With love from rose bend, p.23
With Love from Rose Bend, page 23
Her mother’s smile remained, but a glint of steel that every Dennison child recognized entered her eyes. Leo barely contained a shiver of foreboding. One of Moe’s infamous “talks.” Good God. It would either leave her irritated and uncomfortably introspective or crying her eyes out. Neither appealed.
“I will say this, though,” Moe continued. “The inn is important to you. I get that. But somewhere along the line, it’s become your everything, and that’s not healthy. You’re shortchanging yourself. You’ve thrown yourself into this place, believing it can’t leave you, disappoint you...break your heart.” Moe’s fingers momentarily tightened on Leo’s thigh before sliding off and returning to her own lap. “I got news for you, Leo. It can’t listen to you when you need to vent about the unfairness of life. It can’t hold you when you burst out crying for no damn reason—or for a very good reason. It can’t whisper in your ear that everything is going to be all right even when you can’t possibly see how. As wonderful as this inn is, it can’t love you. And, it will never fill a place inside you it was never meant to fill.”
So...irritated but uncomfortably introspective.
Her fingers clenched tighter around the desk’s edge, and she glanced away from Moe. “I love you, Moe, but you don’t—”
“Understand? Is that what you were about to say?” Moe shook her head, the smile on her lips small, somehow sad.
And Leo suddenly felt like a grade-A ass.
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“You were too young to remember—it was after Sinead was born and before Flo came to us.” Her mother interrupted Leo with a subdued voice and a distant gaze focused on a point over Leo’s shoulder. “But your father and I went through a real rough patch in our marriage. The why of it doesn’t matter, but we handled it different. Your father... Well, he was your father. He turned inward, didn’t talk about it. Me? I threw myself into the inn. Like you, I prioritized it above all in my life. Because it didn’t cause me pain. It brought me satisfaction, gave me purpose, focus, and as long as I poured my all into it, I didn’t feel like a failure.”
Leo stared at her mother, for the first time in her life seeing her not as Moe, her parent, her safe place to fall, her provider, her protector. But viewing her as Billie Thomasina Dennison, a woman who’d suffered all the same things other women had—uncertainty in her marriage, fear, loneliness and doubt about who she was, why God had put her here.
How, in this moment, when her mother had ripped Leo’s chest wide open, did she feel the closest to her?
“The inn, though—” Moe switched her focus back to Leo, leaning forward in her chair “—it was only a temporary solution to a problem that didn’t disappear, no matter how much I prayed it would. When I realized that, I almost lost my family, my marriage and the only man I’ve ever loved. This place—” Moe waved a hand, encompassing the office “—it’s not a panacea for whatever you’re running from, honey. These last few weeks, with the festival, the pageant...Owen Strafford, I’ve been excited that you’ve finally started letting loose. More, I’ve been thankful to see the beginnings of the return of my old Leo. It’s been so long. And I’ve been so scared I’d never see her again.”
Her heartbeat pounded in her head, her throat, her chest, loud and primal. She battled the urge to break out in a run, escape Moe’s way too perceptive stare, that mother’s intuition.
Both were deadly when it came to secrets.
“What’re you talking about?”
Another of those small, sad smiles that smacked of both love and disappointment. Not disappointment in Leo. But in her obvious deflection and deception.
“Eight years, Leo. Eight years you’ve carried this heaviness and I’ve lost the daughter who once laughed loudly and loved freely. I’ve tried not to push too much, hoping you’d come to me, but now I’m rethinking my decision.”
Eight years, Leo. Eight years.
Her mother’s words rang in her head like a warning bell. Love, fear and grief churned in her belly. Of course her mother would notice. She might not know the details—no one did—but Moe, being Moe, would’ve pinpointed the change in her child.
That was what love did.
It saw.
“I need to go or I’m going to be late to this pageant practice,” Leo whispered, rising from the desk. “I should only be gone a couple of hours.”
