Her All Along

by Cara Dee

  Taylor smiled. “My dad liked you a lot.”

  Because I was a no-nonsense kind of man. Other men recognized that faster than women did. If there was a complaint against me, it was from a mother who thought I was being too harsh.

  “By the way, thank you for not calling it the academy.” She rolled her eyes at the word.

  I laughed quietly. Some were always going to refer to Ponderosa High by its old name. There’d been plenty of protests when the switch was made.

  “I think I’ll stick around at least another five or six years,” I said. “But when I’ve saved enough to secure my future, I’d like to teach at Camas High.”

  I just had to get over the memories of growing up in that neighborhood. I could still hear my mother wresting a bag of hard candy out of her purse when we sat on the bus. Finn’s screams were there too. And the halls in our run-down building, where he and I would hide out sometimes. The cigarette butts on the ground, the paint peeling off the walls.

  “I can see it,” Taylor said pensively. “I’m sure you’d be an asset there.”

  Maybe.

  “I’ve been doing all the talking,” I noted. “Your turn. How’re things at home?”

  She shook her head, amused. “Why drag it out? I like talking to you, but you’re done, Avery. You don’t wanna continue our thing anymore. I can see it.”

  How? How could she possibly? “I haven’t forced anything, if that’s what you’re implying.” I frowned.

  “I’m not,” she assured quickly. “Maybe it’s because I feel it too. For the first time in months, I’m ready to move on.”

  Oh.

  She continued with a sly little grin. “I want someone who will go shopping with me, take me to dinner, invite me to their house, and watch a movie with me.”

  I chuckled.

  In short, she wanted what I’d told her I had no interest in giving her. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  “Fair enough,” I conceded.

  What a relief. It felt like nothing could ruin this day. When was the last time I’d felt something like that?

  “Will you still keep me posted on Keira?” she asked.

  “Of course.” I took the hint when she put on her coat, and I shrugged into my own. “I’ll text you if there’s anything I think you should be apprised of.”

  “Thank you.”

  I finished the last of my coffee before I stood up, put a hand on her lower back, and ushered her out.

  “Where did you park?” she wondered.

  I jerked my chin up the street. I had an evening of going through roughly twenty-two students’ papers on the Cold War to look forward to, and I’d parked outside of a pizza place to buy a pie to take home with me.

  Taylor had found parking right outside the coffee shop.

  We came to a “So, this is it” moment.

  I sighed through a chuckle and pulled her in for a hug.

  “I’m glad this happened too, Avery. I hope you’ll find someone one day you can’t wait to take to dinner.”

  I smiled and kissed the top of her head before I eased away. “Yeah, maybe. Take care, Taylor.”

  “You too.”

  Once she was in her car, I left the curb and crossed the street with a feeling of “Holy fuck, we actually pulled this off.” Taylor wouldn’t be a shitty memory to back up already flawed logic. She’d remain the nice young woman with whom I opened up a little.

  A fast little thing ran past me with a breathless, “Hi, Mister. Bye, Mister!” and I did a double take and realized it was Pipsqueak.

  “Where’s the fire?” I called.

  She stopped on the sidewalk and adjusted her gym bag. “Sorry, I’m late. Darius is gonna teach Willow and me self-defense at Ethan’s gym.”

  “Ah.” I caught up to her. “Then I won’t keep you. I’ll see you on Saturday for the meet.”

  This time, I was staying for the whole event.

  Pipsqueak grinned, though it looked a little uncertain. Her cheeks were flushed from her run too. “By the way, I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m not.” Oh, she must’ve seen me with Taylor. “You mean—ah, that was nothing. A casual thing that ran its course.”

  Why was I explaining that to her? I was an idiot.

  Pipsqueak scrunched her nose and squinted. “Casual thing…?” Next, her eyes widened. “Oh. Casual, got it.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, full of regrets and internal cringing. I could’ve just called Taylor a friend. Christ.

  “Sometimes I forget you have a life outside our family,” she said awkwardly. “Anyway, I gotta…” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

  I nodded once. “Have fun.”

