Chapter 18
I’m sitting on the worn carpet in the middle of the empty storefront the next morning, feeling tired but peaceful and like I really need another cup of coffee.
I’m not doing anything, just sitting in the room, feeling the emptiness of the space, reliving the echoes of so many days and years of life here.
Last night was a whirlwind. We laughed, yelled, packed, and sang along to Britney and Madonna and ate all the Danishes and pizza and fudge.
By ten the store was empty, the last shelf taken apart, the last box of Root Beer Barrels and Mike and Ikes carried out to Dani’s giant Suburban to be stashed in the storage space we rented temporarily until the store is ready to reopen.
I look around the storefront now. Uncluttered, it really is spacious.
Unfortunately, when we put all the shelves and candy back in, it will go back to feeling cluttered and a little claustrophobic.
For a brief instant I wonder if we should take this opportunity to renovate it, to try to modernize the shop, but in the next instant I dismiss the idea.
If we do that, I won’t have enough capital to open my chocolate shop.
Already I’m nervous about how much the repairs are going to eat into the money Mom offered me.
Every day I’m watching it drain away a little more.
I sigh and rub my temples. I really need some more coffee.
I think of Henry’s offer to help me if I want to relocate farther afield.
It’s tempting, but something holds me back. I just don’t think it would work.
A knock on the big plate glass window startles me, and I shriek and jump to my feet. Jakob is peering in the window, two cups of coffee from Byrdie’s in his hands. I open the door for him, and he comes in.
“It’s weird to see this place so empty,” he comments, handing me a cup of coffee. I take a sip. It’s a hometown honey latte, made extra sweet the way I like it.
“How did you know?” I ask, lifting the cup in a question. “And thanks. I needed this today.”
He waves away the gratitude. “I asked Justin what you normally get. Extra pump of honey, huh?”
“Hazard of growing up in a candy store. I was born with a sweet tooth,” I tell him dryly.
He nods and looks around. He’s wearing a pale blue thermal shirt that brings out the ice in his eyes, and a pair of dark jeans.
His hair is pulled back in a stubby ponytail that serves to highlight his sharp cheekbones.
As a teen he was all sharp planes and angles, jaw too angular, eyes a little too wide for his face.
Now those angles are sculpted by muscle and sinew into a thing of beauty.
“I’ve got Mom running the store for me today. I was planning to head outside, get a little fresh air,” he says. “You want to come along?”
I look around. There’s nothing I absolutely need to do for the next little while. Mom is at water aerobics this morning, and Gus is at school. For once, no one needs me for anything.
“Sure.” I don’t ask where we’re headed. Instead, I just walk out the door after him. I don’t even lock it. What is there left to steal?
Five minutes later I’m having second thoughts as we reach the marina next to Liberty Bay Waterfront Park and Jakob pulls a tandem kayak from a rack.
“Wait, we’re going kayaking?” I hesitate. I haven’t been in years. Not since middle school, probably.
Jakob glances back, hefting the double-seat kayak like it weighs nothing. “Sure. Ed lets me use a kayak whenever I want to in exchange for free pastries.” He shrugs. “Good deal for both of us. Grab two paddles, will you? And life jackets are just there.”
At the end of the dock we slip into our life jackets and he steadies the kayak while I clamber into the front seat.
I’m not graceful, but I don’t tip out. Once I’m settled, Jakob hands me the paddles and gets in the seat at the back with considerably more ease.
Those panther-like reflexes must be nice.
I’m not uncoordinated, but I was never chosen first for sports in school.
I pass a paddle back to him and find a cup holder in front of me for my latte.
We don’t talk as we paddle out into the bay.
It’s a beautiful morning, clear and gray, with the promise of sun when the clouds burn off later.
There’s only a little activity this morning at the marina—a sailboat heading out on the bay, a fishing vessel coming back from an early morning on the water.
We pass the waterfront park with its wide lush lawn and large wooden gazebo in a Scandinavian style, around which flags from different Scandinavian countries flutter in the slight breeze.
Gulls wheel and cry overhead, and the rhythmic dip of our paddles is almost hypnotic.
The silence doesn’t feel unnatural, but it doesn’t feel easy either.
I can sense him behind me…looming with his ice-blue eyes and his perceptive quiet and his… muscles.
“How did filming go yesterday?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Oh, it was actually really fun. I don’t like being in front of the camera, but Henry made it easy.”
“Did he now.” There’s a dry inflection to the comment that I don’t appreciate.
“He’s being really nice helping us out,” I say, a touch defensively. “It could be a big boost to the store and to my new business.”
“Sure, Henry seems like a nice guy,” Jakob says, and somehow it doesn’t sound like a compliment.
I turn in my seat, feeling indignant. What right does Jakob have to judge Henry? He doesn’t even know him.
Neither do you, a little voice in my head whispers. I ignore it.
“What do you mean by that?” I demand of Jakob. “What’s wrong with someone helping us out with some free publicity?”
“Nothing at all,” he says, meeting my eyes calmly. “But for the record, I don’t think Henry is just being nice.”
“Why?” I narrow my eyes at him.
He looks at me steadily. “How he looks at you for starters.”
“How he looks at me?” I ask, suddenly flustered. “What do you mean?” I really want him to elaborate.
