“That’s stupid. Steve’s is right here in town. And you two seem to be on speaking terms again, finally. Besides, you know he’d let us…”
“I’d let you do what?”
Yvonne cringed, stifling her groan. From across the table, Carrie lifted an eyebrow. She could practically hear her friend’s voice ringing in her head—You ask him or I will.
Gatsby jumped to his feet, tail swinging wildly as he wiggled over to Steve. He bent, accepting her dog into his arms. As Steve laughed, Gatsby nearly knocked him over. That traitor. “Someone’s feeling better, huh?”
Yvonne nodded. “His lymph nodes are almost entirely down.”
“I see that.” With a final loving pat to the butt, Steve stood back up and pulled over a chair from one of the neighboring tables. “So… what’s this that I’d let you do?”
He leaned a chin into his hands, his stare penetrating her. Good God, he was magnificent. Yvonne’s entire body heated at the sight of him, and she kind of hated herself for that. He wore gray pinstriped dress pants and an electric blue shirt beneath that matched the hue of his eyes almost perfectly. A shiver tumbled down her spine and she shook it away. Clearing her throat, she launched into their idea for the 10K to raise money.
Steve listened carefully, and Carrie jumped in, interjecting as needed. When they each finished, he grinned. “I think that’s a brilliant idea. Count me in. Molly and I could run a 10K in our sleep.”
Yvonne rolled her eyes. “Brag much?”
“And”—he leaned closer, nudging her arm with an elbow—“of course you can use my clinic.”
“Thanks,” she said reluctantly. She returned his smile as the front door swung open and Dawn walked up to them in the same clothes as the night before.
Just friends. They seemed more than just friendly to Yvonne.
Carrie’s eyes widened, lips pursed together as her gaze darted back and forth between the three.
“Hey, Dawn.” Yvonne offered her a smile.
Steve cleared his throat and pushed the chair back to the table where it belonged. “Dawn crashed in my guest room last night.” His gaze was plastered to Yvonne. “We finished so late and we were so hungry that I felt bad making her drive all the way home.”
Dawn laughed, tossing her glossy hair behind her shoulder. “I was honestly okay to drive, but he insisted.”
God, that hurt. Why the hell did this hurt so damn much? She had moved on from Steve years ago. Back in that day in the coffee shop when he walked out on her, she was done. Who cared that he was getting his jollies with another woman? It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t hurt. And yet, it did.
“Anyway, I should be going.” She grinned and her perfectly straight row of sparkling, white teeth glistened in the sunlight as she flipped her glossy hair behind a shoulder. Yvonne looked down at her own worn jeans. Holes had formed around her knees and they were covered in dirty paw prints. She inwardly sighed. Oh, well. This was who she was. She’d never be the girl who could wear white and not spill on herself. And she was okay with that. Most of her childhood under her parents’ thumbs had been dedicated to pretty, frilly dresses and makeup and coming out parties. She had nothing against that kind of life for people who enjoyed it. It just wasn’t her anymore. It hadn’t been her in a long time. Since Steve. When they started dating, she finally had the courage and an outlet to allow herself that freedom, and the spark to stand up to her parents for what she really wanted.
Yvonne looked up just in time to see Dawn give Steve a quick peck on the cheek and rush down to the street where she was parked.
“Well, I should probably be going too,” Steve said.
As Yvonne opened her mouth to respond, her cell phone rang out, disturbing the quiet morning. She fumbled to grab it, nearly dropping it on Gatsby’s head in the process. Her heart sank as she saw the name on the screen.
“Your fiancé?” Steve asked.
“Fiancé?” Carrie interjected.
“Worse.” Yvonne cut Carrie off. “My mother.”
‡
Chapter Eight
Oh, Jesus. Steve didn’t even know the guy she was marrying, but Mrs. Sarzacki was a terrifying woman, that was for damn sure. He studied Carrie as Yvonne answered the phone. She had said fiancé as though it was a question. As one of Yvonne’s closest friends, shouldn’t she have known about Yvonne’s engagement? Unless… Steve dropped his gaze to her hand once more. Still nothing. No diamond. No ring. Nada. There went his theory about her forgetting to put the ring on yesterday.
