Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Daphne had just slid onto the stool she’d vacated earlier, then waved to the bartender for another drink. Three seconds later, someone sat down to her left.
She didn’t even have to glance over to know who it was. “Go away.”
“No,” Flint replied.
“You’ll make the gossip worse.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll agree to be my date.”
“Look at you two lovebirds!” Grandma Mabel crooned as she came over, slinging one arm around Flint’s shoulders and one around Daphne’s.
“The sheriff is harassing me,” Daphne corrected her.
Her grandmother just laughed. “Glad to see someone’s finally able to get Daphne out of her shell.”
“My shell is wonderful,” she protested. “It’s safe. I like it. I don’t need to get out of it.”
“Cupcake is just embarrassed about the gossip. You know how shy she is,” he added with a broad smile, but Daphne heard the hidden dagger in his words. The jerk didn’t think she was shy at all.
“If you call me Cupcake one more time, I will stab you in the neck, Flint.”
He met her gaze, hazel eyes flashing. “Do your worst, Davis.”
“Young love,” Grandma Mabel said with a sigh; then she patted Daphne’s shoulder and walked away.
Daphne watched her, then swung her gaze across the room to see a few people ducking away from her glare. She looked at the sheriff. “This is your fault.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you get off on driving me insane?”
Flint turned to face her, something like interest sparkling in his gaze. “Should I answer that honestly?”
“I hate you,” she spat, cheeks burning.
“Wow,” Ellie said, leaning over. “I’ve never seen Daphne so fired up. When did this all start? Have you guys been seeing each other in secret? Is that why you both moved back at the same time?”
“No,” Daphne exclaimed as Flint leaned an arm on the bar in front of her and said, “Maybe.”
Ellie’s eyes widened as she exchanged a glance with Wynn. She turned back to Daphne. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Oh, she does,” Flint said, then grunted when Daphne elbowed him in the gut. Wheezing slightly, he smiled at Ellie. “She’s a firecracker behind closed doors.”
Daphne leaned forward and grabbed one of the little plastic drink stirrers the bartender kept next to the sliced limes. She held it in a clenched fist and angled her body toward Flint. “Carotid or jugular? Your choice, Flint.”
In the dim light of the bar, his eyes were the color of whiskey. He gave her a dark smile. “Try me, sweetheart.”
Her heart thumped wildly as her lungs constricted. She was hot all over. Anger had burned a path through her, and now all she could do was glare at the sheriff as he leaned toward her, the clean, dizzying scent of him teasing her nose. She inhaled through her teeth and said, “I thought you’d changed, but I was wrong.”
His lids dropped to half-mast, gaze landing on her mouth. Daphne fought the urge to lick her lips, focusing instead on the feel of the hard plastic pick clenched in her fist. Her pulse pounded in her throat and wrists. Between her legs.
“Maybe you’re right,” he finally replied, and leaned back while he turned toward the bar to order a soda water.
The background music died down, and everyone turned to see the band take the stage. Daphne’s father hooked his saxophone to his neck strap and adjusted the flat cap on his head, then nodded to the big man who sang and played lead guitar. A moment later, ODNT was playing one of the originals on their brand-new album, and the focus of everyone at Mickey’s Bar was finally off Daphne and the sheriff.
She felt him shift closer. Felt the press of his thigh against hers. Felt the heat of his breath on her neck a moment before he asked, “Want to dance?”
When she turned her head, their faces were inches apart. She could see the little flecks of green and gold in his irises, the length of each individual lash framing eyes that were too beautiful to belong to such a vile man. Not wanting to give him an inch, she held her ground, her heart thundering when his gaze dropped to her lips once more.
It wasn’t anger blazing a path down the middle of her anymore. It was something much, much worse.
“So?” he prompted, voice low.
“Flint,” she said softly, and watched him lean a fraction of an inch closer. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she said, “I’d rather die than dance with you right now.”
She slid off her stool and grabbed her jacket and purse to walk toward the table her grandmother and mother had commandeered near the stage. The sound of Flint’s low laughter chased her all the way there.
It was a few hours later when Daphne finally left Mickey’s Bar. Her grandmother hooked her arm in Daphne’s so they could walk out together. Taxis were scarce on Fernley, and the wait for one that would be willing to drive all the way to the north end of the island to drop Grandma Mabel home would be upward of an hour. Daphne had had more than a few drinks to drown her sorrows while Flint watched her as he sipped soda water at the bar, so she wasn’t fit to drive either.
“Want to walk over to my place and have a coffee while we wait for Dad to finish up?”
“That sounds wonderful, honey,” Grandma Mabel replied, patting Daphne’s arm.
It was a cool night. The sky had cleared to reveal a carpet of glittering stars. The air was damp and fresh, and the two of them made the walk to Daphne’s apartment in companionable silence while their breaths puffed in front of them in white clouds. They were almost at the door when Grandma Mabel spoke.
“What’s really going on between you and the sheriff, Daphne?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Grandma.”
“I’m sorry if I teased you too much,” the older woman said. “It’s just so rare to see you get fired up about anything. You’re usually so stoic. I got carried away.”
Daphne unlocked the lobby door and held it open for her grandmother. The apology had softened her, and she found herself sighing. “It’s okay. It’s just gossip. It’ll pass.”
“I think he likes you.”
“Grandma,” Daphne said with a groan.
“I do!”
“He hates me. He has for years.”
“Maybe.” Grandma Mabel took her time on the stairs to the second story, and Daphne kept her arm free so she could support her grandmother’s elbow on the way up. When they reached the top landing, Mabel glanced at Daphne and smiled sadly. “Maybe I was just excited about seeing a little spark between you and someone else after everything that happened with the dog.”
