by Vicki Essex
Everville Grocer hadn’t changed. The green-and-white facade had been repainted recently. The store still advertised all their specials on hand-painted signs taped to the window glass. Inside, yellowy fluorescent lights illuminated the dingy gray linoleum.
While Poh-poh pushed the cart up and down the aisles, Tiffany checked the bulletin board for part-time work. Her online search had yielded nothing. Sadly, the bulletin board sported many of the same ads for local businesses and services, with the addition of a flyer for piano lessons and a sign for a lost dog.
“Ah-Teen!” Her grandmother’s shout blared across the store as loudly as if she were on the PA system. “Fai-dee lay-ah.”
Tiffany’s cheeks heated as a few customers watched her hurry to the produce section. “You don’t need to shout. I was coming right back.”
“I can’t see the price on this.” Her grandmother held up a bunch of Shanghai bok choy, squinting. Tiff was surprised the Asian vegetable could even be found in Everville, though she had noticed it on plenty of non-Asian menus in New York. She glanced up at the signage and blinked at the big marquee.
C. Jamieson’s Organic Produce, Everville, N.Y., U.S.A. 100-Mile Approved.
As in Chris Jamieson? Her insides fluttered as she remembered the high school quarterback with the floppy mop of gold-blond hair, sky-blue eyes and brilliant smile. What on earth was he doing back on the farm? Last she’d heard, he’d gone to Berkeley.
Tiffany told her grandmother the price of the bok choy and they continued shopping. After they paid and headed outside, Poh-poh paused on the sidewalk. “I need to talk to your mother at the diner.”
Tiff suppressed a groan. She knew it would be childish to drag her feet, but she dreaded stepping foot in the Good Fortune and seeing her parents.
The ugly wind chimes by the door jangled discordantly as she preceded her grandmother into the Good Fortune. The place had been an old diner before her parents had converted it into a North-American style Chinese eatery. The Formica tables and cracked red vinyl seats had been preserved, but the walls were covered in mirrors to make the space look bigger. Rose sat at the table closest to the counter rolling plastic take-out utensils in paper napkins. She glanced up. “We just got a shipment of supplies that need unloading. Go help your father and Daniel.”
“Mom.” Tiffany pointed at the sling.
“So, don’t use your bad arm. Carry the lighter things and the bags. It’s not like you broke your leg.”
Tiffany set her teeth. Fine. The sooner she was done, the sooner she could leave. She dropped her purse behind the counter while Poh-poh eased herself into a chair across from her mother and started speaking in rapid-fire Cantonese.
Passing through the swinging door into the kitchen, she nearly walked into Daniel, who carried two large boxes of vegetables. “Finally decided to show up?” He cocked a smile.
“I only popped in because I was helping Poh-poh with groceries. Mom conscripted me into helping unload.”
“If you do a good job, I’ll fry up your favorites,” he teased.
She shuddered. “Ugh. Chicken balls.” When she was young, her parents had literally paid her in chicken balls to work at the diner after school and on weekends—one per hour. She’d loved the fried doughy balls smothered in bright orange sweet-and-sour sauce and had hoarded them greedily. But her palate was much more sophisticated these days, and besides, she had a figure to watch.
She followed Daniel through the kitchen and out the back door to where the delivery truck sat in the alley. Her father conversed with the driver, acknowledging her with a short wave.
“So, I was at the grocery store with Poh-poh,” Tiffany began as she grabbed a big bag of onions with her uninjured right hand, “and I saw a display of organic produce from the Jamiesons’ farm. Is that Chris Jamieson? The one from high school?”
“Yeah, he’s running the family business now.”
“What about his father?”
Daniel grimaced. “I guess you didn’t hear about the accident. The tractor overturned while William was out in the field and it crushed his left leg. They had to amputate.”
She gasped and dropped the bag of onions. “Oh, my God.”
