“River, it's so good to see you. How is Belinda? I've been meaning to sto . . .” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Brenna. “Brenna! When did you get into town?”
“I got in really early this morning.”
“I thought you were staying in a hotel for the night? Did you change your mind?”
“Yes.” Brenna's answer was straightforward and simple, her tone just a little abrupt.
River was pretty sure Janelle noticed.
She frowned. “You should have called. What if your car had broken down orâ”
“You'd been kidnapped by some good looking guy who wanted to ravish you,” Adeline cut in. “Mom could have stopped him before he had his way with you.”
“Adeline!” Janelle snapped. “You have a guest.”
“That's never stopped me before.”
“It should have! Anyway, it doesn't matter that you didn't call, Brenna. I'm just glad you're here.” She pulled Brenna into a quick hug, reached up to pat her daughter's pale cheeks. “You look exhausted. Why don't we go back to the house? You can take a nap.”
“Actually,” Brenna said, “Grandad is expecting me back at Chocolate Haven.”
“I'll call Byron andâ”
“Mom,” Brenna cut her off, “I'm here to help out at the shop. It doesn't make sense for Grandad to run the place by himself after I drove all the way from New York.”
“One more day isn't going to hurt. I'm sure Byron would want you to get some rest before you start working. Don't you agree, Adeline?”
Adeline glanced at her sister, then met her mother's eyes. “What I think,” she said, her hand settling on her tiny baby bump. “is that the baby is hungry and wants one of these delicious pecan rolls you brought me, Brenna.” She lifted the box, waving it in front of her mother's face.
“Pecan rolls?” Janelle gasped. “Where did you get those, Brenna?”
“The diner.”
“And, she brought enough to share,” Adeline gushed. “Want one, River?”
Not really, but he could see where this was going. One sister distracting Janelle for the other one. Not only could he see it, but he could appreciate it. Sibling camaraderie? Not something he'd ever experienced, but he could sure value what it could add to a person's life.
That being the case, he played along. “I'd love one.”
“You're a chef!” Janelle said, her eyes wide with horror. “You went to culinary school. Belinda told me all about the elegant meals you make.”
“I am a chef, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy pecan rolls.”
“Thank goodness,” Adeline said happily, “I'd hate to have to eat all of them myself. Give Granddad kisses for me, Brenna.” She blew her sister a kiss, winked at River, and walked out of the room.
Janelle followed, tripping over her words as she tried to convince her daughter to have a green smoothie instead.
“God, that never gets old,” Brenna said with a smile that mirrored her sister's. Happy. Content. Just a little smug.
“You do that to your mother often?”
“Do what?”
“Get her riled up.”
“Oh, she's not riled up. She's distracted. Which means I am free to go another round at Chocolate Haven.” She sighed and opened the crushed carry-out container. “No fork. Looks like my biscuits and gravy will have to wait until later.”
“Most houses have kitchens,” he pointed out. “And most kitchens are supplied with forks.”
“Most kitchens do not have my mother standing in them. This one does. Which reminds me . . .” She reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
“With?”
“You're part of the distraction, remember? Now make like a hero and go rescue my sister.” She winked, just like her sister had, and then sauntered out the door.
Chapter Four
She'd meant to save some of the biscuits and gravy for later. She really did, but Brenna ate everything on her walk back to Main Street.
With her fingers
. And she enjoyed every last bite. She'd have licked the last few crumbs out of the container if she hadn't seen Millicent Montgomery marching toward her down the street. She tried to duck behind a light pole, but Millicent had already spotted her.
“Brenna Lamont!” she called in a high-pitched, nasally voice that reminded Brenna of fingernails on a chalkboard. “How are you, dear?”
“Fantastic,” she lied as she stepped back onto the sidewalk.
“Are you really? I heard from your mother that you and your darling fiancé broke up.”
“You met Dan once, Millicent. What would make you say he's darling?”
“No need to be rude, dear. I understand it's tough to be an unattached woman at your age, but you shouldn't take it out on others.”
“I was just asking a question, Millicent.” And avoiding an answer, because Millicent loved gossiping as much as she loved spending money. Maybe more. Which was saying a lot, because Millicent had more clothes, shoes, jewelry, and cars than ten people needed.
“As was I, Brenna,” Millicent huffed. “Really, just because you've traveled the world doesn't mean you have the right to look down at those who have not.” She tugged at the princess neckline of her tight-fitting pink sundress, pulling it up a microinch. That wasn't nearly enough to cover the burgeoning white flesh that spilled out. The woman needed to invest in a good bra. Better yet, breast reduction surgery. Or, maybe, just larger clothes.
“I'm not looking down my nose at anyone. Just heading into work.” She started walking toward Chocolate Haven, hoping and praying that Millicent wouldn't follow her.
Of course Millicent did, because that seemed to be the way Brenna's life was going lately.
