and charming over brunch. He clearly worshipped the ground Becky walked on and was constantly attentive to her every need. They seemed to be truly in love with each other. Of course, it was young love, and who knew if it would last, but still, it seemed real for the moment. It was honestly the kind of love she’d dreamed Becky would find, but she’d wanted her to find it ten years from now. Without being pregnant. Her eyes narrowed again.
While Nora had been making plans to take a tour of England with her daughter, Becky had been making plans of her own. She was at the end of her first trimester, and she’d already made arrangements to leave Vassar. Michael was transferring to the law program at Albany, which was closer to Gallant Lake than Columbia was. Becky said she was looking at “other options” for school, but she vowed the baby wouldn’t stop her from getting her political science degree. Michael was already renting a two-bedroom bungalow in Gallant Lake, and they wanted to stay in this town, where they’d met and where they had friends.
There were some major gaps in their plan, such as the loss of scholarships and a source of steady income, but Nora had to admit they were approaching this in a fairly mature manner, so far. Nora had told Becky yesterday she could move north to help, but her daughter was adamant about not needing Nora there. She was just like her father that way—always so sure everything would turn out rosy. So quick to dismiss Nora’s concerns. When she tried to point out that having a baby was hard work and they would need help, Becky just laughed.
“It’s time to start living your own life, Mom, and stop running mine.”
Her daughter didn’t want her here. And that hurt.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at Nora, his blue eyes clouded with worry.
“Mrs. B., are you sure you want to do this?” It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to. “I have no idea how Dad will react to us just showing up...”
Nora smiled before she could catch herself. Darn it all, she kept forgetting she wanted to hate this kid! His mom lived in LA, but his father lived right here in town. The man hadn’t bothered showing up for brunch, leaving Michael so embarrassed she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Of course I’m sure, Michael. In the South, there isn’t a problem in the world that can’t be fixed over blueberry cobbler and strong coffee.”
Becky turned with a laugh. “Don’t you mean a smile and a plan, Mom? Isn’t that how you solve everything?”
Nora nodded. “The plan is to make him smile over cobbler, then we’ll get him talking and win him over.”
Becky pulled up short, forcing Michael to stop with her. Nora bobbled the white box of cobbler in her arms to keep it upright. “Mom, what exactly are you winning him over to? Are you saying you’re on our side now?”
The smell of freshly ground coffee was a welcome distraction from answering that heavily loaded question. They were standing in front of Caffeine Cathy’s Coffee Café. The place didn’t exactly hold happy memories for her—she still hadn’t managed to get the coffee stain out of her jacket. But maybe they should pick up coffee here instead of expecting Michael’s father to provide it unannounced.
“Mom?”
Nora looked back to her daughter—her pregnant daughter with a plan—and the tall man at her side, arm now draped affectionately over her shoulders. The young man who loved her daughter. The father of her daughter’s child. There was a tightness in her chest that was something other than pain. It was a flood of emotion so strong she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Rebecca,” she said, ignoring the wince on her daughter’s face at the use of her full name, “there are no sides here. There’s just a baby. And two very young people who are obviously going to love that baby. I’m not a fan of you getting married...” She shook her head when Becky started to protest. “I really want you to wait before having a wedding. Your plans sound very nice and tidy, but life isn’t tidy. And you’re going to need family. For you, that’s me. For Michael, that’s his mom and dad. So let’s bring his dad some cobbler and coffee—” she tipped her head toward the coffee shop with a smile “—and see if we can help him accept his impending grandfatherhood.”
Michael placed a soft kiss on the top of Becky’s head, and Nora blinked, then stared out at the blue lake across the road, surrounded by russet-colored mountains. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and felt her daughter’s arms surround her.
“Thanks, Mom. I didn’t expect you to be so...cool about this.”
Nora laughed. “I wouldn’t go so far as saying I’m cool with it, but you’re my baby and I love you.” Michael headed into the coffee shop. Nora looked at the For Sale sign in the window and winked at Becky to lighten the moment.
“I could always buy a coffee shop in Gallant Lake so I could be closer to you.”
Becky started to laugh. “Oh, God, Mom, that would be a disaster! You don’t know anything about business, much less running the world’s ugliest coffee shop. Besides, I already told you it’s time to live your own life. I don’t need you running mine anymore.”
Nora couldn’t decide which emotion to go with. Pain that her daughter thought she was incapable of running a business or panic at the realization that she had no idea what living her own life might look like. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her as a cold breeze blew off the lake. She lifted her chin and gave Becky a bright smile to hide her roiling emotions.
“Maybe I’ve always wanted to run a place like this. Well, not looking like this, but an artsy little coffeehouse...”
“You’ve always wanted to own a coffee shop? For real?”
Nora had never in her life thought about owning a coffee shop. But she did enjoy sitting with a good book in the one near Peachtree Mall.
“Whatever, Mom.” Becky took the box of cobbler from Nora’s arms. “Buy a coffee shop somewhere. Toss away that stupid planner of yours and start living.”
Michael returned with coffee, and they headed next door to the plain brick building with a carved sign reading Peyton Custom Woodworking. A beautiful arts and crafts chair and side table sat in the window. On the table were two dark bowls made of polished burled wood. If Michael’s father had built this, then the man truly was an artist. A bell jingled above the door when they walked in.
Furniture and carved pieces were displayed in the front of the shop, creating a showroom of sorts, anchored by a large oriental rug. In back was a work area. Workbenches full of tiny drawers lined the walls, and in the center sat a half-finished cherry sideboard and an oak dining table with a pile of steel wool sitting in the middle of it. The whole place smelled of sawdust and varnish. Guitar music was coming out of speakers on the wall, bluesy and mellow.
The masculine presence in the room was so strong she could breathe it in and taste it. This was a man’s space, through and through. Exposed brick walls, light bulbs hanging from the ceiling with round metal shades above them. It was orderly, but raw somehow. As raw as the board lumber stacked high against the back wall.
She ran her hand across the silky-smooth top of the sideboard and heard footsteps approaching. A side door opened and a man walked in, wiping his hands on a rag. When he looked up, she took in a sharp breath and stepped back. It was Hot Produce Guy. The man who’d been so rude in the grocery store. The man she’d yelled at on the sidewalk...she cringed inwardly...the sidewalk right outside his business.
He
