Page 43 of Traces Of You
“I wasn’t running.” At least she didn’t think she was, but she had picked up speed.
“Ford told me you do graphic design.”
She spun her head quickly to see him looking at her. “I do. Can I help with anything? I’d love to. I’m glad your mother caved and let me work this weekend, but she told me I’m off next weekend and I’m done working by no later than three each day.”
“If you want to come up with a few things, I’ll check them out.”
“Anything specific you want to see? You’ve got events and weddings, right?”
“Whatever you think works. I can send you the logo to the email you just created.”
“That’d be great.”
They didn’t talk for another few minutes, then he turned and walked away without saying bye when she got to the back of the cafe.
She opened the door to the scents of cinnamon and sugar. The donuts were ready to be put out and people would be in at seven to purchase them.
“Are those molasses cookies?”
Brooke smiled. “They are. Do you mind frosting them for me?”
“I’d love to,” she said. “You just tell me what you want at any point.”
“You’re so easy to work with,” Brooke said. “Gale worked here because she didn’t want to get dirty on the land, but she had to pull her weight there too.”
“This would be such a wonderful place to grow up.”
She’d thought that as a child. Often wished she was part of this family and didn’t have to go home to filth and angry words.
Brooke angled her head and smiled. “I’m glad you think that. I wasn’t sure Clay would ever come back and am even moresurprised he’s taking over. But he’s doing it his way. None of my other kids have wanted to do it full time. I don’t blame them. It’s not an easy life.”
“Nothing in life that is good is easy. At least not that I’ve noticed.”
“You’ve had a hard life,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry that you did.”
“Thank you. We all have things we have to overcome.”
“And you will with Ford. He’ll help.”
She didn’t know if there was a double meaning there but knew enough to let it drop.
It was hard to not remember what she felt when she was here with Ford two decades ago.
She couldn’t grasp arousal at that age, but she knew he was cute and her heart turned into a drumbeat in her chest when he was near her.
When his hand touched hers, it got clammy, but he never pulled away from her dampness, simply threaded their fingers together.
It’d taken him a long time to hold her hand. The first was here on these grounds. His parents’ back porch on the swing. The seat was still there, the cushions a little more faded with some rust, but she’d bet still as comfortable.
He’d started slow with her, sitting by her, pulling her close playfully, then he’d sling his arm around her shoulder on the school grounds laughing like it’d always been that easy.
All the girls who were mean to her in the past turned jealous. She’d never told Ford that they still said nasty things to her. She didn’t need him fighting all her battles.
With the only wonderful childhood memories in her brain, she frosted the cookies in front of her, filled the display case and got ready to open the doors at seven.
Ten minutes before, she noticed a woman standing outside of it waving and pointing at her to unlock it.
“Brooke, can I unlock the door? Someone wants to come in.”