“At Chocolate Haven?” Millicent asked as if she didn't already know the answer. “I'm sure you could find better work than that.”
“I'm sure I could, but my goal isn't to find better work. It's to help out my grandfather.”
“I'd think he has plenty of help. Your sister and that boy she's got living with her.” She glanced around, lowered her voice. “I'm very certain none of my husbands would have approved of me having a young man living in the house with us.”
“Weren't all your husbands”â
Don't say it, Brenna. Do. Not.â
“ancient?”
She'd said it, and poor Millicent looked like she was about to blow a fuse. Her face went from spray-on tan orange to fire-engine red. “None of my husbands were ancient. I'll have you know that Jeremiahâmay he rest in peaceâwas only seventy when he passed.”
“And you're how old? Forty-five?”
“Forty.” Millicent scowled, tugging at the top of her dress again. “And most people say I don't look a day over twenty-five.”
Most people lied, but that was a thought Brenna was definitely not going to share. Millicent loved to cause trouble and stir pots, and that was the last thing Brenna wanted. She was in town to help Byron and to get her crappy life together. She was not there to make the local snob angry.
“I'm sure they do,” she said sweetly. “And I wasn't trying to offend you when I mentioned your husbands' ages. I just thought that men of their . . . maturity . . . might have been a little more intimidated by a nineteen-year-old kid. Sinclair is young, fit, and absolutely not worried about having a boy and his sister living with him and his wife.”
“If you say so. Personally, I think most men would frown on it, but that's just me. I'm old-fashioned.” She patted her overly processed blond hair. “You and your sisters just have modern ideas about things. If I were youâ”
“You're not,” Brenna pointed out, hoping to forestall whatever advice the older woman wanted to give.
She should have known it wouldn't work.
Millicent was on a roll, walking beside Brenna, her heels clicking against the sidewalk. “I'd have stuck it out with Dan. After all, no one is perfect. I know that better than most because I have been married and widowed more than once. A woman like you . . . you want everything: youth, charm, looks, money. But most of those things don't come tied up in the same package. You've got to keep that in mind when you're looking for a husband.”
“I'm not looking for a husband,” Brenna said, but Millicent just kept talking.
“Of course you are, dear.
All
women are. With your height, it's going to be challenging. I think that if you put on something pretty and do something with your makeup and hair, you could go back to New York and ask Dan to give you a second chance
“Give
me
a second chance?”
“You certainly didn't break up with him. He's a doctor.”
“He's also a bastard, Millicent,” Brenna said.
Millicent's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “No wonder he broke up with you. No man wants to be disrespected by the woman he loves.”
“No man wants to look at yellow hair, orange skin, and a size twelve body squeezed into a size ten dress, but you've still managed to find yourself four husbands.” The words just kind of flew out of her mouth.
Flew out and hit Millicent right straight in the heart. She slapped a hand to her chest as if she wanted to make sure it was still beating. “Are you implying that I squeeze myself into too small clothes?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.
“That didn't come out the way I meant it.”
“Then, how, exactly did you mean it to come out?”
They'd reached Chocolate Haven. Thank God. The
OPEN
sign hung in the front window, a few people lingered near the door, holding white bags or gold boxes.
“I'd like to explain,” she said as she opened the door. “But, I have to work.”
She walked inside, skirting past customers who were peering into display cases. Byron was behind the counter, his craggy face set in the smile she remembered from her childhood. He was in his element at Chocolate Haven, happy and content and always a little excited by the people who came for his chocolates.
“Sorry I'm late, Grandad,” she said.
“Late? I opened ten minutes early. We're getting close to the end of summer vacation. People are anxious to have their last few treats before the kids are back in school. I had extra help this morning and was ready to open, so I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't.” He smiled at a young mother who was holding a baby and the hand of a toddler. “What can I get for you this morning?”
“My sanity?” the woman said with a sigh as the toddler pressed his face against the glass case. “Matthew, no. You'll smear the glass.”
“How about some chocolate drops for you, young man?” Byron put several into a small white bag and handed it to the boy. “And a pound of s'more fudge for you this morning, Annie?” he asked the young woman, and she smiled tiredly.
“You know me well, Byron.”
“Also know that husband of yours. He'll probably eat half of it, so I'll just give you a little extra. A woman needs to keep nourished when she's got little ones.” He motioned for Brenna to step behind the counter. “You want to fill the order for me, doll?”
“Sure.”
“You remember how to use the scale?”
“Yes.”
“Ring up the order?”
“Sure.” It had been years since she'd helped at Chocolate Haven, but she'd worked retail in New York City. How much more difficult could this be?
“We've got those fancy new boxes.” He nodded toward the boxes that lined a shelf. “And stick one of those gold stickers your sister likes on it to keep it closed.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now, I'm going to walk on over to the diner. I decided I had a hankering for one of the pecan rolls.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“I never kid about pecan rolls.”
