L o e loyalty over every.., p.2
What It Takes (Windy Harbor Series Book 2), page 2
But I’m waiting on one thing.
Or rather, one person.
Juliana fucking Fair.
“She was supposed to be here half an hour ago,” I mutter, stalking past the kitchen doors. “I should’ve known she’d try to sabotage this.”
Bobby, my new sous chef, looks at me in surprise. “Sabotage? Like she’d want to bring you down?”
“No,” I admit. “She wouldn’t go that far. She just really likes to irritate me.”
And I seem to fall for it every time. I revert to my teenage years, when Juju and I started this bickering that is our new normal.
That’s easier to deal with than the soft Juju who feels like my friend, because almost always, she turns on me.
A couple of weeks ago, when I asked her if she could make desserts for the restaurant until I could hire a new pastry chef, her eyes softened.
“I’d be honored,” she said. “You know that I’m really proud of you, Camden…right? I think what you’ve done with the restaurant in Colorado is epic, and I know this new restaurant will knock it out of the park too.”
“Thanks, Juju,” I said, surprised.
Her mouth parted slightly, and I stepped toward her. I heard her breath hitch and could see the rise and fall of her chest.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“It’s been a long time since you called me Juju,” she whispered back.
“I always call you Juju in my head,” I confessed.
We stared at each other for a long, weighty pause, and I could’ve sworn she wanted me to kiss her. She leaned in slightly, and her eyes dropped to my mouth.
And then her brother walked in, and we both took a step away from each other.
“My two favorite people. I’m shocked you’re alone and not throwing dough at each other.” Jackson laughed.
“Give it time and we’ll be back at it,” I teased, grinning at Juju.
Her jaw tightened, and the warmth left her eyes.
I fucking hated to see it go.
I wish I didn’t always say the wrong thing when it came to her.
But this was us, a seesaw that never balanced.
The door flings open, and Juju rushes in.
Her hair is up, her cheeks flushed, either from the cold or because she knows I’ll be ticked. She’s pushing a cart loaded down with desserts.
“You’re late.”
“I’m here,” she sings. “And I brought the pies and cheesecakes you wanted…plus mousse cakes and bread pudding that I thought would fit nicely with your menu.”
“I didn’t ask for the mousse cakes or bread pudding. I asked you to be on time.”
She stares at me indignantly. “I was doing something nice for you.”
I exhale slowly. “I didn’t ask you to be nice or to bring extra food that I may or may not be able to sell.”
Her cheeks burn brighter. “You’ll be glad you have them, you arrogant control freak.”
“It’s not about control,” I say between gritted teeth. “It’s about not having waste, and doing what you say you’ll do.”
“Trust me, if you let the good people of Windy Harbor know that my mousse cake or bread pudding is a surprise dessert for this evening, they will sell faster than you can plate them.”
“That’s not how restaurants work, Juliana. I’ve already printed the menu.”
“So tell them it’s a special that isn’t on the menu,” she grumbles. “Should I have brought store-bought cheesecakes instead?”
I take a step toward her. She does the same thing.
“Why are you always pushing?” I ask. “It’s like you find a nerve and just poke, poke, poke.”
“I can’t help it that you’re an uptight, bossy, overly sensitive, emotionally constipated man who—”
“I’m the uptight, bossy, overly sensitive, emotionally constipated one?” I yell back. “You don’t want to go there with me, Juliana. If I remember correctly, you were the one who—”
“What is going on back here?” Goldie comes in, her eyes wide.
“I should’ve known better than to bring desserts for you!” Juju shouts as she walks toward the door. “You can find someone else to do your bidding, Camden Whitman!”
She says something to Goldie under her breath, and I laugh.
“May as well call a jackass a jackass, Juliana.”
“Okay, jackass,” she mutters before she leaves the kitchen.
Goldie rips me a new one when Juju leaves, but my sister never stays mad at me too long. One of the many things I love about her. And with this being opening night, she probably has more mercy on me than I deserve.
