“You’re an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole?” Her sharp words stung his cheeks.
“No,” he groaned. “I was talking to myself.”
“I’ll agree with that.” She paused for another moment before lowering herself to the couch. She left a sizable distance between them.
“Can we just go to sleep? It’s been a weird night, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
She bit her lip and turned her gaze on him. Slowly. Thoughtfully. It made him itch.
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t get it.”
He cleared his throat and flopped back onto the couch. Fine. So they were gonna have this conversation now.
“You don’t have to get it,” he said. “You just have to respect how I feel.”
A shaky breath left her lips. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t respect how you feel. You have this toxic view of marriage, as if anybody who participates is a total asshole.”
He gritted his teeth. She understood him better than he thought. What she didn’t know was that for close to twenty years he’d rolled his eyes at marriage, committed to sticking with his hatred of the entire institution.
Until that kiss.
The moment she’d let him lay his lips on her, his vision changed, like when the eye doctor clicked to a new lens. Forget the paperwork, forget the legally binding contract. Mila belonged to him, body and heart and soul. It didn’t look like marriage, didn’t feel like the shackles he’d always thought of it as. She was the rock. The one constant he never had to worry about. He found himself wondering every day what a life with her would look like.
And that scared the shit out of him more than anything.
“I told you I don’t want to talk about this,” he said. His words settled into the quiet, dark living room, and she snorted.
“Shocking. When shit gets tough, Jared Kirkland wants to crack a joke or run the other way.”
“I don’t have time for this.” He pushed on his knees until he stood, and walked past her toward his bedroom. By the time he reached his bed, he expected her to be halfway to her car.
Instead, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Her jaw set, her nostrils flared, her eyes blazed like fire beneath furious brows. He’d never really seen her truly angry.
Damn, it was hot.
“No,” she said. “We’re talking about this now. I don’t care if you never want to marry me, Jared. I don’t care if this is the last night we ever spend together. If you don’t explain to me what’s going on inside your head, I’ll fucking burst. I can’t take the tiptoeing, the egg shells, the wondering. You had a saint of a mother. She did everything for you and Sam. The only parent with a full-time job who also managed to make it to every soccer game, every parent teacher night, every church Christmas pageant. She was your biggest cheerleader, and all you could do in return was roll your eyes at her and act out like a toddler who didn’t get his way. After all this time, I still can’t imagine how a woman that dedicated could make you think having a wife is a death sentence.”
“You don’t know shit.” The words crackled against his teeth. “My dad never wanted to get married, did you know that? But he did it for her. Then after they got married and had a kid, he turned into a raging alcoholic. They ruined each other’s lives. So then after the guy dies, she puts all her energy into punishing her youngest son, making him feel like he could never do enough. Why was I held to some ridiculous standard that none of the other men in my family were held to?”
Mila blinked as if trying to swallow the idea. “She wanted the best for you.”
“I’m tired of that line.” His voice simmered. “Look at how happy Sam is. She treated him like a golden child and me like the kid she hoped would move out at sixteen.”
Mila licked her lips, the anger fading slowly from her features. She took a step toward him. “Did you ever ask her about it? Really talk to her? I’m sure she had her reasons, J.”
“We argued about it all the time.” His chest burned. It was half true. She’d call him on his bullshit—a skipped class, a D on an exam, one too many jokes cracked during soccer practice—and he’d lash out. Rinse. Repeat. Every year of his life until she died. And even as she lay dying in hospice, she asked relentlessly about his commissions, if he was applying to jobs outside North Country, if he’d read that article in the Times about the booming real estate scene in Minneapolis. When Sam showed up at the hospital, she asked only how he was doing.
Mila tilted her head, deepening her stare until Jared couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned away from her and fixed his attention to his dresser, where a handful of loose bills and business cards required immediate sorting.
