Chapter Three
Cedar
I stepped inside, the familiar scents of fresh laundry and baking wafted through the air, but my mother’s stern expression immediately soured the welcoming atmosphere.
“Cedar, we need to talk,” she said the moment her eyes landed on me.
I dropped my bag onto the floor, holding back a groan. Exhaustion from a long day at the hospital weighed on me, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“What’s up, Mom?”
My father sat on the couch, his eyes on the TV, but his lowered volume told me he was clearly listening in. I took a deep breath, already sensing the direction of this conversation.
“Devan Thompson called,” my mother announced. “He’s interested in taking you out.”
A spike of irritation shot through me. I’d barely had time to decompress after work, and they were already planning the rest of my evening.
Yup! I was right. Don’t they know how to take a break?
I raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Mom, I don’t think so.”
My mother’s face fell. “Why are you so against this? Do you want to remain single your entire life?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter if it’s Dwayne Johnson or Justin Bieber—I don’t want to go on a date with anyone.”
My father’s gaze snapped toward me. “Enough, Cedar. You’re going on this date.”
My eyes widened, outrage simmering. “You can’t dictate my love life! I’m an adult and can handle myself, thank you very much.”
My mother intervened, her voice cajoling. “Sweetie, we just want you to be happy. Ciara would’ve wanted—”
I cut her off, my tone sharp. “Don’t bring Ciara into this!”
Tears welled in my mother’s eyes, and she stepped closer. “Cedar, honey, we’re worried about you. You’ve been shutting yourself off since Ciara passed. We just want to see you smile again.”
I recognized her guilt trip, but the tears still stung. A pang of remorse hit me, even as I knew she was using Ciara’s memory to sway me.
“Fine,” I relented, throwing up my hands. “I’ll call him and set something up.”
My mother’s face lit up, and she hurried to hug me. “Thank you, sweetie! He’ll pick you up this evening at 7.”
“Seven, okay…” I started to agree, then did a double-take. “Wait, what? You already agreed to the date before asking me?”
Her response was a giggle.
“What if I’d said no?”
“Well, you didn’t. And don’t worry about coming home early—you can stay out as late as you want.”
I gave her a look that was equal parts frustration, resignation, and warning. She merely beamed back.
“I’ll help you get ready!” she offered.
“I really need my own place,” I muttered, picking up my bag.
The truth was, I’d been feeling that way for months—even before Ciara passed. Ciara had been the reason we still lived with our parents. She’d been sick and needed constant care, so sharing the same roof made sense.
Plus, my parents considered it wasteful for us to pay rent separately in such a small town. But now, with their incessant meddling, a house of my own felt like a necessity.
As I trudged upstairs, I sent a selfish, almost evil prayer heavenward. Dear Lord, make Devan come down with something nasty like diarrhea, or get called to chase down a criminal by 7 p.m. Amen!
In my room, I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The clock on my nightstand read 5:10 p.m. That gave me about an hour and a half to rest, plus thirty minutes to mentally prepare for this disaster.
My heart panged when I noticed the framed photo of Ciara and me on my dresser. In it, we were both grinning at the beach, the wind tossing our hair.
Devan wasn’t a bad person, at least he didn’t seem like one. By all standards, he was attractive—but I just didn’t see any potential with him.
I kicked off my shoes with a sigh, my mind already racing for an escape plan.
***
Later That Evening
At 7 p.m. sharp, the doorbell rang. My mother’s excited voice floated upstairs. “Cedar, Devan’s here!”
I took a steadying breath, smoothing out my dress—a simple, elegant black number with a subtle floral pattern. My hair was tied in a loose bun, and I kept my makeup minimal.
A pang of nostalgia hit me, recalling how Ciara loved helping me pick out outfits. She would have teased me about overthinking it, insisting on bright lipstick.
As I descended the stairs, Devan’s tall, broad-shouldered frame came into view. He wore a tailored navy suit, the crisp white shirt highlighting his tan complexion. His hair was styled perfectly, and his bright blue eyes gleamed with an excitement that was almost contagious.
“Wow, you look stunning,” he said, offering a charming smile.
“Thank you,” I replied, smiling back. “You look dapper yourself.”
My mother beamed, handing me a small purse. “Have a great time, sweetie!”
I accepted the purse without comment and headed out. They couldn’t force me to go on a second date if the first turned out to be a waste of time. So, I decided to see this through once and for all.
On the drive to the restaurant, Devan made small talk about the town’s latest events. His deep, soothing voice and easy chatter put me at some ease—but his casual touches (a hand on my knee, the brush of his arm against mine) left me uncomfortable. I silently prayed for the sanctuary of a dinner table to provide some distance.
“So how was your day at the hospital?” he asked, flicking on his blinker. “It was… busy,” I replied, careful not to overshare. “I don’t want to bore you with medical jargon.”
“You won’t bore me,” he insisted, but I sensed a hint of disinterest.
“We’re almost there,” Devan announced as he turned onto Crest Avenue. “Bistro Bliss has the best steak in town.”
