Cam was gone, and his absence was like a stab to her chest. His running shoes weren’t by the door, and she figured he’d gone for another run. She couldn’t recall him ever having such dedication to his health or exercise in particular. It made her wonder briefly what else she’d missed.
Lydia was dressed and in the kitchen making coffee by the time Cam returned, sweat dripping down his face, his shirt completely soaked.
“Got in five miles this morning,” he said, his familiar goofy grin spread over his face.
Lydia smiled back. She couldn’t help it. He was just too…contagious.
“Headed to the office, missus?” He reached into the fridge for a bottle of water.
She nodded over her mug of coffee. “Yeah, I want to get there early, take care of stuff I might have missed over the weekend.”
He paused, his gaze settling on her. “And the Hatfields?”
Lydia licked her lips. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Something passed over Cam’s face that looked oddly like sadness or worse, disappointment. Lydia paused in taking another sip of her coffee, stalled, and set her mug down.
“I appreciate what you said last night,” she said. “I really do, Cam, and I promise I’ll take it to heart.”
His smile returned then, but it didn’t quite reach the proportions it had earlier. It made her feel suddenly hollow.
God, when had he started to have such an effect on her?
Five years ago, when she’d run into him in a bar.
She rinsed her coffee cup in the sink before heading for the door. She snatched up her bag and keys, turned with a confident smile that she didn’t quite feel.
“See you tonight?” she called across the space, the words springing from her lips as some sort of way to stop the evil thing lurking in the back of her mind, that of Cam’s inevitable departure.
It was in that moment that Lydia realized her heart was made of glass and it was easily shattered. Because at her words, Cam straightened, setting down the bottle of water he’d been toying with, his face growing grim, and Lydia knew she had lost him for good.
“I’ve booked a flight back to London tonight.”
There it was.
The end she had seen coming. The end she had wanted. But if she had wanted it, why did it feel so fucking wrong?
Lydia swallowed, the only thing she was capable of, but she kept her smile in place with a nod. “All right,” she managed. “Well then, good bye if I don’t see you.”
Anticipation hung in the air, so thick she choked on it, unable to say the words that burned inside of her.
Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Stay. Please, fucking God, stay.
But none of those words came. Nothing came, and Cam said, “Take care of yourself, Lydia Baxter.”
She left without another word, pain seizing her entire body, and as she walked down her front stoop, she wondered why she liked it better when he called her Lydia McCray.
“So they ordered the off-the-shoulder number in mauve for the three bridesmaids, but I think they’ll regret that choice, so I’m not entering the order until—”
Silence.
“Lydia Baxter, you are not listening to me.”
Lydia started, looking up at Annette hovering over her desk, the stack of orders from the weekend in her hand like a tome. Annette had been saying something about bridesmaids dresses, but Lydia couldn’t give a shit about bridesmaids dresses right then.
She had completely, totally, and utterly fucked up.
Well, if I don’t see you, goodbye?
She’d really said that?
What. The. Fuck.
Lydia Baxter.
She wasn’t Lydia Baxter. She hadn’t been Lydia Baxter for nearly five years. She was Lydia McCray. Lydia McCray with a nice, soft, warm, welcoming Scottish brogue layered over it like the perfect ganache.
“Mom,” Lydia said, not sure if she surprised herself or her mother more by calling her Mom and not Annette. “I’m having guy problems.”
If Shannon wasn’t answering her phone and Emily was shacking up with a gorgeous and wild man, the only person she had left was her mother. God fucking help her.
Annette sat down, hard, on the nearest box because there wasn’t another chair in Lydia’s tiny office.
“Oh, Lydia,” Annette said, the perfect fringe of hair along her forehead moving ever so slightly as if in sympathy. “What is it?”
“Did you ever think Edward wasn’t right for you?”
She may have called Annette Mom, but she wasn’t about to call Edward Baxter Father.