“Your mom’s life didn’t go the way she planned,” she offered. “I knew her, J. She was quiet, kept to herself, but she had a heart of gold. She left me a twenty-dollar tip at the diner no matter if she ordered a cup of coffee or a full meal.”
“Well, great.” His fingers paused over the faded edges of a paper card touting insurance services from some jerk in Albany. “Happy to hear she treated you like the second kid she never had. You and Sam. Both privileged to sides of my mother I never got to see.”
“Maybe you pushed her away,” Mila said.
He twisted his lips in a bitter smile and turned his face until he could see her clearly. “I’m the kid, Mila. She’s the parent. She’s not supposed to let me push her away.”
Mila swallowed, her delicate throat contracting. The tiny jewel in her nose sparkled as a thin shaft of moonlight fell on her face.
“She’s not supposed to let you push her away.”
He shivered, his skin puckering with goose bumps. The words hung between them and mutated until they both saw the twisted form clearly. All this time. He’d been waiting for his mother to make an effort, to prove that she loved her son more than she’d loved her husband. And in turn, he’d been waiting for Mila to prove something, too.
“How hard are people supposed to fight for you, Jared?”
His lips parted. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I love you, do you know that?” Her chin trembled, the corners of her eyes creasing up. “And I’ve worked really hard for you. I’ve pushed past a lot of my own shit to try to meet you in the middle. I’ve tried to understand where you’re coming from and be flexible with you because you have such hard-and-fast rules about marriage. I’ve been supportive of anything you wanted to do in your career, including moving away.”
Shame hung on his shoulders like a weighted vest.
“I’ve had to confront my own shit,” she said. “I’ve had to examine myself and try to figure out why I’m so scared of certain things. Why I’m afraid to try. Why I’m afraid to draw attention to myself. But I’m changing, Jared. I’m becoming a better version of myself. And all this time, you’re staying the same. Refusing to move forward. Refusing to examine your own bullshit.”
He waited for her to continue, waited for her to swing back around to the love part. She loved him. If she loved him, maybe she’d be patient with him. Maybe she’d hang around until he figured all this out.
“I’ve never had to think about it before,” he said lamely. “I’ve always been on my own.”
“You have not. You’ve always had Sam, and you’ve always pushed him away, too.”
He settled his shoulders, straightened his spine. She didn’t know what it was like. To be part of a family but always be on the outside. First Sam and his mother had each other, then Sam had Sydney. Jared had always been the second kid. The afterthought.
“I’m scared,” she said. Her voice cracked and, with it, his heart. He’d do anything not to hurt her.
“What are you scared of?” He took a timid step toward her, giving her his full attention.
She pressed her lips together, and her ey
ebrows met in the middle. “I’m scared you’re gonna hurt me. This thing we’re doing is a huge gamble. I’m trying so hard to hang back and see where it goes, but I’m in, J. You could really hurt me if you wanted to. And that’s terrifying.”
His confidence slipped, like an ice floe breaking apart, each piece slowly shifting away from the whole. He could hurt her. Maybe he already had.
“Then maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.”
Her hands hung limply at her sides as she stared at him, the same tortured look pinching her face. “Are you serious?”
No. I love you. And I can’t even imagine myself with anyone else. “You’re right. You’re gonna get hurt. And I can’t let myself be the one to hurt you.”
He had to look away. He tore his eyes from her, stared hard at the stack of business cards and dollar bills on his dresser top. A paper clip occupied his trembling fingers while his mind raced with thoughts of her. His best friend. His lover. The woman who’d claimed every space in his life and in his heart and who now stood before him, begging him to spare her.
He wouldn’t turn into either of his parents. And he wouldn’t take her down with him.
“You’re really ready to let this go?” she whispered.
A foot to his left sat his bed. For a brief, blissful moment he imagined taking her hand and falling into that bed and pretending like no one else in the world existed but them.
His heart skipped, and his stomach roiled. That wasn’t real life. Real life was hard and messy and painful, and he’d be better off alone.
