Chapter Thirteen
Graham
M y mind is still reeling from Lily’s confession at the Town Hall meeting a few nights ago. She thinks I am a good man. I don’t know why I needed to know what she thought of me, but deep in my bones, I did.
I’ve spent the whole day trying to work through my inbox and decide the next steps in my career. Since Rafe made me his manager, I’ve had a chance to breathe and figure out what I want to do with my life. I’ve saved up enough to live comfortably for a while, but I know I will need a challenge soon. I like to feel like I’m winning. And while Rafe’s career and his creative happiness show me that I’m doing what he’s wanted me to do, managing one artist—and an easygoing one at that—feels like a piece of cake (not the kind that Lily makes) compared to previously falling asleep at my desk as I worked so late into the night.
Turns out, I like sound booths and studios much more than I ever loved a cubicle or courtroom, no matter how good I was at my job. The sense of finding justice in protecting Rafe’s creativity (while also using my legal expertise to bring restitution for songs that were once stolen from him) and maybe serving more artists in the future is satisfying in a way I couldn’t have predicted. It’s also helped to have a bit more time to wander and pretend I’m on some sort of sabbatical. Sure, after the wedding, we’ll work a bit harder to get him more tour dates if he’d like, but he’s been so happy songwriting that this different style of life has me considering getting us a property in Nashville to save on hotel bills.
My current daily distraction is recruiting various people from town to go to Sparrow’s Beret for me. Even though I was just there for the cake tasting, I’m still not sure I’m welcome to be a frequent patron. So, about once a day, I have someone run in and bring me something baked by Lily and a cappuccino. I know when Lily makes the coffee by the handwriting on the cup. Having something—no matter how small—that she made nearby is the best distraction while I work to figure out my future.
Today, I’m extra distracted by the fact that my mouth is still burning from the meal we shared yesterday. The curry was delicious but just as hot as I remember from visits to Thailand. Since I woke up this morning, I’ve eaten bread and milk, trying to cool the heat. I’m about to kindly beg Amara for some more coconut ice cream after I stop at the gift shop for a Mother’s Day gift for my mom. I’m planning to pick up a box of maple candy for her and some wild Maine blueberry jam.
I’m almost at the entrance when my phone rings. I pull it from my pocket casually. I half expect it to be Evan. The sound engineer in Nashville promised me news on the production progress of Rafe’s new single no later than this afternoon. A smile frames my face, but it drops quickly .
The call is from Lily.
My phone vibrates insistently. There’s no way Lily is really trying to call me. This call is either a prank or one of her challenges. Nothing good can come of giving in to her. Still, I slide my finger across the screen to answer.
“Lily?”
“George! I need you!” her voice yells into my ear through the phone.
I stop midstep, barely preventing myself from knocking into an outdoor table piled high with sale items in front of Elsa’s Golden Finds. I freeze on the sidewalk, my hand poised to pull open the door. I’ve been to this gift shop a few times. They sell everything from confections to personalized keychains and postcards.
Lily’s announcement that she needs me would usually send me into a fit of happiness that could break my persona of being a grown man. Either she’s lost her senses and is ready to confess her love, or she’s about to throw things. While I hope it’s the former, I’m not naive enough to let my mind wander. Sparrow and Rafe left for Nashville yesterday. I know something is wrong because there’s no way Lily’s first action after their departure would be to tell me she needs me. She wouldn’t do it now, not like this.
“George! Are you there?” The urgent pitch of her voice snaps me from my thoughts.
“Lily, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I hear the sound of pans banging and clashing in the background and also a noise that sounds like running water.
She doesn’t answer my question. “Just get here—the bakery—now!”
Abruptly, the line is cut off. I veer course and rush toward the shop. I’m practically running through the street, my loafers slapping the pavement with sharp, steady thuds.
Grey waves at me through the window of her bookstore, but by the time I wave back, I’m already past the storefront. I’m a man on a mission. If Lily calls, I’m running to rescue her. My girl needs me.
When I arrive at the café, I find it locked. I tap on the window like a bird trying to get in. At first, the glare from the sunlight on the glass keeps me from seeing much of anything beyond the door. When I press my face into the glass, it takes all of two seconds to see that inside is pure mayhem.
