Del grinned. “The apple heir.”
It would have been easy enough for Kate to hide the recipe box and the photos or destroy them, but she left them out.
“She wanted you to find it.”
“Maybe. She won’t go as far as to talk, but I give her credit for trying.”
So much emotion. Love, sadness, loss, and more love. Adoption brought with it a complicated blend of feelings. “Let’s go see Joey.”
“I’d like that.”
And so I made excuses to Rachel, grabbed my purse, and drove to Woodbridge, Jenna’s cookies on the seat beside me. Del and Walt followed in their car.
It was after three when we arrived and I greeted the receptionist with a smile and a box of cookies. She accepted them and nodded for me to go back.
When Walt hesitated, Del nudged him forward. “We’ve got to do this, Granddad.”
He cleared his throat. “Right.”
I knocked on Joey’s door and when I heard a gruff what I pushed it open. “Joey, it’s Daisy.”
He sat up a little straighter and actually smiled. “What are you doing back? Afraid I might die on you?”
I grinned. “I actually have a couple of visitors for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “I ain’t one for visitors.”
His gruffness had grown endearing and didn’t deter me in the least. “Well, you might like these two visitors.”
“Two!” He scrunched his face as if he’d eaten a sour apple.
I laid his box of cookies on his bedside table. “Buck up, Joey. And stop whining.”
He grunted and fussed with the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt. “I’m not whining.”
I patted him gently on his shoulder. “You sound like a little girl.”
He glared up at me but didn’t complain. I motioned for Walt and Del to come into the room. Walt hesitated by the door but a firm shove from Del had him moving into the room.
Joey stared at Walt with annoyance and a mild hint of curiosity. I half hoped he’d look at Walt and see hints of his old friend. But I got nothing. And then Del stepped into the room.
Joey sat up straighter as his gaze settled on her face. His sour expression softened and he blinked hard behind his thick glasses. “Jenna?”
“No, Joey this is Del Johnson. She’s a relative of Jenna’s.” I’d let Walt and Del define the relationship as I looked at them. “Joey was good friends with Jenna and her fiancé, Walter. Walter and he served in the Marines together in Quantico and later in the South Pacific. They met Jenna at a USO dance in Alexandria.”
Walt looked stunned, as if a hundred-pound sack of flour had fallen on his head. I knew the look and the sense of being hit by an emotional tsunami. I’d been there. Been hit by the same rush of thoughts and feelings. “Joey, why don’t you tell Walt about the first time you met Jenna? I think he is very curious about her.”
Joey tore his gaze from Del and zeroed in on Walt. “How did you know Jenna?”
“I never knew her. She died when I was a day old.” He hesitated. “She was my mother.”
Walt’s voice broke under the weight of words he must have thought a million times but had never been able to say out loud.
Del smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “My great-grandmother.”
Walt laid his hand over hers. And so Del and Walt sat on chairs by Joey’s wheelchair as I quietly backed out of the room to the sound of Joey saying, “Walter and Jenna would have loved you so much.”
* * *
By the time I returned to the bakery, I felt pretty good about myself. Jenna had to be pleased with me. She and Walt could rest in peace knowing the loop between past and present had been closed. Their son knew he’d been loved and wanted even before he’d been born.
Karma should have been grinning like a circus clown over the good deed I’d done. Karma should have been tossing a break my way. But, as my mom often said, karma could be a bitch.
When I entered the bakery, I saw a man talking to Rachel. His dark hair brushed the collar of a worn leather jacket and his worn jeans hugged well-muscled legs. However, Italian loafers gave him away as a man of means.
Rachel’s smile strained with tension as she glanced over his shoulder at me. “Do you ever read your texts?”
No missing the frustration sharpening her words. “I was busy.”
“This gentleman is asking for you but he won’t tell me why.”
The man turned and I recognized his angled, lean face and gray-blue eyes immediately. My appearance may have downgraded over the last five months but his had improved.
“Roger.”
His gaze wandered from my face to my belly. “So, it is true.”
The sense of goodwill I enjoyed seconds ago vanished. Outrage chainsawed into my composure. “Do you think I send random e-mails out telling men they are the father of my baby for giggles?”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. Her gaze shifted to Roger as if seeing him for the first time and then back to me. She cocked her head and mouthed, “Really?”
I shrugged. One matter to talk about mistakes, it was another to have one walk around.
Unaware of Rachel, Roger shoved a hand in his pocket and rattled change. “I’ll expect a DNA test before I fork over a dime.”
I rubbed the tension banding the muscles at the base of my skull. “Why aren’t you in China?”
“I’ve been back in New York for a couple of weeks. When I received your e-mail I thought I should see you myself so we could deal with this.”
“Deal with this?” Anger, sharp and hot, surged in my chest. “How do you propose we deal with this?”
The steel reinforcing my words tugged Rachel out from behind the counter. “If you attack from the front, I’ll take the rear.”
Roger’s head whipped around as if he’d forgotten Rachel. “I came here in good faith.”
