Everything We Keep: A Novel (9 page)

Nadia frowned. “Do you think you have a concussion?”

“I’ll be fine,” I bit out through clenched teeth. I didn’t want to spend my birthday in a hospital. I wanted my bed. “Can you take me home?”

She handed me my purse. “I’m staying with you tonight, just in case.”

We left the restroom and walked through the lounge. My skin rippled, ruffling the fine hairs on the back of my neck. I glanced over my shoulder. I didn’t see anyone I knew, though I sensed Lacy nearby watching me.

CHAPTER 10

As she’d promised, Nadia stayed with me through the night, lying beside me in bed. She woke me every hour until I smacked her with a pillow at five a.m. and dragged myself from bed to sleep another restless four hours on the couch. We were walking zombies the next morning, her from lack of sleep and me from a hangover. She left early in the afternoon after I promised to call if I had any lingering headaches. She would force me to the clinic. I agreed to relax over the weekend, occupying my time with old movies and business plans. They kept my mind off the bizarre incident in the bathroom.

The sane part of me knew Lacy had been a hallucination fueled by a deep-seated desire for James to still be alive. Still, those images of him on the brink of death, almost drowning, haunted me. There had been too much blood on his face and sand plastered in the deep gashes across his cheek. I kept telling myself they were an illusion. They
had
to be an illusion. It pained me to think otherwise.

I shuffled through my notes on the dining room table and admired the café’s logo. An outlined coffee mug under a heart-shaped swirl of steam with the words
Aimee’s Café.
James’s last piece of artwork. I pictured the café’s color palette. Pumpkin, mahogany, and eggplant. Ian’s
Belize Sunrise
would be a perfect display on the café’s wall. I wondered who’d purchased the image, and then I wondered about Ian. Where was he, and did I cross his mind? Would he take another picture like the one I loved?

I studied the sketch again and scratched the pencil through the word
café
so it simply read
Aimee’s
. Ian had called my café Aimee’s.

I tasted the word on my tongue.
Aimee’s.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat at Aimee’s,” I said in a happy voice. “Aimee’s has the best coffee.”

I smiled. I liked the sound of it. Simple and memorable.

The doorbell rang and I jumped in my chair. I stole a glance out the front window on my way to the door. A taxicab was parked in front, and Ian waited on the porch. Seeing me in the window, he waved.

Heat inched up my chest and neck until my cheeks bloomed crimson. I swore, my hands fluttering to the wild mess piled on my head. Grimacing, I knew it looked like a bird’s nest, about as neat and tidy as the rumpled pajamas I’d been wearing since I came home stinking drunk the night before.

I glanced longingly toward my room. No chance to change, and no chance to hide. Ian had already seen me. Thank God I’d been sensible enough to brush my teeth, and I’d done so only to wash out the vomit.

Opening the front door a crack, I popped out my head, squinting at the glare of the setting sun above the rooftops across the street.

“Fun night last night?”

I grunted. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted, rubbed the back of his neck, and motioned toward the cab. “I’m on my way to the airport. Red-eye flight to New Zealand, and I forgot . . .” He scratched his head.

I arched a brow.

“I forgot to, um . . .” He blew out a breath and yanked his phone from his back pocket. His mouth twitched in a shy smile. “Can I get your phone number?”

My pulse fluttered. The first thought through my head was that I’d save Nadia a phone call, and my own embarrassment. She wouldn’t have to bug Wendy for Ian’s number. I pushed the door wider and held out my hand for his phone. He’d already opened a new contact page, and now he watched me as I added my name and number. Then, before I lost the nerve, I also added my e-mail and street address.

His crooked smile grew into a full-fledged grin when I gave back the phone. He tapped a finger to the screen and held the phone to his ear. I heard my phone ring from where it rested on the dining room table.

Ian rested a finger against his lips. “Don’t answer it,” he whispered, then inhaled. “Hi, Aimee, it’s Ian. I had a great time with you at my show, and an even better time afterward. I leave for New Zealand tonight but won’t be gone long. May I call you when I get back?”

He looked at me then, brows raised in question. He nodded, inviting an answer from me, and I felt my chin dip in reply.

His eyes lit up. “Great. I’ll see you then.” He ended the call. “Now you have my number.”

I laughed.

He tucked the phone away and placed a quick kiss on my cheek. I gasped softly, startled.

“See you in ten days.” He bounded down the porch steps and to the taxi, waving before he sank into the backseat.

