‘Daddy?’ Mia’s slight figure appeared at the door, her hair a mussed-up halo around her head. Her bunched hands rubbed the sleep from her eyes. ‘Cuddle?’
‘Always.’ He opened his arms for Mia and she ran to him, settling on his lap, curling her legs around, and snuggling into him like a warm, little kitten. ‘Did you have sweet dreams?’
Mia pressed her head against his chest and nodded. ‘Mummy and I made a cake. Josie was there too. I was allowed to lick the bowl and the spoon.’
Callan stroked her hair, unsure of what to say. What to make of it. Was this Mia’s mind’s way of accepting Josie into her life? Did she see her as much a part of it as she had Abigail?
‘You like Josie, don’t you, Daddy?’
‘I do.’
‘Me too. I hope she never leaves.’
Callan went to echo Mia’s answer. To say ‘me too’. But Mia’s answer stirred the last part of uncertainty he’d been trying to contain. Josie had been known to leave. To move. She’d admitted that to him, and he’d heard her. Understood why. And while he never intended to give her a reason to leave them, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t, if their relationship hit a rough patch, as they tended to do, even in the best, most concrete relationships.
Was this a relationship worth risking his and Mia’s happiness for? Should he? When he was younger he would have, in a heartbeat. But now he had his daughter to consider. And himself. His heart had been ripped apart once. He didn’t know that he could handle it happening again.
***
The knife she’d been using to ice the sides of a carrot cake clattered to the floor. Josie silently cursed as she picked it up and dumped it in the sink. She’d been a complete butterfingers all morning.
Not all morning, she amended, only since Callan had come down to help her out and had behaved … oddly.
No small touches. No hugs. Not even a peck on the cheek by way of hello.
She’d tried to tell herself that it was because Mia was buzzing about, happily offering to mix icing and carry ingredients back and forth, all the while feeding ginger loaf offcuts to the dolls she’d set up in a corner.
The excuse didn’t sit right with her. Even though Callan had never been outright affectionate in front of Mia, he’d still been warm. This morning Callan had been as cold as the butter she needed to make the day’s shortbread.
He’s changed his mind. He’s going to reject you like everyone you’ve ever cared about.
And if he had changed his mind? Josie knew better than anyone that once a person changed their mind, that was that. It was done. The future wasn’t only written, but set in stone.
She picked up the display stand the cake was set on and carried it through to the store, placing it beside the Christmas-tree-shaped gingerbread biscuits.
The door opened and an elderly couple entered arm in arm and made their way up to the counter. Their eyes scanned the contents that Josie had been refilling all day.
The publicity from the Cake-off’s online article alone had seen them run off their feet with people grabbing last-minute cakes, slices and biscuits to fill their tins or to have on hand in case people dropped by in and around Christmas Day, which was all of two days away.
‘Welcome to Abigail’s. What can we get for you?’ Callan’s words sounded as wooden as his actions. Like her presence caused him to seize up.
‘One of everything from the award-winning bakery, please.’ The elderly gent pointed to the lemon drizzle loaf. ‘And maybe all of that.’
His wife batted his arm. ‘Gerald, leave something for those who come after us. Sorry about him … He eats with his eyes and forgets he can’t put that much food away anymore.’
‘I was thinking of the grandkids, pet. You know what they’re like. Bundles of energy. They eat us out of house and home on a good day. What with them coming tonight, along with their parents, for a whole week? We need as much food in the house as possible.’
Mia sneaked in between Josie and Callan and eyed the customers with interest. ‘How many people are coming to your house?’
‘Eight.’ The woman held up eight fingers. ‘Both our sons, with their wives, and they each have two children. What about you? Are you having a big family Christmas?’
‘Just us.’ Mia answered. ‘I invited Santa, but Daddy said he would be too tired after all the present dropping off to come.’
‘Well, I’m sure you three will have a lovely Christmas together. Far more peaceful than ours. Such a beautiful family you are, too. Your wee one’s the perfect mix of you both. Absolutely adorable.’
Josie’s tongue tangled, caught between embarrassment and wanting to correct the customer in a way that wouldn’t be awkward for anyone.
