Love's Forbidden Flower (10 page)

But true happiness is still a little evasive. Serving as a painful reminder of my bereavement, Donovan neglected calling on my birthday. Since the start of my existence he would commence that day with an obnoxious act. Last year he rigged my alarm so at 6 A.M. it played the most gawd-awful thing I'd ever heard, a version of “Happy Birthday” barked by dogs. The year before, he set off the smoke detector. When I scampered downstairs in a panic, a cup of cocoa and a stupid grin awaited me.

Donovan has always been here in ludicrous ways, but this year his only contact was a card accompanying a book by one of France’s top pastry chefs. The card merely said, “To My Sister On Her Birthday.” Its simplicity was disturbingly out of character.

Finally, Josette has hired a replacement, and my job has reached a sane pace. Josette constantly expresses her gratitude. She even told my parents I possess the drive of two people and am deserving of more than she can pay. It's high praise coming from someone who holds both my personal and my professional admiration.

My parents also repeatedly express how impressed they are with my dedication, genuinely giving me the confidence to announce my plans for the future one night at dinner.

“Mom. Dad. I’d like to discuss something very important to me.” I set down my fork and place my hands in my lap. Ice runs through my veins remembering the time Donovan said he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life and how unglued Dad became over him not having his future mapped out by the time he was sixteen. Dad will likely show as much disdain for my situation.

“I've known for a long time what I want to do with my life, and these last few months have proven it. I work very hard each day, yet at night I go to bed with a satisfied smile on my face. I haven’t even touched upon all of the good stuff, and, despite that, I'm always excited to go to work no matter how tired I am. Josette is willing to write a glowing letter of recommendation so that I can attend a premier pastry school.”

A calm pall fills the room, as my words seem to hang in the air.

Dad looks pained as he clears his throat, as if strep has suddenly set in. He's doing it to command attention, not out of necessity. “I suppose you plan to do this while attending a university or some other college.”

“Yes. I plan to take business classes on the weekends and then keep that going once I start working. Eventually I will open my own shop.”

Mom’s face gives way to a proud smirk, while Dad silently processes what seems to be bad news. Setting down his fork and folding his arms he sits back in his chair. “You know, sweetie, had you said this a few months ago, I would have started screaming that you were crazy and throwing your education away. When you took that cockamamie job you say you never should have gotten, I thought it was kind of cute, and I was proud that you got a job without us asking. But you have worked really hard for it and haven't stopped working since. I don’t agree with your choice, but you have earned my respect, and I feel I have to honor your decision.”

Leaning forward, he points a finger at me as if to punctuate his words. “However, I insist, and I mean insist, that you devise a solid plan to go to college. No matter how successful you are in this cooking thing, I want you to at least get a basic degree in General Ed, even if it is just an associate of arts. You are too smart not to broaden your horizons. I mean it, Lilyanna. You need to come up with a solid plan to do both. You do that, and you have my support and blessing.”

“Really, Daddy? You really believe in me that much?”

He puts his hand firmly on mine, “Yes, dear. I do.”

I'm totally floored. I expected a confrontation and a night of lying in bed wallowing deep in my misery. But respect from Edward Beckett? That was never foreseen. Then again, I'm female and will be “cooking,” so it's likely that in Dad’s mind I'm setting myself up to be the perfect lady housewife. Either way, as long as I continue to play my cards right, success is mine!

After everyone goes to sleep, for the first time since he departed, Donovan's room calls me inside. Lying on his bed, his essence that still graces the pillow encases me. Maybe I should swap his pillow for my own so I can feel closer to him every night.

Donovan, what happened to you? What happened to us, and all of our different incarnations? Did you really need to let them
all
go?

The ability to share my good news is only a speed dialed call away. But he asked for space, and I need it too. For the first time in weeks my spirit allows my brain to ruminate over him, wonder what he's doing and, most importantly, who he really is.

God, please send him back to me filled with words of resolution. Even if you don’t condone my struggles and damnation is upon me, please help me to understand so that I can achieve peace. As for Donovan, please help him find happiness, even if it hurts me. Meanwhile, would you please send me a diversion? You sent me to Josette and in that gave me the ammunition to tell my parents about pastry school and gain acceptance. Thank you for that. Now would you please send me the next thing that I need in life? I don’t know what it is, but I'm sure you do. Thanks.

Just as my workday is scheduled to finish, Josette approaches. “Lily, can you stay late and watch the front of the store? I have to run a few errands.”

Exchanging my dough-encrusted apron for a clean one, I head to the front with a tray of fresh biscotti. Upon walking though the double doors into the shop a delightful voice instantly sweeps me off my feet. Its source is absolutely adorable—about my age, 5’7” tall, incredibly thin, has the cutest lower neck length, disorganized soft brown hair, a sloped nose, and puppy dog eyebrows that slightly slant inward over bright blue eyes as soothing as the sky.

Try as she might, Jennifer at the counter can’t understand a word the poor guy says.

“I said, do—you—have—an-ny—crump-ets?”

I can't help but giggle at his frustration, which he returns with a snicker. The animated way his head bounces as he speaks with his hands firmly planted on his hips has me captivated. “My dear, please tell me that
you
understand me. I know I'm in a foreign country, but I do speak English, or so I thought.”

Jennifer is lost. “I can’t understand you. Are you from Canada?”

