by Kent, Alison
“That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
Bad enough that he needed a drink. Though most of that was due to his train of thought more than anything she’d said about Addy. His gut knotted, he asked, “Have you been to the new pub on Fortune Avenue? Want to grab a burger? A beer maybe? I’m sure they’ve got wine if you’d prefer it. Or coffee.
“And, yeah. I’m asking you out,” he said, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward on the seat, leaning both forearms on her desk. He picked up a paperclip and frowned. “I get that dating one of your students’ parents puts you in a fishbowl, but I’m pretty sure between you coming to Bliss, and me coming to your house on the Harley, not to mention our hanging out at the church carnival, that any gossip that’s going to start has.”
“I know—”
“And I’m pretty sure if my past was going to cause me trouble, it would’ve done so by now. Not the part with Addy’s mother, but the rest. Bliss has a good reputation. Business is booming. Hope Springs is small. People know I’m the ex-biker behind the one-way glass.”
“I know—”
“And I get that you’re going to Italy, that you may stay in Italy. That whatever this is we’ve got going on couldn’t have come at a worse time—”
“Callum?”
“Yeah?”
Her smile was soft and understanding and tickled. “I haven’t eaten anything but an apple since breakfast. I’m starving.”
She was starving. That had to be good. “That’s a yes?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” He took a deep breath, feeling light-headed, his blood rushing through his body in unexpected relief. “So Back Alley Burgers is good for an early dinner? Or a late lunch? Not sure what to call a meal eaten at four p.m. Unless you’ve got more conferences lined up . . .”
“You’re my last of the day,” she said, straightening the papers on her desk. “And since I spent my lunch hour prepping for this afternoon, I don’t care what we call it as long as there’s food.”
“Even if I call it a date?” he asked, trying to play it cool. He wasn’t. Not a bit.
She nodded again, smiling.
“Okay then,” he said, and laughed. The laugh felt good, as did her answer. “We’ve reached a turning point.”
“I guess we have,” she said, and laughed, too. “Though I’m not sure I know what it means.”
Because Italy still beckoned. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“One day at a time?” she asked, her hand shaking as she tucked back her hair.
“Something like that,” he said, and then to make it easier on her, asked, “Would you still say yes if Addy joined us, though that makes it less of a date and more just food with me and the girl?”
“Of course,” she said, almost sounding relieved, though that was more than likely his imagination. “Why wouldn’t I? She’s here, right? Is she enjoying the after-school program?”
“She’s loving it. I owe you a ton for mentioning it.”
“And your mother? Is she glad to see her granddaughter engaged with the other children? And not watching movies at her desk in your storeroom?”
Yeah, he mused with a huff. About that . . . “My mother has barely spoken to me since I enrolled her.”
Brooklyn gave him a disbelieving frown. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. First I deprive her of seeing Addy as an infant,” he said, gesturing with one hand. “And now I keep her from their afternoon outings. You know, the ones that allow her to show Hope Springs her commitment to seeing her prodigal son’s offspring raised right.”
“Callum! You don’t mean that.”
“Sometimes I think I do,” he said, getting to his feet, wishing things with his mother had been different, but doubting they would have been, even if he’d gone east to school instead of west to the oil fields. “Anyhow, I need to grab Addy, and I’ve got my bike, which isn’t exactly built for three, so . . . meet you there?”
“Meet you there,” she said, drumming her pencil against her desk in a way that had him wondering if she was rethinking their outing. But she didn’t call after him, and by the time he reached Addy, he finally remembered to breathe.
Dinner with Callum and Addy made Brooklyn feel part of a family, and that was unexpected. She hadn’t felt that way the day they’d all gone to the park, but she hadn’t known him as well then; they’d just met, they hadn’t kissed. That day he’d been Adrianne’s father. Today she knew about his struggles with his mother, the life he’d lived—and left behind—in California, and he knew about Artie, about Italy, about her.
But she also felt out of place because they weren’t a family. Callum was not her husband. Addy was not her stepdaughter. And the girl was in a mood Brooklyn didn’t know how to interpret. First she hadn’t wanted to get off his bike, and he’d had to lift her and dodge her kicking feet. Then she hadn’t wanted to walk inside, and he’d had to carry her. At the door, he’d told Brooklyn Addy just needed a nap, but the girl had curled her face into his shoulder like it was more.
Callum had ordered her a bowl of mac ’n cheese, a corn dog, and applesauce, reminding her they were her favorites when she said everything was yucky. Then he’d eaten his burger, ignored her playing with her food, and asked her about her day. She’d done nothing but shake her head and drink her milk. They’d argued about that, too. She’d wanted chocolate. He’d told her she couldn’t have dessert if she had chocolate with her meal.
His exasperation had tugged hard at Brooklyn’s empathy. He was trying to be reasonable when his daughter couldn’t have cared less about reason. She hadn’t wanted to talk to Brooklyn at all, giving terse responses and only at Callum’s insistence. Brooklyn had finally stopped trying. Something had happened between Addy leaving class this afternoon and Callum picking her up. Since the only place the girl had been was in the school cafeteria . . .