“He’s all right. I mean, minus a leg. He doesn’t come in much anymore, though.” Daniel didn’t sound too broken up about that, Tiff noted. He continued, “Actually, I saw Chris last week when I was at Frank’s checking on your car. He was surprised to hear you were in town.”
“He was?” A stupid little thrill shimmied down to the base of her spine. She straightened in an attempt to suppress the sensation. “I’m surprised he remembered me at all.”
Daniel gave her a smarmy grin. “You still have a crush on him, don’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That was high school.” She busied herself unpacking a box of vegetables to hide the color flaming across her cheeks. “I’m totally over him.”
“That’s too bad because he’s available again.”
Her hands stilled as the words ricocheted through her brain. “Again?”
“He and his wife divorced...wow, must be nine years ago now.”
“I didn’t even know he’d been married,” she said slowly, her mind buzzing. She was unsure how she was supposed to feel about this news. Divorce was one of those sticky events where you didn’t know whether to console or congratulate a person.
“See, this is what happens when you don’t call,” Daniel said. “Important gossip goes right past your radar.” He sliced a hand over his head. “Anyhow, Daphne—Chris’s high school girlfriend, I don’t know if you remember her—left him for this real-estate developer when their son was about six. Didn’t fight for custody or alimony or anything. Her new husband’s loaded, apparently.”
“Chris has a son?”
“Yeah, Daphne got pregnant before he left for college. Chris had to drop out before he barely finished his first year. Moved home and married her, been there ever since.”
Tiffany sucked in her lip. She’d assumed Chris had come back after his father’s accident, but learning he hadn’t even completed his first year at Berkeley made her insides turn over. She couldn’t fault him for his decision, of course. He’d done the right thing. But she’d spent hours tutoring Chris to improve his GPA. When he’d gotten that scholarship, she’d never been prouder.
And what did he do? Knock up Daphne Blaine.
She huffed as she hastily unpacked a box.
Daniel’s cell phone rang and he answered. “Oh, hey, speak of the devil. How are you, Chris?” He grinned at Tiffany as he listened. “Actually, she’s right here. You want to talk to her? Hang on.” He held out his cell. Tiffany looked at it as though it were a bomb. Her heart rate sped up. “It’s Chris Jamieson. He wants to ask you something.”
She accepted the phone with cold fingers and cleared her throat. Every nerve in her body was so tight she vibrated. She listened for a moment to the background noise. Machinery echoed in the distance. A breeze distorted the birdsong for a beat. She could almost feel Chris breathing into her ear, and she imagined his breath fanning over her, trailing goose bumps down her neck. Daniel watched her, urging her to speak.
“Tiffany Cheung,” she greeted crisply. Jeez, could she have sounded any more unenthusiastic?
“Hey, Tiffany, it’s Chris. From high school. Remember me?”
She remembered that his favorite foods had been chocolate milk and fries. She remembered the way he’d smelled when he’d meet her at the library after football practice on Thursdays—like grass and musky boy sweat. She remembered how much he’d loved his motorbike, how he’d offered to give her a ride home after every session. She’d never accepted; she hadn’t wanted her parents or anyone else to see her and make assumptions. “Yes.”
“I heard you were in a car accident. How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
Daniel’s eyebrows knit at her indifferent, deadpan tone. This had always been the way she’d talked to Chris back in high sch
ool. She couldn’t help it. She’d been terrified of blurting out something foolish, so she’d kept her interactions to a minimum. She tried to lighten her voice and explained, “Just a few bruises, sprained wrist.”
“Sorry to hear that, but it sounds like you got lucky. I saw the wreck at Frank’s.”
“Daniel mentioned.”
“So, how have you been otherwise?”
Terrible. I’m unemployed, I have no car and no money and I’m living with my parents. Hearing your voice has been the best thing to happen to me since I left New York.
“Fine.” If she started talking now, she was afraid she wouldn’t stop until she’d told him in excruciating detail all about the past fifteen years. “What do you want?”
And now she sounded like a bitch. She corrected herself brusquely, “Daniel said you had something to ask me.”
