Sweet Nothings (11 page)

Dark eyes silently stared back at her and Joanie wondered if her grandmother would voice the thought she knew was running through both their heads.
If I died, then you could quit worrying about me. Quit pretending to care.

That’s what it felt like most of the time. Pretending to care. Then a memory from when she was eight rushed through Joanie and she almost gasped. She and GiGi had been standing at the stove. GiGi had been teaching her to make cupcakes from a recipe she’d come up with, and Joanie had spilled a huge glob of batter on the floor. GiGi’s dachshund had quickly run into the mix to lap it up, but hadn’t stopped soon enough and had slipped, sliding across the floor, coming up with pink cake batter smeared all across one side of his head.

She and GiGi had burst out laughing together, and Pepaw had promptly declared the cupcakes would be called Lucky’s Charm, named after the dog and his ever-present “charm.” They had always named the cupcakes GiGi had come up with. She’d forgotten how often they used to bake together. Up until Pepaw left.

Just as she’d mostly forgotten how she and GiGi had once liked each other.

“I hired a guy named Nick for the job. I’ll take pictures as the work progresses and bring them here to show you. He has brilliant ideas, GiGi. It’s going to be incredible when he’s finished.” She needed to get her mind back from the past before she slipped into too many memories from before her grandfather had left. She would have sworn everyone had been happy then. Possibly even her mother. At least a little.

Snippets of her grandparents holding hands and laughing together flashed through her mind, confusing her like it always had. She’d wished so many times that nothing had changed, and that he hadn’t left.

That he’d loved
her
enough to stay.

Her grandmother studied her quietly, but said nothing. Joanie assumed it was anger over the fact the house would be sold instead of Joanie not letting her go home, but something about the sadness in her eyes made Joanie wonder if it was more.

“I found your old recipes a few months back.” She changed the subject. “The cupcake ones. That’s what I’m using at the store. Everyone loves them.”

“I wondered if any of them were mine.”

A small smile flittered across Joanie’s face. “All of them are yours actually. You may have taught me to mix the recipes and bake them, but your talent for coming up with the creations to begin with never did rub off on me.”

“That’s too bad.” Her voice came out so quietly that Joanie caught herself leaning forward to catch it. “I had hoped it would. That talent came from my mother.”

Nope. Joanie shook her head, wishing she had some gene from her grandmother that didn’t end in her making a fool of herself over a man.

She glanced at the clock, thinking to get through the hour and then get out of there. Only, for the first time in years, Joanie looked her grandmother up and down and realized she didn’t want to leave so soon. She wanted to tell GiGi all about the store and the van, and just how much she was enjoying this new venture. It was different than the others. This one felt more right, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

It wasn’t as if Sugar Springs hadn’t needed all the other services she’d begun. They’d been good ones, good for the community.

But they didn’t necessarily
need
a cupcake store. This one just felt good.

And for some reason, she wanted to share it with her grandmother.

She forced herself to relax back into her seat once again, and began talking about the recipes she’d used so far, and which ones were coming up in the near future. GiGi focused her full attention on Joanie, seeming to be completely engaged in the story.

“I do a special cupcake of the week, and this week’s is the one you once called Orange Bite after we discovered that putting a peppermint cream in it gives it a nice pop. I’m calling it Orange Paparazzi.”

GiGi smiled, and her face brightened. “I always loved that one. It tastes like orange sherbet.”

“Until you get to the middle.” Joanie laughed, tension easing from her shoulders. GiGi was going to be all right. She was just having a rough day. Joanie pointed to the small box she’d set on the bedside table. “I brought you a couple so you can see if mine are as good as yours.”

They continued talking about cupcakes and the people who’d come into the store until Joanie looked up at the clock and realized she’d been in her grandmother’s room for almost two hours. She really needed to get back.

She reached for her purse, where she saw the small owl faces of the salt and pepper shakers she’d found at the house. Instead of pulling them out and giving them to GiGi, though, she glanced around at the different owl figurines lining the window shelf and the top of her grandmother’s dresser, and decided to take this pair home with her.

Having something at her house that she knew GiGi held dear suddenly seemed important.

GiGi reached out a hand and Joanie slid hers around it as if grasping for a lifeline. Seeing GiGi in this state had loosened something inside her and she realized she was going to miss the woman when the day came that she passed. Joanie should have done more to keep them closer over the years.

“This man you’ve got taking care of the house. He’s a good one?”

Joanie nodded, refusing to give credence to the fleeting sadness that drifted through her every time she thought of selling GiGi’s home. “He came with great recommendations, and I’ve seen some of his work. He’s terrific.”

“I mean, he’s a good guy? A nice man?”

Joanie blinked, then shrugged. “He seems to be one of the good ones.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Joanie needed to find out where GiGi was getting her information.

“Don’t push him away too easily, girlie. You’re growing up. He might be just what you need.”

“I don’t need anyone, GiGi. He’s just fixing the house. He’s going to make it as good as new. That’s all.”

Paper-thin eyelids dipped low and her grandmother sucked in a ragged breath, then let out a wheezing cough. “Help him, Joanie. Help him see the beauty it can be. Put yourself in it. I wanted you to have the house after me.”

A lump tightened Joanie’s throat at the same time the words rooted her to her seat. GiGi had wanted her to have the house? She’d never known that. “I can’t live there, GiGi. I have to sell it for the money. I need to make sure you’re taken care of.”

I could take care of her myself
. The words popped in and out of her mind. She couldn’t take care of her. She didn’t have the time. She had to work. Plus, her rental had stairs. GiGi wouldn’t even be able to make it to the bedroom every night.

