Copper Lining (The Cardwell Family Series Book 3)

by Christy Pastore

  “Yep, you got it.” I unlock the door and open it. “Then my dad and his brother decided they wanted to make it a place where we could all gather during the summer and holidays.”

  “This place is huge,” she says when she walks down the breezeway.

  “I’ve got a pretty big family. And it’s getting bigger. I’m going to be an uncle soon.”

  “Mom says that Caroline’s going to have a baby.” Celia shrugs off her backpack and drops it to the kitchen floor.”

  “Any day now.” I set the bags onto the counter along with my keys. “My mom thinks Caroline will have her baby on my birthday.” I preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

  Celia’s eyes pop wide. “Your birthday is in August?”

  “Last day of the month.”

  She climbs up onto the barstool at the island. “No way. My birthday’s on the fifteenth.”

  “So, we’re birthday month twins,” I tease and fill up the giant cooking pot with water.

  She laughs. “Can you show me where the bathroom is, please?”

  After I add a pinch of salt, I set the heat to low. “Sure thing. Right this way.”

  Once I leave her, I unload my bags from the grocery. I wonder if Celia’s hungry. Kids usually need a snack. In my pantry, I find crackers and peanut butter.

  Peanuts.

  Allergies.

  Shit. I better check.

  Celia comes from around the corner and climbs back into her seat.

  “Do you have any allergies?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. My friend Erin’s allergic to everything. Cats. Dogs. Shrimp. Peanuts. But not me.”

  “Wow, that’s too bad about your friend. I’m not allergic to anything either. Do you want something to eat? I’ve got apples, peanut butter, bananas, and I think I might even have popsicles. Haven loves fruity yogurt popsicles.”

  Her green eyes dazzle at the mention of popsicles. “Popsicle, please. Just not grape. I like grapes. I just don’t like grape food like jelly, grape juice, and soda.”

  I smile while I dig around my freezer. “Bad news, no popsicles, but I have ice cream sandwiches.”

  “Yeah, I love these.” She takes it from my hand and quickly pulls apart the wrapper.

  I grab a napkin and fill up a glass of water for her. While she enjoys her treat, I ask her about school, her hobbies, and I sneak in a few questions about her mom. While the pasta cooks in the water, I add the onion and garlic to a frying pan and cook it over medium heat. I hold up a clove. “Garlic, your mom’s favorite.”

  Celia laughs. “Just add a little bit.”

  The recipe calls for two tablespoons, and I only add one. I drain the pasta and then transfer it to a shallow baking dish where I stir in the canned tomatoes.

  “The food smells so good,” she tells me. “I can’t wait to try the pasta.”

  I go back to the onion and garlic and carefully add in the whipping cream. “When your mom makes dinner, does she use wine when the recipe calls for it?”

  She nods. “She says a little wine never hurts. All done.” She wipes her mouth on the napkin and then takes a big drink of water. After she tosses the wrapper into the trash, she washes her hands. “Do you need some help with dinner?”

  “Yeah, you want to make the salads?”

  She nods, and I help her gather up all the ingredients. Celia barely needs instructions with the salads. I even let her slice up a few cherry tomatoes.

  “Okay, all done. Anything else?” She steps up to the sink and washes her hands.

  “Nah, I got this.”

  “Do you mind if I watch TV?”

  “Nope, just gimme one second to finish this, and I can set it up for you.”

  Her face lights up. “Okay. I like Project Mc2. It’s on Netflix.”

  A few minutes later, she’s snuggled up on the couch across from the kitchen, her eyes drifting closed almost immediately. But then she’s upright and on the edge of the couch with her elbows on her knees. Celia is a great kid. I think I might be better at this adult kid thing than I realize.

  You mean, dad thing?

  Step-dad. Celia has a father, I remind myself. But I allow the fantasy to continue as I stir in the cheeses, salt, and pepper. What if Minka was here with me every night? Well, not here. We’d get our own place. Too bad Maybelle sold Royston’s old place. I need to be near the water. I feel my brows rise. Am I really thinking about settling down here in Mayfield?