“Hi, Mom.” Yvonne sighed with the greeting. Hell, if her own daughter was exhausted with her, then there was no hope for the rest of them. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while.”
“Yvonne, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You don’t ever return my calls. Can you make it to dinner tonight or not?” The woman’s shrill voice cut through the receiver, and damn near every person eating outside Elsa’s could hear her.
Yvonne rolled those hazel eyes until they were nearly looking at her brain and shook her head. Carrie gave a compassionate smile in return, but Steve merely stood there, watching. Waiting. God. Mrs. Sarzacki could make his balls retreat back into his body faster than the Sox could steal second.
“Yes, Mom. I can do tonight. As long as Gatsby’s not too sick or anything, I should be able to make it.”
“Gatsby’s sick? Is it something you can catch? Like bird flu or swine flu or—”
Steve covered his laugh at that question.
“No. I’m fine. For the millionth time, there’s not much I can catch from my dog—”
“Don’t lie to me, Yvonne. You can catch rabies, giardia, parasites—”
“I get your point. But Gatsby doesn’t have worms or rabies. It’s nothing I can catch.” Within those few sentences, Steve watched as Yvonne’s face drooped with sudden exhaustion. “As long as he feels okay, I’ll be at dinner. But if I’m not going to make it, I promise to call.”
“Fantastic. I’ll text you the details. Don’t be late.”
“Okay.”
“And honey? Wear something nice, okay?”
She hung up as a weary breath pushed past her glossy lips. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.
“Hey Carrie, can you give us a moment?” Steve asked.
Like any good friend, she looked to Yvonne first. It wasn’t until her friend gave a nod of approval that she excused herself for the bathroom.
Steve waited until Carrie was far enough away to be out of ear shot. “Where’s your ring?” he asked, jerking his chin toward her hand.
She curved her hands around each other, squeezing them together. “What ring?” she asked innocently.
He narrowed his eyes. The sun dappled behind her, creating a soft, warm light that framed her body. Dragging a finger over the slight tan line at the base of her knuckle, he gave it a tap. “Eve, come on.”
With a click of her tongue, she slapped those same hands to her thighs. “Steve, what do you want from me?”
“I want to know where your ring is.”
Silence hummed between them as an urgency took hold of Steve’s body. God, what was it about this woman? He thought thirteen years apart would be the bucket of ice water on his attraction for her, but if anything, the time apart only served as a burner, heating him up to a damn near boiling point.
“You’re not engaged to him anymore, are you?”
She dropped her chin to her chest and the most adorable shade of pink graced her cheeks. “He—Jonah—and I broke up a few months ago. He was…” She shook her head again, voice cracking. “We just… we weren’t meant to be. He was a bit… smothering.”
For the first time all morning, Yvonne sat taller in her chair and rolled her shoulders back. Confidence. There it was. His Yvonne. The fearless girl from high school who morphed from pompoms and pep rallies to motorcycles and joy rides with him.
“So now the ring is off.”
She held his gaze, pointedly. “It is
.”
“And the gloves, too, apparently.”
“You know it, Tripp.” She smiled, just one side of her mouth tipping up ever so slightly.
If Yvonne was back on the market, and he was seeing her so frequently with Gatsby’s treatments, then he was in some serious trouble. She signaled to their waitress for the check, and he caught of glimpse of her scar—the one that mirrored his, only it stretched the length of her arm from wrist to elbow. The one on his face nearly cost him his eye. The scars she had nearly cost her her life.
Was he crazy to think that he was getting signals from her? Could it be that she might finally be receptive to him now? His forgiveness, his love? Shit. For all of a second, he thought he might be ready for this—for a reconnection with her. But he wasn’t. Every glimpse of her body was the reminder to how she nearly wasn’t walking on this Earth. Of how stupid he’d been. How careless. It had been perfectly clear that no one in their family, especially Yvonne, would be able to forgive him for that. He pushed the chair back, the legs scraping against the sidewalk.
