CHAPTER 5
During the following week, Marlow discovered several things about herself.
First, she no longer quailed at the sight of a fish being caught. Cort wasn’t unnecessarily cruel, and he ate whatever he kept.
Second, her arms, actually her entire body, were now nicely toned by the physical activity at the tavern. She liked the way she looked, even with the extra pounds she’d put on at the end of her marriage.
Third, braids were amazing. Simple, sometimes elegant and other times messy, always comfortable, far more so than a tight ponytail or topknot. While watching an online how-to video, she learned to make several different types of braids, and they were now her favorite go-to casual hair style.
Best of all, she learned that Cort was right: getting a worry out in the open also helped to get it out of your head. She stopped dodging Sandra and instead answered her calls. Pleasantly, because she didn’t like herself when she got snide. She expressed her concern, sympathized, but she remained firm that she would not return.
Why go back to a life she no longer wanted when her new life was so much fun?
She’d settled Dylan’s outstanding bills, either with payment or with notification of his death. After all, it wasn’t the lenders’ fault that he couldn’t meet his obligations.
It was nearing eight o’clock on Thursday when the tavern suddenly went quiet. Arms laden with a heavy tray of empty plates, Marlow glanced from one familiar face to another, then tracked their gazes to the front door.
There stood Sandra and Aston Heddings.
The sudden appearance of a unicorn wouldn’t have attracted so much gawking attention.
Quickly turning away, Marlow decided to duck into the kitchen. Not that she’d dodge her in-laws, but she didn’t want to greet them with her arms full. She’d only taken three steps when she heard Aston say, “Marlow?” with the same incredulity he would have given to the unicorn.
Sighing, she pivoted back and said, “Hey, you two. Come on in and grab a seat. I’ll be right back.” The words nearly choked her, though she used them all the time when greeting customers.
But for Mr. and Mrs. Heddings? She felt certain that particular phrase had never been issued to them.
She was only in the kitchen a second when Cort came in behind her.
“Here.” He relieved her of the tray and set it aside with a lot more ease than she would have, especially with her hands now trembling.
Their friendship—or something more than friendship—had grown since she’d shared her secrets in her kitchen. Not in physical ways, but they were definitely closer, and they’d spent additional time together over recent days, which was probably why he didn’t hesitate to cup her face and bend his knees to look directly into her eyes.
“Your in-laws?”
She nodded, further words sort of stuck in her gullet. “You could tell?”
“They smell of money, so yeah, I could tell.”
She caught his meaning easily enough. The way they wore their clothes, their bearing, the way they had of looking at others spoke of privilege in a way few would misunderstand.
“Any idea what they’re doing here?”
She shook her head. “Other than being disruptive, I don’t have a clue.” The tavern was still far too silent, and as she closed her eyes, Marlow was easily able to picture the tense scene. The Heddings would stand there, eyeing the place with disfavor while the customers eyed them with distrust. There’d be no avoiding the upcoming scene, so she opened her eyes again. Might as well face reality.
At least it was a weeknight, not a busy weekend. “I have another hour to work.”
Herman came rushing toward her. “Go do something with those people!”
Cort frowned at him. “Give her a second.”
“No one is moving,” Herman said in a near panic. “No one is eating or drinking. You could hear a pin drop. I swear I just heard Bren burp.” He tucked in his chin. “Don’t want to tell you what I heard Floyd do. No one is used to its being so quiet.”
That was just the type of nonsense she needed to hear to get her back in focus. She smiled to reassure Herman. “I’ll need a quick break to handle things.”
His relief was so great, he said, “Take the rest of the night off.”
“Oh, no. I’m not cutting you short.” No way would she let Sandra and Aston impose on Herman’s business. “I’m supposed to be here until closing, and by God, I’ll be here. This shouldn’t take long. I’m sure they don’t want to be here any more than I want them here.”
That statement got Herman puffed up with indignation. “What’s wrong with here?”
“Not a thing.” She patted his chest. “I love it here, but they won’t. So fifteen minutes, okay? At that point, feel free to give me a prompt.”
Cort understood before Herman did. He glanced at the wall clock. “Fifteen. Got it.”
On impulse, she put her palm to his jaw. A quick, simple touch that fortified her. His gaze snagged hers and held. She knew he wouldn’t budge from the place until she’d finished her confrontation. Cort was rock solid in ways other people could never manage. “Thank you.”
Covering her hand with his, he turned his face and kissed her palm. “Fifteen, no more.”
