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  when she felt stressed out. This morning she was ordering groceries, and later she would do the employee payroll. Sydney had just swallowed the piece of candy and was going for another when the office door opened behind her. And when she turned and saw Tate walk in and close the door, she no longer wanted that fifth piece of caramel in her hand.

  “Hiya Syd,” he said, strolling in as if he owned the place. And, well, he did.

  “Um, hi,” she never could hide the nervous jitter in her voice when she was around him. “I can get up, um, and go, if you need to–” As Sydney started to stand up, her white tennis shoes squeaked on the waxed green and white tiled floor. Tate placed his hands on both of her shoulders, on the Ry’s Market burgundy smock she was wearing, and he settled her back down on the chair.

  “Sit. No getting up and running out of here just because I’m in the building. This is your job now, Syd. Own it.” Tate had not officially told his mother, but for Sydney the position was as good as hers regardless.

  Tate sat down on the desktop directly in front of Sydney. There was no other place to sit, not unless he had wanted to drag the metal chair out of the corner where it was folded and propped against the wall.

  Sydney’s first instinct was to roll her chair back, to put some space between his legs and hers. But then, when she thought about it –when she really focused on how close he was to her– she stayed put. Tate could see she was staring, but her eye contact ceased when he caught her. He looked down at her jeans and her full thighs. She had been bending her toes upward on the floor to keep those thighs from flattening on the chair. She was a little on the chubby side, but Tate thought of her as a cute kid sister. She was, after all, his girlfriend’s next of kin.

  “I texted you awhile ago,” he said, as he watched her cheeks flush.

  “My phone, it’s in my purse in my locker,” those lockers were on the short wall in that same room, just opposite from where she sat now, “and probably not even powered on,” she told him, and he shook his head, smiling.

  “Rule number one, if you are going to be store manager,” he began, and she nodded before he even finished his statement. “Keep your damn phone on, and with you. Your number is going to be the point of contact for business here. Got it?”

  “Okay, sorry,” Sydney told him.

  “No need to apologize,” he tried getting her to relax. He knew it was a feat that was possible. He had seen her calm and cool before. He actually believed she could be fun. What he liked most about her was that she was real. What you saw with Sydney Klein was precisely what you got. She cared more about people’s feelings than she did about fashion. She would rather over tip a waiter than waste any money on makeup or a manicure. She was every bit as low maintenance as her big sister was high maintenance. “But, you did miss a really important text from me earlier,” he added.

  “Should I get my phone?” Sydney asked, attempting to rise off of that chair again, but Tate stopped her.

  “I’ll relay the message for you,” he spoke, and then broke into a silly smile. “Are you free for lunch?”

  “Me?” she felt flustered. “You want to have lunch with me? But, I have an order to place, and payroll to complete, and–”

  “Slow down sister, that can all wait,” Tate said, and she could have frowned to express her disappointment. The last thing she wanted was for Tate Ryman to think of her as his sister. Before she made another attempt to stand up, he rolled back her chair with her still on it. He also closed the laptop on the desk so she would stop looking past him and at it. “It will be a business lunch. Come on…” He pulled her up to her feet in those white tennis shoes with the thick rubber soles. Her hands felt cold and clammy in his, but that only made him smile. Her quirks were cute.

  *

  Tate cleared his plate from the dinner table, and walked up to the kitchen sink. When he turned around to retrieve his empty milk glass from the table, he heard Edie’s car coming up the driveway. A minute or two later, once she made her way from the detached garage, Edie walked in through the mudroom and up those few steps into the kitchen.

  “Oh,” Edie looked regretful as she took off her long winter white coat and folded it over one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m so sorry I’m late, but I had hoped you would wait.”

  “It’s seven o’clock, E,” he told her. “I was hungry, and besides you never said you were on your way or anything. I only ate a grilled cheese, I can make you one if you’d like?”

