It wasn’t that she wanted to go to the pub with Callan. Despite telling Brendon she’d try and get him down, she’d not really considered it, preferring to give Callan his space. To keep her distance. But the way he’d been so quick to not even consider it? Like the idea was completely repulsive?
The little girl in her, the part she’d long ago locked away, wrapped her arms tighter around herself at the rejection, hoping the simple act would protect her from yet another person not finding her good enough or fun enough or wonderful enough to spend time with.
‘No? Just like that? Callan, it’s been nearly a year since you went anywhere that wasn’t to the shops for food or to get something for Mia.’ Margo’s tone was firm, but kind. ‘If I’m wrong, please enlighten me.’ She dipped her chin and raised her brows, awaiting his response.
Callan huffed out a breath so forceful Josie was sure she saw steam blooming in the air.
‘I haven’t needed to go to the pub. Haven’t had time. You know that.’ His words were measured. Too measured.
Josie’s heart seized as a thought occurred. Was Mia going to end up experiencing a similar childhood to Josie? Was Callan’s grief going to send him down the same path as her father?
He was doing his best, trying to be present, but she’d seen the strain in his eyes. Would doing everything on his own, one day, become too much? Cause him to further withdraw from those who cared for him? Mia included?
Would Mia one day do as Josie had done and beg her father to see reason? To try to get him to understand that putting their lives on hold was holding them back from growing, from healing. That he was better focusing on the future than miserably dwelling on the past. Words her father had chosen to ignore. Words that had caused the emotional fissure that separated them to further expand.
Margo took a step towards Callan and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. ‘I understand. I do. You’ve taken a lot on in the last year. Putting a hold on your own business in order to run the bakery. Being the sole carer for Mia. But now you’ve Josie on board and she can help. She already is. Josie, tell me dear, are there enough cakes and slices and whatnot out back to open the bakery with tomorrow morning?’
Callan widened his eyes at Josie, silently asking her to back him up. To give him an excuse to sit at home with Mia, but very much alone.
For a split-second Josie saw a different man. One with hair that had begun to grey prematurely. One with deep lines bracketing his mouth, running the length between his brows and across his forehead. Furtive eyes that flicked to the door like he was waiting for someone to knock … or return home.
She couldn’t let Callan become her father. She could understand his mourning his wife’s passing, but putting his life on hold? He might think it was a good idea, but Josie knew it wasn’t. Mia was young now, but she’d soon grow up and realise something was amiss. Begin to feel she wasn’t enough for her father. That she couldn’t make him happy.
Mia deserved more. As did Callan.
She tore her gaze from Callan’s penetrating pleading. ‘Plenty, Margo. And I’m happy to start even earlier if Callan’s concerned we’ll run out.’
‘Bu—’
Josie wasn’t going to let Callan back out of this. He needed to break out of his routine. Needed to remember his life hadn’t died with his wife. ‘Besides, it would be nice to get to know some of the locals properly. I didn’t spend too much time chatting to them when I was staying at the pub. Kept myself to myself in case I didn’t get this job. But now that I’m here to stay …’ Josie forgave herself the fib. Why let a white lie get in the way of saving a man from himself? ‘I should get to know them. And, Callan, with you by my side it’ll make the whole process easier. Oh, and Brendon misses you.’
‘Misses me?’ Callan’s eyebrows arrowed together.
‘Terrible choice of words. I made it sound like he’s been pining after you.’ Josie flapped Callan’s consternation away. ‘All he said is that he’s not seen you around and that it would be good to see you. The opportunity to do so is being handed to us on a plate, so we could hardly let him down, could we?’
‘Exactly.’ Margo pulled out the chair opposite Mia’s and picked up one of the crayons scattered on the table, twisting and twirling it between her fingers. ‘What do you think, Mia? Should your daddy and Josie go out and have some fun.’
‘Margo.’
The steel with which Callan stated Margo’s name set Josie on edge. Had they pushed things too far? Cornered him into doing something he truly didn’t want to do?
‘Daddy.’
The edge was there, but the voice was sweeter, and every bit as determined.
