39. Tilly
Chapter thirty-nine
Tilly
T wo days have passed since the piano bar fiasco with Deidre, and outside of a few texts, I haven’t seen or heard from Archer. We’ve been ships in the night, and with three and a half weeks until we’re supposed to open, I’m starting to worry I’m not only going to lose my relationship, but also my bakery if it’s not ready for opening.
Confronting Deidre has passed my mind a few times, but I know it wouldn’t change anything, and even though she created this rift between Archer and me, she’s not the one who’s going to help close it.
It’s taken me this long to realize I was selfish, only focused on my own grief about Jessie’s passing and my relationship with Archer. I didn’t stop to ask how he’s been managing the past two years, or how he felt about the progression between us. It’s easy to forget the mountain of history between us when we’re in bed, but being stripped down with someone in the physical doesn’t negate the fact that we’ve kept our emotions clothed, our scars still hidden in the deep valley of our minds for fear of it breaking this new balance between us.
Sunlight spills into the room as I gather the clothes strewn about, throwing them into the hamper inside the bathroom. My mind spins like a top, replaying the last few weeks with Archer as I piddle around, windexing the mirror, cleaning the toilet, then moving into the bedroom to organize. It’s not until I’m standing at the sink with a tea-stained mug in my hand that I realize what I’ve done .
Limbs frozen in shock, the cup slips from my hands and clatters in the stainless steel bin. Like a VHS tape being rewound, I race up the stairs with sweat coating my skin and a silent prayer on my tongue. The thundering inside my chest heralds the storm brewing in my stomach as I near the door to my—our—room.
My eyes are closed when I pass the threshold, as if the darkness can shield me from what I know will be there when I open my eyes. A few short inhales are all my chest will allow before I force myself to look at the destruction of the last place I felt my husband’s arms wrapped me.
A gale of air rushes from my lips. “Oh no.”
Tears queue in the corner of my eyes, a waterfall ready to gush forward the moment I blink. I was so focused on everything changing between me and Archer, the happiness I’ve felt the past few months, the life I could see making with him, that without thought I made Jessie’s side of the bed.
With a deep inhale, I close my eyes and let the tears slide down my cheeks. My fists clench at my stomach, hoping it’ll keep the pain away.
It never comes.
There’s a thumping inside my ears, my chest, and my fingertips, but no ache accompanies it. I thought I’d break down and throw stuff against the wall, that there’d be a heaviness permanently settled on my chest, but instead there’s a quiet kind of peace that settles over me as if I was stuck in the last chapter of a book unable to bring myself to finish the story, and now I’m ready to turn the page and find out the ending.
To find my happily-ever-after.
Or at least I hope so.
I stare at the throw pillows stacked neatly where Jessie’s head laid, no longer a mountain barricading my limbs from spreading out wide on the bed. A breeze whips along my neck, and I glance at the closed window. A tugging sensation in my chest has my eyes going up, looking toward Heaven with a smile.
Thank you , I whisper, hoping Jessie can hear me. I love you, too.
There’s a lightness to my steps as I back out of the room, quietly exhaling any lingering doubt and replacing it with gratitude as I grab my keys and head to the bakery—my last gift from Jessie.
***
After calling Archer a few times to let him know about the breakthrough I had and getting his voicemail, I decided to throw myself into opening day prep. There’s nothing like menial work to take my mind off things I don’t want to deal with, like Archer going silent after the bar fiasco. Shantel and Nora find me sitting on the bakery floor surrounded by approximately three hundred small take-out boxes.
“Hey guys.”
“What’s wrong?” they ask in unison.
“Nothing,” I reply, voice a tad too high. Shantel’s eyes narrow on me as if she knows I’m lying. A beat passes where I swear she can see into my soul, and before I know it, she turns toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to kick his ass.”
“No,” I plead. “Don’t do that.”
She turns, a frown marring her face. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
“Because he didn’t do anything.” I sigh. “It was all Deidre, and I’m giving him time to work through what happened.”
“What happened is he’s a jackass.”
“Shantel,” Nora chastises. “Let them work it out themselves.”
I give her a half smile. “What’s up? Did you need help with something? ”
Shantel leans against the door, her arms crossed as she toys with the sleeve of her lace top. “We came by to see if you wanted to come have lunch with us?”
I take an inventory of the room, realizing there’s not much more I can do until the walk-in freezer arrives. With the milestone I crossed in my healing journey this morning, I deserve a treat. I consider telling them about making Jessie’s side of the bed, but I decide to keep it to myself, relishing in the pride I feel.
“Sure.” I get up from the ground and dust off my pants. “That sounds great.”
After locking up, we walk toward the main sector of The Pearl. A familiar voice steals my attention as we pass the road where Deidre’s bookstore is located. Though my mind is telling me to continue, my feet have melded to the cement. Shantel and Nora’s voices sound far off as I stare at them with a thumping inside my skull. Deidre shoves Archer’s notebook into his chest and gives him the finger, and his shoulders fall slack, chin touching his chest in defeat.