  “I’m gonna kick Darius’s ass.” She offered a two-fingered salute, then darted off again.

  It left me with an unfunny feeling for some reason. I hadn’t wanted her to know about…that. And the truth was, I didn’t have much of a life outside the Quinn family. I’d carefully carved my own little space in their proverbial doorway. One foot inside and one out the door. Close enough to get reminders from Mary when I hadn’t shown up for dinner in a while, distanced enough that no one assumed I’d show up for every Sunday supper.

  I preferred to keep those two boxes separate, because everything I did away from their family could be summed up in four words. Getting my shit together.

  I liked how Pipsqueak looked at me, how she viewed me. I didn’t want that tarnished.

  “Finally…” I threw myself on my couch.

  I had showered, I had changed into sweats and a beater, I had beer and chips, I had my remote control.

  I wasn’t leaving unnecessarily for the rest of the weekend.

  I adored Pipsqueak, but an all-day swim meet was a fucking feat to survive. I’d spent a whopping eight hours at the pool to see her compete three times. Three races that were over within minutes.

  I didn’t understand how Mary did it, much less Pipsqueak. Before a meet, they arrived at the pool at six in the fucking morning.

  She’d been amazing today, though. Two personal records and one silver medal.

  After getting comfortable with the cold beer and the bag of chips next to me, I turned on the news and hoped for an update on the latest events in the Middle East and North Africa. Ever since Egypt’s president had resigned and handed over the power to the country’s military, I’d had a bad feeling. Going from bad to bad wasn’t going to fix anything.

  Darius believed we were looking at a civil war in Libya soon, and I doubted he was wrong.

  I had my eye on Tunisia and Syria too.

  Two quiet knocks on my patio door interrupted my peace, and since there was only one person who used that door…

  I knew it was Pipsqueak before I glanced that way.

  “It’s open,” I called.

  She looked like she’d come straight here from the swim meet. Her hair was damp and pulled back in a haphazard bun, and she was wearing her team’s sweats and hoodie.

  “Hi. Is this a bad time?” she asked, biting her lip.

  Something was up. “I’m just watching the news. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing?” She adopted a look of innocence, and I didn’t buy it for crap. “I just thought, it’s been a while since we hung out. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  Uh-huh. While Pipsqueak was a caring person who enjoyed making the people around her smile and feel better, I wasn’t born yesterday. She was visibly drained after a long day. The water had given her green eyes a nice bloodshot touch, and she was fidgeting nervously.

  “I thought you’d be locking yourself in your room and processing your day by now,” I said.

  She snuck closer and carefully perched herself on the armrest of the couch. “I feel okay. I do not have a hidden agenda.”

  I coughed to suppress my laughter. My God, I had no words to describe how cute she was. She made my chest feel weird, but I settled for shaking my head in amusement. Because it was fu
nny. When the women in my past had lied, I’d been furious. When Pipsqueak tried to bullshit me, she just succeeded in making a Bond villain come off as a stealthy genius.

  This soon-to-be seventeen-year-old couldn’t lie to save her life.

  “Okay, then.” I humored her and patted the spot next to me. Let’s see how long she lasted before the not-so-hidden agenda tumbled out. “I’m waiting for the next segment on what’s going on in the Middle East. I’m sure you’re up-to-date, so I won’t bore you with details. But do you think we’re looking at a new Cuba too?”

  Her forehead creased with confusion as she slid down onto a cushion. “Um, Cuba…?”

  “Well, yeah. With Russia on one side and the US on the other.” I extended the bag of chips to her in a silent offer. “What country do you think it’s going to be? Egypt? Libya? Syria? Egypt is unlikely, but I think it’ll start—”

  “Mister!” she squeaked, the very picture of flustered. “I’m-I’m actually not clueless about the situation in Africa and the M-middle East, but right now you’re just trying cram my head with words until I can’t process them, and well fucking played, I guess, because I give up.” She huffed, out of breath, and slapped her hands to her face.