  Edie looked at him and rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t eat like that. I’ll tear up some lettuce for a salad later,” she said, opening the refrigerator to eye up a head of lettuce in the bottom produce drawer. And then she took out an already open bottle of white wine and poured herself a generous glass on the countertop.

  Her days were long as an advertising executive at a firm in Dover, less than ten minutes of drive time away. She loved her job, she craved success and money, and she attained it by working too much.

  “How was your day?” he asked her, bracing himself to hear all about the clients and accounts that he cared nothing for.

  “Crazy busy,” she said, not making an effort to ask him how his day was, or how he had spent it. She assumed he went back to work at the market since the cold winter weather would keep him away from construction for a few more months. Edie did know Tate had no intention of running his parents’ market for the rest of his life. And, for that, she was relieved. She was embarrassed to say her boyfriend managed a grocery store. She believed it was much more socially acceptable to say he was in construction. Edie was aware that Tate had moved Sydney up the ladder at Ry’s Market. She actually giggled when he told her, still believing her little sister was going nowhere in life. “But, let’s not talk about work. In fact,” she said, “let’s not talk at all.”

  Tate could taste the wine on her lips and on her tongue as she kissed him hard and full on the mouth, standing in front of their kitchen sink. He kissed her back. What man wouldn’t desire a woman like Edie Klein? When she had him wanting more, Edie stepped back and took a hold of the tiny gold zipper placed slightly above her cleavage on her black dress. She pulled it down until her dress split in two where it ended just above her knees. The dress dropped to the tile floor and she stood there in her matching black bra, black thong, and the two-inch black high heels that put her eye to eye with her man. Her man that stared at her right now with sheer desire in his eyes. He put his hands on her bare, full, shapely rear, and pulled her close. He kissed her hard as he slipped his fingers in the front of her panties. It was only a few minutes after seven o’clock, and he was certain he was already going to lay her down on their bed. That was how they compensated for a lack of communication in their relationship. And, so far, that had been enough.

  Chapter 3

  When Tate told his mother of his plans for Ry’s Market, she cried. She sat in one of the two ivory-colored comfortable chairs that bookended the matching sofa in her living room. Her hands were on her lap. She was dressed cozy in a pale pink fleece sweatsuit with tan moccasin slippers on her stocking feet. Tate had knelt down beside her, the knees of his worn jeans on the burgundy berber carpet, and he covered both of her hands with one of his. She seemed so small, so frail. Gone were the years when Tate recalled her taking him by the hand, making him feel safe and loved, and simply wanting her to lead the way. He felt tremendous guilt at this moment for letting his mother down. But, the market was not for him. Not for the rest of his life.

  “Ma…I’m really sorry. I promise you, the market will be in the best hands,” Tate tried to reassure her, as he watched her pull out a wadded up tissue from her pants pocket and she dabbed her eyes and then her nose with what was left of it. Her white hair was cut into a bob that ended at her earlobes, as Tate always remembered. It was once as sandy brown as Tate’s hair. He had his mother’s blue eyes, too.

  “I don’t want you bringing in a stranger, no big wigs in our little market. He won’t fit in here, not in our small town,
and not in our store. Your father would–”

  “Ma, please…” Tate interrupted her, and he tried to do so politely. “You know me better than that, don’t you? Syd has already proven she can carry us.”

  “Excuse me? Little Miss Sydney, who hasn’t left the register adjacent to aisle three since she was sixteen?” Mary Lou Ryman scoffed and made a huffing sound. It was an old woman’s way of disapproving.

  “Ma, you’ve always cared about her. Don’t knock her. She is shy, I know, but she has welcomed this change with open arms. She truly is a very smart girl. You just have to get to know her.” Tate was trying, in Syd’s defense, but he also was speaking the truth.

  “I’ve known her for ten years, and yes she seems sweet and all good,” Mary Lou spoke, and nodded her head in agreement with her only son. But, could she manage a store? Their market?

  “So what’s the problem then? She’s the next best thing to running the market than me, right?” Tate awaited his mother’s answer.

