by Holly Kerr
“Of course it is.” She wiggles Theo’s foot and smiles at him. He gurgles in response.
“He really likes you,” I say, watching them in the rearview mirror.
“I think he likes everyone who pays attention to him. He’s a bit of a flirt,” she says as she climbs into the front seat of my new sedan. I had to do away with the Audi R8 because it really wasn’t baby friendly.
I still miss it. I miss how it felt to drive around in such a cool car and how other drivers looked at me; some with envy, some with admiration.
People look at me when I’m with Theo, but it’s different.
“What’s in the box in the back?” M.K. asks as I pull away.
“I made cupcakes this afternoon,” I tell her proudly. “Theo and I hung out in the kitchen and made them for the party.”
“That’s fun.”
“I let him taste the batter. I don’t think that’s a good thing, but it didn’t do anything to him. He seems to prefer chocolate over lemon.”
“As everyone should,” she says.
“I thought you liked my lemon cupcakes?”
“I do, but chocolate is chocolate. I didn’t name the patisserie Pain au Lemon, did I?”
It’s a short drive to Flora’s but impossible to park. We end up three blocks away and I take the car seat with Theo’s diaper bag and bouncy seat loped around my arm and chest like some weird bandolier. M.K. carefully balances my box of cupcakes on her container, and I tell her I’ll come back for the wine.
“Dean said Flora’s niece is coming tonight,” I say as we pick our way along the icy sidewalk. It feels more Christmassy with the fresh dump of snow, but nothing is good with the ice. “Maybe she’ll want to babysit Theo.”
M.K. laughs. “Flora’s niece is twenty-five. You met her in Las Vegas—the tall blonde?”
“That was Flora’s niece? The scary blonde?”
“She can be a little scary,” M.K agrees.
“The first time I saw her we practically had to pull her off the guy.” I laugh at the memory of how we first met.
“It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve had to pull her out of a fight,” M.K. says. “Patrick will be there as well. You remember he’s Flora’s nephew? Different brother than Ruthie’s dad.”
“So Ruthie and Patrick are cousins. And Flora is an aunt, but they’re only a few years younger?”
“Her brothers are even older than yours. Flora has an interesting family tree.”
“I can’t imagine hanging out with one of my nephews like this.” I shake my head. “Like having to behave and everything.”
“Neither Ruthie or Patrick do much behaving, so Flora doesn’t see the need to.” M.K. stares at Flora’s door. Her containers reflect the season—pine boughs and pomegranates with a tiny decorated Christmas tree in the centre. Neither of us have a free hand to ring the bell, but Dean must have been watching for us, because the door opens immediately. “Hey, let me take that,” he offers, reaching for M.K.’s load. “Or that,” he says, switching his gaze to Theo.
“I’ll put him down and go get the wine. M.K., can you get him, make the introductions?”
“I’ve got this if Dean can take the baby,” M.K. suggests, pulling the box back from Dean’s grasp.
“Gimme the little dude,” Dean says happily.
I hover by the door as Dean disappears with the baby, unable to stop the worried expression on my face.
“He’s fine,” M.K. says.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” I promise and with a last look for Theo, head back to the car.
When I return with the wine, I’m greeted at the door by a woman a few inches taller than me with an interesting shade of rose-gold hair. “You’re much more attractive when you’re holding many bottles of wine,” she drawls, her gaze flicking up and down.
I flash her a smile. “I think I remember you…”
“Of course you remember me.”
“Ruthie,” we say in unison.
“Should we hug?” she asks, taking the bag from me. “I feel we’re on the hug level.”
“Hug away.” Her arms encircle my shoulders with a surprisingly strong grip. “Good to see you again.”
“Has M.K. forgiven me for her getting arrested that night?” Ruthie asks as she pulls away.
“You’ll have to ask her, but I’m going to have to say no,” I say with a laugh as I follow her into the living room. Flora’s house is bigger than both mine and M.K.’s, but so packed with people it’s difficult to see the extra space. “But it would have been a lot worse if we hadn’t gotten together.”
