Rachel leaned into the kiss, moved to deepen. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She didn’t know where this was going and she did not care.
And that’s when she heard the kitchen door open and Daisy say, “Really? Really? What are you doing?”
Rachel froze. Stiffened. She was mortified.
Jean Paul, relaxed as if he did not have a care in the world, looked at Daisy. “Isn’t it clear? I am kissing your sister.”
* * *
From Rachel’s apartment refrigerator, I grabbed eggs and butter and set them on the counter.
“They really need to be room temperature,” Rachel said as she sipped her mug of wine.
“I’ve never been good at waiting. I can cheat the butter a bit in the microwave and the eggs will have to find a way to blend cold.”
“Patience is a must.”
Mise en place—everything in its place. It’s a lesson Dad grilled into me since I could stand on a stool beside him in the kitchen. No matter how reckless or rushed, I took the time to line up the sugar, vanilla, salt, baking powder, and nuts.
When I came down the stairs to ask Rachel about Simon, I’d have bet a paycheck I’d never have found her in an embrace with Jean Paul. Their kiss was so not mise en place. “You didn’t look so patient when you were kissing the baker. What was that about?”
She stared into the depths of her mug. “I’m not really sure.”
I unwrapped a pound of butter, dropped in it a ceramic dish and popped it in the microwave. I pressed the thirty-second button. This cheat required I pay attention. Too many times I’d walked away thinking the butter would simply soften and when I returned it was a pure liquid. Still delicious, but unusable for cookies. And so I stood close, watching the butter turn in circles and soften. At twenty-three seconds I pulled it out. Seven seconds separated usable butter from liquid. Seven seconds standing between success and failure.
But then bakers lived their lives on the margin. Profits were slim, hard-won, the difference found in scraps of dough or slivers of bread.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Her cheeks still glowed a light pink. “Not much to tell. It just happened.”
I measured brown sugar and dumped it into the butter. “How did the date with Simon go?”
“Terrible.”
I paused as I reached for a wooden spoon. “Was he rude?”
“No. He was sweet. I kept rambling about Mike and the kids. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth but I couldn’t stop them.”
With the spoon, I mixed my cookie dough as Jenna might have. It didn’t take long, mixing the dough by hand, before my arm started to ache. I’d grown strong since I’d returned to the bakery, but like everyone I relied on the machines to do the heavy mixing and blending.
“So are you going to see him again?” I said.
“Simon?”
I arched a brow. “One man at a time.”
That coaxed a grin. “I doubt Simon’s interested.”
I creamed the batter faster. “How can you be sure?”
“I called him Mike. Twice.”
I winced. “Okay, well you did break the ice. You wondered what it would be like to date and now you know. Sometimes good. Sometimes very awkward. That’s good.” Glancing at Jenna’s careful handwriting, I measured out vanilla and cinnamon. After mixing more, I measured the dry ingredients and sifted them together into a separate bowl before spooning one-third into the wet ingredients. “So about Jean Paul?”
“I have no idea where that came from. He came up to me, asked me if Simon had kissed me and the next thing I know I’m kissing him.” She shook her head. “It was a onetime event. Never again. Feeling sorry for myself after my date.”
“It’s okay if it happens more than once, Rachel. You are a big girl.”
Her eyes widened. “He’s our baker.”
“So was Mike.”
“And you don’t see the parallel? I think this is a little too close to the past to be right.” Panic turned her normally calm voice shrill.
“Mike and Jean Paul are night and day.”
“I don’t know Jean Paul well enough to know. But he is a baker, and he works here.” Rachel buried her face in her hands. “Dating is so damn much work.”
Grinning, I nudged her arm. “But you must admit, this day was pretty memorable.”
She shook her head. “Many more days like today, and I’ll have a nervous breakdown.”
The bakery’s front door bell buzzed. I glanced at the clock. “It’s midnight.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Do you think its Simon?”
“Could be.”
Groaning, she held up her hands. “I am not here. I have moved to Africa.”
Chuckling, I wiped my hands. “I’ll check it out. Should I say you are in Kenya or the Sudan?”
“Funny.” She peered toward the window in her living room that overlooked Union Street. “Who comes to the bakery at this hour?”
“Jean Paul is working in the kitchen. Someone must have seen the light.”
“Still,” she said as she rose. “People do not visit the bakery at midnight.”
I tossed my rag on the counter. “Suppliers? A customer? A neighbor? Could be an emergency. I’ll go see.”
“Not alone. I’ll come with.”
“What if it’s Simon?”
“Then I’ll run.”
As we moved toward the first floor, I heard Jean Paul speaking to another man. The voice was too clipped and deep to be Simon. As I rounded the corner and saw our visitor, my mouth dropped and my belly tightened. “Gordon.”
When I didn’t move, Rachel laid her hand on my shoulder. “He is not here for me.”
Now it was my turn to worry and entertain thoughts of running. “He might be.”
“No, this drama is all yours. I’m happy to sit this one out.” She pushed gently. “Go talk to him.”
