Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sparrow
I’ve been waiting to find out if our shop is going to be featured in The Seacoast Gazette magazine. I sure hope so. We’ve been working so hard to get everything in order, and I just know my parents would be proud. We’re finally doing what my father and I planned, and we’re honoring my mother in the process.
I’m wrapping up some online orders we launched just last week when I hear a bang on the window. I look up to find Gladys, her nose pressed almost fully to the window, waving with one hand and frantically tapping the glass with the other. Seeing that I’ve noticed her, she holds up her phone and yells, “He’s wearing those jeans again!” She smiles and then rushes past the store. I shake my head at her antics. I’m going to have to take that phone from her soon.
Not two minutes later, another knock is at the door. I lift my eyes to see Rafe. My cheeks instantly warm, my body continuously reminding me that I’ll never get enough of him. I slowly walk to the door, creating a moment where I almost feel like Rachel in the coffee shop, walking toward Ross to let him in. Rafe patiently waits as I walk toward him, the emotion on his face so open and genuine I can hardly breathe. I unlock the top lock, the sound of it opening so satisfying. And as I reach for the bottom lock, we make eye contact.
My heart hammers. I lick my lips and see how he traces the movement, a grin causing his dimple to make an appearance. He puts his hand on the doorknob, and we go to turn it at the same time. As soon I open it for him, he steps in and takes me in his arms.
“You okay?”he asks me. Darn his kind and considerate ways.“I could sing to you,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Ha!” I say a little too loudly, knowing full well that singing would lead to other things.
“Sugar, did you see the news?”
I’m too distracted by thoughts of his mouth to make out what he’s saying. I lean back enough to meet his gaze, his forest eyes full of sunlight. I shake my head as he pulls a newspaper from his back pocket. He grabs my hand with his free one, and we walk over to the bar. The same place he sat the first day we met.
Opening the paper to page ten, I see a spread that I didn’t realize until now I’ve been waiting to see for a very long time. The newspaper features Lily and me outside of the shop. There’s a picture of me rolling croissants, and one of Lily melting chocolate, and lastly, an image of me in my apron holding a picture of my parents.
My hand covers my mouth as I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. And there, right at the top, is the headline: BIRCH BOROUGH’S FINEST LOOKS LIKE SPARROW’S BERET
I can’t even read the article because my eyes are swimming. “We did it,” I whisper. Looking at Rafe, I see his smile is as wide as my own. I throw my arms around him and jump into his arms. “We did it!” Now I’m squealing and yelling and laughing. “Lily! I have to call Lily!”
“I already did. She’s on her way.”
I grin at how adorable and thoughtful he is. I’m back to covering my face with my hands in disbelief. This changes everything. The website is featured. There are directives on how to order online. This goes out to the whole Seacoast area and beyond. There’s no way this isn’t the step that we needed to get this business to the next level. Soon, even more people will be traveling here or ordering maple croissants and a piece of my mother’s legacy.
“Incoming,” Rafe whispers.
“Oof!” I yell. No sooner has the door swung open than I am attacked by my best friend before I even get a chance to face her. Good thing Rafe warned me.
“Rory, we did it!”
And now we’re jumping and yelling and laughing. Lily pulls Rafe in so now we’re in some sort of group hug, and I wish I had a picture of this moment to frame as a new memory for this next phase.
As if reading my mind, Rafe takes a step back and takes a picture of Lily and me holding up the article. And then, in true Lily fashion, she turns the camera around for a selfie, Rafe photobombing behind us, only the corner of the article visible in the picture. That’s my favorite one, for sure.
I’m elated. I’m motivated. We did it.
∞∞∞
“So, it’s official. Sparrow’s Beret is going to be seen around the world.” He grins. “Or at least New England.”
I lean back on my couch and watch Rafe’s shoulders, which fit his t-shirt like a glove. He’s sitting on the edge, playing some new songs he’s been working on for the past half hour. I’ll never get tired of hearing his voice, especially now that I know he can switch back and forth between English and French. It’s a dream. But more of a dream is the way that we’ve eased into being around each other. How we’ve relaxed into falling in love.
“It’s official.” I grin as he peeks over his left shoulder, a guitar pick hanging slightly out of his mouth. I reach up and wrap my arms around him. Gently pulling the guitar pick from his lips, I lift it over my head and lean in to kiss him. It’s soft and sweet. Like we have all the time in the world. He gives a little hum, and it’s enough for me to lean back and guide him back with me this time. Rafe lets it happen, his head now cradled between my neck and shoulder.
He’s still holding his guitar as the top of his perfectly tousled hair tickles the side of my face. I rest my cheek on his head and let his smell of cedar and coffee fill me. I hope my shirt smells like him after he leaves tonight.
