“Sadie, Mrs. Simpson is here to see you,” Kat called back into the kitchen.
Shit.
“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” I called back then added, “If you would please get her a table and whatever she wants to drink.”
“Already done,” Kat chirped.
Of course it was. I wasn’t the only one afraid of Mrs. Simpson.
Maybe fear was a stretch, but not by much. Mrs. Simpson was a stickler on manners among other things. She was also like a human lie detector. I knew she sensed something was wrong last night at book club, that was why I’d dashed out of there as quickly as I could.
Now I was going to have to lie. Or attempt to lie, at which time, Mrs. Simpson would know and she’d be mad and hurt that I tried to pull a fast one on her.
Gah.
I finished placing the newly decorated cupcakes on a tray and sucked in a fortifying breath. If I was brave, I would call Letty and Brooklyn to come in and rip the Band-Aid off. But I wasn’t brave and I was still holding out hope when I placed the tray of cupcakes in the display case that Mrs. Simpson was just visiting for a coffee and a natter.
I glanced around the full bakery, found the beautiful older woman sitting in the far corner—eyes on me. Posture perfect, hair neatly styled, heavy makeup, jewelry at her ears, neck, and wrists, dressed to the nines. That was Mrs. Simpson—always. Growing up, my mother had never dressed like Mrs. Simpson. She would on occasion throw on a dress and do herself up if that occasion was special. But for the most part, she was casual both in clothes and in her general appearance and she’d passed that down to me. I wondered if Mrs. Simpson’s daughter was like her—a striking beauty who looked runway-ready at all times.
I knew I was taking too long arranging the goodies in my case when I glanced back at Mrs. Simpson and she was scowling.
Shit.
As gracefully as I could, knowing she was watching and would correct my carriage if my shoulders slumped, I walked to her table.
“Good morning, Mrs. Simpson. You look lovely as always.”
“Thank you, Sadie. Please sit with me.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling. I didn’t miss that she had not returned the compliment. Not that she would; Mrs. Simpson didn’t blow sunshine. She said what was on her mind and didn’t hold back. Thus, I knew she was not impressed with my ponytail or the jeans and Treats t-shirt I was wearing. And she likely hated my sneakers more than my clothes.
I took the chair opposite her.
As forementioned, Mrs. Simpson didn’t beat around the bush; she also didn’t waste time.
“Perhaps you were unaware of my business dealings with Mr. Johnson.”
Mr. Johnson?
My landlord.
Dread seeped in and my spine went straight.
Oh, no.
“I was…not aware, no.”
“My portfolio is diverse. A smart woman knows how to maximize and manage her wealth.”
Oh, no, no, no.
“I wish you would’ve come to me,” she softly informed me.
Oh, shit.
“Alas, you did not. However, since I own a thirty percent share in this building, Mr. Johnson made me aware of the situation. Normally, I do not get involved in daily or even monthly operations. I have people who do that for me, advisors who then meet with me personally to discuss anything that needs to be discussed. This is not because I do not understand the businesses I am involved in. It is simply because there are so many, it would take all my time, and I quite enjoy my time free. However, with this, I contacted Mr. Johnson directly and inquired about your delinquent rent.”
Delinquent rent.
That made my tummy coil and churn.
“That debt has been cleared by me personally. Further, the next six months have been paid in advance.”
I needed to say something. Unfortunately, all the oxygen had crystallized in my lungs, and I felt dizzy.
“I have not and will not discuss this with Letty and Brooklyn. I do not participate in tasteless gossip. However, I’d like to know why you have not gone to your friends and asked for help—and that includes me, lovely.”
That debt has been cleared.
Six months paid in advance.
My lungs unfroze. Sadly, that meant I was now panting.
“Sadie, child, calm yourself.”
I would never be so disrespectful to ask myself if the old woman was crazy—but was she crazy?
How was I supposed to calm myself when I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sob in relief, scream in frustration, or hide from the embarrassment.
A smart woman knows how to maximize and manage her wealth.
I didn’t have wealth, but I hadn’t protected my money.
So stupid.
And now Mrs. Simpson knew.
She was waiting for an answer so I gave her the truth.
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
In a very unlike Mrs. Simpson fashion, she sucked in a breath then wheezed out, “A burden?”
My breathing wasn’t yet under control, so I nodded.
