When We Fall (19 page)

“Thanks.” She looped her arm through his. “So do you.” Charlie had always looked his most dapper in a dark suit. She'd often thought how lucky men were to be able to wear them to both work and social functions, since they hid every imperfection—from a pot belly to a plump rear end. Not that Charlie had either. He'd been gifted, much like Allison and Elizabeth, with the enviable metabolism Charlotte had not. “Hi, Logan! Don't you look handsome!”

He grinned, showcasing his mouthful of metal.

“Say thank you, sweetheart. Gia's mommy just gave you a compliment,” Allison advised, hugging him against her body.

“Uh, thanks.” He shrugged, and at the same time, Allison's face lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks display. Charlotte followed her gaze to a strikingly handsome man who was moving in their direction.

“You made it!” Her grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it for the world.” All at once it was as if the Red Sea had parted and Charlie and Charlotte had been swallowed up by a wave, rendering them nonexistent. Charlotte noticed that Charlie's smile had faded.

“You must be the famous Logan.” He put his hand up for a high five and Logan slapped it, albeit reluctantly. Charlie cleared his throat.

“Oh gosh, how rude of me. Dempsey, these are my friends
Charlie and Charlotte. I've known Charlie for years and, as it turns out, their daughter, Gia, is in Logan's class.” She faced Charlotte. “Dempsey owns DJ Gourmet, among other shops and cafés around the area. We went to high school together, if you can believe it.”

“So you're old
friends
.” Charlie emphasized the word
friends
.

“Not really. We barely knew each other back then.”

“Hey, I knew exactly who you were! Though I can't say the same in return,” Dempsey teased, and it suddenly became obvious to Charlotte that Allison was enamored with this man. Not Charlie. Silently she scolded herself for having been so stupid, not to mention gullible. What had possessed her to listen to Sabrina? A torrent of relief washed over her. Maybe she would take Allison up on that lunch invitation after all.

“Allison, darling.” The elegant older woman Allison had been talking to earlier, whom Charlotte could only assume was the owner, Priscilla Alexander, approached. “I have someone interested in one of your paintings. Oh, hello, Dempsey.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?”

“Only if you promise to bring her back.” He winked and then turned to Logan. “Hey, buddy, I think I know where there's a secret stash of candy in the back. Wanna go see?”

“Can I, Mom?” Logan's eyes glistened at the prospect.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea. Just no caramel with the braces, please.”

Dempsey reached for Logan's hand and he took it willingly. “Really nice to meet you guys. Ali, I'll catch you in a few.”

“So nice to meet you too!” Charlotte called after them.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Charlie grumbled under his breath, as a dark cloud was cast over his face.

Charlotte pulled her husband closer to her side and he smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Let's go grab a bite to eat. Chez Louis?”

She smiled back. “That sounds perfect.”

A
llison sashayed into DJ Gourmet, frothing with anticipation. She'd been waiting weeks to see the cake Dempsey had created for her birthday, having begged for a sneak peak at his secreted sketches again and again. But again and again, he'd denied her, visibly amused by her pleading and the playful banter that had ensued. When she'd first mentioned that she was planning an intimate get-together at her home to mark her thirty-fifth and had pointed to the chocolate and red velvet cakes in the case, asking Dempsey which one he thought would be a better choice, instantly he'd raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “No, no, no,” he'd said, smiling furtively. “I'll make you something special.” She'd insisted it wasn't necessary, indicating that only a few friends would be in attendance and that all she needed was something small and simple. “I won't take no for an answer,” he'd declared. And that had been that.

Even Allison's mother and father couldn't make it, not that it bothered her. There'd been a time when her birthday had
been a source of untainted joy. On March first, inevitably she would wake up at the crack of dawn to announce, “My month has arrived!” Reliably her mother, and later Jack, taking the reins of her family ritual, would have some small token handy to commemorate the occasion, even though the actual date wasn't until the fourteenth. For whatever reason, birthdays had always been a big deal in her family, observed with an excess of food, cake, balloons, gifts, relatives, and good friends. If you called the honoree any later than ten a.m. to convey your happy wishes, best of luck talking your way out of it!

