by Cara Dee
Christ, they must’ve spent their first years in constant panic.
Darius was right. He’d once told me all people were shit, no matter the gender.
“Hey, I didn’t tell you to upset you.” Pipsqueak made a face and glanced at me with concern. “I just wanted you to know I could relate a little. You’re nothing like your mother. That little girl is going to love you so much, and you will deserve every bit of it.”
I exhaled and tried to unclench. “I’m sorry that happened to you and Willow, though.”
She smiled slightly. “It brought us to the Quinns.”
And to me. Today, I didn’t know what I’d do without Pipsqueak. She’d become an indispensable part of my life.
“I’m thankful for that.” I held up the pictures. “Do you want one of these? I’m going to put one in my wallet, one on my nightstand, and one on the fridge.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I do.” She grinned giddily, and I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “By the way, if you hire a babysitter who isn’t me, I’ll be royally pissed.”
I chuckled and handed her one of the two images where the baby’s face was visible. “That’ll be one hell of a commute for you once you’re in San Francisco.”
I was finally coming to terms with Pipsqueak growing up, just in time for her to start her senior year in high school. And around this time next year, she was moving to California to stay with Ryan.
“Before I move—and when I’m home to visit,” she amended and accepted the picture. She smiled at it. “I’ll ask Dad to laminate it. Thank you, Mister.”
“Anytime, Pipsqueak.” Next, I threw a glance at the kitchen counter and asked, “Don’t you have a lot to do?”
The annual harvest festival in town was coming up, and Pipsqueak would be one of the approximately two hundred vendors. Well, it used to be a harvest festival, but it had moved from fall to the end of summer to attract more tourists. Tens of thousands of people showed up every year to try beer from local breweries, send their kids on expensive rides, partake in the apple contest, and eat and drink too much. Hopefully, they’d buy a truckload of Pipsqueak’s chocolate this year too.
“I do, but I gotta wait till tomorrow,” Pipsqueak replied. “Darius is coming over to install an extra fridge in the garage tomorrow morning.”
Wow. “You’ve already filled the other two?”
It’d been her birthday present from her folks this year. Once I’d gotten her the larger tempering machine, Pipsqueak had begged and pleaded to be a festival vendor, so Mary and James had agreed to pay for the table—or tent, rather—and the rental of equipment. Which apparently included three big fridges.
“Ethan thinks I might need more.” Pipsqueak widened her eyes at me. Then she left the table and went over to the counter and dug through the cardboard box. “I don’t know if he’s messing with me because he’s irritated with me, or if he genuinely thinks I’m gonna sell that many.”
“Why is he irritated?”
“Because I want to charge fifty cents a piece, and he thinks they should be a dollar.” She returned to the table and handed me a…ah, her menu for the festival. Or the selection she would be selling.
“Well, what does it cost you to make one?” I asked, squinting at the items. She’d given each treat its own name, but I focused on the fillings. Strawberry cream, lemon cheesecake, salted caramel, French nougat…
“Um, about thirty cents if I include the time it takes to make it,” she replied.
“And you definitely should,” I told her. “What about the rental of the equipment? The customers won’t know it was a birthday present from your folks.” I could tell by her expression that she hadn’t considered that. “You have to include every expense. The time you put in, the supplies, the equipment—and, one day, rent, tax, and the cost of everything you’ll pay to get your store up and running.” I paused. “Don’t forget your education either—it won’t be cheap. When you start your own business, you’ll be in the red for years to come. So, you have to add that to the price of the product.”
She frowned to herself.
“Ethan is right. You should charge a dollar.” It wasn’t an outrageous cost for artisanal treats anyway.
“That’s what professionals charge at chocolatiers. I’m not a professional, Avery.”
“You still need a profit margin, hon. I suggest you try it for three days—and throw in some festival offers. Assortments. Maybe a dozen pieces for the price of ten, and so on. And if that doesn’t work, you can make some changes for the remaining four days.” I returned to scanning the fillings of the various treats. S’mores, toffee crisp… My brows went up when I saw she’d named one The Mister. “You named a truffle after me?”
“Huh? Oh—yeah.” She grinned sheepishly. “It’s for those poor suckers who were born without a sweet tooth. The shell is dark chocolate, eighty-eight percent, and it has a ganache filling with dark toffee crisp and whiskey.”
Hot fucking damn, that sounded good. To the point where my mouth watered a little.
“You make me sound delicious,” I joked, and she giggled. “I’m offended you haven’t used me as a guinea pig.”
She shrugged lightly and smiled. “You know where to find me. You’re the one who said you didn’t like chocolate. If you suddenly want to try it, you have to say something.”
Oh, so that’s what’s up.
I guessed that was fair.
“I’ll be first in line on Saturday when the festival begins,” I promised.
She grinned. “Is that before or after you get an eye exam to see if you need glasses, Mr. Squinter?”
I narrowed my eyes. That smug little—
“Yeah, just like that!” she laughed.
I huffed.
