Page 2 of Tripped By Love
I dried my hands and reached for Chevelle who was still trying to escape Tristan’s grasp. He came easily, and I finally got to give him the tight squeeze I’d been dying for since the moment he’d walked in. The kind of hug that made him grunt and giggle before snuggling up against my neck with his little hand squeezing the bottom of my T-shirt sleeve like he had since he was a few weeks old. The smell of him surrounded me again, soothing me in a way that made me forget completely about the pain in my left arm.
Tristan, however, was still looking at me with concern in her eyes.
I didn’t have to force the smile I turned to her. It was honest and heartfelt. “I’m good. Truly. Go before Brady comes in search of you. Then, I’ll never get out of here without being hauled to the hospital for an X-ray.”
She grimaced. “Just be grateful Arlene wasn’t here, or the ambulance would already be on its way.”
I laughed, but my heart fell, knowing it was the truth.
Tristan left by the back instead of the door on the second floor that joined my Golden Heart Café to theirLa Musica de EnsueñosStudios, which meant Brady was already in the car, waiting. I was lucky he hadn’t appeared at her side, demanding what was taking so long. The only time he could stand being away from her for more than a few moments was when he was lost in his music, and that was something he did less now than ever before. Falling for Tristan and convincing her that she deserved a second chance at love after she’d lost her Navy SEAL husband had changed my brother’s life.
Sometimes, I ached for that same kind of devotion. For someone to put me at the center of their world not because I needed to be watched over like my parents seemed to think, but because they couldn’t bear to keep their hands off of me. Then, I would remember I barely had time to breathe after taking care of Chevelle and running the restaurant, and I knew I had no time for love or men.
After putting the finished loaves away one-handed with Chevelle still clinging to me, I made one last pass through the restaurant to ensure everything was ready for our morning rush. I paused in the archway between the kitchen and the dining space, and pride filled me, joy traveling through my veins as it did every time I stopped to really look at what I’d built.
There was a fountain in the middle of the room, and while it had been turned off for the night, the water still glistened and sparkled. An enormous Tree of Life soared out of the water’s base, the trunk etched with animals, plants, and carved hearts. The long metal branches and metallic-colored leaves stretched up to the ceiling. Windchimes dangled from the limbs, and when the air conditioning kicked in, like now, they blew softly. It was a barely noticeable sound when the restaurant was full, but when it was empty, the melodies were calming. Sweet. The fairy lights I’d weaved through the boughs were the only lights still on, and they cast a shimmering glow over the darkened room. It was beautiful. A stunning art piece that most new restaurants would never have been able to afford, but it had been a gift to me from my parents. I was pretty sure Brady had given them the idea after I’d drawn it and nixed it from the original plans. I hadn’t wanted him to cough up more money for a simple decorative piece.
The renovations on the café had been costly enough?money I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to repay him. The guilt ate at me even knowing Brady didn’t want me to pay him back. The restaurant wasn’t in the red anymore, and I was grateful Chevelle and I could now live on the little profit there was, but it didn’t leave much in my checking account at the end of each month. Once in a blue moon, I was able to write Brady a teeny-tiny check that he fought taking, insisting the restaurant had been a gift.
I shut off the lights, hit the alarm, and left through the front door with Chevelle half asleep in my arms. I knew I couldn’t let him pass out yet. There was no way he’d go down on time tonight if he snoozed at five o’clock in the evening.
I turned on the sidewalk and almost ran into a couple of college kids in Wilson-Jacobs sweatshirts, laughing and joking. “Oh, are you closed?” the girl asked, disappointment radiating from her.
“Sorry, we’re only open for breakfast and lunch,” I told her. My stomach twisted because I knew I’d be able to pay Brady off sooner if I stayed open for dinner, but I couldn’t afford to hire extra chefs or the management I would need to keep those kinds of hours. And there was no way I’d be able to stay on my feet from five in the morning until nine or ten at night—not if I wanted to keep my health and have even a few hours for Chevelle. He already had so little of my time as he was shuffled back and forth between Tristan and my parents.
“I told you,” the boy said, throwing an arm over the girl’s shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She pouted, and he kissed her temple. A sweet move that made my chest ache. I’d never really had that?tender caresses from someone looking at me like I was everything they wanted.
“What are we going to do for food now?” she asked.
“Well, Mickey’s has great wings,” I offered. “And if you really want vegan, Artfully Thai just outside town has some great options. Or if you’re looking for something sweeter, Sweet Lips is still open.”
I didn’t wait for a response, heading down the sidewalk. They yelled, “Thanks,” in unison as if they were one instead of two. Something Brady and Tristan often did as well, completing each other’s sentences and speaking the same words. The ache in my chest grew.
“Mama. Treat?” Chevelle said, raising his head and patting my face. The mention of Sweet Lips Bakery had hope lighting up his deep-brown eyes.
I smiled at my dessert-obsessed little boy. “I have cookies at home. You can have one after dinner.”
“Momos?” he asked, bringing a smile to my lips at the adorable mixed-up word he used for the s’more cookies that were one of my Golden Heart Café specialties. Originally, I’d made them for Hannah and her friend, Kiran, but then they’d become a hit at the restaurant.
Creating new items was my true joy, playing with how flavors and textures blended together and how you could use healthy alternatives to make classic dishes. At a minimum, it was a way to keep my mind—which was forever on the go—busy. But it also meant my menu was constantly changing, keeping it fresh and unique.
“Yep, Momos, just for you,” I said, bringing his chubby little fingers to my mouth and kissing the tips. “But dinner first.”
He nodded and went back to snuggling my neck as I made my way to my Prius that was in the last stages of its life. I buckled him into his car seat, shut the door, and then got behind the wheel, watching as the couple went down the wooden sidewalk with the guy twirling the girl as if they were dancing. They were only a few years younger than me but seemed so much freer.
I rolled my eyes at myself. The melancholy was ridiculous. I’d gotten everything I’d truly wanted. My boy. The restaurant. I didn’t need more.
I left behind the postcard-perfect brick-and-ivy buildings of Grand Orchard’s downtown, driving a handful of blocks to the small Craftsman-style house I owned next door to my parents. It was yet another thing I had Brady to thank for, but I loved it almost as much as the restaurant. The deep-green siding and white shutters with rustic brown trim brought the forest feel of the café home with me. Like the Tree of Life had tagged along with us.
I’d just barely gotten us into the house when my cell phone rang. I answered without checking. “Yes, I’m home. No, we don’t need anything.”
Silence on the other end for a moment. Then, a deep chuckle erupted that hit me in the belly, licking its way down and making my already wobbly legs even more unsteady.
“I’m not Arlene,” Marco’s voice filled the line like he could fill a room with his mere presence. He didn’t laugh often. Usually, I was lucky to get a twitch of his lip or, on occasion, a full smile that could wipe away someone’s memory, but full-on laughter from him was as rare as a hot day in January in upstate New York.
“Sorry, but you have about thirty seconds before she calls, and if I don’t answer, she’ll rush over,” I said as I put Chevelle down. “Go put your shoes in the basket.”