Curling her fingers to hold onto that kiss while ignoring Herman’s wide-eyed wonder, she headed back out. Everyone looked away from Sandra and Aston and transferred their curiosity to her. Fine. Let them look.
Though her in-laws had never seen her so disheveled, and they’d definitely never seen her waiting tables, she held her head high and pasted on a smile while dusting her hands on her apron. Yes, she wore an apron, and Sandra appeared apoplectic at the sight of it. Aston merely looked disgusted.
And she did not care .
Breezing forward, aware of the ripe anticipation in the room, she asked, “What are you two doing here?” with a show of enthusiasm she was far from feeling. She embraced Sandra in one of those touch-as-little-as-possible -type hugs and then did the same to Aston.
Neither of them made an attempt to return the gesture.
Undaunted, she kept her smile in place. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” Aston growled. “Sandra insisted.”
Sandra snapped, “Because she won’t listen to reason.”
Keep smiling , Marlow told herself. It’ll confuse them . “If you mean I have no intention of returning to my old job, you’re correct.” She lifted her brows in mock confusion. “We settled that on the phone, Sandra. Surely, you didn’t make the trip here just for that.”
A murmur went through the tavern, causing Aston to scowl. “We need to speak somewhere private.”
“Sorry, I’m on the clock.”
Sandra gasped. “You don’t mean . . .” She lowered her voice to a dismayed whisper. “. . . you work here ?”
Showing a bit of a mean streak, Marlow said, “Yup.”
Nostrils flared in outrage, Aston glared at her. “I don’t believe you.”
“The shirt doesn’t lie.” Proudly, she pointed at the logo across her chest: Dry Frog Tavern.
Covering her mouth with a trembling hand didn’t quite muffle Sandra’s sob. “You want to ruin us. Why? We’ve been so good to you.”
Ah . . . she could disagree but wouldn’t. “Sandra, that’s not true.” Marlow rubbed her shoulder. “I care about both of you. I would never deliberately hurt you.”
“Then come home,” she pleaded.
“This is my home now.” She heard another murmur and quickly corrected herself. “I’m not a permanent resident because that’s not allowed, but I will be a longtime renter and I plan to work here as long as Herman will have me.”
Proving he’d heard every word, Herman gave a not-so-subtle “Cough, forever , cough,” making her heart happy.
“I like this job, and I love these people.”
Another murmur swept the room, this time one of appreciation.
“You can’t mean that.” Aston’s gaze passed over the customers with disdain—but then suddenly froze.
Without looking, Marlow knew he’d just noticed Cort. She could easily envision Cort standing there, tall and proud, arms crossed, gaze unwavering.
Yes, Aston, he’s on my side . She thought it but didn’t say it. “I’m sorry you went out of your way to see me.” And now she needed the visit to end. Sandra was getting overset, and Aston was growing angry. Nothing good would come of extending the visit. “Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to stay here in Bramble—”
Aston made a rude sound. “We have no intention of staying here.”
“Then that settles that.” She tried for a gentle smile. “I want only the best for both of you, but I won’t be returning to my old job.” Or my old life.
“We lost our son. You lost your husband. Doesn’t that mean anything at all to you?”
So unfair! Sandra had made no attempt to lower her voice as she spoke those awful words. The silence had been terrible before, but now it seemed everyone held their breath.
Angry words flooded to Marlow’s tongue, but she didn’t release them. She gave herself a few precious seconds before reacting, long enough to find some grace.
When she spoke, she kept her tone soft and her words quiet. “I can’t know what it’s like to lose a child. Dylan never wanted children, and whether you realized it or not, I always tried to defer to his wishes. I’m sorry for what you’re going through now, but I can’t help. You have resources, more than most people could ever imagine. You’ll be fine without me—I’m sure of it.”
Sandra seemed to expand with umbrage. “ That woman contacted us for a job.” Again, she’d spoken loudly.
Prickles of unease drifted over Marlow’s body, making her first hot with embarrassment, then icy cold with anger. She didn’t need to ask whom Sandra meant. From the day Marlow had discovered that Dylan was cheating on her, her mother-in-law had used the same awful words, with the same nasty inflection. That woman . As if Pixie Nolan had nothing else to identify her—no name, no personality, nothing.
Just that woman . The one who had slept with Marlow’s husband.
The woman he’d chosen. The woman who ultimately led to the destruction of their marriage.
A now familiar ache tightened her chest, making it difficult for Marlow to feign disinterest. There wasn’t enough air in the room to fight off the swell of choking unhappiness. Calm detachment was her usual defense mechanism, a way to protect herself whenever the subject was brought up.
