When We Fall (15 page)

“What's wrong with Sabrina and Missy?” Charlotte didn't really need the answer.

“Let's see. Where should I begin?”

“Forget I asked.”

“Good idea.”

“I'm going to take a short nap,” Charlotte said, eager to squelch the conversation. She closed her eyes again, this time drifting off into a restless sleep.

The next thing she heard was the pilot's voice booming over the intercom. “Folks, I'd like to welcome you to the Sunshine State. It's seventy-four degrees and partly cloudy. Thanks for flying with us today, and don't forget to take your belongings. Cheers!”

Here we go,
she thought, glancing over at a peacefully sleeping Elizabeth. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, Charlotte felt a twinge of genuine affection.

“H
i. I'm here to pick up an order. The name is Parker.” Allison smiled politely at the young man behind the counter, craning her neck to see whether Dempsey was working in the open kitchen toward the back of the shop.

She hadn't seen or spoken to him in the two weeks since her confrontation with Buck. But when she'd arrived home that evening, on the heels of a long afternoon of running unwelcome errands—her mind still whirring and her heart still hammering—there'd been a spectacular bouquet of white dendrobium orchids spraying from the top of a hand-painted clay vase sitting on her doorstep. The note had read:

A,

I'm so sorry about today. Please come back soon.

—D

She'd beamed and then scolded herself for having worried all day about what Dempsey must think of her. After
she and Elizabeth had slipped out the service exit into the rear parking lot of DJ Gourmet, Elizabeth had stopped Allison, who was practically hyperventilating by that point, and assured her that Dempsey wouldn't believe a word of what Buck had said. She'd insisted that Dempsey was one of the good ones. She could tell. And anyway, who in their right mind would listen to a bonehead like Buck? Still, Allison hadn't been entirely convinced. Plus, what about the twenty or so other people who'd been members of the captive audience? They could have been mothers at Logan's school or friends of her own mother and father. Certainly, Allison was no stranger to being a spectacle—the tragic widow—but she wasn't accustomed to being the target of such blatant profanation.

Elizabeth had called her that night to check in, and her empathetic posture had surprised Allison yet again, based on what she'd heard about Elizabeth from Charlotte and Charlie, who relied on adjectives such as
selfish
,
bratty
,
lazy
, and
inept
when describing her. It was a strange thing about this town, or at least this group of people she'd fallen in with. No one was what they seemed or what they were supposed to be, not as far as Allison could tell. Again she thought about her best friend, Melanie, and their college days—a time that was so much simpler in the way of making friends and forging meaningful relationships. She'd never questioned ulterior motives or wondered if she was being manipulated like a pawn on a suburban chessboard.

“Hey, you.” Dempsey came up behind her, squeezing her shoulder gently and folding her into a hug when she turned to face him. “I was wondering when I'd see you again.”

“Sorry. I guess I was a little gun-shy about coming back here so soon. Seeing Buck again isn't exactly at the top of my wish list.”

“Don't worry about that.” Dempsey led her to a private table tucked into the hindmost corner of the café area. “I took care of Buck. He won't be bothering you anymore.”

“My hero.” She pressed her hands to her heart and giggled softly. “Seriously, though, thank you so much for the stunning flowers. You really shouldn't have.”

“Why not?” He leaned toward her, so close she could smell his spicy aftershave.

“I don't know. I mean, I was the one responsible for causing a scene in your place of business.”

“I'd hardly say you were to blame. That guy is a total schmuck. Always has been, always will be. Anyway, I don't need a reason to send you flowers. I saw them and I thought of you.”

“Well, thank you again. Orchids are my favorite.” Allison could feel herself blushing.

“Mine too.”

“About Buck.”

“I'd rather not talk about him anymore. He's a waste of breathing air.”

“I couldn't agree more, but I'd really like to clear something up.”

“Okay.” Dempsey nodded and a shock of wavy brown hair dusted the lid of one brilliant blue eye.

“I didn't do any of the things he said. I never even slept with him. In fact, we didn't go any further than second base.” Allison's expression was serious.

