I know what’ll happen if I do. I’ll need to drink, and not just a few beers. If Grace weren’t upstairs I wouldn’t even be having this crazy conversation with myself.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and throw down my tools. When I first met Grace I told her I was over my mom and dad’s deaths. Christ, I should be. It’s been ten years. But a small, secret place deep inside has never really moved on from when I was eighteen years old and had to take over as head of the family.
I go to the steel workbench along the far wall, and unlock the top drawer. Buried beneath a heap of shit is the photo, and I pull it out.
It’s creased around the edges and nothing special. Just a regular family pic of the five of us together, and my gaze snags on the laughing face of my mom.
It’s been almost ten years since Gage, Kat, and I watched her slowly die of lung cancer, and nothing will convince me it wasn’t connected to the shock of hearing how our dad had been murdered while inside.
Sometimes it feels like only the other week they were both here, fooling around. They were crazy about each other, and you’d never think they’d been together for twenty years. Every year Dad was in charge of the Thanksgiving turkey, and we were all under blood oath not to breathe a word of that to anyone.
It was kind of a family joke. The Sergeant-at-Arms of the Viking Bastards who, once a year, would take over the kitchen and create something that looked like it came right out of a celebrity food show.
The last Thanksgiving I celebrated was ten years ago, when this photo was taken. It was the last time the five of us were all together, as the following week Dad was arrested.
I couldn’t even fake it enough to keep this holiday going for Kat’s sake, and if not for Jett’s old lady she would never have had another Thanksgiving dinner, since I always spend the day getting hammered.
I wait for the craving to hit me, but it’s a faint echo of the usual clawing need that rips through me when I do this annual ritual. Instead, Grace’s smile fills my mind, and a weird sense of peace wraps around the ache in my chest.
Would she stay the rest of the week, if I asked her?
The door opens behind me, and instead of shoving the photo back in the drawer I stuff it into my pocket before swinging around. Her hair’s piled on top of her head and her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and she’s wearing a sexy as hell apron covered in pink roses and frills. I’ve never seen anything like it and have a hard time not just grabbing her and holding her close.
“Cupcakes,” she says, like that’s a surprise. “Come and get them while they’re fresh.” She gives me what I guess she thinks is a suggestive leer, although all it does is make her look cute. “Spiced pumpkin with cream cheese frosting.”
I clean up before taking her hand and letting her lead me upstairs to the kitchen. The smell filling the apartment is amazing, but more amazing than that is there’s only two days until Thanksgiving, and I don’t have the powerful need to hit the bottle at the sound of “spiced pumpkin.”
She pushes open the kitchen door and my smile freezes as I catch sight of her handiwork. On top of each swirl of frosting there’s a little figure. I bend closer, fascinated. On one there’s a motorcycle helmet, on another the wordsHarley-Davidsonis stuck into the frosting like a flag. And on others she’s created tiny Viking inspired images.
“You like?” There’s an odd note in her voice, as though she’s not sure what I make of it.
“You made all this?” I jab my finger at the helmet because cake is one thing but the toppings are real unexpected and works of art in their own right.
“Yes. That’s my specialty, making customized edible cake toppers.”
I take her hands and tug her toward me. I’ve had enough of her messing about. “When’re you opening your first shop?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Only because I’ve seen what you can do.”
“I can’t do anything before Christmas. But next year I’m just going for it. At least if it fails I can say I tried, right?”
“You won’t fail.”
“No. I won’t.” Her smile does something weird deep inside my chest. “You should be a motivational speaker.”
“That’s a new one.” I can’t help my derisive tone, even though her comment makes me grin.
“Well, you motivated me. Obviously it was fate that made my car break down that night so we could meet. Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?”
Does she expect an answer? I don’t talk about fate and shit like that, although since meeting her I’ve had all kinds of conversations I never thought I would with a girl. “Yeah.” I feel more is needed although I’m not sure why. “Must be destiny or something.”
“Yes.” She squeezes my hands. “I’ve just had the best idea. That’s what I’m going to call my shop.Must be Destiny.”
It sounds like a weird-ass name to call a cupcake shop, but strangely, it also feels right. “Invite me to the opening.”
I don’t know where that came from. It’s a commitment, with me looking into a future where she’s still with me, but it feels right, too.
