How (Not) to Fall in Love (12 page)

I picked up the shaker set. They were cute baby ninjas, not exactly threatening warriors of the night. “They’re a great addition for my collection. Thanks, Charlie.” I chewed on my thumbnail. “Why do I get both of them? Don’t you want to keep the salt shaker?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t need to anymore.” He almost looked embarrassed. “Kind of silly, I guess, but I hoped if I kept sending you shakers all those years, one day you’d want to track down their mates. And the guy who had them.”

I wanted to jump across the table and hug him, but I kept it under control because I knew I’d start crying if I did. “Your strategy worked,” I said, tearing up anyway. “I found you.”

Charlie nodded, smiling. “Now tell me about your dad’s latest postcard.”

I thought my fabulous panini might just come right back up. “How did you know I’d gotten one?”

“It’s been a couple of weeks since you mentioned getting one. I just assumed he was due to send another.”

How much could I tell him? Would he think I was overreacting if I told him I thought Dad was losing it? I fished the card out of my bag and slid it across the table. The others were still in my drawer at home. I carried this one with me because I was still thinking about it. Obsessing, maybe.

Charlie read the card, rubbing a hand thoughtfully across his beard. It seemed like hours before he looked up.

“Well?” I asked, when he finally did.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure what to think.”

A spark of anger flared in my chest. What was wrong with the adults in my life? Was I the only person who could read between the lines?

“It’s impossible to live up to my reputation.
(Translation: I can’t do this Harvest BS anymore.)
People have made me larger than life. I’m just a man. A regular man. I don’t have all the answers.
(Translation: I am a total fraud.)
I don’t know if I have any answers at all. People are better off following their own advice, not mine.
(Translation: I am quitting. And I’m not coming home. Ever.)
”

“What’s not to understand?” I snapped. “He’s bailing.” I glared at Charlie. “He’s not coming back.”

Charlie leaned against the booth and sighed loud enough to make Pinky glance at us. “I don’t know what he’ll do, Darcy. I don’t think even he knows what’s next.”

Outrage fanned the anger spark to a furious flame. “So my mom and I are supposed to just sit around waiting, while our lives get worse by the day? We’re supposed to wait for him to decide we’re worth coming home to?”

Charlie flinched. “You and your mom are worthy of a lot more than you’re getting right now.” He reached across the table and clasped my hands. He had Dad’s hands, only not. Charlie’s were rough with calluses. Dad’s were always smooth and manicured. “Will you let me help you, Darcy?” Charlie asked, his eyes full of love and concern.

I stared at Dad’s loopy handwriting on the postcard. What could Charlie possibly do to fix any of this? Send a tractor beam out to find my dad and plunk him back into his Harvest offices, raring to go? Find an extra million bucks lying around the thrift store to bail us out?

The fire in me sputtered and died. Charlie was one of the only good things in my life right now. It wasn’t fair to take out my anger on him.

“Just hanging out with you and Liz is enough,” I whispered. “It’s more than enough. It’s keeping me going right now.”

Charlie’s hands squeezed tight around mine. “I want to do so much more.” He swallowed. “I’ve called your mom a few times. She hasn’t called me back.”

Did you call in the evening?
I wanted to ask. She was probably passed out drunk or hadn’t bothered to listen to her voicemail.

Out loud I said, “She’s working a crazy schedule with the real estate business. I never know when she’s going to be home
.” Or awake. Or sober.

Charlie nodded. “I’m sure she’s overwhelmed by everything and doing all she can.”

I fiddled with my side salad, not daring to look at Charlie. I didn’t want to talk about Mom. “Charlie, there’s something I don’t understand. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you, but I’m not sure how.”

“I hope you know you can ask me anything.”

I nodded. “It’s about my dad. And you. I don’t understand how…” I took a breath and started again. “You don’t seem mad at him at all. But he rejected you. He stopped inviting you to our house when I was just a kid, but you made Liz listen to his CDs. You’ve even said you like some of his Harvest stuff. If I were you, I’d be really angry. And hurt.”

Charlie rubbed his beard, then met my gaze. “You certainly have a right to ask all this, Darcy.” He gave me a small smile. “I’m glad you did. It just confirms something about you.”

“What’s that?”

“You have a seeker’s soul, Darcy. Like me.”

“A seeker? Me?”

He smiled again. “Yes. You want to know
why
. You don’t like easy answers.”