“I’ve heard good things,” I replied, shifting in my seat to create more space.
We arrived at Bistro Bliss, a cozy spot with rustic wooden decor and soft lighting. The warm aroma of roasting vegetables made my stomach growl. As we were shown to our table, I caught sight of a neighbor, Mrs. Lancaster, making a beeline for us.
She offered a sympathetic smile. “Cedar, dear, I’m so sorry again about Ciara. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.”
Before I could respond, Devan’s hand brushed mine in a gentle gesture. “Thank you, ma’am. We’re just trying to move forward.”
I pressed my lips together, annoyed. I can speak for myself, you know. Mrs. Lancaster patted my arm apologetically, then left us to our date.
“You know, I can speak for myself,” I said as soon as she was out of earshot.
“What?” Devan asked.
“Mrs. Lancaster was talking to me, but you didn’t let me respond.”
“Oh, that… uh, sorry?”
I wasn’t sure if that qualified as an apology, but I didn’t have the energy to pursue it. I just wanted the evening to end.
As we scanned our menus, Devan leaned in. “How about trying their signature dish? The chef’s special.”
“I’m actually in the mood for something lighter,” I said, still browsing.
He raised an eyebrow. “Not a fan of red meat?”
“Not particularly.”
He chuckled. “Well, I guess we’re not too alike, then.”
While we waited for our meals, our conversation drifted, and I began to notice subtle red flags. Devan’s opinions on local politics felt rigid, and his social views somewhat controlling.
“I think the town council should prioritize economic growth over environmental concerns,” he said firmly.
“I understand the importance of growth, but shouldn’t we balance it with sustainability?” I countered.
Devan shook his head. “You can’t put the cart before the horse, Cedar. Progress comes first.”
Whenever I tried to clarify my stance, he’d wave a hand or chuckle. “You’re as feisty as your Mom said. But I think we’ll get along just fine.”
I forced a polite smile, feeling uneasy. Throughout the meal, people kept stopping by to offer condolences—the downside of small-town life. Each time, Devan would reach out to cover my hand with his, as though claiming me.
By the fourth interruption, I gently pulled my hand away, blaming the constant well-wishers for my discomfort.
Devan dominated the conversation, regaling me with tales of his job and his golf buddies. His confidence verged on arrogance, and he didn’t seem aware of it.
At one point, he launched into a lengthy story about his latest gym routine. “You should see me bench press,” he boasted, flexing subtly. “My buddies can’t keep up.” He smiled, waiting for my reaction. I mustered a polite nod, trying not to roll my eyes.
As dessert arrived, he leaned in again. “You know, Cedar, I think we could make a great team. You’re smart, beautiful, and have a wonderful family.”
A ripple of unease coursed through me.
“Devan, I appreciate the compliment, but let’s not rush things,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation toward lighter topics.
He persisted. “I’m not rushing, Cedar. I just see potential.”
Potential for what?
The night wore on, and my discomfort grew as his touches became more frequent and he spoke as if I was already his. Finally, I excused myself.
“Sorry,” I said, sliding my chair back. “I need the ladies’ room.”
He stood, concerned in his eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just need a minute,” I replied with a strained smile.
Once I locked the restroom door, I pulled out my phone and texted Flynn:
Help! Worst date ever. Come rescue me?
He called back immediately.“Hey, pumpkin, you hate Devan that much? Heard he had his hand all over yours, and you were glowing.”
“Huh? Where’d you hear that?”
“Someone at Bistro Bliss saw you two.”
I wasn’t surprised—small towns thrive on gossip.“Well, the only truth is the location, and that he can’t keep his hands to himself.”
Flynn laughed. “So you want me to crash your date?”
“Please,” I begged. “Make up something.”
He paused, his breath the only sound on the line.“Please…” I repeated, almost whining.
“All right, all right. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“Thank you.”
I hurried back to our table to find Devan slipping something into his pocket and waving goodbye to a woman I didn’t recognize. Whatever guilt I’d felt vanished.
“Hey, that took a while. Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, retaking my seat.
I let him steer the conversation, barely listening. Finally, fourteen minutes later, my phone vibrated with Flynn’s text:
Hey pumpkin, I’m outside. Should I come in now?
I texted back quickly:
Don’t bother. I’ll come out to you.
I glanced up at Devan, who was talking away, completely oblivious to my distraction.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, picking up my purse. “But I’m leaving.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Why?”
“Listen, Devan… you’re a nice guy, and fun enough to be around, but I’m not interested in ‘being yours.’” I made air quotes with my fingers. “I only agreed to this date to get my parents off my back. Now that I’ve done that, I don’t want anything more.”
I was blunt, and I didn’t care if it bruised his ego. Let it.
He took a deep breath. “Can I at least drop you off?”
“My friend’s already waiting outside.”
“Is it another man?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I replied evenly.
He reached across the table and caught my wrist, about to say something when I heard Flynn’s voice behind me.
“Cupcake, aren’t you ready to leave?”