Sweet Haven

by Shirlee McCoy

  “There you go again, Pollyanna.” She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out keys. “Ever the optimist.”

  She marched up the porch stairs, Tiny prancing along beside her.

  He could have said good night and headed home. He probably should have.

  “Cute place,” he said instead, running his hand over the porch railing.

  “I think so. Janelle thinks it’s too small.”

  It was small—shotgun style with a steeply angled roof and dormers that hinted at finished attic space. “Depends on how many people are living in it.”

  “Just me. And Tiny. He thinks he’s a person, so I guess that counts.” She unlocked the door, opened it. “Of course, Janelle lives in as close to a mansion as Benevolence has ever seen, so I guess she’s used to grander things.”

  He knew Janelle’s house. Everyone who’d grown up in Benevolence did. A huge Victorian that sat on double lots in the heart of town, the place had turret rooms, wraparound porches, and gingerbread trim. Built by the first Lamont to settle in Benevolence, it had been passed down from one generation to the next. According to the rumors Sinclair had heard growing up, it had been gifted to Janelle and her husband after their first daughter was born. He hadn’t cared much about the rumors, but he’d been fascinated by the house. “I always thought it was the coolest place in town,” he said.

  She shrugged. “That’s probably because you didn’t live in it.”

  He’d lived in a hell of a lot worse, but he didn’t say that. She knew it. Everyone in town did. “You didn’t like living there?”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.” She stepped inside, motioning for him to follow.

  “What would you say, then?” he asked as Adeline unhooked Tiny’s leash.

  “I’d say that it was like living in a museum. Lots of pretty things that could be looked at and not touched.”

  “Tough life,” he said, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  She must have heard it. Either that, or she suddenly remembered who she was talking to—a man who’d grown up in a place so filled with junk, it had been almost impossible to walk through the rooms.

  Her cheeks went pink, and she frowned. “You know it wasn’t, Sinclair. I had a great life. I also had an entire list of things that I wanted to do. None of them could be done in the Lamont family home.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Sliding down the railing. Having sleepovers with friends. Dinner in the living room. Tag in the family room.”

  “Big dreams,” he said. All he’d wanted was to sleep in a bed that wasn’t covered with crap in a room that wasn’t filled to the brim with his grandfather’s junkyard finds.

  “Yes. I’ve replaced them with bigger ones.”

  “Like?”

  “Dinner. I’m starving.”

  He figured that was a hint for him to leave, and he reached for the door handle. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  She hesitated, and he knew she thought she owed him, that she was trying to figure out the proper way to repay the debt.

  He could have told her it wasn’t necessary.

  He didn’t do things he didn’t want to, and he didn’t help people with the expectation that he’d be helped in return.

  “I’ll give you a ride back to Byron’s,” she finally offered.

  He wasn’t surprised. Good manners were bred into people like Adeline. They had a family image to uphold and social expectations to meet. One of the few benefits of being born into his family was that there had been no expectations. Teachers, preachers, counselors, they’d all made allowances for the Jefferson boys.

  Poor things don’t know what good manners are.

  He’d heard that whispered more times than he could count, so he’d worked doubly hard on having good manners and a good work ethic. It hadn’t mattered. Name was everything in Benevolence. The Jefferson name had been mud for longer than Sinclair had been alive.

  “No need for a ride,” he said, shaking off the frustration that he always felt when he thought of his family. “I’ve still got to finish my run.”

  “Do you always run this late at night?” she asked.

  Only when the demons were chasing him. He wasn’t going to tell her that, though.

  “Depends on how busy my day is and how late it is when I finish my work. How about you?”

  “I only run when I’m chasing Tiny, or when I’ve got a god-awful orange dress to wear for a wedding and I’m too big for it.”

  “You’re not too big, Adeline,” he said, opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. “The dress is too small.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Not when one means you have the problem and the other means the dress does.”

  “The dress has many problems.” She laughed. “My size is not one of them.”

  “Your size,” he responded, “is perfect.”

  “That’s nice of you to say, Sinclair, but I don’t think May and my mother would agree.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “What?” She stood in the doorway, her deep red hair shimmering in the interior light.

  “That a woman like you, someone who’s put her life on hold to take care of her grandfather’s shop while he recovers, shouldn’t be worried about what other people think. See you around.” He offered a quick wave and jogged across the yard.

  When he looked back, she’d gone inside. Probably to eat dinner with her pigheaded dog.

  He needed to eat too.

  Now that he’d run off his anxiety, he thought he probably could. Not that he had much in the apartment to eat. Just a few things he’d picked up after he’d finished work for the day. Tomorrow he’d buy groceries.

  He’d also get Gavin working. Real work. Not the picking up one piece of garbage for every hundred that Sinclair bagged kind of work he’d been doing for the past few days. Gavin wouldn’t be happy with the turn of events, but Sinclair was finished taking up his slack. He’d agreed to help, not do the entire project.

  Two weeks.

  The house would be done or it wouldn’t, but by the end of that time, Sinclair would be heading home to his apartment that overlooked Puget Sound. He’d be catching up on all the work that he’d put on hold to help his brother. He’d be sleeping in his own bed, listening to the quiet rush of traffic below his window.