By now, it should have been easier. Except that it was brought up in front of everyone—customers, new friends. Herman. Cort .
With a quietly indrawn breath, Marlow reminded herself that she’d abandoned a job she loved, filed for divorce from a man she’d dedicated a decade to, helped her in-laws with the cremation and memorial service, put her house up for sale, and now she was embracing a wonderful new life.
She would not succumb to the damage Dylan had wrought. She had no reason for shame.
With feigned equanimity, Marlow stated, “It doesn’t concern me.”
“Of course it does! We need you back here. We have to present a united front against the gossip magazines and reporters.”
Did Sandra honestly think she wanted to face the paparazzi? That she’d want to continue inhabiting the role of the dutiful wife? No, thank you. People would see her as the scorned woman, and they’d pity her. She’d rather be reviled by her in-laws.
“No,” Marlow said, aware that her breathing had deepened. “We’ve been over this, Sandra. I’ve moved on.” From everyone and everything associated with her old life. This was her time, damn it. Her chance to find happiness. To live for herself, without other obligations pulling at her.
“We can’t replace you, Marlow. This is a family-owned business, and you’re family.”
“Thank you, but you’ll need to find someone else.”
“Do you know that little tramp was almost hired before my assistant got wind of it?”
The injustice of that slur irritated Marlow on a basic human level. How was Dylan a saint while Pixie was a tramp?
Full of righteous indignation, Sandra continued. “You can believe I put a stop to that nonsense immediately. I’ll be happy if she’s never hired for an honest job again. Let the little home-wrecker sell herself if she gets desperate enough. I’m fairly certain that’s what she was doing with Dylan anyway. Sleeping with him for his money.”
Never mind that the entire tavern was listening in. Fury burned through her blood, stiffening Marlow from head to toe. “Is that what you thought of me?” For years, she’d known Dylan’s parents didn’t approve of her. For years, she’d taught herself not to care. Hearing the harsh insults brought it all back, all her determination, all her drive to succeed . . . All her desire to be accepted.
Only to have Dylan insult her in the worst possible way: by seeking out someone else and taunting her about it.
“Of course not,” Sandra said. “Dylan married you. He loved you. We know that.”
He’d had a funny way of showing it, not only spurning her attention but turning his attention elsewhere.
Disgusted that she’d even asked, Marlow wondered if this would forever be her life. Reliving the past even when she didn’t want to. Forever dealing with the grief and anger that surged forth without warning. Suffering the type of hurt that constantly lurked at the edges of her mind. Why wasn’t I enough?
No . Her life was here now, and she was reclaiming her internal peace in her own way, her own time. She didn’t want to be cruel, but neither could she coddle her in-laws. She deserved her own happiness, damn it.
As if she hadn’t just leveled Marlow, Sandra went on with her complaints. “I put the word out on that little gold digger. No one in the company, and none of our associates, will ever give her a position of any kind. Let her work on the street. That’s where she belongs.”
The vile words had an odd effect on Marlow, one she didn’t want to accept, and yet it rejuvenated her spirit.
She had the surprising desire to defend the proverbial “other woman.”
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to rehire her at the family business,” Marlow said carefully, unwilling to say or do anything that would extend the painful conversation. “But everyone needs a job, and it’s not as if she kidnapped Dylan.” Muscles tightening in her jaw and shoulders, she spoke the truth, a truth Sandra didn’t want to face. “Dylan wasn’t a victim in this.”
“Dylan is dead,” Aston stated coldly.
“Pixie Nolan didn’t kill him. He did that to himself by driving drunk.”
Sandra flinched. “Oh my God, how can you say that?” The words came on a faint breath of sound. “My son is dead and you cast blame on him?”
Staying strong, Marlow softened her tone but not her stance. “Dylan was a grown man who made his own choices. Like all of us, he sometimes chose badly.”
“He didn’t deserve to die,” Aston growled.
“No, he didn’t.” She could at least agree with that. “I still can’t come back. I won’t come back.”
“But there’s gossip,” Sandra insisted. “First because of that little tramp, and now with you disappearing . . .”
“You’ve dealt with gossip before.”
“Not like this—not about my son!”
Marlow knew that Sandra wouldn’t relent, not for any reason. She was used to getting her way, and right now she was hurting. She couldn’t think about anyone else, certainly not Marlow. “I’m sorry that the divorce and the reasons for it became public. That wasn’t my choice. As you can see, I’m out of the public eye. No reporters have approached me, and I can’t imagine anyone will.”
“You could end it if you’d—”
Refusing the request before it was asked, Marlow shook her head. “No. Please don’t ask again. The answer won’t change.” If she had to leave Bramble someday, she still wouldn’t return to Illinois.