That first Saturday of the festival turned out to be something I’d needed more than I’d thought. After helping Pipsqueak set up her tent on the busiest street for vendors, Darius, Ethan, and I left her with James and Mary to grab an early lunch.
The sun was beaming down on the crowded cobblestone streets of the Valley, and we ended up at a barbecue place’s outdoor seating area. Darius and I didn’t give a fuck about the time and ordered beer with our ribs, whereas Ethan—that fucking health freak—ordered water with his chicken salad.
One beer turned into two and three and four.
“You’re acting like it’s the last time we meet up,” Ethan bitched. “The dude’s having a kid—he’s not moving to Mars.”
I laughed and slid down my shades from the top of my head.
“What’s the difference?” Darius demanded. “I’m serious—hear me out. This is how it’s gonna go. The first year, he’ll be understandably tired, and he’ll be boring as fuck.”
“Hey!” I got defensive.
“Shut up,” he told me, then turned to Ethan again. “When the kid is around two, Ave will wake up one morning with a shitload of energy. He’ll call us up, we’ll make plans to go out, and he’ll get wasted after two beers because he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol since the baby was born. He’ll be in bed by eleven.”
I snorted and shook my head.
“He’ll come out a few more times,” Darius went on. “He’ll push himself ’cause he doesn’t wanna be that guy—he’s too young, he’ll think. But then after another Friday at the bar, he’ll give up. He’ll come to terms with the fact that he’s not young anymore, and that’s it. He’ll meet someone. He’ll have another couple crumb snatchers, because why not?”
“Jesus Christ, I thought you were supposed to be good at profiling people,” I muttered into my glass.
He shot me a wolfish look. “Oh, I am. Mark my words, buddy. This is it for you.”
Ethan shook his head in amusement and finished his water. “I don’t know if Darius is right or wrong, but that’s why I’m never having kids.”
“Me either,” Darius agreed. “I mean, that ain’t the reason, but fuck no. I ain’t settling down either.”
Ethan chuckled. “I
doubt any of us are settling down. Our success rate with women…”
I laughed under my breath.
Darius smirked. “We’re no grand prizes.”
True.
“Speak for yourself,” Ethan scoffed. “I’m a perfect ten.”
“You’re modest too, princess,” I told him.
He waved that off and eyed the server who came over to our table and asked if we wanted another round. We exchanged a look, all of us reckoning it was time to check in with Pipsqueak. So, we asked for the check, and Darius said today was on him.
“Why? Don’t be stupid.” I reached for my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans.
“I’m not stupid,” he said. “Despite what I said, I’m happy for you. That girl of yours will be lucky to have you as a dad, and she’ll have a handful of uncles to teach her how to knock down boys.”
I smiled, humbled by his words. “I appreciate that.”
He side-eyed Ethan. “Except you—you can pay for your own rabbit food, little brother.”
We cracked up.
On our way back toward Hemlock Avenue where Pipsqueak was, Darius announced his plans to retire from his field. These days, I knew a bit more about his work, and the second he’d admitted he was a private military contractor, I’d been waiting impatiently. I didn’t want another gravesite to visit.
“I’ll need another year or two,” he warned. “I’m not retiring tomorrow.”
“One or two is better than ten or eleven,” I settled for saying. The street was too crowded, making it difficult to carry on a conversation. It was a good thing traffic was diverted during this week. If I wasn’t one step away from walking into someone, I was a second away from being plowed down by a stroller.
Shit, that would be me next year. I’d be the fucker with a stroller.
“Goddamn, check out that line,” Ethan said.
I followed his gaze and grinned when I spotted all the people at Pipsqueak’s tent. Poor James, he’d thought he’d sit in the background and read a book in the shade. Now he was assisting his wife and daughter for all his worth.
“Let’s go help them,” I replied.
We maneuvered our way through the crowd and ducked in between two tents, and James was quick to announce that his shift was over. Darius and I chuckled and took over for him while Ethan took the tray of samples from atop the glass counter to lure more people into the line.
“Do you need a break, sweetheart?” I asked for only Pipsqueak to hear.
She shook her head quickly, focused on filling a gift box with truffles. “In the zone, can’t talk.”
Very well, then.
I relieved Mary from the “money math,” as she so eloquently put it, and I creased my forehead as she tried to hand me her calculator.
She merely snorted and eased back to where James was seated.
The double counter looked exactly like the ones used at ice cream parlors, but instead of ice cream tubs, there were trays upon trays with chocolate treats. I just appreciated the cool air breezing out of it.
When someone in line asked a very busy Pipsqueak if she’d really made all the chocolates herself, Darius did his job as her brother to talk her up. Probably sensing that she was too overwhelmed to speak, he made her flush as he bragged about her hard work and how the proceeds were going straight into her college fund. She’d prepared for this all summer, he said.
For the next few hours, it was hectic, to say the least.
Pipsqueak was raking it in, and we were all incredibly proud of her.
Ethan had to run home to get more of Strawberry Summer and The Mister, so people were clearly enjoying my flavor.
