Page 17 of Devil's Last Dance

“You miss them?”

“Always.”

She walked over to the counter, pulled out a book that looked like it had seen better days, and moved toward him.

“This is them.” She opened the book and there was a picture of a young man and woman, holding hands, looking happy.

“Mom made this cookbook, and she did so while creating memories. This picture was their first dance. I think they said they’d been dating for about two years when she agreed to go to her first dance with him.”

“Two years?” he asked.

She nodded. “My parents took it slow, but I also have to tell you that in this picture, they were sixteen.”

“No shit,” he said.

Candice giggled. “Yeah, which means my dad was dating her at least when he was fourteen. He always said the moment he first saw her, he fell in love and knew he was going to marry her.”

She moved the pages and he saw recipes, combined with pictures.

“There are none of you,” he said.

“Ah, you see, I came later in life.”

She got to her feet and moved toward a small assortment of books. Candice returned and opened the page. The woman and man were much older, like she said, but in the couples’ arms was a baby.

“See,” she said.

Flicking through the pages, he saw it was a book of memories and of plans, filled with recipes.

“Candice’s winning peanut cookies?” he asked.

“Again, a recipe my mom created for me. It was a reward for doing so well on some of my tests.”

“I thought you didn’t test well?”

“I didn’t, so passing was a big deal.”

“Ah, I see.”

He could see that she loved her parents very much.

****

Candice often pulled out the cookbooks, so she could venture down memory lane. She loved her parents and missed them every day. Like now, she would have loved to be able to talk to her mom, to ask her so many questions and get her advice on Antwone.

She loved his company. Every time he walked into the bar, her heart seemed to speed up, and then he’d talk. Admittedly, he rarely talked about anything important, but it was a lot of fun to her. He sometimes talked about his work, but it was so vague, she didn’t completely understand what he said. She didn’t pressure him, though.

Not only did she love his company while she worked, but at the end of the night, he was happy to walk her home. She loved linking arms with him.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way about a stranger. Although, he wasn’t so much a stranger to her. She happened to enjoy being with him, talking, getting to know him, wanting to be near him. They could talk about the weather, and to her it would be a thrilling conversation.

Serving up the spaghetti, meatballs, sauce, and a nice handful of grated cheese, she walked over and put the plate in front of him.

“Please be kind. This is the recipe my mother always made for me to … cure all ills.”

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“No, not just sickness, but whenever I was feeling down or lonely.” She picked up her plate. There were plenty for leftovers, and she’d even have some for the freezer.

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