“They won’t—”
“Harlan!”
The man that looked so much like her best friend finally ground his jaw. “I swear I’m going to shoot my sister for having too many friends.”
“Oh, yay! You’re the best!” Clare hugged him, and then quickly pulled away from the sensation of his naked chest against her. Dammit. What was wrong with her? Harlan was a handsome, fit, attractive single guy, and now that she was open to men again, she should be appreciating him. But it just made her cringe to touch him.
All she wanted was Griffin.
And that was just great, wasn’t it?
“Hang on, let me get their number.” Harlan disappeared into the darkness, and a faint desk lamp turned on over his desk at the far end of the one room building.
Clare stood in the tiny, darkened cabin while Harlan rustled around. The cottage was quiet and neat, but, like the homes of most single men she knew, it was stark and bare.
Was this like the home Griffin was returning to? Some high-priced version of loneliness, only without the beautiful lake and trees? Griffin deserved more than that. He was walking away from people by going back to his job. He was leaving his daughter, her, Katie and this whole town, so he could marry his work and live in his office.
He was so much more than that. Why couldn’t he see it?
“Okay,” Harlan said, walking back with his phone. “If they shoot me, you’re going to have to foot the bill for the funeral.”
Anticipation rushed through her. “Okay.”
He dialed the phone. “What’s your offer?”
Oh...she wasn’t sure Harlan would buy into the joint venture proposal, and she didn’t want him screening her. “Is it okay if I present it to them myself?”
Harlan shook his head. “They don’t like talking directly. It puts too much pressure on them.”
Oh, come on! This was no time for rules! “Ask them if they’ll talk to me,” she urged. “They love me. You know they will.”
Harlan raised his brows at her, but before he could argue, someone answered. “Hey, Mattie, it’s Harlan Shea. Did I wake you?” He relaxed and gave Clare a thumbs up. “Yes, I forgot about your Friday night poker games. Listen, do you remember Clare Gray?” He paused. “Well, she wanted to speak with you about the Bean Pot. She’s right here. Can I put her on?” He listened to Mattie’s response, and Clare shoved her hands in her pockets while she waited.
Come on, Mattie
.
Harlan finally handed the phone over. “Your game.”
As she reached for the phone, Clare was suddenly nervous. For the first time in her life, she’d taken ownership of what she wanted, and it was actually kind of terrifying to finally be facing the opportunity to get it...or not. It was so much easier not to want anything.
Harlan gestured for her to talk, and she took a breath to steady herself, then she put the phone to her ear. “Mattie? Hi, it’s Clare Gray.”
The crackly voice of the woman who’d been part of her summer experience for so many years was so familiar. “Clare, my darling, how are you? And how’s that sweet girl of yours?”
Clare relaxed at the friendly greeting. “We’re both great. Doing really well.”
“Excellent. Are you married yet?”
Clare laughed, even as a vise clamped around her heart. “No, I’m not, but maybe I’ll start working on it.”
“Well, that’s a beginning at least. Now, what can I do for you? The poker game is starting again soon, and I need to be back at the table.”
Clare glanced at Harlan, then turned her back on him so she was facing the lake. “It’s about the Bean Pot.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mattie said. “We’ve already accepted an offer. Didn’t Harlan tell you?”
“Yes, but you didn’t sign the papers. You could tell them you decided not to sell.”
“We won’t lie, Clare,” Mattie said stiffly.
“It wouldn’t be a lie,” Clare interrupted. “What if you kept the store, and I opened a cupcake cafe instead of the Bean Pot? I could pay rent, or we could share profits, or some of both. Astrid’s going to help me with an internet business, so it could really take off. Then you would still be a part of the community and I could do the rest. Please?”
Mattie sighed. “Clare, we live in Florida almost all year now. We don’t need to own a store in Birch Crossing anymore—”
“But you lived here for thirty years! This is where your kids grew up, and—”
“Clare,” she said gently. “Even if we were willing to partner with you, we already gave our word to the buyer from New York to sell it. We can’t go back on our promise.”