The night is a success.
Even more than I’d hoped it would be.
I had my family surrounding me, my best friend Jackson, and even my favorite players from the Colorado Mustangs team—Weston, Henley, Rhodes, Bowie, and Penn—along with their wives. I couldn’t believe they’d all made the trip to Minnesota. My sister was thrilled to have her college roommate, Addy, who’s married to Penn, by her side. And of course, Juju was there, looking like a bombshell in a blue dress.
Speaking of the bombshell, she’s lingering after everyone has left for the night. It’s so late that I didn’t expect anyone to be here still, but she’s in the kitchen, gathering her pans, when I walk in.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for being a bastard earlier when she says, “Are the rest of the desserts tucked away somewhere, or did you get rid of them all like I said you would?”
I growl, which delights her.
“You wouldn’t be asking that question if you didn’t already know the answer,” I say.
“Oh, I know the answer. I knew the answer when I left them here. Too bad I won’t be making any desserts for you again.”
She carries her pans to the door, and I call after her.
“Juju, wait. Let’s not—”
She whirls around. “Let’s not what? Be civil to one another? Have the common courtesy to say thank you?” Her voice cracks, and I feel like the biggest jerk. “You’ve got it. Let’s not…ever again.”
She leaves, and I slump against the island, every earlier feeling of victory squashed with her words.
CHAPTER TWO
TROUBLE WALKS IN
JULIANA
It’s been weeks since the fight with Camden at his restaurant opening, and I still feel off. I survived a tense yet fun Thanksgiving, where we all celebrated together, and it was only fun because I avoided Camden like my life depended on it.
I’ve nearly burned the scones every morning, and that just does not happen.
The raspberry filling hasn’t set the way it should, and the lemon glaze tastes flat.
I’ve thrown away more than I want to admit.
I keep thinking of his face before I walked out that night. Pained, angry, confused. He looked like how I feel every time I’m around him.
It wasn’t always like this. I think that’s why it’s so hard.
It’s been so long, but I miss the boy who sampled everything I baked, encouraging me with his praise and requests for more of whatever I gave him. I miss the friend who knew I hated everything grape-flavored, even though I loved grapes, and always gave me the strawberry or cherry. It was a long time before I ever knew he didn’t like anything grape-flavored very much either. I miss the version of us that doesn’t end with raised voices and slammed doors.
But this is our new normal, has been for years now, and I think it’s time I accept it.
Besides Goldie and Jackson, Camden was always the person who got it…got me. Sometimes it felt like he got me more than anyone else. I guess that’s just what I wanted to believe.
We may as well be strangers now.
Anyway.
I don’t have time to stay in this headspace another second. I can’t afford to ruin any more desserts.
The cinnamon rolls are in the oven, the third batch of scones is ready to go in next, and the blueberry muffins are cooling. The pies are already almost sold out for the day, and I won’t have time to make more until I close. I cut the toffee bars and put them in the display case before going back to the kitchen.
The phone rings while I’m wiping flour off my cheek.
Papa Hector.
I wipe my hands and answer. “Hi, Papa!”
He doesn’t bother with hello. “Your uncle Hal and I are coming tomorrow. Surprise!”
I gasp. “Really? You’re coming here? That’s great!”
Papa and his twin brother Hal are the life of any gathering. The age of the crowd doesn’t matter—if Papa and Uncle Hal are around, everyone is having a good time. Hal is technically my great-uncle, but I always just call him Uncle Hal.
“We’re missing our girl…and her banana cream pies.” Papa Hector laughs and I grin, already feeling happier just hearing his voice. “Hey—I heard there’s a handsome chef in town who’s making waves with his delicious food. You know anything about that?”
I roll my eyes. “No, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
He laughs again, not fully realizing the buttons he’s pushing.
“You sound tired, sweetheart.”