“Shâ” She pressed her lips together, eyeing the cute little kid and the tiny baby. “Okay. Fine. I can hold down the fort.”
“I never doubted it.”
Brenna lifted three pieces of s'more fudge and set them on a waxed-paper-covered scale. She wasn't paying all that much attention to the weight, though. She was too busy watching Byron looking at his reflection in the display window, smoothing down the flyaway remnants of his silver hair.
Good God in heaven!
He really did have a thing for Laurie.
“You look great, Grandad.”
He scowled. “And I care why?”
“Don't ask me. You're the one looking at your reflection in the window.”
“Hello!” Millicent called from the back of the line that had formed. “Are people actually going to be served this morning? I have other things I could be doing.”
“Better get that order, doll,” Byron said as he pulled off his apron and set it next to the cash register. “I'll be back in two shakes of a stick.”
“Take your time,” Brenna called as he walked out the door. She could see him as he passed the shop windows, his stride still hitched from the accident that had broken his hip and femur. He was recovering well, but he'd never be 100 percent. He'd always have the limp, and he'd probably never regain the strength he had before the accident. If he found comfort in a relationship with a sweet woman, she couldn't fault him for it.
It felt weird, though, thinking about him dating someone other than her grandmother.
Then again, everything felt strange lately. She'd been part of a couple for a long time. Now she wasn't. That wasn't bad. It was just odd and a little ill-fitting. She was so used to making plans based on someone else's schedule, hanging out with someone else's friends, making decisions as part of a team.
“Are you okay?” the young woman asked, and Brenna realized she was just standing there staring out the window while more and more people lined up in the queue waiting for Lamont chocolates.
“Fine.” She finished the order quickly, filled the next and the next. Two hours later, the last customer walked out of the shop carrying the very last piece of Lamont fudge and the shop was finally quiet again.
Brenna wiped down the exterior of the display case and eyed the empty spots inside it. She knew what she was supposed to do: go into the kitchen and whip up a few batches of fudge. In theory, that should be a piece of cake. She'd just go into Byron's office, open his safe, take out the top-secret recipe, and follow it.
Yeah. In theory, it should be easy.
She wasn't sure how it was going to work out in actuality. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cooked a meal or baked any kind of treat. For the past few months, she'd been living off microwaved meals and cold cereal.
“Might as well give it a go,” she muttered as she walked into her grandfather's office. It was tiny, with just enough space for a desk, a chair, and a file cabinet. He had an ancient desktop and a corkboard filled with business cards and Post-it notes. He'd put his wedding picture there: he and Alice smiling into each other's eyes.
Brenna's eyes burned as she looked at it. She missed her grandmother. She missed the way things used to be: uncomplicated, filled with opportunity. She hadn't even hit thirty yet and she felt like life had passed her by.
Which was stupid, because it hadn't.
She had plenty of time to get back on track. Once she finished helping Byron, she'd figure out what she was going to do with her life. Not modeling again. Been there, done that. Not a man either.
Maybe she'd go to college. Once she saved enough money to do it.
Okay, so getting a better job was priority number one.
Priority number two was figuring out what she wanted to do with her life.
She opened the safe, scrolled through an index file filled with recipes. The fudge recipe was right where it had always been, sandwiched between a note Alice had written about adding marshmallow and nuts to the recipe and Byron's response:
I love you for always, my darling.
Brenna didn't know how the notes had ended up there, but they'd been there for as long as she'd been allowed to open the safe.
Her eyes were burning again.
Fatigue making her weepy.
She'd blame it on that, because she'd always been known as the practical sister, the one never prone to being overly emotional. She liked to think of herself as pragmatic. When she had a problem, she came up with a solution. Until lately. Lately, there'd been way more problems than she'd been able to find solutions for.
“So, make the fudge,” she muttered, carrying the recipe into the kitchen, the glossy laminated card yellowed with age and stained with chocolatey fingerprints. Adeline's? She could almost guarantee her sister was the one who'd left prints there. Addie was nothing like the rest of the Lamont women. She was easygoing and uncomplicated and just plain fun to be around.
And that little baby belly of hers?
Adorable.
If Brenna didn't love her sister so much, she might be jealous of her happiness, but she did, and Adeline deserved every bit of joy she could get out of life.
Brenna's cell phone rang as she scooped sugar into a double boiler. She measured out some milk as she answered, the phone pressed to her ear. “Hello?”
“Brenna? Jeff Winthrop.”
Dan's former business partner. One of the best plastic surgeons in the country, Jeff was smart, driven, and mad as hell that he'd been tricked by a guy he'd known since medical school. Brenna couldn't blame him for that, but she couldn't help him either. She'd told him that so many times, she should have just recorded the message and played it for him every time he called.