Page 96 of Sweet Somethings

"And you saved that skinny kid with the glasses from a fight. I was coming back from work and saw a bunch of kids behind the convenience store. And there you were, pulling that kid away from some bullies. I would have stopped, but you had it under control." Vincent paused. "You were always better than anyone thought—better than you thought. When you first joined the Marines, I didn't like it, but it made sense. You felt good when you could help someone else. Your father was a little like that—in a different way."

"What do you mean?" he asked, surprised that Vincent had actually brought up his father.

"Brett liked to encourage people to follow their dreams, too. They were usually musicians, artists, or poets. I wanted him to have a practical job, a solid income, a normal life. But he wanted to travel and work when he wanted. It was all about freedom for him. Of course, he used my money to get himself that freedom. He never recognized that."

"That's why you didn't talk to each other? Because he sold the stuff you gave him?"

"It wasn't the money; it was the betrayal. And then it was too late. Words were said that couldn't be unspoken. I've regretted the choices I made back then, but there's nothing I can do about them now." He exhaled. "I also regret that I didn't keep in touch with your mother after Brett's funeral. She disappeared, but I could have tried harder to find her and you. I should have been there for you."

"I used to think that, too," he admitted. "But in the end, you were there when it counted. You probably saved my life when you picked me up and brought me here."

"I just wish I'd done it sooner. Have you spoken to her—your mother?"

"She's sent me a few emails. She's sober—three years running."

"You going to see her?"

"Not any time soon. I think we're better off apart for now."

"I agree."

He took a breath, not sure he should risk ruining what was the most personal conversation he'd ever had with his grandfather, but he had promised Juliette he would try to speak to him about Cecelia. The timing seemed right with Vincent in a reflective mood. "Speaking of regrets and not having the chance to make things right…maybe you should talk to Cecelia Grayson about the letters she wrote."

His grandfather's eyes darkened. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm fairly certain they're about you. I saw the way you looked at her last night. It was you, wasn't it? That's why you wanted to buy this house. It had something to do with her having been one of the residents."

His grandfather didn't answer right away, and there was both pain and anger in his eyes now.

"Look," Roman continued. "You don't have to talk to me about it, but as you just said, you don't always get a second chance in life. If you do, you should take it."

Vincent stared back at him. "It was a lifetime ago," he muttered.

So his grandfather was admitting it. He was somewhat stunned. "What happened?"

"Timing. Her father." Vincent shook his head. "A lack of courage."

"But you did love her."

"It wasn't enough."

"Could you try again?" Juliette had really rubbed off on him. He didn’t usually get involved in other people's love lives.

"We're old now. There's no time left."

"You're not dead yet," he said bluntly, because that's the kind of plain talk his grandfather understood. "If there was ever a time to take a chance, it's now."

"I can't imagine her reaction if I even said hello to her after all these years."

"You don't say hello?"

"Sometimes our eyes meet, but then one of us looks away."

"So next time, don't look away."

"Next time?" Vincent asked warily.

"We should go to the Sweetheart's Dance tonight. Everyone will be there—probably Cecelia. And it's for a good cause. The ticket sales are going to support the homeless shelters in town."

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