I descended the remaining stairs into the kitchen and pushed through the saloon doors. Jean Paul had flipped on the lights, softening the buttery yellow on the walls. The soothing glow did little for my uneasy nerves.
Jean Paul glanced at Rachel, his gaze lingering just a split second, and then he turned and disappeared back into his kitchen. Rachel scurried back up the stairs, leaving me alone with Gordon. Coward.
The exterior light above the entrance shined on Gordon as he stood by the front door. His hands shoved in his jeans pockets, he wore a gray short-sleeved T-shirt and sneakers. Despite a downcast gaze, I could see he looked exhausted. Why hadn’t it ever been easy for us?
I moistened my lips and pushed my hands through my hair. “Hey.”
He looked up and I got a good look at the dark circles hanging under his eyes. Once again I’d upended his life. “I saw your light on and took a chance you were in the kitchen.”
“Jean Paul is working late.”
He frowned. “Did I wake you?”
“No. Rachel and I were trying out a recipe upstairs. We found a recipe box in one of the walls. Weird. It’s turning out to be a very interesting story.” I was blathering just as Rachel had done with Simon.
His gaze sharpened. “I didn’t come here to talk about recipes, Daisy.”
Smoothing hands over my pants, I shrugged. “No. I suppose not.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I stepped aside and let him into the shop and then locked the door behind him.
He glanced around the shop. “I like the color.”
A quip came to mind. So you came to talk about paint colors? But I forced myself to stay silent. “Thanks. The place needed a little brightening. The construction in the back is nearly done, too. Soon as our electrical inspection gets done, we’ll be installing the freezer. And the wine arrives early next week. No doubt we’ll be stocking shelves and bakin
g all week to be ready for the opening next Saturday.”
“Is all that work good for . . .” He stopped, flattening his lips into a grim line.
“The baby. Is it good for the baby? So far so good with the kid. The doc says she’s fine, and I’m on target for a Christmas due date.” Might as well get the difficult details out of the way.
The frown lines in his forehead deepened. For a moment he didn’t speak. “So you know it’s a girl.”
“Girl? No, I don’t know for sure one way or the other, but I’ve been saying her for the last few days. Makes sense, I guess.”
“Christmas isn’t the best time for a baker to have a baby.”
“No, it is not. But first I have to get the renovation finished before I freak out about that. I did hire a couple of kids to help in the afternoons.”
“Good.”
More heavy silence settled between us. Each of us had so much emotion needing a voice but neither of us could find the words. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Gordon. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t come close. This kid is so unexpected, but she’s here to stay. I know that sucks for you. I do. If you’d knocked up another woman during our breakup, I’m not so sure how charitable I’d be.”
He swallowed. “I get you didn’t intend this. I understand you didn’t cheat.”
“But it still hurts.”
“Yeah. It hurts.” His gaze lowered to my belly hidden under the oversized T-shirt and then back up to my face.
“I’m sorry. You deserve a much less complicated woman than me. You really do.”
He pulled his shoulders back. “I expect complications from you. I might not like them, but I know they are part of the package.”
“This complication is a whopper.”
“It is.”
“I care a lot about you, Gordon. I’ve even used the L-word.” A sigh shuddered through me. “I understand we won’t survive this as a couple but I’d like us to at least be friends.”
He swept back his bangs with his hand. “Have you told the baby’s father about your pregnancy?”
“No. One can of worms at a time.”
He rattled change in his pocket. “Are you going to tell him?”
I nodded. “I have to, Gordon. It wouldn’t be fair to the kid not to.”
“Roger isn’t father material, Daisy.”
“I know. But the kid has his DNA. And DNA is kinda important, especially when you don’t have access to it.”
“DNA doesn’t make a parent.”
“I know. But DNA is an important piece of the puzzle. I should know.” How could I make him understand? He could trace his family back to the Revolutionary War. “Terry has yet to return my e-mails or phone messages about my birth father.”
“Whoever the guy is who got Terry pregnant, he is not your dad.”
“I know. I have a great dad. The best. And a great mom. But this guy is a piece of my puzzle. I’d thought I could live with pieces missing but since the kid, I want to know what’s lurking in the genetic family tree. Whoever this dude is, he’s part of the kid.”
“So what are you going to do if Roger wants in your life?”
Jealousy had crept in between the words, and it pleased me. I wanted Gordon to want me. I wanted him to say the L-word back. I wanted him to hold me and tell me it would all work out. That we would work out. “Roger will not want back in my life.”
“What if he does?” I glimpsed the tenacity that had allowed him to rise in the financial world.
“It’s irrelevant. I don’t want Roger back in my life. Period. End of story. He was an unfortunate waste of time that wouldn’t have happened if I’d been remotely sober.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I pressed fingertips to my head. I’d been so full of energy a half hour ago and now fatigue taxed heavily on my shoulders.
The kid chose that moment to do a full summersault in my gut. The sudden move had my eyes widening and my hand slipping to my stomach.