No, he and Yvonne Sarzacki couldn’t happen. They couldn’t happen thirteen years ago, and they sure as shit couldn’t happen now.
Steve gulped, waving a goodbye to a confused-looking Yvonne. “I’ll see you around.” He walked down the sidewalk toward his clinic, pausing briefly to watch as some tourists sat cuddling on a swinging bench in the park. They were older—maybe his ma’s age, and they sat swinging, sharing a bear claw and a coffee from Lex’s bakery. Emotion tugged at his heart. Could he someday have that? Even with his busted face, women still seemed to be attracted to him. So what the hell was getting in his way from moving on? Just because he and Yvonne were bad for each other didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a meaningful companionship. Cam had gotten a second chance at love, why the hell couldn’t he?
“Rough night?”
Steve turned to find Sophy sitting on the bench in front of his clinic. He ran a hand down his face and walked over to where she sat. She looked different, he noted. She was wearing black dress pants and a matching blazer with a pink button down shirt beneath it. Her curly hair was tied in a low ponytail at the back of her neck. He looked down at his wrinkled suit and ran a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I must look like hell, I guess.”
Her mouth twitched as he took a seat next to her. “I’d say you still look pretty good.” She wrapped her red hued lips around her straw and took a sip of her iced coffee. “You never called,” she said. “So, at the risk of looking desperate, I thought I’d try one more time. I’ll be in town for another few days—”
“Go to dinner with me,” Steve interrupted. “Tonight.”
Sophy blinked. “I have a thing tonight. A work thing…”
Steve nodded, what little bit of hope he had sinking. “Another night?”
“I don’t think you’ll call me to reschedule.” She held up a finger and laughed, pulling out her phone. “Give me a minute to send a text. I’ll check that it’s okay to add another person to dinner tonight. Then we can go get dessert, just the two of us. As long as you don’t mind a little bit of business talk beforehand?”
Steve shook his head. “Not at all.” She was beautiful. And a helluva lot persistent. It felt… weird. Dating in Maple Grove. Yeah, yeah, he’d been on dates in the last few years. But typically he went to bars and restaurants outside of town to avoid the Maple Grove gossip mills. But if he was serious about trying to find something a bit more lasting? Then, he had to start embracing a dating life here in his hometown.
Her grin widened as she read her phone screen. “We’re all set. Pick me up at the Inn a little before seven?”
He matched her smile, but even as he said goodbye and walked inside his clinic, he didn’t feel that excitement and surge low in his belly like he felt around Yvonne. If anything, he felt sad. But maybe that bittersweet sadness was just another part of the process of moving on.
‡
Chapter Nine
It was 6:55 when Steve walked into Greico’s, arm in arm with Sophy. The Italian bistro was among the more high-end places to eat in Maple Grove. The ambiance was there, even if it was a bit pretentious. Greico’s was great, but Angelina’s was still Steve’s favorite. A little hole in the wall with the best damn spaghetti bolognese he’d ever put in his mouth.
But, this was where Sophy had chosen for her business dinner. He studied her as she gave her name to the host standing up front. Was this her sort of place? White linen napkins and bone china? Or would she eventually join him over at Angelina’s, slurping up marinara with the homemade bread?
He liked a fancy meal as much as the next guy. It was nice once in a while, but it wasn’t the sort of meal he had frequently.
“This place came highly recommended by my client. I’m not usually a big pasta person, but they chose the place,” she said fluffing her curls with one hand.
“Not big into pasta? You’re in the wrong restaurant, I think.”
She shrugged as they followed the host to the back room. “I don’t mind it, it’s just not usually my first choice.”
“What is your first choice?”