  “No, that would be Kathy, but we both know hell freezing over is more likely to happen before your sister would ever even consider such a thing.” Mary Lou grinned.

  “You see, there ya go! You still love Kathy and she never wanted to work a day in our store. I now have faith that you will not disown me for this decision.” Tate smiled wide at his mother, as he was still bent on his knees in front of her.

  “Nothing you could ever do would make me stop loving you, my boy,” she told him. “I will trust you have made a good decision.”

  Tate leaned forward and his mother wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her in between the wrinkle folds on her cheek. “I know I have. Thank you, Ma.”

  All Mary Lou had ever wanted for her children was not unlike every other mother out there. She wanted them to be happy, in their careers and in their personal lives. She was old school, yes, and she had wished for her son to be married to the woman he was shacked up with. Not that Mary Lou was especially fond of the Barbie doll her son was in love with. Edie Klein was superficial and hardly maternal which crushed any hope Mary Lou had of becoming a grandmother again. But, that was an opinion she had only voiced to her husband when he was alive. He used to just chuckle and remind his wife that their son was a young man and only had one thing on his mind. And Mary Lou had hoped and prayed with her rosary every night for that to be true. Her son was young. Maybe he would outgrow that woman.

  *

  The text that Tate received from Edie read: I’m working late tonight. After two years together, Tate was beginning to grow tired of it. Eating dinner alone. Sharing small talk, but never really embracing conversation. Everything about his life right now felt as if it was hanging in the balance. He was missing his father. He wanted to walk away from the family business, once and for all. And he needed to talk about it with someone.

  Tate threw on his brown thermal-lined coat with a warm hood that he often wore when he went hunting. He put his gloveless hands into his pockets, left his house, and began to walk the length of his driveway. He didn’t know where he was going, he only knew he needed to clear his head. After pacing the long rock driveway twice, back and forth in the cold wind, Tate ended up in the detached garage, inside of his truck. He started the engine, backed all the way down the lane road, and then he drove into town.

  Adjacent to Ry’s Market was Lantern Inn. It was the bar, downtown, where Tate first saw Edie. She caught his eye like no other woman had. She had stolen his heart. He used to believe there was no way he could ever let her go. They shared this electricity, this magnetic attraction that was once so powerful. They certainly weren’t boring. But in the last several months, there was some distance emotionally that had not been there before. It was beginning to happen, and Tate had yet to grasp it. Lovers, no longer blinded by beauty and lust, often become intense in a new way as they truly get to know each other. Tate was beginning to question whether or not they could make their relationship work. Maybe he was ready to settle down. Children, no children, possibly he was ready, possibly she was not. Marriage should come first, especially in a small town like Camden. Those were conversations the two of them needed to have together. Edie was a very complex woman. And Tate felt deeply connected to her. But, was he staying in their relationship for all the wrong reasons?

  His Timberland work boots on the sticky barroom floor felt oddly familiar in a comfortable sense as Tate walked up to the near-empty bar. Lantern Inn used to serve as a hotel upstairs, but that was no more. Now, the owner of the bar occupied that space with his own living quarters. Tate sat down on a stool at the end, just a few bar stools away from a town drunk everyone knew as Rudi. Rudi meant no harm. He was in his sixties now, and it had been twenty years since he lost his family. His wife and both of his children perished in a house fire. Life had amounted to getting drunk every night at Lantern Inn for Rudi. And most people in that town, who had ever loved and lost a spouse or a child, didn’t blame him. Or judge him.

  Tate nodded at Rudi and said, Hey man, how ya doing. Rudi lifted his eyes from his longneck and looked over at Tate, but he never responded.

  “What’ll it be?” Bartender Jack asked Tate a moment after he sat down on the cushioned red stool with a significant tear on the side and no backing.

