Chapter Six #2
"I believe so," I said, showing her my rubric. "Contestant seven—the rosemary shortbread and orange cardamom stars."
"Walter Mackenzie," she said, glancing at her list. "The retired art teacher who ran the ornament workshop. This is his first time entering—he always said he wasn’t talented enough to compete.
"Well, he's got my vote. And my mother's. And apparently Henrietta's."
Piper's lips curved into a smile. "Three endorsements? Can't argue with that."
As we prepared for the announcement, I noticed Piper in an animated conversation with the mayor near the door.
Her professional demeanor had given way to genuine excitement—eyes bright, hands gesturing expressively, body practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
The mayor's expression shifted from surprise to delight as she squeezed Piper's shoulder before moving to address the crowd.
"Before we announce our winner," Mayor Reeves said, "I'd like to share some exciting news. Thanks to Piper's extraordinary work with the Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge, we've raised over twenty thousand dollars for Alzheimer's research—more than double last year's total!"
The café erupted in cheers and applause. Piper stood to the side, a blush rising to her cheeks as she accepted congratulations. Her surprise seemed genuine, as if she hadn't quite believed she could pull it off despite her confidence and planning.
My mother turned to me, her eyes clear and focused. "That young woman is remarkable, Everett."
"She is," I agreed, my gaze drawn to Piper as she fielded questions about the campaign's success.
"And she cares for you," my mother continued, her voice lowered for privacy despite the surrounding noise. Her gaze was shrewd, missing nothing despite her condition. "I may be forgetful these days, but I've known you your entire life. I see how she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching."
"What do you mean?"
"The same way you look at her." She reached over to take my hand, her fingers cool and slightly trembling but her grip surprisingly firm. "The way your father used to look at me."
The comparison startled me. My parents' marriage had been one of genuine partnership and deep affection—something I'd never achieved with Adrienne despite decades together.
"Mom, I—"
"Don't waste it, Everett." Her eyes held mine, suddenly intense and lucid. "True love is a rare blessing. And life is shorter than you think."
Before I could respond to this unexpected insight, Piper called for attention.
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for—the winner of this year's Christmas Cookie Competition!"
She handed me the microphone and the small trophy—a silver whisk mounted on a wooden base. I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of all eyes on me.
"The winner of this year's competition, with exceptional flavors and impeccable technique, is... Walter Mackenzie, with his rosemary shortbread and orange cardamom stars!"
The elderly man's jaw dropped in genuine shock, his bow tie tilting askew as he made his way forward. Henrietta chose that moment to strut across the room, pausing at his feet in what everyone seemed to interpret as avian endorsement.
"Even Henrietta approves," I added, drawing laughter from the crowd.
Walter accepted the trophy with trembling hands. "I never thought—" He turned to my mother. "This one's for you, dear Ginny. Your encouragement made me finally enter."
My mother beamed, her eyes bright with recognition and joy. "Well deserved, Walt. Well deserved."
As the celebration continued, I found myself seeking Piper through the crowd.
She moved with purpose—shaking hands, accepting congratulations, her face glowing with success.
When our eyes met across the room, my chest tightened with an emotion I wasn't quite ready to name but was becoming increasingly difficult to deny.
Eventually, the crowd began to thin. Lenora touched my elbow to let me know she'd be taking my mother home for a rest before the evening's hospital gala, which she would be attending for a short while as a special guest of the Alzheimer's Foundation.
"It's been a good day," Lenora said, her voice warm with genuine care. "One of the best in a while. Being around her friends—they reach her in ways medication can't."
"Thank you," I told her, meaning it deeply. "For everything you do for her."
"It's my pleasure, Dr. Thornton. Your mother is a remarkable woman. I see where you get your strength."
After saying goodbye to my mother with a promise to see her at the gala, I found Piper at the counter, reviewing her checklist with Maisie.
"Everything's set for tomorrow's brunch," Maisie was saying. "Logan and I will handle the setup tonight after we close."