  He’d be alone again, running from the demons and the nightmares.

  Most of the time, that was exactly how he liked it.

  Chapter Three

  Adeline dreamed of chocolate.

  Gobs of it. Dripping off the counter, spilling onto the floor, bubbling over pots and pans. Tiny running through the mess, the tangerine dress clutched in his mouth.

  She woke with his scruffy muzzle in her face, his dark eyes staring into hers.

  “Go away.” She moaned, flipping onto her stomach and pulling the pillow over her head. Before Tiny, she’d always set her alarm for seven. After Tiny, the alarm clock had been destroyed, chewed up while Adeline was in the shower one morning. She’d have bought a new one, but Tiny had taken its place, waking her at the edge of dawn every morning, his hot puppy breath fanning her face.

  He whined, shoving his ninety-pound body closer and pawing at the pillow.

  “You’re a menace. You realize that, right?” she muttered, shoving the covers aside and getting out of bed.

  She yanked on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, grabbed Tiny’s leash, and wrestled the puppy into it. Her cell phone rang as she layered the sweatshirt with a lightweight coat. She glanced at the caller ID. Granddad.

  She answered as she walked outside. “Good morning, Granddad!”

  “It would be a better one if we were both still asleep,” he responded, his gruffness making her smile.

  “You’re always up at the crack of dawn,” she pointed out, Tiny scrabbling at the sidewalk, trying his best to get her to move faster.

  Wasn’t going to happen while she was on the phone. She couldn’t
run and talk at the same time.

  “Only when I have something to do besides lying in bed staring at the ceiling and hoping someone will come visit me.”

  “Better watch it, you’re starting to sound like a bitter old man.”

  He chuckled. “Leave it to you to not give me a lick of sympathy. Your sisters? They were very quick to reassure me that I am loved and appreciated and that they’ll be here in just a few short days to spend some time with me.”

  “That’s because they feel guilty.” She had it straight from Willow and Brenna’s mouths. They both felt bad for not being at the hospital during Byron’s surgeries and recuperation, but neither felt guilty enough to come home sooner than May’s wedding.

  “They should feel guilty. I’m an old man, on limited time. It isn’t such a hard thing to understand that I want to spend as much time as possible with my family before I go.”

  “Granddad, really, you’re wasting all this on me. Save it for Willow. She’s the one with the softest heart.”

  He laughed. Just like she’d known he would. “How’s the shop-keeping coming, kid? That’s what I really called about.”

  “About as well as can be expected.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m no chocolatier. You know that.”

  “You could be. If you’d put a little of your heart into it.”

  “I’m putting blood, sweat, and tears into it. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Not when it comes to chocolate. That requires a little something extra.”

  “Speaking of extra,” she interrupted, anxious to change the direction of the conversation. Byron was like a dog with a bone. When he got his mind on something, he didn’t let it go. Lately, his mind was on her taking over the shop permanently once he retired. “I’ve been using the recipes you keep locked up in the office. Are all the ingredients for Lamont fudge on the recipe card?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “I just . . .” What could she say? That the fudge tasted okay at best and horrible at worst? “Wanted to be sure before I make it for May’s wedding.”

  “Haven’t you been making it for daily sales? People love that stuff, Addie. They come from all over the world to get it.” An exaggeration. People didn’t come from all over the world. They did order it from all over the world. She’d gotten orders from places as far away as Japan and Australia. Filling those orders would be impossible if she didn’t figure out how to make the stuff.

  God! Why had she ever suggested that Granddad expand to Internet sales? That had been five years ago, and in the time since he’d done it, Chocolate Haven’s profit margin had tripled. She knew. She did Granddad’s taxes every year. She also knew that without those sales, Chocolate Haven would be just another family owned chocolate shop struggling to survive. Her throat tightened on the thought, and she took a deep calming breath.

  She would not drive the business into the ground.

  She wouldn’t.

  “No worries, Grandad,” she said, trying to keep panic out of her voice. “I’m making the fudge.” It wasn’t edible. At least not compared to what Chocolate Haven usually sold, but she was making batch after batch of it.

  “Well, that’s a relief. I can’t hand the shop over to someone who isn’t capable of running it.”

  “You’re not handing the shop over to anyone,” she said, his words sending ice through her veins. She didn’t want to take over the business. Not today, tomorrow. Ever. “You’ll be back to work in a few weeks—”

  He snorted.

  “You will!”

  “Addie, I love you like a flower loves the sun, but you’re delusional if you think I’ll be back in a few weeks. Once I get out of this joint, I’ve got therapy to do. Lots of it. Sometime after that, I’ll be able to work in the shop part-time. Only God knows if full-time work will ever happen for me again. The hip is bad. The leg is worse, and I’m just about ancient.”

  “You’re not ancient,” she protested.

  “You say that because you love me, and you don’t want to see the truth.”

  She also didn’t want to have this conversation. “Granddad, you’re the youngest seventy-five-year-old I know. You’ll be back full-time, feeling better than ever.”

