28. Tilly
Chapter twenty-eight
Tilly
G rocery shopping for baking materials is my favorite part of the week. With Dad’s approval of the sticky toffee pudding cake and the apple-pear crumble I made, I’m feeling excited about the prospect of opening my bakery in a month. Nearly all of the construction work outside of a few shelves are complete, so I can finish decorating the inside and prepare for a soft opening. The front area is all painted, and I’m waiting on a delivery of tables and light fixtures this week. I’ve yet to find a bakery case I love, but I’m holding out hope I’ll find one soon. I’d rather not open without one, but I also don’t want to be forced into buying one I absolutely hate either.
I’ve managed to avoid Archer the last three days because he was away doing a construction job, but I know he’s returning soon for the Thanksgiving break, and I’m not sure what the new dynamic will be between us.
It’s equal parts exciting and anxiety-inducing.
On autopilot, I pay for my groceries, drop them off at my house, and head to Nora’s for Sunday dinner. I note the absence of a particular green truck when I park my car, and an uneasy feeling settles in my chest.
“Hey chickadee.” Nora greets me at the door with her silver hair pulled into a bun and a fall inspired apron around her neck. “Dinner’s almost done. Shantel needs help with dessert.”
“Oh no.” I hold up the pie in my hand and she laughs .
“Thank God you brought that. We’ll probably need it.”
Shantel’s braids are a crazy nest on top of her head, and she’s buzzing around the kitchen making messes as she goes. She’s always been a frazzled type of baker, but this is next level.
“Want some help?” I ask, placing the pie I made into the fridge.
“I swear if that’s dessert I’ll chop off your fingers.” She wields a knife, pointing it my way like a crazed killer. “I told you I was going to try to make something this time.”
“You’d likely cut your own fingers off before you managed to get anywhere near me.”
She huffs. “You’re probably right, but we’re not opening yours until we at least try mine.”
I surrender. “No problemo.”
A familiar noise outside grows louder, and in turn my heart rate increases. Archer’s truck has a distinct sound I’d know anywhere. Wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt, I grab a knife and chop cucumbers for a salad beside Shantel.
“Hey ladies.” Archer’s dressed in a tight black sweater and dark jeans. His beard is trimmed, and he looks like he’s gotten a haircut sometime in the last few days.
It takes a moment before I realize my mouth is parted and I’m breathing too heavy. Shantel bumps my arm, and I accidentally slice into my finger.
“Damn it,” I say.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Til.” Shantel grimaces, an apology written on her face.
Archer’s warm body encroaches on my space. He takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen sink. “Let me see how deep it is.”
It’s not the pain at the forefront of my mind but the firm grasp he has on my fingers. The nerves in my body light up like fireworks, and I struggle not to lean more into him. I’m vaguely aware of Nora and Shantel chatting, but the man diligently cleaning my wound has my full attention.
His green eyes are paler today, like he’s tired and in need of a good night’s sleep, and his lips are slightly chapped, most likely from the wind San Antonio’s known for. He’s much more attractive than I remember him being five years ago when I first met him.
A cleared throat pulls my attention to the two women standing off to the side with grins on their faces. I roll my eyes and pull my hand back from Archer’s.
“Thanks, but it’s not that deep.”
“Give me your hand.” He reaches into the cabinet and pulls out one of Nora’s fingertip band-aids. Like I’m a child, he wraps it around my finger then places the trash in my hand and tells me to go throw it away.
The room is near silent, but there’s a buzzing energy floating around the table when we finally sit down to eat. Shantel and Archer chat about a new contract her husband negotiated for his company, and I piledrive pot roast into my mouth. Nora’s eyes bore into the side of my face, and even though I try to fight the urge to turn and meet her eyes, I royally fail. She’s got a smug look on her face like she’s proud of something, but I can’t quite figure out what that something is yet.
“Archer and Shantel can set up the table while you and I do the dishes,” Nora says to me.
The silence that descends over the room is shocking. I always set up Jessie’s poker table, and if Nora is beckoning me to the kitchen, it’s to talk in private. And I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what she has to say. Has seeing the change in the dynamic between me and Archer made her reconsider her thoughts on whether we belong together? Is she now disgusted at the thought ?
My throat tightens and I chance a look at Shantel. She shrugs like it’s no big deal. Archer’s eyes are wide and filled with worry. I imagine it’s what I’d see if I looked into a mirror. Nora’s humming a tune and scrubbing the dishes when I finally make my way into the kitchen. She throws me a dish towel to dry with.
“How’s your finger?”
“It’s fine. Just a cut.” She hands me a bowl to dry.
“You know Archer is like a second son to me, right?”
Whoa. Right in for the kill. Nora doesn’t waste any time getting to the point.
“I do.”
“And I want him to be happy just as I wanted Jessie to be happy.”
Fear spikes through me, raining down shards of dread.
“Yes?”
“I want Archer to be as happy with you as Jessie was.”
The bowl tumbles from my hand, clanking against the countertop but not breaking. I send a thank you to Heaven, and a question of ‘why’ to God. Why did my mother-in-law just tell me she wants me to be happy with my husband’s best friend?
“It’s okay, Tilly,” she says when I don’t respond.
“How? Why?” I fumble my words. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do.” She leaves the dishes in the sink, dries off her hands, and turns to me. “I haven’t seen you smile in months, yet the minute you started working with Archer you’ve done nothing but smile.”
“He’s helping me with the bakery.”
She charges on. “You didn’t flinch away from his touch.”
A tear slides down my cheek. “The pain from the cut was all I felt.”
She smiles and shakes her head like she can’t believe I’m trying to defend myself when it’s so achingly clear what’ s going on.
“You’ve come alive again, and so has he.”
“But I’m married to Jessie,” I choke out.
She reaches out for my hand on the counter, and I nearly pull it back, a kneejerk reaction I’m trying to curb as I work on my touch issues. I know she needs the comfort just as much, if not more than me.
“You loved Jessie with all your heart while he was on this earth, but he’s not here anymore. He’s up in Heaven probably yelling at you to stop getting in the way of your own happiness.”
“I feel like I’m betraying him, betraying you and Shantel.”
She squeezes my hand and grabs a paper towel for me to dry my eyes. “You’re not. You’re only betraying yourself by neglecting to give your heart what it needs.”
“He’s made it pretty clear I’m not what his heart needs.”
“Oh pish posh,” she says. “He’s fallen head over heels for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re amazing.”
“No, he isn’t,” I reply. “You don’t treat people you love like they don’t matter for years.”
“I think he knows he didn’t handle his…feelings properly,” she says.
I scoff. “That’s an understatement.”
“But,” she interjects, pinning me with her sad eyes. “If there’s something…there…forgive before it’s too late for growth to happen.” My brain can’t wrap around the fact that my husband’s mother thinks his best friend is in love with me, yet she’s unbothered. “Jessie would want you to be happy, and so do me and Shantel. If Archer is the person to do that, we want you to know we approve.”
She doesn’t give me time to reply and heads out to the table to play poker. Stunned, I take a moment to try and digest everything she said. Was this what she was trying to tell me the day I yelled at her? How would things be right now if I had stopped worrying about what others thought about my attraction to Archer and let things unfold?
Nausea swirls around in my gut. I know my heart was true when it came to Jessie. I loved him more than life itself, even if there was a part of me attracted to Archer years ago when we met. But how do we move forward if neither of us can stop looking back?