the small-town life that always seemed too small. But after the incident, New York was too big.
Except for Jack McConnell. Yeah, she’d rather think about him than how she’d blown her dreams out of the water with both guns blazing. He was the only thing about Glory that was big-screen.
Jack. Even thinking his name made her insides flutter like a thousand butterfly wings. Of course, that fluttering nonsense had been cordially invited to stop when his letters stopped. The butterflies didn’t take the hint, but she hadn’t found a way to effectively serve them an eviction notice.
They were the reason she hadn’t slept. Or more accurately, Jack was the reason she hadn’t slept. The butterflies were hosting a rave at the prospect of seeing him again. Jack had come home and as of this particular moment was barely three blocks away. The knowledge they were even in the same zip code had each nerve ending on high alert. Betsy was sure her eyes were open so wide she looked like some kind of speed freak.
She’d replayed every memory over and over again until the edges seemed tattered like an old quilt, and just like that old quilt, she’d wrapped herself in those memories—especially of his kiss.
Betsy hadn’t been kissed like that since—an electric current she felt all the way through to her toes. Not that many had gotten close enough to try. Betsy didn’t trust easily. She was friendly and warm, but few were invited to her inner circle. Almost drowning as a child had been a hard lesson. When it had happened, Betsy could see the people who were supposed to be her friends through the heavy wall of water that held her down. They’d simply stood immobile and watched as her life slipped away. The EMTs said inaction associated with fear in that kind of situation was common, but rather than offering comfort to Betsy, it drove home the idea people weren’t to be trusted.
All except Jack. He’d rescued her. That memory replayed itself more often than his kiss.
This constant cycle of thoughts had been set to “spin” since she found out Jack was coming home. Now he was here, and today they’d welcome him home in the same gym where they’d said goodbye.
She rolled over and over, trying to get comfortable, but sleep was elusive. Betsy gave up trying. Her bakeshop, Sweet Thing, would open soon. While she loved her shop, it was still the consolation prize because it was in Glory. She had a small staff, but Betsy still had to finish the cookies she was taking to the ceremony. She wanted to do those herself. They were Nutella cheesecake, Jack’s favorite.
She slipped into the dress she’d made just for today. White with a bright red cherry print sewn in her favorite pattern. It accentuated her assets while kindly camouflaging her flaws. Betsy draped a crisp apron over the creation and headed downstairs to the shop.
The scent of glazed donuts and maple coffee greeted her when she walked through the door. Betsy inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, as if she could keep more of the scent with her. There was a kind of Zen for her in the bakeshop. Simply walking through the door was a tonic for Betsy that eased her hurts and soothed her mind.
A blond head poked out from the walk-in cooler. India George was a newly minted addition to the Glory P.D. and her brother’s partner. India was supermodel gorgeous, with high cheekbones, long legs and wide blue eyes. But she’d never been one for dresses and frills; she was rough-and-tumble all the way. She’d been back only for a few months, but it was as if she’d never left. This morning she’d agreed to be Betsy’s minion and help run the shop while Betsy handled the orders for the ceremony. In return, Betsy promised no cop/donut jokes for at least a week.
“Didn’t sleep, did you?” India asked as she pulled out a tray of donuts ready for frosting and set them on a prep table.
Betsy grabbed some icing bags and handed one to India. “Sleep is overrated.”
“Have you seen him yet?” India didn’t look at her as she accepted the bag and began icing a donut.
India wasn’t only her brother’s partner, she was also his best friend and had been since the first time she made him actually eat dirt on the playground after taking her ball. India was the big sister she’d never had.
“No,” Betsy admitted. “I almost went to see him the day he came home, but I thought he’d need some time.”
“That was smart. Adjusting to civilian life is hard, even without his challenges. His parents’ deaths...” She shrugged and kept icing.
What India hadn’t mentioned, but left hanging in the air like a contagion, was the stark reality of Jack’s injuries.
“I remember when I got the call last year,” Betsy said quietly. “After his parents died when he was first deployed, I was his emergency contact. The nurse asked me if there was anything I wanted her to tell him. She thought he was going to die.”
India had a donut halfway up to her mouth but put it down. “I didn’t know that. What did you say?”
“He promised to come back to me, India.” Betsy nodded silently as that last and most hated memory churned to the surface. She’d been avoiding that one, pushing it out of her head every time it struggled forward. She’d rather drown a thousand times than ever take that call again or remember how it felt. She found her voice and lifted her chin. “I told her to remind him of his promise.”
“Oh Bets.” India covered Betsy’s hand with her own. “That was a long time ago. Maybe even another person. He—”
“It’s not like I spent the last five years waiting for him.” Betsy turned back to her work.
“Isn’t it?” India asked in a careful tone.
“No, that would be stupid.” Or maybe just pathetic. She hadn’t waited for him, but Jack McConnell had the set the bar by which she measured a man pretty high.
“When was the last time you went out with someone?” India had latched on to the idea that Betsy had waited all these years for Jack. Like a rabid dog, she wasn’t going to let it go any time soon.
“Scott Meyer.”
“Not who, when?”
Betsy cringed at the answer. “Last year.”
“And before that?”
“There was that guy in Paris.” She thought about Marcel and how he’d broken her heart right after she’d broken her own dreams. She sighed. Marcel didn’t matter. What would she have done with him anyway? Stayed in France? Married him? And never been good enough, smart enough, pretty enough or talented enough? She’d always be the wide-eyed girl from America who liked to play in the kitchen. Why had she ever put up with that from him?
“Right about when Jack stopped writing and calling?” India eyed her. “You still have his dog tags, don’t you?”
The tags were in her nightstand. “I still have my yearbook, too. That’s not especially significant.” Now, Jack, he was the one she would’ve married. If she were with him, Glory wouldn’t be such a bad place to end up. In fact, when she was a little girl, she didn’t dream of France. She dreamed of him and Glory.
“A yearbook is nowhere near the same thing as a soldier’s dog tags.”
Betsy could admit India was right about that, but Betsy didn’t think there was anything wrong with keeping his tags. He’d been a big part