“Are you smelling me again?” he asks as I let out a laugh. Rafe starts strumming and making up a love song to his cologne for all its benefits. I’m cracking up with laughter, and he’s seriously trying to keep going when I run my fingers across his forehead and start to play with his hair. He slows his hands and starts to softly play a song I recognize from some of his earlier work. A sweet love song about how he’ll know he’s home when he feels safe in the arms of his love.
I nestle closer to his face, my nose brushing his stubbled jaw as I place a kiss on the line between his cheek and his facial hair. I can’t get enough of him. The feeling of him close to me, his weight resting against my side. I can’t believe I once let him go.
“I love you,” I whisper in his ear. I hear his smile more than I see it, his chest vibrating through my own as he keeps singing. I get it. It’s calming. And also very attractive (not that he needs any more help in that area).
I play with his hair again, loving the feel of it between my fingers. His singing slows, and I notice that he’s not trying to move from my arms. Soon he’s only humming, his eyes slightly closed. And it’s not long before he’s completely asleep, his breathing even and sweet. I gently reach over to remove the guitar from his loosened grasp and pull him back with me so my legs are stretched out, his head in my lap. My eyes travel over the lines of his face, and I’m spellbound.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s a bit of grey coming in at the sides of his temple and a bit throughout his stubble. His mouth is relaxed, and the laugh lines around his face are waiting to be activated again when he awakens. I let my fingers trace his profile before moving them through his hair again. He turns his face toward my stomach, and I inhale as I watch his chest rise and fall. With my free hand, I place it on top of his as I kiss his forehead, the feeling of his hairline softly greeting my nose and his skin beneath my lips, warm and sweet.
My eyes fill a bit as a tear slips out. It’s amazing how we pass by thousands of people, and then one can change our whole world. A world in which holding him feels like a gift. Where being able to see him up close—the humanity, the mistakes, the beauty—is worth every day I didn’t have him. I never thought that my time alone would ever make sense. I thought I would grieve it when I finally opened my heart up to someone. I thought I would beat myself up for the missteps. But all I can feel is grateful. Because I remember what my life was like before I met him, and I feel so deeply the miracle it is to choose someone and have them choose you in return.
Of all the things we’ve done so far and all the times he’s proven how much he loves me, holding him is my favorite. I’ve never told him, and maybe I should when he wakes up. But for now, I’ll hold him close and keep these quiet moments like the miracles that they are—sacred and valued.
∞∞∞
“Lily! The baguettes, hurry up!” I sing the words in my best Beauty and the Beast villager imitation, laughing as Lily gives me a glare that’s so satisfying it was worth the effort.
Our table is still full of food. Of course we have bread from the café, but there’s also homemade cranberry sauce. I found a beloved recipe for my grandmother’s pumpkin bread that was tucked inside a recipe book at the bakery, so I made a few loaves of that as well. (Rafe has already had three slices.) And Lily made a vegetarian concoction that Rafe is poking at while muttering under his breath in French.
We—and by we, I mean Lily, Rafe, and I—are sitting in Lily’s makeshift dining room, which really means that one of us is technically sitting in the kitchen, one of us is in the living room, and one of us is straddling the space in-between (me, it’s me). I’m surrounded by my two favorite people. Lily’s studio apartment is so “her,” and it’s delightful. There are pictures of flowers all over the walls, most of her items are from vintage and thrift stores, and there are candles throughout.
I love being here. It’s more eclectic and free than my own space and somehow feels organized at the same time. Rafe wore an easy smile on his face while Lily moved about in the “kitchen” (which is really only a tiny stove with four mini burners), quietly muttering at anything boiling on the stove. Now, we’re settled with some herbal tea, an espresso, and an Americano with cream, full from our traditional dinner.
This is the most grounded I’ve felt in a long time. I still feel the tinge of sadness that quietly knocks on my heart and the ghost of grief left by the void of my parents. But I also feel hopeful and as if all the things I dreamed of have somehow found their way to me—most of which I owe to the man sitting to my left. The gorgeous human who has transformed not only how I see myself but what’s still possible. I don’t fear being abandoned, and it’s a beautiful space to be in.
We’ve had to work through our words, sure. We sat down and talked through all our reasons for keeping each other at a distance. We are pulling our fears away one by one, like flakes from a piece of puff pastry.
He’s turning into my partner and my best friend. And that, I believe, is really what my father was talking about when he said to wait for the French kind of love. He had a partner with my mother, and she just happened to be French. Same is true for my Rafe—my music-loving, South-of-France-meeting-Paris, multi-layered man who’s all of the best things I’ve known in human form.
