A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2) (17 page)

S
o
, life had taken a little bit of a nosedive, and Jessie didn't even have ice cream in her freezer. Like the day could get any worse.

She broke the stems of the roses and threw the blooms in the trash. Then she took her foot and stomped them down, smashing eggshells, vegetable peelings, and a rotten apple she'd thrown away earlier. Her shoes were dirty and smelled like garbage, and she hated the world with every fiber of her being.

How could life be so cruel, to set her up for such a colossal disappointment? To think she could have spent so many hours on that stupid loan application, pulling together sales data and putting it into a colorful chart, only to find out that her best friend had taken the only available space — the perfect space — right out from under her! The more she thought about how trusting she'd been, how optimistic...she was a fool. Her mistake was in being vulnerable enough to get hurt.

For a long time she stood in her kitchen and looked around her cottage, at the silly, pointless life she'd constructed. She had a little rental cottage and a taxidermic fox for company. She gave her heart out to careless men. Despite her best efforts, life was continuing to run on schedule and leaving her behind.

She didn't know how long she stood there, feeling sorry for herself. Maybe she did numb her feelings. If Nate were half as sensitive, he'd want to numb himself, too. But she was trying to change, and she had. She wasn't going to start taking backward steps. Not now.

Without thinking, she went into her bedroom and changed out of her dress and into a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. She laced up her shoes and headed outside, where the evening was still bright. Her heart hurt. Her head told her that she was terrified and ashamed. But she could still run.

She ran harder than she'd run before. She took the hills. She ran until her legs hurt and her lungs burned, and then she kept going, remembering Max telling her to push to the brink of death, but no further. She ran until she couldn't hear her mind repeating the things Nate had said to her. Over to the copse of pines, down the dusty path to the clearing, then to the secret beach that he'd shown her. She was claiming it as her own. She was claiming her life as her own.

I am good enough.

She whispered it out loud and allowed the waves to carry it out to sea, feeling certain that this wasn't a statement that would sink to the bottom of the ocean. As long as she continued to say it, people would hear it. I am Jessica Mallory, and I am good enough. The world needed to know.

The sun was setting by the time she turned and headed back. Her legs were too weary to run any more, so she walked home. She didn't greet Travis or turn on the television. Instead, she took a long, hot shower and sobbed into the spray. Then she dried off, dressed, and crawled into bed. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that she would come through. She would not be the cat lady, or a recluse. She was hurting, but it would pass, and then she would be stronger.

Jessie fell asleep determined to wake up the next morning, and to try to love life again.

N
ate didn't come
to her house the next morning for a run. Or the day after that, or the day after that. Jessie took comfort in routine, and slowly the bruise across her heart stopped aching so intensely. But she wasn't pretending, either. When Emily asked her how Nate was doing, Jessie replied, "We aren't speaking to each other right now."

Poor Emily. She really did look flustered at that, and she tucked her hair behind her ears and apologized. Jessie touched her arm lightly and said, "It's okay. You didn't know."

"I always manage to push the wrong buttons," she said.

"You ask questions, that's all." Jessie returned to her work, slicing honeydew melon into plastic to-go containers. "Are things with Max going well?"

"Eh." Emily lifted her shoulders. "He'll be heading out on missions soon, and he doesn't want to be tied down. His words. It's one of those things that was fun while it lasted."

"Look at you, all resilient." Jessie was impressed. She'd never been the type, herself.

"It's not love," Emily said as she poured water into the coffee maker. "He's a nice guy and everything, and we've had some interesting talks, but I can't see us together. When I'm with him, I don't feel like I'm special. Just another person to talk to about his toenails."

Jessie giggled. She'd always liked Emily.

Mostly, Jessie was holding up and putting on a good show. Every now and then she had to remind herself that she couldn't text Nate. Like when she was watching home shopping and that knife set was offered (she bought three sets: one for herself, one for the bakery, and one for Emily). Or like when her peanut butter fudge came out amazing. Or when she ran down to that secret beach again, half-hoping he'd be there even though he wasn't, and she missed him. There were just things she couldn't tell him anymore, and that made her sad. But she couldn't change the entire world, only her corner.

