Wishing Lake (19 page)

Alonzo shook his head. “I had the ceremony to show her I’m not asking her to forget Paul.”

Darius drew a deep breath. The
Monitor
’s office smelled like old newsprint and stale coffee, at least his cubicle did.

“This isn’t about Paul. It’s about Doreen. Put yourself in her place. She’s dating again.” Darius gestured toward Alonzo. “In a few weeks, she’ll be mayor of her hometown. She’s happy and excited. But there’s a part of her that’s afraid of all these changes.”

“I understand her life’s changing.” Alonzo shook his head. “I just want to be a part of her future.”

“But she doesn’t feel ready for her future.” Darius leaned back in his swivel chair and studied his friend. “You’re not going to like my recommendation.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t propose to Doreen again.”

Alonzo straightened on his chair. “You’re not making sense.”

“Doreen knows you want to marry her. Proposing again will just add to the pressure she’s already dealing with. You’ll know when she’s ready to discuss marriage.”

Alonzo stood, dragging a hand over his wavy, still-dark hair. He circled the visitor’s chair. “It sounds risky.”

“Doreen’s worth the risk.”

“Yes, she is.” Alonzo gripped the chair’s back.

“You’re not going to lose her.”

Alonzo stared at the ground for long silent moments. “All right. I’ll try it. Thanks for your time.”

“Good luck.” Darius stood and shook the sheriff’s hand.

“I’m going to need it.”

Darius watched Alonzo leave his cubicle. The sheriff had never married. He probably had never even proposed to anyone else because his heart always had belonged to Doreen. He’d loved her for more than half of his life.

Darius’s father stood in stark contrast to the romantic sheriff. In his entire life, Simon had never been able to commit to one woman. Even marriage hadn’t made his father monogamous. What made two men so very different?

And was Darius capable of making the commitment his father couldn’t?

“Hey, Peyton.” The neighborly greeting sang out of the shadows that crept across Peyton’s apartment complex’s parking lot Tuesday evening.

Peyton hoisted her briefcase from the passenger seat of her candy white Volkswagen GTI with her gloved left hand. She pushed back the hood of her winter coat with her right as she scanned the lot. Virginia Carp stood beside a nearby lamppost.

Peyton closed her GTI’s passenger side door, then activated the car alarm. She dropped her keys into her coat pocket, pulled up her hood, and adjusted her purse strap. “Hi, Ginny. Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yeah. You.” Ginny straightened as Peyton approached her.

The ominous words were at odds with Ginny’s friendly demeanor. Peyton ignored a shiver of unease. A cherry knit cap protected Ginny’s hair from the elements. Peyton eyed her neighbor’s scarlet, quilted calf-length coat and matching boots with envy.

“What can I do for you?” Peyton huddled into her burgundy coat. Chubby snowflakes fell on her in slow motion, then melted away. Hopefully, Ginny wouldn’t take long.

“Stop chasing after Darius.” The words puffed from Ginny’s lips in small clouds of frigid air.

The cold and snow were forgotten. Usually other women just took her boyfriends from her, just as Leila had taken Bruce. They’d never bothered to warn her away. Was this an example of Midwestern manners?

“I’m not chasing him.” Peyton tugged her purse farther onto her shoulder and adjusted the weight of her briefcase. “We’re dating.”

She, Dr. Peyton Lynn Harris, was dating one of the most eligible bachelors in town, a man other women felt a need to warn her away from. Very cool.

“You’re just like all the other women in town.” Ginny looked her over dismissively. “Chasing after Darius Knight like he’s the last little piece of meat and you’re a starving bitch.”

“Apparently, the cold has gotten to you. I suggest you get inside and warm up.” Peyton stepped around the other woman and started past her. “Good night, Ginny.”

“You should listen to me.” Ginny fell into step beside Peyton. “I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.” Peyton continued toward the apartment building.

Residents’ assigned parking was in the back of the lot, which freed the front spaces for guests. The accumulated snow made the asphalt lot slippery. Peyton moved as quickly as possible under these conditions. She wanted to get inside before she turned into a Popsicle.

“Darius’ll break your heart. That’s what he does.” Ginny matched her stride for stride. She spoke louder as though her increased volume would convince Peyton she was telling the truth.

“Is that what he did to you?” Peyton kept walking. The air even smelled cold. She was more interested in getting out of the snow than in Ginny’s prime-time soap opera antics.

“He told you that we’ve slept together?” Ginny sounded pleased.

“He said you’d dated for a while.”

