Chapter 32
32
A very’s short drive home was filled with angst and second-guessing, but her renewed mission to retake control over her life won out.
She had a list as long as she was tall, filled with action items, and the very top was graced with Trace’s name in all caps. Clearing the air with Trace was her very first “to-do.” He’d acted out of complex and powerful emotions that night he’d pushed her away, and she was going to confront him to make sure that was what he still wanted. If it was, she would accept it, let go, and move on. But she couldn’t live with a lingering sense of loose ends and bad feelings between them.
Driving back into town with all its quaint cottage bungalows, wide streets, and mature trees swamped Avery with the comfort of home. But when she got to the intersection of Chapel and Kingston and glanced toward the house on the corner, Trace’s truck was gone from the driveway.
Avery’s stomach dropped. An edge of panic snuck in. She parked in front of the house and approached the door where she rubbed sweaty palms against the denim at her hips. She knocked, crossed her arms, and waited, shifting from foot to foot. When no one answered, she rang the bell and waited, her stomach knotting even tighter.
Still no answer.
Her panic turned to dread. If he’d already up and left town, then she had her answer, didn’t she?
With her stomach in a knot, Avery walked around to the back of the house and peered through the French door leading to the kitchen. She knocked again and tried the handle but found it locked. Avery cupped her hands around her face to peer through the glass where she could see the kitchen, dining area, and into the small living room. All the home’s original furnishings were still in place but nothing more. The rooms were spotless, neat, and completely depersonalized, reminding Avery of a hotel room after it had been cleaned by housekeeping.
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the glass.
Hurt and disappointment broke through her barriers and flooded her body, sagging her shoulders and pushing tears to her eyes. Avery turned, slid to the concrete stoop, and wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her head there.
She thought she’d run out of tears over the last few days, but she’d been wrong. They rolled from beneath her lashes, leaving dark-blue puddles on her jeans, but her eyes dried quickly, and her pain deepened from the acute slash across her heart to a more chronic ache in her chest.
He’d moved on.
Now she’d have to find a way to move on, too.
Again.
She fought to keep herself from thinking on the short drive through the quaint streets of Wildwood toward Main. Avery kept pushing thoughts out of her mind as they popped in, unable to fathom coming to grips with Trace’s loss. With David, the end had been drawn out and unsettled for years. This was far more traumatic and hurt deeper. Trace had been there one day, loving her, making her world full and happy and right, then gone the next.
When she turned onto Wild Harts’ driveway, her thoughts were in the past, remembering men she’d known in the military who’d died overseas. Filled with memories of her efforts to comfort their young wives and help with the couples’ young children. And by the time she pulled the car to a stop near the front of the building, she felt so numb she wondered whether she had a pulse.
Then she focused out the window, saw the state of the café, and her heart thumped hard, reassuring her she was indeed still very much alive.
Her gaze scanned the front of the building, where rows of bright-green shrubs lined the landscaping boxes and clusters of pansies and petunias flanked the entrance. The stair banister was in, completing the stairs and finishing off the quaint, wide, covered porch with a real zing of style.
“Oh my God.” Her heart surged again. She pushed the car door open and stood. Dragging her phone from her back pocket, she speed-dialed Delaney.
“Hey there,” Delaney answered, upbeat and chipper. “Are you still coming home today?”
“I’m home. Did you do all this?”
“You’re at the café?”
“Yes, how did this all happen?”
“Look around. If you still have questions, call me back.”
Her sister disconnected and Avery frowned at her phone. “What the...?”
She pocketed her cell, climbed the stairs, and tried the door. It was unlocked, and she stepped in. The café’s familiarity immediately wrapped her in comfort and a renewed excitement. The break had been good for her. No doubt about that.
Avery crossed her arms and scanned the space. Her gaze paused on the range-oven combination that had been installed directly in front of her, behind the counter. The stainless steel gleamed against all the white cabinetry and tile, and the sight stole Avery’s breath.
“Oh God...” She pressed a hand to her racing heart and moved farther into the space, looking everywhere.
All the crown molding had been installed and painted. The finishing touches on the floor and the cabinets were in. The stainless overhead pan rack had been installed above the butcher block and stocked with all her new pots. Not only were the tables and chairs set up throughout the main eating area, but the tables were stocked with condiments. There was even a new podium set up near the door with a laminated seating chart, neither of which Avery had planned.
