Love Finds You at Home for Christmas (22 page)

At twelve thirty, Sophie bent over one sink and was frantically washing a few plates so she could fill her next order when Jon poked his head in the door of the kitchen.

“I just came to say good-bye. Everything was really good….” His voice trailed off as he took in the situation.

Sophie glanced up at him and tried to smile her thanks. She felt strands of hair in her eyes as sweat beaded on her face. Like the kitchen, she was a complete mess.

Jon let the door swing shut for a minute, and then he came back in while rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt.

“Can I have a job?” He beamed, nudging her from the sink.

Sophie was dumbfounded. But realizing he was serious, she gathered herself.

“You're hired!” she exclaimed with relief. Tossing him an apron, she turned the dishes over and dashed back to the stove.

For the next two hours they barely said a word. Sophie, Jon, and Shannon worked like a well-oiled machine, filling orders and sending them out of the kitchen via the servers, who whisked them on to the tables of their happy customers. It seemed the whole town had come out to try her café, and Sophie was touched by the reception. She hadn't expected it to be so kind. Or so overwhelming.

A little after two o'clock—closing time—the last diners left and René locked the door behind them. The kitchen was almost clean, and while the servers worked on sweeping and re-stocking the front, Sophie invited Jon and Shannon to fix themselves plates and have a little rest.

“I can't today,” said Shannon. “Thanks, but I have to pick up Sam early from school. He has a doctor's appointment.”

“Oh, okay,” said Sophie, “but please take something with you—and for Kyle, too.” She mustered a smile. “You did an awesome job today, by the way. I appreciate it so much.” She felt like she'd just come out of a whirlwind and knew Shannon and Jon were the reasons she survived.

“I actually enjoyed it.” Shannon scooped some food into a to-go container and held it up. “Thanks for this. See you in the morning!”

Sophie turned to Jon, who was taking off his apron. As he rolled down his sleeves, she noted that the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jeans were drenched.

“Jon, you are soaking wet!” Then she noticed a red tomato sauce stain on his sleeve. “Oh no, I hope that shirt isn't ruined.”

“Nah, it's all right. Nothing Margaret can't get out.”

“Since when do you call your mother ‘Margaret'?” Sophie asked, grinning.

“Since she's not here,” he said, and they both laughed. She knew Jon would never call his mother “Margaret” to her face.

“Well, do you want some dessert or anything? Or how about a coke with me on the back porch?” She smiled. “I think I've even got some vanilla.”

“No food, thanks. I had a really good lunch.” He grinned. “But a drink sounds good. I haven't had a vanilla Diet Coke in a long time.”

* * * * *

Jon stretched out his legs on the low porch, which was really more of a stoop, and leaned back against the house. His lower back ached from bending over the sink, but otherwise he felt good. And he was touched that Sophie remembered his favorite drink.

He closed his eyes for a moment and heard the door creak, then the fast clicks of tiny feet trotting across the porch. He opened his eyes to see a little black bulldog plop down from the porch, run over to the hedge to do his business, and then look back at Jon, just realizing he was there. The dog lifted his ears to attention, focused his eyes, and began to growl at Jon suspiciously.

Sophie came out of the house then. “Spot, it's okay,” she said, and the growling ceased. Spot resumed sniffing and poking around the yard. She handed Jon his drink and sat down beside him with a salad.

The servers began to file out the back door, stopping a moment to say good-bye to them both.

“We're finished inside,” Debbie said. “Everything's done and set up for tomorrow.”

“Thanks again!” Sophie told them.

“It was fun,” answered René, and the others agreed.

“I didn't know Jon Anthony was going to be working here today, though,” declared Rhonda.

“Neither did I.” He grinned, and they all laughed.

“Did you forget your wallet or are you really that nice?” Debbie grinned.

“You certainly came to the rescue in the kitchen,” René acknowledged with a sigh. “Whew—I don't think we'd have gotten all of those orders out without you.”