“The dog” was Grandma Mabel’s name for Pete, Daphne’s ex-fiancé, which was pretty rude to dogs, all things considered. But only a cowardly mutt of a man would turn around and break things off in the way Pete had, Grandma Mabel said.
“That’s old news, Grandma.”
“Is that why you still get that sad look in your eyes whenever anyone brings him up?”
Daphne busied herself unlocking her apartment door, then kept her eyes averted from her grandmother’s while she went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of decaf. “I’m not sad about it anymore,” she finally replied. “It’s done.”
“He hurt you.”
“He did. I survived.”
“I want more for you than just survival.” Grandma Mabel let out a tired groan as she sat on one of the chairs at Daphne’s tiny kitchen table. “My legs are too old for dancing,” she complained.
“You looked pretty good to me,” Daphne said with a smile as she prepped the cups. She didn’t have any treats, except for a packet of half-stale cookies in the pantry, so she set a few of them on a plate and sat down across from her grandmother.
“You really have no interest in the Flint boy?” her grandmother asked, eyes sharp as she looked at Daphne.
“I really don’t,” Daphne replied, but the response felt hollow. He was handsome, and she didn’t hate the way her heart sped up when they bickered. On a few occasions, she’d thought maybe he was looking at her with the eyes of a man who was appreciating a woman. But he was also Calvin Flint, who took pleasure in tormenting her. He’d probably love it if she made a fool of herself with him.
“You deserve a second chance, honey,” Grandma Mabel said quietly.
The coffee machine sounded like it was about done brewing, so Daphne got up and poured a couple of cups. When she sat down, she took a sip and tried to put her feelings into words. “Maybe I deserve one,” she finally replied. “I’m just not sure I want it. When Pete told me he wanted more passion, it ... I don’t know, Grandma. It’s like it broke something in me. I’m not passionate or spontaneous or fiery the way you and Mom and Ellie are. I can’t change who I am.”
“You sure about that? You seemed passionate enough, the way you and the sheriff were glaring at each other.”
“That’s different.”
Grandma Mabel narrowed her eyes as she sipped her coffee, then bit into a cookie and chewed. “What would you call it when you got in the way of that man trying to steal the cashbox at the farmers’ market? Or stepping in front of me when that maniac came barreling toward us for the accident that he caused?”
“Temporary insanity, probably.”
Grandma Mabel snorted, derision dripping from the sound. “Daphne, be serious. You have a spine. Yes, you like numbers, and you cared about your grades, and you wanted more than this island could provide for you. But you are my granddaughter, just as much as Ellie is. I love you both. Just because you enjoy sinking your teeth into problems that make most people want to fall asleep doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
Tears stung Daphne’s eyes, and her throat was too tight to speak.
“Maybe the dog just wasn’t the right man for you.” Grandma Mabel continued: “I don’t believe for a second that you’re not a passionate person, Daphne. He just said those things to excuse his terrible, cowardly behavior and make it feel like it was your fault. His words shouldn’t define you.”
“They don’t. It’s just that at least for now, I’m done with men. The way you were done with baking when you lost the pot.”
“It was stolen, not lost,” Grandma Mabel shot back.
Daphne put up her palms. “Right. Sorry. But my point stands. The pot got taken, and it changed you. You could have bought a new one or baked bread without one. But you didn’t. You stopped. I have a right to stop trying to date when my vision for my future was taken from me.”
There was a long silence as they ate stale cookies and drank their coffee.
“That old cast-iron pot wasn’t really about baking bread,” her grandmother finally said. “It reminded me of my mother. She taught me how to cook. We’d make all kinds of breads together, and she swore that the pot was the reason they turned out good. She said the new ones just weren’t the same, and that specific Dutch oven had some kind of magic in it. I didn’t really care about baking; I just cared about those precious memories with my mother. After she died, it was one of the only things I had left of her. I thought I’d have it forever; the thing was near indestructible. So yes, I stopped baking bread. Baking just didn’t mean anything to me anymore.” She leaned forward and put her hand on Daphne’s, her skin thin and soft and wrinkled. “But I still have a lifetime of memories. I want you to have a life full of memories, Daphne. Beautiful, rich memories that aren’t clouded by the actions of someone who didn’t recognize your worth.”
Daphne brushed her hand across her face to wipe the tear that had escaped down her cheek.
They both jumped when Grandma Mabel’s phone rang. The older woman glanced at the screen. “Your mother and father are downstairs. I’d better not keep them waiting.”
Standing, Daphne wrapped her arms around her grandmother and squeezed. “I love you, Grandma.”
“Not as much as I love you, honey.”
She walked Grandma Mabel to the front door and waved at her parents before trudging back up the stairs and locking herself inside her apartment. The walls were bare and the furniture was generic. It wasn’t a home.
Was she living a smaller life than she should? Was she letting her broken engagement cloud her decisions?
But what was the alternative? Go to some vow renewal with Flint and pretend to be his date? Why? What possible reason could she have to—
Daphne froze in the process of clearing the table. She stared down at the half-empty mugs of coffee, the crumbs on the cookie plate, the stamp of lipstick her grandmother had left on the rim of her mug.
The family heirloom that meant so much to her grandmother had been taken by Flint’s grandmother. If anyone had it, it would be his mother. The vow renewal would happen at his mother’s home.
The chances of that old pot still existing were slim. It was almost inconceivable that anyone would keep the thing, especially when it meant so little to anyone other than her grandmother. But if . If it still existed, it would be in Eileen Yarrow’s kitchen. A place that normally would be completely beyond Daphne’s ability to access.
Unless she went to the vow renewal as Calvin Flint’s date.