by Piper Rayne
Vera Kay takes the kids to their usual tables to start gathering up their things, nodding towards the kitchen where I assume Scott is.
When I get to the door, he’s standing in front of one of the countertops, big and little shards of robin’s egg blue ceramic scatter before him. Oh no. I had yet to hear the story of why it was so important to the family, but I’ve got a feeling it might have something to do with Emma. “Scott?” He startles at the sound of my voice before reaching over to grab one of the smaller trash cans. “What can I do to help?”
For a long moment, he stares at me, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. When nothing comes out, he shakes his head and turns towards the broken pieces to discard them. “It’s just a bowl,” he says quietly, but the crestfallen look on his face tells me it’s so much more than just a bowl. “Sometimes, things just can’t be fixed, Nova.”
10
Nova
“What are you doing?” Henry’s voice catches me off guard, his eyes trying to figure out what I’m doing.
After the big blowup, Vera Kay told Scott to get the kids home and we’d finish closing up. He didn’t put up a fight, which meant the boys’ behavior and comments had embarrassed him beyond words. Thankfully, no customers were there to witness the scene, but something told me he’d still be mortified either way.
While I was gathering my things to leave, an idea occurred to me about the broken bowl, so I fished out and cleaned up the pieces. Vera Kay helped me glue it back together so I could sprinkle a little magic on it. Coupled with Grey’s delivery this morning and the special request I made from Harper the other day, I can only hope it’ll bring some joy back into the shop—and give a little to them as well. “I know it means a lot to you all, so it’s going to get a bit of a makeover.”
He watches for several minutes as I take my time, making sure the paint is the right consistency. “It belonged to Mom’s grandma. Mom loved it,” his watery voice offers.
That explains a lot. “Well then, we have to make sure it gets put back where it belongs.”
“Why are you painting the cracks gold?”
“It’s called kintsugi,” I explain, not taking my eyes from my work. “In Japan, when something valuable breaks, many people choose not to throw it away.”
“They don’t?”
I glance down at him, noticing his interest in my handiwork. “Nope. They take the broken pieces and make it new again.”
“But why do that to it?” his little finger points to my paintbrush.
“That’s part of the kintsugi process. You bind the pieces back together again, then you paint the cracks and chips with gold, like this. The cracks become a part of the item’s history. Instead of trying to hide it, they choose to highlight them.”
“Even though they’re like scars?” His little hand unconsciously touches the one above his lip—a source of insecurity for him, even though it makes him all the more endearing.
“Don’t you know, Henry? The scars are the best part,” I offer, smiling.
His hand drops as his head lowers with it. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”
“Not at all. Scars add to the beauty of things,” I add, never taking my eyes from the task at hand. “Even people. It makes them unique from everything around them.”
“Really?” His hair brushes my arm as he gets closer to watch the lines disappear under its new gold facade.
“Mmhmm. It means whatever tried to break it failed.”
“Not everyone likes broken things, though.” Uncertainty laces throughout his words.
Bending down to get at his level, I let him know he has my full attention and that I need his. “You’re right. Not everyone can see the beauty in things that are different. But those who can?”—my finger softly brushes the outside rim of his scar—“Those are the kind of friends you want to keep forever.”
He stands still, allowing me to examine it up close. “My friend Kat says she likes my scar,” he finally says.
“It’s one of the many things that makes you amazing, honey.” I gaze into his bright blue eyes. “She’s one smart cookie if already she’s that. You need to hang onto her.”
Warmth bleeds through his hand as he stills the stroking of my finger, holding it in place. “Does that mean I get to keep you around forever, Nova?”
Joy overflows from my heart onto my face, causing a tear to well up. I wrap him in my arms and bask in the acceptance this moment has given to us both. “Only if I can keep you forever, too.”
Scott
Four days have gone by since the disaster that was last Saturday occurred.
The kids continue to mope over Emma’s bowl, and even though I had the boys apologize to Nova and Grey both for their outburst, Clay and Griffin still aren’t speaking to each other. Nova’s been distant, spending her breaks since Saturday texting back and forth with whom I can only assume is Grey Kasen, the lucky bastard. My heart has a few cracks in it for a variety of reasons as well.
It’s my fault. My crabby attitude towards Nova last week didn’t help matters, and it put the kids in the middle. She hasn’t said much the last few days, including what it was she wanted to talk to me about after the game, which is fine. After overhearing the boys’ argument, it’s been hard to talk about anything with her because I’m so embarrassed.
Sleep was hard to find last night as my mind tossed and turned along with my body. Maybe Vera Kay saw that Nova would pair better with him, even though she had dropped hints for weeks that Nova and I had good chemistry, and tried to convince me to take a shot.
I count up all the ways I fall short to Grey Kasen. He’s undeniably a good man, always going above and beyond to help my kids, all of whom look up to him. Well, maybe Clay’s going to need a pep talk now. He’s close to Nova’s age, and although the man stays busy in the community, he doesn’t have the same baggage I do and doesn’t have to plan every moment of every day out.
Not that I regret it, but it does complicate things.
