Finding Our Way Back (A Well Paired Novel)

by Rice, Marianne

  “Can we not bring up my ex in front of my new...” No, not boyfriend. That would require a commitment. Something she wasn’t ready to give.

  Not that she wanted to see anyone else. It was her privacy she wanted to keep. A relationship would mean talking about their pasts, their future plans. Marriage. Kids. A family.

  Something she couldn’t have.

  “Even if he isn’t your boyfriend, it was very sweet of him to bring you back home to get your car.”

  “I know. He’s a nice guy. We have a lot of the same friends, which is how we sort of hooked up. Only in a completely innocent way.”

  “It’s okay, honey.” Her mother patted her on the shoulder and reached back in the fridge for the garden salad. “Why don’t you set the salads on the table, and I’ll get the plates. The chicken should be almost done by now.”

  Thanking her mother for dropping the subject, she obliged and carried the food to the table.

  “Can I give you a hand?” Carter asked as he stepped inside, taking the salad from her.

  “I think we’re all set. Are you okay with iced tea? Dad has some beers in the fridge if you want one.”

  “I’ll stick with tea, thanks.”

  “Dad?” she called through the opened deck door.

  “I’ll take a beer, peanut butter cup.”

  Carter lifted a brow in question.

  “I have a weakness. Dad turned it into a nickname. If you ever call me that, I’ll ... I’ll do something you won’t like.”

  She used to tease Tristan the same way, only she threatened to keep her kisses from him if he called her that.

  Making the same threat to Carter would make their relationship sound more like ... a relationship.

  “I don’t doubt you will.” He laughed and took the potato salad from her.

  Jenna busied herself with the drinks while her mother got down the plates. The conversation flowed over lunch. Carter fit in well, as she figured he would. He was like a chameleon in that way.

  No matter the situation—tense, casual, funny, serious—Carter always seemed to know what to say and how to make everyone feel at ease.

  She liked him a lot. A real lot.

  If only she could get Tristan to stop infiltrating his way into every thought she had. The man was really getting on her nerves.

  After they cleaned up lunch, Carter asked if she was ready to leave.

  “Actually, I want to visit with Mindy before she goes back home. I’ll walk you out to your truck.”

  He said goodbye to her parents, and they went outside. With her parents as a backdrop and the sun still shining in the sky, she wasn’t worried about Carter wanting a make-out session.

  He tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ears and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Your parents are really nice people. I hope to see them again soon.”

  In other words, he wanted that relationship thing she’d been avoiding.

  “They liked you too. Drive safe. And thank you again for giving up your day for me.”

  “A day spent with you is not giving anything up; it’s gaining something.”

  Such sweet, poetic words that should have had her heart in a flutter. Damn. Maybe she’d grown heartless in her years.

  When he drove off, she went back inside and faced her parents.

  Sure enough, her mother was sitting on the couch, legs crossed as she used to sit when she came home past her curfew. “Mindy left this morning. You’re the one who told me that on the phone earlier today.”

  “I know. I needed some time alone.”

  “Won’t you be alone on your drive home?” her father asked from his recliner.

  “True.” Jenna sat next to her mom and rested her head on her shoulder. “I need my space.”

  “I like him.” This from her father.

  “I do too. He’s a nice fit for you, honey.” Her mother stroked her braid.

  “He is. He has all the qualities I’d want in a man, if I was looking for one.”

  “It’s been nearly seven years since the divorce. Aren’t you ready to move on? Settle down? Marry?”

  Almost eight years since she lost her daughter, and nearly seven since she kicked Tristen out of her life. Two traumatic loses she would never fully recover from. Her daughter could never be replaced, but Tristan could.

  “I thought so. I think so. When the right man comes along, I’ll know it, right? That’s what you and Dad have been saying to me for years.”

  “And you don’t think Carter is the right man?” Her father crossed an ankle over a knee.

  “I want him to be.”

  “Fair enough.” Her mother patted her knee and stood. “I’ll get your cookies. You’re exhausted, and I don’t want you on the road late tonight. Unless you want to stay here.”

  “No. I miss my bed.” More-so, her comfort bear. “I didn’t get to sleep in it last night.”

  Jenna groaned, knowing her father wouldn’t let that one slip past his radar.

  “Did you stay with friends?”

  “Not exactly.” She followed her mother into the kitchen and put the bag of cookies in her purse. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Did you stay at Tristan’s?” Her father blocked her escape route. “Is that why you’re wearing the same clothes from last night?”

  Mindy had told them she’d gone home with him. When Jenna called them this morning, she kept their conversation focused on Jerry and her need to come and get her keys.

  “I was locked out of the house. It was the middle of the night, and I didn’t want to wake up my friends.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this morning?”

  Um, because she wasn’t in high school anymore.

  “It’s not important. I slept on his couch.” Spooned by his warmth. “It’s not like we’re dating or are back together or anything.”

  “I’m glad Tristan was there to take care of you.” Her father always liked him. So did her mother. To her parents, he could do no wrong. The divorce had hurt them and her brother almost as much as it had hurt her.

