Pure Hearts Page 9

  “Did he write letters for all the milestones too?”

  She shook her head. “He said he wouldn’t know what to say, that his life wasn’t one to mirror. He said that was what Mom was for. Mainly he apologized a lot. But honestly the letter was so him, and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

  When she looked at me her eyes held strength, not sadness like I was expecting. “My life could have turned out a lot differently if it weren’t for the Chamberlains. And even though I was never a bitter person, I promised myself I would appreciate everything. I wouldn’t dwell on what I couldn’t change. I would live life to the fullest and help as many people as I could.”

  “You had all these thoughts at age nine?” I smiled, my hand involuntarily squeezing hers. A nonverbal I’m here. You have me.

  “Yes. I was very smart.” I was relieved when her lips followed mine. Then she shrugged, almost embarrassed but not quite, and pulled her hand away. She started pushing the stroller again as I stepped beside her.

  The next few minutes of our walk were filled with nothing but the sounds of our surroundings, both of us lost in our thoughts.

  Mine were scattered. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that Iris had experienced so much loss and found a way to smile in spite of it.

  Strength wasn’t about being the loudest or the most aggressive, like I had been the last few months.

  Strength was about standing behind your convictions. About speaking when you should, not just because you could. About being happy with who you were even if no one else was.

  Others might not know it by looking at her, but Iris was one of the strongest people there was.

  It was Sunday morning, almost three weeks since Nick and I walked around Boston Common. We had started texting, and we’d seen each other at the last three Sunday dinners at Catherine’s. But other than that, this would be the first time we’d be hanging out, face-to-face, just the two of us.

  The Cultural Fair was tomorrow, and we were going to spend today shopping and cooking the dishes. I’d just blown out one of my favorite candles, Lemon Zest, when someone started knocking.

  Quickly moving from the kitchen to the door, I smoothed down my dress and adjusted my necklace. I paused in the entryway and grabbed my purse before opening the door with a wide grin.

  “Hi.”

  Nick chuckled as he backed up so I could exit. “Excited?”

  “Yes, this is my favorite unit. I love how the kids get into it.” He was nodding when I turned to lock the door. We walked toward his car in silence, and when we reached the passenger side, Nick placed a hand on my elbow. I turned around to find him reaching for the handle. I had to suppress my smile as I put my left foot inside and sat down. He softly shut the door once I was in and walked around the front of the car.

  “Do you mind if we stop for coffee?”

  “No, coffee sounds perfect,” I answered while both of us buckled up. Nick flicked on the radio and we made the ten-minute drive with just the sound of soft rock in the background, only turning it down when he pulled up to the drive-thru.

  “Welcome to Dunkin Donuts, what can I get for you today?”

  Nick placed both our orders before pulling forward and waiting behind the car ahead of us.

  “How have you been?” he asked, his gaze straight ahead.

  “Not bad. You?”

  “Okay.”

  Even though he started the conversation, he seemed at a loss for how to continue it. “How are things at the restaurant?”

  “Better.” He exhaled, and only then did I realize how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. “No mess ups or broken glasses.” Nick looked a little embarrassed. “Although I’m pretty sure Amanda is still afraid of me.”

  “She’ll come around,” I said matter-of-factly before grinning. “You’re like a Sour Patch Kid—first you’re sour, then you’re sweet.” Nick chuckled and shook his head as the car in front of us left. When he rolled up to the window, I pulled my wallet out.

  Nick’s hand landed on top of mine. “I got it.”

  “That’s not necessary. If anything, I should be buying yours since you’re helping me out.”

  My breath hitched when his fingers squeezed around mine. “I’ve got it, Iris.” I nodded, watching him pull away from me and grab some money out of his wallet.

