Identity, page 38
“And did you? Prove it?”
“I did. What happened with Gavin Rozwell was all about him and really nothing about me. I worked hard, and I made a life because I wanted to, because I could. But I was missing this, Gram, this moment right now, because I was so determined to do it all myself, for myself. I was missing really knowing you, really knowing Mom, and that means missing really knowing me, doesn’t it?”
Smiling, Olivia reached down, gripped Morgan’s chin, gave it a gentle wiggle. “You get your good sense from me.”
“Mom’s soft, isn’t she? Softer than you and me?”
“Always has been. The glass is half-full for Audrey, and more, waiting to be filled up the rest of the way. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have spine.”
“I never saw it in her until I came to stay here.”
“She held me up when your grandfather died.” Olivia looked over toward the woodshop because she could, and always would, picture him there.
“She was my rock when the world fell out from under me. Took over the shop for weeks. I was going to sell the business.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I couldn’t see past the next minute, much less into tomorrow. The love of my life, gone in a minute, and how could that be? But she wouldn’t let me give up, kept holding me up until I found my feet again. She let you go,” Olivia said gently, “because you needed to go. And that took love and strength.”
Then Olivia sighed. “He fucked her up. Let’s just say it and move on. The Colonel fucked her up good and proper. But she found her feet again. So have you. We’re Nash women, after all.”
“We are, so I’m going to tell you, woman-to-woman, Nash-to-Nash, I’ve thought about leaving because of Rozwell. Because if they don’t catch him and he comes after me again, he’ll come here. You and Mom are here.”
Before Olivia could speak, Morgan held up a hand. “And I know what you’re going to say. The Nash women can handle it, and him.”
“That’s exactly right.” A finger poke into Morgan’s belly emphasized the point.
“And I believe that. I want to stay here, so many reasons why, but I couldn’t if I didn’t believe that.”
“Good.” Straightening, Olivia stretched her back. “Now I’m going to poke in and ask if one of those many reasons is Miles Jameson.”
“He’s definitely in there. It’s one day, or mostly one weekend, at a time, but he’s in there.”
“Is that enough for you? The one weekend at a time?”
“I didn’t expect to have that. That’s on me, too,” Morgan added as they moved around the garden. “I didn’t really make time for dating, much less relationships. I was so focused on the goals.”
“Not a thing wrong with focus or goals.”
“No, but if you can’t adjust? Being here’s shown me I don’t have to do it all myself, by myself. I can have a fulfilling career and a real life at the same time. I can work hard and still have time and room for family, and for being with someone who makes me happy.”
“Found your feet. You don’t have your mother’s—or what was your mother’s—fairy-tale view. You’re not looking for someone to sweep you off those feet. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love, and love hard.”
“I didn’t plan to be in love with him.” On a sigh of her own, Morgan pushed the brim of her hat back. “Like a lot, be attracted to, enjoy being with. I was with a guy in college.”
“I should hope so!”
With a laugh, Morgan rolled her eyes. “Gram. I’m saying that’s what it was, that list: like, attraction, enjoy. There were two others along the way who made that list. Then I stopped making time, making room. Then there was Miles.”
“And this time it’s different.”
“Yes, for me. For me,” she repeated. “The attraction? That was bang, right from the jump. I mean, look at this guy. The ‘like’ didn’t take long. For someone who claims he doesn’t much like people, he sure knows how to look out for them. The ‘enjoy being with’? Just wow.”
This time Olivia laughed.
“The love just snuck up on me, little moments by little moments.”
“Best kind there is.”
“Is it?”
“I was going to bang your grandfather like a hammer to a nail,” she remembered. And laughed at Morgan’s muffled snort. “But he snuck up on me. Love snuck up on me.”
When she looked over at the woodshop, she could all but see him standing in the doorway, grinning at her.