I glance at my reflection in the mirror we keep by the back door. My cheeks are flushed, my updo is messy, and I have dark smudges under my eyes.
“I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t,” I admit.
“Well, Uncle Hal and I can help you. We can help at the shop, help around the house…your mom said you’ve sounded a little lonesome lately, and we can help with that too.”
I smile. His offer of helping around the shop sounds more like a disaster waiting to happen, but I’ll be happily proven wrong if that’s not the case. But I’m all for everything else he said.
“I’m doing all right, but I’ll be better when you’re here. I can’t wait to see you and Uncle Hal.”
He makes a quiet sound of approval. “Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.”
“I’ll get your rooms ready. Hurry up and get here. But be careful,” I add.
“Don’t go to any trouble. We’re old men. We’re not particular, and we know how to change sheets and whatnot.”
“I won’t go to any trouble…much.”
“Ahhh, my little perfectionist. I shouldn’t have given you any warning!”
“I’m glad you did.”
We both laugh.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Papa. I’m so excited.”
When we hang up, I feel a little less hollow. I told myself the solitude would be good when I first moved to Windy Harbor. And it is, mostly. I have my best friends, Erin, who runs Cox Trading Post with her parents, and Goldie, who’s now living in Windy Harbor full-time too, and I couldn’t be happier to have more time with them. But after a day at the cafe, it’s almost always nice to come home to the stillness.
From the time we moved to Summit Avenue and our family met the Whitmans, our families have been close. My parents still own their home in St. Paul and plan to retire here before too long. As for me, I needed the quieter pace of Windy Harbor a little sooner.
After the hectic day, I don’t want to people another second. Bosco, one of the crankier regulars at The Kitty-Corner Cafe, was in rare form today. He was extra grumpy. If I hadn’t offered him free coffee, I think he would’ve chased everyone off.
I’m exhausted. My shoulders are tight and my brain is tired. If I don’t distract myself, I will go pick another fight with Camden, and that’s just unnecessary.
We’re already deep in a constant fight.
The sooner I can get past this, the sooner I can get rid of this tight feeling in my chest.
This is who we are now.
It was easier when he wasn’t in Windy Harbor. I still thought of him often when he lived in Colorado, but it wasn’t like a scab being constantly picked, the way it is now that I have to see him all the time.
I go home, get the bedrooms ready, clean for a bit, and watch something mind-numbing. The cold makes the wooden balcony off my bedroom pop, and the loud sounds make me jump every time, interrupting my relaxation. This is one of my favorite places to be in all the world, but the house has never felt bigger or emptier than it does tonight.
When my parents bought a lake home, they didn’t go the usual route with a cute little cabin. They went big, like they do with everything else. The house sprawls out on Wildbriar Lane, Windy Harbor’s main drag through town, and the place is a showstopper. A yellow Victorian with an updated wing at the back of the house and a cozy addition above the garage, the place is tucked into the trees, Lake Superior framing it perfectly. The Kitty-Corner Cafe is next door, situated closer to the street.
If the cafe hadn’t taken off, I’d considered running a bed-and-breakfast here, but I’d decided I wanted a place to decompress after work, not have people in my space at home too.
There’s only one room that hasn’t been remodeled, and it’s my fault. The bathroom off my bedroom is horribly outdated, and not the good kind. The rest of the house has a lot of character, original woodwork and all, but my bathroom has an eighties vibe with dusty blue everything. Toilet, sinks, and a chunky blue tub that juts out of the wall like a ship that’s lost its way, stretching out into the middle of the room in the least efficient use of space ever.
I thought for sure I’d trip over the tub all the time, but I quickly got used to it, and once I’d finally taken a bath in the thing, I fell in love.
Mildred––that’s what I’ve named this hunk of cast-iron goodness––perfectly encases my body. She slants at the back, allowing me to lounge at just the right elevation. I can look out the window while I bathe or read in there for hours. Mildred has comforted me during many a tear session and soothed my tired feet after a long day, and, since she’s four hundred pounds soaking wet, she’s not going anywhere.