It was apparently not only Lydia’s day to surprise people, it was also Annette’s. Because at Lydia’s words, her mother burst out laughing. Annette Baxter’s emotional scale went from polite awe to polite enjoyment. Laughing fell nowhere on the spectrum. Lydia sat up straighter, staring at her mother.
When Annette finally settled she said, “Oh Lydia, I’ve been dying for you to ask that question ever since you met Cam.”
Lydia blinked, once more only swallowing because that was all she could do.
“Did you know your father drove a motorcycle when we met?” Annette laughed again. “A motorcycle. Can you imagine me riding on a motorcycle?” She laughed once more and shook her head. “Oh, the pantyhose I went through riding that thing around town.”
“You rode on a motorcycle?”
Lydia wasn’t certain how much more weirdness she could take in her day, because the image of her mother on a motorcycle was weird enough. Motorcycles didn’t go with Annette Baxter’s pearls and diamonds.
“I thought he would never give that thing up,” she said softly, another shake of her head. “But he did, and he went to work for his father like he was supposed to, and we all grew up.” Annette leaned forward, taking Lydia’s hands in her own. “Lydia, dear, sometimes the people who are meant for us are the ones so unlike us they don’t make sense.”
Lydia added that nice bit of wisdom with the chunk from Cam last night, shaking her head until it all settled into place.
“But he’s so unlike me,” Lydia whispered, not feeling the strength to say the words too loudly.
“Is he?” Annette asked, letting Lydia’s hands slip from her own as she stood. “It’s none of my business, but Lydia, does Cam sometimes do things that are so perfect at just the right time for a situation that has gone really, really bad?”
Lydia thought of karaoke, of dude movies, and ice cream sticks. Of last night when Cam handed her a glass of wine and her smartphone.
“It’s moments like those that make them perfect for us, Lydia.” She handed Lydia the stack of orders, saying, “If you have any questions about this weekend’s receipts, just let me know. I have a nine o’clock that should be coming in shortly.”
Lydia watched her mother leave and listened as the stillness of her office grew unbearable. She thought of her townhouse, of the emptiness that awaited her. There would be no Cam to hand her a glass of wine tonight, to strategize with over take-out, to watch dude movies. She had only just begun to discover who her husband had become, who he might have been all along, and she was letting that go. Letting it go all over a stupid deal.
She set the orders on her desk and snatched up her phone.
It rang three times before it was answered on the other end.
“Rebecca?” Lydia said. “I was wondering if you have a minute to talk.”
“So you’re giving up?” His mother’s voice came through the phone under a siege of barking. “Quitter,” she muttered before yelling at the dogs to stop tormenting the maid.
Cam rubbed his hand over his face, reaching for his socks and tossing them into the open suitcase on the bed.
“I’m not quitting, Mum,” he said. “I am wisely changing my course of action before consequences are such that—”
“Bullocks,” she cut him off. “You’re a quitter.”
He tossed his toiletries bag on top of the socks.
“This from the wo
man who doesn’t even like Lydia,” he shot back.
His mother laughed. “I don’t like her Cam because she’s too much like me.”
The proclamation had him stilling in his efforts to pack for the late afternoon flight to London.
“I’m sorry?” he said now to his mother who shushed the dogs on the other end.
“Cam, listen to me, dear.” His mother employed the tone of voice she’d often used right after his da had died and Cam was worried about something not working out the way it should. It made him feel rather childish, but in the end, she’d always been right. So he listened. “Love is not easy. Love is no happily ever after despite what the fairytales say. Love is work. Love makes you want to give up. Love makes you want to throw in the towel because he keeps putting the wet towels on the carpet in the bedroom.”
Cam interrupted, “I do not put wet towels on carpet.”
His mum laughed.
