“He’s overseas, isn’t he?” I asked nonchalantly.
In the past five years, even on visits home, I’d always managed to miss seeing Heathcliff. He was never home when I was, his time in the military keeping him either deployed or working. I’d always made it a point to visit the Vincents, especially Mams, who after all these years was still alive. Somehow, she’d managed to fight the odds, but her time was drawing near, the last few months since my return from France revealing an aged woman whose memory was sketchy at best, her skin more yellow than peach.
The old woman had become an ally over the years, her stoic determination and firm love something I’d come to depend on, and the idea of losing her hurt me almost as much as it did the Vincents. It didn’t help that, along with Mams’ illness, they all missed Heathcliff. I didn’t like to admit it, but I did, too.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t dated after Max. I’d been in two relationships the past few years, one in college and the other in France. The longest one had lasted eight months, but there’d always been something missing. Life did that, I guess. Romance born out of hardship and grief was often harder to overcome than romance built out of a shallow need not to be alone.
“He was discharged a year ago, Hawthorne. He’s been stateside since then. Quit beating around the bush and just say what you feel. We’ve been friends long enough for that. Besides, I know you go out to that wretched building in the woods every time you visit his family,” Rebecca said, her voice muffled as she popped a newly decorated bonbon into her mouth.
“Those are for the Travis baby shower,” I mumbled, my gaze darting to hers. “And I don’t go out to that old building.”
Rebecca stole another bonbon. “Keep telling yourself that, but the only one you’re lying to is yourself. Next you’re going to tell me the old pair of sneakers in your bedroom closet isn’t his. Though why the hell you’d want to keep a pair of worn tennis shoes is beyond me.”
Rolling out fondant icing, I stole a glance at the sticky note. “The shoes remind me to keep trying.”
She swallowed the chocolate. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty curious about what the Vincents have planned, so call them! That’s why I invested in this business. I’m nosy, and I’m not afraid to admit it.”
I smiled. “It had absolutely nothing to do with the food.”
She winked. “Don’t tell me France made you sassy.”
My snort was answer enough. In many ways, I’d changed. I’d gotten bolder, less shy, and more direct. My wild hair was tamed more often than not, my clothes no longer my uncle’s button-up shirts and sturdy jeans. My style was a casual one; loose knit dresses, belted tunics or a blazer over tanks and jeans. It suited my short stature. I had a professor in college to thank for the change, her voice stern when she told me, “Just because you work in a kitchen doesn’t mean you have to dress like you never left the house. People don’t like to buy food from trolls.”
It had been a rather harsh comment looking back, but she’d had a kind gaze and a critical eye, her intentions good. She’d not been talking about me, she’d been talking about my attire. Rebecca had been right all those years before in high school when she’d told me that if I wanted to be a business woman, I needed to dress like one. In truth, I still preferred my uncle’s old shirts, but I kept those for days off. I even had a few of Heathcliff’s he’d left behind when we’d been together. Those I slept in occasionally.
Rebecca grabbed her car keys, throwing me a final glance before heading for the door. “I’ll go get a few things we’re out of. There’s a supply order being delivered today, too. Call the Vincents. I want lots of details when I get back.” Smiling, she added, “Don’t forget, you’ve got to make two extra bonbons.”
My chuckle followed her out. What she didn’t know was that I always made extra because I knew she’d steal them.
Chapter 22
My call to the Vincents was answered on the first ring, a male voice coming across the line, and I froze, the familiar sound crashing over me. It threw me into a whirlwind of emotions and feelings I’d thought I’d learned to let go of.
“Hey, is anyone there?” Heathcliff asked.
Swallowing hard, I inhaled, my voice calm when I inquired, “Is Lynn available?”
There was a pause on the other line. It’s weird. The entire time I’d been with Heathcliff, I’d never spoken with him on the phone. Honestly, I’d rarely used the phone. Now, I didn’t just have a landline for the business but a cell phone for personal calls. Wonder of wonders, I even texted.
After a moment, I heard, “Hawthorne?”
My hand gripped the receiver. “Yeah … how are you?”
There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I wanted to ask. When had he gotten back? Did he find what he was looking for? Was he happy?