“I was wondering...how long are you going to be in town?”
She paused, not sure what he wanted to hear. “I’m looking for a job right now. It might be a few weeks. But I’m not staying.”
“Your brother mentioned you got laid off. Sorry to hear that. The economy’s been hard on everyone.”
Blood rushed into her face and she glared at her brother. What right did he have to go shouting her business all over town? He didn’t see her death stare, though, since his back was to her as he shelved produce in the big stainless-steel fridge.
“Listen, I know this is kind of out of the blue...do you want to meet up for a coffee?”
Wait, did she miss something? “Coffee?”
“At the Grindery. It’s where the old feed store used to be on Main. They’ve got great coffee.”
She remembered passing the little café on the way to the diner. “When?”
“How about in an hour? I’ve got to pick up something down at the hardware store anyhow.”
She couldn’t detect any ulterior motive, couldn’t sense a trap, but she was too discombobulated to examine his intentions. She answered, “Okay. Sure. An hour. The Grindery,” and before she realized what she was doing, she hit End, before Chris could respond.
She gaped at the phone in her hand, appalled she’d hung up on him. Maybe she should call him back and tell him she’d been cut off. What if he’d said something more, something important, like, “Just kidding, I’d never ask you out for coffee”?
Stop that. Chris had never been that cruel, and this wasn’t high school.
“Hot date?” Daniel smirked.
She threw him a contemptuous look, her fury resurfacing. “What did you tell him about me?”
“Tell him? Nothing.”
“He knew I’d been laid off. You told him that?”
Daniel blinked slowly. “Oh. Yeah. I did. Sorry.”
“I don’t need you blabbing my business to everyone, okay?”
Her brother stepped back, hands raised. “I said I’m sorry. Jeez, what’s the big deal?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s the big deal’? I was fired. You think I want the whole town to know it?”
“You were laid off, not fired,” he said quietly.
“I know that. But I’d rather not have the whole freaking town think I was a massive failure. You know that’s what Mom and Dad are going to tell everyone.” She hated it when her family talked about her to other people. They’d done it her whole life, making her a living example of good Chinese upbringing, tearing her down when she didn’t meet their standards, and always, always comparing her to Daniel.
She slapped his phone onto the tabletop and pushed through the swinging door. The stink of fryer oil clung to her skin.
Her mother looked up as Tiffany snatched her purse from under the counter. “The menus could use wiping down—”
“I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone.” Her biting tone startled her mother.
“Who?” Rose asked, surprised.
“A friend. From high school.”
Her mother’s eyebrows knitted together skeptically.
“I’ll walk Poh-poh home first,” Tiff said, preempting her mother’s query. Hearing her name, Sunny got to her feet and said a cursory goodbye. Her grandmother was perfectly capable of walking home alone, of course, but that wasn’t the point.
As they plodded home, Tiff decided she’d shower and change before she met up with Chris. Hopefully, by that point, she’d have calmed down and regained her temper and self-confidence, and put awkward Tiffany Cheung back into the darkest recesses of her mental closet.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHRIS DWARFED THE CAFÉ TABLE in the Grindery, the extralarge coffee he’d ordered cupped between his hands. His gaze jumped toward the door every time someone came in or a flash of movement caught his eye. He was inexplicably nervous about meeting Tiffany Cheung again.
Part of it was that she’d always kind of intimidated him, which was stupid since she was barely five-two and 120 pounds soaking wet. She’d always been ultraserious, goal-oriented, her mind always on schoolwork and getting top marks. Nothing distracted her. Not even him.
He remembered when he’d first approached her, asking for help with his English paper, and she’d refused, saying she didn’t have time to tutor him. He’d followed her through hallways between periods and practically begged until she’d reluctantly given in.
She’d been mercilessly focused in her tutelage. She wouldn’t allow him to waste a minute of their time together: she had other things she could be doing, and he was only paying her five bucks an hour. It was the best money he’d ever spent. Thanks to Tiffany, he’d earned his scholarship to Berkeley.
