by Daria White
Chantelle despised him. She shivered, bringing her mind back to the present. “I understand, Brenda.”
“So, where does that leave the story? You have a few weeks left. If anyone can pull this off, you can. Don’t forget why you’re doing this.”
Nodding her head, though relieved Brenda couldn’t see her rolling her eyes, Chantelle breathed. “I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
Brenda hung up without a goodbye. Chantelle placed her phone on her mother’s kitchen table. Where did she go from here?
“Can’t sleep?” Douglas asked as he paced into the kitchen.
Chantelle straightened in her seat. “No, I had a business call.”
“Everything alright?” he asked, tightening the royal blue robe around his waist. “You sounded a little stressed.”
“I’m fine.”
Douglas bobbed his head, but his lips parted to say something else. His eyes softened. “I am here for you Chantelle. When you’re ready.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her kind-hearted dad would sit her on his lap as he read her short stories as a kid. Then he would kiss her temple and tell her how smart she was.
“You’re going to be great, and remember you already are,” he had said.
“Really Daddy?” She had asked in her childlike voice.
He kissed her full cheek. “You’re not only beautiful, but you’re smart.”
Chantelle closed her laptop on her mother’s table. She drained the rest of her coffee cup and carried it over to the sink. “Thank you, Douglas.”
She went to her room and shut the door behind her. Chantelle laid her laptop on the bed. Pacing to her dresser, she pulled out an old jewelry box given to her by her paternal grandmother. No jewels inside, but the scratched wooden box kept her beloved stories she would write for her father. Unfolding the crumpled, worn notebook paper, Chantelle read the words scribbled in pencil.
The little princess lived in a castle in a faraway land. No one cared what she thought since they only looked at her face. Why? She was pretty, but more was inside. She had a heart, but no one cared. Would anyone?
She spotted another piece of paper tucked in her jewelry box. Chantelle grabbed and opened it. She wrote this one in pen. Ten years ago. Her chest heaved as she read.
I couldn’t protect you. I failed. Maybe I didn’t know what I was doing. Maybe it was better this way, but I can’t imagine how. The safest place in the world should have been with me, and I can’t apologize enough. I won’t forget you. I’ll always love you. I’ll never know what you would have looked like. I can only picture your smile as you would look up at me.
Chantelle folded the paper. She couldn’t read anymore. Tears brimming in her eyes, she stopped and returned the paper to her jewelry box. She wiped her face as she nibbled on her lips. Rubbing her arms, she forced herself to remember the good times. She needed to focus on one thing. Her article.
She could do this. Chantelle could write her story without exploiting Lance and his life. There had to be a way without disappointing her boss.
Sitting on her bed, she opened her laptop once more and typed an introduction to her article. What would she call it? Tapping her slim fingers to her lips, she mulled title names.
“The Bachelor Takes a Wife”? She noted it as a placeholder. She could change it later. Lance had a future with Andrea Williams. They would marry and live happily ever after. Chantelle’s stomach hardened at the notion. She would return to Chicago—alone.
***
Lance waited for Andrea to pick up the phone as he paced his bedroom. Waking up early, he made his coffee, grateful Dottie had made him a hearty breakfast. After his workout, he slept better, and woke up refreshed.
He only had a few minutes before going into the office today, so he wanted to catch her in his free time. The fresh scent of his aftershave overwhelmed his nose. Running his hand down his face, he bit back the groan in the back of his throat. Then he heard Andrea’s voice.
“It’s about time you answered.” Wrong move, but he said it.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been working. Aren’t you?” Andrea asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
He sighed, plopping down on his bed. “I don’t want to argue with you. It’s not why I called.”
“Why did you?”
His eyebrows furrowed as he sat up in bed. “How about this is the first conversation we’ve had without you rushing me off the phone.”
“I haven’t been rushing you. I’ve been—”
“I know working.”
She huffed. “So I’m just supposed to forget about my life and be what you want?”
“No.” He rubbed his forehead. “All I’m asking is for you to take a break.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“Whose idea was this? Your mother’s? She’s already controlling the wedding.”
“You said she could help, but if you were here, she wouldn’t have to. What do I care about if we have a DJ or a band? It’s not my job.”
“Why don’t you say what’s really bothering you? Is it work, Lance?” Her voice mellowed as if she were trying to remain calm. “Talk to me.”
He stood on his carpeted floor and paced back and forth. “I don’t understand why we can’t have a destination wedding or even go to the courthouse. All this fancy stuff is not worth it to me.”
“Lance, almost every woman in life has dreamed of her wedding. I’ve been imagining this since I was a little girl. It’s a dream come true for me. I don’t think a perfect wedding is too much to ask for.”
Perfect. A word he had tried to live up to his entire life. If he wasn’t trying to please his parents, he was trying to be the best lawyer and beat the record of other attorneys at his father’s firm. Lance pinched the bridge of his nose. He slowed his breathing.