Clare gripped the phone. “Please, Mattie, this is my dream. I don’t have the money to buy the store outright, but I know I will in a year or two. I have enough to invest in what I need to run the store, just not buy it as well. I know it will take off and—”
“Heaven knows your cupcakes are the best we’ve ever had,” Mattie said. “John was just commenting the other day that the one thing Florida doesn’t have is Clare Gray’s cupcakes. But we can’t do it, Clare. We don’t want the store anymore, and we already committed.”
Clare heard the finality in Mattie’s voice, and she knew that it was over. The dream was done. Her shoulders sagged and she bit her lip. “I understand,” she said quietly.
“Isn’t there somewhere else you could do it?”
Clare shook her head. “It’s not that big of a town, Mattie. You know that.” And what other owner did she know well enough to ask them to run the business together? Mattie and John were dear, and she had really thought they would be up for it.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Mattie said. “But keep your chin up. Another opportunity may surprise you.”
“Yes, yes, of course it will. Thanks for talking. Enjoy your game.” Clare hung up the phone and handed it back to Harlan. “Thanks.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Clare.”
“Yes, me too.”
“I’ll keep an ear out for other opportunities.”
She managed a smile. “Okay, thanks.”
He gave her a steady look. “You want to stay for a beer? Stars are out tonight, and I have a heater on the deck.”
She laughed softly, almost amused at how strongly she did not want to be snuggled down with another man, even if it was a man as good looking as Harlan. She didn’t know him that well, and Astrid had made vague reference to some baggage he had with women, but he’d always been thoughtful and nice to her. But the only man she wanted right now was Griffin. “Thanks, but I just want to go home.”
Not to Griffin, because he wasn’t there. Just to her home.
Griffin had opened her heart to dreams she didn’t know she had. And the moment she’d accepted them, allowed herself to love him and acknowledge the dream of a cupcake cafe, she’d lost it all. It was great to finally acknowledge her dreams, but the timing of it all wasn’t so outstanding.
Harlan nodded. “Some other time, maybe.”
“Maybe.” She bid him goodnight and scurried out his door. As she made her way across the rocky soil, her heart aching with disappointment, she knew she wouldn’t go back to the life she’d lived, to the woman she had been.
As much as everything hurt right now, it was better than the veritable coma she’d been in for the last fifteen years. So, yes, she wouldn’t go back to who she’d been...though she might have to go crawl into bed and cry for a day or two before trying to figure out her next steps.
Sometimes broken dreams and broken hearts couldn’t heal instantly, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t want them to. If she didn’t feel pain, it would mean she wasn’t living, and she was ready to start living again, no matter how much it hurt and no matter how terrifying it was.
But what now? She had no idea.
* * *
Griffin was five miles down the highway when his cell phone rang. He glanced down and saw it was a Maine area code. Clare’s office? He grabbed the phone. “Clare?”
“No, it’s Jackson. I need ice cream.”
Okay, yeah, that was a little random. “Then go get some.” He moved into the left lane to pass a car from Maine. Yeah, he was on his way back to his life.
“Hah, funny,” Jackson said, not sounding amused. “How long ‘til you’ll be here?”
What in hell’s name was Jackson talking about? “Be where?”
“At Wright’s.” Jackson lowered his voice. “Dammit, Griffin, I’m dealing with a pregnant woman’s cravings. Get your ass over here before she loses it entirely.”
Griffin was completely confused. “Why do I need to come to Wright’s?”
“Because the sign on the door says that after-hours customers are no longer supposed to ring the bell for service,” Jackson said impatiently. “It says to call you.”
Griffin realized he still had the key in his front pocket. That woman had probably bespelled him to forget to give it back. “Well, ring the damn doorbell. Ophelia’s upstairs.”
“In fifty-three years, Ophelia has never once handled an after-hours request,” Jackson said. “And she’s not going to start now. If you don’t get your ass back here and get me some ice cream, I’m going to come after you and shoot up your pretty truck until it’s so full of holes that even Ralph won’t accept it as a trade-in.”
Griffin almost laughed. “You covet my truck. You’d never hurt it.”
“I’m a desperate man, Griff, and desperate men will do anything for their women. Get back here before I start loading up.” Then he hung up.
Griffin gripped his phone as he sped down the highway. Jackson wasn’t his problem. The store wasn’t his responsibility. They would deal without him.