"You're sure? I can come early to help—"
"Absolutely not," Maisie cut her off with a firm head shake. "You've been running yourself ragged for weeks. Take the night off, enjoy the gala, and we'll see you tomorrow."
"But—"
"No buts. Doctor's orders." Maisie shot me a conspiratorial glance. "Right, Dr. Thornton?"
"Definitely," I agreed, laying a hand lightly on Piper's shoulder. "The patient needs rest."
Piper rolled her eyes at both of us. "Fine. But call if anything comes up."
"Nothing will come up," Maisie assured her, making shooing motions. "Now go get ready for your fancy gala. Both of you."
Outside in the crisp December air, Piper exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping as tension visibly left her body. "We did it. The last major event before tomorrow's Christmas Day brunch."
"You did it," I corrected, guiding her toward my car. "Twenty thousand dollars, Piper. That's extraordinary."
She ducked her head, but not before I caught her smile. "It's more than I hoped for. The foundation is thrilled."
"As they should be." I opened the passenger door for her. "Where to? Your apartment?"
"Yes, please. I need to get ready for tonight." She settled into the seat, looking up at me. "Five o'clock pickup still work for you?"
"Perfect." I leaned down, unable to resist kissing her quickly. "Wear something that won't make me forget how to speak when I see you."
"Where's the fun in that?" she teased, her eyes dancing with mischief.
The drive to her apartment was filled with comfortable conversation—reviewing the competition, discussing the gala ahead, planning for tomorrow's celebration. When I pulled up in front of her building, I wanted nothing more than to follow her upstairs, but we both knew there wasn't time.
"Five o'clock," I reminded her.
"I'll be ready." She kissed me once more before hopping out. "And Rhett? Thank you for today. For all of it."
I lingered, watching her disappear into the building, again struck by how much she’d turned my world upside-down and how grateful I was for it.
The drive back to the house was quick, my mind already shifting to preparations for the evening ahead. I needed to shower, press my tuxedo, then drive back to pick up Piper so that we’d arrive during the pre-dinner cocktail hour.
So absorbed in my mental checklist, I almost didn't notice the silver Audi parked near my driveway until I was pulling in. A figure emerged from the driver's side as I stepped out of my car—her willowy figure was unmistakable.
Adrienne.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Is that any way to greet your wife?" She removed oversized sunglasses despite the overcast day, revealing perfectly made-up eyes narrowed in assessment.
"Ex-wife," I corrected. "And you didn't answer my question."
"I was at the cookie competition." She unwound a cashmere scarf from her neck—a designer piece, of course. "You and your little fling looked so cozy."
Cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. "You were there? I didn't see you."
"That was rather the point." She gestured to her scarf and hat. "I wanted to observe without interference."
"Observe what, exactly?"
"You, Rhett. This... phase... you're going through." Her words were casual but her tone was razor-edged. "Suddenly you’re the life of the party and dating a girl young enough to be our daughter."
"Piper is twenty-nine," I corrected, even as I registered the tactical mistake of engaging. "And my personal life is none of your business."
"Isn't it?" She stepped closer, the scent of her cloying perfume invading my space. The late December wind whipped around us, carrying the distant sound of harbor bells. "We have history, Rhett. Twenty-seven years. Two children. A life we built together."
"A life that ended when we signed the divorce papers."
Something flickered across her face—a tightening around her eyes, a momentary twitch at the corner of her mouth—revealing genuine emotion.
"About that," she said, her tone softening to something almost vulnerable. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About us. About what went wrong."
Every instinct honed by years of marriage warned me this was dangerous territory. "Adrienne—"
"No, please. Let me finish." She placed a hand on my arm, her red-lacquered nails stark against my coat sleeve. "I was wrong, sweetheart. When you wanted to work on our marriage, when you suggested counseling... I should have listened."
I stared at her, momentarily lost for words. This admission—something I'd once desperately wanted to hear—now felt hollow, a carefully timed move in a game I no longer wanted to play.