GiGi said nothing for a bit, then brought her hand up to pat Joanie’s cheek. The touch felt fragile, like a bird’s wing. “Take me home, girlie. I don’t want to die here.”

Panic flared. “You aren’t dying anytime soon, GiGi. You’re too stubborn for that.”

She knew a better person would consider the plea, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. GiGi was well taken care of there. Better than Joanie would ever be able to do for her. The woman was going to live for years to come, anyway.

Gray eyes dulled in front of her and her grandmother dropped her hand back to the bed. She nodded, a small movement of her pale face and thinning gray hair.

Joanie rose before she did something stupid like cry over the fact she and her grandmother had had such a crappy relationship. She leaned over to give her a kiss on the forehead, and felt a rush of emotion that hadn’t been there in years. She’d enjoyed her time with GiGi this evening. If things had been different, she would have liked to take her home. The woman may live for years, but that didn’t mean GiGi would be around forever. Joanie closed her eyes. This was for the best.

As she stepped back, she couldn’t help but wonder if they could take steps to close the huge crater that had opened up between them over the years. A truce of sorts had seemed to start tonight, though she didn’t quite know what had been the cause of it. Things had just been less dramatic than she could remember them being in years.

Maybe if she came to visit more often, she could build on it. She rolled her lips together as she thought through the idea. Yes, that might work.
She would start coming to visit more often. But not too often. She didn’t want to push too hard.

“I’ll see you soon, GiGi,” she whispered. “I’ll come back sooner next time.”

The woman’s eyes were closed now and her breathing had slowed. She didn’t reply. She’d fallen asleep.

Joanie let out a breath and tiptoed from the room, wishing that their relationship hadn’t taken such a downward turn, and admitting for the first time that it might have been as much her fault as it had been GiGi’s. Joanie was certain she hadn’t been easy to live with after her mother had left.

She glanced back at the door as she closed it softly behind her. She would fix this before it was too late. She may not be able to bring GiGi home, but she would make sure the house made enough money to keep her comfortable.

And Joanie was definitely going to start visiting more often.

Chapter Six

N
ick turned off the sander and shook sawdust from his hair, then stood still as he listened for sounds in the night. He’d thought he’d heard a noise outside the house. The distinctive thud of a door closing came next, confirming that yes, someone had pulled into the driveway.

His heart took off, ignoring his command to remain calm, as he glanced at his watch and hurried to the door. It was after ten and he could think of only one person who would swing by unannounced this late on a Tuesday night.

Well, two people. It could be his brother. But he hoped it wasn’t.

Even though he’d spent a large part of the last two days with Joanie—doing his best
not
to flirt or do anything overt—he wanted her around again. She made him smile.

And he liked making her smile.

He opened the storm door just as she hit the top step of the porch and a calmness washed through him. It felt right having her there. She looked across the porch at him, a lost look on her face, and his barely-hidden-under-the-surface desires vanished.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, her eyes a bit too wide. “Nothing. I just wanted to stop by. To, uh…” She glanced back out at the driveway as if the answer lay hidden behind the yellow doors of her compact car, then sucked in
a deep breath and faced him again. She ducked her head slightly and he could no longer get a full view of her in the light spilling out from behind him. “To tell you that I got the loan taken care of at the bank earlier. So if you still want to cover the rest, we can work that out between us. If not—”

“I do,” he jumped in. “I’ll get papers drawn up so it’ll be official.” He eased the rest of the way out of the door, having the feeling that if he moved too fast he would spook her away. Excitement at the idea of turning his plans into reality warred with him to get out, but he could tell something was eating at her. Knowing that put a damper on anything else he was feeling at the moment. It worried him. “Want to come in and tell me what’s wrong?”

She stared through the open door behind him before heading across the porch. “Can we just hang out here a minute? I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“Sure.” He motioned to the door. The switch for the porch light was on the inside wall. “Want some light?”

“No,” she answered quickly. She paced in the shadows. “I prefer the dark.”

“Okay.” He moved to perch on the concrete railing, but stopped halfway down. “Want a beer? Whiskey?”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips. “No, thanks.”

He finished lowering himself but remained quiet, hoping she’d fill him in on the problem. She didn’t. Finally, her melancholy mood getting to him, he decided to start the conversation with something that should lighten her spirit.

“How about you tell me why your hair is now orange?”

“What?” She stopped in front of him and lifted her hands to her hair. “My hair is not orange. It’s blond.”

He grabbed a curl and slid the end between his fingers. “The tips, blondie. Why are the tips orange?”

“Oh.” She smiled and his pulse informed him it was no longer just about kissing; he wanted her in his bed. “It matches Orange Paparazzi.” At the blank look he gave her, she added, “The cupcake of the week.”

He cleared his throat. “You change your hair color to match your cupcakes?”

“Only the cupcake of the week. And only the tips.” She pulled one of the orange locks in question in front of her face and held it up for him to see. “It’s a temporary wash, so it won’t damage my hair by changing it so often. I have boots to match, too.”

There went all the blood that had been in his brain. “More go-go boots?” he croaked out.

“Yep.” Her smile flashed, showing him a hint of the carefree woman he liked so much, and not the sad one who’d shown up at his door. He almost leaned in and kissed her.

He needed to get away from her before he did something stupid, but couldn’t bring himself to move her aside. Or to walk away himself. Instead, he glanced down at the brown boots she wore. “When do you plan to wear these orange boots? Or did I miss them already?”