  “Maybe. In the meantime, you’re running that place for me, and I appreciate it.”

  Running it into the ground.

  The words echoed through her head as Tiny tugged her along the sidewalk. She didn’t have the energy or the heart to try to pull him back. She felt hollow and a little sad and more overwhelmed than she’d been the very first day she’d walked into Chocolate Haven knowing she was going to have to make all the chocolate, fill all the orders, keep the Lamont family legacy alive.

  “You still there, doll?” Granddad asked.

  “Just trying to walk the dog and talk at the same time,” she responded, her words thick with tears she wasn’t going to shed.

  “How is that Tiny dog of yours?”

  “Great,” she lied. “He’s learning all kinds of neat tricks.” Like how to drive the neighbors crazy, how to dig holes big enough to swallow cars. How to eat alarm clocks and wake her at the crack of dawn every morning.

  “That’s not what your mother told me.”

  “Mom doesn’t like Tiny.”

  “She doesn’t like dogs. Me? I’m glad you got one. They’re good bodyguards, and a single girl like you might find herself in need of that.”

  “Granddad, the only thing a person needs to protect herself against in this town is gossip.”

  “Humph!” he replied. “There’s danger there, Addie. Danger that I keep warning everyone about, but no one is listening.”

  “I’m listening.” And had listened, a dozen times since the accident.

  “You may be listening, but you’re not believing,” he growled. “Of course, that’s better than what your mother is doing. By a long shot, it’s better.”

  Uh-oh. This wasn’t going to be good. Granddad and Janelle got along great. Until they didn’t. “What’s Mom doing?”

  “Telling everyone that I’ve lost my marbles.”

  “She isn’t telling people that, and you know it,” she protested. She wasn’t certain, though. Janelle had strong opinions about things. Currently, she was convinced that Byron had hit his head when he fell and that hitting his head had caused him some memory loss and confusion.

  “She is. She told the doctor she thought I have dementia.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “From the doctor. Guy was asking me a few too many questions about presidents and birthdays and moon landings, and I wanted to know why. Your mother”—he nearly spit the word—“told him that she thought I might be having problems with my memory.”

  “She’s just worried about you, Granddad.”

  “Because there was someone in my apartment and I had the nerve to say it?” he demanded. He was getting riled up, heading back to the story that he’d been telling since he’d fallen down his apartment stairs—someone standing in the hallway of his apartment when he’d returned home, his quick dash outside to call for help, the tumble down the stairs.

  “You know that James McDermott saw you fall,” she said, her grip on Tiny’s leash a little tighter than it had been. Not because of the dog. Because of Granddad. They’d been down this path before. Several times, actually. It had yet to end well.

  “And?” he snapped. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “You told him that there was someone in your apartment, and he ran up and tried to catch the guy. No one was there.” James had been sheriff of Benevolence before he retired. Addie had no reason to doubt his word.

  Then again, she had no reason to doubt Byron. Her grandfather had always been honest to a fault. Integrity flowed through the blood of the Lamonts the same way chocolate was supposed to.

  Only with her, the chocolate gene had obviously been skipped.

  The hot, tight feeling she’d been carr
ying in her chest since she’d made the first batch of Lamont family fudge threatened to suffocate her.

  “I don’t care what he found or didn’t find. I know what I saw,” Byron retorted.

  “It was dark in the apartment. Maybe—”

  “Maybe nothing. Someone was there. You and your mom can go tell anyone you want that I’m losing it, you can convince them that I need to be moved into a home—”

  “No one is going to move you into a home!”

  “Your mother brought me the paperwork today. Said it’s a convalescent center and just until I’m able to walk upstairs, but I know the truth.”

  “She brought you paperwork?” They’d been discussing Byron staying with Janelle while he attended physical therapy. There hadn’t been any mention of a convalescent center. “I thought you were staying at her place.”

  “Her place? I gave that house to her and your dad because I thought it would always be the Lamont family home. Guess I was wrong about that.”

  “Granddad—”

  “I know I’m getting old, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting stupid. Your mom already rented my apartment. She’s moving me toward living in one of those old folks’ homes, and I’ve got news for you. I’m not going.”

  “Of course, you aren’t,” she said, tightening her hold on Tiny’s leash as a pickup truck passed.

  Byron snorted. “Your optimism isn’t going to change anything. Once I’m in the convalescent center, it’s all downhill from there.”

  “I’ll talk to Mom,” she promised. Not that she thought it would do any good. Janelle was great at hearing things, but she wasn’t always great at listening. When she thought she had the right idea, there wasn’t a whole lot anyone could do to change her mind. “I’m sure we can come up with a better plan.”

  “Why would the two of you come up with a plan? Am I a child? Do I need others to make decisions for me? Because if that’s what you think . . .” He continued on, but Addie only half listened. She’d heard the speech so many times, she could have recited it. Plus, it was hard to listen to anything with Tiny lunging at the truck that had pulled up to the curb. It wasn’t a vehicle she recognized.

  That was surprising.

  She knew almost everyone in Benevolence. She served as accountant for most of them. If she didn’t know them from her business, she knew them from church or from Chocolate Haven.