In this moment, she felt she understood every love poem she’d ever read. She’d thought those kinds of declarations were silly. Immature. But now she realized she’d been cynical, thinking she was protecting herself. She didn’t want to be safe anymore. She wanted to be adventurous, even foolhardy. She wanted to give everything to Jack.
Sophie took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Can you forgive me?”
“I already have,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips. “Now, eat your ice cream and let’s talk about going apple picking this weekend.”
Sophie stuck her spoon into the mound of whipped cream. “Apple picking? That’s what you want to do?”
“Sure. Why not? I’ll do anything you want. Watch a movie. Go to the city to see a play...”
“How about I make a real Italian dinner for us and we play with Frenchie?” she suggested, bringing the spoon to her mouth.
Suddenly, she stopped. Her spoon felt too heavy for whipped cream.
“What in the world?” Sophie studied the spoon. No doubt about it, there was a foreign object in her whipped cream. “Louise is getting careless. Looks like a pop-top fell in here.”
“No way,” Jack said, taking the spoon from her. He pushed the whipped cream away with his finger. “Hmm. Nope. Doesn’t look like a pop-top. Looks like—”
Sophie’s breath caught in her lungs, and for a second she couldn’t speak. “That’s...that’s a diamond ring.”
“Looks like it.” Jack grinned, holding the ring out to Sophie. “I couldn’t take the chance you’d break up with me again, so I figured I needed insurance. I thought this might do the trick. I love you with all my heart, Sophie Mattuchi. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck. When she pressed her lips against his, she felt as if she’d been lifted to a realm filled with more joy than she’d ever thought she had a right to know.
Everyone in the ic-cream parlor broke into thunderous applause. Louise put on her princess hat and danced a jig.
Sophie reluctantly ended the kiss and took in the happy faces all around them.
“I thought you said you’d never do this in front of a crowd.”
“I told you. I had to rethink things. I changed my mind. How’d I do?”
“Oh, Jack, it was perfect. The best surprise of my life.”
Jack held her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Believe me, Sophie. I have so many surprises in store for you. This is only the beginning.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from UNDER AN ADIRONDACK SKY by Karen Rock.
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Under an Adirondack Sky
by Karen Rock
CHAPTER ONE
REBECCA DAY SHRUGGED on her raincoat and eyed the rain tapping against The Koffee Kat’s storefront window. It turned SoHo’s block-paved streets into an impressionistic blur, the sidewalks uncharacteristically empty of tourists, the iron-trimmed buildings seeming to slide down like melting wax. A cab lurched along the road, sending up fans of dark spray.
Should she splurge and grab one instead of taking the subway? Given her crazy end-of-spring cold, it’d be justified. Given her overdrawn bank account, however, she knew better. A heavy rush of air escaped her.
“Toots, we need to talk.”
At her boss’s voice, Rebecca’s fingers stilled on her top button. So close to a clean getaway. After her twelve-hour shift, she needed a bowl—no, an IV bag—of chicken soup. Stat. Tomorrow she’d return to her primary job as a school psychologist after the district’s spring break vacation. Ten days off and she could use ten more, though she didn’t dare ask for sick time, not with her overdue tenure still an undecided question by the stalling school board.
Were they planning to let her go?
She swallowed painfully and forced her mind off of possibly losing the dream job she’d sacrificed so much to finally land.
“Sure. What’s up?” She eyed her employer’s hangdog expression and tried to ignore the flutter of nervousness in her stomach. Given the steadily dwindling business this past month, accompanied by her boss’s grumps and his wife’s sighs, she’d been preparing herself for what could be bad news.
“You’ll need a seat for this.” Mr. Roselli’s baritone echoed in the now empty coffee shop. How many customers had she served today? Fifty? Seventy-five? Not even close to their usual draw. Since the Death Star of all cafés—JavaHut—opened across the street, the mom-and-pop SoHo business at which she moonlighted had been hemorrhaging clients.
“Sure.” She reopened her coat, pulled out a chair and glanced up at a Leaning Tower of Pisa wall clock. Midnight. “Is something wrong?” Once she sat, she dabbed at her running nose and clamped a hand on her jittering knee. Counted the black-and-white hexagon floor tiles. Tried not to look scared.
Mr. Roselli let out a long, deep breath. “Rebecca. We’re closing The Koffee Kat.”
Her mouth dropped open. No. Mr. and Mrs. Roselli had owned this establishment for over forty years and his father another fifty before that. She glanced at the framed pictures of their hometown in Italy and generations of family members. This was more than a business. To her and to them.
A faint waft of fresh roasted beans whispered through the air as a painful silence descended. She struggled to speak and, despite the remnants of warmth coming from the bakery ovens, she shivered. Now that she thought about it, she should be tasting the first batch of lemon-almond biscotti Mrs. Roselli baked for the morning rush. But instead of pans clanging, she heard a muffled sob from the kitchen.