“Then one day he said, ‘Livvy Nash, nobody’s ever going to love who you are like I do. Let’s get married.’ I’m all set to say, ‘Are you crazy?’ But ‘Yeah, let’s do that’ came right out of my mouth. He had a plan, Steve did, and pulled me right along into it. And made me glad he did, every single day.”
Wasn’t it miraculous, Morgan thought, to have someone love who you are, and never stop?
“I like a plan. I must get that need for a plan from Pa. And this wasn’t the plan. Plus, Miles and I had a sort of agreement before we got started. So I’m okay with the one weekend at a time. It’s enough. He won’t crush my heart. He’s not cruel, he’s not cold. Whatever happens, I’ll handle it because I’ve had those moments. And this is home now, Après is my place.”
“I’m going to tell you something, then we’re going to go cut a couple armloads of those hydrangeas. After that, we’re going to put them all over the house, then sit ourselves down with a tall glass of lemonade.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“When you love someone, and love him hard, and you’re ready for him, you go after him. If he doesn’t love you back, and love you hard, if he’s not ready for you, that’s his loss. Love’s brave, Morgan. Love stands up.”
“That sounds true.”
“Because it is. It’s solid truth.”
“I’m just getting used to being in love with him, knowing I am. I guess I have to work on being ready.”
“When you are, you’ll know what to do. You’re no coward. Let’s go cut some flowers.”
* * *
They arranged those magic blue hydrangeas all over the house. But instead of lemonade, Morgan got out ingredients and bar tools.
“I need some help.”
“Mixing a drink? I’m not above a drink before three on a Sunday afternoon, but you’re the expert in mixing.”
“Not mixing, tasting, followed by judging, then choosing which of the three wins for our fall special. Just two sips, because I’ll use different liquors in the choices. Mixing liquors is a fine way to get Darlie’s stomach bug.”
“Been there, done that.”
“I thought I had it down to two, then I came up with another, so you’ll judge three.”
“Did you have Nell or Drea sample?”
“Too busy, all around. Plus, this way I can take Nell the one that wins.”
Rubbing her hands together, Olivia sat at the counter. “Let’s have it.”
“Okay, first up starts with a nice, dry Riesling, then pear brandy—pear’s the spa fall deal. The pear eau-de-vie—”
“Water of life? I’ve got that much French in me.”
“It’s pear brandy, and gives the Riesling a nice kick.”
“Who doesn’t like a nice kick?” Enjoying herself, Olivia rested her chin on her fist to watch. “It already looks pretty.”
“It’s going to look prettier. A little orange curaçao for zest, some honey syrup for sweet, and five—not four, not six—dashes of bitters for that touch of licorice.”
“It sounds as pretty as it looks.”
“If we go with this, I’ll serve it in the classic Cary Grant champagne glass, with a thin slice of pear as garnish.”
When she’d finished, Morgan held out the glass. “One sip. Consider, let it sit. Then one more to judge. Oh, hey, here’s Mom. Perfect timing. Two judges.”
“Didn’t expect you until four,” Olivia commented.
“Darlie recovered, with apologies. What are we drinking and why?”
“We’re Morgan’s official judges for the fall specialty drink.” Olivia sipped, considered as ordered. “That is very, very tasty.” She sipped again. “Excellent, and I’m not a big fan of the pear.”
“I am, and I could use a drink. We were absolutely slammed this morning, Mom. A group of day-trippers—twenty-three of them.”
“Two sips,” Morgan told her mother. “Because there are two more to come.”
“Oh, that’s really good. Sweet, but zingy. Am I really only allowed two sips? It was a morning. We had two sisters from the group who got into an argument—the edge of a serious fight—over who would buy Lacy Cardini’s Secret Garden for their mother’s birthday.”
“That Cardini painting’s priced at eight seventy-five.” Olivia pumped her fists in the air. “Woo!”
“I convinced them to split it, but it took work and every ounce of diplomacy I own.”
“Once I make the other two, you sample and judge, I’ll make your favorite.”
“What are you making now? I’m going to sit down.”