‘Oh no, Josie’s not my daughter’s mother. She just works here in the bakery.’
Callan’s words, so matter of fact, so emotionless, set Josie’s world into slow motion. The phrase ‘she just works here’ rolled through her head on repeat. Just. Works. Here.
Just.
No recognition of their closeness. That they were more than employer and employee.
Not even a small touch of the elbow, a smile in her direction, to let Josie know that Callan was just keeping things simple, professional, for the customer’s sake.
‘Mummy died last year.’ Mia added. ‘Josie is my friend. Daddy’s friend too. They sometimes kiss. They don’t know that I know, but I do.’
Callan’s ears burned bright red as his gaze zeroed in on the countertop. ‘It’s erm, new. Er, nothing serious.’
The air, caught in Josie’s lungs, rushed out with Callan’s admission that she didn’t mean anything. That what had gone on between them hadn’t been serious. In his mind anyway.
Self-preservation took over and she went into action mode. ‘Mia? Can you check on your dolls? I’m sure I can hear one of them asking for a cup of water?’
‘Dolls don’t talk, Josie. It’s just make-believe.’ Mia side-eyed her like she was dealing with a madwoman, then skipped back into the kitchen.
‘What else can we get for you?’ Josie picked up a paper bag and a pair of tongs. The sooner she served them, the sooner they’d leave, and the sooner she could hang up her apron, hurry home and lick her wounds. Figure out her next step. Find a new place on the map to call home.
No. Not home. She didn’t do home.
Her time in Sunnycombe had made her forget that, and now she was facing the harsh reality of letting her guard down.
‘All the slices of lemon loaf you have. A dozen of the Christmas tree gingerbread biscuits. Half a dozen pieces of the peppermint swirl chocolate brownie. And half a dozen of the red velvet cupcakes. How pretty are those icing hearts?’
‘Very.’ Josie ignored the pain that ripped through her heart at the innocuous compliment. She wished she’d never made miniature versions of the cake that had represented everything she felt about Sunnycombe, the people, the lives, the loves. She turned to ask Callan to help, but he’d disappeared.
Of course he had. He’d put his foot in his mouth, revealed his true feelings and had gone into hiding.
Good. She didn’t want to see him right now. Didn’t want to see him ever again.
She packed the rest of the order, placed it carefully in a box, took the customers’ money and sent them off with the cheeriest ‘bye bye’ she could manage.
As soon as the door had shut, she swivelled around, marched into the kitchen, took off the apron and tried to pretend she didn’t see Mia looking up at her, concern creating the tiniest crease between her brows.
‘Where are you going, Josie?’ Mia set the doll down that she’d been playing with. ‘Did I make you mad because I talked back? I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.’
Josie sucked in a breath and begged the tears that built to stay put. The last thing she wanted was for Mia to think any of this was her fault, not when the fault was entirely at Josie’s feet. She could’ve turned the job down when she saw it was a small family business. Could’ve kep
t herself to herself. Could’ve decided it wasn’t up to her to help Callan move on from his deep-seated grief in an attempt to do for him what she could not do for her own father.
She crouched down and hugged Mia. Kept the contact short. Didn’t want to breathe in her pear-shampoo scent, to feel the tickle of her silky hair against the underside of her chin, to relax into the cuddle as Mia did, the comfort of being embraced melding their bodies together.
‘It’s not you, Mia. Truly. You’re a star. I’m just not feeling all that well and I have to go home. Wouldn’t want you getting sick.’ The white lie fell off her tongue easily – as any white lie did when it meant keeping a child happy, secure.
Josie went to tell Mia she’d see her when she felt better. But that was a promise she couldn’t make. Christmas was nearly here. The village would go into slow mode. The bakery was set to close over Christmas and New Year. And after that? Callan could manage on his own.
He’d have to.
She couldn’t stay. Couldn’t spend hours working with him knowing he didn’t feel the way about her that she did him.
Mia patted her hand, her eyes wide with worry. ‘Go to bed. Have some orange juice. Get some sleep. That’s what Mummy used to tell me when I was feeling yucky.’ She leaned over and kissed Josie on the cheek, then turned back to her toys.