  Almost.

  “Like you said, I’m tired. I didn’t bring it up because I knew you’d make a big deal about it.”

  “We’ll respect your privacy.” For now, she could almost hear her mother mumble.

  Escaping with her bag of cookies, she kissed her parents and fled down the front steps welcoming the quiet, lonely ride back to Crystal Cove.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There weren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week to take on all the jobs offered to Tristan. He replied to another email and closed his laptop, taking a moment to kick his feet up on his coffee table and sit back and close his eyes.

  With his business in high demand, he thought about upping his rate, but he was already in the pricier range when it came to catering companies around Maine.

  Keeping his food as fresh and local as possible was expensive. And worth it. Picking and eating fresh strawberries in California was a completely different experience than buying the same strawberries and buying them in a store in New England.

  Just like fresh, wild blueberries growing along paths in the woods were more crisp, sweet, and tart than any Maine wild blueberries bought in the freezer section at any grocery store across the country.

  Closing his eyes wasn’t a good idea. For the past week, every time he had a moment to zone out, he pictured Jenna in that sexy as sin off-the-shoulder top and those red cowboy boots. Her style had done a one-eighty since their days together.

  Comfort had been her style of choice; never had she been one to glam up. Her favorite weekend attire had been his college sweatshirt and one of his button-down flannel shirts from L.L. Bean.

  It didn’t matter how many years had passed, how much she’d changed, or how hard he tried to get over her, she would always own a piece of his heart. He never wanted the marriage to end. She’d never done anything wrong in his eyes, and no woman he ever met could hold a candle to her.

  It was why
his marriage to Beth had been the perfect one. They both went into the marriage with their number one goal their business relationship and not their personal one.

  Beth never wanted children. At first Tristan had thought about trying to convince her otherwise, but then realized that made her even more perfect for him. Losing his daughter was devastating. For months he and Jenna had talked about nothing other than her, being parents, having a family.

  They talked about the family trips they’d take, and argued over their future children’s names. No woman could ever replace Jenna, and no child could replace the one they’d lost. So Beth not wanting the same things he and Jenna dreamed about was perfect.

  She wasn’t a replacement for Jenna. Nor were any of the other women he saw before and after his relationship with Beth.

  Moving on had never been his intention. Neither had starting over. Instead, he focused on his business and making a career out of his life. If he couldn’t be satisfied personally, at least he could be professionally.

  At least that was what he thought. From the moment he ran into Jenna two months ago, she monopolized his every thought. Instead of thinking about her in the past and all the memories they’d shared, he thought of her in the now. In the future.

  Now: What would she think of his lobster bisque? Of his cilantro pesto? What would she look like standing in his bedroom wearing only those cowboy boots and a smile? Would she still moan his name softly when they made love?

  Future: Did she want to live in Crystal Cove forever? Would they agree on a house to live in? A classic colonial or an old farmhouse? Now that they were financially stable, would they travel? Would they, could they, have a family together? He’d mentioned adoption two months after the accident, and she’d accused him of not loving their child. It seemed nothing he could do or say was enough to keep them together.

  All these thoughts—heck, wishes—were a moot point if she were seeing someone. Carter Marshall.

  Tristan had heard about him and his family when stopping at local farm stands to get fresh ingredients for the wine pairing.

  The younger brother to Brady, who was planning a wedding with Grace, another friend of Jenna’s, who had inquired about his catering service. Grace had, not the fiancé.

  If Tristan took the job, it would mean he’d see Jenna again. It would also mean she’d be dancing with another man who wasn’t him.

  Carter.

  The man she laughed with and spun around the dance floor with at the Parker wedding.

  The man who came to her rescue to bring her back home to pick up her keys and her car.

  The man who scrutinized the hell out of him trying to figure out if Tristan was a threat.

  The man who staked his claim to Jenna.

  Tristan wasn’t above fighting for a woman if the woman wanted to be fought over. Or if he thought he had a snowball in Hell’s chance of winning her back.

  Winning her back? Was that what he wanted?

  Tristan opened his eyes and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead on the heels of his hands.

  Was this what he wanted? Selfishly, yes. Unselfishly ... yes. He wanted Jenna to be happy again. The question was, would she be happier with this Carter guy or with Tristan?

  Once he figured that out, he’d make his next plan of action. First, was to learn everything he could about Carter Marshall who had his eye on Tristan’s girl.

  “YOU MUST SEE IT ALL, working in the diner in the heart of town.” Tristan held his empty mug up to the waitress—Priscilla.

  “You bet’cha, sugar muffin, I do. The Sunrise Diner has been a staple of this town ever since my mama started baking her blueberry muffins.”

  “Secret family recipe?”

  “Unless you know who Betty Crocker is.” Priscilla rested her full figure on the counter and set the steaming coffee pot down. “You’re new around here? Or just passing through.”

  Passing through would have been the answer if Jenna hadn’t lived in town. “I’m doing business with Coastal Vines.”

  “Ah. You one of those fancy wine dealers?”