I feel him looking at me, and as we make eye contact, the grin hovering on the right side of his mouth tells me that tonight will end very well for us both. My cheeks blush at the thought, and I hold back a laugh as I meet Lily’s gaze, who’s now staring at me all-knowingly.
“Look, lovebirds—no pun intended, Rory,” she says to me. “Actually, yes, it’s intended. For that dreadful baguette comment.” She rolls her eyes.
“Ha. Ha,” I say but still can’t hold back a smile.
She hovers her finger between us and puts on a hint of an annoyed glare (except, I know she’s not mad because she’s sitting cross-legged. And she only sits that way when she’s comfortable). We’ve been having holidays together forever, especially since Lily’s parents have been doing humanitarian work overseas since they retired a few years ago.
“You’ve got a beautiful thing happening here, but I don’t need to be reminded of it every second of every day, okay? And no, you’re not being subtle with your pining glances whenever you’re in the same room.”
Rafe smirks while he draws on the table with his finger, the swirling motions somehow making me warm too. Ah, love.
“Lily—or Lils,” he laughs as she winces. She doesn’t shut him down for the nickname, though, which means he’s officially in. “What kind of person is your type?”
She shakes her head furiously. “I don’t have a type. I just pray over myself and keep moving forward.”
“Huh,” is all that Rafe says.
Suddenly, I remember the man from the train station. My eyes light up as I turn to look her way, an idea striking me like it came from the heavens. “Lils,” I say, looking pointedly at Rafe to get one of his signature grins. “What about the guy I mentioned at the train station? I still have his card somewhere ...probably.”
“Is he handsome?” Lily asks far too intensely.
“Wouldn’t suggest otherwise.”
“And what’s his name? You know I have a thing with names. They need to work together.” She points her finger between me and Rafe again. “You two lucked out.”
She’s not wrong. But I see the way she’s tensing, covering up for something I know has been locked away in her emotional vault since a few years ago. I would say it was around the same time as the loss of my father, but I don’t know if that’s my perspective because of where I was in my grief or an actual observation.
“Greg? No...” I tap my fingers on the table. Suddenly, I picture him clearly. “Oh! Graham. His name is Graham.”
Lily’s eyes widen, and I watch her face turn a shade paler.
“Lily, are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on her forearm.
Rafe sharply turns his head toward me and lifts a brow. “Wait. Did you say Graham ? As in my best-friend-turned-manager and soon-to-be-ex-roommate Graham Winnings?”
I grin innocently and watch as he puts two and two together.
“I can’t deny he has good taste. But you two wouldn’t have worked. He seems more suited for ...” He looks up at Lily before focusing intently on the table. “You know, there’s a story there. I think he really loved someone, and ...”
“Mashed potatoes!” Lily nearly screeches as she rises to her feet, a finger pointing in the air like she just made an earth-shattering declaration and not the bizarre response she actually gave.
There’s silence. Crickets, really, as Rafe and I look at Lily. I catch a glance and see his mouth slightly open, and I force mine to close. Before either of us can say anything more, Lily is at the stove, frantically stirring a pot that’s been off the heat for an hour.
“Thanks, but no thanks, Rory. I just remembered I’ve sworn off men, and now it’s time for our pie,” she says casually while I’m still trying to catch up.
“But you just said ...” I don’t get a chance to finish before a pie plate is dropped in front of us, the whipped cream shifting a bit at the velocity with which it was placed on the table. Rafe carefully grabs the slicer from Lily’s fist and starts dishing out the pumpkin goodness to our plates. I don’t like pumpkin pie as-is, so Lily always makes a pumpkin cheesecake for me with pumpkin macarons on top and calls it “pie.” She says that anything in a pie tin can be called a pie, even if it isn’t one. I know she just doesn’t want me to feel bad, so add it as another reason why she’s a gem of a friend, even if she has seemingly lost it in the past two minutes.
“Are we going to talk about—”
“No. So, Rafe, how’s the apartment search going?”
And that’s how we transition from one of the most awkward moments for Lily I’ve ever seen in my life. Rafe, bless him, never mentions the outburst, and I place a hand on his leg and squeeze gently as a sign of gratitude. He softly smiles at me and shifts his attention back to Lily. And this is how we continue for the next few hours. Light and fun conversation, lots of laughter, extra slices of our “pie,” more espresso for Rafe, and even a Christmas movie on in the background while we play a board game. It’s a magical evening, and I don’t miss the way my heart seems to lift at the beauty that is me and the two people I hold most dear spending a quiet holiday together. And after the mention of Graham, I also don’t miss the way Lily’s hand shakes each time she lifts her spoon to her mouth.