His mission was two hundred miles south.
His mission was blue jeans, not ice cream.
His clients were millions of teenage girls world-wide, not a pregnant woman and her doting husband.
It was not his deal.
It was not his deal.
It was not his—
He suddenly hauled right across three lanes, cut off an eighteen-wheeler, and bounced over a grassy mound to get to the exit he’d almost missed.
He was going back for ice cream.
* * *
Jackson was standing on the top step, his arms across his chest and his ball cap pulled low over his head when Griffin drove up. Jackson’s old beater was idling in the parking lot, the headlights too dim, but the rust was hardly visible in the darkness.
Griffin shoved open the door to his truck and vaulted up the stairs. “I was on my way to Boston—”
“Thanks, man.” Jackson grabbed him in a full-on bear hug, and hammered his back with his fist. “I was afraid to go home without it.”
Griffin grinned. “Yeah, well, you’re letting her manipulate you too much.” He shoved the key in the lock and managed to get it open with much less effort than last time. Yeah, quick learner.
“Hell, man,” Jackson said as he followed him into the darkened store. “There’s nothing better than letting the woman I love manipulate me.”
Griffin shot a surprised look at Jackson as the ball player pulled open the freezer door. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jackson helped himself to six different kinds of ice cream. “I don’t know what she’s going to want when I get there, so one of each, don’t you think?”
Griffin laughed. “You forgot rocky road and vanilla frozen yogurt.”
“Can you get those?” Jackson was already heading toward the front of the store.
Griffin grabbed the last two, added a box of popsicles to his stash and then strode after Jackson.
By the time he reached the truck, Jackson was already behind the wheel. He slapped Griffin on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. Put it on my tab. You’re the best.”
Griffin nodded. “Any time.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, and then he frowned at the slip.
“Double date, Friday night, eight o’clock,” Jackson said. “Come to our place. Trish makes a mean ravioli and she wants to show off the baby’s room to Clare.”
Griffin shook his head. “I’m moving back to Boston tonight. I won’t be here.”
“What?” Jackson stared at him. “Why?”
“Because that’s where I live.”
“Screw that. When I came here, I lived in New York City. Men like us don’t go back, Griff.” Jackson winked. “Once we find our women, they lock us down and life finally gets meaningful.”
“She’s not my woman—”
“Not until you get her,” Jackson agreed. “So go do it.” He shifted into reverse. “And if you need a job, come work with me. We could always use another hand.”
Griffin stepped back from the truck. “You bought the business?”
“Hell, no,” Jackson said. “If I bought that business, I’d never be home and the stress would knock me on my ass.” He winked. “Trish loves me exactly as I am, and why would I ever mess with that?” He saluted as he backed up. “See you on Friday, Griff. Bring beer.”
Then he sped off in a squeal of tires, spraying up gravel on Griffin’s jeans.
Griffin looked up at the windows of the apartment above, and he saw Ophelia peering down at him. Keeping track of the town, keeping up the tradition she and Norm had begun.
He held up the key, and set it down in the driveway. But when he looked up again, she was already gone from the window.
Dammit. She’d never find the key.
He jogged up the steps to leave it under the mat, but just as he bent down, another car pulled up into the parking lot. He recognized the shape of it instantly, and his heart leapt to life. “Clare!” He raced down the stairs to the Subaru, then stopped when a woman he didn’t recognize stepped out.
The disappointment was so intense his chest actually hurt, and he looked past her, as if he might see Clare in the passenger seat. But it was empty, and he saw the seats were beige instead of black. Not Clare’s car. Not Clare.
He was hit with a sudden sense of absolute wrongness, that Clare was supposed to be there with him. At that store. At that moment. That she belonged with him, by his side, on these steps.
The woman hurried past him. She was frazzled and looked exhausted. She was wearing what looked like pajamas and bedroom slippers. Griffin watched as she ran up the stairs. She started to press the bell, then stared at the note. “Oh, come on!”
She tried the door, but it was locked. When she turned around, tears were streaming down her face as she ran back down the stairs.
Griffin almost let her go. He really did. But he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out as she rushed by. He caught her arm. “Do you need something?”