“That's for sure,” Sophie added, then she teased him. “He might have to stay on full time!”

“I don't think my back could take it.” He rolled his shoulder. “But you can keep me on your reserve list.”

When the servers had all gone, Jon and Sophie were finally alone. He relished the quiet. She munched some of her salad, and he took a long swig of his drink. In the stillness it seemed to dawn on them both, for the first time in hours, that it had been years since they'd been together. There was a pregnant silence. Then, as if on cue, they looked at each other at the same time.

Sophie said with gravity, “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the job.” He smiled playfully, shaking off her seriousness.

“Really, Jon, thank you.”

He wanted to act like it was no big deal but was moved by the feeling in her voice.

“You're welcome.”

They both looked away and were silent again. The moment felt surreal to Jon. It had been so long, and everything had changed. But seeing Sophie again—it was as if nothing had changed. He reached for a blade of grass to ground himself.

She said, “Well.”

He laughed and turned to her, back in the present. “That's a deep subject.”

They both smiled.

“Here we are,” she said, looking away.

That's a deep subject too,
he thought, but he didn't say it.

Sophie set her salad plate down off the porch for Spot to inspect. He came over and sniffed, then carefully picked out the grilled chicken slices and bacon crumbles. He kept one eye on Jon as he ate.

“It's kind of weird being here—home, I mean,” she said.

“Is it? How so?”

“It just is. But, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. At least I think that's one thing I've learned after ten years living everywhere else.” Sophie pulled her knees up under her chin and hugged them.

“So tell me about your travels,” Jon said gently, looking in her eyes.

The wistful sound left her voice and she said clearly, “I think I'd rather talk about you.”

* * * * *

Spot came back up on the porch, and Sophie gathered him in her lap, where he curled up in the shape of a crescent.

“What do you want to know?” Jon asked.

“Oh, you can start anywhere. Bad friend that I am, I don't know much except that you went to graduate school in Fayetteville, became a writer, came back home, and now you're rich and famous…and yet you're still humble enough to wash dishes for a damsel in distress.”

Jon laughed. “Well, I guess that sums it up. What more is there to tell?”

Sophie's eyes bored into him.

He tossed the blade of grass.

“Well…let's see. I doubled up that last semester of school after you got married so I could finish in December. I spent a little time here with Mom, and then I took the student loan money I had saved and went to Europe for about three months, backpacking. You know, like we always used to talk about doing.”

Sophie nodded, rubbing Spot's back with her fingers.

“I sort of planned a whirlwind tour—starting in London, making my way down, and then flying open-jaw out of Athens. But by the time I got to Athens in June, I had hooked up with some people who were going from there to Israel and Egypt, so I changed my flights and tagged along. I'm glad I did. It was really cool—and totally different from Europe, of course. After that I figured I might as well see more of Africa since I was there, so I flew down to Nairobi and traveled around Kenya—and actually across the borders of Uganda and Tanzania—before finally coming home. It was quite a trip. Really changed my perspective.”

Sophie nodded, soaking it all in. She realized how little she really knew about Jon's life since they had gone separate ways. “Wow—then you came home and started school?”

“I had been accepted to law school, so I got my stuff together and moved to Fayetteville. I started school a few days later.”

“Law school? I didn't know that was the plan.”

“Well, it wasn't, really. That last semester of college I just took the LSAT sort of on a whim. By some fluke, I scored well enough to get a scholarship and decided I might as well go.”

“‘Might as well go' to Kenya, and then ‘might as well go' to law school? That really doesn't sound like you. It's hilarious.” But even as Sophie said it, she remembered some of her questionable reasoning for decisions she'd made.

Jon grinned at her. “Now it seems so. But at that time I had no idea what I wanted to do. I was drifting.”

“I thought you always wanted to be a writer.”

“Well, yeah, I did, but…I guess I just wanted something more secure to fall back on if that didn't work out. Margaret's advice.”

They both grinned at that.

“So…you have a law degree?”