Lily’s arms are flailing. At my insistent tapping, she rushes toward me. Within seconds, she’s at the door. She unlocks it for me to enter, beckoning me inside. For a second, I wish this was the sweet scene when Rachel and Ross from Friends have their moment. I’m quickly brought back to reality as Lily pulls me into the bakery, her grip like a vise on my arm.
Espresso covers the floor. I’m talking about a river of dark liquid. It pours from the front of the espresso machine, sliding across the cream-colored counters, finding freedom as it trails around the register and drips onto the floor. The stream is rapidly rushing toward the front door, where I stand speechless. However this caffeine got loose, it now looks like a map of a national park.
“Lily?” I ask incredulously, looking at her in disbelief.
Her hair is disheveled, her ponytail at half-mast. With wild eyes, she turns to me, almost pleading.
“It won’t stop!” She’s yelling, her movements frantic.
First, I wonder how on earth it got to this point, and second, why can’t she just turn it off? I eye the mess before us skeptically .
“And don’t you dare tell me to just turn it off, because I’ve tried over and over again!”
Here’s to Lily still knowing what I’m thinking without having to tell her.
“Okay, well, I . . .” My words halt as I try to assess the best solution. I’m not sure whether it would be better to let the river of espresso flow out the front door or keep it inside to protect unsuspecting passersby. I opt to open the door a crack. We watch as the coffee pools at the threshold before making a tiny trail near my shoes and flowing out onto the front step.
“Be free,” I whisper, propping open the door with its stop and hustling over to a distressed Lily.
She barely even looks at me as her hands flail wildly. Melted chocolate covers her forearms.
“This is my nightmare,” she says.
Her eyes lift to mine. The look of defeat on her face makes me want to hold her in my arms. I wish I could try to help her remember that, for a brief time, I was her safe space. Whenever I’m in Lily’s presence, it’s difficult not to get lost in the memories of us or ask her why she left. I told her we couldn’t do this again, so it’s no wonder she doesn’t think I’d want to rescue her. Little does she know I would rescue her a thousand times over, no matter the cost. My loyalty to her should surprise me, but it doesn’t. She’s been mine since we met.
The coffee machine keeps grinding, the canister of beans above the espresso chamber shifting, their level lowering quickly.
“Okay, first things first.” Grabbing a bowl, I stick it under the espresso dripping from the nozzle.
“I should’ve done that!” Lily exclaims, and I try not to laugh. “I blame the amount of coffee—I think I’m buzzed from the caffeine without actually drinking it. Is that possible?”
I smile as I grab the canister of espresso beans and carefully lift it off the top of the machine. Grabbing a to-go cup, I scoop out as many beans as possible, both to save them and because, at some point, it has got to stop brewing.
Lily’s only response is an exasperated groan. “Should’ve done that too,” she confesses over the sound of the machine.
Finally, I look for the cord, ready to yank it out of the wall and end this mess. Quickly, I discover the reason Lily couldn’t unplug the machine. The cord is threaded through a hole drilled into the counter to hide it from customers. I jiggle the handle. The cabinet is locked.
I raise an eyebrow, and she shakes her head.
“Right.” She puts her hands on her hips. “If you think I’ve known this whole time where the key is and just happened to ‘forget,’ you’ve got another thing coming. I’m pretty sure Rory buried it somewhere, and I’ve never had to get into the cabinet before.”
I notice a piece of forged metal in her hair and lean in for a closer look. Yep. Just as I suspected. A bobby pin. Possibly the one I gave her from the restaurant.
Before she can yell at me, I tug it gently from the top of her hair and try not to get distracted as a few golden blonde pieces fall forward across her face. Clearing my throat, I kneel on the floor in front of the cabinet and do my best to pick the lock.
“Rory’s dad made those,” she says, pointing to the cabinet .
I can read between the lines. What she isn’t saying is that I’d best be sure I don’t break anything since they’re one of a kind and can’t be remade.
“Got it,” I grunt.
For a moment, I think I have the lock, but then I don’t. A drizzle of brewed espresso with a trace of what could’ve been perfect crema pools around my knees, staining my carefully creased trousers. I’m not even concerned about the damage to the clothes. Although I love the smell of coffee, this is my nightmare: being alone in a room with Lily, where I’m unable to do anything but pretend I’m not trying to combust from the desire to hold her again. I’d let the espresso river run a little bit longer just to pull her into my arms and hear her say, “Graham, I need you” again. Heck, she can even call me George.
After several more seconds of struggling, I finally hear a click, and the cabinet door swings open.
