Brunch at Bittersweet Café Page 5

  When did you go and get all conservative? she wondered as she marched up the icy sidewalk to her building’s front door. Once, you would have been the first to track him down.

  But she knew the answer to that, too. If there was one thing Micah had taught her, it was that once her heart got involved, her head took a backseat. Had she not been so stupid in love with him, she would have seen what was staring her in the face, and she wouldn’t have had to walk in on her boyfriend with another woman.

  In the storage room of his own restaurant.

  Even worse than the eyeful she’d gotten had been his excuse: “We were never exclusive, Melody. I thought you knew that.”

  She shook off the memories with an irritated shake of her head and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She had some taste in men, all right. Chefs and pilots. Two occupations known for their groupies, and for appealing to men who were all too willing to take advantage of the fact.

  Melody let herself into her apartment, her mind made up. She would cancel the friend request. Who cared if Justin thought she’d been Facebook stalking him? If she never saw him again, it hardly mattered. She pulled her phone out, her thumb selecting the app as she automatically shrugged out of her coat.

  “There you are.”

  Melody let out a shriek and spun toward the settee near the window, her phone forgotten. Her heart pounded so hard it made her sway on her feet with every beat. When she recognized the intruder, she sagged against the wall. “Why would you do something like that to me? You just about scared me to death!”

  The tall, elegant woman who unfolded herself from the seat looked enough like Melody that they could be sisters—or at least that’s what she liked telling everyone. Same long wavy hair, same brown eyes. The difference of course was that this woman was whittled and toned from personal training and Pilates, her voice modulated to a sultry Southern twang that Melody knew was as fake as certain body parts. Janna Leigh had been born and raised in Denver, not the Deep South like she implied when talking about her love for Tennessee.

  “I don’t know how else I would have announced myself,” Janna said petulantly, crossing the room in impossibly high-heeled boots. “I didn’t mean to scare you, love. Why don’t you come give your mama a kiss?”

  Melody stared at her mother for a long stretch—it could have been ten seconds or ten minutes for the questions that flew through her mind. Finally, she drew in a deep breath and let it out with a prayer for patience. She kissed Janna’s proffered cheek and then stepped back from the cloud of perfume. “What are you doing here, Mom? And how did you get in?”

  “You gave me a key, remember? Last time I was here.”

  A key that she was supposed to have returned when she left. Melody hadn’t made a fuss, because her mother’s dismay over her living arrangements had made it clear she wouldn’t be coming back short of hell freezing over. Melody barely kept herself from inquiring about the temperature of hades.

  “That answers the last part but not the first. I know you didn’t come all the way from Nashville just to visit me.”

  Part of her waited for her mother to deny it, but instead Janna reached out one cool, slender hand to grasp Melody’s and drew her over to the sofa. “Sit down, sugar.”

  Melody’s heartbeat quickened again, this time from dread.

  “There’s no easy way to say this. Grandma Bev is dead.”

  “What?” Melody stared at her mother, unable to comprehend what she was saying. “That’s not possible! I just talked to her a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Apparently, she had been having some heart issues that she didn’t want anyone to know about. She had a stroke. They think it was a blood clot. She called 911, but she died on the way to the hospital.”

  Melody felt like the ceiling had caved in on top of her. No, it would have been easier to breathe with a ton of bricks on her chest than through this news. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I know you were still close to her. That’s why I wanted to tell you in person.”

  Melody fell back against the cushions, tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Close was an understatement. Her grandmother Beverly had raised her, homeschooled her, done all the things that her mother was too busy to do because of her country music career. She was the one who had wiped Melody’s tears and kissed her scrapes and taught her all the things a young girl should know and quite a few things she shouldn’t. But that was her grandmother. She’d been an unusual mix of traditional and modern: a university literature professor, twice married, who nonetheless attended a conservative church and gave up her career to raise her only granddaughter. She had been the one to encourage Melody’s love of art and baking, even while she insisted on a thorough classical education.

  “I know this is a huge shock. I only hope you’re this broken up when I die.”

  Melody turned incredulously to her mother. “For the love, Mom. Could you give it a rest? This is the one time in our lives when even you can agree it’s not about you.”

  “Why, I never—”

  “No, you never do.” Melody pushed herself to her feet, hugging her arms to her chest protectively. “When is the funeral?”

  “Tomorrow. I thought we could drive up together for the service.”

  Once more, she was stunned nearly speechless. “Tomorrow? How long have you known about this?”

  “Since Thursday morning, but—”

  “Thursday? And you’re just now telling me?” Melody stared in disbelief. “How could you keep something like this from me?”

  Janna stood, her unnaturally sculpted body stiff. “Don’t act like that. She was my mother, you know.”

  “And yet somehow your career was always too important to come visit her.”

  Janna jerked like she’d been slapped, but she smoothed it over with the ease of long practice. “I’ll come by and get you at nine. It’s a bit of a drive to Longmont.” She brushed past Melody toward the door and paused with her hand on the knob. “I know you don’t want to believe this, but I loved her. I love both of you.”