  “Bud Light on draft, Jack, thanks.” Tate had known Jack since high school. He had let himself go. Beer belly. Always unshaven. And a long, greasy ponytail that reached halfway down his back. He had a story, too. The tattoo on his left forearm of the twin towers with a cross intertwined between them told of his tragedy. His father was a fireman who was killed in the 9-11 attacks on the World Trade Center. His mother lost her mind in the years that followed, and she was now locked up in a mental institution. Jack stopped visiting her when he began to grow into a man. The site of him had sent his mother into hysterics each time. She couldn’t take even looking at him, as his resemblance to his father was strong. Jack had tried to move on, to make a life of his own. And then the girl he wanted to marry had hung herself in their bedroom. Life was cruel and heartless sometimes. That was why Tate never judged. Everyone had a story, and some were too heartbreaking to talk about. Bartending and sleeping with any woman who ended up too drunk to drive home had become a way of life for Jack. At least he was getting laid, Tate thought, smirking to himself. A man’s gotta get some enjoyment out of a crummy life.

  After his third beer, it was only Tate and Jack left in the bar. Tate hadn’t remembered it ever being so slow in there before when he used to stop in a few nights a week. “Where is everybody tonight?” Tate finally asked Jack when he finished wiping down the bar, beginning on the far end and finishing next to Tate’s beer glass. The rag he used reeked of something sour, and Tate backed up on his stool when his sense of smell overwhelmed him.

  “I was wondering the same,” Jack responded. “Not a woman in sight in here tonight! What the fuck is it? Do I smell?”

  Something sure as hell does, Jack felt like saying, but he refrained. “Well damn the luck for you tonight, pal,” Tate teased him, and Jack shook his head in sheer disappointment.

  “What are you doing in here anyways? Having a woman with a body like Edie Klein’s, you should be at home taking your time on her.”

  “Hey now,” Tate didn’t want to hear another man talk about her like that. But, he knew they all did. They were men. And Edie was indeed beautiful and sexy. “She’s working late.”

  “Ah, I see,” Jack nodded. “Are you sure that’s not just an excuse?”

  “Absolutely I’m sure,” Tate told him, adamantly.

  “Then what’s troubling you. I know your Pops met his maker…”

  “I won’t cry in my beer in front of you. You’ve had your share.” Tate was referring to Jack losing his father when he was just fifteen years old and how that was only the beginning of his losses.

  “How considerate of you. Not too many folks think twice before they complain. Yeah, I know pain,” Jack agreed, taking Tate’s glass and refilling it from
the tap. He also filled a second glass for himself as he remained standing directly across the bar from Tate. “Are you a happy man?” Jack asked Tate, assuming so. He had a business to run, a remodeled home with generous land on the outskirts of town, and a picture-perfect woman. Jack actually felt jealous. All he had was a bar.

  “I am,” Tate answered. “Just feeling a little lost at the moment.” Jack rested his elbows on top of the bar, and there was something in his eyes that encouraged Tate to feel like he could talk to him. They had never been remotely close, but they were friendly in passing. What would it hurt to tell this guy a little bit of what was weighing on him? Besides, on his fourth beer, Tate had a pretty good buzz going on. “I’m leaving the market for good, I can’t bring myself to be like my Pops. I’m going back to construction.”

  “Nothing wrong with that at all,” Jack stated.

  “No, just a disappointed Ma, but she’ll come around. She has no other choice,” Tate told him. “And then there’s Edie. The sex is good…” Jack groaned from behind the bar. Tate wasn’t sure if he wanted to be spared the details or not. “But, we’ve reached a crossroad.”

  “Oh for chrissakes Ryman, just give her a ring. All women want to make it official.” Jack was serious, and Tate looked at him as if he had just slapped some sense into him.

  “So you think that’s it? You think she could be feeling the same as I am? We just need to kick things up a notch and get married? Get serious? Maybe have babies?” Tate suddenly felt as if that was the answer. Edie needed a solid commitment from him. She was an independent woman, possibly too proud to confront him on the subject of commitment. She had never even dropped a single hint. They just didn’t talk about the future.