I nodded. “I don’t have much patience for BS. Especially now.”

He chuckled. “So I won’t give you any.” He steepled his hands, watching me closely. “Your dad and I were very different as kids. We were both smart. But he was the popular one. The athlete and the scholar. I was the hippie.” He grinned. “You probably figured that out.”

I laughed softly. “Yeah.”

“So when it was time for college, your dad headed off in a glorious blaze of scholarships and big dreams. I was a year behind him. After I graduated high school, instead of going to college I took some time off. I stayed in a monastery. It was a silent order, so I didn’t talk for three months.”

My eyes widened. “No way.”

“Way.” He grinned. “Then I spent some time in a Buddhist retreat center. I learned how to meditate. I still do it every day.”

“Maybe I should try that,” I muttered, thinking of my anxiety balloon.

“I highly recommend it,” Charlie said. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand the desire to go on a quest for meaning, which is what I think your dad is doing.”

I stared at Charlie for a long time. I thought of the many hours Dad and I had spent in the sacred space of our personal Stonehenge.
That I’d destroyed.
Was he trying to regain that sense of peace? Had he stopped believing in Harvest? Was he looking for a new lodestar to follow?

“But what about when I was a kid?” I asked. “All those years we never saw you? Aren’t you mad at him for practically disowning you?”

Charlie took a long breath. “I forgave your dad long ago, Darcy. I’ve always believed that some day he and I will reconnect. I still think we will.” He paused. “Especially now.”

He looked at his plate. “The thing about Harvest,” he said quietly, “is that I agree with most of what your dad says.” He looked up and grinned at me. “Your dad and I believe many of the same things. We just have different ways of living what we believe.”

That was an understatement. I thought of my dad jetting around the country and hanging out with famous people. Then I thought of Charlie hanging out behind his counter, listening to anyone’s story in exchange for a donut. Charlie was the listener. My dad was the speaker. But maybe they weren’t so very different underneath the surface.

“You should’ve been a priest,” I said, taking another bite of my sandwich.

His eyebrows rose. “Almost did that,” he said. “But then I ended up with the store. And I met Liz.”

I thought of all the people Charlie helped, the clothes he gave away, the homeless who found warmth in his store on cold days, telling him stories for free donuts. “Your store is like your church,” I said.

He reached across the table to squeeze my hand. We sat quietly, just looking at each other. Finally I picked up the ninjas and waved them between us. “I should head back to Liz’s. It’s time for my badass ninja self to kick some espresso butt.”

Charlie laughed as he put cash on the table to pay our bill. As we left the restaurant, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and smiled down at me. “Remember when I said you were my favorite niece?”

“And your only niece,” I reminded him as we fell into step together.

He ruffled my hair. “You’d be my favorite even if I had a hundred nieces.”

M
om was already passed out in her bed when I got home close to eleven. Judging by the state of the kitchen, she’d had wine for dinner.

Toby slept next to me on the couch as I watched a rerun of
Friends.
In the middle of an episode, Mom staggered into the family room rubbing her eyes.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Almost midnight. You never called.” She stared at me glassy-eyed so I went on in the same level voice, “I had an early dinner with Charlie so I didn’t cook. But there’s still leftover meatloaf from last night in the fridge.”

“Ugh. Disgusting. I hate meatloaf.”

I glared at her. “Well, pardon me, madam chef, but it’s the best I could do. And it’s better than a crummy frozen dinner so I think you should thank me.”

She sank into the chair across from me. She was still in her work clothes. Her slacks were wrinkled and her blouse dotted with red wine stains. “Give me a break, Darcy. I’ve had a long day.”

I stared at her in disbelief. I could tell by the way her words slurred that she was still drunk, even after sleeping. “
You’ve
had a long day?” I asked. “What about me?”

“It’s not the same thing. You’re just a kid.”

“Not anymore I’m not. Thanks to Dad.” I paused. “And you.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t you dare blame me for this.”

My chest heaved. “I don’t blame you for Dad leaving. I don’t. But I do blame you for not being around anymore.” And for being drunk all the time, but I was too scared to say that out loud.

“I have to work, Darcy,” she whined. “I have to do whatever Pam tells me to. The money she’s paying me is the only thing keeping us going.”

I took a calming breath, because I needed her onboard with the estate sale idea. I
wanted
her to act like a grown-up, to be her old self, to take some of the load off my shoulders. But maybe that was too much to ask. “That’s why I called you this afternoon about selling our stuff. What do you think?”