“This one has a vodka base. I’m muddling pear, simple syrup, and nutmeg. Martini glass for this one, chilled. Now the vodka, some Tuaca, and B&B—Bénédictine and brandy mix, well shaken—so you’re going to taste vanilla, citrus, but herbal notes that say fall. Garnish,” she said as she poured and did so, “with three thin crescents of pear, unpeeled.”
Olivia sipped. “Our girl knows her stuff. I can see the leaves changing.”
“Let me.” Audrey snagged the glass. “Mmm. Time to start the fire. It’s just lovely, Morgan. I don’t know which I like best.”
“Don’t decide yet. We’ve got one more in the running.
“This time, I’m muddling pear—peeled—honey, and lime juice into a thick syrup.”
“It already sounds good,” Olivia said.
“Bourbon makes it better.” She poured it into the shaker, added ice, capped it, shook.
“All of them seem like a lot of trouble.”
Morgan smiled at her mother. “That’s why they’re special.”
She poured the drink into a wide-mouthed lowball glass. “We top it off with some ginger ale for effervescence, garnish with a pear slice.”
“You go first this time, Audrey.”
“I don’t usually drink bourbon, but I’ll try it.” One sip and she closed her eyes, said, “Mmm. I think I hear kids at the door, trick-or-treating.”
“My turn.” Olivia’s comment was: “Well, well, well.”
“Okay, consider all three, and if you need another sip, go ahead. I want you to hold your hand below the counter, then lift it up with your fingers signaling one, two, or three. There is no wrong answer. Obviously, one of them goes out of the running.”
Amused, Morgan watched them take one more sip of each candidate.
“Hands down, fingers ready. And reveal! Number three, both of you? Really?”
“It was hard to choose,” Audrey admitted. “But that last sip did it for me. They all say autumn, but I thought that one almost sang it.”
“I leaned toward three myself, so it’s unanimous. Well, that was easy.”
“From this side of the counter anyway. And as the oldest in this panel, I’m taking the winner for myself.”
“I’ll make you one, Mom.”
“No, no, both the others are terrific. I just have to decide which one to claim. I’ll take the middle one. Middle ground, that’s me. And I can’t believe I’m sitting here drinking a cocktail at, what, two-forty-five-ish in the afternoon. I was going to make bread. And we still have to make dinner.”
“Let’s drink cocktails and order pizza instead.”
Audrey laughed at Morgan. “That sounds … really wonderful. What do you say, Mom?”
“I say: cheers.”
* * *
While the Nash women sat on the patio with cocktails, the Jamesons sat around the dining room table holding their family meeting.
Nell studied her tablet. “All right, last item on my agenda is Après’s specialty cocktail, virgin option, and coffee for the fall, which we’ll introduce right after Labor Day. Morgan hasn’t decided on the cocktail, but assures me she’ll have that for my approval early next week. For the coffee she’s going to do what she calls Coffee Incompearable—get it?”
“Har har,” Liam said.
“It’s a combination of coffee, poached pear, cinnamon, cloves, and so on. I said complicated, then she made me one. I’m sold. I thought we’d bold and italicize the pear in ‘incompearable.’ We can price it at four dollars.”
“It’s clever,” Drea commented. “But she’s a clever woman. We’ve got the Stevenson wedding in October, and the bride’s using pears in her decor. I’m going to ask Morgan to come up with a signature pear cocktail, something other than whatever we use for Après, and nudge the bride toward it. Has she told you what she’s going to offer, Miles?”
“No.”
She hadn’t told him about the coffee either, which didn’t sound like something he’d say “sold” on. But he didn’t doubt it would sell.
They did talk about work, some, he thought, while his mother gave her Events report. But when it came down to it, their time together was … compressed.
That’s how they’d worked it. So far.
He pushed it off, tuned back in, reminded himself this was work, and not the time to think about Morgan.
But wasn’t she right here, in the flowers she’d put on the table Saturday morning?
