Stunned by the abrupt ending to what he had considered a propitious beginning, Cal watched until she turned and gave a quick wave before closing the screen door behind her.
He pulled out of the driveway and headed home, but his mind remained on Bryony. Should he be concerned about her? Sudden headaches could be a symptom of a serious medical condition. Should he call her?
Cal circled the block. As he approached her house, he could see lights on in the living room and toward the back of the house. She was okay. He was being overly concerned. Calling her would be a bit too much.
He drove home thinking about how he disliked the way she had clammed up. He would have liked staying with her, even if she felt unwell. If he needed help, she might be the first person he called for assistance. Cal considered the enormity of that assumption. He wanted to see her as available for him because that left him less lonely, when in fact he knew so little about her. For instance, he had learned earlier this week that she spent time helping her friends Maggie and Howard. What other commitments soaked up the time and attention of Bryony Green?
Starting a relationship with another human being was hard.
He did, he reminded himself, have one uncomplicated connection.
Bailey had no secrets. Bailey made his needs known and appreciated every attempt to provide for those needs. When he had no immediate needs, he napped.
At least his dog would be happy to see him.
BRYONY WILTS
Sluggish, Bryony dragged herself into the shower on Monday morning. Sunday had been a stay-in-bed-and-read day ending with her first attempt at Shaker lemon pie, number twenty-seven on the list. She’d been skeptical, unsure how sliced lemons in a pie with a top crust would stack up to the more common custard-with-meringue version of lemon-based pies, but as with every other pie on her list, this one surprised her.
The marriage of sweet to tart worked. Her stomach—fully linked with her brain in the scaling of relationship satisfaction when it came to ingredients—would have rebelled against too much of either. But while her gut aced pie testing, she couldn’t get a read on how to think about Charity’s offer or the date with Cal.
He had texted once, asking if she was okay. She had answered with a brief, “Resting,” and hoped he would get the hint. He must have because he didn’t text again.
Stepping out of the shower to buff dry with a fluffy orange towel, she thought again about the disaster Lillian would reference as a “first date” with Cal. It had all seemed perfect until the saucy new waitress practically sat on Cal’s lap as she took their order. And then Cal launched into asking about retirement to a beach location.
Bryony stood at the sink, looking in the mirror. She could have been honest with him. “I was offended by the waitress’s behavior,” she could have said, and, “No beaches for me.”
If sandy shores were a requirement, he could have politely seen the evening through and never asked her out again. Being honest with him might have left her feeling intact because she would have asserted herself. She would have been proud she took a stand. Instead, she had collapsed into herself like she always did.
Maybe she always would. Maybe she should accept Charity’s offer. Maybe she belonged in a swivel chair all day long, her eyes locked on a computer screen. She didn’t need a man. In particular, she did not need a man who would upend her life, expecting her to fly off and retire to a South American beach.
Fully attired for the day at hand, she entered the kitchen for a quick bite, still coaching herself, reasoning herself into acceptance of the inevitable.
Cal needed a woman with adventure in her spirit. He needed someone like… every woman who came to mind would be a better choice. Anyone would do for Cal, anyone but Bryony. At this delayed stage in her life, discovering her own desires and setting her own expectations required constant attention. Bryony had no time to live up to someone else’s. And she had no intention of moving away. She liked Ohio. She liked Fieldstone. She was going nowhere because being here now was good enough for her.
She opened the refrigerator door for the carton of orange juice. The pie, minus one piece, sat on the top shelf, a reminder of her commitments—to complete the pie list, and to piece together her life based on her own thinking and inclinations. She’d think about Charity’s offer later.
When life serves you lemons, make Shaker lemon pie. The thought made her smile.
By the time she arrived at the coffee shop, her thoughts were less unsettled, her heart less erratic, her legs less heavy.
“How did the first date go?” Lillian asked.
“Fine,” she answered.
“Fine?”
“Yes, fine.” No need to argue about semantics. Lillian would label the event however she wanted. “We ate at the Chinese place, went to a movie, and had coffee at Dewey’s.”
Bryony put her purse under the counter, went to the back of the work area, and washed her hands. When she returned to the counter, she picked up a stack of napkins and headed out to check the tables.
“Will you stop?” Lillian intercepted and took the napkins from Bryony’s hands. “Talk to me, Bry. How did the date go?”
Bryony dropped her shoulders and tried to stare Lillian down. Stare downs had never worked in the past either. In one motion, Bryony pulled a chair away from the nearest table and plopped down. “It was wonderful,” she said. “Until it wasn’t.”
Lillian grabbed a chair and scooted in beside Bryony. “What happened?” Overhead lights glistened off tinted lips.
“What color is your gloss?” She pointed to Lillian’s lips. “It matches the purple in your shirt.”
“It’s not purple—it’s eggplant.” Lillian’s lips went pouty, and her nose wrinkled. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me about your date with Cal.”
Bryony laced her fingers and placed them in her lap. Her carefully constructed bravado slipped further. “I had so much fun getting dressed,” she started. “He picked me up and looked at me like I was beautiful.”
“Did you hold hands?”
With a heavy sigh, Bryony said, “No.” Painful to admit even to herself, she had wanted him to touch her, but she had been too shy to let him know. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She stretched her neck to one side, the other, down, and back.
“What happened?” Lillian asked, less insistent, tender now.
As little as Bryony wanted to relive the overall experience, to not tell Lillian would be worse. Lillian would not rest until she understood why there would be no further dates.
“We had a great time at dinner,” Bryony said. “He picked the movie and chose what he thought I would like.”
“The one starring Pierce and Sullivan?”
Bryony nodded.