“Not second base!”
Dempsey's face broke into a smile and he pulled Allison's hand toward him, covering it with his own. “If you think for a minute that I believed anything that asshole said, you couldn't be more wrong. In case you haven't noticed, Ali, I like you. I want to get to know you better. But I know you well enough already to realize you're not the kind of person, nor were you ever, who would go past
second base
with Buck Baird. I mean, then he'd really deserve to be called Lucky Bucky.”

“Very funny.” She smirked, feeling a little flutter in her heart. He liked her. “Moving on.”

“Yes, moving on for sure.” He sat back in his chair. “So your mom told me you're an artist?”

“I am.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Oil, acrylic, watercolor, pastel. I've even been known to do some sculpting when I'm feeling particularly creative. I try not to limit myself.”

“Amazing.” His gaze was fixed on her, so intently that even the vociferous din and distracting bustle of the surrounding patrons presented futile competition.

“Speaking of sculpting, I was going to ask you where you got that beautiful vase for the orchids.”

“I thought you'd like that.” He smiled, motioning subtly to someone over her shoulder, who approached the table with two cappuccinos and a plate of fresh-from-the-oven shortbread cookies. “A good friend of mine, Priscilla Alexander, owns a gallery in town. On Egg Hill Road. She hosts unbelievable exhibitions, some traditional, others on the
cutting-edge side. All different mediums and materials. I'd love to introduce the two of you.”

“I've driven past there, but I've never had a spare minute to stop in. I'd love to meet Priscilla.”

“Cool. I'll set it up. Do you display your work?”

“Not really. I did when I was first starting out, but then I had so much interest from private collectors and, you know, after my husband passed away, it was easier to remain behind the scenes.”

“Sure.” He nodded and Allison chastised herself for mentioning Jack. No better way to kill the mood. “So what's with the five brimming bags I've got with your name on them? Are you having a party you didn't invite me to?” He tilted his head and she had to stop herself from reaching out and brushing his cheek with her fingers. Anyone else would have stumbled at the mention of her dead husband. Or at the very least said something excruciatingly awkward. But it hadn't even fazed Dempsey.

“I almost forgot about those! I'm making dinner for a friend.”

“She's in for a treat.”

“Actually, it's a he.”

“Ah.” His smile drooped into a frown.

“Oh no. It's nothing like that. He's an old friend from childhood. And he's married. His wife is also a friend. She had to go visit her parents in Florida and he's helped me so much with getting things in order around my house that I promised I'd cook dinner for him. And his daughter, Gia, who's in Logan's class.”

“Then I can still ask you to have a drink with me next Saturday? Nothing fancy. I know a great wine bar on the outskirts of town.”

“Um . . .” Allison froze, searching her brain for a reasonable out. But there wasn't one. She couldn't go on a date. She wanted to. Maybe. Or not. No, no. Definitely not. “The thing is, I'm not sure—it's just that . . .”

“You don't like wine?”

“No, that's not it.”

“You don't like irresistible men?”

“No . . . that's not it.”

“I understand. Say no more.”

“I'm sorry.” Allison looked down. What was wrong with her? Why was she incapable of accepting a perfectly desirable invitation from a perfectly gorgeous guy?

“Don't apologize.” He stood up, resting his hand on her arm. “You don't ever have to apologize to me.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll go get your stuff.” He walked toward the kitchen and Allison was left to marinate in humiliation. She could still change her mind. But it wouldn't be fair. To herself or to him.

“Hi, Allison.” Sabrina appeared, standing over her, almost as if her timing had been choreographed.

“Hi, Sabrina.” Allison forced a half smile.

“So what brings you to this fine establishment? The blueberry muffins are to die for!”

“Just picking up some things for dinner.” Dempsey returned with his arms full. “Thank you.” Their eyes met.

“I'll go grab the rest.” He set the bags down at her feet.

“Must be some dinner.” Sabrina winked at Dempsey while trying to sneak a peek at Allison's groceries. “Who's the lucky guest?”

“Charlie.”

“Is that so?” Sabrina's lips curled into a malevolent grin. “I guess while the cat's away . . .”

“What?”