He couldn’t keep doing it. Something had to change. His parents were another topic altogether, but he could try with his future wife. “Perfect, huh?”
“You don’t agree?” Her voice sounded full of concern.
Lance’s chin dropped to his chest. “I’m not perfect, Andrea. If that’s what you’re expecting, I’ll never live up to that.”
She sighed. “Are you having second thoughts? Does this have to do with your—”
“That’s the past. I told you that,” he said. He didn’t want to open old wounds. Not with her, especially since he hadn’t told her about Chantelle being back in town. When was the right time?
Andrea continued. “Then can we talk about this later? The wedding plans, I mean.”
“Why can’t we talk now? You have my attention. Don’t I have yours?” Lance asked.
“It’s just… I have a few appointments tomorrow, and I can’t be late. I need to get some sleep.” Her voice sounded regretful.
Lance blew out his cheeks. He forgot about the time difference. “Alright, when will you be available again? Should I call you or check with Roland, your agent?”
“I can’t believe you! This is important to me, and you don’t even care. You know what, yes. Call my agent when you want to talk like the man I’m marrying.”
She hung up. His last comment went too far, and the lump in his throat only worsened. He could call back to apologize, but she wouldn’t listen. Andrea was the type that needed to cool off. Chantelle faced an argument head on.
Lance pressed one fist to his forehead. He wouldn’t compare them. Clutching his phone, he thought about calling Andrea again. Knowing still she wouldn’t answer, he stuffed his phone in his pocket. To his surprise, his phone buzzed. Andrea called back.
“Sorry,” she said.
Lance released a deep breath. “Me too.”
“What’s the problem, Lance? It has to be more than the wedding.”
“Why haven’t you come to Delta Heights?”
“I’ll be there soon enough. I plan on—”
“No, I mean before.” Chantelle’s question had rang in his ears.
Why didn’t Andrea visit him? A relationship worked both ways. “I grew up here. I’d like for you to see where I grew up. My old high school. The community center.”
“I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”
“I guess I never mentioned it.” They had to get better at communicating or they wouldn’t work. Communication and trust. Those words stood out to him more than anything. He could trust Andrea. He knew that from their first conversation that she was confident and strong. They shared the same values—somewhat.
Would it be enough to sustain a marriage? Where was this tension between them coming from?
“Why didn’t you?” She asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do men have that much of a problem sharing their feelings?”
Her comment didn’t sting. Lance knew the stereotypes and worked hard to prove people wrong. He’d made dumb decisions as a boy. Some he couldn’t forget. It etched in his memory like an epitaph to a gravestone. “My family doesn’t do emotion, Andrea. We deal with life and move on.”
Move on. That idea had cost him everything.
“I see.”
“But I… don’t want to do that with you.” He hoped she heard his honesty.
“I know.” Then she groaned. “Lance, I have to go. Can we please talk later?”
He wouldn’t argue this time. There was no point. “Sure.”
Andrea hung up. Lance stared into space. Their future marriage wasn’t off to a good start.
Chapter 12
Chantelle passed the parked cars on Main Street. Striped awnings shaded the storefronts, and colorful welcoming signs displayed in store windows. Pedestrians strolled along and she waved to a few faces she recognized. Careful in her heels, she avoided the cracks in the sidewalk with grass tufts poking through.
Cars drove past while older trucks chugged along. Warm sunshine surrounded her, and passing the local coffee shop, she inhaled yeasty bread. It was a gorgeous day. Sunlight brightened everything it touched, adding glimmers to shiny surfaces and making colors appear more vivid. Reflecting off a store window, it gave a prism and refracted a mini rainbow.
Chantelle took out her cell to take a photo. She wouldn’t post it on social media, but this she would keep for herself on those nights in her apartment when she missed home. Zooming the photo closer, she focused to steady the photograph.
Something hard hit her from behind. She lost balance in her heels and stretched out her hand to break her fall. A muscular arm enveloped her waist. She held back a screech.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” A bass voice said. “Are you alright?”
A dog barked, and Chantelle’s eyes lowered to see the Yorkie wagging its tail. Its pink tongue hung from its mouth.
“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” she said.
“Chantelle?” He said as if he recognized her.
“Do I know you?” She asked, regaining her balance and stepping away from his embrace.
“We graduated the same year together.”
She shrugged. His shaved hair in a Mohawk fitted his square face. His olive skin was smooth, and his smile gleamed, making her grin back at him.
“Javier? Javier Flores?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.
“How are you?” Javier opened his arms for a hug.
Chantelle squealed, recalling her old friend in high school. She wrapped her arms around him and he swayed her back and forth. His dog barked again, interrupting the moment.
“This is Henry,” Javier said.
Chantelle knelt and reached for the dog’s paw. “Hi Henry.”
The dog shook with her, and she giggled. “You trained him well.”
“Thanks.”
She straightened to her feet. “How long are you in town?”
“I moved back.”
“You’re kidding?”
He shook his head. “What about you? I heard you made it big in the windy city.”