“That is appalling you would allow yourself to feel such a vile emotion. You, my lovely, are not a burden. Friends are not impositions. They are gifts. And when a friend is struggling and you are given the opportunity to lend a hand—whether that be by listening, advising, or offering financial help, that gift blossoms into something richer. You’ve denied them something special, Sadie. They are good, strong women, they should be your foundation, your sounding board, or as these youngsters who lack a proper vocabulary call it—your ride or die.”
Hearing the prim and dignified Mrs. Simpson say the words ride or die sent a laugh I couldn’t hold back ricocheting around the room.
“Yes, I can see how you would find that amusing, however, it does not answer my question.”
“I have a brother,” I told her.
“I know that, dear. He is in desperate need of a shower and haircut.”
Ohmigod. She’d seen Josh.
“Actually, he’s in desperate need of morals,” I corrected. “He’s been…” I trailed off, not wanting to use profanity but not coming up with something suitable to replace dick.
“A pain in the ass,” Mrs. Simpson supplied, and I felt my eyes round in shock.
Still unable to curse in front of her I agreed, “Yes. He’s been that his whole life. And the older he became the worse it got. My parents, they are good people. Great parents and I watched them wonder where they went wrong with him. I watched my mom get her feelings hurt over and over. So many times, I saw her crying. My dad was hurt, too, but his hurt turned into anger. He loves my mom and didn’t like to see her in pain.”
“And you were the good child. You caused no harm,” she surmised.
“Yes. I grew up watching what I said and did. I got good grades, I didn’t give them any hassle, I worked hard and saved to open my business. I’ve never asked them for anything. I never treated them like a bank like my brother did. I’ve never yelled at my parents. I’ve never called them names. I’m the one they can count on. I’m the self-sufficient one.”
“You’re the blessing, not the burden.” Once again Mrs. Simpson guessed correctly. “And that has transferred to Letty and Brooklyn. You don’t want to be what you consider a drain on the friendship, so you’ve kept your problems a secret.”
And that was why I’d avoided Mrs. Simpson for as long as I had. She was far too wise.
I squirmed in my seat and started to sweat in places I shouldn’t be sweating. My stomach was still flip-flopping and not in the exciting way it did when I saw Reese. All the churning and roiling was making me feel sick.
“My parents love me,” I blurted. “I don’t want you to think badly of them. They never put pressure on me. They’ve always been supportive.”
“I would never think such thoughts. As parents, we do the best we can. There is no one-size-fits-all when it comes to raising children. However, sweet girl, sometimes we unconsciously put undue stress on our children. No loving parent purposefully sets out to encumber their child with unnecessary expectations. Regrettably, we unwittingly saddle our children with these expectations, and they turn into obligations. I don’t doubt your parents love you deeply. However, you being you, that is to mean—sweet, loving, kind, and thoughtful—have turned unspoken expectations into duty. It is not your responsibility to be perfect. If you listen to nothing else, hear this—you are not perfect, you never will be, and it is a goddamned waste of energy to endeavor to be such. You are Sadie. You are all that you are, but you are also human. You will fail. You will stumble. You will need help. You will make all sorts of mistakes in your life. What you will never be is the perfect mother, the perfect wife, the perfect citizen, the perfect businesswoman. There are many ways to fail in this life. However, the most egregious of these failures is when you fail to love yourself enough to acknowledge that perfection is not obtainable.”
I was wrong. So very, very wrong. I should’ve gone to Mrs. Simpson and told her everything. Right from the very beginning—the day Nate left, I should’ve run to Mrs. Simpson and soaked up every bit of wisdom and kindness she was willing to share.
“I need to talk to Letty and Brooklyn,” I admitted.
“Indeed you do.”
“And we need to talk about my rent.” I paused and gathered myself. “I didn’t say thank you. I apologize for that, I was in shock. But I appreciate your help more than I can express. So, thank you. I want you to know, I also appreciate Mr. Johnson’s kindness and understanding. I have been doing my best to raise money to pay my bills. Recently Reese has become aware of my situation and the money that Nate stole from me. He offered me a loan. After being stubborn about accepting, Reese lost patience and made it clear it was no longer an offer but a demand. I gave in, not because I’m smart, but because my brother is now involved with some scary people, and I don’t need them in my life.”
I sucked in a breath and continued. “After selling some furniture, clothes, and such, I have almost six thousand dollars. I was going to give that to Mr. Johnson this week, however, I will write you a check today to start paying you back.”
When I was done, Mrs. Simpson was staring at me. Not with her normal, kind, compassionate eyes, but with a fury I didn’t think a woman of her age could pull off.
