Page 18 of Between the Shady Groves
Cannon ignored him as the man brushed past and walked out the door. The bell jingled as he left, and then it was quiet in the bakery.
Lauren turned on him, anger radiating from every pore, her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips. “How dare you be so rude to my friend?” she said, and he had to blink in surprise.
She was angry? He couldn’t believe it. He was the one who had every right to be angry, and she was the one attacking him?
But then he remembered. She was the one who had left. He was coming here to get her back. If he stood and fought with her, he wasn’t going to convince her of anything.
“Friend?” he said instead, his brows lifted. They didn’t look like they were just friends. They looked like they were a lot more.
“Yes. My friend. He’s a business owner beside me. I’m in a town by myself with no family here. It’s good for me to have friends. People who will help me if I need it. Who will make the time to stop what they’re doing and come give me a hand. Just like I would do for them. It’s a reciprocal relationship. Friends.”
She said it like she was making some point at him, like he wasn’t as good as Matteo. Obviously, some dude who had some dinky little shop in the middle of nowhere couldn’t hold a candle to the multimillion-dollar business that Cannon had built over the last ten years. Why was Lauren attacking him with her hands on her hips, spitting out garbage like this dude was some kind of knight in shining armor?
“You haven’t laughed with me like that in a long time,” he finally said. If he wanted this to get straightened out,he couldn’t fight over stupid stuff. He had to pick the things that were important. The problem was, he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.
“You haven’t made the time to stop what you were doing in the middle of the day and come over just so that you could stand across the counter and talk to me.” She said the words without smiling and then lifted her chin, like she was getting ready to take a hit from him.
Why would she do that? He wasn’t a hitter. She’d never had to worry about that. Why was she acting like he was? Maybe she was expecting a verbal hit. Or…maybe she was being defensive, and it was just a natural movement.
He tried to think about her words. He had wanted her to tell him what the problem was, and…maybe she was, and he was just missing it.
What was her accusation?
That he hadn’t made time to stop to talk to her in the middle of the day.
Was that right?
“If you would have told me that you wanted me to stop working in the middle of the day, I could have stopped what I was doing, driven home, just so we could talk, if that’s what you wanted.”
She huffed out her breath and shook her head, closing her eyes.
Then she opened them and looked right at him. “I didn’t have to tell Matteo what I wanted. He just did it.”
She turned and walked back around the counter. There was a loaf of bread there that was cut. She pulled plastic wrap out of the drawer and then said, “Would you like a piece of cheese bread?”
He was about ready to say no, he didn’t want to eat anything, he wanted to get this settled, when he thought that…maybe eating with her was what she wanted.
How did Matteo know to do the right thing? And he, who was married to her, couldn’t seem to get it together? Didn’t she appreciate the time and effort he was putting into the business he’d built for them?
“Yes, please,” he said, wanting to say so many other things. A railing accusation for one. Telling her all the things that she was doing wrong. But she wasn’t the one who’d chased him across the country. It was him who’d chased her. If he’d chased her, only to yell at her and tell her how terrible she was, he wasn’t really doing himself any favors, was he?
He needed to keep himself calm and see if she would talk to him.
“Sorry I didn’t stop work in the middle of the day and come talk to you…” Then he realized it was the middle of the day and he was here. “Except… I’m here now. Is it too late?”
He did not want to ask the question. He did not mean for it to come out of his mouth. He did not want her to say yes, it’s too late.
But she didn’t. She didn’t answer him at all. Instead, she cut him a slice of bread, slathered a big pat of butter on it, which started to melt immediately, and then pushed it across the counter to where he stood, right where Matteo had stood just a few minutes before.
“Here you go,” she said, but there was no smile or friendliness in her words. It was almost like she had pulled in on herself, trying to defend herself from him.
“Thanks.” He took the bread, picking it up. But before he took a bite, he said, “Would you… Would you please tell me what I did wrong?”
He had as much humility in his voice as he possibly could. And suddenly, after the words were out of his mouth, he didn’t want to have anything in his hand to eat. He just wanted to focus on his wife and listen to her.
If he was going to fix this, he needed to know exactly what he needed to do. A roadmap. Someone to say, stop work in the middle of the day, go talk to your wife, stand across the counter, so that she doesn’t have to do it with some other man, instead.
“You know exactly what you did wrong,” she said dismissively, not even looking at him as she ripped off the plastic wrap and set the bread on top of it.