“We’ve slept together. A lot. That’s how I know him so well. Yeah, he’s great in bed—
really
great in bed—but he’s cold and emotionally distant.”

No, he isn’t.
Temper, alien and unwilling, stirred. Peyton looked at the other woman. “Darius is far from cold or distant. He’s kind and caring.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too.” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. “Then, after he got what he wanted from me, the real Darius showed himself.”

“And who’s the real Darius?” Peyton eyed the other woman dubiously. Anger was burning away the cold.

“Oh, right, you haven’t met him yet. The real Darius is the uncaring one, the one who refuses to commit. The one who chases after and sleeps with every woman he sees.”

“I thought you said women chase after Darius.” Peyton adjusted the weight of her briefcase as she stopped to face her aggressor. “Now you’re saying he’s the one who does the chasing. Which one is he?”

Ginny hesitated. “Both.”

In her mind’s eye, Peyton envisioned all of Darius’s friends, the people he helped like Stan Crockett, his loving manner with Ms. Helen, his chivalrous behavior toward her.

“You’re delusional.” Peyton turned away.
Keep walking; ignore her.

“
You’re
the one who’s crazy.” Ginny chased after her. “Do you really think you can have a relationship with someone like Darius Knight?”

Peyton paused on the sidewalk. She held on to her temper with both hands. “Ginny, if Christian charity is the reason you approached me with your warning about Darius, then I’ll thank you again for your concern. But I don’t have time to argue with you over something that is none of your business.”

She mounted the stairs to the second floor of the eight-unit apartment building. Were those Ginny’s footsteps behind her?
Why won’t she give up and go home?

Peyton glanced over her shoulder. “Stop following me.”

“Stay away from Darius.” Ginny’s voice trembled with anger. That was fine. Peyton was angry, too.

She mounted the landing. The roof’s soffit had protected the second-floor landing from most of the snow.

“Peyton, I’m talking to you.” Ginny’s voice was becoming shriller.

Peyton clenched her teeth. She slid a glance at her neighbors’ windows as she hurried past them. Could they hear Ginny? They must. Peyton’s stomach muscles knotted. Was this how Darius felt when his parents bickered in public? Her heart went out to him.

She pulled her keys from her coat pocket as she approached her apartment. Peyton unlocked her door, then faced Ginny. “If Darius is the one with the problem, why does the sheriff have a restraining order on file against you?”

Ginny gaped. “He
told
you?”

“If you continue to malign Darius’s character, I’ll make sure
everyone
in Trinity Falls knows about that restraining order.” Peyton shoved off the hood of her coat to stare down the other woman. A red haze clouded her vision. “I’ll stand in the middle of the town center, holding a five-foot sign with your picture and the word
stalker
in big, red block letters across your forehead. Do you understand me?”

Ginny’s lips thinned. “You’ll be sorry you crossed me.”

“Do you want to bet who’ll be sorrier?” Peyton’s body shook with fury. The cold was a distant memory.

Ginny held Peyton’s glare a moment longer before stomping away. Peyton watched her nemesis disappear down the stairs, then entered her apartment. She slammed the door shut, dumped her briefcase on the floor, and tossed her purse onto her sofa. Still bundled in her coat, she walked into her kitchen. Peyton filled her kettle with water from the faucet and set it on the stove to boil. She grabbed a mug, tea bag, and sweetener from her cupboards.

No wonder Quincy had urged Darius to file a restraining order against Ginny. Virginia Carp was seriously unhinged. Darius may not be worried about his crazy ex, but Peyton had a feeling Ginny was more of a threat than Darius thought.

“Is everything OK, Doreen?” Megan’s question barely penetrated the fog in Doreen’s head.

She and Megan were chatting in Books & Bakery’s modest kitchen in the early hours of Wednesday morning before the bookstore opened. It was a routine they’d developed when Doreen had first started working for Megan almost two years ago. The younger woman kept her company as she baked the day’s first batches of pastries.

Outside, it was cold and dark, with Christmas only fifteen days away. Not that Doreen was counting. But inside, the industrial oven kept the kitchen warm and cozy. The pastries filled the room with the scents of sugar and spice.

The kitchen was Doreen’s dream. It was bright and lined with modern, industrial equipment. Best of all, the cupboards were positioned within her reach. No need for stepladders.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Doreen hustled around the room, crossing the white-tiled flooring to pull ingredients from the silver refrigerator and add them to the electric mixer. “Why do you ask?” She set the industrial-sized oven to warm.

