As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (14 page)

Julia’s shop never failed to soothe me.
 

The bell above the door jingled as I entered. The place was empty, but Julia was behind the counter with a cordless phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she wiped her hands on a towel. She glanced up and waved at me.

“Certainly. Having them ready by this Friday isn’t a problem,” she said into the phone as I took a seat on one of the stools at the counter. “What time would you like to pick them up?” She turned to her laptop and typed quickly.

I looked around the shop while she finished the call. The smell of sugar and flour hung in the air. Julia loved bold colors, but the walls of the bakery were painted a pale, buttery yellow with a white trim. She had a few tables and chairs set up by the wide windows, and there was a section of counter space lined with bar stools. Most of her business came from special orders for large events, but the glass counters showcased her selection of cupcakes for the day. And they were always works of art in both appearance and taste.
 

“You look a little worse for wear,” Julia said as she hung up the phone. “If this were a bar, I’d expect you to say ‘hit me up, barkeep.’ ”

“That obvious?” I didn’t bother hiding the weariness from my voice.

“Only because I’m your friend. Here.” She retrieved a white plate from a shelf, ducked into one of the glass cases, and slid a cupcake before me with a fork and napkin. “Not a whiskey neat, but it’s the best I can do for you.”

I whimpered. “Being your friend is not good for my waistline. Plus, this one’s too perfect to stick a fork in. Don’t you have any you goofed on?”

“I already ate the ones I goofed on. This is one of my favorites so far. Now shut up, take a bite, and tell me what you think.”

The cake itself was red, the frosting white with a sprinkle of red over the top.
 

“Red velvet cake?”

“Cherry.”
 

I cut into the cake and found a creamy center.
 

“With chocolate ganache.”

“Sweet mother of glory,” I mumbled with my mouth full.

She grinned. “Pretty spectacular, isn’t it?”

I groaned in reply. “What’s that other flavor? It’s kind of spicy. Adds a little bite.”

She nodded. “You’re getting better. Chili peppers. And it’s a simple cream cheese frosting with a dusting of cayenne on top.”

“Holy smokes.”

“I’m thinking of adding this one to the once-a-week batch.” She was always experimenting with different recipes, but there were a few in high demand that she made regularly.

I licked the tines of my fork. “Yes, please.”

She laughed. “Want another?”

“Yes. But don’t give me one, no matter how much I beg.”

She retrieved another and grabbed a second plate. “I’ll split it with you.” We ate in silence for a moment, and then she said, “Going to tell me what’s wrong?”

I waited until I finished my half of the second cupcake before setting down my fork and resting my chin in my palm. “I cry every time I take a shower. I’ve unpacked every single one of my quilts out of that storage bin in my closet and piled them on my bed, even though it makes me too warm at night to sleep. I’ve been drinking so much water I’m surprised my eyeballs haven’t started floating. And I start shaking every time I hear a plane go by overhead.”

Julia leaned against the counter, watching me.

“I don’t know how to get over this, Ju,” I said in a small voice. “And now Darcy needs me, and I don’t know how to help myself, let alone him.”

“First of all, I don’t think you can
get over
something like this. What you and everyone on that plane went through—both the crash and the aftermath—was horrific. Unimaginable for anyone who hasn’t lived through it. It’s not something you, or the others, are going to wake up one day and be over. But can you move on? Recover? Heal? Absolutely.” She touched my hand where I fiddled with the fork. “But it takes time. And you have to allow yourself that time.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Julia.”

“Don’t mention it. You know I listen to books on tape while I bake. The last few days I’ve been listening to ones on recovery and grief and survivor stories, so I’d know the right thing to say.”

I laughed even as my chest tightened at her thoughtfulness. “I adore you.”

“And I adore you right back. What’s going on with Darcy?”

I told her of his request, his secrecy, and his uncharacteristic belligerence. “I don’t know if I’m helping or hurting him by not giving him the money.”

“You didn’t give me any forewarning, so I haven’t read up on what to say in this situation.”
 

I wadded up my napkin and tossed it at her, and she batted it away before it could bounce off her forehead.
 

“Honestly, though,” she said. “In the time I’ve known him, and from what you’ve told me, Darcy’s a good kid. Responsible. That he’s being so evasive about such a large sum of money can’t be good. I would have done the same in your place.”

It was what I needed to hear. “Thanks for listening, barkeep.”

She laughed. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

“What do I owe you for the cupcake?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How many times do we have to have this argument?”

“As many times as you don’t let me pay. This is your business. You can’t be giving it away for free.”

“If I were a prostitute, I’d agree, but business is fine. And this is a cupcake between friends, not a blow job.”