  My gaze was drawn to the car behind us. A mom and a girl I assumed was her daughter, who looked around ten or eleven, were laughing. Then the girl twisted and grabbed a shopping bag out of the backseat, it reminded me of the mom and daughter dates me and my mom used to have. Getting breakfast, going to the mall, grabbing coffee…

  I smiled at the sight. I could almost hear the girl’s giggles as she held a dress up against her chest. The mom’s eyes radiated love. It was such a wonderful sight.

  My eyes came back just as Nick handed off the cash. I leaned across the console, ignoring the sharp inhale he took when I brushed his chest. “Excuse me,” I said to the barista.

  “Yes?” She briefly glanced at Nick when she handed him his change before giving me her full attention.

  I held out my credit card and nodded to the car behind us. “Could you go ahead and put their order on my card?”

  She stuck her head out the window, her brow furrowed, and looked back at the car. When her gaze came back to mine, she told me they both got large specialty drinks, a dozen donuts, and two breakfast sandwiches. I said nothing, simply held out my card with a smile.

  “Their bill is almost twenty-five dollars,” she sputtered.

  “Maybe they’re celebrating something.” I held my smile, practically pushing my card into her hand and almost crawling onto Nick’s lap to do it.

  “Oh—okay.” She took the card, looking slightly embarrassed, and quickly swiped it. “Did you want a receipt?” she mumbled.

  “No, thank you.” I tried to give her another genuine smile, but she was avoiding my eyes as she handed the card back.

  “Your coffees will be right up.” The barista quickly shut the window and moved farther into the shop. With a sigh, I slumped back into my seat. My eyes were forward, but I could feel Nick’s gaze on me.

  “What?” I asked, exhausted by the thought of having to justify this to someone else.

  “Nothing. I just… what if you’re wrong?”

  “About what?”

  “About them celebrating.”

  I shrugged and chanced a glance at him. He didn’t look annoyed, just curious. Maybe he really was trying to see things differently.

  “It reminds me of stuff my mom and I did on the weekends.”

  “But you don’t know. What if they do this all the time?”

  My shoulders lifted again. “So what if they do? It’s still a nice gesture, and maybe they’ll appreciate it so much that they’ll pass it on, and maybe that keeps happening, and one day it finds a person who is celebrating or who had a bad day and needed some comfort.” I turned to face him. “It’s not my job to decide who’s worthy. Who am I to decide something like that? I’m just a person. No more. No less. I saw a chance to do something nice, and I took it. Maybe the narrative I formed is a lie, maybe it’s not. It really doesn’t matter to me. I’d rather do too much than not enough. And I believe you have to put out what you expect to get back.”

  Looking over his shoulder, I saw the barista about to return with our order. “You want the world to be softer? To be a little kinder? A little gentler?”

  He slowly nodded. “Yeah… I’m skeptical, but it’s a nice thought.”

  The barista opened the window and handed him our drinks. “Here ya go.” After we thanked her and got back on the road, Nick seemed tense.

  “Someone has to start it,” I whispered. “Probably more than one person. And how is everyone supposed to do that if they’re holding grudges or only doing things based on their perception of what a person deserves?”

  I looked out the window, lost in a memory. “Once, when I was around twelve, my mom and I w
ere at the grocery store. We were standing in line and there was this mother and her daughter in front of us. The little girl was crying because she wanted a stuffed bear—to replace the one she’d lost—but her mother couldn’t afford it. So my mom stepped forward and handed her the money for the bear like it was nothing. The mother was amazed. She kept thanking us, telling my mom that the bear her daughter lost helped her sleep at night because she was afraid of the dark.

  “At first glance it looked like the little girl was throwing a tantrum. But really, she just wanted to feel safe again.” Turning to face Nick, I cleared my throat. “My mom did that. She gave a little girl her comfort back, and she got to experience another mother’s overwhelming gratitude. All for the price of a small stuffed animal. Six dollars can buy you a lot in this world. But it can’t buy you that, nothing can.”

  “So, how’d you become a chef?” I asked, switching topics after things became a little too heavy for a casual Sunday afternoon drive.

