Charmingly Yours (A Morning Glory #1) (23 page)

“Maybe I need a lecture,” he said, setting his empty cup on the scrolled iron table. His stomach felt warm from the brandy . . . or perhaps it was the sunshine striping the patio with its heat.

“No one needs a lecture when they’re hurting. I can see this is more than confusion over what your parents have planned for you.”

“There’s this woman.”

“Ah,” his grandmother said, holding up a finger crooked from arthritis. “The best and worst stories start with those words.”

He managed a smile. “But she’s from a different world. It won’t work.”

“What world would that be?”

“Mississippi,” he said.

“Oh yes, very different. I went down there when your grandfather was in the navy. I couldn’t even understand what those people were saying half the time.”

Sal smiled. “They say weird things like ‘It’s hotter than a billy goat’s butt in a pepper patch’ or ‘He’s useless as tits on a boar hog.’”

That made his grandmother giggle. “So what’s wrong with Mississippi?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused about her intent.

“I mean if you love her and she loves you, you have to meet her halfway. You’re not happy here, so what’s wrong with Mississippi?”

Sal looked hard at the old woman. “You’re suggesting I go to Mississippi?”

Her mouth turned down, and she tilted her head in the age-old expression that meant, “That’s what I’m saying, dumb ass.”

“But I can’t live in Mississippi. I’m a New Yorker.”

“And that’s why you’re working for your father and considering marrying that cow Angelina? Because you’re a New Yorker? And I suppose you’d cut off your nose to spite your face, too.”

“Angelina’s not a cow. She’s actually very slender.”

“Cow,” his grandmother said, jabbing a finger at the ground. “I don’t like her. Never have. Spoiled rotten. Her mother should have whipped her ass when she had the chance. If you marry her, I won’t be at the wedding.”

Sal shook his head. “I’m not marrying her.”

“Good. Maybe you’re starting to find your balls.”

“Grandma Sophie,” he said, trying not to laugh.

“What? It’s the truth. That’s what I liked about your grandfather. He never let me walk all over him. He was a man who knew what he wanted. He wanted me. I danced in the chorus line and he was the boy who pulled the curtain, you know?”

He nodded, because she loved to talk about her dancing days.

“But that Anthony’s eyes burned with fire. He wanted more than what life had given him. He didn’t know my papa owned a restaurant. He thought I was a little songbird of no account, but he knew he wanted me. Smart man to take what he wanted and gain a restaurant in the process. My papa loved Tony like a son, and he loved him even more because he loved me. Tony was never afraid to roll the bones and see what came up.”

Sal didn’t say anything because his mind was glutted with too much to think about.

“Why don’t you stop holding your dice, Sal?” his grandmother said, reaching for the brandy she’d set on the table and pouring herself half a cup. “You don’t want the life you’re living. Give them a roll.”

“But . . .” Sal started to say that everything he knew was here, but he couldn’t. Because the one person who made him happy had shut him out of her life and would board a plane for the South tomorrow. What would life be if he settled for the life he’d had before? Where was his passion? His challenge? His reason for getting up every morning?

He looked down at his hand and opened it.

Stop settling. Roll the dice.

“Years after Tony and I were married, he told me that he’d spent his last two dollars to take me for ice cream. For three days, he ate scraps so I could eat ice cream and fall in love with him. Ah, his smile and the way he looked at me. If they could bottle that, we’d all be rich, you know?”

Sal nodded. His grandfather hadn’t been afraid to disappoint or to fall on his ass. He’d rolled his dice, spent his last dollar on love.

“I’d like to say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but your father,
ay-yi-yi
. He has a romantic bone somewhere in his pinkie, maybe. Hard to tell. And your mother is from a forward family. She has always pushed, pushed, pushed. The woman must be exhausted. But you—you I’ve always had hope for. You’re a dreamer, though they would beat it out of you. But the dreamers are always the ones who win big. Or they go home.” His grandmother drained her brandy and rose, creeping across the garden much like the snails she’d drowned in the small containers of beer sitting round the patio. Picking a lovely rose from a thorny shrub, she carried it back to him. “See how beautiful?”

He nodded, taking the deep-pink blossom.

“Soon it will wither and fall away. Admire it now.”

Determination and revelation uncurled inside him. “You’re so smart. Thank you for telling me all of this. For using this to get your point across.”

His grandmother made a face. “Using this? It’s just a rose.”

“Yeah, but somehow you knew. You knew what I needed to hear.”

