Sweetheart Reunion (9 page)

She knew she’d hit home in the way his expression shifted into the shadows. Why did she have to be so mean all of a sudden?

“I took notes this time,” he replied. He hit his pocket where he’d tucked the paper inside. “I know my responsibilities and I won’t let you down.”

“I’m counting on you, so I hope you mean that. But you wouldn’t be letting me down. We’re all in this together, you know. We need all the help we can get. Last year was hard, what with storms and oil spills and such. We’re slowly coming back to life around here.”

“
Oui,
and that’s exactly how I feel. As if I’m finally coming back to life. Can you understand that, Alma?”

“I want to.” Trying again, she said, “You can keep the rest of the cake.”

He pointed to the foil-wrapped package he’d placed on top of the cake carrier. “You already gave me a share.”

His tone was so innocent and sweet, Alma melted a little bit. “Take the rest to your mama and Pierre.” Then because she did have a heart, she asked, “How are they?”

He looked up then, his dark eyes testing her. Letting out a breath, he shrugged. “Not so good,
chère
. Not so good.”

Alma knew she was stepping over a line. But she was caught in a snare, and the tangled web of longing in her memories was holding her tight. “Would you like to come in for some coffee, Julien?”

He shifted the big plastic cake carrier around so he wouldn’t drop it, then stood silent for a minute. Then he gave her a crooked half-smile that seemed tinged with a weariness she’d never noticed before. “That would be nice, if you’re sure.”

Alma nodded then turned toward her house. The night wind hummed around her and the sound of her sister’s chimes playing next door sang a sweet, melodious warning. But she kept walking, unable to turn him away. Not tonight. Not after he’d finally been honest with her about something.

And especially not after she’d baked him a cake.

Chapter Nine

J
ulien watched as she turned on lights and kicked off her shoes. Alma had dainty, tiny feet and shapely legs. Her skirt flirted around her knees like a flower petal. Her pretty cotton top had a giant butterfly spreading his wings across the front.

He thought of poems and flowers, of moonlight and fireflies. He couldn’t believe she’d asked him in, not only inside her home, but maybe into her heart just a little tiny bit. He had to tread lightly or he’d be out on his nose again.

“I’ll get the coffee going,” she said, moving around in the kitchen, nervous energy driving her. “Have a seat.”

Julien settled down on a high-backed sofa and took in the vast array of colors surrounding him. Fresh flowers everywhere. Lilies, wisteria, jasmine, spilling out of tall vases. Cushions made of old quilt pieces of rich reds, forest greens and sky blues. Cast-off furniture she’d taken and reworked into shiny white with flowers and ladybugs painted on them. A white table and old, mismatched chairs, all painted and embellished in a whimsical, welcoming way.

The kitchen was small but clean and tidy. The bright colors carried into that room, too. Red pots and pans mingled with blue enamel and handmade pottery. A heavy yellow biscuit bowl held fresh fruit. Alma loved to support the local artists.

The smell of strong coffee tickled at his nose, making him wonder why he’d never taken the time to really look at this dollhouse before.

Because you were too busy trying to show Alma that you were okay without her.

But he wasn’t okay. He knew that now. He knew that this place felt like home, at long last.

“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting down beside him on the wide old couch. She fluffed her skirt and tossed some pillows between them. Still holding onto her barriers.

Julien swallowed, wondered how to answer. He plucked at the lace on a cushion. “I don’t know. I mean, I know you think I’ve hit my head or something. It’s hard to explain.”

“What, Julien?” She appeared sincere, concerned, mystified. “You and I, we’ve always respected each other. Even after…”

“Even after I behaved so badly?”

She gave him a soft smile. “Yes. I could never be unkind to you, no matter what. And I’m sorry if I’ve sounded mean lately. You’ve just taken me by surprise.”

His heart spilled open like a flooded river. He knew in that instant—this was why he still loved her. Because she was so kind to everyone. Because she always put other people’s needs ahead of her own. Alma was the best example of a true Christian he’d ever seen. She served with a cheerful, grateful heart. He wished he could be more like her.

“You have never been unkind to anyone,
chère
.”