‘It’s funny how very much like us they can sound at times, isn’t it?’ Margo winked at Mia, who enthusiastically nodded.
‘When I’m about to be in big trouble that’s how Daddy says my name.’ Mia shrugged before returning her attention to her colouring in.
Callan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. ‘If I go out can we make it quick? Just one. Then home again. It’s a big de—’
‘I understand.’ Margo set the crayon down and sat back in her chair. ‘Trust me. But hiding away isn’t doing anyone any favours. It took me an age to get out and about, but it was the best thing I could do.’
Josie picked up the stack of trays. ‘Just one drink. I promise. We’ll be back before Mia’s bedtime.’
‘And if you’re not, that’s fine, too. Mia and I will have a great time together. Won’t we, poppet?’ Margo reached over and patted Mia’s forearm. ‘Besides, you’re doing me a favour. If I’m lucky I’ll be a grandmother one day and this is excellent practice.’
‘You have two kids, remember?’ Callan sunk down to Mia’s level. ‘You hardly need practice at taking care of one.’
‘Motherhood and grandmotherhood are two very different things, I’ll have you know. Being a mother means being firm and fair. Being a grandmother means getting to spoil the heck out of a little one without dealing with the consequences.’ Margo winked at Mia, who returned the wink with a butter-wouldn’t-melt grin.
‘She’s already had a cupcake, so keep treats to a minimum.’ Callan shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan chinos and huffed out a deep breath. ‘Well then, I guess I’ll go upstairs and grab my wallet …’
He paused, like he was waiting for a fairy godmother to swoop in and save him from having to socialise.
‘Right you should. Now, scoot.’ Margo waved her hand in the direction of the door with mock impatience.
Josie bit the inside of her cheek to stop the laugh that was caught in her throat from escaping. If Callan was after an anti-fun fairy godmother, he was out of luck. The one life had sent his way was determined he was to enjoy himself, whether he wanted to or not.
‘Stop looking so pleased with yourself.’
Josie picked up the pile of trays and turned to Margo, whose pretend glare was still in place. ‘Who? Me? Pleased with myself? Not at all. More like pleased with you.’
Margo widened her eyes and angled her head in Mia’s direction. ‘Shall we have a chat out back?’
Before Josie could answer, Margo had her by the elbow and was guiding her into the kitchen towards the kitchen sink.
‘Dump the trays. Turn the tap on. We need to mask our conversation.’
Margo’s tone was low, serious. Like she meant business. Once again, Josie had to bite back a giggle. Anyone would think they were planning a kidnapping. Which, in some ways, they kind of were.
She dumped the trays into the kitchen sink, turned on the hot water, squirted them with a blob of dishwashing liquid, picked up the scrubber and began to clean them vigorously, hoping the scratching of nylon on plastic would help keep their conversation under wraps.
‘Our work here is not done.’ Margo picked up a tea towel. ‘I’ve done my part. Got him out the door. Now it’s up to you to make sure he doesn’t down a pint and leave in ten minutes. Get him talking. Make him engage with others. Help him remember there’s l
ife outside of these four walls. Bonus points if you can get him playing darts.’
Josie passed her a soapy tray. ‘If I can get him to stay for more than twenty minutes I’ll already deserve bonus points. He looked like he’d rather be dropped into a vat of hot oil than go to the pub with me.’
Margo patted Josie’s forearm and clucked her tongue. ‘Don’t take it personally. He’s been rebuffing me for months. I started trying to get him out and about six months ago. Lucky I’ve got tough skin or I’d have given up long ago.’
Josie watched the soap bubbles burst and hoped they weren’t a sign of the night to come. If this was as big a step as Margo said it was then she had to make it a success. If she could walk away from the village knowing she’d made a difference to Callan, knowing she’d helped him heal in a way her father never had, that Mia’s father wasn’t going to ignore her in favour of wallowing in the past the way Josie’s had, then her time in Sunnycombe would’ve been worthwhile.
‘I’ll do my best to keep him out, Margo. Promise. I won’t let your persistence be wasted.’