She stared at the television for a long time, then shifted her gaze to me. “It’s too much for me, Darcy. But if you’re willing to do it, go ahead.”

Just because it was the answer I’d expected didn’t make it hurt any less. “You’ll probably have to sign the contract,” I told her. “I’m sure I’m too young.”

She closed her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Go ahead and set it up.”

I shut off the television and went to bed without saying good night.

Chapter Fifteen

October 29

T
he next day I called the first estate sale company on Charlie’s list. I’d worried about it all day at school and tackled it first thing when I got home.

“Family Solutions,” said a tinkling voice.

“Hi, I’m Darcy Covington. My uncle, Charlie Covington, recommended that I call you.”

“Yes?” The woman on the phone was hesitant.

I tried to lower my voice so I sounded older. “My family needs to have an estate sale.” I took a breath. “My mom will sign all the paperwork, but I’ll be coordinating it.” I tried to sound bossy, like Sal, and give her no chance to say no. “Charlie assured me that you’d be happy to work with me, with our family, but if you’d rather not, he’s given me some other names to call.”

“Oh, well, of course I can help.” The woman sounded perkier. “Since Charlie recommended you.”

“Great.” I smiled into the phone. “When can you come to our house? We’re moving at the end of the month so we need to do this sale right away.”

“Oh my. That’s tough, with a holiday next month. Let me look at my calendar.” I heard the clicking of a keyboard. “My next opening is December fifth.”

Crap. We had to be out by the end of November. “Is there any way you can do it sooner?”

“I’ll put you on my calendar for the weekend of December fifth, but you might want to check with the other companies Charlie recommended. Call me back to let me know either way.”

My little bit of optimism took a hard hit. I’d been sure this was the answer, but I should have realized a good agent would be booked far in advance. I spent the next half hour calling Charlie’s other referrals, trading voicemails, and pacing the kitchen floor, my stomach getting tighter and tighter with anxiety. We were out of luck. No one had openings before the end of the year. Family Solutions was our only option.

I only needed an extra week, or two. Could I persuade the board of directors to give us a break? J.J. hadn’t given us much hope, but if I went to them myself, showed them I was working on the problem…

Toby snored from the middle of the kitchen floor. I sank next to him and rubbed his stomach. “What should I do, Toblerone?”

Persuade the board to give us extra time. Make a speech in front of all of those people who thought my dad was a criminal. Just the idea of it made me sweat.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered. Toby opened an eye to look at me as if wondering what I was so worried about. He had a lot more confidence in me than I did.

I needed to prepare. To practice. It was going to be like debate class, only a million times worse. “But this is different,” I told Toby. “This time there’s a lot more than a grade at stake. I have to win.”

I
arrived at Charlie’s shop an hour before my shift started at Liz’s, grateful to see him behind the counter. I’d brought Toby with me since I sometimes left him with Charlie or Lucas while I worked in the coffee shop.

“How’d it go?” he asked. “Did you find someone to do the estate sale?”

I nodded and grabbed a donut. “Family Solutions. The only problem is she can’t fit us in before we have to move. I don’t know what to do.”

Charlie frowned. “Is there any way you can push back the move date?”

I stared at my lap. “Maybe,” I said quietly, “if we ask the board for more time.”

“Hasn’t your mom asked?” Charlie asked, his voice soft with concern.

I still hadn’t told my uncle about Mom’s drinking, and I didn’t want to now. He already worried enough about me. “I’m sure she will,” I lied, knowing I was the one who had to do it. Even though I was terrified.

He frowned. “What can I do to help you, Darcy?”

I forced a smile. “Keep supplying these donuts.”

He reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. I held his gaze, so grateful to be with him, yet seeing so much of my dad in him that I had to fight back tears.

Toby jumped up and raced for the door. I turned to see Lucas standing outside, laughing with Eddie from Inkheart. If I were a dog, I’d be panting at the door, too. Lucas saluted Eddie then pushed through the door. He bent down to pet Toby, then looked up and grinned. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Not much.” I focused on my donut. He looked exceptionally delicious today, wearing a tight, dark green thermal shirt that outlined his muscles and made his eyes look like sparkling jewels. God, I was pathetic. What was I doing, designing a romance book cover in my head?

He perched next to me on a stool and grabbed a donut. “Put it on my tab,” he told Charlie, who just winked at him.

