Chapter 18
Hattie
The line of people waiting at my window to order hot chocolate was long. It was only a week before Christmas, and it seemed like everyone was doing some last-minute shopping.
This time of year, I parked near the center of town where Santa greeted children by his workshop and a large, decorated tree.
It was so busy; I barely had time to take a breath, much less eat something.
There was a knock on my door. I wiped a wayward strand of hair out of my face and crossed the small space to unlock and open it.
Rowan stood just outside, looking handsome in dress slacks and a white button-down shirt. "What are you doing here?"
He held up a wrapped sub. "I brought food."
"That's very sweet of you, but I don't have time to eat." I gestured helplessly at the window where the line stretched so far that it got mixed up with the one waiting for Santa.
"I've got this. You take a minute." He handed me the sub and a bottle of water.
My eyes widened. "You're joking?"
He winked at me before he opened the window and asked the first person in line, "Can I help you?"
"Can I get two hot chocolates with marshmallows?"
"That'll be six dollars." He inputted the order into the credit-card reader, then moved toward me, pouring the hot chocolate as if he'd done it a million times before.
"Are you sure about this?"
He grinned. "I'll be so good that they'll come back for more."
I laughed despite my pure exhaustion and sat on the stool I kept for times when it was quiet and my feet hurt. It felt so good to sit down. I slowly unwrapped the sandwich, feeling exhausted.
I took a bite of the sandwich just as my stomach let out a loud growl.
"Perfect timing," he commented as he spooned marshmallows into cups, then covered the hot chocolates with lids. He handed them to the woman, then asked to help the next person.
There was something sexy about a man who was willing to step in and help. Maybe he was used to doing that at the inn or the restaurant. But this was a drink truck. It wasn't even in the same category as a Hart business.
I finished my food then moved to help Rowan. When Jovie arrived for her shift, I stepped outside to thank Rowan. "I can't believe you jumped in to help like that."
He shrugged. "I wanted to make sure you ate. And there was no way you were going to get a break without help."
"Jovie works a lot this time of the year. She tries to come in every night."
"That's good."
My heart was beating hard because I wanted to show him how I felt. The emotion was threatening to overwhelm me. So I put my arms around his waist and rested my cheek on his chest.
His arms came around me.
Then I looked up at him. "I really appreciate you helping out and bringing me food. I didn't pack anything, and I obviously wasn't going to get a break tonight."
He brushed his lips across mine. "I'm happy to help."
"You didn't need to work at the brewery?" I asked him.
"We worked all day. I needed a break."
"And you thought hanging out at my hot-chocolate truck during the week of Christmas was a break?" I asked teasingly.
He dropped his head slightly, and despite the number of people milling about, I felt like we were alone. "As long as you're there, it is."
My heart stuttered at his sweet words. But before I could say anything, he was kissing me, and I forgot everything. A few seconds later, Jovie opened the door to the truck. "Are you going to stop kissing your man and get in here?"
"Coming," I said with a laugh.
"You'd better go," he said softly.
"See you tonight?" I asked, knowing we always ended up falling into bed together. We couldn't seem to get enough of each other.
"I'll be waiting." Then he mouthed, "Naked in bed."
I laughed as I walked inside the truck and closed the door. There was a smile on my face as I moved around the tiny space, pouring drinks and adding toppings like marshmallows, chocolate, and candy-cane shavings.
When the crowd finally started to dwindle, Jovie turned to face me. "You've been smiling ever since Rowan left, and I swear you were humming holiday songs."
I sighed. "I'm really happy."
Her eyes widened. "Wow. I never expected you to say that. You've been so—I don't know how to put this—flat ever since your father died."
I nodded miserably. "I finally feel like I'm living. I can't remember a time when I wasn't worried when Dad was going to come home and if he'd be drunk when he did. Would the police be at the door this time? Would he have hurt someone? It was awful."
"I can't even imagine," Jovie said.
Feeling grateful, I said, "Thank you for being there for me. I'm sure it wasn't always pleasant."
"I'll always have your back, whether you realize I'm here or not. But let's get this place cleaned up for tomorrow. It's not going to slow down until after the holidays."