“I picked it to take to Betsy next door. She’s taking Tom Tucker to the senior citizen dance and asked me for a rose for his lapel. You read too much into things. See? Just like your grandpapa Tony.” His grandmother smiled, chuffed him on the chin, and toddled back into her small town house.

Sal wanted to leap up and get to it, but instead he remained sitting, soaking up the scent of lavender, suddenly lazy at the drone of the bees buzzing about the sage. A large rosemary bush sat in one planter, as subtle in its beauty as his Rosemary. And like her, one touch and it stayed with him, permeating his skin with the evocative scent. Not easy to wash away.

Today had been both tragic and jubilant. He didn’t know his future, what would happen, even exactly how he’d go about changing all he’d been. He just knew he would be bold the way Rosemary had been and step outside his comfort zone. The thought of letting go, rolling the dice, and letting fate decide his future was freeing. If he crapped out, he’d live with it. But he wouldn’t be a coward anymore. His soul felt fifty pounds lighter.

Rising, he went over to the rosebush and clipped a similar bloom. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed appreciatively then slid it into his shirt pocket. And then he snipped a piece of fragrant rosemary, sliding it in beside the rose.

He was a new man.

Now all he had to do was shut down his life here in New York City, move to Mississippi, get a job, and win Rosemary back.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

He shook his empty hand and pretended to roll the dice.

Game on.

Chapter Twenty-One

“This is gorgeous, Rosemary, and way too much,” Eden said, lifting the silver necklace from the depths of the signature blue box from Tiffany’s. A small songbird hung on the end of the chain.

“Every girl should have something from Tiffany’s, right?” Rosemary said, sliding the next box to Jess. “This is for you.”

Jess looked at the box and then glanced up at Rosemary. It was Monday afternoon and they sat at their regular table at the Lazy Frog coffee shop. “You didn’t have to bring us gifts. You’re supposed to bring us stories, lots and lots of stories. We need some vicarious living, sister.”

But she took the box, sliding the white ribbon from the top.

“I have stories,” Rosemary said, swallowing the emotion that popped up at weird times. She’d been home for a week, but had made excuses every time Eden or Jess suggested coming by. Things had felt too raw and there was something about falling in love with a man she was supposed to use for sex and then finding out he was using her for sex that was embarrassing. So she’d spent the week working with her head down, sewing more pillows in case she landed a contract with Trevor Lindley. She didn’t want to think about Sal or New York City. In fact, she’d tried to delete the picture of them smiling on the top of the Empire State Building a dozen times, as if erasing it could erase what a fool she’d been. But she couldn’t do it. Instead her heart would break into a million pieces all over again and she’d toss her phone away.

Rosemary figured Eden had sensed as much. Rosemary had gone to Penny Pinchers to pick up some storage bags for her mother. Patsy was in the process of freezing things for the long cold winter she was certain they’d have. If her mother believed in anything, it was Jesus, good manners, and the
Farmer’s Almanac
. Eden’s gaze had lasered through the forced cheerfulness Rosemary had cloaked herself in and Rosemary knew she’d run out of excuses for not meeting her friends. So here she was pretending to be happy.

Jess pulled off the lid and smiled. “Holy crap. You got me a Tiffany pocketknife.”

Eden started laughing. “That’s hilarious. And so perfect for her.”

Rosemary said, “If you’re going to carry a pocketknife, it might as well be a silver Tiffany Swiss Army knife.”

Jess looked up. “I love it.”

After Benton told Jess he was leaving her, she’d come to Rosemary’s house, tears streaming, which was atypical of the hard-ass Jess. When Rosemary answered the door, Jess had started bawling. Rosemary pulled her into a hug and after her friend had told her what had happened, she made a comment they’d laughed about for the past year. She’d said, “Now how am I going to open beer bottles or cut the tags off stuff? Benton always had his pocketknife with him.” It was such a bizarre thing to say and even Jess laughed about it . . . now.

“I wouldn’t want you trying to open beer bottles with your teeth. You have such a pretty smile,” Rosemary said.

Jess shook her head. “So tell us more about your Italian guy. I haven’t had sex with someone for almost a year, so I need some vicarious orgasms.”

Rosemary had known she’d have to bear this. She didn’t want to admit to having her heart broken, though her mother had been saying things like, “Maybe you should try some new eye cream,” and “Are you still jet-lagged?” Because a one-hour time difference always made a gal jet-lagged. Nope, it was Patsy’s way of prying. Or making Rosemary feel bad about the bags under her eyes.

