Falling for a Former Flame: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love)

by Brenna Jacobs

  What just happened?

  Hadley needed to get out of there, but she still wasn’t sure what Savanna had called her back for. Had she somehow planned all of this? The sneaky, wait-for-it kind of dating subterfuge was not Savanna’s style at all.

  Of course, neither was Nick Baxter, but here they were, turning to cream cheese right before her eyes.

  “I’m going to head back to work.”

  Savanna waved three fingers without looking away from Nick. For his part, he didn’t even seem to hear her.

  “Okay. Bye,” Hadley said as she turned for the door.

  At the same time, the door to the engine bay opened and Fletcher walked in. Of course he did. Because Hadley’s life had been replaced by a game of “Make it More Awkward.” She hadn’t been able to avoid his glance, and she could read coldness and discomfort there as if it had been printed on his forehead.

  Nick jumped out of the chair he’d been in. “Fletcher, buddy, guess what? We’re taking these two beautiful women to the Fireman’s Ball next month. What do you say?”

  Fletcher looked from Nick to Hadley and back again. “I already have a date.” Then he walked down the hall toward the chief’s office.

  Although she knew from the way he’d been acting the past week or two that he’d hate the idea, and although she expected nothing other than a gentle rejection, his instant and frigid dismissal felt like a slap to Hadley. He didn’t even care enough to say “no” kindly. Hadley watched him walk away (again) and remembered that people didn’t change. Fletcher left her once. He’d leave her again. It was what he did.

  Chapter 13

  “And you haven’t told Rose anything about it?” Chief Grantham asked.

  Fletcher rubbed a spot at his temple that never seemed to stop throbbing lately. He’d had his head checked out by his doctor, and he was cleared from the concussion. If he were prone to hypochondria, he’d probably worry he was growing a tumor.

  “I told her there was a new place I’d like to take her for dinner, and that it was really fancy, so she should use this as an excuse to buy herself a new dress.” He dropped his hands to his lap. “Your wife told me to say that part, by the way. I would’ve brought her in jeans and a sweatshirt.”

  The chief smiled. “My wife is excellent at suggesting the need for new dresses,” he said, touching the corner of a framed photo of the two of them that stood on his desk.

  Fletcher was glad Chief Grantham and his wife had a great relationship. Between the Granthams and his own parents, Fletcher had seen strong marriages that were not always to be expected in a stressful career like this. Too many marriages suffered from the extremes of the job, but Fletcher knew that if everyone was committed and had the right kind of personalities, it could work.

  “So the program will honor a few different people, but your mom will get this surprise award in honor of your dad’s years of service at the end.”

  “Sir, I know it’s a surprise. I get it,” Fletcher said, smiling. “I won’t spoil anything. And we’ve hung out so much since I’ve been back in town that she won’t even think it’s weird that I’m taking her as my date.”

  It was possible Fletcher was trying to convince himself of this. And now that Nick had added his wrinkle to the plans, Fletcher began to worry.

  Best case scenario, Fletcher would escort his mother into the Fireman’s Ball where they would sit with the Granthams and eat a really good meal, after which Rose would get called up on stage to receive an award. At which point, she would see Hadley there, grab the microphone, and say “Fletcher, why am I your date if you could have brought her?”

  Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the very best case. Maybe the best case was that Hadley would be escorted by some guy she obviously was crazy about, someone who was like her parents, successful and wearing very expensive shoes. Someone who put his hand on her back when they stood next to each other… and that wasn’t the best option, either.

  Maybe there would be enough people there that Rose wouldn’t notice Hadley at all. There was literally no chance that the same could be said for Fletcher. Since he was twelve years old, he always knew when Hadley was in a room. He’d been unable to ignore her, even when girls were still gross. But if the Ball was dinner, a short program, and one dance with his mom before they ran out the door, it was possible that Rose didn’t have to know Hadley was even there.