She looked at Callum. “When you left my classroom earlier, did the teachers mention anyone visiting after school?”
“Visiting?” he asked, and when she gave a nod toward Addy, he said, “Oh,” and set what was left of his burger on his plate, reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth before turning his attention to his recalcitrant daughter. “You never finished telling me about the hopscotch game you and Kelly Webber were playing when I came to get you.”
“It was stupid. School is stupid. Kelly is stupid.”
“Adrianne Michelle.” Callum’s tone was firm, his voice pitched low. “You know better. We do not call people names.”
“Kelly said I was stupid.”
When Callum frowned up at Brooklyn, all she could do was shake her head and shrug; she was clueless. “Why would Kelly do that?” he asked, returning his gaze to Addy.
“Because I wouldn’t share the cookies Grammy brought me, but Grammy told me they were ’specially mine,” she said, then curled up into her father’s side, pressing her face into his shirt as if it were a giant tissue for her tears and runny nose.
Callum muttered several choice words Brooklyn hoped Addy couldn’t hear, wrapping his arm around the little girl where she sat next to him on the booth’s bench. When he finally looked up, it was as if to say, See what I’m dealing with here?
“I wish I had an answer.” It was all she could think of.
“It’s my problem. Not yours. But thanks. Nice to know I’m not alone in this corner,” he said, glancing down then back up. “So to speak.”
She wished she was sitting beside him, too. He looked as if he could use a hug of his own. “You are doing a good job. Your mother’s right about that.”
He huffed. “Probably not the best time to be mentioning her.”
“I get that,” she said, her hands in fists on the edge of the table in front of her. “But there’s a lot going on here, and it’s obvious as far as she’s concerned that I’m in the way.”
His eyes grew dark, his mouth grim. And when he said, “You are not in the wa
y,” his voice was on the verge of breaking.
She was stopped from responding by their server arriving and asking, “Can I interest either of you in dessert?”
“I’d like a slice of key lime pie,” she said absently, having seen it on the menu when ordering her food.
“Coming right up. Sir?”
“How about a piece of the tres leches cake?”
“Good choice,” the young man said, leaning over the table to gather their empty plates. “And for the little one?”
“Tell you what,” Brooklyn said, when Callum shook his head as if nothing would set Addy to rights. “Why don’t you bring an extra plate and we can split both desserts three ways?”
“Very good, folks.” The young man smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
Brooklyn waited until he was out of earshot, then glanced at Addy where she was curled half-asleep against Callum. “Maybe something else would’ve been better? A brownie sundae or something?”
“At this point I don’t think dessert is the issue as much as whatever happened today.”
That much was obvious. “We can cancel the order and just go if you want. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”
“No. We’re good. Being quiet for a few is pretty much what the doctor ordered. Speaking of which . . .” He nodded toward her shoulder. “How’s the tattoo healing?”
She teased him with a partial truth. “Have I been leaning against the textured walls at home and scratching it raw, you mean?”
“Tell me you haven’t,” he said, holding her gaze as he stroked Addy’s hair.
“I haven’t,” she said, watching the little girl’s chest rise and fall softly. “But I’ve wanted to. It’s better, but the next one will be in a place I can reach without going through all sorts of contortions to keep it clean.”
“You know, I did volunteer to help with that,” he said, his arched brow speaking volumes about his idea of help.
“I know.” This wasn’t the time for the things she really wanted to say.
“So the next one, huh?”
“We’ll see,” she said with a shrug, reaching for the rest of her iced tea. “Maybe when I’m back from my trip.”
The words tumbled out of their own accord, surprising her as much as they obviously did him. She lifted her gaze, catching his wide-eyed and sparkling. “So you are coming back.” He said it as if her response to the five words would make or break him.
She gave him what she could. “Apparently my subconscious has decided so.”
The server arrived then with the two desserts and the extra plate. Brooklyn sliced her pie into three pieces, then when Callum nodded for her to go ahead, did the same with the cake. She gave him the largest pieces of both.
Then he gave Addy a nudge. “Want some pie or cake, pumpkin?”
She sat up, frowned at her plate, then looked at Callum’s. “I want a big piece like you.”
“I’m not sure your tummy’s got as much room in it as mine does,” he said, handing her a fork.
“Does so. I didn’t eat my corn dog, so there’s lots of room.”
“Did you eat any snacks after school?” he asked, cutting into his pie. “Any of the cookies Grammy brought you?”
She reached for her milk again, put the straw in her mouth, and shrugged.
“Why don’t you eat what Ms. Harvey gave you? Then if you want more, I’ll give you some of mine.”
At that, Addy slammed her milk glass onto the table. “Grammy would give me a big piece. Grammy loves me.”
“Whoa, Addy. I’m not sure what’s going on, but you need to remember your manners. Of course Grammy loves you,” Callum said, his jaw so tight Brooklyn swore she heard it pop. “And I love you, and Ms. Harvey loves you—”
“She’s just my teacher. Not my mommy. Grammy said so.”