  “We didn’t have a lot growing up. Experimenting with food became an easy way to pass the time. Granted, we didn’t have a lot of food either, so the first few concoctions were unusual. But when I was older, I got a job in a restaurant and the rest is history. I didn’t want to go to college. It was too expensive, and this was an easy way to make a decent career. Connections can get you a lot of places in this industry.”

  I was frowning, and when he noticed, he asked, “What?”

  “A decent career? Connections? It doesn’t sound like you love your job.”

  His expression smoothed. “I do. Sorry, I tend to lead more with the practical than the emotional. Drives my mom nuts. But practicality is important.”

  “So is passion.” His eyes briefly moved to mine, flaring a bit at the word before frosting over and returning to the traffic ahead of us.

  “Fortunately, I am passionate about cooking. But I’ll be the first to admit, if I hadn’t thought something lucrative would come out of it, I might not have pursued it.”

  I clucked my tongue. “That’s a tragedy.”

  “Well lucky for us, that didn’t happen,” Nick said as he pulled into the lot and parked the car. “So, what’s the country we’re cooking for?”

  “Italy.”

  “You’re kidding,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Italian food is some of my favorite.” His smile was wide, and I could see that passion he felt for food simmering under the surface.

  We were silent as we exited the car and walked inside. Nick grabbed a cart, looking completely submerged in his thoughts, and I could only assume he was thinking about ingredients.

  “Okay, so,” he began, and I could tell he was trying to tamper his excitement, but it wasn’t working. Passion could not be dampened. “I make a delicious mushroom risotto, or a bolognese-stuffed bell pepper—”

  “Nick,” I said gently, placing my hand on his arm.

  He briefly looked down. “Yeah?”

  “The kids are eight.”

  “Yeah?” he repeated.

  “I don’t know many eight-year-olds who would want to eat a bolognese-stuffed bell pepper,” I said softly.

  He frowned. “So you’re saying you want cheese pizzas? Because surely you could have done that.” There was no anger in his voice, just disappointment.

  “You’d be surprised at what I could screw up,” I said with a smile. I didn’t add that part of the reason I’d asked for his help all those weeks ago was because I was trying to befriend him. “And no, I don’t want that. But we need to think about the fact that the kids might not be so adventurous.”

  “Hmm… okay. Well, we could start with bruschetta. Maybe do a lineup and have them make it themselves, pick their toppings?”

  My hand involuntarily squeezed his bicep. “Yes! That’s perfect, Nick.”

  He stared at my hand, swallowed roughly, and nodded before turning back toward the cart. My arm fell away with the movement. “Good. What else?”

  We spent a little under two hours in the store. When I ended up saying that pizza should probably be one of the recipes, he scowled and insisted on getting the ingredients for a mushroom risotto, too. I conceded; at the very least he and Catherine could have a nice meal.

  Nick and I were loading up the trunk of his car as a random idea hit me.

  “Hey, you know what you should do?” He turned toward me, his brows lifting. “You should keep a journal. Like a gratitude journal or…” I trailed off when I noticed his frown.

  “That sounds like something for a kid, Iris.”

  I tilted my head. “Why is being grateful only reserved for kids?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m grateful for stuff. Ma and I list those things every time we pray. But why do I need to write them down?”

  “You’re the one constantly talking about trying to see people in a better light; I thought maybe this would help. Writing things out is cathartic and I think if you had a tangible list of the things you’re grateful for, you’d be more appreciative and optimistic. You’d see the world a little better. Besides, it couldn’t hurt, could it?”

  Nick shook his head as he loaded the last bag and shut the trunk.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll try it, even though I’m sure I’ll feel ridiculous.”

  “I promise not to tell a soul.” I mimed locking my lips with a key and tossing it over my shoulder.

  We rounded the car, but not before I saw a smile inch its way up his face, dimples and all.

