Page 16 of Because You Said Yes

His entire life had turned on a dime. Last week he was knee-deep in the hustle and bustle of moneymaking in New York City, and now he was in the sleepy town of Willow Bay, breathing in the fresh, salty air. He had a five-year-old child to care for, his sister was gone, and his mother was as cantankerous as an angry weasel. In hindsight, abandoning her at the side of the road wasn't his best decision—he knew she wouldn't be pleased with that—but his patience had been exhausted.

He was almost home when a wave of recognition washed over him. Her blonde hair blew in the breeze, catching the sun, and despite his fatigue and the throbbing in his legs, he picked up his pace and jogged towards her. His heart raced as he approached, and the worries and stresses of his day melted away as soon as he saw her angel eyes.

“You're up early,” Charlotte said, holding a cup of coffee and smiling. “Would you like a cup?”

“Is it feline feces-free?” He scrunched his nose.

“It's one hundred percent Colombian and cat poop-free.” She chuckled. “I can't believe you drank that coffee.”

He shrugged. “I didn't ask enough questions, and it’s not something you’d expect in a quiet little town. I just wanted to know if it had caffeine in it.”

“Was it awful?”

He rocked his head back and forth as if debating. “Surprisingly, no. I liked it until I found out what was actually in it.”

Charlotte hung her head. “I'm sorry.”

“You can make it up to me by getting me a cup of your coffee,” he said.

“Come on in.” She waved him towards her house. His eyes fell on the small cottage, no bigger or grander than his sister's place. Instead of white-washed wood, Charlotte's place was a faded yellow, just a shade lighter than butter, and the shutters were white with black metal accents.

As she opened the door, Bastien noticed a cozy overstuffed sofa and a table full of driftwood and sea glass.

“Do you still collect this stuff?” he asked. He knew lots of people gathered these types of treasures. A jar half-filled with glass was on his sister's kitchen counter. He couldn't tell if it was Chloe's, Ivy's, or Rachel's.

“I used to. It was like searching for buried treasure to me. It felt like I had struck gold when I found something special.”

He held up a piece of green glass, its surface reflecting the afternoon light. “Do you have a favorite?” he asked.

She paused and looked around the room, her eyes lingering on a small piece of red glass on the tabletop. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, its smooth facets glinting in the light. “This is my favorite,” she said softly, “because you rarely see red glass. I found it when I was twelve and was convinced it was a ruby.” She offered it to him, and he accepted, bringing it to his eyes to examine it against the light.

He tried to guess what it used to be before it was reduced to little more than a gleaming fragment in his hands. “Did you ever figure out what it was from?”

She shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “There used to be something called Red Rum, but that's rare now. And Chanel No 5 had a limited-edition red bottle of their perfume at one point. I still like to think it's a ruby, but who knows?”

“I guess it remains a mystery.”

“Or a ruby… You didn't come here to examine my knick-knacks. You came for coffee.” She proceeded into the kitchen, which was like his sister's. Charlotte's, however, had nicer appliances and furniture.

“Nice oven.” He wasn't much of a cook, but he knew high quality when he saw it and that Wolf range was the best of the best.

“My mom loved cooking,” Charlotte said.

“Is she still living?”

“No, she passed away a couple of years ago.” She turned her back, raised herself on her toes to reach a coffee mug, and filled it to just under the brim. “My father died the year before her. My dad passed away from the flu, but I think my mother died from a broken heart.”

“That's terribly sad,” he said.

“Some people are so devoted that if their partner dies, they feel like there's no purpose for them.” She handed him the cup. “Do you need cream or sugar?”

“Both, please.”

She moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of half and half and then went to the small table and slid the sugar bowl toward him. “Help yourself.”

She reached for a spoon in a nearby drawer and passed it to him. As he scooped a heaping teaspoon of sugar into his cup, his eyes drifted to the stack of bills on the table, and when she noticed him looking, she grabbed them and put them in a drawer.

“Sorry, I'm normally tidier.”

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