“Oh, Jennifer! He’s from England. Judging by his accent, I'm guessing maybe near Manchester. Am I correct?”

The stranger’s eyes glow as he throws his hands in the air. “Finally, someone who understands me! And yes, Manchester. How could you tell?”

“My mom was a little girl when the British Invasion hit, and she crushed heavily on all the English boys. She always says the happiest music came from Manchester. I grew up listening to Herman’s Hermits and the Hollies while being grilled on trivia. I can’t tell you how many times she's dragged me to see Peter Noone in concert. She’s a little embarrassing.”

“I know what you mean. I have the queen of the ‘little embarrassing’ mums meself. I sure am glad you came along when you did. I was on the brink of throwing a wobbly with this bird.”

For the first time in months, I'm beaming, inside and out. It's like an eraser is being taken to the emotional scars on my soul. “I’m sorry to tell you that we don’t make crumpets here. Is there anything else that I could interest you in?”

“Bollocks.” He looks down at his shoes as if embarrassed that the answer to my question is a little inappropriate. He then peers at me with eyes that reek of innocence, meaning he might be nothing but trouble. “Well, maybe you could tell me your name.”

“It’s Lily. Well, Lilyanna really. But everyone calls me Lily.”

“Lilyanna is very lovely. I’m Christopher.”

He eyes the shop, as if what to say next is written somewhere. “Do you work here daily?”

“Most days, until school starts, and then I'll be here on weekends. I’m usually in back, so if you come by you should ask for me. I'll see what I can do about those crumpets.”

His endearing smile returns. “Ah, don’t toy with me, pet.”

“No really. Come back at the same time in two days. Let me see what I can come up with for you. No promises it will be any good.” My heart gallops. Where is this forwardness coming from?

“Really? All right! I'll see you in two days, Lilyanna. Can I take you to tea then? Sorry, I guess it's coffee here. I’m kind of ‘fresh off the boat’ I believe your expression is.”

“Either would be lovely.”

“I’ll see you then!” He fumbles with the door before shooting me a look in admission of his lack of grace.

As soon as the door closes, I turn to Jennifer and beam, “He’s
so
cute!”

“Who? The scrawny guy with the marbles in his mouth?”

“Yes, Jen. The young Manc who just left here. He is a-dor-a-ble!”

“Who?” Jennifer replies.

“Bollocks, not you again. Lil-y-an-na.”

“What’s a millytanya? Never mind. Hey Lily, that foreign guy is back. Can you help him?”

My laughter rings throughout the back of the bakery and into the shop as I nearly race to the front. “Hi Christopher. I'm almost done. See if you can grab us a table outside. There's usually a quiet one around the corner that no one ever sits at.”

When I return to the back of the store, Josette is also amused by the antics. “Tell your friend not to feel bad. It took her over a month to understand me. If she was not my cousin’s daughter, I would have never let her stay.” Josette pulls a tin holding a crumpet off of the stove with a pair of tongs. Dumping out its contents she examines it. “I think you have this right. I have not had one of these in years, but they seem to be what I remember.”

I give the woman who has become a close friend a big hug. “Thanks Josette. And thanks for letting me do this.”

“My pleasure. I owe you a few favors after all you have done for me. Just let me know if there is anything else I can do. You deserve someone to make you happy.”

Snatching the plate of hot buttered crumpets and two cups of freshly brewed tea, I try not to look too eager as I practically sprint to meet Christopher.

“Bob’s Your Uncle!” I cleverly exclaim as I set the plate in front of him.

“Blimey!” he marvels. “Tea and everything? Just a moment, I thought I was treating you to tea.”

“Welcome to America. After dealing with Jennifer’s ridiculousness the other day, I figured the people of this country owe you.”

His azure eyes are big and wild, as he rubs his grinning jaw. Dear God, I want to bottle that color and inject it into my veins so it can forever tint my heart.

“Well, kindly tell the rest of the citizens that I apologize for my poor attitude towards
some
of their people. I’m Gobsmacked!”

“Really? I've never had these before, so I've no idea if I made them right.”

Stopping short of his first bite, Christopher tilts his head, swaying his locks into his eyes. “Just a moment, luv. How is it you've never had crumpets yet you made these?”

“I’m brilliant.”

“Indeed,” he chuckles. “Bob’s Your Uncle! Wherever did you hear that?”

“We get the BBC here too, you know. Besides, my mom's insane. Again, you've been warned.” Prayers are sent to heaven as I take my first bite of crumpet.

“Really? How soon until I meet her?” Christopher goes a little red as he sets down his tea. “Sorry. Is that forward? I've been told American girls are more forward and independent than British girls. I don’t know how to act.”

Relief pats me on the head as I swallow my bite and find it to be pleasant. “This American girl is very independent, but not very forward. You can meet my parents when you pick me up for a proper date.”

He simpers through his embarrassment. “Help me here. I would love to take you on a proper date, but I hear there are rules about how far in advance you are to ask, and that women get upset if you assume they are immediately available. You American ladies are very complicated.”

“Just ask,” I whisper.

“All right,” he mimics my quiet demeanor. “Would you like to join me on a date this Saturday for dinner?”

“I would love to.”

“Lovely. Why are we whispering?”

While looking around covertly I retain my hushed tone—my smile building as I toy with him. “Because I'm a complicated American, and I'm trying to confuse you.”

“Blimey!”