Roots were bad. And Kelsey had wanted roots that extended clear down to Middle-earth. Gerard’s chest tightened.
Now here he sat on a picnic blanket, having to constantly restrain himself from falling for a woman who had never even left her hometown.
He quickly changed the subject to travel expenses and the absurd price of cab fare in other countries. Cracked a joke about how much he hated escargot. Shared a story about white-water rafting that made Bri’s eyes widen two notches. But despite his storytelling skills, there was an unfinished story lingering in the back of his mind every time he let his gaze linger on her lips.
Theirs.
She sat with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, chin resting on her bent knees, laughing at a joke he’d just told and didn’t remember. Bri was a threat to the security he’d wrapped himself in all these years. He felt a little like Linus from Peanuts, suddenly, desperately clutching at the frayed fabric he needed.
But every moment with Bri, his grip loosened just a little.
“Tell me more about your mom.” Bri plucked off a corner of a croissant with her fingers and nibbled a bite. “Besides that she wasn’t much of a cook.”
Gerard took a tight breath. He owed Bri more information—she’d shared plenty about her own parents. “I think my mom is probably the polar opposite of yours.”
“Maybe not. She raised you, right?” Bri gestured with the bread. “And you turned out alright.”
He didn’t fully agree, but he also didn’t want to be the guy who argued a compliment. “Mom does her best, I’ll give her that.”
Bri kept her steady gaze on him, not allowing the out his instincts wanted to take. He exhaled slowly. “But I’m pretty sure she’s abusing alcohol.” Again.
Sympathy lit her eyes. She set down the remains of her croissant. “That’s got to be hard.”
He nodded.
“For both of you.”
He raised his eyebrows at her.
“You want to take care of her, and something like that makes it more difficult. It’s out of your control.”
A knot formed in his throat, and he didn’t even try to swallow it down. Just nodded. Avoided her gaze, the one that suddenly saw way too much. She’d nailed it.
His proverbial blanket slipped further from his hands, and he steepled his fingers together in an effort not to grab it back. “After my promotion, I’ll have more opportunities to help her.”
Bri hesitated, reaching over and gently laying her hand on his wrist. “Can I say something hard?”
“It would be unfair for me of all people to say no.”
She offered a tentative smile. “Just remember, there’s a difference between helping and enabling.”
The truth rolled around in his gut a moment before settling. She was right. If he started shipping his mom more money, what would that accomplish at the end of the day? He couldn’t control what she bought with it. But if he helped pay for her to attend a rehab facility . . . His thoughts churned before his hope crashed. She’d never go for it.
And that wasn’t in his control either.
He looked at Bri and inhaled deeply. Inhaled her. Inhaled the memory of their kiss. Of leftover cheese wafting in the cool air around them and the scent of contentment. He returned her touch, turning his hand over to lace his fingers with hers. He squeezed. “Thank you.”
She squeezed back before easing into her blanket cocoon. “Of course.” She nestled under the cover, then offered a corner to him. “Need this?”
He studied the striped material, then shook his head. Peace welled for the first time in months. “Nah, I don’t think I do.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Gerard was romantic. Who knew?
Bri scrubbed the bakery floor with her wet mop as if she could scrub away the memories of that evening. Of the soft blanket tucked up by her neck and the aroma of French cheese saluting her senses and the warm timbre of Gerard’s voice lilting over her as they talked for hours. Despite his opening up and sharing about his mom, she’d only shared the good memories she could remember of her parents—she couldn’t handle any more bad, those stealthy ones that kept creeping in from nowhere. Were they even real?
Her gut knew what her heart didn’t want to accept.
Bri scrubbed at a stubborn sticky spot on the tile floor, her arms burning with the effort. She still didn’t know how to reconcile the aged photo with the rest of what she knew about her parents’ relationship. But the signatures and the handwriting and the initials all matched up. She couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Her frantic mopping slowed. But for a minute, while she had been talking with Gerard under leftover twinkle lights, it almost hadn’t mattered. It was as if the past had been momentarily suspended, and she was so caught in the present that the hope of the future actually seemed within grasp.
She tightened her grip around the blue wooden handle. She wanted something with Gerard. Wanted more than a stolen kiss during someone else’s wedding and a clandestine twilight picnic. Terrifying as it was, she wanted more slow dances. More food fights. More kisses.
Except he was leaving in a matter of days. And she was so jaded at this point, she’d be tempted to slap Cupid in the face if he dared fly past.
If she wanted to move forward—if she wanted to even have a chance at determining her real feelings for Gerard—then she had to find a way to reconcile that photo.
And she wouldn’t find the answer by cleaning an already clean bakery.
Before she could change her mind, she returned the broom to the utility closet, turned off the lights, and locked up. She’d go back to the photo and start there. Embrace each memory as they came, as painful as they were, and see where it all led. She owed it to her parents—and truly, she owed it to herself.
Back at home, the stairs trembled—or was