Oh, boy. Seems they’d reached the root of something. “Your grandmother is right. I’m not your mother. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“But I want you to be my mommy,” Addy wailed, pushing her plate across the table so hard Brooklyn had to slam her hand onto the pie to keep the whole thing from hitting the floor.
She looked at the little girl who’d collapsed sobbing into the seat, Brooklyn’s own eyes welling as she raised her gaze from Addy to Callum. He had one hand shoved back through his hair, and was staring down as if seeing a monster. “I don’t even know . . .”
It was all he got out before Addy scrambled out of the seat and ran. “Shit.” He bit off the word and followed, Brooklyn waving him on and calling out, “I’ve got the bill,” then finding a napkin to wipe the pie from her hand. Good grief, she mused, tossing the napkin to her plate and draining first her tea, then the rest of the water in her glass.
Most of the time she and Callum had spent together Addy had been elsewhere. Selfishly, Brooklyn hadn’t minded; she saw Callum’s daughter every day. She saw him much less often. So where Addy had gotten the idea of Brooklyn being more than she was . . .
Unless it was Shirley Drake telling the girl that Brooklyn was only her teacher—
“Is everything okay, ma’am?”
She looked up at their server. “Yes. Just a tired little girl. Can I have the check please?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling the folder from his apron. “Did you need a to-go box for the cake or the pie?”
“No.” She shook her head as she counted out enough cash to cover the bill and the tip. She didn’t want to wait for him to run her card. “Thank you.”
She scooted out of the booth and hurried to the parking lot. Callum was already straddling his bike, Addy on the pillion behind him, her helmet in place.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, frowning down at his helmet instead of looking at her.
She didn’t know who was more distraught: father or daughter. But she stepped close to Addy, took her in her arms, and gave her a great big hug. The girl hugged her back, and though Brooklyn didn’t know how much Addy could hear through her helmet, she whispered, “I love you, Adrianne Drake. It doesn’t matter if I’m only your teacher. I love you very much.”
Then she stood and placed her hand on Callum’s face, saying, “I’ll see you later,” before she leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. It was a quick kiss, and she didn’t care if everyone in Hope Springs saw it.
BACK ALLEY BURGERS’ TRES LECHES CAKE
For the cake:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1½ teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup granulated sugar
5 large eggs
⅓ cup whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1 can evaporated milk
¼ cup heavy whipping cream
Preheat oven to 350 degrees (F).
Grease a 13 x 9-inch baking pan and line with parchment paper, coating with nonstick spray.
In a large bowl, combine the flour, the baking powder, and the salt.
Separate the egg yolks and the egg whites into two large bowls.
Beat the egg yolks with ¾ cup of the sugar on high speed until the yolks are pale yellow. Stir in the milk and the vanilla. Pour the egg yolk mixture over the flour mixture and stir gently until combined.
Beat the egg whites on high speed until soft peaks form, then add ¼ cup of the sugar and beat until the egg whites are stiff.
Fold the egg white mixture into the batter very gently until combined. Pour into the prepared pan and spread out evenly.
Bake for 35–45 minutes or until an inserted tester comes out clean. Turn the cake onto a rimmed baking sheet or a serving platter and cool.
In a small bowl or pitcher, combine the sweetened condensed milk, the evaporated milk, and the heavy cream. Using a fork, pierce the surface of the cooled cake in several places. Remove and discard 1 cup of the milk mixture, and drizzle the rest onto the cake, paying close attention
to the edges. Allow the cake to sit for 30 minutes, absorbing the milk.
For the frosting:
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 pint heavy whipping cream
1–2 tablespoons rum (if desired)
Whip the pint of heavy cream with the 3 tablespoons of sugar and rum (if using) until thick. Spread over the surface of the cake.
NINETEEN
Sunday night two weeks later found Brooklyn in the kitchen at Bliss, prepping for a run-through of Callum’s Monday-morning demonstration for her class. Since holding the attention of fifteen kindergarteners longer than half an hour was out of the question, he was going to have to shortcut the entire process. He’d asked her to come by and help. And since she’d had no chance to see him since the end of their first official date, both of their schedules keeping them busy and the timing at odds, she’d accepted. Plus, she’d missed him.
Their date. What a fiasco that had been. Poor Addy. What in the world had Shirley Drake been thinking, saying such a thing to her granddaughter? She knew Callum had talked to his mother; he’d told her so on one of the several times they’d talked, but he hadn’t said anything about the outcome. And Addy hadn’t mentioned the incident even once.
“I decided not to do the Root Beer Float candy,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Okay,” she said, having to jar herself back to the present. What was it they’d been talking about?
“I mean, if you’re set on that one I’ll do it,” he said, both hands spread out on the island counter between them. “But it’s more complicated than some of the other flavors in that the layers need time to cool and set. I thought something simpler would hold the kids’ attention better. And the Root Beer Float isn’t very colorful, though I could change that up.”
He was so cute when he rambled. She reached up to tuck back her hair, thinking of kissing him in the parking lot of Back Alley Burgers. Wanting to kiss him again now. But not wanting to cause any additional trouble for him and his mother and his girl. And so she looked at the ingredients he’d set out, including the package of Oreos, and asked, “What were you thinking?”