“I don’t think it’s escaped Henry’s attention that you’re a very pretty, single woman,” Jakob remarks evenly.
“Oh.” I feel my cheeks flush scarlet and turn back to face front.
I don’t know how to respond to that observation, but secretly I’m pleased.
Maybe Henry’s just a nice guy who likes to look for good human interest stories.
Or maybe Jakob is right and he’s noticed me as a woman.
I hope so. That’s exactly what I want. Also, Jakob thinks I’m pretty?
“So what if he’s noticed me?” I ask. “We’re both unattached. It’s not a crime.”
There’s a long silence. “Just be careful, Emmie,” Jakob says at last. “Guys like Henry, they’re used to getting whatever they want. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Henry isn’t like that,” I counter.
“How do you know what Henry’s like?” Jakob challenges softly.
He’s right, but I’m not about to admit it. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I’m positive Henry is one of the good ones. But still, I don’t know him well, not yet anyway.
“Maybe I’m trying to take advantage of him,” I say tartly.
Jakob chuckles. “Are you?” he says, paddling smoothly. I catch the faintest edge to his question. I think he genuinely wants to know.
I ignore the question. “I’m not some novice at relationships, you know,” I say finally.
“I’m a mother. I’ve had a partner. I’ve dated my share of men.
” I dig my paddle into the water, straining to propel the kayak forward for a few seconds until my arms get tired.
I really need to get more exercise than just hauling trays of fudge from the kitchen.
“And how do you know I’m single?” I demand. “I could have a boyfriend.”
I hear rather than see his smirk. “Emmie, you’re forgetting where we live.
I can find out everything if I ask around.
Sometimes, I don’t even have to ask. People just tell me things.
And on your birthday, when you and Dani came into the store, she offered a lot of information.
Something about you needing a Danish because your love life wasn’t so hot? ”
Ugh. Dani and her big mouth. My cheeks flame. She basically told Jakob my love life was gathering dust on a shelf. He’s right. It’s not his fault we live in a town that loves nothing more than minding other people’s business.
“It was a really good Danish,” I mutter grudgingly.
He chuckles. “Not that good,” he says.
I flush brighter pink at his words and concentrate on paddling for a few moments, trying to regain my composure and my dignity.
“It’s been sixteen years since we’ve seen each other,” I tell him finally. “I’ve had a lot of life experiences in that time.”
“I’m sure you have,” he agrees. “And I have too. And yet here we are, back where we started.”
I don’t say anything for a long minute. “I never thought I’d come back,” I confess softly. “I always swore I’d leave one day and do something big.”
He blows out a breath. “Yeah, if you asked me the one person I thought would be least likely to be here sixteen years later, you’d have been who I picked.”
“And you would be who I picked as the person least likely to leave,” I say without thinking.
Jakob snorts, a humorless puff of air. “Before graduation, I thought so too,” he says.
And there it is. The thing between us, the thing we haven’t talked about. Are we doing this? Are we going to finally talk about what happened that day?
“I couldn’t believe it when I found out you’d left and joined the Marines,” I admit hesitantly. “You always told me you intended to stay in Poulsbo.”
“I did. Things change,” Jakob says flatly.
“What made you leave?” I ask, holding my breath. I’m treading on dangerous history right now. I stop paddling, poised for his answer. I don’t turn around, but I can feel his gaze boring into the back of my head.
“I think you know.”
His words send a shiver through me. It’s what I’ve suspected for years.
We fall silent, paddling at a brisk pace for a few minutes.
A harbor seal pops up ahead of us, eyeing us curiously.
I want to clear the air, and I’ve started to broach the topic more than once, but I keep getting interrupted.
This time there is no one to interrupt us.
We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other as he helps Walt with the repairs, and I don’t want to keep feeling like there’s something big and historical lingering between us.
He was my best guy friend. When he left town without saying goodbye, I felt an empty ache in my chest, right in the center of my rib cage.
There’s been a hollow space there for so long I’ve gotten used to it.
Longing. Regret. I can’t tell them apart anymore.
I stare out at the water, at the sleek head of the seal who looks at us with liquid puppy dog eyes.
I summon my courage. Words rise in my throat, words I’ve wanted to say for so long.
“Jakob, I’m so sorry about what happened before you left.”
“You really don’t have to do this,” he interrupts me curtly.
But I want to. I need to. I’ve been sitting on the regret for sixteen years.
“I think I do,” I say quietly. I turn in my seat, craning my neck to look up at him.
The sun is limning him in gold. There’s a fine dusting of flour on the crescent of skin between his neck and his T-shirt.
I have a sudden urge to pull him to me, to hold him tight and murmur apologies into his skin until he forgives me.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I know I did. I’m so sorry,” I say finally.
I don’t move. He’s staring at me with an unreadable expression.
He swallows once, hard, and then gives a tired sigh.
“Emmie, it’s fine. It was years ago. We were kids.
I was dumb to say what I did, to wait until graduation to tell you how I felt…
” He looks away. “I was just a kid with a crush who waited too long and chose a bad moment to spill his heart out. But I just hoped, dared to hope, stupidly, that you felt the same way about me. After what happened at the debate tournament, I thought…”
“I know.”
I haven’t thought of that night in years. His words take me back instantly.