My hand lifted as the taxi sped off, a slight smile teasing my lips as I returned inside the house, breathless. The whirlwind that was Ian had left my head spinning, and not from a hangover. I lowered into the chair I had vacated, my smile broadening as I sorted through the paperwork.

By Monday morning, the headaches were gone and I’d pushed Lacy to the back of my mind. My week was booked meeting suppliers. I had appointments to inspect potential sites, even though my heart was still set on Joe’s. And I still needed to call Thomas. Hopefully, asking him to cosign wouldn’t be asking too much.

As I gathered my paperwork and keys, the doorbell rang again. Through the peephole I saw an older man with white hair and a thick stature. He wore a short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. He pushed his hands into his side pockets as he looked across the front yard.

I opened the door and he smiled, exposing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. I recognized him instantly. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

“It’s been a long time, Aimee.” He held out his wide palm and affectionately clasped mine with his other when I shook his hand. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been . . . OK.”

He nodded. “I hear you’re opening a restaurant.”

“Actually, it’s a boutique coffee shop and gourmet eatery. But I need to find a space to lease.” The fact that his leasing agent hadn’t recommended me hung thick between us.

“May I come in?”

“Oh yes. Sorry.” I stepped aside and opened the door wider.

Joe ambled over the threshold, his blocky frame a presence in the small room. I closed the door and watched him glance around, his gaze lingering in every corner. He looked at James’s paintings on the walls, the framed pictures on the sideboard, and the engagement portrait over the mantel before his gaze settled on me. “Your parents told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“James was a good kid. I liked him.”

“Thank you.”

He picked up a picture of James and me taken on the day he’d proposed, almost a year before. I was showing off my engagement ring. Joe frowned, and my breath caught in my throat. I wondered if he was noticing from the photo how the thickly applied makeup hid the cuts on my cheek and the bruise on my chin.

Joe returned the frame, adjusting the stand so the picture didn’t topple. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and faced me. “My wife died five years ago.”

“I remember.” Joe had taken some time off. The service at the café had faltered, and he was unable to recapture the momentum he’d once had. He’d lost many customers. They found other restaurants and drive-through coffee shops preferable. They’d chosen convenience over nostalgia.

“It took a long time for me to feel any semblance of normal again.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I still miss her.”

My heart reached out to him. I knew exactly how he felt. Hollow and incomplete. Loss left an empty cavity in the chest.

I cleared my throat, blinking back tears. “Do you want some coffee?”

He exhaled. “Yes, please.”

I indicated the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll fix a new pot.”

I swiftly retreated into the kitchen and, gripping the counter edge, took several deep breaths until the burning behind my eyes and in my throat that arose from the ache of loneliness diminished. I ground a mixture of beans, samples I’d received from suppliers I was considering. I set up the coffeemaker’s brew cycle.

When I returned to the front room, Joe was flipping through one of James’s old
Runner’s World
magazines. He tossed the magazine on the table when he saw me. “My doc told me I need to exercise.”

I handed him a mug. Steam wafted upward, a roasted hazelnut scent. “Walking is good.”

“I walked here from downtown.” He sipped the coffee. His eyes widened. “This is good.” He drank again. “This is really, really good.”

“Thank you. It’s a custom blend,” I said shyly.

He raised his cup in my direction. “Remember to put this on your menu. I’ll order one every time I come.”

I smiled. After years eating at Joe’s Coffee House, he might now be my customer. “I’ll remember.”

He finished the coffee and set down the mug, rubbing his palms over his thighs as he settled farther into the couch. “I closed the coffeehouse because I couldn’t compete. Those damn chains serving their shitty—” He cleared his throat behind a fist. “Er, sorry, they took my customers away. What makes you certain the same thing won’t happen to you?”

“I’m not certain,” I said honestly. “But I don’t plan to compete with the chains.”

He shook his head. “You’ll go out of business within a few months.”

“Hopefully not. It’s my intention to offer something different, more like a coffee experience.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “A coffee experience?”

“For people who appreciate specialty coffees. Mine will be handcrafted and slow brewed, like the blend I made for you.” I pointed at his empty cup.

He chuckled. “It’s very good.”

“Thanks.” I grinned. “I still need to create a full menu, confirm suppliers, and more important,” I ducked my head, looked at the hands clasped in my lap, “find a location.”

