“Now I wonder where I got that work ethic from?” Sadie asked with a pointed look.
“Somebody stupid, probably,” Gigi said, laughing outright.
“Anyway, you know my philosophy. It’s safer to do things for people than it is to love them.”
“Sweetheart, you’re so worried about somebody breaking your heart that you’re gonna end up breaking your own. Now, I’m going out for a cigarette, and then I’m going to sit my butt down and watch the idiot box until it’s time to start dinner.”
“Do you really think you should be smoking?”
“Because quitting will make the cancer go away? It’s in my stomach, sugar, not my lungs. And on that note, I know you’re still not ready to hear it, but there are things you need to know.”
“The only thing I need to know is that I have a bowl of herbs charging under the moon to use for a spell that’s going to cure you.”
Gigi only shook her head.
“I recorded True Grit for you last night,” Sadie added, knowing how much Gigi loved John Wayne.
“That piece of trash? He should be ashamed of himself for filming that movie,” Gigi said in disgust. “I’ll just find an old episode of NCIS. And remind me to mop these floors before Jake gets here—they’re disgusting,” Gigi called from the living room.
Sadie looked down but couldn’t see so much as a smudge or speck of dust. The cherrywood floors were nicked and scratched with deep gouges in places, but polished to a high shine on the monthly. Gigi revered those floors, sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping them so often that Sadie thought they were probably cleaner than she was. In Gigi’s eyes, clean floors reflected a clean life.
“Now, sit,” Gigi said when they were both on the back porch with coffee in hand. She patted the chair next to her and Sadie sat. “And tell me what you want out of this life.”
“What?” Sadie laughed.
“I’m serious. I was never going to live forever. Now, I know the suddenness of it is a real son of a bitch, but you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about what comes next when I’m gone.”
“I haven’t, really,” Sadie said truthfully.
“Sugar, you have to want more than to live in this little old house with nothing but an old woman and a dopey dog for company. You do nothing but read and run the café.”
Sadie didn’t argue because it was the truth.
“Now, this town is in our blood. I’m not saying you need to leave it to make your mark. But I’m afraid your curse is stopping you from dreaming. So, what do you want out of life?”
“I”—Sadie started, searching for words—“I’m happy with my life.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t. But there’s a difference between being happy and being fulfilled. Happiness you feel in your skin. Fulfillment you feel in your bones.”
“I feel like you’re going somewhere with this,” Sadie said tightly.
“You don’t need a partner to complete you. But it sure as hell is nice to have someone to lean on. And what about that cookbook you wanted to make? Why’d you give that up? Or those online cooking classes you wanted to teach?”
Sadie hadn’t thought about the cookbook or classes in years. She’d gotten so lost in the mire of running the café and taking care of the townsfolk that her dream of sharing recipes and teaching others how to make them had gotten put on hold.
“Now you listen up, toot,” Gigi continued, covering Sadie’s hand with hers and giving it a pat. “I’m not going anywhere yet, but someday soon you’re going to need to ask yourself if you’re content with just being happy or if you want to be fulfilled.”
The moment she was alone, the knot in Sadie’s chest tightened ever so slightly. Between Gigi’s questions and cancer, and Jake’s return, her predictable life had gone haywire. Knowing she shouldn’t care about his presence and actually following through with that notion were two completely different obstacles in her mind.
She put a drop of white angelica oil in her palms and inhaled the Earl Grey scent of bergamot, the bright floral of ylang ylang, and the rich earthiness of sacred sandalwood, for protection and positivity. She needed every last tattered shred she could get.
Glancing at the clock, she saw she had a few hours until he’d arrive. The thing was, Jake didn’t owe her anything. Not really. Sure, he’d promised her forever, but those were the whimsical vows of youth, tainted with berry-stained fingers and the truth-telling properties of chrysanthemum.