  Melody stared as the door shut behind her mother, guilt creeping in to mingle with the grief. Maybe she hadn’t been fair. Of course Janna loved Beverly, and of course she would be upset. But she also wouldn’t put it past her mother to turn this tragedy into some sort of publicity op, a chance to play the grieving daughter before cameras, where she would weep prettily beneath a netting-veiled hat and dab her eyes with a lace handkerchief. No doubt her albums would get a boost from playing on the public’s sympathies. It was an uncharitable thought if ever there was one, but Melody had been a prop in those publicity stunts too often to not be cynical.

  She walked numbly to her bedroom, crawled beneath the duvet fully clothed, and sobbed until it was time to go to work.

  Chapter Four

  JUSTIN KELLER ALWAYS liked to say that the best pilots were problem solvers. And right now he had two problems.

  One, his Mustang was still stranded in a snowdrift on a Capitol Hill street.

  Two, he’d neglected to get the phone number of the beautiful blonde baker who had rescued him.

  Actually, the second one wasn’t really a problem, or at least not the true problem. The biggest problem was that, despite every good reason to let it go, he was still thinking about Melody Johansson.

  A blisteringly hot shower and half a cup of coffee did what six hours of sleep had not—restored him to his usual pragmatic self. He picked up his now fully charged cell phone and wandered to the boxy contemporary sofa in his living room, holding down the power button to start it up. As soon as it acquired a signal, a notification flashed onto his screen to alert him of two missed calls.

  The first was from his sister, making sure he was still coming to dinner tonight as planned.

  The second instantly filled him with dread. A sweet female voice poured from the speaker: “Hey, Justin, it’s Claudia. I was wondering if you were going to be around this weekend. I’m in Denver for a few days, th
ought we might grab a bite or see a movie. . . .”

  Claudia. He racked his brain. Daughter of a client he’d transported to Denver a few weeks ago. Exotic, stylish, expensive handbag and shoes. He’d chatted her up a bit, which was his job. Okay, fine, maybe he’d flirted. But how had she gotten his personal number?

  Right. There had been a quick repair needed during a scheduled refueling stop, so she and her father had gone to the airport restaurant for lunch. Justin had called when the repair was completed. She must have swiped his number from Daddy’s phone.

  Justin rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, considering, then deleted the message. She was young, barely twenty-two, and he hadn’t dreamed she’d read anything into the banter. He’d just been trying to smooth over her irritation at the delay.

  Besides, it had only taken that short conversation to know he had nothing in common with a twenty-two-year-old socialite. Unlike Melody, with whom he’d chatted as if they’d known each other for years. If the baker had read anything into his flirting, it was because he’d meant every word.

  Justin scrubbed his hands through his hair and tried to push away the memory. He could never go there. Not because he wasn’t attracted to her—he’d have to be blind and stupid not to notice the attraction that had hummed to life the instant she put her hand in his. He was simply certain that the last thing she needed was a guy like him. About the only thing they had in common was a passion for their careers that went far beyond punching a clock. She was most definitely a romantic; he had dismissed that nonsense a long time ago. She was probably looking for a boyfriend; he was just looking for a date for the rare Saturday night he spent at home. She seemed to have some religious faith; he . . .

  Well, he didn’t so much know where he stood. It would be a lot easier to be an atheist and dismiss God entirely than to be mired in his current ambivalence. There was most certainly a God up there, but it seemed like He and Justin were no longer on speaking terms. And it hadn’t been Justin’s doing.

  He shoved his well-worn resentment away and instead pulled up a number from his contact list. Since problem number two wasn’t going anywhere, he might as well address problem number one.

  Pete picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Justin. You’re back, I take it. What’s up?”

  “I need a fa—” Justin broke off as the strains of classical music reached him from the background. “Where are you?”

  “At Abby’s ballet lesson. Why?”

  “No reason. Doesn’t Jessica usually take her?”

  “She’s at Andrew’s soccer game. You know your sister wouldn’t give up a chance to coach the Rapids’ future star forward.”

  Justin grinned. He’d known Pete Costa for a decade, ever since they’d both worked at the same airport, Justin as a flight instructor, Pete as an aircraft mechanic. Despite the fact that Justin was several years younger, they’d hit it off immediately. He hadn’t expected, however, for Pete to fall in love at first sight with Justin’s older sister, marry her a few short months later, and pop out two kids with her in the space of three years.

  “I made the mistake of driving the Mustang to the airport last week and got it stuck in the snow on the way home,” Justin said.

  Pete began to laugh. “That car has caused you more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “So you always say. Can you take me to get it when you’re done?”

  Pete sobered, though amusement still laced his tone. “We’ll be finished in twenty. I’ll text you when I’m outside your building.”

  “I’m in no hurry. Thanks, Pete.” Justin clicked off the line and poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d already slept half the day away, but picking up the car would take up precious little of his afternoon. He gave another fleeting consideration to Claudia’s call, then dismissed the idea. He’d probably just hit the gym and catch up on one of his neglected DVR recordings until it was time to go to Pete and Jessica’s house for dinner.

