Love with Strings: The Complete Boxset
1. Aubree
ONE
Four And a Half Years Later
“You are going to have the most amazing time!” I pull my son into my arms and hug him tightly, hating that for the first time, he and his sister will be away from me for most of the summer, and not just for the night. “I love you and I’m going to miss you like crazy.”
“Mom, I love you, and I’ll miss you too, but you’re going to hug me to death.” Miles chokes his words through a laugh that sends my heart soaring. Nothing is better than the sound of my children laughing, especially when you’ve lost as many loved ones as I have. Every smile, every laugh, every moment feels like a precious gift—one that can be taken at any moment.
I mentally shake myself, refusing to go there.
“Sorry,” I say, loosening my hold on Miles. “Be good for Grammy and Papa, okay?”
“I will,” he says with an eye roll that makes him appear more like a teenager than the almost nine-year-old he is.
“If you need anything, call me,” I say to Evie next, who nods in understanding. “I love you more than red velvet cupcakes,” I tell my baby girl, pulling her into a hug that damn near rivals the one I just gave Miles.
She giggles, hugging me back. “I love you more than chocolate fudge brownies.”
Reluctantly, I let her go and take a deep breath, knowing they’re in good hands with my in-laws, Beatrice and Stephen. They have a vacation home in Florida where they’ll be spending the summer, and this year, since it’s the first summer since my grandmother passed away, they’ve offered to take the kids with them so they won’t be bored at the coffeehouse.
I told them I could put them in camp—although it would be tight money-wise—but the kids really wanted to go to Florida, and as much as I hate the thought of not seeing them for such a long time, I couldn’t say no. Not when they were beyond excited. I can’t really blame them since their grandparents’ vacation home is directly on the beach. They also have a pool and hot tub, and they’ll be spending a lot of time sailing everywhere aboard their yacht. Beatrice also told them that if, at any time, they feel homesick, she would bring them right back home to me.
“Thank you for taking them,” I tell Beatrice, now giving her a hug.
“You don’t have to thank me for spending time with my grandbabies,” she says. “Enjoy the bit of time to yourself,” she murmurs. “Take a bath, read a book, go out with Lacey, have fun… Get laid.”
She winks, and I choke out a watery laugh at her last demand—at the fact that my sixty-five-year-old mother-in-law is telling me to have sex, and it’s not the first time she’s suggested it.
“I’ll definitely take a bath and read a book,” I tell her pointedly.
She sighs, knowing the getting laid part isn’t going to happen, despite her suggesting it every time we talk. I get she wants me to honor Pete’s wishes and move forward, the way she finally did after her husband passed away, but it took her twenty years… It hasn’t even been five years since Peter passed away. It’s not that I don’t ever plan to move forward with my life, but I’m just not ready yet.
With one last hug to the four of them, they get into the town car and take off for their summer adventure, leaving me standing here, wondering what the hell I’m going to do without my babies all summer long.
“You okay?” Lacey, my best friend, asks, wrapping her arm around me for a side hug as we watch my entire world drive away.
“When did they grow up?” I choke out, feeling like my heart’s in the car with my kids. “Only yesterday they were just learning to walk and talk, and now they’re leaving me for the entire summer like it’s no big deal.”
“They’ll have a blast,” she reminds me. “And they’ll always be your babies. But they are growing up, and it’s okay to give them some room to grow and experience.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right. Ever since we lost Peter, I’ve kept them close, probably too close, but when you watch your husband die in front of you—and four years later, your grandma dies from a heart attack—you tend to realize just how fragile life really is. Even though Peter said the condition wasn’t genetic, I still had the kids evaluated, not wanting to take any chances. Thankfully, as of now, they’re both healthy with no signs of heart problems, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying.
“How long is Sammy gone for, again?” I ask as we walk toward the back door of the coffeehouse. Sammy is Lacey’s fifteen-year-old son—she and her husband, Samuel, got pregnant our senior year of high school. It was a shock, but they handled it better than I would have at that age. That’s for sure.
“Football camp is for four weeks, but once he gets back, he’ll have practice every day. Which means…” Lacey grins mischievously. “It’s you and me all summer, since my darling husband is eyeballs-deep in a project he’s working on and won’t be coming up for air any time soon.” Her husband is an architect and from what she’s told me, an amazing one at that.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, giving her the side-eye, already knowing where she’s going with this.
“What?” she says innocently.
“You know what. Did Beatrice put you up to this? I swear the woman is more determined to get me laid than I am.”
Lacey cracks up. “She also gets laid more than you do.”
“Truth.” I cringe, not wanting to think about my in-laws’ sex life.
We head back inside Heart’s Coffeehouse and Bakery—our family surname of “Heart” prominently on display. It was my grandparents’ pride and joy, left to me when my grandma passed away. She and my grandfather opened it just over fifty years ago and lived in the apartments directly above it, both of them running it together until a tragic car accident claimed his life.
With the coffeehouse being my grandparents’ favorite place to be, I practically grew up here, and now, since it’s my favorite place, my kids have grown up here as well. Just like my grandparents, the kids and I live in the apartments just above the bakery.
After Peter died, I couldn’t keep the home we owned, at least not without stretching myself too thin. And, if I’m being honest, I couldn’t handle the constant onslaught of images resulting from that fateful morning. So, we moved into one of the apartments above the coffeehouse, allowing us to be close to my grandma, while also enabling me to take the money I made off the sale of the house and put it into savings. It was also convenient since I have to be here in the early mornings and evenings several times a week to bake and open the shop. Since my grandma passed away, Lacey has taken over opening in the morning so I can get the kids to school. When they say it takes a village, they really aren’t kidding, and I’m extremely fortunate to have the best village helping me raise my kids.