Although, like with many other things in my life, I have to accept my defeat because there’s no way after that big blowup that she’ll give me a chance. I may have lost her to the golden boy of Silverton, but I can’t stand to lose her in our lives because I acted like a semi-jealous asshole. Okay, a fully jealous asshole.
She deserves to be happy, though. If Grey brings her joy, I can keep my feelings to myself and step aside.
First things first, I owe Nova a big apology, which I’ll give to her as soon as I get to Baked & Brewed today. Then, I’m going to prove to her how much we want her in our lives.
Nova agreed to open up this morning, allowing me to take a couple of the kids to the dentist, then back to school. Henry wasn’t feeling too well, so I dropped him off by Vera’s, who said she’d bring him with her to the shop. His sudden illness seems to have more to do with guilt than feeling green around the gills if I’m right.
Still, a day off won’t hurt him as he’s one of the smartest in his class and always makes straight As like Halle. I do worry that his self-consciousness about his scar will cause him an even bigger complex as he gets older, but Vera Kay swears up and down he’ll embrace it when the time is right. She’s also quick to remind me that Hadley’s more than willing to beat the snot out of anyone who makes him feel bad about it, as her suspension in the spring proved.
Entering the shop, I only see Millie Haberdasher sitting in her regular seat. The loud clanging of pots and pans signal where I need to go. Casting a quick wave at Millie, who’s completely engrossed in whatever’s on her laptop, I make my way towards the kitchen area, ready to eat crow when a new sight catches my attention.
A brand-new wooden display shelf, stained to match the cabinetry, sits front and center on the back coffee bar countertop. I’m almost sure none of my kids became carpenters or elves overnight, which means it’s mostly likely Vera Kay’s doing.
Multiple shelves house a set of white plates and cups, with some small houseplants and various
metal decorations scattered in between. I admire the handiwork of the unit, noticing a small Kasen Construction brand on the bottom panel.
Even though it tastes bitter, I swallow my pride, realizing I owe Grey a thank-you for such a thoughtfully crafted item. As I do the mental math on what a unit like this will probably cost me because I can’t accept his charity, my gaze comes to a halt.
On the shelf at eye level, two very special items sit together—a framed pencil sketch of Emma with Harper’s signature on the bottom right-hand corner and the blue bowl that belonged to Emma’s grandmother. Although, the bowl now sports the addition of some gold paint along where the bowl was repaired.
Careful not to cause any damage, I take the bowl from its perch and inspect it, knowing full well these pieces had found a home in the trash can Saturday night.
“Dad?” Henry’s voice startles me, nearly causing me to drop it from my hands. I place it carefully back where I’d found it just a moment ago and turn to address my oddly chipper son.
He sports a big grin, a sight almost as rare as Griffin’s, and starts hammering me with questions and details. “Didn’t Nova do a good job?”
“She sure did,” I acknowledge, happy to see his depressed mood from this morning has lifted. Pointing to the prominent lines on the bowl, I ask, “Is that gold paint?”
“It’s called kentonsugar—or something like that.”
“Kintsugi, dear,” Vera corrects as she passes by, giving us both a look before walking over to Millie’s table with a plate full of biscotti in hand.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he agrees. “And you know what else?”
I nod as if to say I don’t, spurning him on as he points to the golden veins that encase the crack lines now. “Nova says that scars are the best part, just like mine.” His small finger touches his cleft lip scar, something he usually shies away from doing. “That they mean something’s too valuable to be thrown away.”
Nova. Tightness creeps across my chest as my heart swells. If she believes all that she did was restore an old bowl, she’s sorely mistaken. She just might have put some of the pieces of a little boy’s self-esteem back together as well. “Well, she’s right about that.”
Henry looks towards the kitchen, adopting a hushed whisper. “You’re not gonna throw her away, are you, Dad?”
I squint my eyes together, wondering what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”
He sighs as if he shouldn’t have to break things down for dear ol’ Dad. “I want her around for a long time. She’s kind of like the kindersuggin, you know.”
I muffle a laugh at his wild mispronunciations. “And how’s that?”
Taking on a more serious countenance, he stares at me in earnest and says, “Because she brings out the best in all of us.”
11
Nova
After Scott returned yesterday, he found me in the kitchen, elbow-deep in biscotti dough. Things have been strained, to say the least, since my aunt decided to play matchmaker over a week ago at the ballgame. I was worried that he was still in a mood or might even be angry that I had Grey install the shelf he built for the shop, one of the donations given for the Soiree from his dad’s company, Kasen Construction.
That was until he kissed me…
“Scott,” I began while trying to peel the biscotti dough from my fingers, “We need to—”
He closed the distance between us, cupping my face in his hands. “I’m sorry” was all he got out before he drew his lips to mine. Electricity zinged where his soft lips met my glossy ones, releasing all the tension from the past week and building it back with a whole new kind.
“I’m sorry,” he panted. “But I had to do that.” His gray eyes were wild with a hunger I’d never seen in him before.