“I’m here profiling the Taylor wedding.”
Javier raised his eyebrows. “Lance? Didn’t you guys...” His mouth twisted. “Interesting.”
“Yes, we’re working together now,” she said.
Javier gestured for her to walk with him, so she obliged. “Everything going well? How’s life?”
“I love what I do. No dog, though. There’s a no pet policy in my building,” Chantelle said.
“Who doesn’t love dogs?”
“Quite a few, but I’m not one of them. How are you? What do you do?”
His eyes beamed. “I’m an artist. I have a studio and I’ve signed with a representative. I have my first showing before the summer is over.”
A bark of laughter escaped her lips. “As technical as you were back in high school? I could have sworn you would invent something.”
He chuckled along with her. “I love technology, but I developed a passion for art.”
“Good for you.”
He paused and stared across the street. “Are you free now? I know a place with great sandwiches and is pet friendly.”
Chantelle smiled. She knew the place too. “Lead the way.”
He extended his arm, and Chantelle looped hers through his. Javier Flores. What were the chances of running into him in town? Though they shared a genuine friendship in high school, she hated that the years drove them apart. Not to mention, her grief drove her to isolate herself.
Chantelle’s eyes drifted down to Javier’s dog, Henry. His tail wagged in obvious excitement. He led the way, but Javier made sure his dog didn’t dart into the street.
With traffic behind them, they entered through the glass doors of Maxwell’s Deli and ordered. Chantelle sat across from Javier. The surrounding people placed orders, and chit chatted with friends. An employee called out items that were running low, while a frying pan hissed on the stove.
Spicy mustard and cayenne filled Chantelle’s nostrils along with baked bread. The pair ate outside. Flavors burst in her mouth as she tasted the succulent turkey sandwich she ordered. Though a few small tables and chairs remained empty, Max’s place kept a good crowd for lunch.
“Is it good?” Javier asked.
Chantelle bobbed her head. Then she scooted in her seat to get more comfortable, only to notice something warm on her feet. Looking underneath the table, she spotted Henry. “He’s asleep.”
Javier chuckled. “He took to you fast.”
She bit into her chewy bread. Javier looked so different with a five o’clock shadow. His dark features were exotic to look at, but his gleaming smile made all the difference. He even showed chivalry by opening the door for her when they first arrived.
“I never took you for a dog person,” Chantelle said.
“I wasn’t, but I volunteer at the animal shelter in town with my sister. She loves animals. I saw this little guy and had to take him home.”
She touched a hand to her heart. “That’s so sweet.”
“Did you grow up with pets?”
She shook her head. “No, but my mom changed her mind since she has a cat now. He looks like Garfield. More like Cat from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
Javier laughed. “Does he at least have a name?”
“Pepper. Don’t ask me why she chose that.”
“Any pets in your future?” He wiped his medium lips with a napkin.
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Javier leaned his elbows on the table. “So tell me what it’s like to be a famous writer. Last I saw, you profiled an NBA player and his fiancé for their wedding last year.”
“Hardly famous.”
He wagged a finger at her. “Don’t sell yourself short. I read that article.”
“You read The Wedding Report?”
“I’m more of a Sports Illustrated kind of guy, but my baby sister obsesses over it. She begged me to read the article since it involved a sports player. I recognized your name and kept reading.”
Her heart warmed at the notion. “That was nice of you. What w
as your favorite part?”
He stroked his stubble chin. “I think the section where you asked him how he proposed. It was kind of cliché to me for him to hide the ring in a cupcake, but it was nice how his fiancé liked it.”
“I did too. That was one of my favorite questions to ask.”
Javier stared. He was handsome, but she wasn’t back in town to work on her personal life.
“Is everything okay?” She asked him.
He held up a napkin and wiped the corner of her mouth. He took his time and despite the tickle of the paper, she could feel his warm, strong fingers stroking her skin.
“You had some mustard there,” he said.
“Oh, no.” Grabbing her own napkin, she wiped the rest of her mouth, taking off most of her lipstick.
“I got most of it, so you’re good.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes lingered. “You’re welcome. How long will you be here?”
She sighed, despite the fluttery feeling in her stomach. “Just until Lance’s wedding day.”
Javier bobbed his head. “That’s plenty of time.”
“Time for what?”
“To ask you out for a few dates.”
Chantelle’s body went still and her mouth fell open. Javier’s mouth quirked up into a grin. He couldn’t be serious. She’d be leaving soon. Going out with him? What if he wanted more? He was a friend, and they were always cordial in high school, but a date?
“You’re thinking about it, I see,” he said.
“Javier, I come back as often as I can to visit my family, but that’s it. Delta Heights is still home, but I live in Chicago. Is it even wise to... start something?”
“I get that.” His eyes softened. “Truth is, I should have asked you out a long time ago. I didn’t have the guts then being awkward. I’m passed that stage now.”
“I can see that.” He had come into his own.
“You were always nice to me, despite what others said. I appreciated it. I liked you.”