Her heart broke. Why would this happen to such kind people? For a fleeting moment she imagined calling her Fortune 500 CEO aunt for help. It wouldn’t be breaking the moral code about taking favors she’d made for herself when she’d left her guardian’s privileged nest. This was aid for someone else. A very good cause. And so deserving.
“Mr. Roselli, I’d like to help.” Rebecca’s words ended in a coughing fit that she muffled with the crook of her arm.
The older man’s weathered face creased in a sad smile. “I know you woul
d, sweets.” His thick eyebrows knitted. “But me and the missus have made up our minds to buy one of those Florida condos. Our daughter lives there in a gated community. Keeps out the riffraff.”
Rebecca imagined living in such a safe, predictable environment and suppressed a shudder. She liked chaos. Choices. Freedom to live by her own rules rather than the constrictive ones she’d grown up with in her aunt’s Upper East Side penthouse and elite world. Despite Aunt Kathryn’s infrequent appearances in Rebecca’s childhood, her caretaker had known of each of Rebecca’s infractions, especially the one that’d nearly landed her in jail and destroyed her life...
“But you’ll be losing your home, your friends, everything...” Her aching throat closed. NyQuil. She should have paid closer attention when she’d grabbed it instead of DayQuil when she’d sprinted to the convenience store earlier to replenish her supply.
Would another dose of it hurt? She’d already thrown back a mouthful of the chalky cherry goo a half hour ago. It couldn’t be worse than the way she felt. Her body ached, temples throbbed, throat felt scraped by glass, and her nose was so raw she flinched when she touched it. She never would have come to work today if she hadn’t needed the money so badly.
The gray-haired owner shook his head. “The only thing I’ll miss are wonderful friends like you. The rest is always replaceable.”
Rebecca smiled at his brave words and agreed. And then it hit her. She’d need another job. Since her ex-roommate Laura, an old college friend she’d reconnected with when she started working at the Koffee Kat, moved out, Rebecca had been struggling to manage the rent on her illegally sublet SoHo loft. Losing was more like it. The extra income from her second job at the coffee shop was the difference between home and homeless. But more importantly, she needed these warmhearted people who made her feel like family—or what she imagined a family would feel like.
But looking into Mr. Roselli’s weary face, Rebecca realized that she wasn’t the victim. Her eyes narrowed at the glowing orange and green neon lights across the street’s shining pavement. She’d be darned if she’d apply for a position at the new JavaHut. In fact, she’d boycott the whole chain—and avoid the one in her neighborhood, too.
Goodbye to the part skim milk, part half-n-half mocha latte with extra caramel and whipped cream she ordered every morning on her way to school. Somehow she’d find a way through her fifteen-hour workday without a bag of chocolate-dipped espresso beans. Think of the money she’d save... It’d be a tough day without it, but she’d make a clean break from her habit if it killed her. Her stomach lurched. Maybe it would.
“I’m so sorry. When are you closing?” After reaching into her purse, she gulped more medicine and set down the bottle. It toppled on the granite-topped table, empty, and panic seized her. She’d drained it in—what—two hours? Three? Was that too much? She’d been so determined to return to school healthy and finally get some answers on the timing of her tenure decision that she’d lost track. Plus, hadn’t her pharmacist showered doom and gloom about mixing meds when he’d dispensed the muscle relaxers she’d been prescribed after pulling her hamstring during a martial arts class? How many of those pills had she taken to keep moving today? Her brain fogged as she fought to concentrate.
“Actually, this is our last day.” The white metal chair beside Rebecca protested as Mrs. Roselli joined them. She smoothed her floral skirt and lifted watering eyes to her. “We would have told you sooner but we didn’t think the place would sell so quickly—or that they’d want us out right away.”
Mrs. Roselli’s eyes flitted outside and Rebecca’s stomach twisted as she followed the other woman’s gaze. “They bought it, didn’t they? JavaHut?”
Mr. Roselli harrumphed and passed his wife one of Rebecca’s tissues. “What’s important is that we got a fair price and Margaret can finally retire. See the grandkids. Right, my love?”
She managed a tiny smile and gripped his hand in a way that made the familiar emptiness in Rebecca swell. Would she ever have a relationship like that? A family? Whenever she pictured it, she imagined her own, lonely version, where she’d been the last entry on her aunt’s priority list. A tax write-off each year when her relative insisted Rebecca attend expensive business trips on the pretext of “celebrating” her birthday. She’d never accept a serious relationship where she was less important than a career or a bank account.
Mr. Roselli was right. What mattered was that they were leaving together. She should be happy for them. Was happy for them. For herself? Not so much. Who did she have left? Her chubby pug, Freud, was the only plus-one in Rebecca’s life, though she loved her little mouth-breather with a passion.