A pit opens in my stomach. It’s in this moment I realize the only reason I’m hurt is because I’ve fully fallen for him. The time we’ve spent together the past few weeks, the way he’s encouraged me and helped me work through my own grief, was building a firm foundation for me to fall head over heels for him.
The revelation makes my knees buckle.
“Everything okay?” Shantel asks.
My hands curl into themselves, and I force myself to nod and follow her and Nora who are headed Archer’s way. Deidre locks eyes with me, and with an unfriendly smile and an eye roll, she heads back into her store. Archer hasn’t noticed us yet, but his low shoulders and the shake of his head show me he’s upset by whatever she said. I stop myself from going down the rabbit hole of jealousy. I take a deep breath and paste a smile onto my face.
“Hey,” Shantel calls to Archer.
My lungs seize and my feet slow as he turns, and his pained eyes settle on me. He rolls up his notebook and shoves it into his back pocket, greeting Nora and Shantel with a hug before he stands in front of me.
“Hi.” My voice sounds like a caged animal.
“Hey.”
Nora and Shantel gesture behind him that they’re going to the restaurant and leave us to our own devices as we walk away from the bookstore, our pace slow and deliberate.
“Sorry I didn’t come by last night.” He rubs the back of his neck, gaze glued to the cement. “I had some stuff to work through and didn’t want to bring my bad mood over.”
“I understand.” I roll my lips between my teeth. “Me, too.”
He nods to the restaurant. “Having brunch?”
“Yeah.” I give him a weak smile. “Did you wanna come? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
He stops before the door, eyes sliding to where Nora and Shantel sit with their backs to us. “No,” he replies. “I’ve got some things to take care of, so I’ll catch up with you later?”
Pain strikes through my chest. It feels like he’s pulling away from us.
From me.
My teeth clamp down on my lip, and I struggle to swallow.
“K,” is all I manage to say.
I tilt my head up for a kiss, but he presses one to the side of my head instead. “See you later. ”
Nausea sinks into my core as I stare at his retreating back. I can’t flake out on Shantel and Nora, but I don’t want to be here. I want to find Archer and beg him not to give up on what we’ve started.
“Where’s Archer?” Shantel looks over my shoulder.
“He had stuff to get done.”
Like a mother, Nora must pick up on the unsaid words. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” She reaches out and grasps my hand. “You know we’re always here for you, Tilly. And we know how he can be.”
My brain is screaming at me to tell them, to ask them what they think about the entire situation, but my heart is still too tender and confused. Archer has been spending all of his time helping me get my bakery ready, showing up for me in ways I never expected. He’s dealing with stuff I’m not sure how to help him through, and I want to show him it’s not a one-way street, that he can rely on me too.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, though I’m not sure I believe my own words. “He’s having a bad week and needs some space.”
Nora smiles, and the waitress brings us menus and drops off our coffees.
“So are you guys just sleeping together?” Shantel asks, stirring cream into her cup.
I nearly choke on my coffee, eyes skittering to Nora before they turn into daggers I shoot at my unhelpful sister-in-law.
“Shantel,” Nora admonishes.
“What?” she asks. “I’m just wondering if they’ll be getting married soon so my baby can be a flower girl or ring bearer.”
Silence encompasses the table as realization settles.
“Baby?” Nora yells excitedly, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “Really? ”
My heart is in my throat, clogged by a mixture of happiness and dread. I’m happy for Shantel, but seeing Nora’s excitement reminds me of the grandkids I was never able to give her.
“Congratulations, Shantel.” I lift my mug in the air, ceramic clinking as they add theirs.
We spend the next hour chatting about how Shantel found out, how Malik reacted, and what her due date is, and thankfully mine and Archer’s confusing relationship is forgotten.
I head to the bakery and try to stop the stupid tears from streaming down my face by reorganizing and labeling the shelves filled with icings.
A text cuts through the blaring music, and I nearly tumble from the small step ladder.
Dinner at my house, 6pm?
My cheeks puff out with a breath, and I stifle the urge to chuck my phone across the floor. If I’m going to get the answers I need about what’s going on between him and me, then I have to buck up and be an adult about the situation.
Sure, I type back, looking at the clock. It gives me five hours to obsess over the conversation in my head, and that may not even be enough time to rehearse all the things I want to say.
***
Traffic during rush hour still sucks going out of the city, but at least the temperature has dropped enough that I can drive with the windows down and feel the breeze on my face. I’ve been sitting at the edge of Archer’s property trying to coach myself to drive the rest of the way up the driveway. I’ll either leave here tonight with a boyfriend or alone, and both options terrify me.
Staring down at my hand, I twist my wedding rings around my finger a few times, my heart galloping in my chest at the thought of taking them off. When Jessie put these rings on my finger I thought it was forever. I didn’t expect a year later I’d be a widow. And I never expected I’d fall for someone else, least of all Archer.
It’s a big step, taking off my rings, but one I feel ready to make. Even if things don’t work out with me and Archer—a thought I hate even considering—it’s time.
I’m ready for the next chapter.
They tell you in grief counseling to go with what feels right, to not compare your journey to others, and while I know some people take years to find happiness again, my journey has been different.