Megan relaxed onto one of the two decorative honey wood chairs set in the corner of the cozy kitchen. Her cloud of dark, wavy hair swung around her shoulders as she rested her elbow on the matching circular table. “Well, for one thing, you just cracked a couple of eggs over the trash can and dumped their shells into that bowl of flour.”

“Omigosh.” Doreen dropped onto the marble counter the ingredients and cooking utensils she’d been gathering and returned to the baker’s island in the center of the room.

“You’re not OK, are you?” Megan’s voice was soft concern. “What’s on your mind?”

Doreen poured the flour, salt, cinnamon, and eggshells into the trash can and gave the bowl a thorough washing. She dried her hands on her chef’s apron. “Alonzo proposed.”

“Oh, Doreen! I’m so happy for you! That’s wonderful.” Megan hesitated. “Isn’t it?”

“I told him I needed more time.” Doreen pulled fresh ingredients from the cupboards and started over.

Megan sighed her disappointment. “What did Alonzo say?”

Doreen shrugged defensively. “He agreed to wait, but I could see he wasn’t happy about it.”

“I understand his disappointment.” Megan crossed her legs. The emerald-green skirt suit made her honey brown skin glow. “But I also understand why you’d need more time.”

“I’m glad someone does because I’m not sure I do.” Doreen’s eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration. She blinked rapidly. “I’m also not convinced it’ll do any good.”

“Doreen, you’ve had a very eventful couple of years.” Megan recalled the most recent occurrences. “Paul died in February 2013. You started working for me in May of that same year. Then five months later, Ean came home. You ended 2013 by announcing your mayoral campaign. Then in January 2014, you managed the town’s Sesquicentennial Celebration Committee.”

“That’s a lot.” Doreen added cocoa, nutmeg, and butter into the electric mixer. She hand mixed the ingredients when she was home. But if she tried that at the bakery, she’d have developed carpal tunnel syndrome by now.

Megan joined her at the baker’s island. “That’s the reason I understand why you’d need time. Marriage is a life-changing event.”

“I can hear the ‘but’ in your voice.” Doreen had known Megan and her cousin, Ramona, since they were little girls. She liked to think she knew them almost as well as she knew Ean.

“I don’t understand what you’re afraid of.” Megan’s words brought Doreen up short.

“What makes you think I’m afraid of something?” Doreen cracked four fresh eggs into the bowl this time and tossed the shells in the trash where they belonged. She added sugar and vanilla.

“Come on, Doreen. Everyone can see how much you love Alonzo. And he loves you, too.”

Doreen turned off the electric mixer, then combined the contents of the two bowls. She wrapped in a cup and a half of wheat flour and two cups of walnuts as she gathered her thoughts.

“All of my life, I defined myself by what I did, and Paul was a big part of that. I loved to bake. So when we were house hunting, Paul understood the kitchen was important to me.” Doreen sprayed the baking pan with oil. “He supported my need to participate in community projects. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.”

Doreen placed the baking pan with its Trinity Falls Fudge Walnut Brownie mixture in the industrial oven.

Megan broke the short silence. “Paul Fever was a wonderful husband and a loving father.”

“I see so much of Paul in Ean.” Doreen stood with her back to Megan.

“And he was a very good friend to my family,” Megan continued. “But the question is, how do you want to face the future?”

“What do you mean?” Doreen frowned as she swept away the remnants of the brownie ingredients.

“You’ve entered a new phase in your life, Mayor-Elect Fever.” Megan smiled, invoking Doreen’s new title. “Do you want to experience it with Paul’s memory or with Alonzo?”

Doreen considered Megan’s question as she started the cinnamon rolls. Trust her friend’s analytical business mind to identify the central issue. Alonzo’s proposal wasn’t about the past. It wasn’t even about the present. It was about her future. What did she want that future to look like? Of course, God would have the final say. But given the choice, what did she want: the memories she’d made with Paul or the ones she could make with Alonzo?

“Lead the way.” Darius followed Peyton as she weaved past tables in the crowded Books & Bakery café. It was Thursday afternoon, two weeks before Christmas. They were supposed to be discussing the community center fund-raiser. Still, Darius considered this a date and had insisted on buying Peyton’s lunch. He was aware of the attention they’d drawn, but he didn’t care. It was a liberating feeling.

The store was bursting with Christmas cheer: garlands and stars, wreaths and ribbons. Customers carried purchases away in the Christmas Books & Bakery bags. Red-and-green napkins had replaced the traditional white ones. Holiday music played softly through speakers strategically positioned throughout the store. Additional decorations would appear in time for the popular Christmas Reader Appreciation Celebration next Saturday, a week before Christmas. That’s when they’d unveil their tree.