She picked up a few items at the market on her way home from work. That evening's plans were simple. Wren had sent her an ebook that she swore would lift her spirits. "It's a novella called To Thrill a Cockingbird," she'd gushed. "It's about this guy who strips his way through law school, and it's completely smutty. You'll love every word."

"I hope there's an impassioned speech about justice," Jessie said.

"No chance. But there's this one scene that — let's just say you'll never look at a tube of toothpaste the same way again."

Sold! Jessie intended to settle down with a cup of tea and read it that very night. But first: dinner with her parents.

Jessie had called them the evening before and invited them over to dinner so that she could share her news with them in person. She was going to prepare a kale salad with grilled chicken, diced apples, blue cheese, and butternut squash, all drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette. She turned on the radio and set to work preparing the meal and setting the little table. There was a small brick patio in back where they could sit and enjoy the sunset, and Jessie had a small plate of chocolates for dessert. In her mind, she rehearsed the evening.

Mom and Dad. I’m opening my own business
.

Sadie would probably cry. George would get red in the eyes and lose his voice for a moment or two, and then he’d pull her into his arms and whisper something sweet, like, "Girl after my own heart." They would want to know how she did it, and when she told them about all the hours she worked late into the night, all of the sacrifice and risk and trial and error, they would shake their heads in amazement. Sadie would whisper, "We had no idea." And Jessie would feel like they loved her and were proud of her and all of her achievements.

Jessie had sworn off champagne, so she was chilling a bottle of sparkling cider. She didn’t set out the glasses, though. Not just yet. She wanted the celebration to be a surprise.

She finished the salad and glanced at the clock. Six fifteen. They were late, but no problem. She sat down with her new ebook, but she couldn’t focus. She glanced at the clock after every page and at the rumble of each car that drove past. Six twenty. Six thirty. At six thirty-six, the phone rang.

Jessie sprinted to the receiver, thinking that the only thing that would make the night better would be Nate. Maybe he was calling. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey," her mother sighed on the other end. "How are you doing?"

Her throat constricted. "I’m okay. Are you on your way?"

"Well, that’s why I’m calling. Your father is traveling in the morning, and so we were thinking that we’d make this dinner another night, if that’s okay with you."

Jessie looked at the giant salad bowl on the counter, filled to the brim with more kale than she could ever possibly consume. She felt the anger bubbling, and tried to swallow it down. "I already made dinner."

"I’m sure you can have the leftovers," Sadie said brightly. "Your father will be back by Saturday. We can reschedule then, if that’s all right."

Jessie gripped the receiver in her hands, squeezing until it hurt. "It’s not all right with me," she said. "You’re almost forty minutes late, and this is very inconsiderate."

There was a long stretch of silence before Sadie said, "I thought I explained what was going on. Your father is tired, and he has a business trip —"

"Why don’t you ever want to see me?" Jessie’s voice broke. "Why don’t you ever make the effort?"

She looked at the salad and the plate of chocolates, and at the little table that she’d set up outside on the patio. She thought of the cider in the refrigerator and of all the things her parents were supposed to have said to her that evening and now wouldn’t. But she was too angry to cry. "This really sucks, Mom."

Sadie sighed into the phone. "I guess I don’t see what you’re so upset about. I thought we were just having dinner."

It wasn’t just dinner. It was the Big Fix. The moment when everything would be better between them: all of the hurt and resentment would dissolve, and from that point forward, Sadie and George would want to be her parents because they would see her as a child to be proud of. They would be sorry they’d been so absent and missed so much time with her. A kale salad and some chocolate would change everything.

She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. "Tell Dad to have a good trip," she said.

"I will. He’s going to Seattle, and you know he loves it there."