She got up and went to the coffeepot then filled two big green mugs with black coffee. “I think I have. I didn’t want to like you anymore. I could tolerate you at a distance, even tolerate your teasing and flirting because I knew it meant nothing. But now—”

Amazed that she remembered how he liked his coffee black, Julien took the cup she offered him, the yellow daisies edging the rim amusing him. “Thank you. But now, things have changed. I’m getting too close, right?”

“Yes.” Alma sat back down, her own cup held tightly in both hands. “Now tell me what’s really wrong.”

Everything. “Why do you think anything is wrong?”

“Because after close to ten years, you’ve decided you want me back.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Not to me. Not with you.” She placed her cup on the grapevine table by the sofa.

“Do you not want me here, Alma?”

She stared over at him, her eyes moving over his face with a brilliant intensity. “There have been many times I wanted nothing more.”

That held his heart, tightening it. “And other times?”

“I wanted anything but.”

“So you’re confused,” he said. Then he put his cup next to hers on the glass-topped table. “I have to admit, so am I.”

Alma touched a hand to his arm, the feel of her delicate fingers on his skin branding him with a sweet longing. “You’ve been out there on your own for a while now. We’ve stayed friends and I’ve never once tried to change that. I settled for having you nearby, Julien. Nearby, but not too close.” She paused, her eyelashes fluttering. “Maybe you think this is all about you and me, but it could be about something else. Something more important.”

“What do you mean?”

“You turned away from the church. Maybe it’s time you come back.”

So she was going to preach to him about his evil ways? He got up to pace in front of the petite fireplace, the brightness of this little room suddenly stifling him. “This has nothing to do with my faith, Alma. I haven’t turned away from God.” He shrugged, bent his head. “But I did feel unworthy to be near Him at times. And I felt the same about being around you. Just because I don’t grace the church with my presence doesn’t mean I don’t communicate with the Lord.”

“Okay, then we can rule that out.” She sounded relieved but doubtful. “Did something happen to you recently, something that made you think you want me back in your life?”

Frustrated and tired of being grilled, Julien huffed. “Why does something have to happen to make me finally see what I lost? Why is this so hard to understand?”

She got up to come and stand beside him. “I want to understand, Julien. Really I do. Things happened and we just drifted apart. And now you’re back in a big way.”

He’d never drifted, he thought. But she had certainly put a levee-strength wall between them. “We didn’t work at it, did we?”

She lowered her head. “No. We gave up. I gave up. I thought you wanted someone else, or something else, besides me.”

He pulled her close, his hands holding her waist. “I never gave up, Alma. I just retreated. We settled into a nice, uncomplicated truce. But that truce is over.”

With that, he lowered his head to kiss her. Without an audience. His heart opened to her, allowing, asking her to come inside.

He waited and felt her relax against him, heard her almost silent sigh. Her arms pulled around his shoulders, her hands moved up to tug into his hair. Their feelings for each other deepened. He could feel it pouring through him like cleansing water—her acceptance, her forgiveness, her longing. Was this how it felt to be washed in God’s forgiveness?

Finally, Alma lifted away, her eyes wide and bright, her expression both shocked and exhilarated. “I guess the cake worked, then.”

Julien laughed and kissed her forehead. “
Chère,
it was more than just that cake, but I have to agree. It was sweet and smooth, same as you, Alma.”

She took his hands in hers. “You still haven’t told me about your mama and Pierre. I want to know. I want to help.”

Julien realized that while he believed in kissing his way home, the way to Alma’s heart involved honesty and full disclosure. She wanted to hear his feelings. She needed to glimpse his soul. Womanly things were always complicated.

He’d held back from that all those years ago, too prideful to be honest. If he’d told her all of his fears long ago, they might have been able to work things out. Or she might have quit speaking to him entirely. Would that do him in again this time?

“Julien, I’m here and I’m listening. You have my attention.”

“Why can’t we just be together?” he said, waylaying the heavy thud of his heart. Manly things were a lot less complicated.

She backed away and already he missed her.

“It’s not that simple,” she retorted as she gathered their cups and took them into the kitchen. “We were together before, remember? But you didn’t like the idea of me having a life, of me leaving Fleur.” She turned, a hand on the counter. “And if I allow this—you being back in my life—it could happen again. I’d settle for staying here. I’d feel obligated to give in and settle down because—”

“Settle?” He stomped close and stared down at her, his own long-held fury radiating as her words echoed his very fears. “Is that what being with me is all about, Alma? Settling?”