I sink into the water and practically purr. This is often the best part of my day.
But then I toss and turn all night, my mind too full of all the things.
The next day, the anticipation of seeing my grandpa and uncle is high. Midafternoon, I see them roll in, hauling a trailer with their Harleys behind the SUV. I watch them park at the house and then stroll over, walking in sync.
The bell above the door jangles as I rush to meet them. They walk in wearing cute cable-knit sweaters with jeans, sunglasses, and wide smiles. Having been around them most of my life, I know that they did not plan to match. It just always happens.
“Papa,” I say, opening my arms wide.
He hugs me tight. “There you are. It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”
“You too.” I sigh into his teddy-bear hold.
“Okay, my turn,” Uncle Hal says.
He’s grinning when I turn and barrel into him.
It’s crazy how alike they look, but I can pick them out a mile apart. Papa is sweet and reserved, and Uncle Hal is pure mischief. Their personalities show in their eyes and smiles, but once they speak, their differences are more evident to everyone.
“You ready to put us to work?” Uncle Hal asks. “I can be the taste tester.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.” I laugh. “I promise to keep you supplied with sweets for sure.”
“I knew it was the right thing to come here,” he teases.
“The place looks wonderful, Juju,” Papa says.
I look around, and that’s when I realize how quiet the cafe is. Goldie’s grandmas, Grandma Donna and Grandma Nancy, are in the shop, which is a rarity. I’ve known them almost as long as I’ve known the Whitman family, and I love them dearly. Most of the town has taken to calling them Grandma Donna and Grandma Nancy.
They’re in their soft sweaters—Grandma Donna with pants and boots, Grandma Nancy with a skirt and heels that are brave to wear around here in December. Both are frozen as they stare at us. Grandma Donna’s holding a pale pink flyer and a clipboard that looks like a sign-up sheet. Goldie showed me the flyer already and asked if it’d be okay if they put it on my bulletin board.
It says:
Friendship Bench
Available to anyone who needs a friend.
Come sit. I’ll listen. A warm beverage is optional.
~Grandma Donna
When she realizes our attention is on her, she shyly turns and pins it up. Grandma Nancy blinks slowly but doesn’t turn away.
Papa pauses.
“Well, well,” he murmurs. “Windy Harbor has some surprises. Donna, is that you?”
She turns and swallows, nodding slowly.
“Hello, Hector,” she says.
He moves forward and clasps her hand in his. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
He smiles at Grandma Donna, who blushes.
“Neither have you.” Her eyes lower to the floor and then shoot back up to Papa’s.
Is this a moment? It sure feels like it. I so wish Goldie could be here to witness this.
Uncle Hal lowers his sunglasses halfway. He stares at Grandma Nancy and whistles low. “Are we in heaven?”
Okay, yes, definitely a moment.
Grandma Nancy’s back straightens, and she gives Uncle Hal a look that would make most men falter.
Not Uncle Hal.
“You look like trouble,” she says, setting her cup down with a purposeful clink.
Uncle Hal smiles proudly. “Only on Mondays. You free?”
Nancy gasps. “Absolutely not.”
I cough into my arm to avoid laughing out loud.
Papa gives a slight bow, looking very distinguished. “Forgive my brother. What he’s trying to say is that he’s happy to be in Windy Harbor.”
“I was saying a lot more than that, and she knows it.” Uncle Hal winks at Grandma Nancy. “A heavenly view,” he adds.
Grandma Nancy crosses her arms, staring defiantly at Uncle Hal, and her lips twitch when she says, “I suppose you think that line works on women you want to razzle-dazzle?”
Uncle Hal pulls off his sunglasses smoothly and folds them. “Razzle-dazzle.” He points at her. “That’s the perfect expression for what you do, my dear.”
