The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) (15 page)

And what did that say about the true depth of her feelings for him? They hadn’t talked about the sex, and she didn’t know what he was feeling, or how to label their relationship . . . Should her heart be breaking at the thought of his mistreating himself so? Or was she only reacting—overreacting?—to his pain and unable to process her own?

Until she saw the canvases spread out in front of her, she hadn’t realized she’d moved away from the loom and into his studio. Her gaze took in the painting leaning against the wall, and the one still on the easel. Both similarly colored. Both identically sized. Both depicting the same subject matter, which had her pressing her fingers to her mouth to cover her gasp.

He’d painted her bees. Of all things. She’d expected something dark, something brutal, cathartic slashes of anger and sorrow and ugliness. Not bees. Not soft colors of butter and cream and sunshine and honey. Not transparent wings, or segmented legs, or fuzzy thoraxes, or oversized compound eyes.

The paintings were airy and bright and happy, with grassy backgrounds, and floral backgrounds, and so busy she could feel the buzz along her skin. They weren’t a literal depiction; they were abstract, but the subject matter was absolutely clear.

It should never have come from the man she’d walked in on earlier.

The man standing behind her now.

But it had. “Why?” she asked, her eyes watering.

“Why what?” His voice scratched up his throat, and his feet were bare, and she felt his warmth and wanted to turn and bury her face in his chest. “Why did I come here to paint? Or why did I paint your bees?”

He’d come here to be alone. To mourn the loss of his brother. To find what comfort he could without the barrage of condolence calls and potted palms and casseroles arriving daily at his parents’ home. She knew that without his having to explain. It was the rest . . .

“I don’t understand.”

He moved to her side, his hands in his pockets, his hair swinging at his neck, and shrugged. “I don’t know that I do, either.”

“I expected something . . . darker, I guess.” Gah, how lame did that sound? When had sorrow come to be equated with black? And if he didn’t understand, how could she? “I thought that’s why you were here.”

“To be dark?” he asked, and smiled at the question, as if entertaining her same thoughts.

They were a pair, weren’t they? Caught up in the crazy-making that was sex and death and crooked little families. “Well, to work out what happened with Oscar. Though I suppose that’s a cliché, isn’t it, painting grief and sorrow as dark?”

“Those aren’t about grief and sorrow,” he said, nodding toward the canvas, the tone of his voice, fluid like honey, pouring over her, sticking to her, coating her, staining her, and sweet. “They’re about you.”

“Me?” she asked, fearing the answer would open the curtain to reveal the elephant in the room, the one sitting on her chest making it impossible to breathe. “Why me?”

“I think you know,” he said, his gaze a magnet pulling at hers.

She swallowed, said the words. “Because of the sex.”

He nodded, waited, sighed, then walked away from where they were standing, leaving her alone, abandoning her. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

And just like that . . . wow. Because he didn’t like her? Because he thought she was going to want more from him? Because he hadn’t enjoyed what they’d done? This wasn’t what she’d come here for. This wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear him say.

“Maybe I should just go.”

“Did it scare you?” he asked as he turned. “Having sex with me?”

She looked at him, his unkempt hair, his unshaven face, his thighs she remembered from him pressing his body to hers. “I wouldn’t say scared—”

“I would.”

“I don’t understand,” she said again. Coming here had obviously been a huge mistake, the two of them on different pages, unable to connect. And why did that surprise her? They came from different worlds. And that one thing, above any other, would never change. “Do Gatlins not have sex in the front seat of cars?”

He swallowed, his throat working. “Not in front of hospitals where their brother is dying.”

“I’m sorry.” What was wrong with her? “That was uncalled for.”

But instead of responding, he said, “I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know what
I’m
doing.” He snorted. “When I finally got into Oscar’s room that night, my mother asked me where I’d been, what had taken me so long, and I almost told her.”

“Oliver!”

“She knew I was at Two Owls,” he said as he shrugged. “She nearly went apoplectic when I told her I was eating Thanksgiving at the café. She knew it shouldn’t have taken me that long to make the drive. Then later, when she saw you in the hallway . . .”

Indiana screwed up her nose. “I’m sorry that went over the way it did.”

“That was the last time she and I talked.”

And again, she didn’t understand. “You were both at the funeral. I saw you holding her, walking her to the limo after the service.”

“I didn’t go to the cemetery or back to the house. I came here. I just couldn’t . . .” He ran his hands back through his damp hair, held it away from his face. “You and me . . . I have to know. Is this a thing?”

Her heart clambered into her throat at his question. “More than sex, you mean?” Like the relationship she didn’t have time for? Wasn’t sure she wanted? Wouldn’t know what to do with because she’d never learned what it meant to be loved, even though she was certain she loved him with all of her heart?

“Yeah. I guess.”

Way to sound enthused
. “I’m not after your money, Oliver. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

But he was shaking his head, frowning, wisps of longer hair with a mind of their own not wanting to settle. Leaving her aching to reach up and smooth them down. “That never crossed my mind.”

“Even though it crossed your mother’s?”

He dropped to his haunches, let his wrists dangle over his knees, and rocked. “The last ten years . . . Oscar’s accident changed everything. The person I’ve been, the person you first met . . . I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”

He was trying to say that he’d suffered an enormous tragedy. That he was only just coming out on the other side, and he was not unscathed. Did he not think she could relate? She had no idea where her brother was, whether he was alive or dead. That didn’t compare to Oliver losing his, but surely it gave her enough insight to be trusted. To be confided in.

Unless he didn’t want the burden of caring for someone else, the possibility of losing someone else. Of loving and being hurt, because wasn’t that what happened when one gave away one’s heart? The least she could do was make it easier on him. “Halloween. Thanksgiving. They were blips out of time, okay? We can still be friends. At least, I hope we can.”