“I knew you’d find your way to each other,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Just like Flora and Dean. Some people are fated to be together.”
“I like the sound of that.” I frown as Ruthie stops in front of a makeshift bar in the corner of the room. “None for me. I’m the DD.”
“You sound perfect for M.K.” Ruthie sighs.
“Does she often need a DD?”
“No, she’s always the responsible one. It’s always been that way. She’s a bit tightly wound, don’t you think?” Ruthie helps herself to the bottle of open red on the bar, pouring herself a healthy glass.
“I happen to like the way she’s wound. But I’m doing my best to help her to relax.”
Ruthie studies me, her mouth twisted in neither a smile nor a frown. “Maybe you are going to be good for her. Better than that dud, Ben.”
“What was he like?” I ask despite myself.
“Just that—a dud. She could have done so much better, but at least he got her mother off her back for a while. I don’t know what surprised me more, that they got engaged or that they found him with another woman.” She sipped her wine, keeping her gaze on me over the rim of the glass, no doubt to monitor my reaction.
“She doesn’t say too much about it.”
Ruthie snorts. “She doesn’t say much about anything that bothers her, so good luck with that. My friend is a bit closemouthed.”
“And you call her a friend?”
Her face softens. “M.K.’s like a sister to me, always has been. I know we have our disagreements, and she really doesn’t understand me, but I love her to death. Don’t tell her that,” she hisses before she disappears into the crowd.
“So you met the niece,” a voice behind me says. I turn to see Trev, Imad, and a few of the ball team. “She’s something.” Trev scowls after Ruthie.
“Certainly something,” I agree, watching the rose-gold hair move through the crowd. “What’d she do to you?”
“Wouldn’t give out her number?” Imad asks with a laugh.
“I didn’t even ask,” Trev protests. “She’s not my type.”
I meet Imad’s gaze. “I thought every woman was your type,” I say with a grin.
“No, that’s you, bro,” Trev says.
“Not anymore,” Imad corrects him. “Not since M.K. Rashida says you’re like a new man.”
I smile widely. “She’s great. But I also think it’s because of Theo. Have you met the little guy yet? Best kid ever!”
I scan the crowd for Dean and Theo, not noticing M.K. slip away behind me.
Chapter Twenty-One
M.K.
By the time I get into the kitchen with the baked goods, Dean has Theo out of the car seat, holding him up to the others crammed in the living room like Rafiki lifting Baby Simba to the masses.
Flora is the only one who turns away from Dean and Theo, following me into the kitchen. “What’d you bring, other than the most cutest baby ever?”
I blink with shock. I’ve never heard her baby-talk voice and it’s one I’d rather not hear again.
“Pastries, and Clay made cupcakes. He’s gone to get the wine.” Flora’s kitchen is a good size, but the counters are so cluttered with plates and bottles, and bags of chips that I feel my insides clench. “Go see Theo. You know you want to.”
As Flora darts away, I take advantage of the quiet to do a quick tidy; sorting the
wine into red and white, and putting a selection of white in the fridge, finding bowls to fill for two different kinds of chips and putting away the dishes drying in the rack.
Satisfied, I finally take off my coat and join the others in the living room.
“You were cleaning my kitchen, weren’t you?” Flora asks with a rueful grin.
I shrug. “Had to be done.” I turn as Ruthie, all six feet of her, moves to engulf me in a hug. I return it even though all is not entirely forgiven for the night I spent in jail in Las Vegas. If it hadn’t been for that, Clay and I wouldn’t have missed those first weeks together. When I think of how we might not have found each other…
“You dyed your hair again.” Gone are the blonde, braided extensions, and the cherry-red curls. Now her hair is a rose-gold colour, falling down her back is messy waves.
“I like variety.” Ruthie raises her glass of wine to me. “You, apparently, like babies. That’s new.”
“Who doesn’t like babies?” I ask, glancing around for Clay.
“You, or so I always thought.”