Concern widened his eyes. “You all right?”
“The kid moved.” I’m not sure what made me reach for his hand, but I did. I unfurled his fisted fingers and laid his palm flat against my rounding belly. His touch warmed my skin and sent my heartbeat racing. For a moment we just stood there, both of us shocked to be so close and touching in such an intimate way.
The kid had been touchy about moving on command, and I didn’t expect her to jump to action now. She was difficult like her old lady. But every so often I stepped up to the plate and helped out when no one expected it. I hoped the kid would take pity and do the same for me now.
And she did.
She kicked hard against my belly and the palm of his hand as if she wanted him to know she was also a part of this conversation.
“Did you feel that?” he said. No missing the amazement in his voice.
“Oh, yeah. The kick caught me right in the ribs.”
His hand remained on my stomach. “Has she been moving much?”
“Just started today.” I liked the feel of his warm hand on my belly. It felt right and so natural, like this is what a million other couples had done millions of times before. I wanted to kiss him. To celebrate the child. But I didn’t dare. This sweet moment rested on a shaky foundation of surprise and politeness, not of a shared child or a bright future.
As if reading my thoughts, Gordon pulled his hand back, curled his fingers into a fist at his side and straightened. “I’m glad she’s all right.”
“Thanks.”
Silence settled between us and for a moment the awkwardness rose up again. Gordon cleared his voice. “So you are going to call Roger?”
“More like e-mail. And honestly I’d rather deliver the news via the Internet, give him a chance to scream and rant, and then talk to him over the phone.”
He drew in a breath. “You don’t have to tell him, Daisy. I know Roger. He’s a dick.”
That jostled free a laugh. “You don’t have to tell me. I know. But I need to tell him.”
“Why?”
“Like I said before, it’s all about DNA. The kid has a right to know.”
He shook his head. “The child has a right to a family. Parents who love her.”
My hackles rose. “I intend to give her a family.”
“How? You’re barely making it now. A baker works long damn hours. Where’s a kid going to fit into the mix?”
Raising my chin, I swallowed my doubts. “There will be a space for her. Rachel said she’d help.”
“Have you told your mom and dad?”
“Not yet. They are out of town with the twins. I’m going to tell them when they get back.”
“I’m surprised your mom didn’t pick up on this.”
“I’ve been living in large T-shirts and wearing aprons all the time. And she’s been busy with Dad. He’s been back and forth to the heart doctor.”
“He doing all right?”
“Yeah. He says he feels great. It takes more work to keep him on track healthwise.”
“The baby is going to be a shock.”
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me. I can list all the ways I’ve f-ed up because I didn’t control my reproductive system. But the problem is not going anywhere.”
He studied my face as if trying to peel back layers. “You couldn’t have done this two years ago. You’d have taken a different route. An easier solution.”
“I’d like to think I’d have gone through with the pregnancy even then, but you’re right. I don’t know if I could have done it.”
“As much as it pains me to know Roger was the man to get you pregnant, I know you’ll be a good mother, Daisy.”
Before I could think, tears welled and I was swiping away tears. “Thanks, Gordon. That really is sweet.”
He paled. “I didn’t mean to make
you cry.”
My laugh sounded sloppy. “I’m a bit emotional these days. Moody.”
He arched an amused brow. “You, moody? I can’t believe that.”
Laughter made me cry more. “Would you give me a hug? I know it’s messed up between us, but I could use a hug.”
He hesitated a moment and then opened his arms wide. I stepped into his embrace and hugged my arms tight around his body. Carefully, as if I were made of china, he held me close. I inhaled his scent, savoring the subtle blend of soap and the faint aroma of bike oil. I’d not realized how deep my loneliness had burrowed. Having him hold me now tempted to make my knees to buckle.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
“I’ve missed you.” The words all but rushed past my lips as if refusing to be stopped or censored.
“On the bike trip when you didn’t call, I could feel trouble. And then when you told me about the baby I was so angry.”
I nestled my face close to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not angry at you. I’m angry the baby’s not mine. When we were together you weren’t ready for us to have a baby, but I was.”
I sniffed back tears. “Our timing has been one disaster after another.”
He pulled back, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me on the lips. He tasted sweet and salty and better than he’d tasted before. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips. I can be ham-fisted with words and have a talent for messing up the right line. But I could pour all my unspoken feelings into a kiss. I hoped I could show him how I wanted him and not Roger. I pressed my body against his, knowing if he gave me the slightest hint he wanted me now we’d end up in bed.
Instead of pulling me deeper into his arms, he broke the embrace and looked me directly in the eye. “Don’t tell him, Daisy.”
For a moment I blinked, my lips left swollen and parted. A moment passed before my brain clicked back online. “Don’t tell Roger?”
His hands slid to my shoulders and his fingers tightened as if he held on for courage. “Don’t tell Roger. I’ll help you with the baby. I’ll be the father. We’ll pretend Roger never happened.”
Sweet Expectations (A Union Street Bakery Novel) Page 18
