Chapter 6 #2
“Thanks, Sandy,” Elyna beamed. “I hope I didn’t come across as a bridezilla with my requests.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Every bride has a vision for their wedding day. As your florist, I aim to please.”
Cooper brought out a tray of different meats. Phoenix poured small tastes from labeled jars. Elyna ran the list. Dominic and Angela asked easy questions about the shop, about flowers that lasted. Pierre, sat next to Sandy at the table, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes softer than I remembered.
Phoenix raised his glass. “To the woman who tricked me into being happy.”
Elyna laughed, bumping his shoulder. “You really were a grump.”
Glasses clinked. The peach seasonal appeared. Phoenix pretended he didn’t brew it; everyone pretended to believe him. For a few minutes, my only job was to chew and smile.
Talk drifted to wedding prep and how lanterns were to decorate the orchard, then they moved to chair counts and band lists. Asher tried to convince everyone the reception needed pyrotechnics. Cooper declared he’d only come if there was a champagne fountain.
And then Sandy leaned over and said, “Speaking of fountains, some of us already have one that’s working just fine.”
Pierre choked on his drink. “Sandy . . .”
“What?” she replied, feigning innocence. “You were the one who said age is just a number. I’m just confirming you’re right. Young at heart, young in—”
“Stop,” Phoenix groaned. “Please stop.”
Elyna covered her face with both hands. “I can’t hear this.”
Cooper let out a dramatic whistle. “Well, there goes dinner.”
Pierre’s cheeks went red, but he was laughing, the deep, genuine kind of laugh that made the whole table join in. “You’re going to get me disowned, woman.”
Sandy smiled, eyes glinting. “Then I’ll keep you, Pierre Thorne. You make a fine sugar daddy.” She winked.
“She’s a lightweight,” Pierre explained to the table. “But I like her that way.” He winked, and all the brothers groaned together while I tried to hold back laughter.
Dominic dropped his fork. Angela laughed so hard she snorted. Asher mimed plugging his ears. “I’m traumatized.”
“Grow up,” Sandy said, reaching for Pierre’s hand under the table. “We’re adults. We can flirt and eat dinner at the same time.”
Pierre gave her that soft, proud look which made something ache behind my ribs, like this family had somehow learned how to love out loud after years of silence.
The laughter rippled until even Elyna peeked through her fingers and said, “If this is what family dinners are like now, I’m eloping.”
“Too late,” Phoenix retorted, kissing her temple.
The noise faded into easier conversation after that, the kind that hums when everyone’s full and safe and a little too warm from the drinks.
Becket arrived late in a sweater instead of his uniform, hugged Elyna, and nodded at me. “Glad you came.” If there was one person at this table who truly knew what I did when I helped send my father to prison, it was him, and I was happy to have him as a friend in my corner.
After dinner, I ate the best apple cobbler known to mankind.
“This is amazing,” I said to Elyna.
“It’s Phoenix’s special recipe. He kind of won me over with that cobbler,” she admitted, and then the two of them stared deeply into each other’s eyes, clearly sharing a memory.
Eric cleared his throat. “Cleanup time. We need to give these love birds some space.”
Everyone started to laugh and we took that as our cue. Everyone migrated toward the kitchen to clean up, still talking over one another. Elyna pressed a jar of peach preserves into my hand “For the walk home.”
“I’m sorry I can’t drive you; I’ve had a little too much to drink.” Sandy giggled. I knew she was living at the main house with Pierre.
I shook my head. “No worries. I need the walk and the fresh air feels nice.”
I thanked Phoenix and Elyna for being such gracious hosts and thanked Pierre for always being so welcoming.
I laughed at something Asher said, and said a goodbye to Becket, who reminded me to always be on alert.
I knew he meant well, but I hated the thought.
I believed I had bought myself some peace and quiet in Montreal for many years, but shadows don’t stay silent forever.
My father and his business were always lurking in the background, and I should have known better.