Allison would never forget the time she'd had an art history exam at Brown first thing in the morning on her father's birthday. She'd tried to reach him prior to entering the testing hall, but he hadn't answered. And a voice mail, she knew, simply wouldn't have cut it. Three hours later, she'd finally gotten ahold of him at the office. “Out of sight, out of mind, huh?” he'd teased. “I figured you'd forgotten about your old man.” She'd apologized, knowing that he wasn't really upset. Then he'd added, “Even your brother remembered before you.” They'd laughed together, well aware of the fact that her brother, Ethan, four years her junior and startlingly immature—as teenage boys often were—would probably forget his own birthday if their mother didn't remind him.

After Jack died, it had seemed impossible that she'd experience the same untainted joy at her birthday, or anything else, ever again. For years, March first had come and gone without recognition and the fourteenth had come and gone without fanfare. Her parents would give her cards and gifts from both them and Logan. Jack's parents would send a check with a note saying,
We didn't know what you'd like, so
buy yourself something nice.
They'd meant well, but it had always irked her. How could they know what she liked? They never called. They never visited. They barely acknowledged her existence. But, as with the money they sent regularly, Allison's mother had always urged her to be the bigger person, to accept it graciously, aware of the fact that it might be all they could manage.

This year, for the first time in more than a decade, she felt like a little kid again. Or at least her pre-Jack's-death self. Maybe it was their fresh start in Wincourt. Maybe it was the cake. Maybe it was Dempsey. Whatever it was, she was desperate to bottle up the feeling and never let it go.

She'd been thinking about him a lot lately. Dempsey, that is. It could be at any given moment—while she was driving to school to pick up Logan, while she was studying a recipe to make for dinner, or even when she was painting—his face, his voice, his touch, would infiltrate her daydreams and afford her a flip of the stomach or a flutter of the heart followed by a quiet squeal that no one but she could hear. Sometimes she'd allow herself to play out entire scenarios in her head. Them going out for a romantic meal. Them walking on the beach barefoot, hands clasped tightly. Them kissing. Them . . . that was usually where it stopped. The ultimate hurdle to leap. While she'd yet to let another man's lips part hers, that she could at least imagine. But inviting him into her bed? What if she'd forgotten how to make love to someone? What if she panicked amid the throes of passion and ruined everything? Dempsey was as understanding and compassionate as any man she'd known; still, everyone had their limits.

They'd been talking on the phone every day lately. It had started the night of the art exhibit at the Alexander Gallery, when she'd let him take her home. She hadn't gotten a word in edgewise during the car ride, what with Dempsey and Logan prattling on and on about professional sports and video games. Who knew Dempsey was fluent in ten-year-old boy? He'd called her before bed. Just to say good night. And then he'd called her every evening after that. Their conversations never had a specific point or even a purpose. He just wanted to get to know her better. To understand who Allison Parker was—the woman, the mother, the artist. When Jack's name wheedled its way into their discourse, Dempsey never balked. Sometimes he even asked about him on his own. Allison had once commented, as lightheartedly as possible, that he shouldn't feel obliged to talk at length about her dead husband or even to seem interested. Dempsey had replied that Jack was a part of Allison and an even bigger part of Logan. And that was all that mattered to him. There was no sense in trying to either hide from or compete with a ghost. Jack was there to stay, in whatever way Allison needed him to, and Dempsey, for his part, was entirely comfortable with that. Whether it was true or not—and she believed it was—it was the right thing to say. It was something no one had ever said to her before. Everyone always seemed so caught up in the idea of moving on. Of compartmentalizing things. Her life before Jack. Her life with Jack. And her life after Jack. It was neat. Black and white. But Allison had never been a fan of black and white. She'd always preferred to live and work in a world full of blended shades and colors. Was there any other way to truly experience life? To take the
good with the bad. The great with the grit. The utmost with the unthinkable.

He got that. He didn't have to say it. She just knew.

“Well, look who's here bright and early.” Dempsey sauntered into the main area of DJ Gourmet wearing a plaid shirt, smeared with cake frosting and batter, over a snug white T-shirt and faded blue jeans.

“It's cake day, baby!” She beamed and let him lean in to kiss her on the cheek, close enough to her lips that it sent a shiver up her spine. That was as far as they'd gotten, even though every inch of her wanted to push him into the pantry and rip his clothing off.

“Oh really? It must have slipped my mind.” He tried to keep a straight face, but his mouth was curling at the corners.

“Let's see it. Come on!” Allison walked past him, starting toward the kitchen.

“It's not in there.” She turned back around to find him standing with his arms folded across his chest and a wily grin spread from ear to ear.