Sadie continued, but Jessie wasn’t listening. They disconnected the call after making a vague promise to reschedule. Jessie had lost her appetite. She took the chilled cider out of the refrigerator and put it in a small paper bag. Then she left the house.

U
ncle Hank was still working
. She knew he would be. But she didn’t want to bother him, so Jessie took a seat on the wooden staircase behind the bakery. The white paint was chipping and worn in a familiar pattern. Sometimes she missed living there.

She uncorked the apple cider and held the bottle away while it spilled out of the top. Then she took a sip, staring out into the back parking lot. It was quiet there, and hidden. Jessie enjoyed the silence until a few minutes later when Uncle Hank poked his head out of the back door. She'd known he would. "I thought I heard someone on the back steps," he said. "What are you doing, honey?"

She held up the bottle. "Drinking sparkling cider out of a paper bag. Want to join me?"

He smiled, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "Love to."

Uncle Hank was still wearing a plain red apron as he stepped outside. The wooden stairs creaked under the weight of his steps. Jessie scooted over to one side, and he took a seat one step below her. "Everything okay?"

"No." She crinkled the bag in her hands. "I was supposed to have dinner with Mom and Dad, and they just cancelled on me." She paused. "They always do that. Ergo, the cider."

Uncle Hank was quiet. He rested his arms across his legs and leaned his head back against the railing. Jessie took another swig of cider. "I don’t know why I expect more," she said. "From them, or from other people. I sometimes think that if I were only a little better, things could be different. If
I
were different, they would love me."

Gosh, did it hurt to say those words. Uncle Hank’s forehead creased and he said, "Can I tell you something that I should’ve told you a long time ago?"

Jessie leaned back. "Sure, why not?"

"Years ago, when your dad told me that he wanted me to watch you while they were in Germany, I was speechless," he said. "I was angry at first, thinking that I had this bakery and my own child to worry about. I’d just gone through a divorce, and it’s not like we had lots of extra room in the apartment." He shifted to set his elbow on the stair behind him. "Your dad told me how much he’d be traveling, and how he wanted you to have some stability through high school. When he put it that way, I didn’t think I had a choice."

Jessie chuckled mirthlessly. "Dad’s good at selling people things."

"That may be," Hank agreed. "He’s my little brother, and I guess I’ve always helped him out through the years. I thought I’d be doing him a favor. But then you came to live with us, and you fit with our family perfectly. You and Wren — you became like sisters. Best friends."

Jessie’s throat tightened as she thought about how much she missed that time, when she and Wren could lie awake in their beds and talk late into the night. Being an adult was so lonely. "Thanks, Uncle Hank."

"I’m not finished yet," he said, and patted her on the leg. "Jess, I know how much of yourself you give to others, and I know how much people can disappoint you. But I hope you know how hard I’ve tried not to let you down. The minute you came through that door" — he pointed to the apartment door above them — "I wanted to create a home for you here. I don’t think of you like a daughter. In my mind, you are my daughter. You complete our family. And I couldn’t be more proud of who you are."

Jessie blinked back her tears and leaned forward to throw her arms around her uncle. "Thanks," she murmured against his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of Ivory soap, flour, and sugar. "I’ve always felt like this bakery was my real home."

"You don’t have to thank me. I should’ve told you all of this long ago." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "Look, people are who they are, and you are who you are. Please don’t change. I happen to think you’re pretty great."

Jessie gave him one more squeeze before sitting back again. Her thoughts suddenly flew to Nate, and how angry she’d been when she’d learned that he’d rented the space she wanted. People like Nate were hard to find, and she’d lost sight of what was important. "I haven’t been fair to someone close to me," she said. "There was this misunderstanding, and I feel pretty bad about it."

"So what do you think you’re going to do?"

Jessie reached for her bag of cider and cradled it in her lap as she thought. Nate had signed a lease, and the Dinardo space was gone. No sense getting upset over it now. But there had to be another option, if only she could think of it —