“Hey!” I pointed accusingly. “The pink ones are mine.”

He raised an eyebrow, watching me intently while he licked the pink icing with his tongue. Holy hell. I turned away and gulped my water. There weren’t enough ice cubes in the city to cool me down right now.

“I’m taking Toby for a walk before my shift starts,” I said, sliding off my stool to avoid looking at his eyes or his mouth…or his tongue, still working on the icing.

Lucas stood up, wrapping his donut in a napkin. “I’ll go with you.” He glanced at Charlie as he slid the donut toward him. “Save this for me. Okay if I take my break before my shift even starts?” He grinned.

Charlie looked back and forth between us. “Go ahead,” he said, a funny little smile on his face.

Toby danced around us as we headed for the door. Lucas held it open and then fell into step next to me as we walked down Broadway. My heart hammered as I tried to think of something to talk about. We always seemed to have lots to talk about in the shops, but we hadn’t done this before, just the two of us.

“Truth, Darcy,” he said. “How’s everything going? For real.”

I stumbled and he put out a hand to steady me, which didn’t help since the sudden warmth of his touch made me even more klutzy.

“I’m okay,” I said, once I’d figured how to walk again.

“You’re lying,” he said conversationally, like he’d asked me about the weather. He tossed his long dark hair out of his eyes and I swallowed, trying to maintain my composure. “You’re worried about something. More than usual, I mean.”

My lips parted in surprise. “How can you tell?”

He shrugged. “I just can.” I gazed down at Toby, whose tail wagged at warp speed. “It might help to talk about it,” Lucas said, his voice soft.

I glanced at him, startled at the intensity I saw in his eyes. I turned away, pretending to be interested in the jumble of model airplane kits in the window of the run-down hobby store.

His hand brushed mine, lacing our fingers briefly, but before I could catch my breath, he released my hand and took hold of Toby’s leash. He cleared his throat. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Friends. Right. Of course. I let go of the leash, letting Lucas take over. “Yeah,” I said, my voice a little wobbly. We walked in silence and I wondered if I’d hallucinated the whole almost-held-my-hand thing.

“If you don’t tell me what’s up, I’ll just ask Charlie.”

I took a deep breath. Inhale calm. Exhale obsessive need to analyze potential hand-holding event. “I found someone to do the estate sale. Mom said she’d sign the paperwork, but left me in charge of it all. But there’s a scheduling issue.”

He was quiet for a bit, but the back of his leash-free hand brushed mine again as we walked. “When my mom left,” he finally said, “my dad kind of checked out for a while. He spent all his time fixing his car, or working late doing repairs for the property management company he works for.” He took a deep breath and suddenly I wanted to reach out to squeeze his hand. But I didn’t have the guts to do it. “I took care of Pickles all the time.” He turned to grin at me. “I even changed her diapers.”

“Wow.” I laughed at that image. “That’s what I call brotherly love.”

“Right? I’m just that awesome.”

Without thinking, I shoulder-bumped him. “Shut up.” Crap. Had I actually just touched him on purpose?

“So, um, anyway.” He shot me a sideways glance as he tucked his hair behind his ear. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve sort of been there. Doing the stuff parents are supposed to do, because they can’t. Or won’t.”

We ended up in a neighborhood park. “When did you, I mean
how
did you get your dad to…to start functioning again?”

He stopped, forcing Toby to stop, too. He stared down at me as we stood on a small wooden bridge, the breeze ruffling his hair, focusing on me so intently that I could hardly breathe.

“I didn’t, Darcy. That’s the thing. You can’t make your mom change. She has to do it for herself.”

I swallowed. I knew what he said was true, even though I wanted him to give me some sort of magic key that would unlock the door to my mom’s closed heart.

He took a step toward me. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and the blue-green ocean color of his eyes seemed darker than usual. Then Toby spotted a squirrel and took off at full speed, yanking Lucas after him. I exhaled and grabbed the bridge railing for support as I watched Lucas run behind Toby, laughing and yelling at him to heel.

Had he almost kissed me? Or was I losing my mind?

W
e walked back to the shops together, talking and joking about unimportant things, the sparking tension between us gone. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.

I was glad to be working by myself tonight. My mind was a jumble of worries about the estate sale, anxiety about persuading the Harvest board for more time to move, punctuated by images of Lucas gazing at me on the bridge, his eyes burning with intensity.