  After I pour the cheese over the pasta and toss the covered dish in the oven, I get a text from Minka.

  How’s it going?

  Me: Great. Dinner will be ready in forty minutes. Celia’s watching Project Mc2. I thought she might fall asleep.

  Minka: I could use a nap.

  Me: I’ll take a nap with you.

  Minka: I have a feeling that the word nap means not napping in your vocab.

  Me: Maaayyybbbbeee

  Minka: LOL. I’m out the door with a bottle of wine. Tyler insisted.

  Me: Sounds like Tyler. See you soon.

  Minka: Can’t wait. I missed you.

  Me: Miss you more.

  Minka

  “Hello, anybody home?”

  “Perfect timing, I’m just getting the pasta out of the oven.” Wes’ voice filters through the kitchen and floats down the hallway.

  “Mom, I made salad. Look.” Celia gestures to the table where the three bowls of mixed greens sit, ready to be served.

  “Nice job, Cece. Looks yummy.” I give her a big hug and kiss her cheek.

  When Celia carries the dishes into the dining room, Wes takes my bags and drops them to the floor. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “You too. This all smells amazing.”

  “You smell amazing, like syrup and bacon,” he tells me, and his fingers dig into my waist.

  I giggle. “The way to a man’s heart . . . food.” As I realize what I just said, I want to take the words and snatch them back. But they hang in the air for what seems like an eternity. Wes doesn’t get a chance to say anything because Celia’s back to grab the silverware and napkins.

  Shrugging off my embarrassment, I turn to my daughter. “You’re so grown up, honey. Setting the table and all.”

  “Wes asked me if I could help, and it’s been fun. He let me make the salads all by myself. Even let me cut the cherry tomatoes for the pasta.”

  My gaze shifts to Wes.

  He shrugs. “I supervised the entire time. She’s very safe with a knife.”

  Celia laughs. “Yeah, chill out, Mom.”

  “Wine?” Wes asks and pops the cork on the bottle I brought.

  “Yes, please.”

  I take a moment to drink in his body. The gray T-shirt Wes is wearing clings to his muscles, every single one of them, and his black shorts show off his tan and sculpted legs.

  He is pure masculine perfection, and he cooks.

  He cooks!

  Celia comes back into the kitchen, and she bumps his elbow with her shoulder. They’re laughing and whispering about something, and I can’t help the smile that breaks across my lips.

  I take a long sip of wine and let the fantasy of the three of us here, making dinner together and laughing roll around in my head.

  It’s a nice picture.

  A really nice picture.

  But I have my daughter to think about, and despite the fact that she’s happy for now, would she be happy here permanently. Far away from her friends. Away from her dad.

  Noah barely has time for her, but once every eight weeks.

  You’re the primary parent.

  Give yourself some credit . . . or a break.

  Or the life you want.

  What do I want? Do I want California and the book deal and my own show? Or do I want a life here with Cardwell Bourbon? A life with Wes.

  “I have a sleepover tomorrow, Wes,” Celia singsongs.

  “Well, that’s pretty cool. What are you gals going to be up to? Calling boys and eating too much sugar,” he jokes and
bumps her arm with his fist.

  She laughs. “Boys. No way.”

  “Better not be any boys,” I waggle my finger at my daughter and Wes laughs.

  “Come on, dinner’s ready,” Wes says and grabs the bottle of wine off the counter.

  Celia refills her water glass and then grasps my arm, dragging me toward the table. As we dig into our salads, Celia and Wes fill me in on their day.

  After Celia clears the salad plates, we dive into the pasta. And it’s freaking delicious.

  “Wes, this is really good,” I say in between forkfuls. “I mean really delicious.”

  Wes leans forward. “That’s quite the compliment coming from The Preppy Baker.”

  Blush creeps up the back of my neck. “Oh, jeez. You are too much.”

  After dinner, the three of us cleared our plates. Wes worked on putting up the leftovers, which wasn’t much. Celia loaded the dishwasher and I wiped down the table and then washed the few dishes that remained.