My mouth drops. This is gold. The whole cafe is watching the exchange back and forth like we’re at Wimbledon.
Or rather, one person.
Juliana fucking Fair.
“She was supposed to be here half an hour ago,” I mutter, stalking past the kitchen doors. “I should’ve known she’d try to sabotage this.”
Bobby, my new sous chef, looks at me in surprise. “Sabotage? Like she’d want to bring you down?”
“No,” I admit. “She wouldn’t go that far. She just really likes to irritate me.”
And I seem to fall for it every time. I revert to my teenage years, when Juju and I started this bickering that is our new normal.
That’s easier to deal with than the soft Juju who feels like my friend, because almost always, she turns on me.
A couple of weeks ago, when I asked her if she could make desserts for the restaurant until I could hire a new pastry chef, her eyes softened.
“I’d be honored,” she said. “You know that I’m really proud of you, Camden…right? I think what you’ve done with the restaurant in Colorado is epic, and I know this new restaurant will knock it out of the park too.”
“Thanks, Juju,” I said, surprised.
Her mouth parted slightly, and I stepped toward her. I heard her breath hitch and could see the rise and fall of her chest.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“It’s been a long time since you called me Juju,” she whispered back.
“I always call you Juju in my head,” I confessed.
We stared at each other for a long, weighty pause, and I could’ve sworn she wanted me to kiss her. She leaned in slightly, and her eyes dropped to my mouth.
And then her brother walked in, and we both took a step away from each other.
“My two favorite people. I’m shocked you’re alone and not throwing dough at each other.” Jackson laughed.
“Give it time and we’ll be back at it,” I teased, grinning at Juju.
Her jaw tightened, and the warmth left her eyes.
I fucking hated to see it go.
I wish I didn’t always say the wrong thing when it came to her.
But this was us, a seesaw that never balanced.
The door flings open, and Juju rushes in.
Her hair is up, her cheeks flushed, either from the cold or because she knows I’ll be ticked. She’s pushing a cart loaded down with desserts.
“You’re late.”
“I’m here,” she sings. “And I brought the pies and cheesecakes you wanted…plus mousse cakes and bread pudding that I thought would fit nicely with your menu.”
“I didn’t ask for the mousse cakes or bread pudding. I asked you to be on time.”
She stares at me indignantly. “I was doing something nice for you.”
I exhale slowly. “I didn’t ask you to be nice or to bring extra food that I may or may not be able to sell.”
Her cheeks burn brighter. “You’ll be glad you have them, you arrogant control freak.”
“It’s not about control,” I say between gritted teeth. “It’s about not having waste, and doing what you say you’ll do.”
“Trust me, if you let the good people of Windy Harbor know that my mousse cake or bread pudding is a surprise dessert for this evening, they will sell faster than you can plate them.”
“That’s not how restaurants work, Juliana. I’ve already printed the menu.”
“So tell them it’s a special that isn’t on the menu,” she grumbles. “Should I have brought store-bought cheesecakes instead?”
I take a step toward her. She does the same thing.
“Why are you always pushing?” I ask. “It’s like you find a nerve and just poke, poke, poke.”
“I can’t help it that you’re an uptight, bossy, overly sensitive, emotionally constipated man who—”
“I’m the uptight, bossy, overly sensitive, emotionally constipated one?” I yell back. “You don’t want to go there with me, Juliana. If I remember correctly, you were the one who—”
“What is going on back here?” Goldie comes in, her eyes wide.
“I should’ve known better than to bring desserts for you!” Juju shouts as she walks toward the door. “You can find someone else to do your bidding, Camden Whitman!”
She says something to Goldie under her breath, and I laugh.
“May as well call a jackass a jackass, Juliana.”
“Okay, jackass,” she mutters before she leaves the kitchen.
Goldie rips me a new one when Juju leaves, but my sister never stays mad at me too long. One of the many things I love about her. And with this being opening night, she probably has more mercy on me than I deserve.
