10. Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Rowan
I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and found a spot near the cart return. After two weeks at home, I’d finally weaned myself off the pain medications. Being able to drive myself felt like a gift, but I still wasn’t as independent as I wanted. Brad and I had shared a Honda Civic, and rather than fight him, I’d left it in DC for the lawyers to work out. Mom had graciously offered me her station wagon, but I only drove it on the days I had physical therapy. Otherwise, Poppy or Chris had to drop whatever they were doing to fetch me since they refused to let me catch an Uber like a normal person. Chris quoted an online article he’d read about sexual predators and rideshares. Poppy just reminded me I was broke and should save money where I could. Mom had been working late into the evenings and caught a ride with her assistant manager when I had the station wagon. I felt like a burden. They were all so busy, and I wanted to scratch something off their to-do lists. With the Sullivan Street 4 th of July block party in two days, the least I could do was stock up on the groceries we’d need for our contribution to the potluck.
I kept the air conditioner running and dialed Red Blossoms. Mom answered on the third ring, slightly out of breath like she’d just run across the shop.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry to bother you,” I said.
“Is everything ok?”
“I’m fine. I’m at the grocery store. What are we making for the block party?”
“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that. I have plenty of time to run to the store tomorrow. No, the Carson Wedding delivery is tomorrow. I’ll have time the day after.”
“On the 4 th of July?”
“Shoot,” Mom said rustling some papers. “That’s the Silverman wedding delivery. I suppose you should grab a few things. I usually supply the dessert.”
“A dessert or all the desserts?”
Mom blew out a breath into the phone and the tinny sound made my ears ache. “All.”
“Why on earth did you volunteer to make dessert for sixty people at the height of wedding season?”
“You know I bake when I’m nervous. It seemed practical at the time, but I’ve got so many events, I’m too busy to worry. The pandemic delayed weddings, and more people than ever want summer receptions.”
Mom couldn’t bake that many desserts without pulling an all-nighter or two. “I’ll do it. I bake when I’m nervous too.”
Mom snapped into her mother hen cluck, as Poppy called it, since it was both higher pitched than Mom’s usual voice and ran without interruption. “Are you nervous about your job search? Don’t be. You know you can stay with us as long as you need. I love having you home. Or is it Brad? Don’t waste a second worrying about that man or what people think. I’m so sorry, Rowan. I haven’t been there for you like I should. The summer is such a busy time and—”
“I need to feel useful Mom. Let me do this.” And that was the truth. Oddly, I hadn’t given Brad much thought apart from answering the occasional email from my lawyer. I certainly didn’t miss him, and I’d been too focused on my back and my lack of a job to worry what people thought. It helped that no one had asked about Brad, but the fact I hadn’t thought much about him meant we’d probably been falling out of love for a while. It didn’t forgive him cheating, but it took away some of the sting. Some, not all.
Mom sucked in a breath. I braced for a lecture, but all I got was a soft “Ok.”
“Did you have a dessert in mind, or can I make whatever I want?”
“You choose,” Mom said and sniffed. She cleared her throat and added, “You’re a better baker than me, Rowan. Whatever you make will be delicious.”
“Mom?”
“There are more families with kids on Sullivan now, so make enough for at least seventy-five.”
Her voice lost the wobble toward the end. I decided to pretend I hadn’t made her cry on my sorry behalf, yet again. “I can do that. I finished the flour when I made cinnamon rolls, and the sugar was low. Do you have more somewhere?”
“You should assume I have nothing,” Mom said and sighed. “I may have gone a little overboard in the days between when you told me about the accident and when you finally came home.”
“Got it,” I said. “Need anything else from the store?”
“Some more greens for Chris’s salads. Oh, and whatever you’d like for dinners and lunches. Actually, I have a whole list here. I can send you a picture. Do you have money?”
“Yes, Mom. My credit cards still work.”
“Ok, but save the receipt. I’m paying you back, and I don’t want you rounding down.”
I laughed. “Remember when you demanded receipts so we wouldn’t round up?”
“You never did that.”
“Poppy did.”
“I know. Sometimes I even let her.” Mom’s voice became muffled like she’d pressed the phone to her chest to talk to someone else. “I’ve got to run, sweetie. Thank you.”