  I don’t kiss Wes goodbye because I feel like Celia’s watching us closely. Maybe it’s all in my head.

  On Saturday, I don’t see Wes at all, and I barely hear from him—just a short text at noon letting me know how swamped he and Theo are at the farmers market.

  I should’ve taken Celia. She would’ve loved all the booths and attractions. Maybe next weekend?

  There are so many things I want to do with Celia here in Mayfield, but the clock is winding down.

  As I busy myself with cleaning the bathrooms, I think about the Love and Dine offer. Then there’s Brant’s offer to consider. I have no idea what I’ll do.

  Give yourself a break. It’s been less than twenty-four hours.

  After I get the laundry folded and put away, I pick up lunch from down the street at Thistle and Ivy. As the day goes on, I realize how much I miss Wes. Since I’ve been here, we’ve spent every weekend together.

  Mostly that meant staying in—in each other’s arms. Clothing optional.

  Knowing that I’ll see him tomorrow lifts my mood. I ordered two turkey and Gruyère sandwiches along with pommes frites.

  “Mom, do you think we’ll still be here for my birthday?” Celia asks as she sets the table for our lunch.

  “Yep, my contract is up the week before you head back to school.”

  “Great, I want to have a pancakes and pajamas sleepover party.”

  I clear my throat. “A sleepover? Here? How many people are you thinking?”

  “Well, I’ve made a few new friends at day camp. I was thinking Savannah, Kaylee, Lily-Grace, Colleen, and Kinsey.”

  Six girls in this apartment?

  Celia swipes her iPad to life. “Look, Mom, this is what I’d like to have for my party.”

  Holy cow. This is pretty much on par with the parties she’s had in the past, but usually I have more time to plan. And this year, I was planning on having a party after school started.

  “Um, are you sure you want to have a birthday party here, instead of with your friends back home?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I really like my new friends.”

  Relief washes through me, realizing that Celia has found friends that she’ll be spending her special day with. Maybe this is a sign.

  “Well, if this is what you want, then I’ll do my very best to make it happen.”

  “Yay!” She jumps up and hugs me. “You’re the best mom ever.”

  “Well, I try.” I twist the gold bangle around my wrist. “I guess I better get to work planning.”

  “Can I call my friends and invite them now?”

  “How about we finish our lunch and talk about the date and time first?”

  She nods and dives back into her sandwich. “Okay.”

  For Celia’s party, I think a Friday night will work out better than a Saturday night since most of the girls have church and Sunday school. And I don’t want to make them go to bed early or rush them off in the morning.

  I swipe through the pictures that Celia saved and make notes. Pretty confident I can pull this off. I can make the cake a few nights in advance. I’ll get donuts from that cute bakery in Smyrna Hills. Oh, and I bet I can order some dessert jars from Sage. That will be a fun treat.

  I clean up the kitchen and my gaze flicks to the clock on the wall.

  “Are you all packed for your sleepover at Savannah’s?” I call out and make my way toward her room.

  “Yep.”

  “Toothbrush? Pajamas?”

  “Yes, Mom,” she drawls.

  “Okay. Time to go,” I tell her and swipe my handbag from the hallway credenza.

  It’s about a fifteen-minute trip to Savannah’s place. They live in the country, not too far from Haven and Tyler’s place. It’s getting easier and easier to navigate my way around here. It’s definitely a lot easier than it is in Los Angeles. And the lack of traffic is such sweet relief.

  I walk Celia to the door and Keely invites me in for an iced tea, but I politely decline when my daughter spills the beans about her birthday party and all the work I need to get done.

  Keely checks her calendar and lets me know that Savannah is available.

  At least there will be one guest.

  The sun is shining and it’s a warm eighty-degree day. This would be a great day for the beach, I think to myself.

  I flick my turn signal and pull into the small parking garage next to Brant’s building. Once I step off the elevator onto my floor, my eyes go wide when I see Wes standing outside my door.

  Holy fuck my life.