The table passed from his mother to Liam and fall activities. Nature hikes, photo groups, team building, kids’ weekends, fall packages. And from there to fall landscaping, to fall maintenance, safety checks, seasonal inventory.
Once business concluded, food took center stage. He’d made the pulled pork as requested—a lot of damn trouble in his book, but it spared him from doing anything else for the family meal.
And Morgan was there, too, as she’d told him the Sunday forecast called for a perfect afternoon and evening. So he should use the colorful dishes again. And damned if she hadn’t sat at the counter and fancy folded a pile of napkins, and made another big-ass pitcher of sangria.
“This looks so pretty.” After one look at the table, his mother gave him the eye. “I sense a feminine touch.”
“Apparently, Morgan has a thing about napkins. And sangria.”
“I’m going to try it.” His grandfather poured a glass. “One for you, Lydia?”
“All right. I don’t think I’ve had any since we went to Spain. What’s that, ten years ago?”
“Must be. Don’t know what I think about poached pears in coffee, but this is damn good. Tastes like summer, and it won’t be here much longer. Well, look at that. Rory’s taught Howl to fetch.”
Morgan had, Miles thought. And that damn dog still wouldn’t go after a ball for the one who provided him with room and board.
She was here, in the damn dog, in the stupid napkins, in the flowers on the table. The woman was everywhere.
They ate pulled pork, his father’s coleslaw, his grandmother’s potato salad, corn on the cob his grandfather tossed on the grill.
After, since he’d made the main and that excused him from cleanup, he drew his grandmother aside.
“Got a minute?”
“I hope I have more than one. Let’s take a walk. The grounds look especially nice this summer. You’re the best gardener out of my grandchildren.”
“I guess the landscape training stuck.”
“Apparently.” She put an arm through his as they walked. “I had lunch with Olivia Nash last week. She tells me Morgan’s added to their grounds as well. A Zen frog fountain. You helped with that?”
“I was just the muscle. I love this place, Grand. I don’t tell you that often enough.”
“I see it, and that’s plenty. You want the ring.”
He stopped, stared down at her. “How did you know that?”
“My darling boy, I know you. We all know you.” She leaned a little closer. “I promised you the ring when you found the one you wanted to wear it. She may want her own.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’ll matter to her, that it’s from you, from family. It’ll matter. But I don’t want to take it unless you’re sure.”
Lydia looked down at the wedding set she’d worn more than fifty years. She slipped off the one with the square-cut diamond that topped the band. “What matters is you’re sure, and I see you are. I’m wearing the pledge and the life that goes with it. I’m giving you the promise of that pledge. Do you want to tell the others?”
“I figure to wait until I know what she says.”
“For a smart man you can be very thick. They already know. I can’t tell you what she’ll say, because I don’t know her heart, not all of it. I can say she’s a very lucky woman.” Lydia put the ring in his hand, closed his hand around it.
“It may not be what she wants. Not the ring—the package.”
“You’ll have to find out, won’t you? Life’s a series of leaps. Now, let’s go tell the rest of us what they already know.”
He didn’t have to say a thing, not when they walked in and he saw his mother’s gaze go directly to his grandmother’s left hand. Then watched her eyes fill.
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“I’m entitled. Oh, Rory, our baby’s getting married.”
“I don’t know that. Wait.”
“Good thing I didn’t hit on her.”
That changed quick panic to derision for his brother. “Yeah, that would’ve worked out for you.”
“We’ll never know now. Good job, man. She’s a winner.”
Mick took Lydia’s left hand, brought it to his lips. “My own darling. Good job, us.”
“Everybody, please back up. If she says no, nothing changes.”
“Just shut up.” Nell moved in to hug him. “First, she won’t. Next, what are we going to do, fire her? She’s not only the best bar manager we’ve had, but she’s a friend of mine now.”
Then his father wrapped around both of them, murmured in his ear, “Don’t get down on one knee. Not her style.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. Listen, I mean it. Everyone back up. I have to ask her, and until I do, nobody says anything.”