She closed her raincoat and returned their hugs, careful not to get too close in case they caught her nightmare of a cold. Gratefully, she accepted the white envelope they slid across the table, then walked out into the humid, glistening world that was a spring-soaked Manhattan night. Taxis and buses flashed by in lighted, swishing blurs; though if the out-of-focus effect was from her own tears or the rain, she wasn’t sure. Either way, life was misery.
It wasn’t until she’d walked for over ten minutes, deep in thought, that she realized she’d missed her subway entrance. That figured. Could the night get any worse?
She pulled out her cell and asked her neighbor, Marcy, to take out Freud. Since Marcy had a parrot Rebecca watched when Marcy went on business trips, they’d worked out a trade once Laura left.
After the call, she contemplated her contacts list and scrolled to her aunt’s number. Kathryn Lindon. How easy it’d be to press that dial button and see if her connected relative could help her find a second job. She owed her aunt a thank-you for the gifts she’d sent while on a recent Paris trip—something she always did when traveling—an expensive raincoat and purse delivered yesterday. They were the kinds of items she tried never to sell in a consignment shop, since her aunt would consider that the ultimate insult.
Yet if Rebecca phoned, she’d only get Kathryn’s voice mail, followed by a call tomorrow from the cowed assistant through which Rebecca and her aunt usually conversed.
Nope.
No support there, unless the expensive flowers and a card bearing the generous check her aunt used to discharge (pay off?) her obligations would suffice. The cash would help. The I-told-you-so’s that’d come with it...not so much.
No doubt Aunt Kathryn would repeat the doom-and-gloom prophecies she’d made when Rebecca graduated from her master’s program three years ago.
“Use your head,” Rebecca could hear her aunt say over a glass of pinot. “You’re working a low wage job and spending nearly all of it to share a space slightly bigger than a walk-in closet. Start a private practice and move home where you belong.”
And the worst thing? It’d been tempting. Taking the hard road was...well, hard, and getting more difficult by the day. Especially with her school dragging its feet on granting her a permanent position. Denial of tenure was a scarlet letter D on your résumé, alerting every other district that you weren’t good enough. Made even getting an interview near to impossible.
If she didn’t get tenure at her current school, she’d fail at her bid for independence and not have the life she’d dreamed of, one filled with people who made time for her...put her first. Was that too much to ask? Laura had joked that Rebecca’s expectations were so high no one could reach them, but she’d rather be alone than compromise, even when her chances looked worse by the minute. Somehow, loneliness was more bearable when you were actually alone.
Rebecca sighed and shoved her phone back in her pocket.
No. She wouldn’t call.
Aunt Kathryn’s way of helping was money. Rebecca, on the other hand, wanted to make a difference by doing—exactly why she used her psychology degree to work in a public school system with at-risk teenagers. She didn’t want anyone else growing up feeling as though their problems didn�
�t matter...that they didn’t matter.
She’d just lost one job that mattered a lot to her. Tomorrow, when she confronted her principal about why the school board still hadn’t voted to grant her tenure, something they always did months earlier, in January, would she discover she might lose two?
Suddenly the rain picked up and a gust flipped her umbrella backward. If the car heading Rebecca’s way hit the huge puddle beside her, she’d be—
She shook her drenched self.
—a drowned rat.
Gross. How many toxins swam in that street soup? She mashed her broken umbrella closed and took deep, calming breaths. Guess this night could get worse. What she really needed was a friend. When a rivulet of cold water snaked down her back, she ducked beneath the nearest awning, and her breath caught at the bright sign in the window.
The White Horse Tavern.
She’d heard of it...but where?
The place looked friendly enough, at least, and was a good spot to take temporary refuge from the storm. Rebecca reached for the wrought iron handle and her hand slipped, missing it completely. She stepped closer and wobbled, tilting to the left. Why was she so woozy? A couple whisked open the door and paused, eyes wide as they took in her weaving form.
“Sorry,” she muttered, and stumbled to the side. The berth they gave her spoke volumes. If only they knew cold medicine was her drink of choice—the effects of which, combined with her muscle relaxers, were kicking in with a vengeance. Everything seemed fuzzy. She needed to get her bearings before heading home. Maybe she should splurge and grab a cab. Rebecca felt less and less sure she’d make it on her own, after all.
* * *
AIDEN WALSH RETURNED the departing couple’s wave and leaned against the wooden bar. It was 12:40. A little early for closing time, but this was Sunday. His younger siblings returned to school from their break tomorrow. Besides, it’d be just like rebellious Connor, his fourteen-year-old brother, to still be on the Xbox. With a superintendent’s meeting tomorrow, Connor’s expulsion on the table for a school yard brawl that’d happened the day before vacation, the kid needed to toe the line. Help, not hinder, what was already an impossible family situation.
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