Twenty-Two
Joanna
“Jo,” Gloria said as I walked into her bakery, “why do I get the feeling that this is good-bye?”
I moved over to the counter she was sitting behind, placing my hands on the glass. “I couldn’t leave without popping in here one last time.”
Her hands rested on top of mine. “I’m glad you did, honey.” Her eyes held me in a way that told me she was seeing right through me. “I take it, things didn’t go well with Jenner in Utah?”
I remembered rushing in here, knowing I’d had limited time before my girls arrived at our apartment, and I’d confessed the truth to Gloria. What I loved about her was that she hadn’t judged me for lying to Jenner. She didn’t seem disappointed with me either. She’d just listened and told me to be honest with him.
I shook my head. “He ended things.”
She came over to my side of the counter, but she didn’t hug me. She just stood close, fingering the long, chunky curl that rested across my shoulder.
“But he’s not the reason I came in,” I continued. “I wanted to thank you for everything and to get some pastries for the road. It’s going to be a long drive to LA.”
Her stare reached places far deeper than my chest. “California is going to be the start of something wonderful for you.”
“I hope so.”
She returned to the glass she had been sitting behind and reached inside once it was open. “He cares about you—you do know that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Jenner just needs time to work this through his brain. You caught him off guard—not what happened per se, I mean, you, in general. Love is an uncharted territory for him.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I glanced down at my gel polish that my nerves had caused me to slowly pick off. “You know, to speed the process up?”
Monica had told me to be patient. My mother, who had dated sporadically since she and my father had divorced, had told me to be persistent.
“I’ve apologized,” I told her even though I was sure she felt that. “I’ve offered solutions. I’ve told him I care about him. Nothing has changed. He still won’t budge.”
She pulled out a piece of fudge that was white and blue and set it on a plate. She cut it in half, handing me a bite, and took the other for herself. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I didn’t want to offend her, so I ate it.
Since Utah, Jenner had killed my taste buds, but I’d never had anything like this in my life. A mixture of creamy white chocolate with a subtle burst of blueberry.
“Gloria, thank you.” I took another small nibble. “This is outstanding.”
“It looks like you’ve lost a few pounds. We need to put some meat on those bones.”
“Yes, well”—I sighed—“this has been hard.”
Her hand moved to my shoulder. “I understand.” Her fingers stroked the same spot, like she was seeing even deeper inside me. “You know, my son is the type of man who thrives on challenges and uses them as motivation. But, unlike Brett, Jenner doesn’t allow them to come into fruition. He wants to crush them before they’re born. When James entered Brett’s life, that’s what she was for him—motivation, a reason to change. Whereas Jenner tried to put out the flames before your fire even started. Except you’re strong, Joanna. Stronger than he’s ever experienced, and he knows he can’t continue to fight—it’s just not easy on his soul.” She took out another slice, giving me the whole piece this time. “He lives by his word—it’s his honor—and he feels that entering a relationship with you would go against what he’s promised your father.”
I moaned as I devoured the rest of the fudge. “How do I help him?”
“You can’t.”
“Then, what do I do?”
She reached inside the glass case and took out a piece of coconut fudge that she cut into quarters. “Do you see any chunks of coconut in there?”
I searched the small bits and shook my head.
“That’s because I take the coarse pieces of coconut and puree them. No one wants to bite into a rough, stringy shred, but they love the flavor, so I change the structure.” She reached into the case again and removed a half-moon cookie. “Most make theirs with a vanilla base. I find that boring. I use chocolate instead and add thicker icing, not the sugary fondant-like frosting most others use.” She took a box from behind her and started filling it with fudge and blueberry cake, even several half-moon cookies. She tied the top and placed it in front of me. “Sometimes, they know what they want. Sometimes, you have to show them what they want. And sometimes, you have to come up with innovative ways to give them what they want.” She wrapped her fingers around mine, squeezing. “Jenner hates coconut, but what do I give him every time he comes here?”
“And he loves it. He can’t stop eating it and can’t stop talking about it.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
My heart clutched.
“Gloria …” I took a long, deep breath. “I understand.”
“Oh, darling, I knew you would.”
She moved out from behind the counter and joined me, waiting for me to lift the box before she slipped her arm over the back of my shoulders. As she walked me to the door, she said, “The most intricate recipe I have is the blueberry cake. It looks so simple on the outside, but the inside is a beautiful, complex, layered web of flavors.” When we stopped walking, she hauled me in for a hug, holding me in such a motherly way. “There’s a reason why the cake is our favorite.”
When we pulled back from each other, my gaze fixed on hers. “I can’t thank you enough—for everything.”
I went to reach into my bag to get my wallet, and she stopped me.
“Your money is no good here.” Her fingers softly stroked my cheek. “Next time you’re in town, please stop by. It would make me so happy to see you.”
“I think you’ll be in LA, visiting James and Brett, before I make my way back to Miami. During your next trip, how about I take you to lunch?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Well, that was the easiest unpacking I’ve ever done in my life,” Monica said, flopping down next to me on the couch that had just been delivered.
I slowly turned my face toward her. “But for some reason, I’m as exhausted as my credit card.”
She laughed. “That bill isn’t going to be pretty.”
It wasn’t, but we now had new living room furniture and a kitchen table, lamps, and bedroom sets—things we’d sold in Miami to start completely fresh. And with the steady salary I was earning, I would eventually be able to pay it off.
Not my father.
Me.
Just because I came from money didn’t mean I took advantage of it.
“I know we’re here—that drive took a century and was the longest thing ever—but I still can’t believe we’re here, here,” I said.
A large window was across from me, showing a skyline that I hadn’t studied in a long time. My dream was to always work for my father, but I hadn’t thought he was going to hire me so soon. I got the impression he wanted me to have some experience first. But as I had driven him to the private airport after my graduation weekend, he’d offered me the job after some heavy begging. And even though I missed our friends in Florida, I was ready to start this next phase of my life.
“I can’t either,” she finally whispered. “I saw Manhattan. I saw thick, billowy clouds of steam coming up from the ground and chewy, hot bagels smothered in veggie cream cheese, and those incredible boho-chic boutiques in SoHo. I didn’t see LA.”
I leaned against her shoulder. “Are you disappointed?”
“No, babe, this is so much better.”