spunky, too. Reminds me of your grandmother." He took a breath. "I don't want you to think I didn’t love your grandmother, because I did. We had a good life together. If she was alive, I'd be with her, and I'd be happy."

  "I understand."

  "Cici and I had a different story."

  "It looks like your story might have another chapter."

  "We'll see. I definitely have some things to think about."

  He hoped his grandfather didn't think too long, didn't waste this moment in time, but it was up to him now. He'd done his part.

  Fourteen

  "Your apartment is cozy and cute," Cecelia told Juliette as she wandered around the studio Saturday afternoon. "It reminds me of my first place. I felt so independent, so modern, to be on my own." Her smile was a bit sad. "That was a long time ago."

  "Please, sit down." She waved Cecelia toward one of the two chairs at her small kitchen table. While she'd been swamped in the bakery downstairs, when Cecelia had shown up, she couldn't resist taking a break and inviting her upstairs so she could talk to her before she handed over the letters.

  "I don't want to take up too much of your time," Cecelia said.

  "Don't worry about it. I could use a few minutes off. My day started around four, so I've already put in twelve hours."

  "That's so early. I don't know how you do it."

  "It's a busy time of the year for me, but I love it."

  "That's the way it should be." Cecelia's gaze strayed to the metal box between them. "I still can't quite believe you found that."

  "Roman was the one who discovered it under the floorboard. He thought the letters might belong to my parents; that's why he called me about it. But we soon realized that they'd most likely been written years before. Can I say again how beautiful your writing is? I felt like I was experiencing the same emotions you were. I was completely caught up in your story."

  "That's sweet of you to say. I've always felt more comfortable writing than speaking. Words come easier when I don't have to say them out loud." She drew in a breath. "You want to know the whole story, don't you?"

  "If you have any interest in sharing—yes. I think I know the man you were writing about."

  "I had a feeling you might figure that out." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I met Vincent when I was nineteen years old. He was twenty-three and so handsome, so worldly. I had seen him around, but the first time I spoke to him was in the drugstore. He had a cold, and he asked me if I knew what medicine he should take." She smiled to herself. "It shouldn't have been romantic at all, but when he smiled at me, I felt a fluttering in my heart that I'd never felt before."

  "That's sweet," she whispered, once again caught up in Cecelia's story.

  "It seemed like fate had thrown us together. We probably wouldn't have met otherwise. My parents were very protective of me, and Vincent was a diamond in the rough, you know? He was a construction worker, and my father had bigger plans for my future. But I didn't care about those plans. Vincent and I saw each other whenever I could sneak out to meet him. Being with him was…exhilarating."

  Juliette smiled at the love in Cecelia's eyes. The years were fading away as she told the story, as she remembered the girl she'd once been.

  "I fell madly in love with him," Cecelia continued. "I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't wait until I could see him again. He was my world. It was all him—every breath that I took." The gleam in her eyes dimmed. "Until my father found out about us. I know it will seem silly to a woman of your generation, but fifty years ago, my father ruled our house. What he wanted for his children was all that mattered, and he wanted me to marry the son of the senior partner at his law firm. He said it would make his career, that he would be named a partner, that he would never have to worry about being fired, and that we needed the security. My mother had a lot of health problems, and her care was expensive."

  "It sounds so mercenary," she muttered.

  Cecelia nodded. "It was all about the money. The man in question—he wasn't bad. He was even somewhat attractive. I just didn't love him. And I couldn't talk to him the way I talked to Vincent. He and I could discuss anything. We could share our dreams and not feel foolish. That wasn't the case with the other man. I didn't know what to do, Juliette. I didn't know how to say no to my father. And it wasn't just about him; it was about my mother, too. She was ill, and I did want the best care for her."

  "It sounds like a complicated situation. But you had a sister. Why couldn't Martha marry him and save the family?"

  "Martha was already engaged. Her fiancé was in medical school. He was someone my father approved of, because he was going to be a doctor. He thought his girls would have dream lives as the wife of a doctor and the wife of a lawyer."

  "So you broke things off with Vincent and agreed to marry the other man?" she asked, eager to hear the rest of the story.

  "Yes. It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do. Vincent was angry and hurt. The pain in his eyes almost killed me. He thought I was weak and a coward, and he wasn't wrong. He said horrible things, and I felt like I deserved them." Cecelia's chest heaved as she tried to breathe through the painful memories. "Vincent left town shortly after our breakup. He said he couldn't stay and watch me marry someone else. For the next year, I planned my wedding and tried to pretend my life wasn't ending. But as the date neared, I got cold feet. I knew I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't marry this man when I loved someone else. It wasn't fair to him or to me. I finally got up the courage to call it off."

