Chapter 15
Lucy
You will not cry in the canned vegetable aisle. You will not.
I stare down at the text message from my stepmom, Ruby.
Ruby
Attaching the picture of the recipe card here for you, Lu. Is everything going okay? Need anything? Offer still stands if you want us to cancel or postpone this season so you can come home. Here for you. Kisses!
Not only is my stepmom’s kindness causing tears to sting behind my eyes, but when I tap the image she sent and see my dad’s handwriting and the splatters of chili on the recipe card, a lump forms thick and fast in the back of my throat. My vision blurs with unshed tears.
I swipe at my eyes and take a shuddering breath.
I’m in the heart of the local grocery store in downtown Cashmere Cove.
“Jingle Bells” is playing through the overhead speakers.
Shoppers are milling about, so I’ve got my winter coat zipped all the way up and my hood pulled over my head.
I’m trying to keep most of my face tucked down into my collar as I shop around, but now that I’m feeling emotional, my body temperature is soaring, and I’m going to overheat if I don’t get some air circulation going.
I unzip my collar to let my neck breathe, blowing out a long exhale.
I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
The chili cook-off at TJ Wilson’s grandparents’ senior living community is tonight.
I wasn’t sure I was going to go. I’m still not sure what made me ask Ruby to send Dad’s recipe.
I made a deal with myself that if she sent it in time for me to make a batch, I’d go.
If she didn’t get back to me, then it wasn’t meant to be.
I should have known Ruby would be on the ball. The woman is freakishly organized, and she’s worried about me, so when I reach out, she’s always quick to respond.
Armed with Dad’s recipe, I set off for the grocery store before I lost my nerve, but now, here I am, and I don’t know if I can do this.
I stare at the ingredients in my cart. Celery, green pepper, onion. I’ve got my tomato soup and tomato juice, and I’m standing in front of a wall of canned beans, and it’s ridiculous that this is going to be my undoing.
I find the kidney beans, and my stomach turns.
I remember sitting on the counter in our house in California, Dad whipping up a batch of his mom’s chili.
I was probably about eight years old. It was a month or two before he met Ruby, so it was just him and me at home.
I was complaining about the kidney beans he added to the mixture.
I told him they tasted like dirt and that the texture made me want to throw up.
“Why can’t you leave them out?” I’d whined aloud.
“Lu,” he’d said, chuckling. “If I leave out the beans, it’ll change the flavor of the entire soup. You don’t have to like them—you can be disgusted by them—but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a purpose.”
I’d complained some more, and my sweet dad had shaken his head, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to my temple. “You can always pick them out of your bowl if you must.”
I miss him so much it hurts sometimes. Like right now. I’d eat kidney beans for the rest of my life if it meant I could spend one more afternoon with Dad in the kitchen.
About a month after that memory, he met Ruby.
They fell hard and fast and were married six months later, and we became a big, blended family, with Ruby and Kait and Hilary, her two daughters from her first marriage.
Less than a year after that, right before my tenth birthday, Dad left to get groceries and never came back.
“Are you okay?” a kind female voice stirs me from my memories.
I realize tears are streaming down my face when I blink and sense the wetness on my cheeks. I instinctively duck my head, averting my gaze. “I’m fine. I’m blubbering. Sorry. Don’t mind me.”
“No need to apologize. Sometimes you need a good cry.”
I chance a look at the woman; her kind voice has some authority to it.
I blink. It’s Rose Kasper. Anton Bates’s girlfriend, and an all-around queen, if even half of what the news articles about her say is true.
She’s around my age, maybe a couple years older, with wavy brown hair and a warm smile.
Her eyes are searching, and they flare ever so slightly when she registers who I am.
“Lucy Dupree?” she says, her voice low.
I flinch. “Guilty.”
“What are you doing here?” She sounds curious, but not out for blood. Something in her soothing, even tone has my defenses falling. I find myself wailing out the entire story for her in the bean aisle.
“I’m trying to buy ingredients to make chili so I don’t let down TJ Wilson’s grandparents at their cook-off tonight,” I say with a sob. “I have no idea how to do this. Any of this. And I hate kidney beans.”
“TJ?” she says, shock coloring her tone as she zones in on that little detail.
I nod, blinking away tears and staring at the put-together woman who is bearing witness to my breakdown.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” Rose crosses her arms. She smiles at me, and her eyes twinkle with delight. “You’re the one he was with at the gala.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but then I close it again. There’s no use trying to backtrack now. I nod, my eyes welling with traitorous tears. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this,” I whisper.
She tips her head kindly. “Oh, honey. I’m on your side here.”
My shoulders slump with relief. “Thank you.”
She smiles. “Of course. I’m the one who told TJ to go after you at the end of the gala. We saw you leaving, and he obviously felt like there was some unfinished business between you two. Sometimes a man needs a nudge, so I shoved him in your direction.”
“Wait.” I frown. “TJ came after me?”
“He tried. Then he got a message from his grandpa saying his grandma was in trouble or something.”
My heart thuds painfully as my adrenaline spikes. “She’s okay, though, right? I saw her on Sunday at TJ’s house.”
Rose’s eyebrows fly up. “You were at TJ’s house? Interesting,” she hums. “Very interesting.” Before I can say anything, she goes on. “Anyway, yes, he was going to follow you out of the stadium. He wanted to talk to you some more, I think.”
I shake my head, trying to sift through this new information. I figured the social media call to find his Cinderella was a publicity ploy, nothing more. I didn’t realize he actually tried to prolong our evening. That maybe he actually wanted more time with me.
Not the real me.