"Being divorced is terrible," she continued, her voice catching slightly. "Our family is broken. The children feel it too, even if they don't say it."
"Our children are adults with their own lives," I pointed out, taking a step back. "They've adjusted."
"Have they? Even if they don’t come right out and say it, I know they’re hurting."
"So you've said. Yet when I spoke with Eliza directly, she expressed no such feelings. Neither has Aiden."
Adrienne waved this away, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the weak winter sunlight. "They don’t want to upset you."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache forming. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, matching my mood as the wind picked up, rustling dead leaves across the driveway. "What do you want? Why are you really here?"
She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something difficult. "I want us to try again."
"What?"
"Us. Our marriage." Her words took on an urgency I hadn't heard in years. "People reconcile all the time. We could go away together—the Riviera, perhaps, or the South of France. Reconnect. Remember what we once had."
"Adrienne," I said carefully, "that's not going to happen."
"Is it because of her?" The facade cracked, revealing a flash of genuine anger. "This infatuation won't last, Rhett. You know that. She's a meaningless diversion.”
"This isn't about Piper," I said, though of course, in many ways, it was. "It's about us. About the fact that we haven't been a real couple for years before the divorce. About the fact that I've changed—I've grown."
"Changed?" She laughed, a brittle sound that matched the crackling of frozen leaves beneath our feet. "To what? A small-town doctor dating a girl who organizes cookie competitions?"
Her words, dripping with condescension, crystallized something for me. Whatever doubts I might have had about my new life, my relationship with Piper, they vanished in the face of Adrienne's contempt. In that moment, the contrast between the women’s natures couldn't have been clearer.
"Yes," I said simply. "Exactly that."
She blinked, disbelief written across her features. "You can't be serious."
"I've never been more serious." I took another step back, creating space between us as the first snowflakes began to fall. "I'm sorry, Adrienne, but it's too late for us. It was too late long before the divorce."
"And what about your career?" she demanded, switching tactics. "Stanford told me they've offered you head of cardiothoracic surgery. Chief of surgery within five years. Everything you've worked for."
So that was it—the real reason for her sudden desire to reconcile. With me as chief of surgery at Boston Memorial, her position at NeuraTech would be significantly strengthened. The connection wasn't lost on me.
"I haven't decided about Boston yet," I said honestly. "But whatever I choose, it won't include getting back together with you."
Her composure cracked completely then, her jaw tightening as color rose to her cheeks. "You're throwing away everything—your career, your reputation, our family—for what? Some small-town fling that won't last the winter?"
"I'm choosing a life with meaning," I said quietly. "Something I should have done years ago."
We stood facing each other as snow began falling in earnest, white flakes catching in her dark hair and on the shoulders of her designer coat.
In that moment, I felt nothing but a deep, abiding sadness for what we'd once been to each other—and profound relief that I was no longer trapped in the hollow shell our marriage had become.
"I think you should go," I said finally. "Back to your hotel. You're welcome to attend the gala tonight—I can't stop you—but I'd appreciate it if you'd leave Piper and me alone."
"This isn't over." Her voice cut through the cold air like ice.
"It is for me." I turned toward my front door. "For the children's sake, I hope we can be civil to each other in the future. But beyond that, there's nothing left to discuss."
Before she could respond, I walked inside and closed the door firmly behind me. Through the window, I watched her stand there for a long moment, snowflakes gathering on her shoulders, before returning to her car and driving away.
I sank into the nearest chair, the confrontation leaving me both drained and oddly liberated. I'd finally broken the hold history had on me, giving me the freedom to chart a new path.
My phone buzzed with a text from Piper:
Can't wait for tonight.
A smile spread across my face as I typed back:
Wear your dancing shoes, because I’m going to sweep you off your feet.
Too late. She typed back. Because you already have.
Upstairs, I laid out my tuxedo and checked the time. Three hours until I would pick up Piper for the gala—an event that had once filled me with dread but now felt like an opportunity to show the world, or at least our small corner of it, exactly what she meant to me.
And that was worth celebrating.