An elderly couple walked in with their granddaughter just as Julia made that loud pronouncement, and I choked on a laugh as the couple’s eyes widened and the little girl, who appeared to be about six, asked, “What’s a blow job?”

There was a moment of silence, the grandparents obviously at a loss, before Julia said, “It’s a chore you have to do before you can go play outside with bubbles.”

“Oh,” the little girl said. “I like blowing bubbles, but I don’t like chores. Can I have that cupcake that looks like a ladybug?”

I covered my mouth with my hand to keep my laughter at bay and watched the trio select their cupcakes, pay, and then leave, the grandparents muttering to themselves. I couldn’t contain it once the door closed behind them. “A chore you have to do before you can go blow bubbles?”

She flushed. “It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”

She stepped out from behind the counter to polish the smudges off the glass display, and I noticed her outfit and gaped. “What are you wearing?”
 

She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “Pretty awful, isn’t it?”

She wore fitted jeans, a white blouse that had somehow made it through the day unstained, and loafers. It was a simple outfit. And it looked entirely out of place on her.

“What brought this on?
 

She sighed and sprayed the display with cleaner before wiping the glass until it shined. “When I drove the Hutchisons home from the hospital, I asked Daniel out on a date.”

I blinked. “Daniel?”

She shot me a knowing look. “Not my usual type, right?”

Hardly, given that her usual type were men who’d never outgrown their bad-boy stage and took advantage of her caring nature.
 

“Your type never appreciates you.”

“True. I always pick the worst men. But I didn’t laugh or think ‘god, how boring’ when Daniel told me he’s an accountant. Actually, I pictured him doing a striptease. While wearing glasses.”

I choked. “Well, when’s the big night?”

She focused on a stubborn smudge. It looked as if a kid had smashed his nose and lips against the glass. “There isn’t going to be one. He turned me down.”

“What? Why?” I remembered the way he’d stared at her with a befuddled expression on his unassumingly handsome face. “Did he give you a reason?”

“Yes, and it was a good one. He needed to focus on Timothy and make sure he heals from the ordeal. Men. They think they’re so tough. As if he hadn’t just been through the same horror.”

“But?”

“But I can’t help feeling that it was . . . well, me.”

“What about you?”

“Men like that don’t go for women like me.”

“Julia—”

“Don’t use that warning tone. He’s a businessman. Successful. Responsible. A loving father. And I . . .”

“You’re a businesswoman. Successful. Responsible. A loyal friend.”

“You know what I mean.”

I was one of the few people who knew she’d been the only child of two hippies and had spent her early years growing up in a nudist colony. As soon as she could, she’d legally changed her name from Juniper Breeze—“It’s like a bad stripper name. Or one of those body sprays that stinks like a rotting corpse,” she’d said—to Julia Murphy. I knew she craved normalcy and stability in her life, but she couldn’t quite quell the free-spirited urges, and she used her clothes and her hair to express what she otherwise scorned. And I knew the one thing that would influence her most.
 

“He said your cupcakes were even better than you claimed.”

Her gaze swung toward me so quickly I was surprised her neck didn’t crack. “He said that?”

“He did. Said he wanted seconds, too, but you wouldn’t let him have it.”

“He did manage to sneak another when Timothy came to get one,” she said, staring at the display of cupcakes. “Do you think I should take them their own batch?”

“Yes.” I tried not to sound too eager. “I think they’d love that. But do
not
wear those boring clothes. It hurts my eyes right now to look at you.”

She wriggled her shoulders. “The lack of color has been making me itch all day. Hmm . . .” She drummed her fingers on the glass countertop. “This time I’ll ask him on a date while he’s eating one of my double chocolate fudge supremes.”

I groaned. “Just save me one.”

Darcy avoided me over the next week and rejected my phone calls. His Jeep was pulling out of my parents’ driveway when my mother and I returned from shopping with Julia.
 

My mother waved as he passed. “That’s strange. Wonder where he’s going.”

Julia and I carried the shopping bags inside.

“Jacob?”

“Out here on the deck,” my father yelled.

“I thought Darcy was staying for lunch,” my mother shouted back.

“After Finch called and said you were on your way home,” my father said at the top of his lungs, “he remembered a project he needed to work on for a class.”

Julia glanced at me.
 

Yeah, right
, I thought as we deposited the bags on the couch and followed my mother onto the deck.
 

No matter the season, my father always looked for a reason to fire up his grill, even if he had to wear three layers and a parka while standing outside. He stood before the grill with the dogs at his feet, staring at him expectantly. He turned with a smile. “You ladies have fun today?”

“We did,” Julia said. “Doesn’t Mrs. Rhodes look fabulous?”