She put a hand to her mouth. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”

“I think I know what you meant,” he said, turning toward the door. “I don’t want you to settle for me or for my way of life. But you’re right about one thing—the same thing that caused me to do you wrong before—
that
is still between us, for sure. I love my life here, my family, my work. But I guess you’re just hanging around, biding your time until something or someone better comes along and sweeps you right off your pretty little feet.” He stomped back, a finger in the air. “Well, I’m no prince, Alma. I’m not a knight in shining armor. He stopped, inhaled a breath. “Never mind. Just never mind. Maybe I have gone daft, after all, even to hope.”

With that, he was out the door, slamming it shut with such a force, the dishes in the pie safe rattled.

Julien stopped underneath the cypress tree, one hand scrubbing across the ancient bark. What had he been thinking? Why had he even begun to hope? Alma, as beautiful and sweet and caring as she was, had a flaw he’d somehow managed to overlook.

The woman was stubborn. And unforgiving. Make that two flaws.

And she wanted more. She wanted better. She wanted to see what that green grass on the other side was all about.

Make that three or four flaws, tops.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to go home. Just go home and forget the whole deal. Just go back to the way things were before he’d stepped over that line she’d drawn in the sand between them. He’d had a passable life a couple of weeks ago, back when he went through the motions of being a man.

But there was no going back now. Now, he hurt with a furious need that felt like a hook caught in his gill. This was a long dormant pain that had now festered and changed into a certain agony that needed some relief, some healing.

You were so close, he thought. So close. You kissed her, held her, made her see, made her feel again. Made yourself hope again. So close.

He stared up at the little house, at the light still burning inside. Then he watched as that light flickered and went out.

And left him standing there in the darkness.

Without his dobash cake. And without the woman who’d baked it for him.

* * *

Inside, Alma stumbled toward the bedroom, shock and realization coloring the darkness with old ghosts and new doubts. The moonlight chased her, glaring a harsh light of accusation on her.

Her sister had warned her she might be settling if she tried to turn back to Julien. He’d figured it out right away, in spite of their sweet kisses and earnest conversation.

Or at least he
thought
she’d be settling. The same way he’d thought that the night of the prom when he’d stood there, reeling on his feet, slurring his insults and accusations, while he tried to justify why he’d turned to another girl.

“You ask too much, Alma. You want too much. You say you want me but you also want to leave our home. You can’t have both. It’s me or the road.”

But she’d never taken to that road. She’s stalled out and stayed right here, all the time wondering why Julien didn’t come and take her away. Now he’d come back but she was still so afraid of letting him capture her heart. If she gave in and allowed herself to love Julien, would she be trapped here forever? Trapped? Or grounded? Settled? Centered?

Were they destined to self-sabotage any chance they might have at happiness together? Or were they ill-suited for each other to begin with?

Alma sank down on the bed, held her fingers together. “Dear God, is this a sign to let him go? Have I been holding on to him for so long I can’t let go?”

Julien had played around with lots of women. But he’d always come around to see her, each and every day, like clockwork. And she’d lived for those moments, even though she fought those moments, too. Fought and held him at bay, while she secretly relished each glance, each touch, each word.

“Dear Lord, what kind of person am I to do that to him?”

She hurried to get her pajamas on, brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair. She did all the normal, mundane things that she did every night before bed.

Then she kneeled and said a prayer for Julien.

“I know he needs You, Lord. He might have reached out to me, but…I’m pretty sure I messed up on that. Maybe he’s really reaching back toward You through me. Please, help him. Keep him strong. And don’t let him give up.”

Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to make amends.

She needed to prove to Julien and everyone around here that she wasn’t so shallow as to cut and run. She’d stayed after storms, after death, after all sorts of setbacks and tragedies.

“I stayed,” she said into the moonlight. “Hasn’t anybody seen that? I stayed here.”

When I wanted to go.
Or so she thought. Did she want to get away from Fleur? Did she really?

Or had she been the one wanting to stay?

Alma looked at the clock. Too late to call Callie or Brenna. She wished she could talk to her mother. Mama would know what to say, would give her advice without judging her. But Mama wasn’t here. And her sisters had their own lives.