  “Not quite. I own a catering business. I’m the food side of the bi-monthly wine and food pairings at the winery.”

  If she hadn’t heard about him or the pairings, then maybe she wasn’t as much of a wealth of knowledge as he had assumed.

  “So you’re the guy.” The bun on top of her head shifted from side to side as she tilted her head back and forth as she studied him. The yellowing fluorescent lights highlighted the streaks of gray in her dark red hair, putting her at an age between fifty and seventy.

  “I could be the guy. Guess it depends on what you’ve heard.”

  He sipped on his coffee—an impressive blend for what appeared to be a rundown diner—and studied her. Two could play at this game. He wanted to know what she’d heard, and she wanted to know his story. Or if the story she’d heard was true.

  “At first Alexis was all aghast because you agreed to meet with them. She raved on and on about her husband for arranging a meeting with you.”

  And then? he wanted to ask. Instead, he kept his eagerness to himself, hiding behind the steamy coffee.

  “This is good,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.

  “Do you want to know what else she said?” Priscilla picked up the coffee pot again and moved to the other side of the counter, wiping it as she moved.

  “Only if you want to tell me.” Yeah. He didn’t care so much about what the Martellis thought of him; it was the other rumors that may have spread around town and gotten back to Jenna that he wanted to hear.

  Or the stories from Jenna that had gotten around town.

  The man behind the grill called out an order, and Priscilla picked up two plates stacked high with pancakes.

  “You’re connected to one of Alexis’ friends. Hurt her, if my senses are accurate. Which they always are.” She lowered her eyes at him before walking away to deliver the food.

  Hurt her? No, he’d done everything in his power not to. Lying to her was the only way to protect her already fragile heart. If Jenna had known the truth about that day, he feared she’d never come out of the dark depression she’d suffered for too many years.

  Seeing her now, happy, fulfilled, having fun with friends, told Tristan he’d made the right decision, even if it meant she hated him.

  Only it wasn’t fair. He wanted a second chance with Jenna. Now that she had time to heal, maybe they could get back what they had. Or at least a semblance of it.

  But was that fair to her? To open wounds? He didn’t want to open them, to discuss them. There was nothing to discuss. He wanted to start fresh. They were different people now than they were seventeen years ago when they first met in high school.

  Different people than they were seven years ago when they divorced.

  The cook tapped the bell and shouted out to Priscilla who had been talking with customers. She came back, took the plate from under the heating lamp, and set it in front of Tristan.

  “Denver omelet and a side of hash.”

  “Thank you. It smells delicious.”

  “Not as fancy as the grub you whip up, I bet.”

  Maybe not. Still, he found comfort in a good old-fashioned breakfast. “Variety is the spice of life.” He cut into his omelet and nodded in appreciation as he chewed. “It’s perfect,” he said after he swallowed. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “Aren’t you a cheeky one?” Again, she did that over-the-top study of him as if she was trying to use her x-ray vision to see if he really had a heart.

  “I know good food when I taste it.” He wanted her to get back to the subject of him. Well, the rumors, gossip, or general opinion of him around town. If there was any.

  As if reading his mind, she took a pencil out of her bun and tapped it on the counter. “You’re connected, aren’t you?”

  “Connected?” He figured she wasn’t referring to the mafia or mob. He was a Mainer just like her and most of the
town. He may be an outsider, but he was a far cry from a mobster. They didn’t run amuck in the state known for its rocky coast, lobsters, blueberries, and pine trees.

  “To the people here. To one person.” Priscilla peered at him. Slowly, she lowered her head and leaned closer to him as if searching for some secret hidden message etched on his face.

  “I’m connected to Maine. And I’m now connected, in a way, to your winery. I’ve been visiting the local farmers to incorporate their produce into my cooking.”

  She shook her head and leaned in freakishly close.

  “You’re surrounded in yellows. Career orientated. You put work above personal relationships. You are content being alone. An inventor. Very scientific.”

  Woah. Was she ... doing a psychic read of him? Her perception was scarily spot on. Even the science inventor side in him. He’d majored in chemical engineering—how would she know that? But he fell in love with experimenting with food, not chemicals. And the workaholic piece had been spot on as well.

  The woman nailed him to a T.

  “You have excellent observation skills and can read people easily,” she accurately assessed.

  Shit. “How do you know that?” Squirming uncomfortably in his seat, he set his fork down and straightened the napkin in his lap.

  It was one of his favorite things to do when people sampled his food. He watched for the twitches, the eyes. When they went big and round, he considered it a success. When they narrowed, it meant they weren’t a fan.

  “It’s the yellow that’s dominating you now, but there’s another color trying to break through. You’ve changed. This yellow, it’s a part of you, but not all of you. There’s more. More layers. You’re hiding something underneath. At first glance I see green, but I don’t think that’s accurate. You’re not a blend of the two.”

  “Priscilla, can I get a refill?” a customer behind him called.

  “Of what two?”

  “Blue.”

  The spell was broken, and she picked up the coffee pot from the burner and casually sashayed away like she hadn’t blown his mind.