“Uh, no. I have thirty-six hours of law school and remain in ‘good academic standing' in the unlikely event I should ever choose to return.”

You quit?
Sophie almost burst out. But something in Jon's eyes, a look of vulnerability, stopped her from saying it. She just looked at him in amazement. “So where did the first book deal come in?”

“Well, I was working as a waiter in this cool restaurant in Fayetteville and writing on the side. I got to know a writing professor who came to eat there often, and through a friend of a friend, she ended up helping me connect with an editor who read my manuscript and actually liked it. It was a big break. I was really, really lucky.”

“I doubt luck had a lot to do with it.”

“Well then, the grace of God.”

“So what is your book about?” she asked, ashamed that she didn't know.

Jon was very unassuming. “Oh, it's kind of a coming-of-age story…about this guy who grows up without a father. He thinks his father's dead—and then his dad shows up and he has to come to terms with all of that….”

Knowing how closely this mirrored Jon's personal background with his own father, her heart swelled with pride. “Oh, Jon, how cool—and how brave of you to take that on. Does it end happily?”

“Well, yes, sort of. That's actually something I'm not real comfortable with. The editor had me change the ending to make it happier, tidier—and I did need help—but it seems sort of cheesy, especially from where I am now…. I don't know. I was a kid, it's my first book. What could I do? And she was right, it sells. But it doesn't really represent my highest aspirations as a writer. Let's just put it that way.”

“I'm very proud of you. You've certainly done well for yourself, my friend.” Sophie smiled at him. “What's next?”

Jon grinned sheepishly and shook his head. “I am
really
tired of talking about myself. Will you please tell me something about you now?”

Sophie looked at him and then looked down. “I don't know what to say.” Spot was snoring in her lap.

“You must have been through a lot…I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“Oh, it's not that. It's just, well, things sure haven't turned out like I thought. I've really made a lot of mistakes, Jon. And there's no excuse for it. I was raised in a great family, given lots of opportunities, even had good friends like you—and I just blew it. That's all I can say. I'm not a victim or anything. I had every reason to make the right choices and I just didn't. There's no excuse. It's really humbling—embarrassing.”

“Well, you are human. That's excuse enough.” Jon's eyes were kind. “Anyway,” he went on, “you're here—and it's a time of new beginnings.”

“What an encourager,” she said, and leaned over to bump against him. “I'm sorry, Jon, that I ever let our friendship go.”

“Maybe we can begin again,” he said softly, bumping her back.

Maybe so.

Chapter Seven

.................................

That evening Sophie stood at the kitchen counter filling containers with leftover beans, cornbread, and the last piece of cheesecake so she could bring them to Tom's.

After Jon left earlier in the afternoon, she'd noticed she had texts from both Tom and Madeline, asking how everything had gone and wondering if they could stop by after work. Sophie had needed some time alone, so she texted them back:

Exhausted. Napping. Will bring supper later—don't cook.

Sophie carried the food out to her little car—it was too far for a bike ride—and arrived at Tom's house a few minutes later.

While Madeline fried potatoes and onions in a skillet, Sophie sat on a barstool and sliced strawberries. She loved the feel of her brother and sister-in-law's home. It was a modest size but open and inviting. As Tom and her father had built most of it themselves, it was tight and sturdy. The natural wood floors and rock fireplace were just an extension of the woods, which seemed an extension of Tom. Sophie felt safe there, and Madeline's simple approach to decorating, which reflected her approach to life, put Sophie at ease. It felt like a home.

They had just finished setting the table when Tom came in from the garden, where he was still coaxing a few things out of the tired plants before the first frost. River Bend was in the midst of what the old timers called an “Indian Summer”—a warm spell that usually came along in early October, just when the leaves were also starting to turn. He deposited two cucumbers and a red onion on the counter for Madeline to slice while he washed his hands in the sink. Then he poured a little cold vinegar over the slices in a bowl, shaking on some pepper, and they all sat down to eat.