“I know your parents, Aimee. I’ve known them for a long time. They’re good people, and very good business people. I was surprised when they sold. I thought you’d inherit the restaurant or buy them out.”

Me, too, but I wasn’t about to confide my parents’ financial issues. “Starting my own restaurant is better for me. It’s something I need to do.” It was what James had wanted me to do. But also, I had to prove to myself I could do this on my own.

“I know you applied to lease my building.”

“Yes, but—”

He held up his hand. “My agent couldn’t recommend you because of your credit issues. Yes, I’m aware of that, too. I also understand what you’ve been through this year. I understand why things fall apart, how bills aren’t paid, and life stops. I’ve suffered, too. Listen,” he set down his mug and leaned forward. “Now is when you pick up the pieces.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing, sir.”

“I couldn’t, and I lost more than my wife.” He cleared his throat. “I’m accepting your application. My place is yours.”

My mouth fell open. “What about my credit?”

“Bah, forget the credit.” He slashed his hand in the air. “You messed up. I want someone I can trust. I know you and I know your parents. I wanted a fifteen-year lease, but I’ll give you five. If you go out of business, then you won’t be obligated for the remainder of the lease. If you want to renew our contract, we can renegotiate the terms, but I promise not to charge you more than the original lease, even if the market goes up.”

He rubbed the side of his nose. I could only stare and nod as he continued. “It’s customary to give a new tenant one to three months’ free rent during build-out. I’ll give you as long as you need, rent-free until the day you open, even if you take a year to remodel.”

I blinked as my brain tried to compute what he’d offered. “Why are you doing this for me?”

He grinned. There was a gleam in his eye. “Let’s just say you have people looking out for you.”

My back straightened. “Did my parents put you up to this?”

“This has nothing to do with your parents. This is between you and me. I need a tenant and you need a site. So what do you think? Do we have a deal?”

This was crazy. The deal seemed unreal. I stared openly as Joe grinned back at me. His hand hovered between us, waiting.

I restrained myself from leaping into his arms. Instead I smiled and clasped his hand. “We definitely have a deal.”

Joe stood and I followed him to the door. I felt like the luckiest person alive and I told him so.

“Good, you’re going to need all the luck you can get. Everything at my place is falling apart. It’s going to need a lot of work.”

CHAPTER 11

“Oh my God, this place needs a lot of work.” Nadia dragged her finger across the counter and held up the tip. It was covered in a thick layer of greasy dust. She made a squeamish face. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s charming. In a time-warped,
American Graffiti
way,” Kristen said. She gave me a thumbs-up.

Dad stared at the high ceiling. Exposed wires hung where tiles were missing. Other tiles were cracked or water stained. “It has potential.”

“See? Exactly!” I agreed.

Nadia retreated to the kitchen. “Are you considering a lease?”

“I’ve already signed one.”

She stopped midstride. “What? When?”

“Last week.” Joe and I had spent several days going back and forth over the terms, finally settling on an agreement Friday. I’d picked up the keys from him the following Tuesday. It was now Saturday, the first day I could get Nadia, Kristen, and Dad to meet me. Mom was at The Goat overseeing the pickup of furniture she and Dad were donating to Saint Anthony’s. Dad would join her later. I glanced at my watch. Hopefully, Nadia and Kristen wouldn’t linger long after Dad left.

“This place
is
a dive,” Dad echoed Nadia. “But the square footage is exactly what you need. All this place needs is a little TLC.”

“And a sledgehammer.” Nadia moved back into the dining area. “Did you inspect the property before you signed the papers?”

“I looked around.”

“You looked around?” Nadia swore. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled for you. Your restaurant will be great, but they are a high risk for failure.” She gave my dad an apologetic look and he waved off the comment before she looked back at me. “You can’t make rash decisions.” She pointed at the water stains on the wood paneling. “Did you ask how the leak happened?”

“No.” I huffed impatiently. “Joe said the place would need a lot of work.”

“Ya think? This place needs to be gutted, and who knows what’s lurking behind those walls.” Her gaze jumped from one spot to another, assessing details my amateur eyes didn’t see. “You should have called. I would have done a walk-through so you’d have an idea of what you were getting yourself into. Remodels add up quickly and before you know, you’re over budget. Or worse, out of cash. Did you look at other sites to compare?”

“Why? This place is rent-free.”

Nadia blinked.
“What?”

Dad whistled.

“Damn, girl,” muttered Kristen, who’d been playing with the cash register. It dinged.