She made a humming sort of sound while thinking. “Arepas.” She sent him a smile over her shoulder. “My grandmother used to make them for us every Sunday after church.” Steve curved his hand around hers, giving it a squeeze. Then, slipping through an arched entryway, they entered a much quieter back room. It only had eight tables or so, two of which were taken. A man played the violin quietly in the corner. The host led them to a table with six place settings.
“Wow, you’re meeting more than just a client,” Steve said, looking at the large table. Sophy, already nestled into her seat, looked up at him from behind an open menu.
“It’s one family. They’re thinking of investing in a project I’m spearheading.”
“Can I get you anything to drink while you wait? Wine?” the host asked.
Steve shook his head. “Um, not sure yet.” The host nodded before turning and going back to his station up front. Steve opened his menu. “What sort of investment?”
“I’m in real estate.” She crinkled her nose, taking a sip of water. “I’m actually checking out the community here for a couple of my buyers down in Boston.”
“Oh, so you’re based in Boston?” An hour and a half distance wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t a deal breaker. Cam and Lydia made it work for months while she was in New York.
She shrugged. “Mostly, yes. But if I can make this deal go through, there’s the potential I could settle here in Maple Grove.”
“So, you’re looking at building some developments?”
She nodded, back to scanning the menu. “Yeah, something like that. Not only in Maple Grove, but in a lot of the Lakes Region communities. Some local investors are tired of the region just being a vacation spot. The goal is to make communities like Maple Grove financially sustainable year round.”
Aw, hell. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Maple Grove already is sustainable year round. We’ve got the lakes in the summer, changing of the leaves in the fall, skiing in the winter and the Artists in Residency and UNH Maple Grove to make up the difference the rest of the year.”
“Exactly,” she said, excited. “That’s why this is a perfect place to start building developments. It’s less work for us, and then we can expand into the other Lakes Region towns.”
Shit. Steve cleared his throat and leaned forward. Maple Grove was so much more than just a place, just a home. It was a defining factor in who he was. “But… typically, that means building things like Walmarts and mini-malls, right? The most charming thing about our little town is that it thrives on local business.”
Sophy rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Yes, the local businesses are great, but you can’t honestly tell me you wouldn’t want a bargain store around here? Think of how much easier it would make life! You could get your dog food, your prescription meds and your groceries in all one spot.”
Steve
thought of Old Man Cooke, as he was affectionately known around town—the ancient pharmacist he had gone to since he was a boy. Tyler Cooke, his son, was slated to take over the business when he retired soon.
He shook his head. “I like going to different places for different things. I like seeing my friends and saying hello to everyone.”
She snorted and her eyes widened in that condescending way women do when they think men don’t really notice. “You like making four stops when you could save time with just one?”
“Yes,” he drawled, hating her tone. Hating how she just assumed they were all silly for loving life as it was here.
With a sigh, she lowered her menu, closing it. “Look, I’m not the wicked witch of the west—”
“Certainly not,” Steve snorted. “You’re the wicked witch of the northeast.”
“As I was saying… your adorable cafés and bakeries and restaurants will be totally safe. In fact, very little will change for them. It’ll be the retail businesses that will see the change.”
“What about my practice?” he asked.
She responded with an indignant sigh. “No. Your practice won’t be affected.”
Damn. This was going to be a long dinner.
“Okay.” Sophy jumped to her feet, sending Steve a look that could wilt flowers. “Those are my clients. Please, just let me do my job. Then we can discuss this more later.” She extended her hand and presented that beautiful smile of hers that Steve had first seen in Latte Da. “There you are!” she exclaimed. “It’s so great to see you again!”
Steve felt suddenly exhausted and the night hadn’t even begun yet. Even still, there was no need to cause a scene. He’d just eat his spaghetti, tell Sophy goodnight and go home to cuddle with Molly. He stood up to greet Sophy’s clients, nearly knocking into a man in a three piece suit, perfectly trimmed stubble—the kind where you know he spent twenty minutes perfecting it in the mirror before he left for dinner—and wavy, dark hair that was slicked back. Steve already hated the guy.
Healing You Page 6
