He didn’t mean that, of course, and he wasn’t even sure he truly believed he had a shadow, because again, why would he? But unless it was a really big coincidence, he couldn’t figure out why he kept seeing the same man.
Unless he’d gone crazy and invented him. Maybe there was no man there at all.
“Wha’cha looking at?” Luann, one of his employees, asked him.
Deacon stared out the window at the bench across the street, where he’d seen the man sitting the morning before—probably just resting or drinking coffee and not following him.
“Nothing. Just spacing off.”
“You have a habit of doing that,” she teased, and she was right. He did, even before he’d lost his wife, Patricia, to cancer, but even more so now. She used to tease him about it all the time. Somehow, she’d always known when she had to say something twice because he’d only been half listening the first time. Not because he didn’t care what she had to say or he didn’t find her interesting; it was simply the way he was. He just lost himself sometimes. Maybe that wasn’t the right way to word it. His thoughts just liked to wander.
It was why he was surprised he’d even noticed the man, and…he was thinking about him again. He really needed to cut this shit out.
“I should get some work done,” Deacon told her.
He made it a few steps when she said, “Deke?”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
It was a question he’d been asked a lot in the beginning, then not as much as time went by. Maybe because he tried to hide it more. It had been three years since he lost Patricia. Wasn’t he supposed to feel it less by now? But the truth was, he felt lonely. Small talk he could do, but he used to be a whole lot better at making friends and having fun. He didn’t do much of either anymore.
“Sure am. And ready to get back there and check on the ice cream. I’m trying to think of a new flavor. Something wintery, but I don’t want to go easy and use peppermint. Though I’m running out of time if I want to have it in time for the holidays.”
“I’ll be thinking on it too, and hey, I forgot to tell you. A guy came in here looking for you a few days ago. I asked if he wanted to leave a message, but he didn’t.”
Deacon froze, somehow knowing it was the man he’d seen around town. “What did he look like?” He hoped his tone of voice didn’t betray how curious he was about this. Why was this man hanging around?
“Um…he was about your height, I think? I don’t really remember. He was white and had brown, wavy hair and a kinda scruffy face? We were busy. Monroe Covington and his family were in, so I didn’t have time to pay much attention. I’m sorry.”
Deacon waved off her apology while discomfort slid down his spine. It was definitely the same guy. The next time he saw him, Deacon damn sure planned to figure out who he was and what in the hell he wanted.
When he got off work that afternoon, Deacon left Sundae’s Best and drove down Magnolia Court toward his granny’s house. She was the person he was closest in the world to. His parents, siblings, and their spouses and kids, they all lived in Everett too, but he’d always had a special bond with his granny. She hardly left his side when Patricia was sick.
As a kid he used to cook with her—a habit he’d continued enjoying into adulthood—all the best Southern meals, but his favorites had always been the desserts. It was during those times in the kitchen with her that he fell in love with the idea of making ice cream and even using some of the recipes from her mom’s cookbook and changing them up. She always said there was nothing like sugar to put a smile on someone’s face. Deacon had always wanted to make people smile. Being in the kitchen with his granny, while using his great-granny’s favorite recipes, was something Deacon would always be thankful he could do.
It was a quick drive to her house. She lived in town, alone, the whole family taking turns checking in on her. His grandpa had died when Deacon was young, and she’d been alone ever since.
Deacon knocked on the door, and a minute later she opened it, wearing a purple flower dress and matching hat. He couldn’t help smiling. It was how he’d gotten the name for his ice cream parlor. For as long as he could remember, she’d told him it would be a cold day in hell before she left the house in anything less than her Sunday best, and she never did.
“You just get home?” He kissed her cheek.
“I took Ms. Miriam to the grocery store. She can’t drive no more. You know how she is, talk and talk and talk. Couldn’t get outta there until I finally cut her off and told her my Deacon is coming over, so I gotta go.”
He chuckled. Granny was eighty-three but still in good shape. She was a small woman, a little frail, but everyone knew not to fuck with her. She was tough as nails, and there was no one else Deacon would rather have by his side. “Glad you escaped. You can go change if you want, and I’ll get dinner started.” They always cooked together when Deacon came over.
“Oh, I can, huh? Thanks for the permission,” she said with a grin.
“You know what I meant,” he teased back.
While she changed, Deacon went into the kitchen and turned the oven on. They planned their meals in advance, and she already had the chicken seasoned in a pan in the fridge, so he took it out and put it in the oven. When she returned, they started peeling the potatoes.
“How you doin’?” she asked, without looking at him.
He couldn’t lie to her the way he could with others. She knew him too well. “I’m getting by like always. I miss her. Of course I do. I always will, but I’m fine.” He’d also spent the day before with Eugene and Frances, Patricia’s parents. He was close to them, always had been. They treated him like a son, but sometimes it was hard to be around them because they made him think of Patty.
“I think you’re real good at making yourself believe that. You love so damn hard, Deacon, and that’s not a bad thing. But sometimes having such a big heart makes it more tender. You’re always so worried about making everyone else happy… Don’t you think it’s time you do that for yourself too? And not just with that easy smile of yours, while shoving all the important stuff deep down.”
He loved his granny, but this was why it was sometimes hard to see her. She never let him pretend. “Don’t know that I know how. Not yet.” The truth was, even when Patricia was alive, he’d always gotten bouts of sadness. Not something he ever saw a doctor for. It had never gotten that bad, but he did have a habit of putting others first, of wearing a grin when he didn’t feel it. Patricia had always been good at pulling him out of it.
“I want you to be happy, Deke.”
“I am happy.” And he was…but he also wasn’t. It was confusing how he could be both things, but he didn’t know how else to explain it.
“You need friends.”
“I have friends,” he countered, picking up another potato.
“You need to spend time with them.”
She had him there.
“No comment?” She turned and cocked a brow.
“I’ll try.”
“Then I’ll leave it alone for today.”
“Yes, ma’am.”