And while she was staring at me, I heard the front door open. I didn’t need to turn to see who it was. Just like all the times before when Reese entered my sphere, I felt him. Only this time with my stomach still feeling sick, I didn’t get to experience the pleasure of the butterflies his presence invoked.
“My apologies, I must’ve heard you incorrectly. Did you say, Nathan stole money from you?”
Oh, no.
That was as close to Mrs. Simpson spitting out words as I’d assume she’d allow herself. Seething might’ve been a good way to describe her tone. Though there was more bite than mere seething.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “That is another reason I didn’t say anything. I created my own problems. As you said, a smart woman manages her money. I didn’t do that. I trusted Nate to pay the bills. I gave him access to my accounts.”
“Bull pucky!” she exploded. “Utter rubbish.”
“What’s going on here?” Reese boomed.
Mrs. Simpson tore her gaze from mine. Then she looked up and up and farther up until I suppose she locked eyes with Reese.
“I’ll tell you what is going on, Mr. Turmel. Sadie and I are having a discussion. I have just learned that her money was stolen. That is not me gossiping, I assume since you’re here you have finally awoken and have come to see the woman that Sadie is. However, my question to you is, what are you doing about this?”
“Mrs. Simp—”
“Quiet, Sadie,” Mrs. Simpson rudely interrupted. “I want to know immediately what you and the rest of the gentlemen are doing to recover Sadie’s money.”
I was not over the shock of Mrs. Simpson’s impolite interruption, but I still didn’t miss the curt, brusque manner in which she spoke to Reese.
“It’s being handled, Mrs. Simpson,” he gently told her.
My gaze shot to Reese.
Patience and understanding.
Not that I thought he’d be an asshole to an elderly lady, but I was still a little surprised at the tenderness he used to address her. Equally as surprising was how soft his face was.
“I would like the details of how this situation is being handled,” she pushed.
“I can understand you wanting that.” Reese continued with a gentle tone, but a firmness had crept in. “But that’s not gonna happen. Sadie has cupcakes to bake and a business to run. You have books to sell and women to keep straight. Let me and the guys handle how Sadie’s money will be recovered.”
Without missing a beat Mrs. Simpson narrowed her perfect kohl-lined eyes on Reese and blasted him.
“That is sexist and frankly offensive.”
“No, what it is, is me giving my woman some peace after she’s been stressed and worrying about how she’ll keep her business. And it’s me sparing you the unpleasantries of my job. What it is not is me belittling two women who mean something to me. Sadie will be kept up to speed on what’s happening. If she chooses to inform you or the rest of her friends, which I hope she does, then she will. But just to put your mind at ease, I will tell you; we will find Nate. And when we do, he will be paying back what he stole.”
The anger was swept clear away but that didn’t stop Mrs. Simpson from injecting a healthy dose of mock annoyance into her tone when she said, “I wish you boys would come up with something befitting a beautiful young lady. My woman sounds barbaric and uncivilized. What will happen next, Mr. Turmel? Will you club Sadie over the head and drag her into your cave?”
“No, Mrs. S. This is where I toss her over my shoulder, take her to my cabin, and show her how a real man worships his woman. And do not pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. Only a well-loved, cherished woman behaves like you do. Mr. Simpson loved you well and thoroughly, enough that it filled you up and overflowed, enough that in his absence it still pours out of you.”
Mrs. Simpson sniffed and corrected her posture.
What she didn’t do was correct Reese for calling her Mrs. S., which she despised.
“Indeed, you are correct. Now, please escort me back to the bookstore. As you pointed out I have books to sell. And there is no telling the trouble Letty and Brooklyn will get up to if I am not there to supervise.”
Reese graciously held out his hand and helped Mrs. Simpson stand. Once she was on her feet he leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek.
My silly heart swooned.
“Be back, baby.”
My heart swooned again.
“I’ll be in the back. I’ll let Kat know, just go through,” I told him and looked over at Mrs. Simpson. “I’ll be over with a check.”
“Nonsense. That is a discussion for later. In the meantime, I do not want anything from you except for what Reese here said—peace. Use this time to regroup. There is no rush.”
I fought back the tears threatening to burst out of me at any moment.
I shouldn’t have been such a coward.
“Babe?”
“I’m okay.”
Reese’s brow lifted in disbelief.
I shot him a smile that was mostly fake but a whole lot grateful.
Grateful for him, grateful for Mrs. Simpson, grateful for the wisdom she shared.