“Selfish,” Aston muttered, his eyes narrowed and mean. “I told Sandra this would be a waste of time.”
So much for showing grace. “I need to get back to work.”
Taking that as his cue, Cort approached. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Then don’t,” Aston said.
Cort completely ignored him. “You’re needed in the kitchen.”
She nodded, then said to Sandra and Aston, “Drive safely.” She started to move away but hesitated. “I hope you both find peace.”
Their angry glares proved her effort was wasted. She turned, realized Cort wasn’t following, and stalled . . . until Herman frantically gestured at her. With no other choice, she had to trust that Cort wouldn’t start anything.
“Sorry,” she immediately whispered to Herman.
He didn’t seem to hear her apology as he offered, “Want me to get rid of them?”
He was so jumpy about it, she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “How would you do that?”
“Fire alarm. There’s no fire,” he admitted, “but we do tests every now and then.”
God love him, he lightened her mood with such a silly suggestion. “Now, Herman. Would I disrupt all your patrons like that?”
“Probably not,” he said, “but I would.” He peered out at the silent standoff currently taking place between Cort and the Heddings. “Might be fun.”
She pulled him into the kitchen, and then into a warm hug that made him stiffen and chuckle nervously.
“Here now.” Awkwardly, he patted her back. “Let’s do that alarm.”
“No,” she said, giggling. Giggling! She never giggled, and until now, she would have bet that she didn’t know how. “Listen.” She paused for effect. “Hear that? Everyone is chatting again, so I’m sure my visitors are gone and your customers are getting back to eating and drinking. Which means I need to get back out there.”
His expression softened with a goofy smile. “You’re a good sort, Marlow, and a damn fine employee.”
No one had ever called her a good sort before. She liked it. “Thank you.” Pleased with the sentiment, she turned in a rush and slammed into Cort. Good God, it was like running into a boulder.
He didn’t budge, but she bounced back a foot and likely would have landed on her derriere if he hadn’t caught her arms. She ended up bumping against him again, this time more gently.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Dazed, she looked up into light brown eyes filled with concern and had the nearly overwhelming urge to kiss him. What would he do if she dared? Had their relationship reached that point yet?
Herman shouldered past them with a muttered, “I’ll check on everyone. Take your time.”
And then she was alone, somewhat, with Cort. Two people worked the long grill behind them, and on the other side of the wall customers waited.
“Subtlety,” Cort said, “is not his strong suit.”
“Was that an endorsement, then?”
His thumbs rubbed over her bare arms just above her elbows, and his gaze dipped to her mouth.
Her lips tingled. When was the last time her lips had tingled?
So long ago, she’d forgotten they could do that.
Pressing closer, Marlow asked, “Are you going to kiss me?”
“I’m deciding.”
Instead of being insulted, she felt her mouth lift into a crooked smile. “Any chance I can tip the scales in my favor?”
“You just had an uncomfortable confrontation with your in-laws. I’m not sure it’s the right time to make even a casual move.”
She cocked a brow. “Because you think I’m fragile? Do I appear to be falling apart?”
Now he smiled, too. “Definitely not fragile. And no, you look fairly pleased with yourself.”
Ha! She was, she realized. After all, she’d had a public dispute with Sandra and Aston and hadn’t let it get her down. She’d stood her ground and, at least to her mind, managed to stay firm but kind. To top it off, Herman thought she was a good sort.
Taking Cort’s face in her hands and going on tiptoe, she demanded, “Kiss me.”
In the next second, his mouth settled on hers. No timid kiss from this Marine, no sir. He took her order seriously and completely dismantled her understanding of a kiss.
This was more.
This was amazing .
It was the type of kiss that could sweep a levelheaded woman completely away. Happily.
When he eased up, she said, “Whew. Way to excel.”
He didn’t tease, didn’t make light of it; he just studied her as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before. “You haven’t been here that long.”
“Long enough to know I like it here and—” She gave a stealthy look around to be sure no one was listening. “—I’d really like to stay if I can convince the originals to add one more.”
“What a rule breaker you are.” He leaned in for another kiss, but this one was fleeting, there and gone before she could get too involved. “You know what I’d like to do?”
Her eyes widened because she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do. “Tell me.”
“I’d like to walk along the lake, capture a few fireflies—only long enough to see them before we let them go again—maybe show you how nice the moonlight looks on the water.”
“When?” She was ready for that right now. “I work until closing tonight, Friday and Saturday.”
“Sunday, then?”