“He was great. We did a lot of fun things. Um, we went dancing—y’all already know that, though—and we took a carriage ride in Central Park. Jess, you know how that one went. Um, we ate at lots of different restaurants. Oh, we also saw Kirstie Alley at—”

“Yeah, but what about him? You’re not telling us the good stuff,” Jess said, tapping on the table.

“He was—” How could she put everything Sal had been to her in words?

Impossible.

Ever since she climbed off the plane in Jackson, she’d been going over and over that last morning in New York. Maybe she should have let Sal up to explain. Maybe she shouldn’t have allowed a perfect yet supercilious stranger define Sal for her. She’d not given him a chance to defend himself. Instead she’d acted on emotion. When Angelina implied she was Sal’s fiancée, mortification had swept through Rosemary. Like a snap of fingers, she’d gone back to being an uncertain, gauche country mouse come to the city who didn’t know champagne from soda water. Pairing that with the thought Sal had taken advantage of her lack of experience had erased any chance for reasonable examination. The idea he’d lied to her had petrified her emotionally, and because she felt inferior to someone like Angelina, she’d allowed her emotions to sweep her into a tailspin.

But what if she’d been wrong?

In the long run, would it have mattered? She’d told Sal she would give him her heart and body for two weeks. She’d dance, try naughty things, drink wine, and go without underwear. She’d give blow jobs, eat caviar (which, by the way, she thought disgusting), and listen to Gilda’s weird Scottish music. She’d allow herself to sample new experiences with him, but they’d both known it would end when she went back to Mississippi. Clean break. No regrets.

Perhaps the way they’d ended things had been for the best. Maybe letting him upstairs wouldn’t have changed anything. She’d still have been mourning the loss of Sal.

“Rosemary?” Eden prodded, placing her hand over Rosemary’s. “Are you okay? ’Cause you don’t seem like the same Rosemary who left Morning Glory. You were supposed to enjoy using Lacy’s money.”

“I did. I even bought a pair of those ridiculously expensive Christian Louboutin shoes because she always wanted a pair. It’s just . . .” She sighed.

Jess narrowed piercing eyes and tucked her curly brown hair behind her ear. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” Rosemary asked, glancing up at her friend.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, you fell in love with him.”

Eden jerked her gaze to Rosemary. “Did you? You said you wouldn’t.”

Lie to her friends?

Or spill her guts.

“I got a little attached is all. But things didn’t end well anyway. And it’s not like anyone can have a long-distance relationship.”

“Why not? These days it’s easy. With Skype and texting and—what’s that called on your phone?” Eden asked Jess.

“FaceTime.”

“Yeah,” Eden said, her pretty blue eyes plaintive. “And Snapchat. You can see him on the web all the time and then fly up there every now and then. And you can bring him down here.”

“Here?” Rosemary smiled, thinking about Sal going fishing with her daddy or listening to her across-the-street neighbor Mrs. Simpson gossip about the Pentecostals down the road who don’t watch their kids or sitting on the pew with her listening to Reverend Hyde preach about the Sermon on the Mount. Lord, would the choir be atwitter. “I don’t see Sal wanting to come down here. Lord, what would we do all day—watch the grass grow?”

“Oh, I could think of some good ways to pass the time, Rosemary Marie,” Jess teased.

And damned if she didn’t blush. “Hush your mouth, Jessica Anne.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Jess said. “Why can’t you have your Italian?”

“Because he may belong to someone else . . . and it wouldn’t work. End of story.”

“Belong to someone else?” Jess pressed her slender fingers on the table. “Let’s go back to that.”

“No. Look, the last day I was there, this woman came to his place. She told me Sal was going to marry her. She’s like this old family friend and they’ve known each other forever.”

“So?”

“Well, he was all secretive about things. Wouldn’t let me get around his family and stuff. I don’t know. I felt like he hadn’t been totally honest with me about this woman.”

“Wow,” Eden breathed. “You think it’s true?”

“I don’t know,” Rosemary said, feeling the press of tears for the tenth or twentieth time that day. Every time she thought about the way things ended, she got weepy. “It wouldn’t matter, though. I live here. He lives there. Long distance wasn’t going to work anyway. Guess I wish things hadn’t ended on that note.”

“I know what you mean. Life’s a bitch sometimes, huh?” Jess said, covering Rosemary’s hand with her own and giving her a squeeze.

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” Rosemary said, pulling out the paisley ditty bag with the charm bracelet inside and setting in the center of the table. Almost two months had passed since the little bag had last sat on the table.

“The bracelet,” Eden breathed. “I had almost forgotten about it.”