The night is a success.
Even more than I’d hoped it would be.
I had my family surrounding me, my best friend Jackson, and even my favorite players from the Colorado Mustangs team—Weston, Henley, Rhodes, Bowie, and Penn—along with their wives. I couldn’t believe they’d all made the trip to Minnesota. My sister was thrilled to have her college roommate, Addy, who’s married to Penn, by her side. And of course, Juju was there, looking like a bombshell in a blue dress.
Speaking of the bombshell, she’s lingering after everyone has left for the night. It’s so late that I didn’t expect anyone to be here still, but she’s in the kitchen, gathering her pans, when I walk in.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for being a bastard earlier when she says, “Are the rest of the desserts tucked away somewhere, or did you get rid of them all like I said you would?”
I growl, which delights her.
“You wouldn’t be asking that question if you didn’t already know the answer,” I say.
“Oh, I know the answer. I knew the answer when I left them here. Too bad I won’t be making any desserts for you again.”
She carries her pans to the door, and I call after her.
“Juju, wait. Let’s not—”
She whirls around. “Let’s not what? Be civil to one another? Have the common courtesy to say thank you?” Her voice cracks, and I feel like the biggest jerk. “You’ve got it. Let’s not…ever again.”
She leaves, and I slump against the island, every earlier feeling of victory squashed with her words.
CHAPTER TWO
TROUBLE WALKS IN
JULIANA
It’s been weeks since the fight with Camden at his restaurant opening, and I still feel off. I survived a tense yet fun Thanksgiving, where we all celebrated together, and it was only fun because I avoided Camden like my life depended on it.
I’ve nearly burned the scones every morning, and that just does not happen.
The raspberry filling hasn’t set the way it should, and the lemon glaze tastes flat.
I’ve thrown away more than I want to admit.
I keep thinking of his face before I walked out that night. Pained, angry, confused. He looked like how I feel every time I’m around him.
It wasn’t always like this. I think that’s why it’s so hard.
It’s been so long, but I miss the boy who sampled everything I baked, encouraging me with his praise and requests for more of whatever I gave him. I miss the friend who knew I hated everything grape-flavored, even though I loved grapes, and always gave me the strawberry or cherry. It was a long time before I ever knew he didn’t like anything grape-flavored very much either. I miss the version of us that doesn’t end with raised voices and slammed doors.
But this is our new normal, has been for years now, and I think it’s time I accept it.
Besides Goldie and Jackson, Camden was always the person who got it…got me. Sometimes it felt like he got me more than anyone else. I guess that’s just what I wanted to believe.
We may as well be strangers now.
Anyway.
I don’t have time to stay in this headspace another second. I can’t afford to ruin any more desserts.
The cinnamon rolls are in the oven, the third batch of scones is ready to go in next, and the blueberry muffins are cooling. The pies are already almost sold out for the day, and I won’t have time to make more until I close. I cut the toffee bars and put them in the display case before going back to the kitchen.
The phone rings while I’m wiping flour off my cheek.
Papa Hector.
I wipe my hands and answer. “Hi, Papa!”
He doesn’t bother with hello. “Your uncle Hal and I are coming tomorrow. Surprise!”
I gasp. “Really? You’re coming here? That’s great!”
Papa and his twin brother Hal are the life of any gathering. The age of the crowd doesn’t matter—if Papa and Uncle Hal are around, everyone is having a good time. Hal is technically my great-uncle, but I always just call him Uncle Hal.
“We’re missing our girl…and her banana cream pies.” Papa Hector laughs and I grin, already feeling happier just hearing his voice. “Hey—I heard there’s a handsome chef in town who’s making waves with his delicious food. You know anything about that?”
I roll my eyes. “No, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
He laughs again, not fully realizing the buttons he’s pushing.
“You sound tired, sweetheart.”
I glance at my reflection in the mirror we keep by the back door. My cheeks are flushed, my updo is messy, and I have dark smudges under my eyes.