“If you need longer, take longer. This inn will be here, but if we’ve all learned anything in the last couple of years, it’s that nothing—not time, not the next moment, not life—is guaranteed. So if something comes up, just call and let me know. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay, Moe, but I’ll be back.”
Moe didn’t say anything, just nodded. And Leo was grateful.
She didn’t want to hear any more wise words or revelations that rocked her world. She just needed to leave and get to practice so she could return to the familiar, the steady, the known. Her mother was right. She’d been spending a lot of time outside the inn. And while Moe had probably meant her talk to convince Leo not to cling so much to their family business and home, it’d done the opposite. It’d reminded her that last night—Owen, relationships—they were fleeting, unstable and ended in disappointment.
But Kinsale Inn...
Moe was wrong. In eight years it’d never failed her. Never looked at her with frustration then, ultimately, disapproval in its eyes. It’d never broken her heart.
Maybe she’d never have the grand love story with the fairy-tale ending that Cole and Wolf had found. But she wouldn’t have pain and loss, either.
To her, that was a good trade-off.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DÉJÀ VU.
Leo stood at the back of the stage again, arms folded across her chest, watching the other contestants practice the evening wear round. Since Scarlett had decided they would enter alphabetically, Leo had already walked, and hadn’t done a bad job. Without Celeste there to critique her performance, she rated herself a B. Maybe she had a chance of getting through this thing without tripping, falling flat on her face or completely humiliating herself.
Oh, wait.
They hadn’t gotten to the talent portion of this program yet.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t shut out the bombardment of what-ifs that could—hell, given her track record, probably would—happen. Her stomach knotted. She and Celeste had finally decided on a talent. And though Leo had agreed to Celeste’s suggestion, it still scared the shit out of her. And even now she swallowed convulsively at just the thought of standing on this stage in front of the whole town in another few weeks and...
God, she couldn’t even complete the sentence in her head. And if she couldn’t do that, how in the world was she going to perform it?
Miracle. She needed an honest-to-God, water-into-wine miracle.
“I didn’t think you had it in you, but brava, Leo Dennison.” Jenna quietly slow-clapped as she stepped close to Leo.
Yeah, she didn’t have the patience or capacity to care for Jenna’s shenanigans.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Jenna.”
“Oh, come on,” she purred, tilting her head. “I totally underestimated you. You should be proud of how fast you work. Snatching up the millionaire pro athlete in town? Scarred or not scarred, he’s this town’s top bachelor. I mean, I don’t know what he sees—” she slowly scanned Leo from head to toe, disdain heavy in her curled lip “—but maybe he goes for the rumpled innkeeper look. Everyone has their kink.”
Swinging on the town bitch wouldn’t be good for business.
Damn that. You could put it front and center in the brochure.
God. Things were bad when even your subconscious didn’t agree on pacifism.
Leo inhaled and focused on the meat of Jenna’s pettiness. Apparently, her and Owen’s fake relationship had already started to make the rounds. She shouldn’t be shocked. This was Rose Bend, after all. But damn. That’d been quick.
“Uh, thanks?” She smiled wide, flashing all her teeth. Or baring them. “I’m not sure what the proper response to ‘You’re getting pity dick’ is supposed to be, but I’ll go with thanks.”
“Oh, pity dick? Don’t you worry, Leo. I’m sure Hallmark has a card for that, too.” Flicking her thick hair over her shoulder, Jenna flashed her a pseudo-sympathetic smile. “But the real reason I came over here was because I was concerned. You’re back here looking a little green around the gills. You aren’t perchance reliving The Gelding of Mercutio, are you?” Jenna tsked. “After that disaster, I can’t blame you for hiding over here looking like you’re about to hurl on those fashionably questionable shoes.”
Leo met Jenna’s mocking gaze. It matched the smirk on her pink-painted mouth. Screw her. Her Wonder Woman–themed patent leather Mary Janes were the shit.