  We were laughing as we started putting the food in Tupperware, waiting for the risotto and pizza to cool. I’d forgotten how good it could feel to laugh like this. Sure, I had my ma, Kevin, and Lindsay, but it’d been years since I’d experienced the company of someone new. I’d forgotten how nice it was to share stories, and laugh at old memories that no else knew yet. To discover someone else’s favorite things.

  When the risotto looked cool enough to eat, I eagerly dipped my fork into it. Tasting the food I’d created—especially if I did it from scratch—was my favorite aspect of cooking. It felt like magic, how I could take something from its barest form and transform it into something that bursted with flavor.

  After I nodded my approval, Iris grabbed a fork and shoved it in the center. I laughed at the amount of food she piled on—I couldn’t even see the fork apart from its handle. She’d thought I bought it for another time. But I knew after cooking all this food that we would be starving, too.

  As I watched her lift the piece of silverware to her mouth and slowly chew my food, I realized I was wrong. Watching other people taste my food was what I loved most about cooking.

  Then she moaned, proving me wrong once again. I had a feeling having her taste my food would be my new favorite part of cooking.

  “Nick,” she mumbled. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth so I wouldn’t see the bits of food she was still chewing. “This is phenomenal.”

  I smiled brightly. I loved knowing that she enjoyed my cooking so much she couldn’t even wait to finish chewing.

  “Yeah?” I feigned humility, a puppy dog look on my face like I wasn’t sure. I was. There was no shame in admitting that what I studied, what I trained for, what I was passionate about, was something I excelled in.

  Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Yes. This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

  My eyebrows shot up and a grin played on my lips. I hadn’t thought it possible, but her eyes widened further as she realized what she’d said. I stood, enraptured, as I witnessed Iris Chamberlain blush for the very first time. A rosy pink color traveled across her cheeks, settling into a deep crimson, as her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “I gotta say, I like a challenge. I bet I could find something even better to fill that pretty mouth with,” I murmured before dragging my tongue across my bottom lip.

  I followed her blush, down her neck, and wondered how far south it went.

  Again, I’d forgotten how nice it felt to flirt with a woman. But I also knew that wasn’t qu
ite right. It wasn’t just some woman; it was Iris. There was no one else like her, and I knew I wouldn’t have this feeling with someone else.

  “T-that didn’t come out right,” she sputtered.

  “No?” I teased.

  She grunted, grabbing a nearby dishtowel and chucking it at my face. “You’re a jerk.”

  “Nah, I’m just prickly.”

  We both dissolved into laughter until Iris’s tapered off. I frowned. “What is it?”

  “You’re…” She shook her head and shifted a little closer. “You’re not who I thought you were,” she whispered, looking up at me through her lashes. Her gaze burned into me, through me. I’d never met a woman who made me feel as unsettled as she did.

  “You aren’t either. I don’t…” I sighed, frustrated with how something as simple as goodness could confuse me. “I didn’t understand how you could be so good. And I didn’t understand why that was something that bothered me.” I shook my head. “It should be the simplest thing in the world, to accept kindness. Hopefully this journal will help me do that.”

  Part of me still thought it was silly. Part of me thought about how much Kevin would make fun of me if he ever found out. But Iris was right—it couldn’t hurt. And I knew the knowledge was safe with her. She wouldn’t make fun of me.

  “I hope so too,” she said with a smile. “I think you have a lot of love in your heart, Nick. I’d hate to see it wasted. And I think the journal will work. Because do you know what happens when you look for something?”

  I smiled. “You find it.”

  “Exactly. And if you never looked for goodness, how were you supposed to find it? Now that you’re looking for positive things, for love and all you’re grateful for, you’ll find it. Just like before when you were searching for bad in the world and you found it. Your pessimism isn’t rooted in who you are. You can change what you look for. You can decide to find something worth living for, rather than just the crappy things.”

  I thought about how much I wanted that, and yet how difficult it still seemed. “What if I’ve already found the bad? How do I forget it?”