“No,” he said. “I’m not ready. But I think we both know where it’s headed. I don’t want to do that to you. It’s not fair.”
“You’re a coward.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
A slow tear rolled down each of her cheeks, and she wiped at them furiously, as if she’d been betrayed by her own body. “All right. Fine. Then I guess this is it. You’re free now.”
With one last smoldering glare, she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, turned over her shoulder, and walked out.
chapter nineteen
The morning of the Spring Festival opening day, Mila awoke in a veritable puddle of her own sweat, her T-shirt clinging to her chest and her shorts bunched around her hips. The dream had been so real. Denny Torres had joined her family for Sunday dinner, and when she passed the bowl of sweet potatoes, he grimaced and told her he didn’t eat meat. No matter how she tried to explain to him there wasn’t any meat in the dish, he refused.
The more she relived the dream, the more foolish it sounded. But the simple act of a judge refusing food sent her into a spiral.
She crawled out of bed, shoved her feet into Sherpa-lined slippers, and shuffled into the kitchen. Coffee. She needed coffee. Only coffee could center her wobbly brain.
Coffee and Jared.
With fingers still trembling from her panic dream, she retrieved the coffee grounds from the cabinet and filled her French press. The French press she bought on their road trip to Vermont last summer during one of his breaks from Chloe. They’d spent the day hopping around breweries, hiking, and screaming the lyrics to their favorite eighties songs while they drove through a torrential downpour back home.
She twisted the oven knob to ignite the burner under her teakettle and stared hard at the flickering blue flame. God, she missed him. It had been only four days since Sam and Syd’s engagement, but each day stretched on longer than the last.
She’d suspended all her beliefs for him. Paused the security force field around her heart to let him in. And he’d done exactly what she’d feared he’d do.
Maybe he’d already moved on. Maybe he’d called Chloe the second Mila had left his house to see if his ex would give him another shot. Maybe they were in his bed right now and he was saying all the same things to Chloe that he’d said to Mila during their night in the hotel.
She chewed on her thumbnail, her teeth finding barely any nail left to bite. Her mother would see her hands and raise that damned eyebrow, and Mila would feel even worse about what a disappointment this whole thing had been.
What a disappointment she’d been.
Her phone buzzed as the teakettle began to whistle. She filled the French press carafe with steaming water before opening her phone and checking the message.
She knew it wouldn’t be him. And yet, she hoped.
You up? I’m nearby. I’ve got muffins.
Mila snorted a bitter laugh and told Nicole she was up.
Less than five minutes later, Nicole appeared at the door wearing her Adirondack Mountain Rescue jacket and carrying a paper McDonagh’s Bakery bag. Worry etched her face.
“Breakup sweets, at your service.”
Mila rolled her eyes and poured the coffee into two mugs. “It’s not a breakup. We gave the romantic thing a shot, and it didn’t work out. No big deal.”
Nicole settled onto a kitchen stool and placed two giant blueberry muffins on the counter. The domed tops glittered with crunchy sugar crystals, and despite Mila’s salivary glands jumping to attention, her stomach recoiled.
“I already ate,” Mila said.
“You did not,” Nicole countered. “Don’t try to tell me you had food before coffee. I know you too well.”
Mila tore a tiny chunk from one of the muffins and popped it into her mouth. Chewing and swallowing proved almost as difficult as forcing Jared from her mind.
“You know,” Mila said, “you don’t have to keep coming over here to check on me. I’m fine. I know the whole town thinks I’m going to crumble into some inconsolable lump of sadness, but I promise you, I’ll be all right.”
Nicole pursed her lips and tugged at her earlobe, the surest way to let Mila know a lie was forthcoming. Nicole always told the truth.
“I really only came over to bring you breakfast,” she said. “I knew you took a few days off to test and make your bake-off pie, and I wanted you to have sustenance.”
“You’re very sweet,” Mila said.