  Because this whole thing, Fletcher’s reunion with Hadley, followed by what might have looked like possibility, followed later by coldness, made Rose sad. Fletcher had told her, in as few words with as few details as possible, that things really weren’t any different than when they’d broken up years ago. Rose didn’t say anything about it directly, but Fletcher knew his mom, and he knew she was taking these things to heart. He hated that his actions were hurting his mom.

  And the worst part was that he was right—the things that mattered really were not different than when they’d broken up in college. She still had something to prove, whether it was to the world in general or her parents in particular. That something included the fact that she knew what she was doing, and she could live perfectly well with or without Fletcher Gates. Hadley seemed willing enough to be friends with Fletcher, to hang out and eat and talk about whatever was on her mind, but Fletcher was positive that once he walked away, she never missed him. That she never thought of him when he wasn’t in front of her.

  Not that he wanted someone to be obsessed with him. He didn’t. That was the stuff of horror movies, and no thank you. But Fletcher knew that he needed to be needed, and Hadley was showing everyone that she didn’t need anyone or anything.

  Even worse? He loved that about her.

  Her fierce independence was not only attractive but endearing. He was so proud of her. But it was impossible for them to be together because they simply did not fulfill each other’s needs.

  He rubbed at his temple again, the painful spot growing larger. Maybe it was a tumor, after all. He wasn’t obsessing about a possible illness. He wasn’t neurotic. He was simply being aware. A person didn’t have to be a hypochondriac to get a tumor, did they?

  Pathetic, he told himself.

  Chief Grantham was still talking about the Ball. “Make sure you get me those pictures from her house by the end of the week. Anything you’ve got digitally, send to my wife. Bring the hard copies here and I’ll have Savanna scan them and upload them for the presentation.”

  “And the presentation is only a few minutes, right? I don’t want her to get worn out standing up there too long.”

  Chief Grantham leaned over his desk. In a soft voice, he asked, “Is it that bad?”

  Fletcher went into protection mode. “No, of course not. But it’s night, and she goes to bed early. You know how it is.”

  Now the chief leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms across his chest. “Who are you trying to protect, son? Your mom, or me?”

  The question silenced Fletcher, who had never been asked such a direct question about his tendency to save people.

  When he realized that the chief expected an answer, Fletcher said, “I guess both of you.”

  Chief Grantham nodded. “I understand. We’ll make it easy for her.” His nod suggested that Fletcher could leave.

  He stood, but there was one more thing he needed to take care of. “Sir? She wants to do Thanksgiving.”

  The chief knew exactly what Fletcher meant. “Tell her we’d be honored.”

  * * * * *

  When Fletcher finished work that night, he sat beside his mom at her kitchen table and picked up a notebook. “List time. Thanksgiving at the station. Hit me. What do we need?”

  Rose started ticking off items on her fingers: every holiday dinner dish Fletcher was used to, and some he’d never heard of. When he asked, she explained that a few of the firefighters had suggested their hometown regional favorites over the years, and she’d blended them into the meal.

  “It seems like Thanksgiving is the best time to open our minds and
our mouths to new ideas,” she said. “In fact, I think I’ll get that put on a T-shirt and wear it to dinner.”

  Fletcher looked at her sideways. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Well, I was, but now that I see how it would horrify you, maybe I’ll really do it.”

  “Back to the list. You’re getting swept away by your power.”

  “Okay, so are you bringing Hadley over?”

  Where had that come from? “Mom,” Fletcher said. “I told you.”

  Rose interrupted. “I know what you told me, but we can’t leave her alone with a box of orange mac and cheese on Thanksgiving.”

  Fletcher pretended to write ‘orange mac and cheese’ on the list. Rose took the pen away. “Gimme that.” She pulled the list toward her.

  “This looks great. But I’m serious about Hadley,” Rose continued, ignoring Fletcher’s pained expression.

  “Then you call her,” he said, his voice more defiant that he liked to hear it. “She likes you better anyway.”

  Rose shook her head. “Impossible.”

  Fletcher’s eyebrows went up.

  “I mean, it’s impossible that she likes me better. But I’m happy to call her. I’ll ask for her help, and then it won’t feel awkward at all to have her join us at the station for dinner.”

  Right. Not at all.