“Good faith?” I said. “Sounds like you’re worried.”
Roger stiffened. “That won’t be necessary.”
The thought of Roger having my baby on alternate weekends sent a chill through my veins, and I realized if I didn’t get a handle on my temper Roger would demand visitation out of spite.
I shook my head. “I told you about the baby because I thought you had a right to know. Beyond that I don’t want anything from you. Consider yourself off the hook.”
“You don’t want anything?” Suspicion coupled with hope.
“Not a damn thing,” I said, jaw clenched.
Roger’s stance relaxed and he glanced toward the door.
“Unless of course the baby asks questions one day,” Rachel added. “Let’s face it, Daisy, the baby is going to ask questions if she’s like you.”
I’d been ready to toss Roger out of our lives forever, but Rachel was right. I could eject him out of my life, but I didn’t have the right to make that decision for the baby. One day she might have questions and she deserved answers.
Roger shook his head. “Once I have DNA confirmation I will provide the genetic information you need so the child can answer whatever medical forms come its way. But I don’t want a relationship with the child.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t thinking you’d have a relationship with her. But one day she might like to set eyes on you for her own peace of mind.”
He tugged at a monogrammed white cuff that peeked out from the leather jacket. “I don’t want any surprise visits. That could be unpleasant for all of us.” He reached in the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out neatly folded papers, extending them as if wielding a knife.
My fingers curled into fists. “What’s this?”
“I’ve had papers drawn up. I’ve agreed to terminate parental rights in exchange for a cash payout.”
Outrage curdled in my belly. “You said you wanted DNA testing.”
“I don’t want your money.”
He jabbed the papers toward me. “Don’t you want to see how much I’m offering?”
“No.”
He arched a brow. “Money is your driving force, Daisy.”
That might have been true for the Daisy he’d known. Now it was the kid and the bakery that drove me. “I sign the papers and you go away.”
“Like I never happened.”
So tempting to wash away an old mistake that still made me cringe when I remembered.
His lips curled, a conspirator’s smirk. “Sign them, Daisy. It’s what you want.”
Signing would clear the way for Gordon. Without Roger in the picture we could forge our own lives with the baby. Oh, but that vision tempted. However, as much as I wanted Roger to vanish, I didn’t have the right to rewrite the kid’s history.
Rachel huffed in a breath. “I can kill him now if you want me to, Daisy. We can cut him up and bake him in a pie.”
Her protective fire jostled loose a smile. “Not necessary, Rachel. I’m used to Roger. I understand his tactics.” I snatched the papers from him, moved to the counter and grabbed a pen. A scan of the document revealed a cut-and-dry, bloodless agreement. So Roger.
I crossed out the cash settlement paragraph and wrote in a paragraph that demanded he supply all family medical history and meet with the child at a meeting to be determined by the child. I signed my name and handed him the duplicate copies.
He glanced at my changes.
“Initial and we are done,” I said.
He removed a Montblanc pen from his jacket pocket, initialed the changes and handed me back my copy. “We are done.”
“We are done. But I can’t and won’t make promises for the future kid. If he or she wants a meet and greet, you will honor it.”
He frowned. “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”
“It won’t be up to me. It’s up to the kid.” I clutched the pen in my fingers and resisted the urge to throw it after him.
His jaw ticked as it did when he was angry but he didn’t say another word. He realized he was off the hook for a couple of decades and opted to leave. Italian loafers clicked against the floor as he crossed the room, jerked open the door, and left.
“What an ass!” Rachel said, coming around the counter. “How could you ever have slept with that?”
I smoothed a trembling hand over my head. “We’re all capable of stupid behavior if you dial up the right combination. In my case the perfect combination included too many glasses of wine, job loss, and thoughts of moving back here.”
Rachel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think the last bit really made you have sex with that? It was the wine.”
I wished I could have blamed it all on the wine. “Coming back here felt like the ultimate failure, Rachel. I was back at ground zero. And it scared the hell out of me.”
She cocked her head, her eyes sharp with worry. “It’s not such a scary place anymore.”
A sigh shuddered past my lips. “No. Not so scary.”
She leaned a little closer to me and nudged me with her elbow. “And you must admit the bakery has its moments.”
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “There were one, two, okay maybe three good moments.”
Laughing, she punched me in the shoulder. “You love us. Admit it. You would be lost without us.”
Six months ago I could have denied the claim easily, honestly. Now, I couldn’t. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, my ass.”
“Rachel,” I said, laughing. “You said a bad word.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it. The nice Rachel is on vacation.”
“What happened to her?”
“I sent her away.”
“Not forever.”
“Don’t be looking for her anymore.” She glanced past me through the window toward Gordon’s shop. “Trouble.”
“What?”
We hurried to the window in time to see Gordon throwing Roger out of his bike shop. Roger stumbled and fell to the curb. We hustled outside, the front door bells jangling like an early warning system.
“Why would Roger go to Gordon’s shop?” Rachel said.
