CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE
ABBY WALKED UP to the Bistro Tuesday morning feeling like she’d lived a hundred years in the last forty-eight hours. Thank God for Cait. She’d not only met the installer yesterday, but she also had the patience of a saint. One minute Abby was vehemently upset about Aiden risking their relationship by not telling her that he was the investor, and in the next, she was poring over the sketches Cait had drawn, missing him so much she could barely move. It hadn’t helped that when she’d finally checked her phone Sunday night, she’d seen a text Aiden had sent hours earlier with a picture of his handsome face and the message This is the face of the man who loves you. That had only made her cry harder.
She stared at the door to the restaurant, and for the first time since returning to the island, she didn’t want to walk in.
But she had to.
The judges were coming in a few hours, and she had a competition to win.
She filled her lungs with as much courage as she could swallow and headed inside. When she flicked the light switch, bringing to life the colorful lights and elegant chandeliers, a pang of sadness moved through her. She swallowed hard against it, refusing to fall apart. She was not her mother. She didn’t need a man to make her whole.
Looking straight ahead instead of up, she strode into the kitchen, her pulse quickening at the sight of the gleaming oven unit Aiden had bought. She ran her fingers along the cool stainless-steel edge, and memories of the day the stove had arrived trickled in.
I do listen. I listen to you saying and doing all the right things to prove you can do this on your own. But, baby, you mean the world to me, and I had to listen to my heart, too . . . I told you my biggest flaw was doing too much for the people I care about . . . When you love someone, don’t you love their flaws, too? I love your stubborn streak as much as I love your determination.
Tears welled in her eyes. “No,” she said through clenched teeth. “I am not crying again.”
She threw her shoulders back, grabbed the packet of information the installers had left, and stalked into the office. She riffled through the packet, setting aside the warranty card information, and scanned the receipt. Fourteen thousand dollars? She blinked several times, sure she’d misread the numbers, but as she looked more carefully, she realized that with delivery and installation, the unit had cost Aiden almost fifteen thousand dollars.
Holy. Fudge.
She sank down to the chair, her heart racing. She never would have bought such an expensive unit. What was Aiden thinking? Her gaze moved to the receipt for the chandeliers on the edge of the desk. She picked it up, remembering how happy she’d been when she’d found them. She went to the file cabinet and dug out the old article they’d found with the pictures of the lights her father had used, and she carried it into the dining room. Her pulse quickened again as she compared the pictures to the chandeliers she’d bought. They were almost identical, with the exception of the colored crystals. Aiden’s voice whispered through her head. This store has Abby written all over it. Her stomach knotted with an uncomfortable thought. She headed back into the office and didn’t give herself time to back out as she called the number on the receipt.
“Whimsical Things. This is Medina.”
“Hi, Medina. This is Abby de Messiéres. I was in the other day and bought three chandeliers that your grandmother had in the stockroom and a few other lights and pictures.”
“I remember. Hi.”
“Hi. I love the chandeliers, and I’m curious about where they came from. Is your grandmother around?”
“She’s not here, but I can check the files. Hold on.”
Abby became more anxious with every passing minute as she waited for Medina to return. On the heels of the anxiety was guilt, thick as sludge, for even making the call.
A few painful minutes later, Medina came back on the line. “Hi. Sorry that took so long, but I found the paperwork. It says they were a custom order. Let’s see . . . They were seventy-two hundred dollars each, paid in full. Hold on. This is weird. It looks like there were a bunch of smaller lights custom ordered at the same time, but they’re all different prices—fifty, forty-six, twenty-nine, seventeen, thirty-two, and twenty-four dollars, all paid in full. And there was a refund given for . . . Oh. Huh. The refund was given the day you bought the lights, for the total amount you paid.” Medina quoted the amount and said, “I’m sorry, what did you want to know again?”
“Um.” Abby swallowed hard, trying to make her brain think past Holy shit, Aiden! “Nothing. Thank you.” She ended the call and sank back in the chair, flabbergasted.
“Abby? Abby honey?” Shelley’s voice rang out. “Are you here?”
Shit. She loved Shelley, but she was too rattled to fake being normal, much less happy. Lord give me strength. “I’m here!” Abby feigned her best smile and headed into the dining room.
“Hey, darlin’. Guess someone’s beau is missing her.” Shelley motioned to a man standing behind her carrying two of the most enormous bouquets of roses Abby had ever seen. “I know my bouquets, and that’s a lot more than two dozen roses.”
“Six, to be exact, for Abigail de Messiéres.” The man pronounced her name as de Meh-sears.
“That’s me. Thank you.” Abby took one of the vases and set it on a table. “You can put that one here, too.”
He set the vase on the table and said, “You must have done something right. Have a nice day.”
After he left, Abby snagged the card from the plastic holder.
“You’ve got yourself one heck of a classy beau.” Shelley leaned in to smell the flowers.
Abby tried to smile, but her thoughts were whirling as she read the card. Good luck, Abs. You’ve got this! Love, Aiden. Even after the way she’d gone off on him, he still believed in her?
Shelley plucked a card from the other bouquet and handed it to her. “I guess he has too much love for just one card.”
Abby took the card out of the tiny envelope and read it. Hey, beautiful, please don’t let my mistakes sidetrack you today. Let your magic shine, babe. I’m sorry, and I love you. A
Do not cry. Do not cry. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Shit. She turned her back to Shelley as tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Aren’t they lovely?” Shelley said cheerily.
Abby’s breathing hitched. “Mm-hm.”
“Oh, honey.” Shelley embraced her. “It’s okay to miss him. Let it out, baby girl.”
“It’s not that.” Abby stepped from her arms, swiping at her tears. “I mean it is that. I do miss him, but I’m so mad, Shelley. I’m so hurt! First he entered me into the competition; then he bought me an oven. And that’s not all.”
“No?” Shelley asked, her face riddled with confusion.
“Oh no. I found out that he spent thousands of dollars on those chandeliers because he knew how much my father’s meant to me.” She thrust her index finger up toward the lights. “And he tried to lend me money for the restaurant.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Shelley’s brows furrowed. “Now I understand why you’re so upset.”
“Right?” She wiped her eyes. “Thank you!”