Page 64 of Blame it on the Bet
I don’t know what makes me do it. It might have been the way the last of the afternoon sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. It caught all the bits of gold in her hair, making a wild, beautiful halo around her head. And those eyes, like no other color of blue I’ve ever seen before. Her lips, too. They were so sweet and soft and silky—it was like kissing rose petals.
Whatever it was that made me do it, something made her go along with it, because this was not a one-sided venture. Miss Hennessy O’Halloran was giving as good as she got… and it just about knocked my socks off. Scared the crap out of both of us, too. When we finally broke our lip-lock, we returned to eat our supper, albeit a little awkwardly. I stayed for a glass of wine and some coffee afterward and delivered a very chaste peck to her freckled cheek before slipping down the back staircase.
I’m about to climb into the car and head back to the inn when I feel pulled in another direction. The temperature is dropping fast as it gets dark outside, and, not for the first time, I’m thankful I let Bailey talk me into the expensive parka as I zip it up against the encroaching chill. The boots, too, are convenient as I pick my way through breaks in the mounds of snow to cross the street and walk the two blocks to the Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop.
The shop is about to close when I get there, but as soon as Janet Lahti spots me, she comes and steers me by the elbow to a small table in the back corner. She doesn’t ask me what I want, and I don’t tell her. Mainly because I don’t know what I want. I mean, I just had a huge dinner, and I’m not the least bit hungry. Still, I’m drawn to the steaming mug of coffee she sets down in front of me, and, of course, the pie.
Janet takes a seat across from me and watches casually as I examine the contents of the flakey crust. “Apple?”
“Cranberry apple walnut,” she says.
She’s put a scoop of vanilla ice cream atop the massive slice, and it’s melting into the warmth of the pie. When I take a bite, I can’t help but close my eyes and savor the flavors in my mouth. They’re buttery and rich. Not too sweet, though.
“Perfect,” I mumble. “Absolutely perfect.” “What does it taste like?” she asks me.
I consider the question for a moment. She’s not asking about the butter to sugar ratio. She wants to know what I experience when I taste this pie, and while a week ago I’d have said this little exercise is ridiculous, I’m not inclined to do that today. I swallow the bite and wash it down with the rich coffee before I look up to meet her patient brown eyes. “It tastes like home,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
A huge smile spreads across Janet’s face, and she reaches out to put a warm, soft hand over mine. She nods as she pats it, then she gets up to greet her other patrons.
I sit in the corner until I’ve sipped every last drop and eaten every last crumb.
…
“Hi, Helen,” I say as I look up at the ceiling in the King Gustav suit. The wallpaper seems to be stationary tonight— which is a very good thing. I’m so full that I think I’d hurl if it started to move.
“Hey,” she says, obviously surprised to be hearing from me so late. “You okay?”
“Yeah…”
“You been drinking?”
“No…well, yeah, a little, but not like you think.” “Okay. What’s going on?” she asks, her concern becoming more evident.
“I just…I wanted you to know that I’m really grateful for you. For everything you’ve done for me, Helen. I don’t tell you that often enough, I know.”
“You don’t tell me that ever.”
I chuckle, but it’s a sad kind of chuckle. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m telling you now.” There’s a long pause on her end of the line.
“And I appreciate that, Bryan. More than you could ever know.”
“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Helen,” I murmur in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “I came here wanting one thing…”
“And now you want something totally different,” she surmises.
“Yes.”
“Is it her? Hennessy?” “Yes.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Like I said…I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m never like this. I’m shrewd and cool and…ruthless. Now I’m all freaking squishy and soft, and I really don’t even give a crap about the property anymore. What’s wrong with me?”
“Oh, Bryan,” Helen says softly. “It’s not that there’s something wrong with you. It’s that there’s something right with you. And it’s been so long since you’ve felt anything like this for anyone that it’s unnatural to you. Suspect, even.”
As usual, she’s put her finger on it. I can’t deny the power of what I’m feeling…nor can I deny that I distrust it.
“So what do I do now?”