“Fine, I don't want it anyway.” Two could play at this game.

“Great. So listen, I'll see you tomorrow night? I'll bring the cake with me.”

“Come on!” she implored, putting on a pouty face. “Please?” She'd never been particularly adept at reverse psychology. She'd tried it on Logan more than a couple of times to no avail.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He took her hand in his. “You can leave your purse here. It's safe.”

“No worries. It's just my journal and a snack for Logan.
Can you believe I forgot my wallet at home for the third time this week? I've been such a space cadet lately.”

“Well, everything here is free to you anyway, including your charming escort.” He placed her bag behind the counter and led her through an open door in the back left corner of the café, where there was a large refrigerated room she'd never seen before. Dempsey removed his plaid shirt, revealing chiseled biceps, and wrapped it around Allison's shoulders. “Wear this. It's freezing in here.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, relishing his strong hands cradling her, as she peered around the space. There were shelves filled with all manner of herbs, fruits, vegetables, cold cuts, breads, and desserts. Then she spotted it. A large white cardboard box with her name printed in Dempsey's surprisingly neat handwriting on the side. “Aha!” She motioned to it, giggling giddily and rubbing her hands together.

“You're a sly one.” He laughed, pulling the box down from the shelf and placing it on an expansive stainless-steel island in the center of the room.

“Let's see it.” Allison reached her hand out to open the lid and Dempsey swatted it.

“Just what do you think you're doing?”

“You better not be messing with me!”

“Who, me?” He feigned offense. “All right, here goes. I hope you like it.” He opened the box and Allison's eyes widened. It was, undeniably, the most magnificent cake she'd ever seen.

“Oh my God.” She took a moment to catch her breath. “How did you do this? It looks identical to the real thing.”

Dempsey had, quite realistically, re-created her favorite painting of all time—Vincent van Gogh's
Starry Night
—but she didn't know how he'd known it was her favorite; she was fairly certain she'd never mentioned it. The piece, which was among van Gogh's most well-known, was an interpretation of the view outside his sanitarium room window, though he was said to have painted it during the day from memory. As a small child, Allison had been drawn to the blue-and-yellow swirling sky over the serene village of Saint-Rémy, where she'd sworn she would live someday, even if only for one quixotic summer. And then there was the cypress tree on the left, which—as an adult and a widow—Allison had likened to the dark abyss she imagined had swept her sweet Jack away to a more peaceful existence.

“Well, I'm no van Gogh. So spare my ear.” He put his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. “But a little birdie told me you had an affinity for this particular piece of art. So I did my best.”

“You did amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Allison wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. When she finally let go, she didn't take a step back as she normally would have. She stayed there, her face less than an inch from his.

“I wanted you to have a perfect birthday,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with the tips of his fingers and then tucking her hair behind her ear. He leaned in and placed the softest kiss on her lips, lingering there until she kissed him back.

“Thank you,” she repeated, gazing into his eyes and kissing him once more before their bodies parted naturally. “I'm guessing that little birdie was my mother.” She smirked, letting him take her hand again and lead her back into the café.

“A chef never reveals his source.”

“I'm pretty sure that's a journalist, not a chef.” Allison laughed, her heart still beating excitedly and her face still flushed. She wanted to process it all. The cake, the kiss, the way he'd looked at her. And she knew she would. On her way home and then a million times after that. But right now, all she could do was savor the moment. She'd brave the swell of emotions that were brewing inside her later. Much later.

“Details, details.”

“Oh great.” Allison sighed, spotting Sabrina walk through the front door.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing. Just someone I know and would rather not have to talk to right now.”

“Not Buck?” Dempsey looked around anxiously.

“No, nothing like that. Do you mind if I sneak out the back? I have a bunch of errands to run before I pick Logan up, and then I'm heading over to Charlotte's house to go over some stuff for the school gala.”

“Of course, sure. Whatever you want.” He pecked her on the lips affectionately. “I'll see you tomorrow, birthday girl.”

“I'll have my party hat on!” She smiled. “Oh, I almost forgot. Let me know what I owe you for the cake.”

“Get out of here, will you? I told you everything here is free to you.”

“But it must have cost a fortune.”

“Consider it my gift. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Well, if you insist.”

“I do.”

“Thank you.” Allison offered a quick wave and turned to weave her way through the crowd and toward the back door.