And Serge did love me.
He still loves me. In his last email he went on and on about what a gorgeous, sweet, wonderful, talented person I am. There’s no doubt in his mind that I’ll soon find the partner I’ve always deserved.
I, however, am not so sure.
Not sure at all.
And as I watch Mick and Faith amble down the stairs from Mick’s apartment with their arms around each other and their heads close together, lost in their own little world, I can’t help feeling a little resentful.
And maybe a teensy bit bitter.
They’re practically babies, I think as I unload chocolate croissants into the display case. And neither one of them was even looking for love, but it fell into their laps, easy as you please.
Meanwhile, I’m gazing down the barrel of my thirtieth birthday without a single romantic prospect on the horizon. I’ve been on half a dozen dates since moving back to Bliss River, but none of the men I’ve met are relationship material, a fact that makes me sadder than I like to admit.
I’m all for standing strong on my own two feet, but I’m a relationship girl.
I don’t like being single.
The last time I went this long without a boyfriend I was too young to date. I crave companionship and conversation. Life seems dimmer somehow without someone to share it with. And since Mick moved into the bakery apartment and Naomi has all but moved in with Jake, I’m often alone at my parents’ house.
I feel like a ghost haunting the halls where I grew up, drifting along all by my lonesome, missing the love and laughter and good-natured bickering that once echoed through the house.
I miss life as part of a large, nuclear family.
I started pestering Serge about starting a family only a few years after we were married, but he always found a reason to put off trying to get pregnant. First, we were too poor—which was true. Then he was concerned about getting quality maternity care on the Caribbean island where we worked. Then, only months before he confessed he was having an affair with a lifeguard at the resort, he said he wanted to wait until we were in our thirties, like his friends on the West Coast.
Now, I’m facing thirty alone, adrift and uncertain as to what my future will hold.
My parents will return from Florida in a month or so, and I’ll need to find an apartment—I adore Mom and Pop, but they have their own rhythm now that they’re retired, and I don’t want to cramp their style—but aside from that…
“Maddie, you want to come?” Mick asks, jarring me from my thoughts.
“What?” I startle back into motion, sliding chocolate croissants onto the tray on the top shelf of the case.
“I asked if you wanted to come to breakfast with us,” he says, his arms around Faith, cuddling her like she’s a treasure he can’t let go of for a second for fear some treasure-hungry pirate will snatch her away. “Isn’t Naomi coming in at eight?”
I nod, ignoring the pang of envy that flashes through my chest at the sight of the two lovebirds.
Serge used to hold me like that. He always made me feel adored, though not always desirable.
Still, for years it was enough.
To be adored. Cuddled. Safe.
Deep down, I want more from marriage than meh sex once or twice a month and oodles of cuddles. But there are times when I long for my old life, for Serge’s arms around me and his voice whispering he loves me in his lightly-accented English as we watched the waves roll onto the shore outside our island home.
“Yes, Naomi’s coming in.” I push the sad thoughts away as I shut the display case, knowing no good comes from dwelling on a past that’s dead and buried. “But I’m going to stay and help out. With Valentine’s Day so close, we’re expecting a lot of special orders, and I want to get started on them right away.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a break?” Faith asks. “You got here even earlier than usual this morning, didn’t you? I thought I heard cookie sheets banging at three-thirty.”
“I’m sorry, I dropped one,” I say, setting the empty pan on the counter behind me. “Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.”
She shakes her head. “You were fine. I’m just a light sleeper. Comes with the job. I went back to sleep, no problem.”
“And I never woke up,” Mick says. “I’m getting great at sleeping through banging pans, cats jumping on my face in the middle of the night, people kicking me in the spine when they have soccer championship dreams…”
“That happened once!” Faith glares up at Mick, but there’s a smile on her face and a look of such adoration in her eyes that I can’t help but smile too.