“No, but your da did, and it drove me wild,” she replied. “Cam, the thing is, your father and I had a rocky marriage. It was full of fights and arguments and disagreements and such. But it didn’t matter because without your father, my life would have been boring. Incomplete. Unfinished. The madness between us was what made us, us. Only your father could understand what made me moody, what drove me to eat a sleeve of digestives.” She grew quiet, and Cam worried this was perhaps not a good topic just then. “He knew how to fix things,” she finally said. “He fixed them even when I didn’t realize he did.”
Cam sat down on the bed, the phone to his ear, unmoving in the quiet of the bedroom.
“I didn’t fix them.” Cam thought about Lydia leaving that morning. Of her careless goodbye as she went out the door.
“What if you did, Cam?” his mother said. “What if you did and you just don’t realize it?”
Cam looked at his passport, slung carelessly on the top of the now closed suitcase.
“I don’t think so, Mum,” he said and picked up the passport.
The day passed by in a grateful daze of appointments and fittings, hysterical brides and domineering mothers. Lydia’s feet ached by the time the last appointment left at four that afternoon. She sat down on the dais of the showroom floor, dropping her head on her knees.
“Long day?”
Lydia jumped. Jumped so high her neck spasmed with the sudden jolt.
Edward Baxter stood not five feet in front of her, hands casually pushed into the pockets of his suit pants. Her father had just passed sixty and looked like any other refined businessman would look. Except the sudden image of him riding a motorcycle popped into her head. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Edward wore his tawny hair slightly longer, brushing against his collar and curling around his ears. He had a goatee he kept neatly trimmed, defined cheekbones, and piercing green eyes.
Gorgeous and wild.
It was strange to think of one’s father like that, but after Annette’s tale of motorcycles, it wasn’t hard to fit the description to him.
“Hello, Edward.” She got to her feet as gracefully as she could.
She wanted to look around her, see where her mother had gone or even Shelly. But the shop was silent, and she didn’t want to move her head lest her father think her weak or something stupid like that.
“I wanted to stop in and see how the shop was going, but then I read the financials you sent into the board for last quarter.”
Lydia straightened, her shoulders went back, neck growing long. She could do this. She didn’t need the Hatfield account. She didn’t need anything. She had run Baxter’s of Newbury profitably since taking over the management, and she planned to make it grow even without the revenue the Hatfields would have brought in.
“I noticed exponential growth in bridal accessories on the balance sheet.” Edward paced over to a rack of gowns, toying with the sleeve of a dress. “But at the same time, you’ve really reduced your underperforming assets.” He dropped the sleeve and looked at her, his fierce green eyes penetrating her. “How?”
Lydia followed his movements, saying, “We started a campaign last spring targeting local high schools and prom goers. Young ladies attending prom often overlook bridal shops for their dresses thinking they are overpriced. We set the promotion to highlight clearance items, the underperforming assets, and liquidated them. Though we sold them at a lower margin, the promotion was still profitable.”
“I,” Edward said.
“Sorry?” Lydia replied, forcing herself not to blink.
“You said we started a campaign,” Edward said. “As far as I know you’re the only one running this shop.” He looked directly back at her. “Take credit for the hard work you’ve done here, Lydia.”
Lydia froze. Inch by inch down from her scalp to her toes, her skin tingled as the world around her seemed to shrink to the tip of a pin.
Her father crossed his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels.
“I wonder if it’s time to think about expansion,” Edward said. “Baxter’s is so successful, I wonder if you could take the brand nationally.” He raised an eyebrow, gave a shrug of one shoulder. “Perhaps internationally?”
Lydia began to unfreeze, thawing in reverse order as the cold had passed over her, warmth blossoming within her, through her, upon her.
“I think prospects for an international launch are good, but I’d like to do the market research for cities we would hope to penetrate. It would be beneficial to have a scope on the competition and potential barriers to entry,” she said in a rush, not certain where it all had come from.
Edward rocked forward. “I’m thinking London.” His firm jaw moved slightly into a pondering position. “I hear London’s busy these days.” He gave an odd wiggle of one eyebrow that reminded her so much of Cam, it felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Good work here, McCray. Look forward to what you do next.”