She hung up before I could say goodbye. I tossed my phone into my purse, turned off the car, and opened the door to the soupy afternoon. If this heat wave didn’t break soon, my hair would never recover. I’d given up straightening it days ago and kept it in a braid to contain the frizz. I grabbed a cart and dropped my bag in the seat. Usually, I avoided parking near the cart return, but I figured I was already pushing my back more than I should. This way, I could lean on the cart to take some weight from my spine as I walked to the store.
My shirt was already sticking to my skin when I reached the automatic doors, which opened with a rush of chilled air. Once inside, I pushed the cart away from the entrance and pulled out my phone. Mom hadn’t texted me the list yet. No doubt, she was with a customer or managing a minor crisis. I decided to enjoy the air conditioning and call Lauren while I waited. My back was in no shape to wander through the aisles only to start over again once I knew what Mom wanted.
“Rowan,” Lauren said. “Is everything ok?”
I hated how everyone’s first instinct now when I called was to panic. “Everything’s fine. I have something to ask you, and I figured it would be faster to call. But it’s kind of sensitive. You can call me back if you’re busy.”
“Give me a sec,” she said. I heard her shove through a swinging door and all the voices in the background became muffled. “What’s up?”
“You know Cammie who works at the PT office?”
“Oh, yes,” Lauren said with genuine affection. “I meant to ask if you’d met her.”
“I did. She’s really sweet.”
“She is,” Lauren said slowly. “What’s going on in that brain of yours? You wouldn’t normally call me while the café was open to tell me you thought someone was sweet.”
I called instead of texting so I could hear her voice. Something was off with Cammie, and if anyone in Peace Falls knew why, it’d be Lauren, who wouldn’t breathe a word about it. People trusted her for a reason. Luckily, I’d learned how to read her pauses enough to get the gist of any situation. “Cammie doesn’t have AC. I offered to let her have one of our old units.”
“That’s a great idea, but you shouldn’t be lifting it.”
I gritted my teeth. “So I’ve been told.”
“I’ll stop by after we close. If you don’t mind, I can give Cammie your address and meet her at your house.”
“I gave her my address at the office, but feel free to give it to her again. Can the two of you manage the unit on your own?”
“Probably. If not, I’ll ask Poppy.”
“Why not Chris?”
Lauren went silent a moment. “Poppy is closing with me. I’ll ask her as soon as I hang up.”
“Cammie doesn’t want men at her place, does she?”
Lauren’s voice softened. “I’m not saying anything more about it.”
Which meant yes.
“And I won’t ask.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said. “Depending on the size of the unit, Cammie and I should manage just fine. She’ll let Poppy help, if we need her.”
“Help with what?” I heard Poppy say in the background. “The coffee grinder jammed again, so unless you want me to crush the beans by hand, I need you.”
My phone buzzed with an incoming text. “Can I talk to my sister a second?”
“Here,” Lauren said. “Talk to Rowan.”
“What?” Poppy said. She sounded stressed, and I felt a stab of guilt for what I was about to ask.
“First, Lauren might need your help tonight moving one of the old AC units to Cammie’s.”
“She can have them all. I stub my toes on them all the time.”
“Ok, I’m sure Mom won’t care. Second, I’m making all the desserts for the block party. I was wondering if you’d like to help me decorate a cupcake tower. I think the kids would really like it.”
“Um, yeah. That sounds fun.”
She didn’t sound sarcastic, but it was hard to tell without seeing her face.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. As long as you bake the cupcakes. Try to find some 4th of July wrappers and grab a box of food color gel and a shit ton of confectioners sugar. Oh, and a tub of Crisco. It holds up better in the heat than butter. We can talk about the shape of the tower later. I have some ideas. Get candy melts too.”
“What colors?”
“Really, Rowan. I can’t believe you just asked that.”
“Sprinkles?”
“I mean if you want to be generic. Modeling chocolate if they have it. Red, white, and blue, obviously. See if they have gold and silver decorating dust. I could do a sparkler theme.”
“What the heck is decorating dust?”
“Never mind, I doubt the grocery store has it. Just get what you can. I’ll go to the craft store in Jericho tomorrow for the rest. Oh, do you think you can make different fillings for the cupcakes?”