  I grinned and threw a couple chips into my mouth.

  Fuck, how I loved this. I loved our dynamic. She could brighten my day so easily.

  “Are you ready to tell me why you’re really here?” I asked knowingly.

  “Fine.” She shot me a scowl, though she failed to hold it for more than a second. Instead, she grew uncertain and almost shy. “Mom and Dad surprised me with a fifty-dollar gift card to my favorite store after the meet, and it’s what I was missing to afford a new tempering machine. Well, technically, I was missing thirty-two dollars.” She cleared her throat. “And eleven cents. Plus tax.”

  “Okay.” I waited for the punch line. Also, I didn’t know she was still into making chocolate treats. I probably shouldn’t be offended by the fact that I’d never gotten to try any, considering I’d messed with her about chocolate and all things sweet.

  “Mom’s tired and Dad’s had whiskey, so they can’t drive,” she went on, wringing her hands awkwardly in her lap. “The store hasn’t closed yet…”

  And she was truly eager to get her hands on that machine, I assumed.

  Christ. Unlike Willow, Pipsqueak had actually gotten her driver’s license, but she didn’t have a car of her own yet. So, she’d run over to her sucker of a neighbor and hoped he wouldn’t say no, regardless of the fact that it was past eight.

  Past eight. Fucking hell. I sounded more like I was turning eighty-two, not thirty-two.

  “All right,” I agreed. “Might as well pick up some pizza on the way home.”

  My original plan had been to turn this bag of chips into my dinner.

  “Really?” Pipsqueak lit up like the sun.

  I smiled and stood up. “Let’s go. I’m just gonna grab a hoodie.”

  Thirteen

  That was how I found myself in a completely dead store that sold everything one might need in a kitchen at eight thirty on a Saturday.

  We had half an hour before they closed.

  Pipsqueak knew exactly where she was going, and she literally dragged me along with a grip on my arm.

  “You don’t realize how big this is,” she told me. “It will take my truffle making to a whole new level.”

  My mouth twitched.

  We ended up in an aisle near the back, and Pipsqueak let me go and smiled in satisfaction at some box that showcased a machine that looked much like a regular fryer. Same size too. Well, compared to those some people had at home. The Quinns had one.

  I stuck my hands in my pockets and eyed the gadgets around us. We were definitely in a section dedicated to candy making. While she inspected the machine she was buying, or rather, the specs on the back of the box, I scanned the rest of the selection. There was one that looked more professional, and it had a pop-up card next to the price tag that said it was the customer choice of 2010. We were less than three months into 2011, so I reckoned it was still a popular pick.

  “You’re really into this hobby, huh?”

  “This is more than a hobby,” she said. “It’s my future.”

  I chuckled.

  She smiled slightly and peered up at me. “I’m serious. I’ve done the math and planned everything. After I graduate next year, I’m going to stay with Ryan in San Francisco and study chemistry. At the same time, I’m gonna attend a private culinary institute, starting with a twelve-week program in the basics. After which, I’ll complete a sixteen-week program for pastry chefs. And I’ll be done with chemistry by then, so I can take a class in business economics too.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. I had nothing.

  Other than, goddamn.

  “I’ll be done in two years,” she went on. “Ethan helped me with a risk calculation, and we believe a pastry shop here in the Valley will do well. At this point, there’s only one—at the mall.”

  At the risk of sounding like a broken fucking record… Pipsqueak was growing up.

  “I’m impressed,” I admitted. “You’ve thought this through.”

  She stood a little taller and went back to inspecting the box, grinning to herself.

  Business economics too? That was excellent of her. Many craftsmen and small business owners didn’t think that far.

  I glanced at the tempering machine for professionals and couldn’t help but ask, “Why don’t you get that one?”

  She sighed dreamily at it. “Oh, it’ll be mine one day. At first, I was thinking I’d get one from a place that only sells to businesses, but Darius compared the prices and quality, and he thinks it’s better I have two of those when I open my shop. Because if one breaks, I’ll have a second that will spare me from any chocolate shortage.”