Lacey bumps my shoulder with hers. “So, I was thinking… after we close, we could get dressed up, put on some makeup, and go out to Wine and Dine. Make it a ladies’ night out.”
I internally groan, even though I knew this was coming. And since I know that Lacey isn’t going to drop it until she gets me out, I decide to get it over with. “Sure,” I tell her. “Sounds good.”
She squeals in delight. “Yes! We’re going to have so much fun. We should go shopping too, since I know your wardrobe could use a major overhaul.”
I glare her way. “Now you’re pushing your luck.” I hated shopping before I had my kids, but now, with my curvy mom bod (Okay, fine, it’s not all from my kids. Some of it is because I love sweets and spend most of my time baking and trying new recipes) shopping is my least favorite thing to do. It’s not that I hate my body—I’m okay with having curves, but it’s hard to shop for clothes when it feels like everything that’s cute is meant for a size three.
“Fine.” She raises her hands, waving the metaphorical white flag. “But we should still go shopping soon.”
The rest of our day is spent serving customers. The coffeehouse offers all types of drinks, as well as freshly baked goods. I make a variety of items, depending on my mood, and once we sell out, that’s it. Because Heart’s has been around for so long, we stay busy and almost always sell out before it’s closing time.
Lacey and I run the front together, and I have a couple college students come in for a few hours every morning to help with the rush—and sometimes in the afternoons—if I have something to do. Since all the baking gets done ahead of time, when it’s three o’clock, all we have to do is clean before we lock up.
We agree to meet at Wine and Dine at eight o’clock—which means I’ll be up early tomorrow to get some baking in since I won’t get it done this evening—and then Lacey takes off to get ready.
After enjoying a nice, hot, quiet bubble bath, I video-call my kids to check on them. Of course, they answer with huge smiles on their faces, telling me they’ve arrived—which I already knew since Beatrice is amazing and has texted me every step of the way—and are heading to the beach house to get settled in. I remind them to behave and tell them that I love them before I let them go, promising myself that I won’t be that annoying helicopter parent. Until now, neither of them had been given electronics, but since they would be away—and I was freaking out—Beatrice bought them each an iPad as an early birthday present, so we’d be able to video-call and message all summer.
After spending a few hours getting lost in a romance novel, I search my closet to find something to wear. All the way in the back, I find a dress I haven’t worn in years, but when I give it a good look, and memories surface from the last time I wore it—for Peter’s and my five-year wedding anniversary—I hang it back up and go with a pair of jeans and a flowy top, throwing on heels at the last second, so Lacey won’t completely kill me.
With my blond hair blow-dried and thrown up into a high ponytail, and a bit of makeup donning my face, I head out to meet Lacey. It’s a warm night in New York, so I grab a taxi and let it take me the mile to the bar we’re meeting at.
She’s already seated when I arrive and has ordered us a bottle of wine to share, along with a couple of appetizers to munch on. The live music is chill, and with the glass of wine in my hand, I relax and enjoy myself.
“Thank you,” I tell her as we eat, drink, and sing along to the music. “You were right. I needed to get out.”
She smiles softly and pats my thigh. “That’s what best friends are for.”
A few minutes later, she nods toward a table of guys glancing our way. “See anyone you like?” She waggles her brows playfully. “I bet you can have your pick.”
“Nope.” I shake my head without giving them a second glance. “I’m good right here.”
She lets out an exasperated huff but, thankfully, drops it.
We hang out, ordering a dinner to split, along with another bottle of wine, and once we’re tipsy and full, we get up and dance to the music. It feels good to let loose. Until masculine hands grip my hips, and a warm breath leans in too close. “Can I have this dance?”
I turn around, backing out of his touch. He’s taller than my five-foot-six, maybe six feet, dressed in a typical New York-style corporate suit, clean shaven and good looking, but when I look at him, I feel nothing. No butterflies, no chemistry. Nothing. Not like how I felt the first time I locked eyes with Peter. When I knew at that moment, before any words were even spoken, that he was the one.
Some people think I’m full of it. They don’t believe that a person can know they’ve found the one without speaking, but I know how I felt, and I know Peter felt the same way. And I don’t care that everyone thinks I should move on—that even my late husband wants me to move forward. I refuse to settle for anything less than what I felt with my husband. And if that means I end up alone for the rest of my life, then so be it. I know what it feels like to be in love and to be loved, and I would rather be alone than feel anything less.
“No, thank you,” I tell him politely.
He opens his mouth to argue or perhaps to accept my response, but I shake my head and walk away before he gets the chance to do either.
I feel Lacey at my back, silently chastising me for turning the guy down, but she doesn’t comment, knowing it won’t change my mind.
“I think I’m ready to head home,” I tell her, taking a sip of my wine. “It’s getting late, and I have to get up early.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling sadly at me. “Sam is going to swing by to pick me up. We’ll give you a ride home.”
“Thanks.”
An hour later, I’m home with a clean face, heel-free, and in my pajamas. With the kids gone, the house is quiet—too quiet. And like the masochist I am, I pull up the videos on my phone and watch the ones from when Peter was alive—Halloweens, birthdays, trips to the park. I skip over the Christmases, unable to watch those. Even nearly five years later, it’s still too hard to think about the holiday.
My heart both hurts and soars as I watch him laugh and smile. When I finally cry myself to sleep, I dream about him and the life we were supposed to have together. And like every dream I have about him, he’s there, telling me, showing me how much he loves me. When my alarm clock goes off in the morning, I wake up cold and alone, wishing I could close my eyes and go back to sleep, so I could be back in his warm embrace, where I belong. Because even though I’m not ready to move on, some days I really hate being cold and alone.