by Angel Smits
She forgot about the ladder until the second batch of cookies was in the oven. She reminded herself to do it once everything was done.
She hoped Marcus and Ryan liked her cookies. The jar of peanut butter on the counter was a good indication.
Out of habit, she’d pulled her recipe box from the cupboard and found the old, battered card. She’d given Mom’s old recipes to Tara, who used them in her diner, but Addie had kept copies for herself. This one, however, was just hers. She leaned the card against the flour canister. She didn’t have to look at it, the recipe so well memorized, but she always got it out.
The first time she’d made these cookies, she’d been with Cal. He’d loved these sweet treats. It had been his mother’s recipe. She had made them just for him, and had shared the recipe with Addie, hoping she’d make them for him after they got married.
It had been a happy day. They’d watched his mother make the cookies, laughing and eating them as soon as she scooped them off the baking sheet.
Now, Addie watched the gooey delights through the oven window. She loved this part of baking. The sweet dough rose and bubbled, the chocolate chunks melted and slid into the dough.
Addie glanced once more at the recipe card leaning against the flour canister.
That night had also been the first time they’d made love. Later, down at the river...the moonlight washed down over the blanket on the sand.
No! She shut off that train of thought, yanking open the oven door to pull out the hot pan. She focused on the calming, even rhythm of the spatula scooping the cookies onto the cooling rack.
When Cal died, Elizabeth had tried to destroy the wonderful recipe. The old-fashioned card had been ripped into a dozen pieces. When Addie’s family had gone to the house to pay their respects, Addie had seen the pieces and pulled them out of the trash. She’d meticulously taped them together.
She’d needed something—anything—of Cal’s to hold on to. She’d had no clue she was pregnant until weeks later.
Straightening now, Addie picked up the card, running her finger over one of the lines of yellowed tape. It didn’t hurt so much today—that flash of memory that always came with looking at this card.
CHAPTER NINE
ADDIE HEARD FOOTSTEPS running down the stairs when she rang the doorbell at Marcus’s house. Somehow, she didn’t think it was him.
“I got it, Dad.”
She smiled. Ryan. He opened the door and grinned at her. “Hi! Dad said you were coming over.”
“And here I am.” She stepped inside, a weird wave of memories flashing through her. It was still the same house, but different. Ryan headed to the kitchen and she followed.
“Dad, she’s here,” he called.
Marcus sat at the table, his laptop open and papers scattered all over the surface. Mom would have cringed at the mess, but Addie remembered doing plenty of homework at that table.
The table had been too big for any of her siblings to take, and the real estate agent had suggested they leave it with the house. The buyer—apparently Marcus—had been happy to have it. It still looked right at home.
Marcus stood. “I see that.” He smiled.
“I brought these.” She handed Ryan the box of cookies, and he took a deep inhale. “Yum! Peanut butter?”
“And this.” She extended the bottle of wine to Marcus. Silence greeted her. Father and son shared a glance, and Ryan seemed to hold his breath.
Marcus gave a slight nod, and Ryan turned to put the cookies on the counter. “Thank you, but I don’t drink,” Marcus finally said.
The relief that poured off Ryan was so thick Addie felt it fill the room. He smiled over his shoulder at his dad, his eyes full of something she couldn’t quite grasp. What was going on?
“Can I have one now?” the boy asked, lifting the lid on the cookie container.
Marcus laughed. “If it’s okay with Addie. We’re going to the garage, so it might be a while before I start dinner.”
“Cool.” At her nod, Ryan grabbed one of the cookies and shoved it into his mouth as he left the room. “I’ll finish my homework while you do that.”
Marcus stepped closer to Addie, stopping just inches from her. “He’s afraid I’ll make him clean the garage. Homework’s the lesser of the two evils.” Marcus placed a soft kiss on her cheek before he took the wine bottle and set it on the counter.
He must have seen the questions in her eyes. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “After Carolyn’s funeral I—” She watched the muscles of his throat constrict as he swallowed. “I spent about six months barely functioning. I drank. A lot. All the time, actually.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Addie’s chest hurt, seeing the regret and anguish on his face.
“Yes, I do.” He straightened and took her hand in his. “I’m not a fan of keeping secrets.” He took a deep breath. “I nearly lost everything. I did lose my job. Lost nearly six months of my son’s life. Thank God, my sister stepped in and smacked me upside the head one day, literally.” His laughter held no humor. “I promised Ryan I’d never do that to him again.”
Addie couldn’t picture what Marcus was telling her. She couldn’t imagine him so out of control. She tilted her head, trying, and failing, to put the two together.
He laughed. “Is there anything you don’t try to figure out?”
“Nope.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing. I’ll take the bottle home. The cookies are all yours.”
“Thank you.”
That awkwardness was back, and she didn’t know why. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him. The blue polo shirt he wore drew her eyes to his broad chest. Her gaze wandered to take in the worn jeans that fit snug.
He pushed away from the counter. “Like what you see?” he whispered.
Nodding was all she could manage. She caught herself biting her lip.