  So, why didn’t she…?

  “But it costs twice as much, and it’s huge,” she said. Huge wasn’t the right word; it was the size of a microwave. Although, it was significantly larger than the one she’d budgeted for. “We don’t have the space at home for another appliance to stand on a counter at all hours of the day, so whatever I pick has to be stowed away after I’ve used it.” She quirked a rueful little smile. “I can’t wait to have my own kitchen one day. If Mom’s not at work, she’s in the damn kitchen.” She chuckled at something and shook her head. “Anyway. I’m excited to take this one home.” She beamed to herself and made a move to grab the box, and I acted instinctively and put a hand on her arm.

  “You have a birthday coming up in a few months, and I only use my kitchen to reheat Mary’s leftovers and store takeout containers.”

  She frowned up at me.

  Was I really going with this? Yes. Yes, I was.

  “If this is something you’re serious about, I would be happy to help,” I said. “You can use my kitchen whenever you want.”

  Her expression belonged to someone who was working hard to solve a math problem.

  It was sweet.

  “It’s just an offer,” I added. “I’d understand if you’d rather experiment at home—”

  “N-no, that’s not it,” she stammered. “I just don’t understand. I can keep the tempering machine at your place? Like, on the counter?”

  “Well, sure.” My microwave was built in to the cupboards, and I had an empty space next to the stove. Right now, it was just where I dumped my mail. Then there was the longer counter on the other side of the stove too, of course, but I figured the machine would fit perfectly on the smaller side. “That one.” I pointed to the larger machine for clarification. “I’d buy it for you, and it would be an early birthday present.” Very early, but whatever.

  Pipsqueak flushed and broke eye contact as she processed, and I almost felt bad for thwarting her plans with a simple offer. Once she had her mind set on something, she wasn’t the most flexible person.

  “Why would you do that for me?” she asked softly.

  �
��Because I care?” I smiled and tilted my head, hoping she’d lift her gaze off the ground soon. “Like I said, I’m impressed by your ideas. You’re so young, and yet you’ve made plans for your future that aren’t just based on dreams. You’ve done your homewor—” I was cut off by her throwing her arms around my middle. I laughed under my breath and hugged her. “Is that a yes?”

  She nodded jerkily and hugged me tighter.

  It felt good.

  “I’m so happy that I wanna bite you,” she croaked.

  I grinned and patted her back. “We’ll get you a key so you can come and go as you please.”

  The next thing to interrupt us was the sound of Pipsqueak’s snarling stomach.

  “Uh, have you eaten yet, hon?” Christ, it was almost nine, and she’d survived on Gatorade, saltines, and PB&J sandwiches.

  “I wanted to get the machine.” She sniffled and stepped back, discreetly wiping her cheeks. “I don’t know how to thank you adequately, Mister.”

  “By using it a lot.” I reached up on the shelf and grabbed—fuck—the heavy box. What the hell, this had to weigh at least thirty pounds. “All right, let’s get out of here. We need pizza.”

  “Here, let me give you the gift cards—”

  “Spend that on supplies.” I’d seen the shelves full of accessories and whatnot, so I was sure she’d find a way to use the gift cards.

  “Oh my God, it’s too much, Avery.”

  “Don’t be silly.” It wasn’t like I had any hobbies to spend money on. Unless my gym membership and mortgage counted. “We’re eating at the pizza place, though. I have a feeling you’ll be distracted by this behemoth as soon as we get back to my place.”

  She laughed. “It’s almost like you know me.”

  Almost.

  “I think this goes here.” I slid the plastic attachment into place along the back of the machine, and I supposed it was some sort of protection—oh. “Wait, now I get it. Yeah, here. The containers where I guess you melt the chocolate—you see the little hooks? It’s so they stay in place.” I showed her rather than explaining further, because I wasn’t sure I understood much of it myself. But it seemed to work. The machine still reminded me of a fryer, only a larger one with two compartments. But it had smaller containers if you wanted to melt four different types of chocolate at the same time. Clever.