“So, kid, what charm did you get?” Jess asked.

Rosemary set a tiny box on the table. Opening it, she withdrew a silver charm.

“The Empire State Building.” Eden grinned, taking the little charm from Rosemary. “It’s so cute.”

“So even though things didn’t work out with you and Sal, you’re calling it a win?” Jess asked, opening the paisley bag, allowing Lacy’s bracelet to spill onto the table.

“I drank champagne punch, had lunch with Trevor Lindley, got a tattoo, and fell in love. Most of it was wonderful, even if the ending was crappy. But I lived it. And I don’t have any regrets.”

“Wait a second, Trevor Lindley? The Trevor Lindley who has a TV show and a bunch of stores and crap?” Eden asked.

Rosemary looked at Jess. “You didn’t tell her about the pillows?”

Jess’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t mine to tell.”

“What about the pillows?” Eden asked.

“It’s a long story, but let’s just say I’m going to be busy with a side project that could turn into something bigger. My new design label South of SoHo is officially being courted by the Lindley Group. If they buy my designs, my pillows will be sold in his New York, Chicago, and LA stores.”

Eden squealed and everyone in the coffee shop turned to look at them. “You’re gonna be famous. And rich. Well, richer,” Eden said.

Rosemary laughed. “I’m not sure about that, but it’s way more than I bargained for. I took a bite out of the Big Apple even though it took a bite out of me.”

Eden laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So hand me the bracelet so I can do my duty,” Rosemary said to Jess.

Jess slid the bracelet toward Rosemary, but her gaze was centered beyond Rosemary’s shoulder. A small V had gathered between her brown eyes.

“What?” Rosemary asked.

“It’s just—hold on a sec.” Jess rose and walked toward the large glass window portraying a frog relaxing on a lily pad.

Eden shoved the bracelet at Rosemary. “Are you going to put it on? Isn’t that part of the whole thing Lacy wanted? I think you have to do it.”

“I guess.”

“Hey, Rosemary,” Jess called, interrupting them.

Rosemary held the charm clasp open but looked over her shoulder. “What?”

The owner of the Lazy Frog, Sassy Grigsby, had walked around to look out the window, too.

“What’s Sal look like?” Jess called.

“Huh?” Rosemary hooked the charm on the bracelet and wondered if her job was done. Lacy had written some mumbo jumbo that made the thing sound magical. Which was plumb silly. “Why?”

“Well, Fred Odom is talking to this really hot guy and they’re pointing at Parsley and Sage,” Jess said.

Sassy nodded. “Jeez, he could eat crackers in my bed any ol’ night. Hotter than a two-dollar pistol.”

Rosemary handed the bracelet to Eden and pushed back her chair. “What are you talking about?”

When she stepped up to the window, her knees nearly buckled.

Sure enough, Fred Odom pointed toward her store, his sweaty bald head shining like a beacon. He’d been delivering mail for more than thirty years and his cheerful disposition made him a Morning Glory favorite . . . and the perfect person to know everything in town.

And he was talking to Sal.

The man she’d pined for over seven straight lonely nights wore a pair of jeans and a graphic print T-shirt. Sweat streamed down his face as he nodded to whatever Fred was telling him.

“Oh holy shit,” Rosemary whispered.

Jess turned to her and took her by the shoulders. “Good Lord, Rosemary. That man has come for you.”

“No, I can’t imagine why . . .” Rosemary’s voice faded as she tried to grasp the words Jess had spoken. Had he come for her? Or was he really intent on apologizing? But that would be ridiculous. No one flew to Mississippi just to apologize, did they?

Eden craned her head around Rosemary. “Ooh, he’s cute, Rose.”

“Sexy,” Sassy said.

Jill Crabtree and her two teen daughters got up from their table. They all nodded.

“Go out there and save him, Rosemary,” Eden said, giving her a little push. “Someone has to save him from Fred. No one can get away from him when he starts talking. No telling what he’s saying about you.”

“I look terrible,” Rosemary said, tucking her hair behind her ear. Why hadn’t she washed it this morning? And put some concealer beneath her eyes?

Jess turned. “I don’t think he cares. Rosemary, he came for you. Go.”

Numbly, Rosemary pushed out the door.

Sal stood across the street on the edge of the town square. The courthouse and old jail were the only two buildings in the middle of the square. The rest of it was covered with live oak trees, large flower beds, and curlicue iron benches. Sal stood beside one of the old-fashioned lampposts, wiping his hand across his forehead.