  A glamorous life indeed.

  When Pete’s text came in thirty-five minutes later, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and a collapsible snow shovel and headed downstairs to where his friend’s white Volvo was parked. Justin had given him all sorts of flak when he’d traded in his sporty coupe for the wagon, but Pete had just smiled like he knew something Justin didn’t.

  “Hey.” Justin slid into the passenger seat and twisted immediately around to the three-year-old girl in the backseat. “Hello, Princess Abigail.”

  “Hi, Uncah Justin.” She favored him with a toothy smile, beaming out from beneath a cap of brown curls. “What’d you bwing me?”

  Justin put on a surprised look. “Bring you? Why would you think I’d bring you anything?”

  She cocked her head with a knowing smile. “Not funny.”

  Justin grinned at Pete. How his friend managed to resist her, he’d never know. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag, which he passed to the little girl. She dug into it with all the excitement of Christmas morning and pulled out a handful of refrigerator magnets.

  “Do you know what they say? That one says—”

  “Texas.” She held up the one shaped like a cowboy hat. “See?”

  Justin glanced at Pete, surprised.

  “I know. One day she just started reading the cereal box. I’m thinking we might have our hands full with this one.”

  “What does ‘hands full’ mean, Daddy?”

  Pete grimaced. “It means you’re a smarty-pants and you’re going to be in college way too soon.”

  Justin settled face-forward in his seat. “I’m still getting used to the idea of being an uncle. Let’s not rush things.”

  “You’re telling me. But one day they’re born, and then you blink and they’re starting school.” Pete shot Justin a look. “You’re what, thirty-four?”

  “You know I am. And no, I’m not dating anyone. Not seriously, at least. Did Jessica put you up to this?”

  Pete’s lack of response said it all. Lately his sister’s sole mission in life seemed to be marrying him off.

  “Tell my sister that if and when I decide to settle down, she’ll be the first to know. And no, that does not mean setting me up with one of her single friends who says she doesn’t mind my weird work schedule. They always say that and then in the next breath ask how long I intend on flying.”

  “You know she worries about you. She wants you to be happy.”

  “I know she does. But I didn’t work a decade just to pay off eighty thousand dollars of flight school and certificates that I’m not going to use anymore.”

  “What about Sarah?”

  “Four months in and she wanted to talk about a future in which I no longer fly and I get an office job that would have me home at five thirty every night.” A shame too. He’d actually liked Sarah. She was pretty and funny and smart—all reasons he’d broken his own rules on commitment to date her for six months. She was an assistant district attorney for Boulder County, and her long hours had made him think maybe he could do the long-term thing after all. Then she’d started talking about moving to a private practice that would give them more time together, hinting around about him considering another line of work, and that illusion had shattered. Sooner or later, they all wanted to change him.

  “Anyway, you can tell Jessica that you did your duty and I shut you down as usual.”

  Pete just grinned and kept his eyes on the road. Maybe it wasn’t only Jessica who was plotting against him these days. Justin caught a glimpse of his car where he’d left it. “There I am. You can pull in behind.”

  His brother-in-law did just that, crunching down a huge hill of snow in the process. Sure enough, plows had pushed mountainous drifts up against the driver’s door of the Mustang. Justin reached for the door handle to get out, but Pete grabbed his arm.

  “Wait a minute. I wanted to show you something.” Pete pulled his phone from his cup holder, brought up a web page, and passed it over.

  Justin’s brow furrowed until h
e recognized a businesses-for-sale site. “You found something?”

  “Charter out of Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood. Multiple planes; pilots and staff already in place. One and a half million in revenue.”

  Justin whistled softly and took the phone, scrolling down the listing. “How much do they want?”

  “More than we have. But there’s always loans. And once you’re vested . . .”

  “What kind of equipment?”

  “Two Baron G58s and a Pilatus PC-12 turboprop.”

  Justin exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Not bad. Send me the link?”

  “I’ll text it to you. Look it over. If you’re interested, we can set up a trip to go check it out.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Pete fell silent for a moment. “Don’t tell Jessica. I don’t want to get her hopes up.”

  There was something in Pete’s voice that struck fear into Justin’s heart. “Is she okay? Is there something I should know?”

  “Same as usual. She fell the other day but insists that she just tripped. I don’t know if it’s true or not.”

  Justin nodded slowly, telling himself not to jump to conclusions. He changed the subject. “Jessica left me a message about dinner. Are we still on?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” Justin twisted in his seat. “All right, Princess Abby, time for me to rescue my loyal steed. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  His niece looked up from her new magnets long enough to wave good-bye, then back she went, reading the state and city names to herself. Justin shook his head as he climbed out. Definitely too smart for her own good.

  He extended the shovel and cleared the snow away from the Mustang’s door, then started digging behind both the front and rear wheels until they were down to bare pavement. With any luck, that would give him enough traction to get moving and onto the cleared street. And then the poor Mustang would remain garaged in any weather except blinding sunshine. For all he knew, the next time he’d drive it was when he packed up his life and moved to a new home. Which was beginning to look like it might be in Florida.