The thought stalls my racing heart and brings me back to reality. TJ wanted more time with the bold, carefree woman behind the mask ... but she’s not really who I am.
“Well, he got his time. I came to the Cinderella call, and he brought me to his house to have dinner. I told him I couldn’t date him. We’re not compatible that way,” I explain.
Rose nods slowly. “But you met his grandparents … and you’re going to their”—her eyes dart to my cart and then to the shelves of canned vegetables—“chili cook-off party?”
I twist my lips to the side. “TJ was so nice, and so were his grandparents, and we all decided to be friends, and it sort of snowballed from there. I told them I’d think about going, and now here I am, buying ingredients to make my dad’s chili, so I guess I’m really doing this, even though it’s a horrible idea. ”
Why do I keep spilling my guts to Rose?
“I’m sorry. I’m blabbing. That happens when I get worked up.” I shove some hair behind my ear.
Rose smiles. “You’re good. For the record, I don’t think going to TJ’s grandparents’ chili cook-off is a bad idea at all. They’re great, and, for the record, TJ’s one of the good ones.”
I consider her, feeling a swell of relief to have my assessment of TJ as a decent human confirmed by someone who obviously knows him.
“My sisters and I all live in Cashmere Cove, if you want to get together,” Rose continues.
My pulse kicks up again. “That’s so kind.” In another life, I’d jump at the chance to hang out with someone as cool as Rose. “I’m trying to keep my identity under wraps, though …” I trail off with a shrug.
“Don’t worry. Cashmere Cove protects its own. If you ever need anything, I have a background in personal security.”
The story of how this woman took a bullet for Anton, single-handedly saving his life, flies through my mind, and I stare at her in awe.
“The offer to be a friend or a bodyguard is always on the table. Or if you’re a reader, come see me at Mood Reader. That’s my full-time gig now.”
“The cute bookstore downtown?” I’ve wanted to stop in there a million times, but I’ve been afraid of drawing too much attention.
She nods. “The one and only. I’m a part owner.”
“Dream job,” I say on an exhale.
Her eyes light up. “You’re a reader.”
And a writer.
I swallow the words and nod. “I love to read. Romance, especially.”
“Come see me sometime, then. I’ve got the new Philomena Grace book in, if you’re a fan.”
I smile at that. I can’t help it when I think about Philly’s success.
Little does Rose know I have a signed and personalized copy from Philly herself in my nightstand at Daisy’s Inn.
She started as an indie author and got so successful that Cassie picked her up.
Her newest book is her first traditionally published title, and it hit the big bestseller list. The success couldn’t have come to a more deserving person.
“I’ll swing by. I love Philomena Grace.”
“I’ve been trying to get her to come for a book talk and signing, but so far I haven’t heard back. Keep your fingers crossed for me.”
“Will do.” I make a mental note to talk to Philly and Cassie about scheduling a trip to Mood Reader. Would it be a selfish way for me to get some in-person time with my friends? Yes, yes, it would. I’m not above it. I’d love to help Rose out too.
A pinch of FOMO pricks at the base of my spine.
If I wasn’t writing behind my Ava Reese pen name, I could offer to come for an author chat myself.
I reel in that thought. If I wasn’t writing behind my Ava Reese pen name, my author career would have been cancelled right along with the rest of my life.
I’ve never worried about missing out and not getting to claim my stories publicly before.
It’s been enough to write them for myself and know I’m bringing joy to my readers …
even if I’m gauging their reactions from a distance. It’s for the best this way.
“I should run. I’ve got to get back to Mood Reader with snacks in time for book club. If you’re ever interested in coming, all the details are on our website. We’ll post next month’s title there, too.” Rose smiles and my heart tugs. In another life, I’d be there with bells on.
“Thanks for the invite.”
“Door’s always open,” she says with an easy shrug, like she knows I’m not going to take her up on her offer, but she really hopes she’s wrong.
I get the sense she’s not wrong about many things.
“I hope you have a good time with TJ’s grandparents.
” She leans in. “If you happen to give TJ a shot … outside the friend zone”—she winks—“the other wives and girlfriends on the River Foxes are great. We’d welcome you with open arms.”
I’m shaking my head before she’s finished. “He needs a different type of woman than me.”
“I’d say that’s for him to decide.” She flashes me an easy smile. “For you to decide for yourself, too. Not my place to butt in.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”
“You too,” I say as she disappears around the corner.
I stare after her. What is going on with my life these days?
I’ve gone from a hermit troll, sequestered away in my room at Daisy’s Inn, to attending a ball, going to TJ’s house, planning to go to a chili cook-off and square dance, and now I’ve got Rose Kasper inviting me to join the WAGs.
Yeah, I looked it up. That’s what they call the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes.
I get out my phone and text Philly and Cassie, letting them know that the owner of Mood Reader in Cashmere Cove is super cool and they should maybe, hopefully, consider a book event in town. After I send the message, I pocket my phone again and pause to assess my circumstances.
I’m dying to stack another layer of bricks onto the walls I’ve built around my life. To pull everything back in on myself and stay tucked safely away, where nothing can touch me. But as I stare at the line of kidney beans in front of me, I think about what my dad would say.
The mantra I haven’t thought of in years pops into my head, and my vision blurs again.
“You glow, Lu. Don’t hide your light.”
Dad used to recite it every morning before school. I was a shy kid, and he never pushed me to be anyone I wasn’t. He always reminded me that I was good enough, just as I was, and that I had something to offer.
He wouldn’t want me to hide away.
But he’s not here. And putting myself out there is easier said than done.