  He’s dressed in a pair of black shorts and a vintage R.E.M. concert T-shirt. Wes smiles and waves at me. Oh jeez, he’s working every one of my cells and sending little tremors right to my lady parts.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he calls out and brings a hand to the back of my neck. He kisses me, and I melt into him.

  “This is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

  “I was thinking, since Celia’s having a sleepover tonight, we could have one of our own.”

  I laugh. “Sounds good to me.”

  “But first, how about you change into a swimsuit and pack a bag?”

  I unlock the door to my apartment, and we walk inside. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  “You and me. A couple of rafts and a lazy afternoon on the lake. Then I thought we’d grill a couple of steaks. I’ve got baked potatoes too.”

  “That’s very enticing. But . . .”

  He smacks my ass. “Go change and pack a bag. I’ll wait.”

  “Fine.” I strip out of my clothes and slide my bikini bottoms up my legs. Once I hook the clasp of my top, I stare into my closet and grab an outfit for tomorrow. Not that I’ll need them, but I toss my pajamas into my bag too.

  After I gather up all my toiletries, I raid my dresser for a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Once packed, I walk into the kitchen where I find Wes reading over my notes for Celia’s party.

  “This looks like quite the birthday party,” he says.

  “Yeah, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  “I’ll say.” He looks around the apartment and back at the iPad screen. “Why don’t you have the party at the lake house.”

  I cock a brow. “Your lake house?”

  He nods. “Yeah, why not? I’ve got plenty of room.”

  I sling my bag onto the kitchen island. “Oh, Wes, trust me, you do not want a house full of ten-year-olds running around. I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night.”

  Wes holds out his hand, and I walk toward him. “If I’m with you, then it’s a great night. And I’ll help too.” He twines our fingers together. My entire body warms at the simple touch.

  “That’s really sweet, but I’ve been doing this a long time by myself.”

  A wide smile spreads across his face. “Right, and I know you’re totally capable. But you don’t have to, as long as I’m around.”

  The thoughtfulness of his words has me swallowing back the sweet ache. “I might have to enlist you
r help from across the country with that kind of offer.”

  “You just call me, and I’ll be on the next flight out.”

  Back to the reality that our separate lives our miles and miles apart.

  But they don’t have to be.

  I push down the thoughts and return my focus to the here and now. Which is right where I want to be.

  Wes

  “It’s so gorgeous out here,” Minka says from the glittery pink and gold inner tube she’s lounging on.

  I tip back my beer. “My solitude.”

  We floated from the dock to the other side of the lake where the sandbar is located. I packed a cooler with beers, seltzers, and some snacks and tossed it into my canoe. I’ve got my raft tied to the canoe.

  “I can see why this gives you such peace.”

  “What do you prefer, this or the ocean?”

  She shifts and tips her chin up. “I’ll take both.”

  I paddle toward her. “I thought you might like it here. You ready to jump in?”

  She laughs and takes a drink. “Not yet, I’m still soaking up the sun.”

  Minka is wearing that same bikini she wore in Hawaii. She adjusts the straps and her glorious tits shake beneath the fabric. My eyes shut and I try ridiculously hard not to think about her naked. How easy it would be to pull the cups away and wrap my lips around her nipples.

  I dip below and swim under the water toward Minka. When I break the surface near her feet, she laughs and nearly topples over.

  My hands steady the float, and she saves her drink. “This is really nice. Just what I needed.”

  “Lake life, it’s good for the soul.”

  She blows out a heavy breath. Her head falls back. “That it is.”

  Minka is good for my soul. I used to think traveling and moving from one job to another—ranching in Dallas or surfing in Baja—was the food I needed to fill my spirit. Turns out, everything I needed was right here all along. It just took me a long time to figure it out.

  I love spending time with Minka.

  I adore Celia.

  And on top of it all, I love my job. Sure, at first, I was miserable. But there’s so much more to the family business than I realized.

  We have the opportunity to leave something behind for generations to come. Make an impact. So much so, I want to talk to Brant about making a limited edition bourbon where we donate a part of the profits to save the oceans and reefs.