“Friends.” He said the word with a huff, and she started to object, but then he added, “I don’t even need one hand to count the number I have. I haven’t kept up with anyone from high school or from Rice.”

“And work?”

“I advise people on how to invest their money. That doesn’t exactly lend itself to friendships.”

One question answered. “What about the arts center? You’ve got Tennessee. Luna and Angelo. Kaylie, even.”

He got to his feet, his mouth lifted in a private sort of smile. “I can’t believe I gave Luna so much hell about the arts center. It’s going to be such an amazing place when all’s said and done.”

“I’m worried about you.” The words came out before she could stop them, but she wouldn’t have taken them back if she could. She
was
worried. And maybe his knowing that somebody cared, that he wasn’t alone, would keep him from sinking into further destructive behavior.

“I’m okay. Really.” He shook his head like a dog shaking a bath, and breathed deep. “Let me get some sleep. The food helped, thank you. I’ll be better after I sleep. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’ll be at Two Owls. It’s opening day.”

“That’s right. Maybe I can see you after?”

“Sure,” she said, wondering why the anticipation that clutched at her heart felt more like dread than excitement. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes, Indiana. It is.”

“I can’t deal with morning sickness today,” Kaylie said the next day, her hand pressed to the base of her throat as she leaned against the kitchen island. “I just can’t.”

“And that’s why we’re here to help.” Luna poured Sprite into a glass of crushed ice and set it in front of her, searching for a straw while Dolly helped Kaylie to one of the island’s stools.

Indiana readied another stack of plates to carry to the buffet table, watching as Mitch checked the third batch of casserole dishes to go in to bake. The kitchen at Two Owls Café smelled like onions and chicken and cheese, like fresh greenhouse tomatoes and chilies, like yeast rolls still warm from the oven, and salty butter, and all of the herbs and spices in Dolly’s vinaigrette.

Nearly six months to the day after the date Kaylie had originally planned to open Two Owls, the café had finally flung wide its doors to the residents of Hope Springs, and the food service had been nonstop since ten a.m. Indiana was picking up every tiny chore she could, which mostly dealt with the dishes: scraping the dirties, loading the dishwasher, hand-washing the overflow, seeing to the supply of cleans.

Dolly had put her two teen granddaughters to work as hostesses, managing the seating arrangements, while Tennessee was on call this first day in business to help with moving tables for larger groups. The noise level was deafening, with every seat spoken for, and the porch inundated with the overflow crowd.

But it was the kitchen where all the action was. And poor Kaylie wasn’t having a bit of fun enjoying the fruits of her labors. “I don’t know what I was thinking, opening during the holiday season. I had no idea I’d be pregnant, of course, and now with the wedding plans . . .”

“Are you kidding?” Indiana left the plates where they were and wrapped an arm around Kaylie’s shoulders for a quick hug. “Do you know how tired everyone is of eating turkey leftovers? You couldn’t have picked a better time.”

“Oh, I could’ve picked a better time. Like one when I didn’t feel the need to vomit,” Kaylie said, her face pale, her hand shaking as she reached for the glass of Sprite.

“We’ve got this, Kaylie,” Mitch said, turning from the oven to check on his daughter. “You should go upstairs and lie down. Take care of yourself and my grandchild.”

“If I feel this bad tomorrow, trust me. I’ll leave the show in your very capable hands. But I just can’t do it today. Not today.”

Because she’d been waiting months for this day to arrive. Years, really. Two Owls Café had been Kaylie’s dream for ages, and she’d devoted her life to making it happen. Indiana wanted to burst with the admiration she had for her sister-in-law-to-be. “Then back-burner all thoughts of the wedding until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, when I’ll still have morning sickness and the date will be that much closer?” Kaylie shook her head, then stopped, and held it with both hands as if to keep it in place. “Ten and I must be insane, thinking we can pull together a wedding in a month. And a Christmas wedding? When everyone already has plans? And now we only have three weeks—”

“Then let me do the wedding,” Indiana heard herself saying. “I can’t cook. All I’m good for here is washing dishes. But I can plan like nobody’s business.”

Kaylie looked up, her expression so hopeful and so exhausted and so very green, Indiana wouldn’t have taken back the offer for a million bucks. “Are you sure? It’s so last-minute—”

“Which is why it makes perfect sense to hand it off. You’ve got your hands full here.”

“Indy’s right,” Dolly said, dumping rolls from an oversize muffin tin into a basket lined with linen napkins. “I’ll give her all the notes you and I have already made. And I’ll be available for anything she needs help with.”

Since Indiana had no experience planning a wedding, she welcomed the offer. Dolly had never let a detail get away from her since Indiana had known her. “Thank you. And now I’m going to deliver these plates and get out of the kitchen and everyone’s way. I’ll check back in a few to see what might need to be done.”

By the time she made her way through the crowd and the house and out Kaylie’s private back entrance, her mind was buzzing with the scope of the task she’d just taken on. And the buzzing made her think of her bees and laugh. She knew as much about wedding planning as she did beekeeping, and yet here she was, tackling both.

Ah well, she mused. What was one more distraction, since according to Kaylie and Luna she was latching on to anything she could to keep from dealing with the issue of the men in her life? Though Thanksgiving in front of the rehab center had pretty much made that decision for her, hadn’t it?

Or maybe not, because seeing Oliver at Luna’s loft yesterday hadn’t solved anything. Had, in fact, only left things more up in the air than before. He’d said he wanted to see her. He’d said he was okay. But all he’d done since his brother’s death was paint bees. Her bees. She didn’t think he’d dealt with Oscar’s passing at all.

Weddings. Not funerals. She flipped the switch on her train of thought.