4. Tilly
Chapter four
Tilly
L ife may be about dancing in the rain, but only for those fortunate souls who have never encountered an unexpected storm in San Antonio. The ceaseless rain nearly topples me over as I cross the street, seeking refuge under the sun-bleached awning of my favorite coffee shop. The familiar scents of hazelnut and cinnamon flow out of the small café as I head inside, heralding a sense of peace to what has been a chaotic morning. A new patchwork tapestry hangs on the wall beside a dozen bedazzled crosses, the muted sound of mariachi music playing through the stereo behind the barista.
“Caramel macchiato,” Violet says, placing the cup on the counter for another customer. My mouth waters picturing the flavors bursting on my tongue. Usually I’d love a frothy drink like that, but on a day like today, where I need to feel close to Jessie, simply drinking his favorite flavored latte draws his memory so close I can almost imagine he’s there beside me.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I catch a glance of the notification.
Shantel: Boy, do I have a present for you!
I roll my eyes, still perturbed at her for the subterfuge leaving my house the other day. Curious, I swipe the screen and am ambushed by another dating profile she deemed good enough to send me. It’s like ever since I made the decision to get my life back on track, she assumes that means I’m ready to start dating again .
“Tilly?” Violet calls, snapping my attention away from the shirtless, blond-haired man on my phone.
“Yeah?”
She shakes the cup with her thick brows raised. “Here’s your drink.”
“My drink?” I ask, dumbfounded. “I didn’t order yet.”
She stares at me like I’m talking gibberish and says, “Traffic light earrings, hair in space buns, comes in Tuesdays and Thursdays around ten for a peppermint latte.” She shrugs. “Figured it was easier to just have it ready.”
My cheeks heat. Have I become that predictable? I step forward and grab the cup, warmth encompassing my hand as I wordlessly offer her the debit card from my pocket.
“It’s on the house,” Rosie, the elderly owner says with a wide smile, highlighting the deep wrinkles at the corner of her brown eyes as she comes to the counter. “Did you bring me more cupcakes?”
“Thank you.” Appreciating the kind gesture, I tuck my card into my pocket. Jessie’s life insurance policy left me with more than enough to live on for the rest of my life, but I won’t touch it. I’d rather use the money I get baking desserts for my parents’ restaurants to supply any needs I might have. “I need to pick up some ingredients, but I’ll bring some by tomorrow.”
“When are you going to stop dragging your ass and finally open your own bakery?” She pins me with a cold stare and pinched lips, the look of a woman who means business. “I need my mango habanero cupcakes daily.”
I laugh at her bluntness, reminded of something Jessie said before he passed. This was his favorite coffee shop. He always said the owner reminded him of his mother and her candor, never one to blanch away from speaking their mind. My heart simultaneously warms and withers with the memory.
“Maybe one day.” I sigh and gulp down a swig of the latte, allowing the overly sweet peppermint drink to sooth my rain-chilled bones. Since graduating culinary school, I’ve made ends meet by supplying the bakery cases in my parents’ restaurants with old-fashioned pies, red velvet cakes, and an assortment of cookies, but I can’t lie that I die a little more inside each time.
“One day soon, por favor.” She frowns at a overcooked pan dulce in her small display.
Stifling a chuckle, I stop a moment to thank her again before leaving. With the surprise rainstorm now over, sunlight glistens on the ground as I head toward my car. My phone rings the moment I’m safely inside.
I don’t have to check my Bluetooth to know it’s Shantel calling.
“Happy Dirty Thirty,” she yells before I even have a chance to say hello, drowning out the slap of my windshield wipers.
I quickly lower the volume. “Thanks, Shanti. What’s up?”
“Did you see the picture I sent?” The giddiness in her tone makes me cringe. Setting your brother’s widow up on a dating app surely can’t be normal.
“I did.” I check my mirrors, catching sight of a couple locked in a passionate embrace in the car behind me. A lightning bolt shoots through my chest at the memory of Jessie’s kiss. Opening the glovebox, I shove my hand inside in search of a pair of sunglasses to block out the sun—and the couple.