“Oh my God...” She just couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was overwhelmed.
Only when she started into the back and the main kitchen did Avery realize she hadn’t seen the moving truck holding her appliances outside. And when she stepped into the kitchen, she knew why—every one of her appliances was installed. Her refrigerators, her ovens, her massive stovetop, her industrial blender, her sinks. Supplies that must have come over the last few days had been unpacked and organized on shiny chrome shelves. All her handheld appliances were lined up and stored on another, her dishware on another, her packaging supplies on yet another.
There wasn’t one thing out of place.
Turning a circle, taking everything in with a giddy bubble in her chest, she texted Delaney, Did you and Phoebe do this?
She started up the stairs, eager to see how the event space was shaping up. At the top of the stairs she stepped into a room that stole her breath again. Not only was the flooring in, but it was buffed to a glossy shine. The fireplace’s stacked-stone face continued all the way to the vaulted ceiling. The huge windows had been trimmed out with molding, the recessed lighting had been installed and finished off, and natural light flooded the space.
Her phone buzzed, and Avery blinked away tears to read Delaney’s message: Nope.
Staring at the answer stirred other thoughts, and those thoughts stirred anger. If Delaney and Phoebe hadn’t done this, then the only person left was Trace. Which meant he was trying to ease his conscience by hiring his friend to finish the café even when Avery had told him not to.
A scrape sounded in the apartment, drawing her gaze to the closed door. Complete with molding and handle hardware. A soft shuffle sounded, followed by silence again.
She clenched her teeth, now caught in an impossible situation—facing this stranger who’d made this place absolutely dreamy and telling him to get out.
Yes, it was wonderful to have the café finished, but not out of guilt, and not so Trace could clear his conscience, as if that were all it would take. And now he’d gone and put this other contractor in the middle.
Avery took a deep breath and moved to the apartment’s door, pushing it open slowly to look into the rooms before she stepped in. Her little living room was neat, every book in place on the side table, every magazine stacked on the coffee table.
Movement sounded in her tiny kitchen toward the back of the space, and Avery wandered farther, taking in the light-amber hue of sunlight spilling over the shining floors.
She was forming a congenial get-lost message for her guest when she stepped into the opening for the kitchen, where a man wiped down the new handle on a closet door, his back toward her.
A man with wide shoulders, small specks of blood on the back of his white tee, and raven-black hair.
“Trace?” Her voice came out filled with what-the-hell?
He swiveled, eyes wide. Or one eye wide. The other lagged behind, still a little swollen, still extremely discolored with bruises. “Hey. I didn’t think you’d be back for a couple more days.”
God, he looked awful . She grimaced and covered her mouth with tented hands. Shadows and bruises, cut and swollen lips, black eye...and after reading the police report, she knew he’d gotten all his injuries in self-defense. That hadn’t surprised her, but it did make her feel even guiltier for the way she’d flinched when he’d tried to touch her.
“Oh my God. Tell me you feel better than you look.”
His lip twitched into a split-second smile, but it was gone before Avery could appreciate it. “I’m okay.” He shrugged. “Sore. Ugly. But...okay.”
“I stopped by your house on the way here. Looks like you’re all packed up and moved out.”
He glanced away and nodded. “Yeah.”
She wanted to ask him where his father was, but venturing too deep into the personal areas still felt dicey. “I didn’t see your truck out front.”
“It’s on the other side, by the kitchen. I had to haul in the shelves and put them together.”
She narrowed her eyes, completely lost. “I don’t understand. You told me you couldn’t finish.”
He looked down at the bar cloth he’d been using to wipe the table. “Well, I did some thinking. And you were right. I did make you a promise. But I can’t say I did it all myself, as much as I wanted to. I had to call in some help—that contractor friend I told you about. He did the heavy lifting. I took care of the small stuff. A couple of his guys came to help with the landscaping.”
“Trace, I can’t afford?—”
“I paid them,” he said. “From my money.”
Disappointment carved a hole in her belly. “So that’s what this is. Follow-through.”
“Partly, yeah,” he admitted with a kind of annoyance that told Avery he believed that was more important than she did.
She crossed her arms. “And the other part?”