“Oooh,” Nicole cooed, fixing her eyes on the counter next to the stove. “Apples. Did you reach out to Uncle Paul? Is that what the pie is? Apple?”
Mila had refused to share her idea with anybody, going so far as to visit Uncle Paul’s apple farm herself and telling him the only way she’d promote the farm was if he promised to keep her pie plan a secret. She didn’t want her neighbors’ questioning eyes, their pitying stares. Well, she’s heartbroken over him, of course she made his favorite pie for the contest.
Eventually she’d have to admit to herself that she’d chosen this particular pie because it linked her to Jared in a supremely intimate way: food. But she’d also taken that caramel apple pie recipe and turned it on its head.
Instead of peeling and slicing the apples, she set cored apple halves face down in the deep-dish pie plate, poured butter and brown sugar over them, and developed an airy custard filling to fill the space around the fruit. A thin layer of flaky sourdough crust covered the custard, and when the whole thing came out of the oven, crackling and bubbly sweet with caramel goodness, she sprinkled a barely there crumble of crispy bacon bits.
“I’m not telling you,” Mila said. “You’ll see it Saturday.”
Nicole pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, yanking up the sleeves of her hunter-green jacket to reveal the tiny rose tattoo she’d secretly obtained when she turned eighteen. Mila had gone with her and chickened out before she could finish writing her name on the paperwork.
“Whatever it is,” Nicole said, “I know you’re gonna kill it.”
Mila bit down on her lip. She’d typically refute Nicole’s optimism. Today, she felt it, too.
“Oh, also,” Nicole continued, “Calvin has this friend I want to set you up with. He lives in Boonville, so a little bit of a trek, but he’s a really nice guy. They grew up together. He has a good j
ob, and Calvin’s heard him say he’s looking to settle down.”
“Well, golly,” Mila droned, donning her best Southern belle accent. “A big ole man willing to make me his li’l ole wife? Get me to the church on time!”
The forced smile melted from her face with her most dramatic eye roll to date, and she sipped her coffee, the caffeine not hitting her bloodstream quick enough for the potential-suitor conversation.
“You’re such a brat.” Nicole plucked a blueberry from her muffin and tossed it at Mila, her friend deflecting the rogue berry into the sink. “I just want you to be happy. You’ve been holding out for Jared for so long, and I don’t want you to waste any more time.”
Mila bit her lower lip and dropped her gaze. Holding out. How pathetic. Waiting for someone to notice her, and then when she finally got her shot, the idiot didn’t even see her worth.
Caryl’s words echoed in Mila’s head. Don’t let somebody else tell you what you’re capable of. A wave of determination rose up in her chest, flooding her senses. She knew who she was. She knew she was smart, talented, caring, and compassionate. She knew she’d be a great wife, a fantastic mother, a talented pastry chef. She deserved to be all those things. She deserved a chance to try.
“Well, you can rest easy,” Mila said. She forced confidence into her voice and a smile to her lips. “I’m not wasting any more time. I’m gonna make this pie, I’m gonna win that contest, and I’m gonna get the apprenticeship with Chef Constance at Indigo.”
The corner of Nicole’s lips quirked. “Oh yeah?”
Mila tightened her jaw. “Yeah. I’m gonna kick the shit out of this contest. And Jared Kirkland will be sorry he didn’t see how amazing I really am.”
“Damn, Lee Lee!” Nicole leaped off the stool and thrust one fist into the air. “Hell yeah you are. Now take this fire and put it into that pie! I’ll get out of your hair. And I’ll see you tonight at the opening ceremonies. Six o’clock, yeah?”
“Six o’clock.”
Nicole kissed Mila’s cheek, gave her one last reassuring hug, and slipped out the front door. Mila turned back to her kitchen, tore the top off the muffin, and shoved it into her mouth. Crumbs rained down onto the counter in front of her, and through a full mouth, she said, “I’m gonna kill it.”
Sweet Love Page 24