A tire pressure gauge, old chargers, and a bunch of folded papers tumble out of the messy compartment. The last time Jessie borrowed my car when his was in the shop, he told me I should clean it out, said it looked like a Buc-ee’s exploded inside it. I never got around to emptying it. I gather the contents to shove them back inside when my gaze lands on the disheveled paperwork. Flipping it open, I find a loan application from a bank I’ve never been to.
Where did this come from?
“And?” Shantel’s exasperated voice steals my attention, huffing as if she’s asked this twice. “What did you think?”
I think it’s been less than two years , I mouth, trying to keep my tongue in check.
“He’s alright, I guess.” Paperwork forgotten, I merge onto the road, headed toward my mother-in-law’s house. “If you like guys who can, and I quote, ‘bench-press you better than your ex.’”
She snorts. “Alright, you got me there. But that doesn’t negate the fact that we need to get you back out there.”
“Shantel,” I chide.
“Tilly,” she sighs. “It’s time.”
“ I know ,” I emphasize. “But—”
“No buts. I miss Jessie too. Every damn day. But he’d want you to move on and keep this momentum,” she pauses, static filling the air when I don’t reply. “You deserve to be happy and for all your dreams to come true, but you’ve gotta get out of this…this cycle you’re stuck in.”
Sunlight peeks through the clouds, and the cake charm on my bracelet shimmers—a reminder of the man who loved me with his entire soul. A thousand tiny knives stab at my throat. Jessie always encouraged my hopes and dreams. We’d lay out on the deck at night, talking about me starting a bakery where I could try out new flavors along with some of my mom’s old recipes. But between him starting his business, and me finishing culinary school, it never seemed to be the right time.
Shantel’s right, but I can’t find the words to reply. Her brother was everything to me. How can she expect me to move on when no one can ever measure up to the man he was?
“I just want to help,” she says. “You’ve been a hermit lately, and with Archer working so much…”
My selective hearing kicks in the moment she mentions Archer’s name. He still hasn’t messaged or called me back.
“Where are you anyway?” she asks.
“Just left Rosie’s.”
A humming noise comes through the speaker as if she’s contemplating something. “Jessie loved that old lady and her peppermint lattes. What’d you get?”
My mouth fills with sand as I try to come up with a lie to tell her. She knows I don’t like peppermint lattes, but it’s become part of my routine, a way to feel closer to Jessie when the days feel particularly hard to get through.
Like my thirtieth birthday he should be here to celebrate.
I struggle to come up with anything but a lie. “I dropped off some cupcakes and she yelled at me about opening my own bakery. You know, a typical Tuesday.”
She harrumphs. “Well, she’s not wrong. But that’ll all be solved soon enough.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“Shit…” She pauses, talking to someone I can’t hear in the background. “I gotta go get ready, but I’ll see you at Mom’s for your birthday dinner.”
“Uh, okay.” My forehead creases at her abrupt change in subject and the way she’s hustling me off the phone.
“Hey Til,” she says before hanging up .
“Yeah?”
“Do something special for yourself today.”
Even though she can’t see me, I roll my eyes. What’s the point of doing something special when the one person you want to spend your birthday with isn’t here anymore?
“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll see you later, Seester.”
Rain starts up again, pelting the windshield as I wait for the light to change, contemplating Shantel’s words. Her heart is in the right place, but I’m not sure I’m ready yet. How does one know they’re ready to move on after something tragic happens? If there’s an answer to that question, I have yet to find it.
Rosie’s comment about dragging my ass comes back to mind. I’m not sure how she even knew owning a bakery was a dream of mine, but if I could do something for myself, give myself one gift, it would be the bakery Jessie and I dreamed up under the stars.
That thought follows me the entire way to Nora’s driveway. Snatching the old loan paperwork from my glovebox, I Google what it would take to get a business loan. I’m not as business savvy as Jessie was, but I’m sure it shouldn’t be too difficult.