Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I hate it.
“Bye,” I say as he leaves. The door slams behind him. I wrap my hands around my mug and lean against the counter. “Sorry. That was rude of him.”
“No need to apologize, dearie. I’ve only been dealing with his bluster for half my life.” Delly sinks into the sofa and pats the space beside her. “A mother knows her son. He’s always been like this. Work is his escape when he’s climbing the walls.”
So he’s escaping me then?
I tap my nails idly on the ceramic mug as I sit beside her, wishing she would leave, knowing that every moment we spend together just makes the happy fiancée illusion flimsier.
“I guess that’s just the draw of the cards, huh?”
“Only when he’s stressed.” Delly pats my leg, apparently under the impression she’s reassuring me. “The rest of the time, he’s more reasonable.”
I already know he’s stressed, but hearing her say it like that hits me in the stomach. I take another gulp of coffee so hot it sears my mouth.
“Maybe I’m stressing him out,” I say. “With the Sugar Bowl’s latest business deal, I mean.”
“The one with Mr. Haute? Patton did say something about that the other day.”
“That’s the one. It’s great for the bakery, but I know Dex has a few misgivings about it, and—”
“Oh, my dear.” Completely disregarding the fact that I’m holding a mug, Delly takes my hands. “You’re not the problem, Juniper. Please don’t think that for one second.”
How many times has he said that?
I wish I’d never said yes to this.
I should have just turned it down and figured everything out on my own. Sure, I’d still be struggling to drum up a few extra dollars and coming home to canned soup in a different crappy apartment.
But I knew how to manage without money or special connections.
I knew how to survive.
I didn’t need it, and if we’re being honest, it hasn’t been about the money for a while. I just got greedy for something else.
I let myself fall for him.
Delly looks at my face and purses her lips like she can see my brain scattering in a dozen directions. There are wrinkles around the corners, but they’ve been artificially smoothed to delay the inevitable march of age. I guess money can stall time itself if you’ve got enough.
“Did Dexter ever tell you how his father died?” she asks, leaning back.
I frown. “We haven’t talked much about our parents, no. But it was a plane crash, right?”
“Yes. When Dexter was barely grown.” She smiles, but remnants of tragedy linger in her eyes. A sadness that all the money in the world can’t eradicate. Nothing heals a broken heart. “The last time I ever saw him shed a tear was at the funeral.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it, especially considering the aftermath.” She glances down. “I was… I wasn’t myself for a few years after it happened. The grief took me to such a dark place, dear, and I didn’t want to burden my boys.”
I wait, wondering what she’s holding back.
Her elegant frame rattles as she sighs. “Frankly, I was a mess. First the drinking, then the prescription pills, then more drinking and pills together.”
My eyebrows go up.
I definitely wasn’t expecting such a human confession.
“Delly, it’s okay. If it’s too personal, you don’t need to—”
“No. No, dear. It’s such a long time ago now, and I suppose Dexter doesn’t want to tell anyone else about it. But with everything he did for me—the days the poor dear spent at my bedside so I didn’t drink myself to death, or worse—he saved my life. And I think it left him so scared he iced over.”
My heart aches now.
I feel like the queen of all bitches for judging him so hard, for not trying to understand.
“That’s rough. I’m really sorry.” I set my mug down on the end table and pat her hand. “I’m not sure I understand, though. What has him so scared?”
Delly smiles sadly.
“Why, seeing what lost love can do,” she whispers. “I was never the same. I’m still not, no, but thanks to my son, I’ve learned to live and laugh again. It tore him up, watching me trying to throw myself into my husband’s grave. Honestly, I hurt him. I shouldn’t have let it take months for him to talk me into checking into a real place where I could get help. For years, I worried he’d think it wasn’t worth it after seeing my addiction, my grief. That he’d never be brave enough to love, to take a chance on anyone…”
Her slim fingers bend gently around mine.
I swallow thickly.
God, I know how it feels, even if it’s just a shadow of what she’s been through. All these years after my mom died, and I still don’t talk about it with anyone but Nana.