  "That must have been incredibly difficult."

  "It was awful," she said with a shudder. "I hurt him terribly. I felt so bad about that."

  "Did you go to Vincent then?"

  "Yes. I found out where he was living, and I went to find him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I loved him and only him, but when I got there, I saw him in a pub with another woman. They had their friends with them, and they were toasting to Vincent's engagement. I watched him kiss her, and then I left without saying a word. They got married a few months after that, and six or seven years later, they came back to Fairhope with a son."

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "I really wish your story would have ended differently."

  Cecelia gave her a watery smile. "It was my own fault. I didn't have the courage to pick the man I really wanted, to go against my father, to stand up for Vincent. I know Vincent was disheartened by my lack of strength. He didn't believe I loved him enough."

  "I'm sure he understood that your father was too powerful for you to fight."

  "At some level, perhaps, but every man wants a woman who will fig
ht for him. At any rate, I tried to be happy that Vincent had found happiness with someone else. He deserved that. His wife was a good woman. I got to know her a bit over the years."

  "Really?"

  "It's a small town. Our circles sometimes intersected. I don't think she knew anything about the romance I had with Vincent. I never told her, and I don't think he did, either."

  "Did you ever come close to marrying anyone else?"

  Cecelia shook her head. "No. I never met a man who touched my heart in that way. There were some men I cared for. One I lived with for a while, but he eventually left when he realized my heart was not there for him. I wasn't really lonely; I had Martha."

  "Wait! What happened to Martha's fiancé?"

  "He finished medical school and decided he didn't want to marry her after she'd waited all those years. So he broke it off."

  "And she never found anyone else, either?"

  "Actually, she did. She was engaged again in her thirties, but that man died in a freak skiing accident. After that, she gave up on love. She said we were destined to be spinster sisters. She was right. She's been there for me, and I've been there for her."

  She thought about Cecelia's words as another thought occurred to her. "Is Martha why you never talked to Vincent after his wife died? Did you feel like you couldn't break the sister spinster bond? Because surely you must have thought about it."

  "I might have had a passing thought, but it was too late. Thirty years had passed before his wife died. He had a son, a grandson. Our time was over."

  "It's never too late," she said, daring to push a little, because it was clear that whatever Cecelia had felt for Vincent, it was still there.

  "You say that because you are young, because you still see forever. I see my time left in years."

  "Then you should make the most of those years."

  "Martha and I are a pair. We're the Grayson sisters."

  "You'd still be sisters. If she loves you, she'd want you to be happy, just as you'd want her to be happy if the situation were reversed."

  "I don't know about that," Cecelia said. "Martha can be very controlling. She's a lot like my father. Even if I wanted to try…I'm sure Vincent still hates me. He can't even say hello to me when our paths cross. He always looks away."

  "Maybe he needs a reason to keep looking—a smile, a welcome. One of you has to make the first move. And it has to be you, because you're the one who broke things off. You have to be the one to take the risk now."

  "I don't know if I could."

  "You should go to the dance tonight. Vincent will be there. What better time to reconnect than at the Sweetheart's Dance?"

  "I'm sure Vincent won't go to that. He's not a dancer."

  "He might go. Roman is trying to talk him into it."

  Cecelia smiled. "So you and Roman have a plan, do you?"

  "It's mostly my plan," she admitted. "It only extends to getting you both in the same place. The rest is up to you. I will say one thing, though. When I told Vincent that Roman found love letters hidden away in the house, he was shaken. I think he bought the house because you once lived there."

  "I wondered about that when I heard that he had purchased it. I loved that house, and I especially loved the backyard. We had a hammock between the trees back then. I used to sit there in the summer and dream about my life, my love, my future. But Vincent didn't share my love for the house. He said those walls kept me away from him. In that house, my father was king. I couldn't go against him. And Vincent and I could never meet there." She paused. "I didn't understand why he would buy my old home."

  And now she understood exactly why Vincent wanted to change it. "I have this crazy idea that he wants to rip down the walls that kept you apart. It won't be your father's house anymore; it will be his…maybe yours."

  "That would be insane. It's been so many years, and so many people lived there after me. You lived there."

  "I loved that house, too," she said, wondering why it felt suddenly more like Cecelia's home than hers. "I was devastated when I had to leave. When I came back here, I told myself one day I would buy it. But then I saw that the Prescotts were changing it completely, and at first, it really threw me. I felt like they were tearing up my past."

  "I understand, dear."

  "But now I'm starting to realize that the house has seen more stories than mine. It was foolish to think it was waiting for me to come back." She paused. "Will you come to the dance tonight? If not for Vincent, just come and have fun. I'll be there. I'm bringing desserts."

  "I'll think about it," Cecelia said, as she got to her feet.