  Chapter 14

  Hadley stood behind the register at Second Glance with six tabs open in her browser. How was it possible that people had been cooking Thanksgiving turkeys around here since the nineteenth century and there were still fifty “must-try” new ways to make it happen?

  “Brine. Deep fry. Butter-baste. Curry crust. Can’t someone just tell me how to roast a turkey so it tastes like roast turkey?” Hadley was aware she was muttering aloud to herself, but she didn’t care.

  As she’d come into the shop that morning, she’d seen how many of the stores in town were already decorated for Christmas. Besides the twinkle lights that shone from her shop windows every day of the year, she hadn’t given the change in season any notice. She was determined to let Thanksgiving have a full weekend.

  Her mom, ready to help Hadley turn her business plan toward the current century, insisted that she do a Black Friday event. Over the phone, she said to Hadley, “Bring in an author to do a reading. Offer free gift wrap.”

  The whole idea was honestly repellent to Hadley. “Not going to happen. There is plenty of shopping time, Mom. Not everything has to be done the way everyone else does it.” She had rolled her eyes over the phone. “And anyway, people can get their gifts wrapped for free every day here. I’m a full-service kind of gal.”

  “I really think you need to reconsider,” her mom had said.

  “I really want to spend every possible minute with you and Dad while you’re here.” That had stopped the conversation from turning into an argument.

  “What do you need me to do for dinner?” her mom had asked.

  “Not a thing,” Hadley had told her. “I’ve got it all under control.”

  When she hung up the phone, Hadley had burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. She’d snuck into the break room to smother her laugh behind a closed door. Since she was by herself, there was nothing to continue setting her off, and she managed to get herself back to normal within a few minutes. Breathing her heartrate back to its resting range, Hadley realized that this kind of laughing fit hadn’t happened in a while. Not since Fletcher’s first day back, actually. And now she was, like she’d told her mom, under control.

  If “under control” meant a Pinterest explosion on her laptop, then yeah. Totally under control. Minimizing the tab that promised “yummy yams for the pickiest eaters,” Hadley answered the ringing phone. “Second Glance, how can I help you today?”

  “Hi, honey, it’s Rose.”

  She shut her laptop and gave the call her full attention.

  “Hi, Rose. How are you feeling? Treatment day, right?”

  A soft laugh came through the line. “You sweetheart. Thanks for remembering. Yeah, I’m fine. Little tired. Listen, I could use some help.”

  “Of course. Anything.” Hadley pulled her coat from a rack behind the register. “I can be there in five minutes.”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” Rose said. “I just need your hands for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “You do?” Hadley couldn’t hide her surprise. She hung her coat back on the rack.

  “Do you have plans?” Rose said.

  “Actually,” Hadley answered, “my family is coming in for dinner. Staying the weekend. Scrutinizing all my life choices. Finding fault. You know, the usual.”

  “And you’re cooking? Hosting at your place?”

  Hadley leaned her elbows on the counter. “Maybe you could help me talk through this. What do you think if I feed them here in the shop? That way my mom can eat without searching every forkful for stray dog hair. She doesn’t need to know Edison’s ever been inside the shop.”

  “I love it. What a great idea,” Rose said. “I might be having a brilliant plan. How about this: after work Wednesday, you come spend some hours here helping me prepare pies and rolls and sides. Thursday morning, after we get a turkey in your oven and a couple in mine, we can decorate and set up your space, then we can go over to the station and do mine. By the time birds are ready to come out of the oven, we’ll be prepared to host all the finest guests.”

  “You’re making dinner for the station?” Hadley asked. She knew Rose used to do that when her husband had to work holidays.

  “Well, someone has to be on shift, and they really ought to eat.”

  Hadley turned around to lean her back against the wall. “Have you always been this awesome, or did you age into it?” she asked.

  Chuckling, Rose asked, “Are you suggesting that I’m getting sweet in my old age?”

  “I’m suggesting that you are amazing. If I didn’t already say it, yes, please. I’d love to let you help me serve my family the most terrifying meal of the year. And while we’re at it, we can feed those strapping firefighters a few bites, too.”