Leo stretched up on her toes, craned her neck to the right and to the left. Giving Jenna an exaggerated wince, she shrugged. “Dang it, Jenna. I’m sorry. I’ve looked but I can’t seem to find where I left that last fu—”
“All right, everyone,” Scarlett called from the front of the stage with a single clap of her hands. “That run-through was amazing. Let’s practice the Q&A round.”
Jenna and Leo didn’t move, continuing to stand there, glaring at each other. Part of Leo buzzed with anticipation, silently hoping the redhead would utter just one more catty comment... Since her conversation with Moe, Leo had left the inn scraped raw and spoiling for an outlet.
“Leo, Jenna.”
Leo sucked in a breath and tipped her head toward Scarlett. “Coming, Scarlett.”
Turning her back on Jenna, Leo joined the rest of the women, but Jenna’s glower practically burned. Relief flashed across the coordinator’s face—most likely thankful a catfight wouldn’t be erupting on her stage. Ah, but the day was young.
“So we’re not going over the actual questions that will be asked in the pageant, but I have mock ones. The purpose is to practice how the round will run and to help you be more comfortable with the Q&A. Here are a few things to keep in mind. You have two minutes to answer. Keep eye contact with the judges. Try to maintain your smile, even if you flub the question or lose your train of thought. A smile goes a long way. Listen carefully to the question and don’t be afraid to take a few moments to think over your answer before delivering it. And speak clearly. Okay? Ready to go?”
A chorus of yeses and let’s do its answered Scarlett, and the coordinator beamed. Moments later she instructed them on where they would stand, how they would step forward after their names were called, the placement of the mic and where they should stop behind it. There were a lot of details, but Leo appreciated every one of them. The exacting directions calmed some of Leo’s nervousness, offering her something concrete to focus on other than speaking in front of a huge crowd of people and being stared at and judged—her personal nightmare.
She tried not to fidget as Scarlett called woman after woman forward. Not knowing the questions sent her heart pounding. She couldn’t prepare an answer, couldn’t research, if necessary, couldn’t practice what she intended to say.
She possessed no control over the situation.
“Aileen Grayson.”
The pretty brunette stepped forward, gliding elegantly across the stage to the mic set near the edge. Leo kept her gaze trained on the younger woman’s face, and didn’t allow herself to glance below...to Aileen’s still-flat belly.
“Mrs. Grayson,” Scarlett said, rifling through several small white cards. Settling on one, she smiled up at her friend. “Where do you see yourself in the next five years?”
Aileen paused, obviously taking Scarlett’s advice and considering her answer before speaking.
“I am a high school guidance counselor, and I love my job. There’s such satisfaction in assisting kids in deciding on the paths that will set the course for their future. And also, there’s joy in being their support system as they start to become who they are meant to be. And if I’m lucky, being a part of that process.” Aileen paused, clasping her hands in front of her. “The school system is also where I met my beautiful wife, who is a middle school teacher. We share the same passion for education and children, so up until last year my five-year future plans centered around my wife and my career. But that vision changed when we decided to have a family.”
A fine tremble shook Leo’s hands, and she clutched them together, squeezing tight. She swallowed, but her throat, dry as a desert after a sandstorm, worked against her. There’d been a time when the vision of Leo’s future had included a family, too. When she’d believed she could have it all.
She’d been an idealistic fool. And life had cured her of that dream really quick. Brutally quick.
“In five years I still see myself married to the most wonderful woman in the world and working as a guidance counselor, but I will also have an equally important role—as a mother. Very few people know this, but we suffered a miscarriage earlier this year. It was one of the most devastating experiences I’ve ever gone through. Yet, it also confirmed for me that more than anything, I wanted motherhood in my future...”
A buzzing, like a thousand swarming bees, took up residence in Leo’s head. Prickles of ice and heat raced up her spine and migrated over her skin. She alternated between fighting against shivers and needing to slap out imaginary flames licking at her arms, hands and chest.