  "Don't forget this." She stood up and handed Cecelia the metal box.

  "Thank you for these, Juliette. I doubt I would have gone as far as you did to find the owner."

  "Roman says I always go too far," she said, as she walked Cecelia out of her apartment and down the stairs.

  "Sometimes that's what it takes to be special."

  She laughed, thinking special was a nice way of saying pushy, but she'd take it.

  As she watched Cecelia walk down the street, she really hoped she'd come to the dance.

  What a miracle it would be if Cecelia and Vincent could find their way back to each other. Cecelia was interested. Hopefully, Vincent was, too.

  * * *

  The Sweetheart's Dance was held in the recreation center, but the usually plain auditorium had been turned into a romantic haven for the evening with pink streamers, bouquets of flowers on high-standing cocktail tables, black-and-white photographs of famous romantic couples through the years adorning the walls, and romantic music coming from a band on the stage. When the people of Fairhope went all in on a holiday, they went all in, Roman thought, as he perused the room.

  He didn't care that much about the decorations; he was far more interested in finding one beautiful brunette.

  When he saw Juliette, his heart jumped a beat, and he felt a tightness in his chest.

  She was standing in the back corner of the room with a dessert buffet bar set up in front of her. Next to her table was coffee from Donavan's, manned by Sara and Donavan. All three women wore cocktail dresses, but he only had eyes for Juliette.

  He loved that she'd left her hair down and loved even more the short, dark-red, spaghetti-strapped dress that hugged every beautiful curve. He couldn't wait to get his hands on those curves. It was the main reason he'd come to the dance. He knew he'd have an opportunity to do just that. He wasn't a big fan of dancing, but if it meant he could hold on to Juliette for a while, he was on board.

  He made his way to her table, happy to see her gaze light up when she saw him. He waited for her to hand the couple in front of him two chocolate-covered roses and then he stepped up. "How's it going?"

  "Wonderful. I'm so glad you came, Roman."

  "I can't believe you're here and looking more relaxed than you should be with your workload."

  "I'm not thinking about any of that right now. It feels good to be away from the ovens."

  Donavan moved over to say hello. "Nice to see you, Roman. You clean up well."

  "Thank you. You ladies look beautiful tonight."

  "Would you like some coffee?" Donavan asked.

  "No, thanks. I'm good for now on coffee and dessert."

  "Well, have fun," Donavan said as she went to help a middle-aged couple who had questions about whether the coffee was actually decaf.

  "You do look handsome in that suit," Juliette said. "I'm a little surprised you own one."

  "Don't get too excited. This is the only one. I usually don't wear it for happy occasions." Her face fell a little, and he mentally kicked himself for bringing down the mood. "But tonight is different."

  "It is a happy occasion," she agreed. "It will be even better if your grandfather and Cecelia show up."

  "I made my pitch yesterday."

  "So did I. Cecelia is still in love with your grandfather. She thinks it's too late, but I say it's never too late."

  Juliet
te certainly didn't have the word quit in her vocabulary. "What else did she tell you?"

  "The whole story. Her father wanted her to marry someone in his law firm that would ensure the future of his job, and she didn't say no. Eventually, she called it off, but by then your grandfather was engaged to your grandmother. Oh, and she did tell me that Martha was dumped after waiting years for her fiancé to finish medical school and then the next time she took a chance on love, her fiancé died."

  "That's rough. I almost feel sorry for her."

  "I think it explains why Martha is such an unhappy person."

  "I guess everyone has a story, don't they?"

  "They do. What did your grandfather say?"

  "That he hasn't spoken to Cecelia in years."

  "She said the same thing; that even when they cross paths, they just look at each other and then someone looks away."

  "Word for word, he told me the exact same thing."

  "So they're both super aware of each other. We have to get them together."

  "We put out the invitation. They have to do the rest." He could see the impatience in her eyes. "I know you want the best for them, but love happens between two people—not four."

  She smiled at that. "I know that, but we can give them a little push."

  "We've already done that."

  "Hang on one second," she said, moving to the table to hand out some more desserts.

  As she did so, his gaze moved toward the door, and he saw his grandfather walk into the room, along with his friend Max, who wheeled in next to him.

  As Max fell into conversation with a woman, Vincent moved a few feet away, his gaze sweeping the room. He saw Roman and gave him a short nod, then continued looking around the hall.

  "Your grandfather is here," Juliette said with excitement, moving next to him. "One down, one to go." She grabbed his hand. "Wait, there's Cecelia. She just came in with Martha. Our plan is working."

  He smiled. "Calm down. Nothing has happened yet. They just walked in."

  "The hardest part was getting them both here."

  "I'm not sure that was the most difficult part."