“Well, you know what they say—the mice will play!” She smirked. “Obviously, I'm joking.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. . . .” Allison wasn't paying any attention to Sabrina. All she could think about was how she'd wrecked everything with Dempsey. Not that there was anything to wreck. Nor would there be now. Thanks to her.

“Oh, nothing.” Sabrina sniffed. “Don't mind me. Enjoy your dinner. Tell Charlie I say hello.”

“Right, thanks.” Allison nodded absently.

And just like that, Sabrina turned on her stiletto heels and stalked off toward the bakery section, where she could be heard complaining that there were no more blueberry muffins and interrogating the counter attendant about when a fresh batch would be ready. Allison couldn't help but wonder what had made Sabrina the way she was. In part, she felt sorry for her. As her mother had always told her, people who take pleasure in making others miserable are usually miserable themselves. But what did Sabrina have to be miserable about? She had an attentive husband—or so she said—a smart and beautiful daughter, and enough financial security to never have to work a day in her life. Allison shook her head as Sabrina's fever pitch escalated. Charlotte
was better than that, better than her. She just hadn't fully realized it yet.

•   •   •

“That
was unbelievable.
You
are unbelievable. Those potatoes were out of this world.” Charlie sat back on the couch in Allison's family room, rubbing his stomach. “I may never eat again, but if that was my last meal, I'll be a happy man.” He motioned to the place next to him.

“I'm so glad you enjoyed it, but there'll be no sitting for me. Too much of a mess in the kitchen.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“No, I mean, don't worry about it, because it's done.”

“Yeah, right.” Allison looked at him quizzically.

“I'm serious. While you were up tucking the kids in, I cleaned everything up. Go check if you don't believe me.”

“That's amazing. Thank you.”

“Are you kidding? It was the least I could do.” He rolled his damp sleeves down, buttoning them at the wrist. “See, proof of my labor. Plus, anyone who can get Gia to sleep within twenty minutes deserves a gold medal.”

“Well, I can't promise they're asleep.” Allison sat down next to him, folding her legs underneath her. “Logan's in his bed and she's in the trundle. There are flashlights and books involved.”

“They're quiet. That's a feat in and of itself. You have no idea what bedtime is like at our house.”

“She's welcome to stay and I'll drop her off in the morning.”

“That's very nice of you, but you also have no idea what mornings with Gia are like.”

“I guess I hit the jackpot with my baby.”

“You could say that.” Charlie motioned to the dendrobium orchids from Dempsey. “Those are nice. Secret admirer?”

“Not so secret.”

“Oh.” Charlie's expression changed. “I was kidding, actually. Are you . . . seeing someone?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Good,” he answered quickly. “I mean, you know, I feel I should vet anyone who wants to date you.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. If Jack can't do it himself, I figure I'm the next best thing in the way of looking out for you.”

“Well, you're too sweet. But I'm a big girl. Anyway, I'm not ready.” Allison coiled a section of hair around her index finger.

“If you're not ready, then you shouldn't push yourself.” He nodded confidently, as he always did. Allison wondered what it would be like to always feel so sure of yourself.

“
Thank you.
I think you're the first person who's said that to me. I swear, everyone's a matchmaker these days, including my own mother. It's remarkable how people always think they know what's best for you. Better than you know for yourself.”

“I know the feeling.” Charlie's brow knit.

“Let me guess. Charlotte?”

“Ding-ding-ding!” He smiled halfheartedly, and then his face turned thoughtful again. “Listen, speaking of Charlotte, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, but I didn't want to discuss it in front of the kids at dinner.”

“Okay . . .” Allison wasn't sure what to expect. She'd made a promise to herself and to her mother not to get swept up in their marital problems, especially after the previous conversation she'd had with Charlie. And, anyway, she wasn't exactly the authority on maintaining long-term relationships.

“When I was here last time, I think I came off too brusquely.”

“You were certainly passionate.”

“Right.” He fidgeted with his watch, a hulking gold Rolex with a face practically the size of a wall clock and hands almost as large as her fingers. It was a miracle his arm wasn't weighed down to the floor like a brick. What was it with men and watches? They could never be too big and a guy could never have too many, kind of like diamonds for women. “So I kind of want to explain myself, if that's okay with you.” He looked up at her for permission to continue.