Maybe that was why he felt like a boy waiting to get a scolding from the principal. He was ashamed that he was begging for her assistance again. He should have been paying more attention to Simon’s education.
Part of the problem was he barely got to see his son. They spent less than an hour a day at the dinner table, where volatile tempers regularly clashed over William’s greasy, salty meals. The moment he finished eating, Simon would storm up to his bedroom and slam the door. His hostility should have warned Chris something was wrong. Instead, he’d dismissed it as teenage angst.
But he hadn’t noticed because instead of spending time with Simon, Chris would double-check the paperwork his father had done that day. Early on, when Chris had first taken over the farm, he’d caught his father playing with the numbers to make it look like they were in big trouble. William had claimed it was an honest mistake, but Chris wasn’t about to let it happen again.
He checked his watch. He’d come ten minutes early, and now the caffeine was kicking in. His knee bounced restlessly. Damn. What did he have to be so nervous about? It wasn’t as if Tiffany was going to spank him for Simon’s poor grades.
The door swung open. A slender woman in slim-fitting jeans, a frilly pink short-sleeved blouse and three-inch heels strode in, her dangly silver earrings catching the light. A small designer purse hung off her elbow. Her long, waterfall-straight ebony hair, which cascaded past her shoulders, swayed as she walked to the counter. A pair of huge dark sunglasses made her delicate face look even smaller. Chris watched her place her order, admiring her figure. Definitely not a local. If he had time to flirt, he might ask her out for dinner, but he had other things to worry about.
When she picked up her drink, she gazed around the café. She looked in his direction and raised one hand in a wave.
He waved back automatically, but then his brain seized. That wasn’t... It couldn’t be...?
She started toward him, drink in hand. “Sorry I’m late. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She set her coffee on the table, revealing the sling around her left arm that he hadn’t noticed before. She lifted her sunglasses to rest on top of her head.
Chris faltered. “T-Tiffany?”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Chriiiis?” She drew out his name, uncertain.
Dear Lord. This was not the girl he remembered from high school. Where were the owlish glasses? Where was the headband and ponytail she usual
ly wore? Mentally, he superimposed the image of the Tiffany Cheung he knew. As she continued to scrutinize him, her mouth tightening into a steep frown, he realized this was, indeed, his old tutor.
He cleared the frog from his throat. “You look, um...different.”
Her well-plucked eyebrows lowered. Ah, there she was. She still had those parallel lines between her eyes. “How are you?” he asked, trying to recover himself.
“Fine.” She set her purse on the adjacent chair and sat pertly on the edge of her seat, arms folded over the tabletop, exactly the same way she used to when they met for tutoring. “You?”
“Good. Well, a little stressed, I suppose. One of the pigs just gave birth so there’s a new litter to care for. We have new kittens, too. And coyotes have been stalking the area....” He was blabbering. He took a gulp of his beverage and shuffled his feet beneath the table. “I don’t know if you heard...I had to leave school to take over the farm after my dad’s accident. He lost a leg.” He cringed inwardly. That was only half-true, since he’d come home long before that. And he hadn’t meant to go for the pity ploy talking about his dad’s leg. He wanted to explain why he was here.
She nodded. “I heard. I’m very sorry.”
Because his father’s leg had been amputated or because she was disappointed in him? He rubbed his damp palms over his thighs. “He’s all right. And being on the farm... It’s a living, you know? I’m pretty happy. On the farm, I mean. Even with my dad...”
Verbal diarrhea. That’s what this was. He snapped his jaw shut and forced himself to stop talking. She would not be interested in the goings-on at the farm.
Tiffany didn’t say anything for a moment as she stirred her drink, eyes cast down. Her lashes fanned across her cheeks. “I heard you got married and had a baby.”
The coffee tasted bitter suddenly. He reached for a packet of sugar. “Married, and divorced. My son, Simon, is fifteen now.” He paused as regret pricked him. “Daphne’s in L.A. with her new husband.”