“For how long?” Nadia asked, suspicious.

“As long as the remodel takes. No payments until opening day.”

Her mouth fell open.

“It’s a pretty sweet deal. I like this place.” It was full of memories. Dad’s mouth curved upward. He knew this place was special to me. Outside the windows I saw the same view James and I had seen every time we dined—mothers pushing strollers, cars passing, the occasional bicyclist dodging traffic. It was pouring now, the season’s first storm. I looked at my watch again.

Nadia launched her tablet and sat in the nearest chair. She tapped notes on a virtual keyboard. “Do you know what you want to do with this site?”

Kristen looked at me expectantly and sat in a chair beside Nadia. Dad shuffled closer.

I grinned. “I have tons of ideas, like baking amazing desserts to go with my custom coffees.”

“What are you going to call your café?” Kristen asked.

“Aimee’s,” I announced, and pulled the logo sketch from my portfolio. I placed it on the table. All three leaned in to look.

“Slow-Brewed Coffees & Gourmet Eatery. I love it.” Kristen patted my shoulder.

Nadia typed notes. “Off the top of my head, build-out won’t be cheap. After construction, permits, insurance, furniture, employee wages, plus your own cost of living—”

“Relax. Don’t worry,” I interjected, and started rubbing Nadia’s shoulders. “I’ll spend wisely.”

“Good. You can start with me. As promised, I won’t charge you, and I’ll get the best prices I can manage through my connections for all the other stuff.”

“You have to let me pay you something.”

She laughed. “I didn’t say I was free, baby.” A large grin curved across her face.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I muttered.

She twisted in her seat and held out her hand. “I want a lifetime of free coffee, and your lemon scones, too.”

I laughed outright, shaking her hand. “Deal. So, how long will the transformation take?”

She pursed her lips and hummed. “Consider yourself lucky if you can open in eight months.”

I whistled. “That’s a long time.” I was anxious to break ground. Unconsciously, I looked at my watch again.

Kristen nudged me and nodded at my watch. “Going somewhere?”

I shook my head. “I’m expecting someone.”

“Who?”

My face heated. “Ian.”

He’d arrived home yesterday and had called this morning. I suggested we meet here, neutral territory. After two weeks of thinking long and hard, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted from Ian. It was obvious he wanted more than friendship from me.

Kristen beamed, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Ian’s on his way over,” she told my dad and Nadia. Dad’s eyes narrowed on me.

Nadia stood, her smile covering half her face. “I guess that’s our cue to leave.”

I was measuring counter space when Ian arrived shortly after the others had left. He shook his jacket and hair. Water rained onto the floor. “Man, it’s crazy out there.” He blew out a breath and grinned. “Hi, Aims.”

My pulse fluttered at the sight of him. He looked good. Really good. In a rugged, wet dog sort of way. I motioned for his jacket. “You’re drenched. Let me take that.”

“Thanks.” He slipped it off. “I ran here from home.”

“Where do you live?” I asked, hanging the jacket on the back of a chair.

“Seven blocks that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction I walk home from the café. “We’re neighbors.”

I laughed. “If you consider a half mile neighbors. How was your trip?”

“Great! I got some amazing pictures.” He set a wet paper bag on the table beside me, avoiding the papers I’d spread to show Nadia my ideas. Ian didn’t want to get them wet. He gently nudged my shoulder. “I was right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“I did miss you.” My eyes widened and he chuckled, looking around. “So, you leased Joe’s old place.”

“Er, yeah . . . I did,” I sputtered, still stuck on the
I did miss you
revelation.

“I can’t wait to see what you do with it.” He rapped his knuckles on the Formica counter. “Have you researched espresso machines yet?”

I’d barely had time to finish my business plans since Ian had left the country. Crossing my arms, I leaned a hip against the counter edge. “Not yet. Why?”

He mimicked my stance and rested his hand above his heart. “I’d be honored to recommend a brand or two.”

My mouth quirked. “What makes you an expert?” I asked, genuinely interested despite the good-natured humor in his tone. Aside from photography and that he often traveled, I didn’t know anything about him.

“I spent several months in Provence after I graduated college. Dated a barista and she taught me . . .” His voice trailed and face flushed. I arched a brow. The corner of his mouth twitched. “She taught me
a lot.
”

My eyes narrowed. “I bet she did.”

Ian straightened. “Ah, now, don’t be jealous,” he chided and my face flamed brighter than his. “Come here, I brought you something.”