He sighed, set the folded towel on the table, and looked directly at her, bruises and all. “I thought getting away from you was the only way I could do right by you. But when Delaney told me you postponed the opening, I realized that instead of helping you, all I did was add yet another problem to your mountain of challenges.”
This was sounding all very...mature. All very...clean and businesslike. And even though Avery wasn’t interested in acting mature or businesslike, she did her best. “Well, perfect. I guess you’ve passed the professionalism test.”
She clasped her hands around her arms. A hot bath, a nap, and a private crying jag was on her immediate agenda, but not in that order. Especially not when tears were already burning her eyes.
“I’m tired.” She couldn’t make herself pretend anymore. It took too much energy. “I’ll make sure you get the rest of the money I owe?—”
“I’m not here for the money.” His stern voice drew her gaze again. “I’m here to finish. I’m here to fulfill my promise. I’m here to show you that I’m not giving up. I’m not walking away from you or from us.”
He pressed his hand against the breakfast bar, face set in a deliberate way she’d seen before, one that told her he was dead serious about following through. But his voice remained patient and compassionate. “I know the way I handled the situation with JT was wrong. And I don’t expect you to just believe me when I say it won’t happen again. I plan on sticking around and proving it to you.”
She frowned, confused. “Trace, I don’t?—”
“Dad and I moved in with Zane to save money. We got notified that Dad qualifies for Medicare, so we’re going to start searching for a memory-care home nearby. I’ve picked up three new small jobs over the last few days, here in town. A bathroom remodel for Shiloh, a friend of Delaney’s, a custom-cabinet job for a lawyer down the other end of Main Street, and a new roof for Gabe Snyder. Ethan’s letting me use part of his warehouse space to set up shop. I smoothed things over with Mark, and he’s considering my bid on the kitchen remodel. It looks like he’s going to take it. And Caleb’s letting me bid on the market’s expansion project. I should be out of Zane’s apartment and on my own in three months, tops.”
Avery’s mouth had dropped open at some point. Before she could find anything to say, Trace went on.
“I’m here for you, Avery, and I’m here to stay. I don’t care how long it takes for me to prove that the other night was an event I never plan on repeating, or to wipe the smudges from my name around town, or for you to trust me again. I’m going to make it all happen because I love you, and I know, right here, right now, this is where I belong.”
Having him repeat her own words back to her made her huff a laugh and tears spilled over her lashes. She wiped them away with shaking hands, and when she looked up again, Trace was right there.
He slipped one arm around her waist, and cupped her face with the other, rubbing her tears away with his thumb. His troubled gaze held on her cheek as he stroked it. “And I’m going to make it my mission to stop these tears.”
Avery closed the distance between them, pressing her body against his and curling his soft cotton tee into her fingers to keep from touching him somewhere that would hurt. “I have no doubts, Trace.” She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him gently, avoiding the cuts on the left side of his lips. “Not one.” She kissed him again. “And I’ve loved you since that day we met and you told me I had a killer smile.”
Trace grinned—as much as someone could with cuts on their lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his. With his face pressed to her neck, rocking her back and forth, he murmured, “God, I missed you. The last three days felt like three months. Don’t ever go away againunless you take me with you.”
“That’s a deal.” She crossed her arms behind his neck and pulled back to smile into those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “So what do you think? Is this place ready to open?”
He grinned. “Hell, yes.”
She kissed him, gently, away from his injuries. “Will you be at my side when it opens?”
He gave her a look. “I don’t think my face will be healed by your opening day.”
“My opening day has been canceled. I’m sure you’ll be fine by the time?—”
“I wouldn’t count on it, Cookie. Your sister has her own agenda, and she’s never taken direction very well.”
Avery pulled in a sharp breath. “She didn’t . . .”
Trace laughed. “You’re right, she didn’t. She didn’t tell anyone you were postponing. She decided it was easier to cancel at the last minute than it would be to get people excited about the opening again. So that gives you about five days to bake and train before the opening.”
Avery laughed, overwhelmed with gratefulness for her family. For Trace. She leaned into him and asked again, “Will you be at my side when it opens?”
His grin returned, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll be with you as long as you want me.”
Her heart filled, and all the unease that had been jittering inside her for years, calmed.
She combed her fingers through his hair. “Then I hope you’re prepared to stay around for one hell of a long time.”
He kissed her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight, whispering at her ear, “Hell, yes.”