My heart skips when I think of him inside cooking me dinner, waiting for me to come home, and the butterflies still flapping inside my stomach make me think Jessie is somewhere out there telling me it’s okay. Telling me I deserve to be happy again.
“Let’s do this,” I say, coaching myself to get the rest of the way up the driveway and out of my car.
Through the window, Archer’s broad frame comes into view. He’s wearing a hunter-green Henley, sleeves rolled up on his strong forearms as he stirs something on the stove. I sink my teeth into my lip and stare at the tight pants he has on, the material hugging his muscular butt and thighs. Smoothing my sweaty hands down my dress, I gather up the courage to knock.
“Wow,” he says, opening the door. “You look gorgeous.”
I look down at my burnt orange sweater dress and black booties. I wouldn’t call the outfit gorgeous, but it definitely highlights my curves in a way I’ve always loved. “Thanks, you look good, too.”
I follow him into the house and skitter to a halt once I’m in the foyer. Gone are the pictures and couches Deidre decorated with, and in their place are the pictures from out in the garage. Curiosity pulls me further into the room, wondering if our picture is up there or if it’s still hiding on his desk.
Stomach spinning, I move closer to the wall, wondering if he’s been planning to do this or if the Thanksgiving fiasco made him want to change things around just to make me more comfortable here. My fingers dance over pictures of Archer and his brother I’ve never seen. They look alike. Dark hair, green eyes, slim frames and tan skin, but Archer is taller. His smile is wide in every picture with his brother, and the slight twinge in my chest reminds me he basically lost two brothers. Unconsciously, my thumb swipes along my now bare ring finger, breath hitching at the weird feeling when my eyes land on the picture of me, Archer, and Jessie.
“Like the new living room?” Archer asks, startling me.
He’s leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, a smile on his face.
“I love it.” If he’s changing his house, moving pictures of us into the living room, maybe we are headed in the right direction.
“Food’s done.” He reaches out for my hand, and I take it with renewed spirit. His forward movement stops as if something clicked in his brain, the moment when you finally slide the last puzzle piece into place. He glances at our entwined hands, and his throat rolls with a swallow as he notes my bare ring finger.
A declaration that I’m serious about moving forward together too.
He squeezes my hand with a shy smile as leads me through the house. The aroma of garlic and oregano floats into my nose as we move into the kitchen. Archer hands me a glass of white wine and pulls the chair out for me to sit. It feels vaguely like our first official date, even though we’ve been out together before. There’s a candle, and the table is set for two. It’s casual but intimate .
He pulls a lasagna out of the oven and places it on the potholder on the table beside the homemade garlic bread. My tongue is heavy in my mouth with all the words I want to say, but I swallow and push them down for after dinner.
“Shit,” I say. “I forgot to bring a dessert.”
He laughs. “I have some extra snickerdoodle bread we can warm up.”
“Where’d you get that?”
He rubs a hand along his beard like he’s nervous. “I stopped by your parents’ restaurant and got some.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline, and my heart squeezes in my chest. “You bought some of my treats from the restaurant? I could’ve made you some.”
He shrugs. “I was hungry.”
Not only is he supporting my baking, but he’s also supporting my parents’ dream.
I smile into my wine glass and dig into my pasta. Flavors burst on my tongue, warming me from the inside out. Fresh basil, chocolate-sprinkled tomatoes, and ricotta cheese all melt perfectly together to create my favorite Italian dish.
“This is amazing.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
His feet tangle with mine under the table, and a sense of peace overcomes me. Images of us eating dinner together every night, filling the table with a kid or two, maybe a dog, all speed through my mind as he smiles at me. We chat about the bakery opening but stay far away from the hosting gig he’s still waiting to hear about. Respecting the fact that he’s not ready to talk about it, I move onto telling him about a cake flavor I want to try.
“I bought you something,” he says .
“A gift?” I press my hand against my chest, my heart thumping beneath my palm. “For me?”
He sets a wrapped box in front of me and places a soft kiss on my lips. I try to deepen it, but he pulls back too soon with a smile on his face. I squint at him, curious as to what he has up his sleeve.
A laugh rips out of me when I unwrap the disposable camera.
“For when you’re ogling me.”
“You’re funny.” I can’t keep the grin off my face as I spin the dial and aim it at him across the table. “Smile.”
Of course, he scowls, but then I get a genuine smile out of him and I’m scrambling to spin the dial again to capture it.
“Come here.” He pats his lap.
I oblige his request and settle onto his legs. He wraps his arm around my waist, and I hold up the camera, taking a picture of us. He steals the camera from me and presses his lips to mine, tongue dipping in to taste the white wine on my breath. I forget about the stolen camera until the flash and click bring my attention to his raised hand.
“That one is for me,” he says, spinning the dial.
I turn around in his arms, ready for another picture. He holds the camera out and tells me to smile, but at the last moment, he brings it closer to my chest and snaps the picture.
“That one, too.”
I escape from his canoodling and clear the table of our plates while he continues taking pictures of me in domestic bliss. He comes up behind me at the sink, brushing my hair aside as his warm lips kiss up the side of my neck.
“I’ll warm up the world’s best snickerdoodle bread and meet you in front of the fireplace.”