“Oh, thank God!” Lily exclaims before she rushes in beside me. Her movement isn’t aggressive, but the surprise of her approach is enough to knock me off balance. I feel the warmth before it registers in my brain. I’ve landed on the floor, the seat of my pants already soaked through with espresso. Thankfully, the trail to the floor cooled it down, but I feel like I’m going to smell like coffee for the rest of my life after this experience.
Lily may be right about getting buzzed from caffeine contact because I swear my eyes feel a little jittery, and my heart is racing. My reaction surely has nothing to do with the nearness of this woman who turns my world upside down in every possible way. She climbs halfway into the cabinet, reaching forward with uncharacteristic urgency .
“Got it!” She emerges. The cord is hanging from Lily’s hand, her face plastered with a triumphant grin before shifting to a look of horror. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she says, standing above me.
I can now confirm she is just as pretty from this angle as when I tower above her.
“I—you’re—soaked!” Hand towels are thrown at me, the paper towels having long surrendered to the espresso machine and its madness.
“Lily, what happened here?”
She runs her fingers through her hair, having no idea she is also smearing chocolate across her forehead. Her forearm is thrown across her forehead like she is a Regency heroine collapsing on the couch in a fit of fainting.
“I was trying to clean the machine after today’s afternoon rush, and the button . . . stuck! Pouring . . . nonstop! I thought that machine was alive, and I’d entered a portal to a coffee-powered dimension, and this was the villain. I don’t know what I did to offend it, but it clearly has it out for me!”
I’m listening, trying not to let amusement show on my face. I’ve always controlled my reaction around Lily because I care for her. From the beginning of our relationship, I understood—almost instinctively—that she seems to struggle with feeling that she’s the only one not measuring up. It’s wild to me that she could think that, given both her incredible talent and how I feel about her, but it has always been clear that laughing at her is the conclusion she draws before she realizes you’re laughing with her.
“I say we take that machine down,” I reply with conviction .
I stand, and it is the most uncomfortable feeling I’ve ever experienced in my life. Coffee drips through my dress pants, running in little rivulets down my legs. I shudder. “Well, this is horrible,” I mutter.
“Oh gosh, what have I done?”
It’s then that Lily looks deeply at me, her grey eyes reflecting the beauty found in an overcast day. There is a hint of purple at the edges of her pupils, the hope of spring coming alive at the end of winter.
“George,” she begins, “thank you.”
My eyebrows arch up, the vulnerability in her eyes evident. “Don’t mention it.”
Lily takes a step closer to me. Before I can process what’s happening, my hand reaches out to push a piece of her hair that has fallen back into place behind her ear. I’ve dreamed of feeling her silky hair between my fingers again so many times since she pushed me away . . . I just never thought there would be such a powerful aroma of coffee when I finally had my chance.
The scent is so strong my eyes want to water. What is even stronger is the urge I have to reach into the pastry case and grab a handful of brown butter biscotti to dip into a fresh cup. But the strongest of it all is the pull I feel toward Lily.
My hand goes rogue, gently wiping some of the chocolate off her forehead before it trails down the side of her face to cradle one side of her jaw in my palm.
“I don’t know why I can’t seem to let you go. Lord knows I’ve tried,” I say softly, my voice cracking.
Lily responds by slowly raising her hand and placing it above my own. I inhale sharply, the sound loud to my ears as Lily closes her eyes and ever so slightly leans her head into my palm. Her movement is so nuanced I almost miss it.
I am leaning my head toward her a bit when I’m hit with the force of her eyes flying open, her gaze instantly connecting with mine. The only sound in the bakery is our breathing as we both lean in. My free hand clenches to restrain myself from pulling her closer. The other, I will not to shake as it caresses her jaw.
After all we’ve been through, is this the moment I get to kiss her again?
“Yoohoo! Lily!”
Gladys’ voice breaks through the trance we are in. Lily’s eyes widen. Immediately, a flash of emotion rushes through me, and I feel as if I could cry as I see the frost cover over any spark of new life between us once more.
“Have you seen the latest post I sent you about the men with glasses drinking coffee? They are my latest obsession! Art at its finest.”
The door creaks as she pushes it open. With a little jump over the currents of coffee still escaping to party in the town square, Gladys enters, oblivious to the mess. Her eyes lock on us.
“What’s going on in here?” she says with delight, eyeing Lily and me with a look so expressive I know I now have a lot to worry about.