I’ve known Ruthie since she was three days old. Flora had dragged me to her brother’s house after school to show off her new niece. Since then, she’s wormed her way into Flora’s life, and therefore mine. “Things change,” I say shortly.
“Do they?”
Thankfully Patrick interrupts and lifts me up in a burly hug. “Hello, Boss Lady,” Adam chirps from behind him. “I’m not calling you Boss Lady tonight. Tonight, you are M.K.,” he adds in an ominous voice.
“That’s fine.”
“Tomorrow you’re back to being the boss lady, but I’ll remember everything you do tonight and report back to Reuben.”
“That goes for me too.”
“I love Reuben,” Flora announces, overhearing our conversation. “He’s so big and hairy that I always want to give him a hug when I see him. But I don’t because I can’t tell if he’s a huggy person. Is he?”
“I’ve never been tempted to give him a hug, so I can’t help you there.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Adam gushes. “He’s like a big, hairy teddy bear. Kind of like your guy there.” He gestures to Dean, towering over Clay and the baby.
“You’re welcome to give Dean a hug, Adam.” Flora grins. “I know you want to.”
“Only if Patrick would approve.” He links hands with Patrick. “Now that we’re really, officially, together.”
“What’s so official about it? Just that you’re dating now?”
“I like him. He likes me. We’ve said the words.” Adam sighs and Patrick squirms with embarrassment.
I smile at them. “I’m happy for you.”
“Be happy for me, too,” Ruthie interrupts. “I’m engaged.”
“You’re what?” Flora cries. “When? Who?”
“Four days ago.” Ruthie waves her hand and I make out a band on her third finger that looks suspiciously like the plastic ring from a Ring-Pop. “I would have told you sooner but we only came up for air last night.”
“TMI, dear cousin,” Patrick groans.
“Not for me.” Adam grabs her hand. “Do tell everything!”
“Before this turns into the Ruthie show, we need the champagne. Dean and I have something to tell you. And then I want to hear all the G-rated details.”
“You can tell me the R-rated ones later,” Adam whispers to Ruthie.
“Let me just grab the wine from Clay,” I say. “I don’t think he’s made it to the kitchen yet.”
Of course I make it over to Clay’s group just in time to hear Clay give Theo credit for making him a changed man.
I slip back into the kitchen before he notices me.
“Can you believe Ruthie?” Flora hisses as I hover in the doorway, a queasy feeling I don’t recognize growing in my belly. As Flora plucks the bottles of sparkling wine out of the snow by the back door, I push forward resolutely to arrange the plastic wine flutes on the counter.
Clay loves his son, and Theo has changed him. It doesn’t matter who gets credit or who comes first.
It’s always going to be Theo, I realize. But that’s how it should be.
“I should get proper glasses,” Flora admits, oblivious to my thoughts. “But I’m not much of a champagne person.”
“Sparkling wine,” I correct after a quick glance at the label of the bottle. “Champagne can only be called champagne if it was made in the Champagne region of France. Anywhere else, it’s sparkling wine. Except for Italy, where it’s known as prosecco, and Spain, where it’s cava. This is cava,” I add, expertly easing out the cork. “It’s nice.”
“Spoken like a winemaker’s daughter.” Flora sighs, holding up two cups for me to fill.
“So why the bubbles tonight?” I ask, trying to hide my anxiety. “Is there something you might want to tell me in here?” If Flora and Dean were going to announce their engagement, she would tell me first. She tells me everything first.
At least she used to. Before Dean.
“You’d be the first to know if it was anything that earth-shattering,” Flora promises, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. “And I think you’d have something to tell me first.”
“There’ll be nothing to tell,” I say shortly.
“But with Theo—haven’t you thought…” Flora trails off as I open a second bottle.
“No. Why would I? I have no desire to get married.” I keep my gaze on the bottle, not meeting her eyes.
“But there’s a baby to think about,” she presses.
“It’s not my baby. What happens if she comes back and wants Clay, as well as Theo?”