“I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t,” I admit.
“Well, Uncle Hal and I can help you. We can help at the shop, help around the house…your mom said you’ve sounded a little lonesome lately, and we can help with that too.”
I smile. His offer of helping around the shop sounds more like a disaster waiting to happen, but I’ll be happily proven wrong if that’s not the case. But I’m all for everything else he said.
“I’m doing all right, but I’ll be better when you’re here. I can’t wait to see you and Uncle Hal.”
He makes a quiet sound of approval. “Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.”
“I’ll get your rooms ready. Hurry up and get here. But be careful,” I add.
“Don’t go to any trouble. We’re old men. We’re not particular, and we know how to change sheets and whatnot.”
“I won’t go to any trouble…much.”
“Ahhh, my little perfectionist. I shouldn’t have given you any warning!”
“I’m glad you did.”
We both laugh.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Papa. I’m so excited.”
When we hang up, I feel a little less hollow. I told myself the solitude would be good when I first moved to Windy Harbor. And it is, mostly. I have my best friends, Erin, who runs Cox Trading Post with her parents, and Goldie, who’s now living in Windy Harbor full-time too, and I couldn’t be happier to have more time with them. But after a day at the cafe, it’s almost always nice to come home to the stillness.
From the time we moved to Summit Avenue and our family met the Whitmans, our families have been close. My parents still own their home in St. Paul and plan to retire here before too long. As for me, I needed the quieter pace of Windy Harbor a little sooner.
After the hectic day, I don’t want to people another second. Bosco, one of the crankier regulars at The Kitty-Corner Cafe, was in rare form today. He was extra grumpy. If I hadn’t offered him free coffee, I think he would’ve chased everyone off.
I’m exhausted. My shoulders are tight and my brain is tired. If I don’t distract myself, I will go pick another fight with Camden, and that’s just unnecessary.
We’re already deep in a constant fight.
The sooner I can get past this, the sooner I can get rid of this tight feeling in my chest.
This is who we are now.
It was easier when he wasn’t in Windy Harbor. I still thought of him often when he lived in Colorado, but it wasn’t like a scab being constantly picked, the way it is now that I have to see him all the time.
I go home, get the bedrooms ready, clean for a bit, and watch something mind-numbing. The cold makes the wooden balcony off my bedroom pop, and the loud sounds make me jump every time, interrupting my relaxation. This is one of my favorite places to be in all the world, but the house has never felt bigger or emptier than it does tonight.
When my parents bought a lake home, they didn’t go the usual route with a cute little cabin. They went big, like they do with everything else. The house sprawls out on Wildbriar Lane, Windy Harbor’s main drag through town, and the place is a showstopper. A yellow Victorian with an updated wing at the back of the house and a cozy addition above the garage, the place is tucked into the trees, Lake Superior framing it perfectly. The Kitty-Corner Cafe is next door, situated closer to the street.
If the cafe hadn’t taken off, I’d considered running a bed-and-breakfast here, but I’d decided I wanted a place to decompress after work, not have people in my space at home too.
There’s only one room that hasn’t been remodeled, and it’s my fault. The bathroom off my bedroom is horribly outdated, and not the good kind. The rest of the house has a lot of character, original woodwork and all, but my bathroom has an eighties vibe with dusty blue everything. Toilet, sinks, and a chunky blue tub that juts out of the wall like a ship that’s lost its way, stretching out into the middle of the room in the least efficient use of space ever.
I thought for sure I’d trip over the tub all the time, but I quickly got used to it, and once I’d finally taken a bath in the thing, I fell in love.
Mildred––that’s what I’ve named this hunk of cast-iron goodness––perfectly encases my body. She slants at the back, allowing me to lounge at just the right elevation. I can look out the window while I bathe or read in there for hours. Mildred has comforted me during many a tear session and soothed my tired feet after a long day, and, since she’s four hundred pounds soaking wet, she’s not going anywhere.