We refocused on cleaning, and I wondered if I should go see my mom now, when I was feeling better.
We were almost done cleaning up when Jovie asked, "What are you going to do when the brewery opens?"
"The plan was to tell everyone we broke up. That the strain of the business was too much. He wanted to focus on the business, and he doesn't have time for a relationship. That's what Malcolm thinks anyway."
"I don't know why everyone thinks Malcolm gets a say in anything. He's so infuriating."
"Have you had a run in with him?" I asked her, concerned that he'd hurt her somehow. She lived next to the Hart property and ran a flower farm in the warmer months.
"I've gotten a few strongly worded emails about what I'm doing on the property line that abuts his."
"Is that where his home is?"
"Yup," Jovie said. "I half expect him to show up one day and yell at me."
I frowned. "For what?"
"He doesn't like my flower farm being so close to his property. He seems to think it's on Hart property. Even if it is, what would he do about it, flatten my flower garden?"
I thought about what I knew about Malcolm. "He might."
Her forehead wrinkled. "I don't have the money to order a survey to prove that it's mine. We've always just used the natural border of the trees as the property line. Why does Malcolm have to be such a jerk?"
I rubbed her arm. "I'm sorry. You want me to talk to Rowan about it?"
Jovie pursed her lips. "From what you've said, Rowan doesn't have any pull with Malcolm. He runs everything in that family."
I nodded. "If he bothers you, I want to know."
She waved a dismissive hand. "You won't be part of the Hart family much longer anyway. Don't worry about it."
The thought of not being part of the family caused pain to bloom in my chest.
She sighed. "I can handle Malcolm."
"Malcolm pressured Rowan to stay away from me. I'm a distraction apparently."
She tipped her head to the side. "As far as Malcolm knows, you're engaged, right?"
I nodded. "Only you and Meg know the truth."
"Malcolm thinks that his brother's fiancée is a problem he has to deal with?" Jovie asked incredulously.
"That's exactly what he thinks. But I'll be out of the picture soon, and Malcolm can rest easy knowing that Rowan is focused on the business."
She sighed. "I'm starting to think the Harts aren't worth the trouble."
"I'll be able to extract myself from their family soon"—even if the thought of the loss made it hard to breathe—"but you'll always share a property line with them."
"I won't let him get to me. He might have more money and corporate lawyers at his beck and call, but it can't go much further than threatening letters, right?" Jovie asked, her voice tinged with worry.
I wrapped my arm around her. "If he gives you a hard time, I'll have your back."
"I'm not sure what you could really do since you're breaking up with Rowan soon. But I appreciate the offer."
I hated that she was right. This thing between us had a shelf life, and it was coming to an end. As soon as the brewery opened, the publicity surrounding it would dwindle, and there'd be no need for us to pretend any longer.
But what about the fact that our relationship felt real? Every night we spent together, I fell harder for him. When he dug out my truck or stopped by to help with the hot-cocoa service, he ingrained himself more deeply into my life.
But I was strong. I'd survived more than other people. I could do this.
I needed to see my mother. She didn't make anything easy. But I needed to do these welfare checks every once in a while. It alleviated the guilt that built inside me. No matter how many times I spoke with my therapist, I couldn't cut my mother completely out of my life.
That was a line too far for me. I just couldn't do it. And I hadn't seen her since I moved in with Rowan.
Rowan had been asleep when I came home last night, and I hadn't wanted to wake him. He'd been working so hard, and he needed his rest for the opening. When I woke up this morning, he was already gone.
He'd been working long hours at the brewery, preparing for the opening and every possible scenario. He was obsessed with ensuring that there wouldn't be any bad reviews.
He couldn't control everything, but that didn't seem to slow him down. He was convinced that one bad experience could make or break the brewery. This was his dream, and he didn't want to overlook anything.
I drove to my mother's house, dread filling my stomach as I got closer.
The memories of how I felt every time Dad didn't come home flashed through my mind. The worry about whether he was passed out somewhere, or a police officer would have to bring him home. And then my last memory of him, Mom calling to say he’d committed suicide.