By the time I hung up, I had ten items to add to Mom’s list and spent the next hour collecting everything. Unloading it all at the checkout and loading it into the station wagon sent a throb of pain up my back. I needed to rest, but unfortunately no one would be home to help me carry everything inside. To make matters worse, a row of ominous clouds had rolled over the mountains.
The first drops of rain hit the windshield as I turned onto Sullivan Street. I opened the hatch as the dark clouds overhead opened with a crack of thunder. It was too hot to leave anything in the station wagon for more than a few minutes and no telling how long the storm would last. The milk jug was already sweating in the grocery store parking lot. I grabbed as many bags as I could with both hands and dashed to the porch despite the sharp pain shooting up my spine. I’d just made it back to the car when a speeding SUV screeched to a stop in front of the house.
“What are you doing?” Cal yelled as he ran from the SUV.
A flash of lightening shot across the sky, and I turned back to the trunk to gather more bags. Cal reached into the trunk as well and together we got everything and ran to the porch. I slipped on the top step, and Cal dropped the bags in his arms to catch me. Luckily, the eggs were in the first load.
“Perfect timing,” I said, setting down my bags and bending to right the ones he’d dropped.
“Stand the fuck up, Rowan,” he yelled.
I snapped to standing and winced. “Don’t talk to me like that.” I was so mad, I started shaking.
“You’re soaked,” he said taking a step toward me.
So was he. His scrubs clung to his perfect body. His hair hung in heavy clumps, dripping water onto his succulent lips. If my panties weren’t already soaked, they would be. Which pissed me off. I had too much to fix in my life to be attracted to anyone, let alone a man like “casual” Cal who probably slept with half a dozen women a month.
He gripped his hair and shoved it out of his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Excuse me?”
“I told you not to carry more than twenty-five pounds.”
“In case you didn’t notice,” I said, motioning to the downpour. “It’s raining.”
He stepped closer. “All the more reason not to run with fifty pounds of groceries.”
“Just because you tell me not to doesn’t mean I have to listen.”
“So, I’m supposed to stand by and watch you hurt yourself?”
“No, you’re supposed to keep driving home like a maniac and leave me alone.”
“I was not driving like a maniac.”
“Really? Do you usually park in the middle of the street and leave your door open?”
He glanced at his SUV and frowned.
“Your interior is going to be a mess,” I said, bending to collect a bag.
The next thing I knew, my feet flew out from under me, and the bag and I were nestled against Cal’s chest.
“Put me down.”
He glared at me and walked to the front door, pulling me closer to free one of his hands. My breath caught. He smelled of rain and cedar and sweet sweat. I wanted to bury my face against the curve of his neck.
He punched in the code on the electric lock and pushed the door open.
“It’s kind of weird that you know that,” I said.
“Don’t move,” he said, placing me on the couch.
I wanted to run back to the porch just to spite him, but my spine felt like it was surrounded by needles aimed to poke me if I moved. I watched him carry each bag through the front door and back to the kitchen, his breathing becoming more labored every trip, his face growing redder. Finally, he grabbed the bag off the couch beside me.
“I can get that,” I said, standing with an involuntary whimper. “You better move your car.”
He ignored me and carried the bag to the kitchen. I followed and found him staring out the window over the sink, gripping the counter, his shoulders hunched to his ears.
“Caleb?”
“Just give me a minute,” he answered, his voice strained.
I placed my hand on his arm and felt the muscle tense at my touch. I said his name again, and he spun and pulled me close before crashing his mouth to mine. At first, I was too startled to kiss him back, but then I melted against him, savoring the feel of his fingers as they roamed my face and neck with gentle strokes. He ran his tongue along my lips, and I opened for him. The kiss deepened, each of us fighting for control. He wrapped my braid around his hand and tugged, and I moaned into his mouth. He shoved me against the counter and one of the bags fell to the floor with a thud, sending a cloud of flour into the air.
We sprang apart, both of us panting.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
I took a step toward him, and he held up his hands. The man had just kissed me senseless, but the wallflower in me, the awkward girl with a hopeless crush on the hottest guy in school, was cut deep by his rejection. I shrank back against the counter.
Caleb lowered his hands and fisted them at his sides, his eyes sad. Without another word, he walked out, leaving me standing in a mess of flour and feelings, unsure if I could clean either up.