Page 10 of Sweet and Salty
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laura
One of theproblems with being a midwesterner is that it always takes nine hours to leave. Fine, that’s a slight exaggeration. Even if there are only three people I have to say goodbye to, it still takes ages when all I want is to go home, feed my animals, and watch crappy TV with a hot beverage until I fall asleep alone.
I hate sleeping alone.
My mom leaves Dr. Sieber laughing and comes over to talk to me, enclosing me in a big hug. “Thank you so much for today. I’m sorry I left it until the last minute to ask you. I know I can always count on you, Laura, hon.”
“That’s me. Old reliable.” Ha. Ha. Yeah, that’s sexy. No wonder my sex life consists of watchingBridgertonwith my vibrator nearby. “Of course, Mom. I really should get going.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. You have your animals. How’s Cree doing?”
“Challenging.” My chest tightens. “Why can’t they all be easy like Einstein? He adapted so quickly to my house.”
“That’s because you made him feel welcome.” Mom has a massive soft spot for my aging Golden Retriever, but she’ll never commit to getting a dog of her own. “You make everyone feel welcome. Take Edward, Bella, and Jacob. You took them in, and now they’re practically family. Any nibbles on adoptions for those three? Why people still think mini pigs are a real thing is beyond me, believe you me.”
“Not even a stirring in the water. They really are all paired at this point. I don’t know if I could adopt out one and leave the others. It might break their hearts.”
My mom squeezes my shoulders. “You’re the one with the good heart. How are you doing? I always thought Chris wasn’t good enough for you.”
So she’s said. Never outright. She’s far too polite for that. But there were a million insinuations.Oh, he’s going to Florida alone again? You always did like gathering shells. Oh, he can’t come to family dinner? What a shame. I made chicken pot pie, your favorite.It got to the point where I noticed she stopped setting a place for him at family dinners on Sunday, six months ago. That’s me, always hanging on too long.
Another craving for that sweet cherry lollipop rolls across my tongue and through my belly. It’s there in my car, waiting for me. I can taste it, the burst of flavor melting across my tongue.
“I hear there’s a new guy in town,” my mom says, her arm like a vise around me, not letting me go. “At the hardware store.”
“Jesse.” His name tastes as sweet as candy on my lips, which is confusing. He’s an ass. A hot ass—does he have a hot ass? I hadn’t gotten a good look—but that doesn’t excuse him for not being neighborly.
“Jesse? That’s a good solid name.”
“He’s not from around here.”
“That’s no condemnation against him. Not everyone is lucky enough to grow up here.” She plays with the ends of my curls,which always makes me feel like I’m four years old again. It’s not unpleasant. “I can’t believe I only have one grandchild. I always thought you’d be the first to have kids.”
That statement feels like a slap to all the many, many wishes I’ve hidden deep inside. I pull my hair out of her grasp. “Mom, stop.”
“Stop what?” She holds her hands up. Hah. Like she’s ever innocent.
“Stop trying to matchmake. A single man moving into town is not automatically looking for a partner. What if he’s gay? What if he’s a total beast?”
“Beast in the sack,” my mom murmurs, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Gross.” I laugh, mostly so I won’t start crying. “I only just broke up with Chris. Give me some time to be alone.”
My mom’s forehead wrinkles. “You’ve never been that good on your own, love. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Isn’t there? A person should learn to be alone, especially if someone happens to be living in a town of less than a thousand people with infrequent turnover and is in their mid-thirties and has a rescue animal farm.
For instance.
“I’m not alone.”
“Right, right. You have your animals and your bakery.”
“And my family.” That’s the one bright spot in my life. Without Frannie and Rory and my mom? And my brother Bobby, who flies out whenever he can. Life would be a bummer without them.
“Did you hear about the liquor license?” My mom’s expression is too eager, too hopeful. She’s known the Drydens longer than I have. She should know better.