Paper crinkled as he pulled a large bottle from the bag he’d brought. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Cider.”

“You brought juice.”

He laughed. “Big-kid juice. Hard cider. I lived off this stuff on my trip.” He patted his chest and jean pockets as though looking for something. He spied his jacket and dug into the side pockets. He retrieved two shot glasses.

“I’ve never had shots of cider before.”

He rolled his eyes. “You sip the stuff. I grabbed these because they fit in my pockets.” He popped the lid off the bottle with an opener he pulled from another pocket and poured the cider. “Normally, we drink this at room temperature. It’s so damn cold outside it might be a little cool. Still good, though.” He handed me a glass.

I sniffed the cider. Images of apple pie and tarts filled my head.

“Kia ora,”
Ian said, raising his glass between us.

“Kia what?”

“It’s a Maori greeting. The Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand. Loosely translated, it means ‘good health.’ I like to think it means ‘cheers.’”

“Cheers,” I repeated and sipped the cider. It had a dry fruitiness, delicious.

Ian sat in the chair from where his jacket hung and I lowered into the one across from him. He stretched his legs underneath the table and leaned back, tapping his shoes against my ankle. The slight contact ricocheted up my leg and straight to my core. He watched me intently. I shifted in my chair.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare?”

His eyes dulled momentarily before they flashed with interest. “If I didn’t stare, I wouldn’t be able to figure out why I find you more intriguing than before.”

The tanned skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes. He meant to be lighthearted, but his quandary weighed heavily. I moistened my lips and rested my forearms on the table, cupping the little glass in my fingers. “Have you ever lost someone dear to you?” I asked seriously.

His expression darkened. “Yes, I have.”

Despite my reluctance to tell anyone about my interactions with Lacy, I’d debated how much to tell Ian about James. I’d buried my fiancé and still mourned him. I missed him something fierce, and that longing only fueled the seeds of doubt Lacy had planted. Until those went away, it wouldn’t be fair to let Ian assume I wanted anything more than his friendship.

“When we first met,” I began, thinking carefully about what I was about to say. I didn’t want Ian’s pity, but I needed him to understand my frame of mind. “You asked if I was engaged. I was, for almost a year. My fiancé died last May. Actually, he went missing when he fell overboard while fishing in Mexico. His body was eventually recovered and I buried him on our wedding day. That was in July.” I drank the rest of my cider in one gulp and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Guess I am doing cider shots,” I remarked wryly.

Ian gaped, his body frozen. After a moment, he shook his head as though shaking off the shock. “Shit, Aimee. I’m sorry.” He grasped both my hands. His thumb brushed back and forth over my knuckles.

“I never saw his body. I never had a chance to say good-bye.”

Ian murmured something incoherent. He tightened his grip. Had the table not been between us, I knew he would have pulled me against his chest and held me close within the protective band of his arms.

I studied our linked fingers. His hands were warm, strong; the movement of his thumb soothing. A deep ache for companionship burned within my chest, the heat spreading outward through my limbs. I lifted my gaze to his and saw something encouraging behind his eyes. My crazy, upended world shifted into place with a resounding click.

“I can tell you’re going to be a good friend, Ian.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat. “A friend, am I?”

Disappointment clouded his expression. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” I extracted my hands and dropped them onto my lap. “I’ve never been with anyone else. It’s always been James and me.”

“James? Oh,” his mouth circled. “Your fiancé.” He propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his cheek, scratching at the stubble shadowing his jaw. “Are you nervous about being with someone else?” he asked quietly.

“No, not nervous.”

Ian arched a brow.

“OK, maybe a little. I’m not ready for a serious relationship. Not yet.” I had the café to think about. And James. His body had been underground less than a year—
if
there was a body underground, and that was the crux of it. The not knowing made it difficult to let go of what we once had together.

“My parents think I was too dependent on James,” I admitted, more as an afterthought.

Ian snorted. He waved his arm to encompass the diner. “What you want to do to this place isn’t the sign of a dependent woman. More like someone determined to make something of her life.”

A tentative smile tugged at my lips.

He refilled my shot glass and raised his. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll toast to us becoming great friends if you promise to tell me when you want something more with me.”

My eyes rounded, then I tossed back my head, laughing at his deliberate word choice. When, not if.

“You’re something else,” I teased.

He shook his head. “Nah, just optimistic.”

“All right.” I lifted my glass. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”