  “Great. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  “Thank you, Rose.” Hadley hung the phone on its cradle and realized she was smiling. She wondered if Rose somehow knew how desperately outmatched Hadley was by this holiday hosting thing, or if she’d really only called to ask for her help.

  And they’d managed to not mention Fletcher, although he was obliquely part of the conversation about eating at the station.

  It was very possible that she’d see him when she and Rose went over to set up the meal. And that would be fine. She’d smile at him and try to ignore the swooping in her stomach. She’d pretend it didn’t break her heart that he had turned so cold. She’d forget how it felt to have him back in her life for a while.

  No. She’d never, ever forget that.

  Since he’d turned to stone, she realized how much she longed for his small compliments. She wasn’t interested in anyone telling her she was fabulous and shaking pom-poms in her face. This wasn’t a pep rally. He had given her sincere, positive feedback on a project that she’d put her entire heart into. If he couldn’t wholeheartedly accept the bookshop as a great investment, at least he loved the game room idea.

  Fletcher Gates had given her what she’d always craved—the one thing she couldn’t give herself: He’d applauded her efforts in a sincere and respectful way and made her feel like her contribution was meaningful.

  Right up until he’d stopped talking to her altogether.

  She sighed.

  A text came through—a shopping list from Rose. She glanced through it and realized that Rose had taken it easy on her. She was giving her responsibility, but not a whole lot of ways to mess it up. She didn’t say “buy apples.” She said, “Get seven pounds of Granny Smith apples,” which made it so much easier to get it right.

  In fact, she was feeling so capable that she shot off a quick message to her parents.

  Can’t wait to have you here fo
r dinner Thursday!

  No reply. Of course. Because they were busy people fitting in a week of important work in the few days before the holiday.

  It certainly wasn’t personal, so Hadley kept reminding herself not to take it personally.

  Wednesday, Hadley locked up the shop and put the “Happy Thanksgiving” sign that a kid had left in the poetry room up in the window. On the bottom of the sign, she’d added a note: “See you at 10:00 on Friday!” She hoped she would see some people Friday. Please, she said to the cold sky. Let me see someone on Friday. She took Edison for a quick run around the block, unloaded her fridge into the car, and drove to Fletcher’s house. Strike that. To Rose’s house.

  When Rose opened the door, Hadley was enveloped in a cloud of delicious smells.

  “How long have you been working already today?” Hadley asked.

  “Not as long as you have,” Rose answered. Hadley leaned over and kissed her cheek, a more affectionate display than either of them expected, but Rose hugged her and took a bag from her hands.

  “It smells like heaven in here.” Hadley shrugged off her coat and tossed it onto the couch.

  “Agreed. Heaven definitely smells like onions and garlic sautéing in butter with a little rosemary and thyme thrown in.”

  Hadley shook her head. “But only in autumn. In summer? Definitely honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass.”

  “Baby heads,” Rose said. When Hadley gave her a weird look, she said, “Trust me.”

  “Movie theater popcorn.” Hadley ducked her head in shame, until Rose agreed.

  “Pine sap.”

  “Mmm. But today, I just want to put this smell in a jar and keep my nose in it forever.” Hadley did a big, exaggerated sniff. “All right. I’m filled up now. What’s my job?”

  “Want to chop vegetables or roll pastry?”

  “I’m almost sure I can do both. Which one do you need first?”

  As Rose led Hadley to the cutting board where two stalks of celery balanced on a huge pile of onions, Hadley let herself relax into the moment, into the idea of doing simple work that would lead to very happy results. As she chopped celery into tiny pieces, she realized that this was the kind of work she was made for. Not food prep, but small, unassuming projects that would end in someone’s satisfaction. Which was exactly what her store was for her. And as tears ran down her face while she cut onions, she understood that it didn’t matter if her parents found her work worthwhile. She did. She felt proud of what she had created. She loved sharing her shop with her community. So she’d never be rich. She’d be satisfied. Happy. And that had to be enough for her parents. It was enough for her.