“There was a time when they were best pals. They had a falling-out about two years ago. I never found out why but knew they shared bad blood. He must have heard about the bike shop and stopped by to gloat.”
As I saw Gordon advance on Roger, his fists clenched, I hurried toward the bike shop. “Gordon! What are you doing?”
Gordon glanced up at me, his face flushed with rage. “Throwing out the trash.”
Roger scrambled to his feet, scuffing his Italian loafers. “What the hell is wrong with you, Gordon?”
Gordon glared at Roger, his teeth baring a smile reminiscent of a lion right before he pounced. “Remember what I said, Roger. Remember.”
Roger paled as he hustled to his feet. “Shit, I don’t know why you are defending her. I thought you finished with her months ago.”
Gordon advanced another step toward Roger, who quickly hustled back several steps.
“Stay away, Gordon. I don’t want trouble.”
“Of course you do,” Gordon said. “If you didn’t you’d have handled this long distance.”
“I’m trying to be civil,” Roger shouted.
“I’m trying not to rip your damn head off, Roger.”
Roger cursed and then, digging keys from his pocket, turned and jogged toward a black BMW. The engine fired and seconds later the car zoomed off.
Roger’s wheels squealed as he rounded a corner, and I went to Gordon. “What did you say to him?”
Gordon, a bit breathless, puffed out his chest like a lion defending his territory. “It doesn’t matter.”
Looking at Gordon, so angry and huffy at this moment, made me weak in the knees with love. Unshed tears burned in my throat and it took all my self-control not to hug him close.
He glared at me. “Damn, Daisy, what did you see in that guy?”
“That’s what I said,” Rachel offered. I’d been so distracted by Roger and Gordon, she’d slipped from my mind.
“It was a very, very bad call!” I shouted, throwing my arms up in the air. “I get Roger is an ass. I get that! But my kid has his DNA so I’m stuck with his biological history.”
A few folks on the street stopped to stare. I glared back at them knowing full well it made me look all the more crazed. When they turned and kept walking, I shifted all my attention back to Gordon. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s not going to throw any trouble your way,” Gordon said.
“He signed away parental rights,” I said.
Gordon frowned. “Just like that?”
“He came with the papers in hand.” I explained about my contract revisions.
Gordon shook his head. “If he falls short on the biological history crap, I want to know about it. Understood?”
I didn’t know what kind of threat Gordon had made to Roger but suspected it was a whopper. Roger didn’t scare easily. And it was kind of Neanderthal for Gordon to insinuate himself into my mess but . . . it was also so sweet and hot.
I’d hardly seen Gordon in the last week and barely touched him in the last couple of weeks, but I couldn’t resist anymore. I closed the distance between us and without a thought to right or wrong, good or bad or appropriate or inappropriate, I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him on the lips.
His hand went to my waist and he kissed me back.
“That was hot,” I said.
He grinned. “I like to think I still have the moves.”
“Oh, you do.” I kissed him again. “Thanks.”
He drew in a breath. Fo
r a long moment he stared into my eyes. He traced my jawline with a calloused finger. “Daisy, will you marry me?”
My heart stopped, somersaulted, before resuming a racing pace. “What?”
“Will you marry me?” he said.
I’d always been careful never to want too much. I understood the danger of hope. “I come with baggage.”
He squeezed my hand. “Don’t we all. Don’t we all.”
His energy pulled me toward a breathless yes but still I resisted. “What about the baby?”
“I’ll legally adopt her so all she’ll ever need from Cheese-Dick is DNA information.”
“Are you sure, Gordon?” I still didn’t understand the ramifications of parenthood, which meant Gordon sure did not. “This is a game changer.”
“I know.” No hesitation blinked warnings from his gaze. He had the determination of a cyclist barreling down a hill at thirty miles an hour, excitement thrumming in his veins. “But it’s a change I want.”
Warmth spread up through me, and I couldn’t stem the tide of emotions rushing. “Yes, Gordon Singletary. I will marry you.”
Rachel clapped her hands. “This is so cool!”
Epilogue
December 20
Last day before end-of-the-year closing
Income Profit: $19,243
Jingle Bells” chimed on the radio, but I wasn’t feeling very festive. The kid rested heavy and low in my belly, and Rachel and I had at least a couple more hours of packaging frozen cookie dough and pie orders that had come in from our website last night. The frozen dough had become more popular than we’d ever expected. The pies were a sensation. A good problem to have, as my mother said over and over.
And yes, it was a good problem. The bakery had been running in the black for two months straight and we’d set up a rainy day fund. All good.
And it would be perfect if the kid would get off my bladder. She’d been doing somersaults on it for the last hour and I spent half my days now in the bathroom. My back also ached as if a herd of mules had kicked it.
“Daisy.” Rachel called out as she loaded another mail package in the bin that Dad would take to the post office in thirty minutes. “You need to get off your feet. That kid is practically waving at me.”
Sweet Expectations (A Union Street Bakery Novel) Page 32