She stumbled back a step, her legs suddenly the consistency of water. Invisible fingers tore at her throat, and an inarticulate sound crawled inside her, scrambling for release. And only when two of the women peered back at her over their shoulders with worried frowns did Leo realize that sound had made a break for it.
Rhonda Gleason, a hairstylist at A Cut Above, the local salon, turned and extended a hand toward her. “Leo? Hey, you okay?”
Barely hearing the question above the ever-increasing drone, Leo nodded. She lied.
Panic closed in on her like shrink-wrap, binding tighter and tighter, suffocating her...
Scratching at the base of her throat, she battled back the black creeping into the edges of her peripheral vision.
She needed to get out of here before she crumbled. Before she fainted.
Before she broke.
“I—I’m—” She backpedaled, desperation and slick fear stealing her coherence.
“She’s fine. I got her.” Jenna cuffed her arm in a firm, no-nonsense grip and ushered Leo toward the side of the stage and the stairs that led to the ground.
Oh, shit.
Not her. Anyone but her.
In Leo’s weakened state, both emotional and physical, she couldn’t push the other woman away. It required all her seriously limited focus to put one foot in front of the other and not collapse in a heap right there on the stage.
As soon as she escaped the curious gazes burning into her back—as soon as she reached some semblance of safety—she’d send Jenna away. And have her panic attack in private. The last person she could afford to be weak in front of was this woman.
In moments shadows enveloped her, and surprisingly gentle hands cupped her shoulders and guided her down to a chair. Her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs, and those same hands shifted to the middle of her back and pushed so her head hung between her knees.
After several minutes the dizziness started to abate, and her breathing slowed until it no longer rattled in her chest or crashed in her head. She slowly straightened, her muscles pulling so tight they damn near vibrated. Closing her eyes, she dragged in a ragged lungful of air and desperately tried to relax her muscles, one at a time.
And let loose a rough laugh when her body refused to cooperate. Why would it? Why, when fear, anger and a bone-deep, howling grief saturated every tendon, vein and organ? She hurt. The panic didn’t threaten to strangle her. The hurt did.
A loud scrape coaxed her eyes open, and Leo lifted her lashes to see Jenna pulling a chair back from a folding table and carrying it over to her. The redhead set it in front of Leo and sank down, crossing her legs and folding her hands on top of a knee, appearing for all the world as if she was attending an afternoon tea instead of sitting inside the makeshift tent set up for the festival volunteers. Jenna didn’t speak, just continued to gaze at Leo, those blue eyes measuring her. No, analyzing her, peering too deep. Seeing too much.
God, Leo was too raw for this. Having Celeste, Scarlett or any of the other women witness her breakdown would’ve been humiliating enough, but Jenna? Leo couldn’t imagine a worse scenario than Jasper Landon’s daughter, of all people, having a front-row seat.
“Thanks, Jenna,” Leo murmured, shoving to her feet. “I’m good—”
“When did you lose your baby?”
Leo froze, staring at Jenna. Shock pummeled her, wave after wave crashing into her until she collapsed back onto the seat beneath her. Moisture fled from her mouth, and her lips moved but no sound emerged. Not the first time. Not the second. But on the third, she managed it.
“What?” she rasped.
“Your baby. When did you have a miscarriage?”
Just that word scraped over her soul, leaving bloody gouges behind. Especially with Jenna voicing it so cavalierly, so easily, as if it didn’t carry a world of desolation.
Shut up, she silently snarled.
Instead, she said, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” After so many years, denial had become second nature. It wasn’t hard at all with this woman. Not when it was self-preservation.
Jenna arched a dark auburn eyebrow. “I may be a bitch, but I have eyes and a brain. When Aileen announced her pregnancy, you looked like you were about to get sick. But today, when she mentioned her miscarriage, that’s when you almost fell on your ass. I can add, Leo. And all those details add up to you and trauma over losing a baby.”