My shift was almost over when the door swung open. A gust of bitter cold wind whooshed in along with the last person I expected to see.

“Ryan? What are you doing here?” I stared at him, stunned.

He brushed snow out of his hair and smiled at me. He wore his Burton snowboarding jacket and swung his Range Rover key on a long lanyard, looking like an ad for a ski resort.

My heart thudded, but not with excitement like it did for Lucas.

“So this is where you work, huh?” He looked around the shop. The place was empty since it was almost closing time. “Sal told me about this place.”

I would kill her. Painfully.

“You want something to drink?” I asked, wondering what the heck he was doing here.

“Sure,” he said. “Make me your specialty.” He moved close to the counter, watching me work Bella.

“Soo,” he said, drawing out the word. “I was wondering. Does your dad still have that box suite at the football stadium?”

My hand slipped on the filter holder and I almost spilled espresso grounds everywhere. Was he seriously angling for tickets? I stared at him, wondering why I’d ever thought he was hot, when he was so shallow.

“Uh, I guess,” I said. “I mean, technically it’s owned by his company.” Unless J.J. had sold it already.

“Cool.”

I handed him the finished mocha, not bothering to put whip cream and sprinkles on it. He took a sip and raised his eyebrows. “This is good.”

Of course it is, I wanted to say, because I’m a kick-ass barista. Instead I just shrugged. “Thanks.” I heard the back door open and close, then familiar footsteps and the jingle of Toby’s collar. Lucas stopped short when he saw Ryan.

“Hi,” I said to him, willing Ryan to leave. Like
now
. Toby moved behind me, licking up crumbs from the floor.

Lucas looked between Ryan and me, his eyes narrowed. “Hi,” he said, his stare settling on Ryan.

“Hi,” said Ryan, oblivious to the tension crackling around him.

“Um, we’re just about to close,” I told Ryan, pointing to the Eiffel Tower clock that indicated 9:55.

He glanced at the clock, and then turned back to me. “Cool.” He hesitated. “Do you need a ride home?”

“She drove her truck,” Lucas said next to me, before I could reply.

I glanced at him, startled, but Ryan just shrugged again, still clueless. “Okay.” He took another drink of his mocha. “So, uh, maybe you could let me know about the tickets. The Seahawks game is coming up. It should be awesome.”

I had no words, so I just mimicked his shrug.

He took a step back. “Guess I’ll head out.” He glanced around the coffee shop. “It’s not Starbucks, but this place is all right.” He shrugged again. “Kinda run-down, but I guess it’s just this neighborhood.”

Lucas stiffened next to me, his hands clenching into fists. I bustled past him, store keys in hand, gesturing for Ryan to leave. “See you later,” I said, practically slamming the door. I locked it and flipped the sign from
open
to
closed
then took a deep breath before turning around.

Lucas stood with his arms crossed, glaring at me. I flicked off the main lights, which only made him look scarier, like a gorgeous, angry statue bathed in the soft lights behind the counter.

“Who was that?” He bit out the words.

“Just some guy from school.” I busied myself picking up empty coffee mugs and plates, but nervous energy jangled through me, making me clumsier than usual.

“Is he…” Lucas’s voice trailed away, then he cleared his throat. “Are you…dating him?”

The tray of empty mugs wobbled as I glanced at him. His hands were in his pockets now, but he still looked angry. Or maybe not angry, exactly, but…something. Something not happy.

“Uh, no. He’s just…” I could hardly say Ryan was a friend, since he only showed up when he wanted a favor. He still had never asked me how I was doing. Not even once. Not to mention, “just friends” was what I always said about Lucas, and what I had with him was special, in its own way.

“Just what?” Lucas prompted, his voice low.

I set the tray on a table and looked at him. “Just a guy who has no clue about what’s really going on in my life.”

Lucas crossed his arms again, still watching me. “So what was he doing here? Besides insulting Liz’s shop and my neighborhood?”

Ouch.

I picked up the tray and walked toward him slowly, my gazde on the floor so I didn’t trip again. “He wanted something from me.”

Lucas reached out and took the tray from me, his fingers brushing mine and zapping me like they always did. “What did he want?”

I turned away to wipe down the counter. “My dad’s company has a box suite at the football stadium. Ryan wanted tickets to the Seahawks game.” I tried to force a laugh. “At least, they used to have a box. J.J.’s probably selling it. Like he’s selling our house.”