Flora’s eyes widen. “Do you think that’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know anything that’s going to happen,” I admit. “Clay is so caught up with Theo that we barely have a moment together. I sound jealous,” I say after a moment, giving my head a shake. “I feel jealous, too. That’s what’s wrong with me.”
It’s like the proverbial light bulb goes on, but it does nothing to illuminate me. “How can I be jealous of a baby?” I demand.
“Because you can be jealous of a baby,” Flora says matter-of-factly. “Archie once told me that he was furious when Ruthie was born because he felt like he lost his wife. He got over it pretty quick, but he said it was a bad couple of days.”
“I’m not jealous of Theo. He’s a baby. But he’s not my baby.”
“Yes, you’ve said that,” Flora says patiently. “Do you want him to be your baby? Would that make it better?”
“I don’t want my own baby. I never have.”
“But things change.” Flora widens her arms, sending wine sloshing over the edge of the glass. “Look at me.”
“What’s changed?”
“Let’s take these in and I’ll tell you. But we’re not finished with this conversation,” she warns, catching the stems of glasses in her hand and heading back into the living room.
After the glasses have been handed out, we toast Dean’s announcement that he made the roster of the Double-A farm team for the Toronto Blue Jays, the first step of his progress back to playing in the major leagues. He reports to Dunedin, Florida for spring training in February.
“As first base,” he adds, his flush of being the centre of attention blending in with his red beard. “We’ll see how the pitching arm can handle it when I’m there.”
“I’m so happy for you.” After I give Dean a hug of congratulations, I turn to Flora. “But what about you? You can’t go with him. What about the store?”
“You’re right, but it’s not because of the store.” She glances at Ruthie and Patrick, both with expectant smiles on their faces. “I’ll be opening the Toronto branch of Shaunessy’s Nurseries in the spring.”
I can’t help the pang at Flora’s news. Although she’s kept me informed about her rapprochement with her brothers and how they want her back in the family business now that Thomas is fully out of the picture, hearing her news and seeing the flush of
happiness on her face is bittersweet.
Of course I’m happy for my best friend. She and Dean are both getting what they’ve always wanted, and they’re doing it together. But it means things will change.
I don’t like change.
Clay
“Everyone had news to share tonight,” I say as M.K. gets ready for bed. I love watching her come out of the bathroom, wearing one of my T-shirts. I know she doesn’t get much sleep with Theo, and since she’s up so early with the patisserie, sleep is important to her, but I miss having her here.
I sleep better when she’s next to me.
“I’m so happy for Dean.” M.K. sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing cream onto her arms. “I can’t wait to see him play at the Rogers Centre. I hope he can pitch again.” She laughs suddenly. “Flora was so excited when we first saw him play, and that was before she even met him. I don’t think I’d be able to hold her back this time.”
“I don’t think Deano needs saving from her. He’s pretty smitten with her.”
“And she’s pretty smitten with him.”
“What about you?” I ask as M.K. slips under the covers. “Are you just as smitten?”
She raises an eyebrow, somehow making the gesture sexy and inviting. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a smitten kitten,” I say, pulling back the covers to display her long, bare legs. “At least I hope you are.”
“A smitten kitten. That’s me.” She cuddles close to me, my hand stroking her back.
“What did you think of Ruthie being engaged?” I ask. “I don’t know her well enough, but that was a surprise, wasn’t it?”
“Nothing with Ruthie surprises me.”
M.K. stiffens slightly, and I don’t know if it’s talk of Ruthie or engagements. I don’t want to have this talk now, but it seems like a good opportunity. It’s not like I want that talk, but lately, I’ve been wanting to feel M.K. out about her thoughts on the future.
If she has thoughts about a future with me.
I’ve never wanted to talk to any woman about it, but M.K. is different. I’m different with her. I’m a better person. I didn’t once have the urge to flirt with Ruthie tonight or talk business with Rashida. I looked after my boy and talked to my friends about their lives and had a great time.