And she hasn’t even seen the state of my pants. Too late. I see her eyes shift to my trousers. She shakes her head, swiftly opening her phone to take a picture or record—I’m not sure which.
“Honey, this is some act of chivalry, let me tell you,” she says under her breath.
Lily jumps away from me. “Ah!” she yells, running to the back kitchen. Pots bang loudly. I’m pretty sure I hear a few utensils thrown, and something that smells like burned caramel makes its way through the air as she pushes through the swinging doors and steps toward me.
“I burned the croissants.” Her despair is evident, her face crinkling with regret.
Normally, this would only be a laughable offense, but the look on her face tells me there is more to this than baked goods. Lily is excellent at her job. She co-owns the bakery, and there’s no way she would ever do anything to let Sparrow down.
“If you wanted him to burn your croissants, all you had to do was ask him, lovely,” Gladys chirps softly as she walks to the front door with a smile. She pops open an umbrella as soon as she hits the sidewalk, even though there hasn’t been any rain all day.
“I don’t even know what that means, but I feel like I need to tell you that is something I would never ask of you,” Lily says. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. I can barely hear her mumbling but make out the words, “Something else . . . maybe.”
“What?” I blurt out. My pants may be drenched, and I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to walk home without my picture appearing on a poster board at the next Town Hall meeting, but I desperately want to know what else Lily would ask of me.
As if on cue, a torrent of rain—much like the river of espresso we just stopped—pours from the sky, the force and sound of the sudden drops ricocheting off the pavement. Maybe Gladys is this town’s fairy godmother. I wouldn’t be shocked if she was at this point.
“Well, I guess I’m waiting this storm out,” I remark, staring at my pants and wishing that this wasn’t going to be the last impression I leave on Lily today.
The wind howls beyond the windows, whirling through the street and sending the café chairs on the little patio outside toppling. While it was set for spring weather, the tiny pellets of frozen rain tell me it was wishful thinking. I’d forgotten this level of cold after being in LA. One can only hope I won’t still need a winter jacket for the wedding. Together, we rush out to bring each one in. I attempt to grab two at a time as Lily assists beside me. We manage to get all the patio furniture indoors, getting completely drenched in the process.
“I’m no longer worried about the coffee,” I laugh, looking down, the stain of espresso on my pants barely visible.
“The weather was nicer earlier, I thought . . .” she muses with a sigh. “Disaster upon disaster today.”
She’s throwing hand towels at me from the kitchen. Silently, we wipe the furniture down. My eyes try their best not to focus on the drops of water that seem to fall from the ends of her hair every few seconds.
As we finish drying the furniture, Lily begins to shiver, even with the now-soaked hoodie she threw on before we bolted outside. Her arms wrap around her waist just as the lights flicker. She winces, her nose scrunching in disbelief.
“No, no, no,” she grumbles. Once, she told me she hates storms, that the sound of a storm is the one thing that frustrates her more than anything else . . . besides people who make idiotic decisions.
“Do you have a change of clothes here?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“I’d say we could go to my place, but—”
“My place is closer,” she counters .
“Right. I’ll walk you and then head back . . .” I almost say home , but I can’t seem to make myself when I know it will only feel like home if she is mine.
The moment feels like we’re nearing the edge of something. I hate that I’m holding on to each precious second I can get with her, but if I’m going to spend time with anyone, I’ll choose Lily every time. With the wedding only weeks away, the time we have together—once again—is running out.
Lily stops me by taking a step closer. “Please, I . . . don’t want to be alone.”
“You have friends, though.” I’m pushing her, but she promised to tell the truth. “Ivy? Grey?”
“Yes, I do. But I . . .”
The stricken expression on her face crushes me. It’s the same look as when she used to ask me not to leave, and we’d end up kissing for another thirty minutes. The thing about Lily that I’m sure most people don’t know is that once she lets you in, you’re fully in. She used to want my affection. She was the one who held tightly to my shirt when I started to pull away. She was the one who buried her face in my neck to smell me, hoping I didn’t notice.
So, maybe it isn’t so wild to hope she’ll seek my comfort again. Our best friends may be out of town, but she is surrounded by countless people and other friends who would quickly come to her side.
I can’t help but reflect, though, that when Lily needed help today, she called for me. Tonight, she doesn’t want to be alone in the spring storm. And truth be told, neither do I.