Everyone said he thought we'd be better off without him.
I couldn't get over how losing my dad was supposed to be a good thing.
Especially when he left me with a mother who was overwhelmed with guilt and grief.
I resented him for a while, and then I was angry at Mom for never cutting him out of our lives.
At the same time, I couldn't blame her. Being the wife of an addict wasn't easy. It was never-ending and exhausting. You wanted to help the person, but it was impossible.
All the old emotions rose to the surface as I parked on the curb. We'd lived in this small house all my life. It held so many memories. So much worry and stress. I felt the tension creep into my body as I knocked on the door.
I waited for the sound of her footsteps and then the turn of the lock. Mom wore a threadbare robe over her night gown.
She hadn't bothered to get showered or dressed for the day. This was why I didn't want Rowan coming here.
"Hattie. What are you doing here?" She moved away from the door, looking way too thin.
"I just wanted to check in."
Mom sat on the recliner in the living room, which had been Dad's when he was alive. The TV played on a low volume, and there were numerous glasses on the coffee table that had left rings on the wood. "I'm surprised you have time now that you're engaged to that Hart brother. Which one is it again?"
I sat on the edge of the couch. "Rowan."
"Isn't he the one you used to be friends with when you were kids?"
"That's the one." I looked around the room where the pictures of us together as a family of three still hung. These were the before pictures.
"Whatever happened with that?" she asked, as if she were genuinely interested.
I snorted. "I think Dad is what happened."
Mom flinched at the mention of his name.
She usually avoided saying it, but I refused to do that.
His impact on our lives was real and painful.
I wasn't going to hide it from her. She was the one person who knew what it was like to live that experience.
"You can't blame him for everything that went bad in your life. "
"I don't blame him for things that went wrong in my life. But I'm not exactly shouting his praises either. He didn't make life easy."
Mom nodded. "He sure didn't."
"I don't trust easily, and I wonder if Dad is the reason why."
Mom frowned. "I can't imagine that's good for a relationship. When are you planning on tying the knot?" Mom asked.
"We haven't decided."
Mom reached over and patted my knee. "I was worried about you for a while. But I'm glad that you're moving on and to a Hart, no less."
I felt awful that she believed it was real. "The engagement isn't real. He asked me to pretend to be his fiancée to help out with a reporter who's been following the opening of the brewery."
"You're not engaged?" Mom's gaze flicked to the diamond on my finger. "That looks like a real diamond."
I sighed. "Rowan insisted on getting a ring."
"Why would you fake your engagement?" Mom asked, her eyes wide.
I was surprised she was interested in my life. "A reporter was trying to set up a contest with single women vying for a brew bath with the owner. He didn't want the attention to be diverted from the brewery, so he told her he was engaged to me. I just happened to be standing close by."
"And he asked you to go along with it?"
"It was going to be harder to reverse course at that point. Once the brewery opens, we'll break up and go our separate ways."
Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand why you'd do something like that."
I sighed. "I don't either. But I liked spending time with him. He's a good man."
"I was hoping you were finally happy." Mom's voice trailed off.
"I didn't know you were worried about me."
"You're my daughter. Of course I worry about you."
"It's just that when Dad was alive, he seemed to take up all the space. There was no more room for me."
Mom closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, there were tears. "I'm not proud of the way I acted over the years. I hated that it affected you so much."
I didn't want to upset her or send her into a deeper depression. "It's over now. And I'm fine."
She let out a shaky breath. "That's too bad about Rowan and you. I was hoping he was the one for you.”
I shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be. Besides, once it's over, I can focus on my business again."
"Are you still selling out of a food truck?" Mom asked.
It was nice that she was actually asking questions about my life. I wondered if it was Rowan in my life that prompted the interest. "I am, but one day, I'd love to have a storefront."
"You can have whatever you want."
I hoped Mom was right. Because what I wanted conflicted with reality. I wanted Rowan in my life and a place to sell my hot chocolate. I wanted to give people an experience you couldn't get from a truck. Right now, it seemed so far away. But Mom believed in me. And Rowan did too.
Maybe I should have started believing in myself.