Lydia gave herself credit for not letting her mouth drop open until her father had turned his back. But as he began to walk away, Lydia roused herself, shaking her head and forcing herself to respond.
“Dad?” she called across the showroom floor.
Edward Baxter stopped, his arms hanging loosely at his sides until he slowly turned toward her, a grin on his face.
“Thanks,” Lydia said.
He saluted her and walked out the front door of the shop, the bell over the door twinkling his departure.
Lydia sat back down on the dais, her body collapsing in on itself, tears threatening at the back of her eyes. For someone who didn’t cry, she was crying entirely too much as of late. She drew in a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and focused on the opposite wall, forcing herself to calm down.
Good work here, McCray.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Edward Baxter thought she was doing a good job. Thought she could take the Baxter’s brand international.
Jesus fuck—
It didn’t matter.
None of it mattered.
The realization was so startling the very air escaped her lungs, leaving her with a pinched chest and an open mouth, unable to breath. It didn’t matter because in a very short time she was going home to an empty townhouse. There would be no one there to witness her life, to share in her joys and commiserate in her downs. There was no one there. There was no Cam.
Annette stepped out from between two racks of the fall line, her usual polite smile on her face, hands softly folded in front of her.
“Only one more appointment today,” she said.
Lydia stared at her as her mind continued to gallop. Using what strength she had left, she focused in on what her mother was saying and shook her head, standing. “No, I spoke with Rebecca Hatfield,” she said. “She won’t be coming in. It’s better—”
The bell above the door tinkled, the sound like shattering glass in the quiet of the shop. Evelyn Hatfield bustled in, her middle daughter in tow behind her, hands fluttering about her head as both women attempted to speak at once.
“Sa
rah, sit,” Evelyn finally said when they’d reached the dais and the sitting area in front of it. “Oh, Lydia, darling, I’m so sorry we’re late. But sometimes you cannot get these girls moving.” Evelyn cast an evil eye on Sarah, followed by a prompt tongue sticking out of her mouth and darting back in.
Lydia stepped forward.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hatfield, but I think there’s some confusion,” Lydia said.
“Oh, darling, I know.” Evelyn bent over her purse, rummaging through its contents until she just dumped it onto the chair. “I’m sorry to change things on you so mid-stream, but they’re dead set on a Christmas wedding. Something about red and green plaid.” Evelyn stood up abruptly, swinging her hands to Lydia’s arms in a grip of consternation. “A red and green plaid wedding, Lydia. Gah! Can you imagine?” A shake of the head. “But what my girls want, my girls get.”
Lydia bent to get on the woman’s eye level.
“Mrs. Hatfield, I called Rebecca—”
“Oh yes,” Evelyn gripped her harder. “Yes, you did, my dear, and I will forever be grateful. I don’t know what that girl was thinking, but she wasn’t listening to her mother. Thank God for you, Lydia McCray. Can you imagine? Eric Flickinger? He’s a lovely boy, but he’s not for my Rebecca.”
Lydia let her thoughts linger on how much she was beginning to like her name said like that, but when sadness filtered through her pleasure, she forced the thought away.
“Mrs. Hatfield—”
The bell above the door tinkled again, and Lydia straightened to look through the racks of gowns.
Tabitha Hatfield sauntered through the door, her arm lazily cast around—
A giggling Stacy.
For the second time that day, Lydia’s body froze.
“Dude!” Tabitha called across the shop. “Compadre! We meet again.”
Lydia forced a smile to her lips, her body so numb and confused she couldn’t match the right expression with the correct response.
“They just decided yesterday that it was time to get married,” Evelyn said from beside Lydia. “Can you imagine? They said something about you and Cam, and how…oh, they used some sort of slang word there for awesome, and now they want to get married. Poof! Just like that. Well, at least they actually love each other.”
When She Falls Page 20