I sink into the water and practically purr. This is often the best part of my day.
But then I toss and turn all night, my mind too full of all the things.
The next day, the anticipation of seeing my grandpa and uncle is high. Midafternoon, I see them roll in, hauling a trailer with their Harleys behind the SUV. I watch them park at the house and then stroll over, walking in sync.
The bell above the door jangles as I rush to meet them. They walk in wearing cute cable-knit sweaters with jeans, sunglasses, and wide smiles. Having been around them most of my life, I know that they did not plan to match. It just always happens.
“Papa,” I say, opening my arms wide.
He hugs me tight. “There you are. It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”
“You too.” I sigh into his teddy-bear hold.
“Okay, my turn,” Uncle Hal says.
He’s grinning when I turn and barrel into him.
It’s crazy how alike they look, but I can pick them out a mile apart. Papa is sweet and reserved, and Uncle Hal is pure mischief. Their personalities show in their eyes and smiles, but once they speak, their differences are more evident to everyone.
“You ready to put us to work?” Uncle Hal asks. “I can be the taste tester.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.” I laugh. “I promise to keep you supplied with sweets for sure.”
“I knew it was the right thing to come here,” he teases.
“The place looks wonderful, Juju,” Papa says.
I look around, and that’s when I realize how quiet the cafe is. Goldie’s grandmas, Grandma Donna and Grandma Nancy, are in the shop, which is a rarity. I’ve known them almost as long as I’ve known the Whitman family, and I love them dearly. Most of the town has taken to calling them Grandma Donna and Grandma Nancy.
They’re in their soft sweaters—Grandma Donna with pants and boots, Grandma Nancy with a skirt and heels that are brave to wear around here in December. Both are frozen as they stare at us. Grandma Donna’s holding a pale pink flyer and a clipboard that looks like a sign-up sheet. Goldie showed me the flyer already and asked if it’d be okay if they put it on my bulletin board.
It says:
Friendship Bench
Available to anyone who needs a friend.
Come sit. I’ll listen. A warm beverage is optional.
~Grandma Donna
When she realizes our attention is on her, she shyly turns and pins it up. Grandma Nancy blinks slowly but doesn’t turn away.
Papa pauses.
“Well, well,” he murmurs. “Windy Harbor has some surprises. Donna, is that you?”
She turns and swallows, nodding slowly.
“Hello, Hector,” she says.
He moves forward and clasps her hand in his. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
He smiles at Grandma Donna, who blushes.
“Neither have you.” Her eyes lower to the floor and then shoot back up to Papa’s.
Is this a moment? It sure feels like it. I so wish Goldie could be here to witness this.
Uncle Hal lowers his sunglasses halfway. He stares at Grandma Nancy and whistles low. “Are we in heaven?”
Okay, yes, definitely a moment.
Grandma Nancy’s back straightens, and she gives Uncle Hal a look that would make most men falter.
Not Uncle Hal.
“You look like trouble,” she says, setting her cup down with a purposeful clink.
Uncle Hal smiles proudly. “Only on Mondays. You free?”
Nancy gasps. “Absolutely not.”
I cough into my arm to avoid laughing out loud.
Papa gives a slight bow, looking very distinguished. “Forgive my brother. What he’s trying to say is that he’s happy to be in Windy Harbor.”
“I was saying a lot more than that, and she knows it.” Uncle Hal winks at Grandma Nancy. “A heavenly view,” he adds.
Grandma Nancy crosses her arms, staring defiantly at Uncle Hal, and her lips twitch when she says, “I suppose you think that line works on women you want to razzle-dazzle?”
Uncle Hal pulls off his sunglasses smoothly and folds them. “Razzle-dazzle.” He points at her. “That’s the perfect expression for what you do, my dear.”
My mouth drops. This is gold. The whole cafe is watching the exchange back and forth like we’re at Wimbledon.
