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.