‘Thank you, Josie.’
Margo pulled her into a side hug, one that was floral-scented and soft, homely. Josie was tempted to melt into it but she knew better. She was already walking a fine enough line becoming involved in Callan and Mia’s life. In conspiring with Margo. She had to keep some barriers up, even if for one brief moment in time she really didn’t want to.
‘You two look cosy over there. Planning to railroad me into doing something else?’
Josie passed the last tray to Margo to dry and twisted round to see Callan filling the doorway that led up to his flat. With his wavy hair freshly combed and parted to one side, a hint of stubble and his ridiculously sharp jawline, emphasised by the upturned collar of his navy pea coat, he looked like an old-school Hollywood matinée idol.
Definitely chat-up worthy. If he were anyone other than Callan Stewart. Recent widower. Father of one. Employer.
Utterly handsome. Totally untouchable.
A subtle dig to the ribs from Margo’s direction brought Josie to her senses. Perving on the boss was a no-go, even if it was just a general, non-lusty appreciation.
‘No, no plans to railroad you into anything else. We were just chatting about the upcoming Christmas festivities. Isn’t that right, Josie?’
Josie nodded and mentally added Christmas festivities and what that involved to her list of pub conversation topics to keep Callan occupied. A list that was so short, that was the only thing on it. She unhooked her black puffer jacket from the coat stand and jammed her arms into it, pulled her yellow and white polka dot hat down over her ears, then wrapped the matching woollen scarf around her neck and up over her chin.
Josie glanced up at Callan ready to give him the nod of ‘let’s go’, glanced away and then looked back again. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? Callan wearing a bright pink pompom hat, shot through with glittery silver strands?
‘You can laugh. I won’t be offended.’ He tugged the slightly-too-small hat down further, then gave it one final yank, so that it just covered the top of his ears.
‘Not going to laugh. I’m too busy thinking I’m having a turn. Are you really wearing that to the pub?’ Josie resisted the temptation to reach up and flick the pompom. ‘Are you hoping to be laughed out before you even get to order a beer? Is that your plan to get out of this?’
Callan’s nose straightened in a prim and proper manner. ‘I’ll have you know that real men can wear whatever they want, and not be afraid of what others might think or say.’
‘Aha.’ Josie looped her turquoise cross-body bag over her shoulders. ‘Sure they can. But I’ll bet a round of drinks that you’re going to take it off just before we head indoors.’
‘I’m going to enjoy my free beer.’ Callan’s lips kicked up in a smug smile. ‘Shall we go? The sooner we leave, the sooner I’m back.’
‘We shall.’ Josie made her way to the front of the bakery, with Margo in tow.
Seeing Callan walk into the pub wearing a pink pompom hat was totally worth a round of drinks. Two even. Not only had it lightened the mood between them, it would be a talking point at the pub.
‘Right then.’ Margo clapped her hands together authoritatively. ‘You two have a good time. And don’t forget, if you choose to stay out later that’s fine. I can put Mia to bed.’
Callan raised two fingers to his forehead in a salute. ‘Roger that. But don’t hold your breath.’
With a kiss from Callan to Mia and a wave, they stepped out into the lightly drizzling night. The precipitation so fine it looked like tiny diamonds in the lamp light, giving the village a magical quality.
Like if you wished for something it could come true.
And what would you wish for? What do you dream of?
The answer rose unbidden in Josie’s mind. Unbidden and uncomfortable.
A proper family? Really? After all these years, was that what she truly wanted?
Not likely. It would take a miracle to change her mind. Not that she believed in miracles. Besides, it was never going to happen anyway. Not if she kept up her nomadic ways, which she had to if she wanted to avoid the heart-wrenching ache of being left or pushed away by those she loved most.
Still, if a wish could be made that might come true, Josie was going to put it out to the universe.
She closed her eyes and let the wishful words fill her mind.
Not for her. But for the man beside her. The little girl back at the bakery. For a small family who deserved a second chance at happiness.
