Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
GAbrIEL
Sugar Creek doesn’t have a lot in the way of fine dining. We have charm, though, and Avery happens to love charm.
She smiles up at me and points at a hedge of colorful roses on our way to our table. “Pretty,” she whispers excitedly, as we follow the hostess to our table in the back corner of the outdoor seating area.
Avery orders sparkling water from the server. Tapping the underside of her menu, where the wine is listed, I tell her, “You can order wine, if you want.” I don’t need her to adjust her behavior for me.
Avery’s attention remains on the menu as she says, “I rarely drink.”
The server returns and takes our order. Avery leans back in her seat when he leaves, looking around at the people at nearby tables. “I met Jane a few days ago, from Lady J bakery. She thinks highly of you.” There’s curiosity in Avery’s tone.
I nod. “Jane’s a nice lady.”
Avery pinches her bottom lip. “She seems…regretful?”
My eyebrows draw together. I don’t want to say too much. Jane’s story is hers to tell. Avery is perceptive, so I’m not surprised she has taken notice of Jane’s hidden pain. “How so?”
“Hard to say, exactly. There’s something to her, though. She carries something down deep.” Avery pats her chest.
Avery couldn’t be more correct. Jane carries regret, and guilt, in the marrow of her bones. She dreams of going back and righting her wrongs, though she believes that’s not possible.
Jane’s alcoholism differed from mine. She hid it from everybody she knew, and she hid it well. Her husband, her daughter, her friends. Jane drank to soothe horrific childhood memories. She thought she was handling everything fine, until she realized there were parts of her days she was unable to recall. Then came the day she turned on the gas stove improperly and forgot she was supposed to be cooking dinner. She passed out on the couch, and her eight-year-old daughter woke her up with complaints of a headache and her tummy feeling funny.
Jane convinced herself the best way she could love her daughter and husband was to rid them of herself. She ran here, to this sleepy town, and she hasn’t gone back. I am the only person who knows this story, who has seen a photo of her daughter. Perhaps it was my colossal mistakes that made Jane trust me with her own.
I can’t betray Jane’s confidence, even to Avery. I say, “Jane lives a quiet life, bringing smiles to people’s faces with those blueberry muffins of hers.”
“She said you eat whatever is nearing expiration.” Avery smiles at me. “I like that.” Her gaze wanders over the walls of the restaurant. “And I love that this used to be a house. Nobody had to build a new structure to make this place.”
“Joel told me the woman who owned this property lived in the home her entire life. She passed away ten years ago, and the place was left to her granddaughter. When her granddaughter didn’t want it, her great-granddaughter moved in and turned it into a restaurant.”
“That’s amazing.” Avery squeezes the lemon in her sparkling water and sips. “Something old gets a new life.”
I nod. “A second chance.”
A flush sweeps over Avery’s cheeks. “A second chance,” she echoes in a low voice.
This is it. Here goes nothing. “Avery, I?—”
Her eyes widen, pointing over my shoulder. “Oh my God, Gabriel. She’s choking.”
I turn around. A woman is standing, bent over her table, grabbing at her throat. Her face is panicked, and she doesn’t make a sound. The woman seated across from her yells for help.
I reach her in a few seconds’ time, and notice the telltale swell of her stomach. She’s pregnant. “I’m going to help you,” I say, then use the heel of my hand to deliver a solid smack between her shoulder blades. When five attempts does not dislodge the food, I wrap my arms around her from behind, and position one fist at the base of her breastbone. My other hand covers my fist, and I begin quick pushes, in and up, and after a few interminable seconds, a ball of partially chewed food hits the table. I take a step back.
There’s a loud sound of breath being sucked in, followed by a sob, then more sharp breathing. The other woman who’d been eating with the pregnant lady has her arms wrapped around her, and she finds me over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she says loudly. “Thank you thank you thank you.”
I look around and realize I have an audience. People are clapping. The back of my neck heats. They’re looking at me like I’m a hero. As is Avery. I wave quickly and duck my head, trying to communicate that it’s not a big deal. I take a step toward my table, but I’m stopped by a man who shakes my hand. Another person who pats my back. This goes on the entire way back to my table.
Avery stands beside my seat, waiting for me. She places a kiss on my cheek. “You’re awfully good at that.”
I pull out her chair and she takes her seat. “The Heimlich?”
She gives me a look meant to communicate that she knows I’m deflecting. “At saving lives. At knowing what to do when something goes wrong.”
I replace my fallen napkin on my lap, shaking my head at her praise. “I’m sure several people here know how to perform the Heimlich.”
Avery’s eyebrows arch. “On a pregnant woman?”
I shrug and look away. Avery touches my arm and pulls my attention back to her. “She’s coming this way.”
I look up, and the woman who was choking just a few minutes ago is making her way over, her friend in tow. I stand.
Her eyes are shiny. “You saved my life.” She palms her swollen stomach. “And my baby’s. I don’t think I can say thank you enough times.” Her head shakes with astonishment. “What can I do? How can I repay you?”
“No repayment necessary. I’m glad I was around when you needed help.”
“Can I have your name?” she asks, palm sliding over her swollen midsection. “I want to at least be able to tell my husband the name of the man who saved us.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Avery’s already answering. “His name is Gabriel.”
The woman’s friend smiles. “Like the archangel.”
The pregnant woman nods. “We’ll let you get back to your dinner. But thank you. Thank you.” She presses a hand to her chest and smiles at Avery.
“I feel like everybody is staring,” I whisper to Avery after they walk away. My back is to the restaurant.
“They are,” Avery whispers. “As someone who has been the recipient of your heroics, I understand the fascination.”
“That’s why you married me, isn’t it?” I’m making a joke to take away from the headiness of the last ten minutes. I realize belatedly that my joke might fall right to the ground.
Avery grins. “That, and your cute butt, hero.”
Hero . My old nickname. The guys at the station called me that to tease me after the first time Avery visited to thank me, but Avery used it as a term of endearment.
I loved when she called me that, and if this happiness spreading over my chest is any indication, I still do.
Throughout dinner, a few people visit our table and offer words of appreciation. The server brings us all four desserts without us ordering them, and when I request the check, he tells me there isn’t one.
“That woman you saved was the cousin of the head chef. She’s visiting, and called him to tell him what happened. He’s not working tonight, but he called the restaurant right after and said to comp your check.” The server stacks our empty plates and backs away.
I leave a big tip on the table under my empty water glass, and Avery and I walk out. We reach the front of my truck and she turns to me, tugging lightly on the front of my shirt. “I know dinner is over, and it’s late and getting chilly, but I wouldn’t mind taking a walk. Maybe getting coffee or hot tea?”
I look down at her. “You’re not finished with me?” I mean it lightly, a joke, more like you aren’t sick of me yet? but that’s not how it comes across. Now that I’ve said it, I realize I mean it both ways.
She blinks, long lashes fluttering, and shakes her head back and forth. Words teeter on the tip of her tongue. I can almost see them, threatening to tumble out. Her eyes widen and her pupils dilate as wisps of alarm settle on her face.
To ease her discomfort, I wind an arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head. “Hot tea sounds great.”