I gave Eric a small wave. He had been unusually quiet at dinner.
A part of me hoped he would offer me a ride home, but only because I wanted to be close to him.
That was becoming a problem because it was clear that whatever we had died a long time ago.
Outside, the night was cold and still. I wandered to the back porch where the light from the kitchen spilled in soft squares and watched the trees in the orchard sway. This place was the opposite of where I grew up. It was warm, the orchards bright and beautiful. This place was serenity.
The door creaked behind me and I jumped.
Eric.
He stepped out, holding his jacket but not wearing it, the scent of cinnamon and flour still clung to him. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“You didn’t.”
He nodded toward the yard, moonlight catching the frost on the grass. “We had some fun times running through the orchard at night. Before everything got complicated.”
“I remember,” I said and swallowed hard because, boy, did I remember. We couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. Not after the first kiss we shared by accident.
He smiled faintly.
The memory hit so clear it hurt. My hands tangling in the strands of his hair, our tongues dancing in a way that always ignited a fire inside me.
Everything with Eric had been special. The way he’d looked at me, like I was something rare, before the rest of the world told us we weren’t allowed to be rare together.
“Life is definitely unexpected,” I said, hoping to break the silence.
“It is,” he agreed. “I never thought you’d come back here. I mean, after everything that went down with your dad.”
“You mean that I provided testimony to lock him away for a long time?” I asked.
His lips pinched and he shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah.”
“I can’t run forever, Eric. I got tired of that. I need to face whatever happens and stop worrying about looking over my shoulder.”
“You shouldn’t have to live that way,” he said. It was the same thing he said to me all those years ago. He made me believe I was more than my family.
The space between us tightened. Wind pressed against the porch screens. The sound of laughter floated from inside, faint and faraway.
“You ever miss it?” he asked.
“Miss what?”
“Before.” His eyes searched mine. “When it was just us trying to figure our lives out.”
I swallowed. “Sometimes.” All the time.
He shifted closer, close enough I could see the faint scar along his jaw, the one he got from playing hockey. His voice dropped. “You always smelled like lemon back then. Like something sweet that shouldn’t have survived the fire but did.”
“Eric…”
He reached up, brushed a strand of hair from my face, fingers lingering against my skin. “Easy, Sunshine.” His old nickname for me.
The word slid through me like a match struck in the dark.
“I haven’t heard that in years,” I said a little to breathy.
“Didn’t think I still got to say it,” he muttered quietly.
For a second, I let myself look at him, the boy I’d kissed in kitchens and back seats; the man who now built his life from the same recipes we’d once scribbled on napkins. He was steady and solid and everything I’d tried not to need.
“You shouldn’t,” I said softly, my life was a mess. He was too good of a man for me to drag him into my periphery.
“I know.” He let his hand fall, slowly, reluctantly. “Still feels good to remember.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, “it does.”
The porch light flickered once.
He stepped back first. “Be careful walking home.”
“I always am.”
He smiled, small and knowing. “That’s not the same as safe.”
I turned before I could say something I’d regret. The night air bit my lungs and cleared my head, just enough to hurt. I walked back to the loft remembering a time when I felt carefree. I stopped caring what my father thought, and I did what felt right.
Back in the loft, I set the jar of preserves beside the paper bag he’d given me earlier. Both smelled faintly of cinnamon.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown: Stop pretending to be something you aren’t.
I saved the number as Do Not Reply and texted Becket instead.
Me: Got another message. Same tone. I’m fine.
Becket: Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep an eye out. Your brother and Nico have been lying low since your father’s arrest.
I checked the balcony latch and turned off the lights.
The dark was steady tonight. My pulse wasn’t.
I wasn’t the girl who taught Eric how to bake anymore.
She was fearless, stupid, and young. I’m the one trying to remember how to breathe around the man who stole my heart.
And tonight, when he called me Sunshine, part of me wondered if I’d ever really stopped being his.