She opened her eyes and focused on the glow emanating from the pub. Wishes didn’t always come true overnight, some took their time. And the time to start this wish in motion, to make her hopes and dreams for Mia and Callan come true, was now.
Chapter 7
Callan paused at The Squeaky Wheel’s entrance, unsure what to do, what to say, whether or not going into the pub after shunning it for so long was a good idea. He reached for the pompom hat and cursed himself for not buying a new hat while he and Mia were out shopping the other day, to replace the one that had gone missing the previous week.
Grabbing Abigail’s hat had been a last resort, but it was either that or risk frostbitten ears.
‘Planning to take that off, are you? I can taste that free mulled wine already …’ Josie’s teasing was emphasised by the tip of her tongue poking between her white, even teeth and her far-too-blue-too-be-good-for-her lips.
He dropped his hand. ‘And I can taste my free beer.’
Josie reached up on tiptoes and tweaked the pompom on his hat. ‘Worth it.’ She shot him a cheeky grin and shouldered the pub’s heavy door open.
‘About blimmin’ time, my old friend.’ Brendon’s voice boomed over the bustling crowd. Punters’ conversations stopped as they craned their necks to see who’d been so warmly welcomed. ‘Nice hat by the way.’
Callan cringed as his cheeks fired up in embarrassment. He pulled the hat off and pushed it into his coat pocket, all the while wishing he’d not let himself be pushed into coming. He wasn’t ready for this. Didn’t want the attention. Didn’t need it. The pitying stares and kind words that had been piled upon him after Abigail’s death had all but turned him into a recluse. An avalanche of benevolence that he’d neither asked for nor wanted. Each nicety adding to the pain in his heart, causing him to keep the people he’d once spent hours with at a distance, using the bakery as a shield. The bakery was a place where he could be polite, but remote when they came in to see how he was, to support him in the one way they could, that he had no control over – by buying his terribly average food and keeping the bakery afloat.
He kept his head dipped and through half-lowered lids scanned the faces before him, searching for signs of sympathy. The panic that had skittered through his veins, threatening to send him bolting back into the night, subsided as he registered genuine warmth from those who knew him. No sign of compassion or condolence in sight, just h
appiness at seeing a good acquaintance, an old friend.
He lifted his head and met the smiles that greeted him. His heartrate settled into its regular rhythm.
He slid onto a stool at the bar and pulled the one beside him out for Josie, who took it with a nod of thanks.
‘It’s been too long, Callan.’ Brendon reached his hand over the bar and vigorously pumped Callan’s hand in greeting. ‘First beer is on me. Second too.’
‘We’re just staying for one.’ Callan released the buttons on his coat, shrugged it off and placed it over one of the hooks that ran under the length of the bar. ‘I’ve got to get back to Mia.’
‘What Callan’s trying to say, Brendon, is that he’d love a beer. It’s very generous of you. And I’ll have a mulled wine.’ Josie fished her bank card from her pocket and held it out to Brendon. ‘And don’t worry about it being on the house, it’s my shout.’
Brendon’s gaze moved between the two of them, a smirk appearing on his lips. He said nothing, but his expression showed exactly what he was thinking.
Callan lowered his brows into a glare and briefly shook his head, silently sending the message to Brendon that whatever he thought was going on, was in fact not going on at all. This wasn’t a date. Furthest thing from it.
‘Margo’s forced Josie and I to go out tonight.’ He inwardly cringed. Good one. How to make a not-date sound exactly like a date. ‘It’s her reckoning that Josie here needs to meet some people, and that I’m the one to help her do it.’
‘I see.’ Brendon’s smirk showed no signs of disappearing. ‘Pity she wasn’t the one to pop in. I have a lot of time for that Margo, I do.’
‘And she does you.’ Josie pushed in her bank card and entered her pin. ‘She mentioned in passing that you were one of life’s good men.’
‘Did she now?’ Brendon passed Josie her wine, then began to pull Callan’s beer.
Was it Callan’s imagination or had Brendon’s chest puffed up a little? And was that a blush blooming on his cheeks? The man looked like a chuffed schoolboy who’d just found out his crush felt the same way.
The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams Page 6