“Me, too.” He stepped closer, and she felt a tug on a curl that fell over her shoulder. “But my earlier promise stands. No interruptions.” His gaze shifted upward. Ryan.
Her face flamed. “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t that make for an interesting day at school on Monday?”
“Yeah.” He took her hand and tugged. “Let’s go look at the garage.”
* * *
DUST COATED THE old-fashioned window, letting very little light into the garage.
“I probably should have brought some window cleaner.” Marcus used his hand to brush off what dirt he could.
“There’s a light somewhere.” She moved deeper inside, where Dad’s workshop had been. The overhead light came on as she reached it.
Someone, probably Wyatt and DJ, had straightened up the place once upon a time. All the tools, the lathe, the awls and all the other items she’d never been able to identify were gone.
The faint smell of cut wood still hung around in the shop, and a few stray curls of pine lay in the corner. Time had faded them gray, but she could see them, bright golden as they’d slid from the sharp blade of the plane or the hand lathe.
Dad’s vise was still bolted to the bench, and absently Addie spun the handle with a finger. It moved as smoothly as ever. An image came to mind—the clamp holding a narrow piece of oak as Dad used hand tools to create a curved line along the edge.
She frowned, trying to remember what he’d been making. Had he ever finished it? She shook her head and banished the image. It was too real, too tempting. She missed him too much.
“It was never this clean when I was a kid,” she said. It had been a mess. Or at least to her it seemed messy. Yet, Dad always knew where every single tool, every single piece of a project was put. He could pull it out in an instant.
“Don’t touch anything,” he’d frequently admonished. “Or I’ll get mixed up.” She hadn’t believed him, but as a kid, there had been just enough doubt that she kept her h
ands clasped behind her back whenever she was in Dad’s shop.
“These are the boxes I mentioned.” Marcus lifted two cardboard boxes up onto the workbench. Neither was sealed.
“Wonder how my brothers missed these.”
“They were up there in the corner.” He pointed up to a spot on the rafters. “I didn’t even see them in the dim light until I climbed up there.”
She nodded and moved closer. She stood on tiptoe to peer inside. The first box was full of scrap pieces of wood. Most had been cut at angles, or jagged. Small pieces. Dad had never been one to throw out something he might be able to find a use for later.
The second box had only a couple things in it. She frowned. “Is that—?” She reached in.
“That’s what I thought you might want to see.” Marcus stood close as she set the package on the workbench.
A thick coat of dust covered the wrapped rectangle. With a swipe of her hand, she cleared off the bright blue wrapping paper. “What the heck is it?” She leaned over it, noticing the paper was crumpled on one end and a battered, dust-covered tag was tied around it.
She turned the tag over and saw her name in her father’s familiar scrawl. She gasped, then grimaced when she felt her dust-coated hand touch her face.
Marcus chuckled and reached for a rag. He dusted off her hands, then reached out and carefully removed the marks from her cheek. “There.”
She stared at the narrow package for a long time. The dim sunlight barely reached into the room, but she felt as if the package glowed with light. “Wonder what it is,” she whispered.
“Looks like a gift.”
“But what for?” She frowned, trying to remember. “The accident was in February. My birthday was a month later.”
She stared then slowly picked it up.
“Open it,” Marcus encouraged.
Carefully, reverently, she pulled the old tape loose. It didn’t take much. The paper crinkled. Inside, she found a narrow wooden box with tiny hinges on one side. A lid. She set the paper aside and put the box next to it.
Slowly, she lifted the lid, looking first at Marcus, then at the box. The box was lined with tan velvet, and a narrow piece of carved, smooth wood lay on top of the fabric. She picked up the piece of wood. So smooth and dainty.
Then she remembered.
“Dad laughed at me when I wished for a magic wand. Course, I was mad at some sibling and wanted to turn them into a toad,” she whispered to herself as much as Marcus.
“How old were you?” he asked.
“Twelve.” Just a couple of years from losing him, though she’d had no idea what lay ahead. “He found a design in one of his woodworking books and showed it to me.” She remembered squealing in twelve-year-old delight that it was perfect. “He promised he’d make me one.” Someday. A promise that had gotten lost over the hectic years of running a business, supporting a family and just getting through the days, she knew.
A promise, she realized now, that he had tried to keep. She clutched the piece of wood tight in her hand, and close to her chest. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, feeling some of the anger and grief she’d never really dealt with loosen its hold.
Her eyes blurred, and she closed her eyes to hold in the tears. She didn’t want Marcus to think she was upset, or sad. These were happy tears, sweet, happy tears.
He’d obviously been watching her closely. His arms closed around her, pulling her tight. The comfort rolled off him, and she couldn’t resist taking just a bit of it. It felt so right.
He let her tears fall, not shushing her or pushing her to stop.
“He remembered,” she whispered, treasuring the belated gift. “He remembered,” she repeated.
* * *
THE SCENT OF steaks on the gas grill wafted around the neighborhood. Addie inhaled, enjoying the spicy-sweet scent.
“I’m serious,” Marcus had said when they came out of the garage. “You’re my guest. You get to sit, relax and watch me dazzle you with my cooking.” He winked at her as he lit the grill.