His forehead rested against mine as the sound of my racing heart filled my ears. “But, I don’t under—”
His kiss silenced me once more. This time, though, I had plans of my own. His fingers dug into my waist as I nipped at his lower lip. A rumbling growl reverberated from his chest, spurring me on. I grabbed his arms, pulling him closer, needing to feel him against me. My backside found the table edge as both our tongues battled for dominance.
He lifted me onto a spot I had just dusted with flour for rolling the dough on. Yet, as his lips and teeth meandered their way down my throat, I couldn’t find a single thread of care in my body.
“Everything about you’s amazing, Nova,” he groaned in my ear as he nipped at my delicate lobe. The nibble on my sensitive nerve endings had me gripping the edge of the counter. A loud clang resounded as a small metal mixing bowl fell from the table from where my hands had flailed about, startling us back to reality.
Once again, his eyes met mine, a satisfied smile spreading over his gorgeous face, his lips puffy and red. The remnants of dough I had left on his attire and arms while clawing at him came into view, making me realize we both must look a sight.
“Is everything all right in here?” Vera Kay asked, walking through the door, not knowing what awaited her. I scurried off the table with his help and tried to calm down the warmth in my cheeks. Flour painted the seat of my pants while Scott had odd patches of sticky, semi-dried dough all over his torso.
Seeing us in this state, my aunt’s expression morphed from concern to confusion, then finally one of understanding.
That Cheshire cat grin Vera wore as we tried to right ourselves like two teens caught making out by a parent. “Don’t mind me,” she quipped in sing-song as she did an about-face and pulled the kitchen door closed behind her.
The heat had hardly dissipated between us, yet at that moment, we did the only thing we could do...
We smiled.
Ever since that moment, that kiss has played over and over in my mind, causing my imagination to run wild thinking about what might’ve happened had we not been caught. It was unexpected, yet exactly what we needed.
It’s been abnormally busy since yesterday afternoon, so we haven’t had a chance to discuss that heated exchange. However, if Scott continues to throw those looks he’s been lopping my way today, we might just have to stay late tonight to work on some other recipes.
Vera and I did have a chance to explain to him the arrangements we had made with the local businesses. Seeing how willing the town was to help out Baked & Brewed in preparation for the Soiree seems to have put his mind at ease that we can indeed pull off a win in December.
On my latest trip around the shop while refilling mugs with a fresh pot, a small blonde head streaks by Millie Haberdasher’s laptop, with big blue eyes trying to catch a few words here and there. Scott has disclosed his worries about Halle snooping weeks ago, but Millie hadn’t taken up his subtle suggestions to sit in the corner booth, away from prying eyes.
Halle snuck back into her chair before Scott turned around at the coffee bar, pretending to be engrossed in her notebook. He was trying to fix a loose piece of flooring, so with Halle and him both distracted, I took my window of opportunity when Millie came out of the restroom.
Picking up the scattered pieces of trash she hadn’t disposed of yet, I lower my voice to where only she and I can hear the conversation. “Miss Millie, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think you should know… Someone was spying on your laptop.”
She looks like she just ate a badly burnt biscotti. “What?” she exclaims, looking around to find the culprit. “You think they’re trying to steal my story?”
I doubt it, but with Halle, everything soaks in. Who knows how that’ll manifest down the road? “Did you have anything important written?”
“Dear heavens,” she laments, clutching her pearls. “It was the climax.”
I shrug, playing it off as nothing. “Well, maybe they won’t know what it is.”
“No, dear. It’s the climax scene. Post-coital bliss.”
The tool Scott had in his hand hits the floor with a loud clang, no doubt from eavesdropping on our conversation. It appears that snooping runs in the family. My chee
ks ache from holding in the giggle that’s dying to escape. “I bet it’s a real scorcher.”
“It’ll melt the lace right off your bosoms,” she explains, waggling her brows.
“That sounds...anyway, have you ever thought about writing in the corner over there? It’s the best seat in the house.”
She glances at the corner and gives me a skeptical glare. “Best seat?”
“Absolutely. Think of all the privacy it would give you. Picture it,” my sales pitch begins, “Your back to the wall, protected so that no one can steal your ideas. And if they try to, you’ll see them coming from a mile away.”
“I guess…”
“But that’s not the best part,” I assure.
“It’s not?”
“The best part is the new mirrors that The Looking Glass just installed this morning. They’re the perfect cover for a spy girl to get the drop on her unsuspecting targets. Don’t you think?”
“Spy girl...” Millie mulls it over.
I look around, pretending to be all discreet. “Didn’t you say the other day that your next novel is going to be about a private eye and his vixen partner?”
When Millie shakes her head, glancing around to see if anyone caught our private exchange, I continue to plead my case. “Millie, you’ll get to put yourself in your character’s shoes. No one will know you’re spying on them because it’ll look as though you’re admiring the mirrors or staring out the windows beside them. You’ll protect your writing and always be in the action. Why if I were a writer, I wouldn’t sit anywhere else in the whole place.”
“Scott Baker, why have you been keeping this special seat away from me?” she demands to know, the intensity in her tone enough to make a person believe that’s how things went down for real.