I’d finally tried it this morning, and I could honestly say I’d never enjoyed anything dessert-like as much as I liked that one. There was a box of a dozen pieces hidden under the counter that I’d bought for myself. And I seriously hadn’t bought it just to support her new business. The taste of whiskey and dark chocolate and toffee had fucking melted in my mouth.
It’d been a brilliant move on her part too. From a marketing point of view. I’d lost count of the women who’d added a couple of The Mister for their husbands, and whenever a guy came up, that one was the immediate pick.
The line became shorter and shorter as the sun dipped lower, replacing the families and shoppers with a new crowd. Those who were in the Valley to have dinner and party.
Pipsqueak took a much-needed break and turned to me with a look I’d only seen in Willow’s eyes before. She was frustrated, beyond overwhelmed, and ready to plead. So, I pulled her in for a hug and squeezed her as hard as I could.
“Thank you,” she rasped.
“Don’t mention it.” I ushered her to the back of the tent and exchanged a quick glance with Mary. A subtle shake of my head to let her know she didn’t have to swoop in. To which she nodded and took our place up at the counter in case stragglers stopped by.
Darius had stepped out to get us some coffee, and James was dozing off in his chair.
Must be nice to be able to fall asleep anywhere.
“You outdid yourself today,” I murmured against the top of Pipsqueak’s head. “I think you need a selection for—what did you call us?—poor suckers born without a sweet tooth.”
She chuckled shakily. “Already thought of that.”
I smiled into her hair. “Of course you have.”
“Darius requested one with coffee in it.”
“I’d definitely get that.” It sounded good. “I’m so proud of you.”
She let out a breath, and some of the tension began to leave her shoulders.
So, that was one day down and six to go.
Sixteen
“That’s a shitload of material, Mr. B!”
“Wait, so we’re gonna read all this?”
“Mr. Becker—”
“Save your bitching for Mr. Hayashi,” I ordered, referring to the substitute teacher who would cover for me soon. By a stroke of sheer luck, one of my old professors from college had responded when I’d put out feelers in the community about my upcoming paternity leave. Kin Hayashi had more degrees than anyone I knew, and my students didn’t know how fortunate they were to have him fill in for me. He’d retired a few years ago but was bored out of his mind.
I was a decent history teacher, but my specialty and passion lay in civics and economics, so my two classes of seniors were about to get treated to something my previous classes hadn’t. A world-class history professor. Which was why I’d managed to convince our principal to put history in the first semester—along with geography. I didn’t want to waste Mr. Hayashi’s brilliant mind.
After I’d finished handing out the lists of reading material, I leaned back against my desk and folded my arms over my chest.
“As mentioned, I’ll stop by before the semester is over,” I said, “but Mr. Hayashi will be in charge. This is his list I’m handing out. You will treat him with respect, and you will do yourselves a big fucking favor and listen to every word he says. Any questions?”
Trisha raised her hand, and I nodded at her.
“When you stop by for a visit, can you bring your baby?”
I lifted my brows as several of the girls gushed in agreement. “Uh, no.”
Another hand flew into the air.
I suppressed a sigh. “Yes, Ms. Washington.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked excitedly.
I already felt bad for Mr. Hayashi.
That said…I couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. “It’s a girl.”
“Hey—precious cargo. Can you let me get the damn door?” I understood that Taylor had wanted to distance herself from the pregnancy, but she couldn’t walk around and act like there wasn’t a baby inside her.
We were down to the last two weeks.
Today was the first time I got to accompany her to the doctor.
I rounded the car and extended a hand to her, ignoring her stubborn scowl, and I helped her out.
Since I knew she’d been uncomfortable the one time she’d let me touch her stomach, I had to settle for watching it a lot. And it seemed it expanded every time I blinked. Add a thick jacket, and she was all belly. A waddling little nest for the baby.
I did my best to keep pretty much every emotion and thought to myself, as difficult as it was becoming. But it was a way to protect myself too. It was the baby, not my daughter. I read about what to expect every single day, but I had yet to buy anything I needed for her arrival. Because part of me was still scared shitless that this wasn’t going to happen. And I didn’t know why. Taylor had kept her word about everything thus far.
We made our way into the private hospital where Taylor would deliver the baby. It was small, everyone had a private suite, the staff greeted patients by name at the entrance, and I was sure it cost an arm and a leg.
I’d offered to pay for the whole thing, considering she was doing this for me, and she’d declined. She’d said this was for her too. She wanted the best of the best, she wanted to be as comfortable as possible, she wanted privacy.
She’d added in a half-guilty tone that I would be the one taking care of the baby for the rest of my life. Because once she’d signed away her rights, she was gone.
I didn’t mind that part anymore. Even though I didn’t judge her for anything, or have any ill feelings toward her, it’d become abundantly clear that we had nothing in common. Screw not being on the same page in life; she and I didn’t exist in the same book. Or bookcase.
Dr. Samantha Thompson was expecting us and gestured toward her exam room with a kind smile, and I was glad Taylor had told her about our situation already. Right now, all I could focus on was the ultrasound. I’d never been to one before. I didn’t know what to expect other than what I’d read.