“You do know my sister is a chef, right?” She took the glass of lemonade he handed her.
“Oh, sure. Add pressure. I see how you are.” He was working hard to distract her from the tears. It was working. Determined to not let the past interfere with tonight, she slipped inside and put the wooden box on the counter next to the wine.
When she returned to the patio, Marcus uncovered three juicy sirloins. The sizzle of them was loud and enticing.
“Yep. Gotta keep you on your toes. So, I saw the book you weren’t reading on the table. Have you read it yet?”
He shook his head, turning away from her and focusing on the grill. “I’ve tried several times. It’s not going anywhere, so—” He shrugged and didn’t say anymore.
Addie watched him for a while, enjoying the view, the fire, the yard beyond. She tried not to feel like she was back home. This wasn’t her home anymore, but it did feel good to sit out here and soak up the beauty.
He’d kicked on the sprinklers since her last visit, and the yard was a bright, thick green. The vines she’d been worried about a few days ago were lush and thick. The sounds of summer and the warmth that would arrive soon hinted in the air.
Footsteps announced Ryan’s arrival. “What do you need me to do?” he asked from the doorway.
“Grab the plates and let’s set the table.” Ryan nodded and ducked inside. He returned a bit later, his arms full.
“You could take more than one trip.”
“I got it.” He nearly dropped the loaf of bread he had stacked on top.
Addie laughed.
“Don’t encourage him,” Marcus teasingly admonished.
After a few minutes of Ryan’s working diligently to put everything on the table, the steaks were done, and the whole meal was arranged perfectly on the table. “You’re a good pair,” she said.
“We’ve been working on it.” Ryan filled his plate. “Dad’s teaching me to cook, too. So I can help.”
“Yeah, after I learn. Grilling, I got.”
Addie savored the food and the company. It was quiet, though not silent. As if by some unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss school. Baseball seemed to be the biggest topic on Ryan’s agenda.
“Thanks for encouraging him to go out for the team, by the way,” Marcus said.
She looked up and their eyes met. “You’re welcome, both of you.” She couldn’t look away. “According to the coach, he’s got talent.” Her words came out slow, distracted. The intensity in Marcus’s eyes told her he was feeling it, too.
“Speaking of baseball. Dex wanted me to give him some pointers tonight. I told him I’d try to come over after dinner. Is that okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” Marcus tore his gaze away from hers, looking at his son. “Got all your homework done?”
“Yep.” Ryan grinned.
“I’ll help clean up,” Addie offered. When Marcus went to argue, she held up her hand like she did for silence during the assemblies. “You two cooked. I can help clean up. Besides—” she glanced at Marcus “—Ryan doesn’t want to run out of daylight helping Dex, now, do you?”
“Thanks.” Ryan jumped up. “Can I take a cookie to go?”
“Grab one and leave the rest for us,” Marcus teased.
The silence descended. They could hear Ryan running upstairs to grab his gear, then running back down. “See you later,” he yelled as the front door slammed closed.
Then he was gone. And they were alone. Blessedly alone.
Finally, Marcus cleared his throat. “It won’t take long to clean this up.” He waved at the table.
“It will take half as long if we both do it.” Addie stood and gathered dishes. Marcus did the same. It took only a few minutes, and soon everything was put away with the soft hum of the dishwasher in the background.
&
nbsp; “Do you want a cookie?” she asked, trying to find something else to do.
“I’d definitely like something sweet,” he whispered in her ear. She started, not realizing he’d come up behind her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Addie smiled as he slipped his arms around her waist. He gently pulled her back, and she leaned against him. The warm length of his body against her felt so good. She swallowed a groan of pleasure.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Marcus leaned his head against hers. Softly, he pushed aside her thick curls, and his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck. The warm tip of his tongue drew a path down to her shoulder where the wide neck of her dress gave him access. She shivered.
Slowly, Marcus moved around her until they stood face-to-face. This time his finger traced the path his lips had just found. She tilted her head and looked at him. “Ryan’s not going to interrupt us.”
He nodded, stepping in even closer. This time, she was the one slipping her arms around his waist. The fabric of his shirt was soft against her skin, but his body beneath was solid and firm, muscles defined against her fingers. She vaguely wondered if he worked out.
But that thought, and every other thought she might have had, vanished as Marcus’s lips found hers. She leaned into him and he pulled her tight.
He’d kissed her before, but this was different. Very different. This was the hot, hard kiss of a man who had much more on his mind.
And her body responded. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pulling and holding him tight. He couldn’t get close enough. Her breasts ached, anticipating his touch. The juncture between her legs tightened, and flushed, knowing she wanted him there.
She fought to catch her breath, and the hard rush of his breath against her told her he felt the same.
He pushed her against the counter, the hard evidence of his desire pressing against her, right where she ached to have him, but where there were too many layers of clothing.
“Marcus,” she whispered when his lips finally moved from hers and returned again to tease the soft skin of her shoulder. She burrowed her fingers into his hair, holding him there, pushing ever so gently as she impatiently waited for him to deepen his touch.