Josie grabbed her coat and ran for the door, the tears she’d held back unable to stay put one second longer.
Yanking the door open, she rushed out, not noticing the steady rain. Or the way her hair and clothing became saturated. Or that by the time she reached the cottage door her teeth were chattering and she had no idea where the tears ended and the raindrops began.
She dumped her coat and hat on the floor, squished herself into the sofa, pulled her knees up to her chest, arranged the throw over her body, buried her head into its softness and drew in a long shuddering breath, followed by a slow exhale.
Get it together, she ordered herself. This was not her. She didn’t lose her head over a man. Didn’t lose control. She’d learned after her teenage rebellion that channelling her feelings into extremes – whether it be acting out or becoming overly emotional – did nothing to fix any situation.
And this wasn’t a situation she could fix, so there was no point in weeping all over the place.
Yet the tears continued to run down her cheeks, turning the soft ‘fur’ of the throw wet and matted.
Three polite taps came from her front door.
‘Josie? Are you there? Mia said you were sick.’
Callan. Of course it was the last person she wanted to see, especially in the state she was in.
Josie pulled the throw over her head and huddled down in case he thought to look through the window.
The squeak of unoiled hinges met her ears, and she cursed herself for not locking the door.
She held her breath, forced her shaking shoulders to still, hoped that her teeth wouldn’t begin chattering again. She willed Callan to not see her hunched form on the sofa, or if he did to think it was just a bunch of cushions covered by a throw.
Despite her eyes being squeezed shut she knew she’d been discovered. The light from the outside, once Callan removed the throw, made the darkness behind her closed eyes less so. Though it did nothing to brighten the darkness within.
‘Josie, my God, are you okay? You’re soaked. What happened? Why didn’t you put your raincoat on? Or grab one of our umbrellas? Why are you still wearing wet clothing? Mia said you were sick. You’ll only make things worse if you don’t change into something dry and get the fire going. The sooner the better. Josie? Are you listening? Do I need to call someone?’
The only thing stopping her from screaming ‘get out, leave me alone’ was her heart in her throat. How could he care so much yet not be able to acknowledge her, who she was to him, to strangers or the villagers or his own daughter?
‘I’m calling the doctor. I’ll make you an appointment. Or see if he can make a house call. He doesn’t usually, but if you can’t move or talk …’
‘Stop.’ The word came out a croak, but it was enough to break the paralysis that had kept her glued to the sofa, that had kept her eyes shut and her thoughts stuck in her head unable to be verbalised. ‘Callan, stop. Everything.’ She opened her eyes, tossed the throw aside and pushed herself up.
If the only way to get rid of him was to pretend she was fine, then she’d just have to fake it.
‘So you’re not sick? You’re okay? But why are you wet? And your eyes? They’re all red and puffy.’ He took a step closer, reached out, made to touch her forearm.
Josie ducked back, all too aware she was a world-class ugly crier, and not wanting to be comforted by the person who’d caused the tears.
‘You’ve been crying.’ Callan didn’t attempt to touch her again, but he didn’t look like he was going anywhere either.
Josie shrugged and aimed for nonchalance, like a bit of a cry was no big deal. ‘It happens.’
‘Not to you. Except maybe it does to you.’ Callan ran his hand through his hair, gripped a hunk of it and tugged. ‘I don’t know. I mean, we’ve only known each other a few weeks.’
‘Exactly.’ Josie registered the surprise in Callan’s eyes at the bluntness of her tone. The hurt. Her heart threatened to soften, to apologise, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
If she weakened, if she relented, if she allowed herself to feel a sliver of hope, she’d be tempted to stick around. And then what? She’d spend day after day mooning around after a man she could never have.
No. Better to hold herself tight. To keep it together, just long enough for Callan to realise there was nothing more to be said, then go.
‘Is this about what happened at the bakery? What I said in front of those people?’ He released his hunk of hair and sat on the edge of the sofa.
Josie stifled an annoyed huff. So much for Callan going sooner rather than later.
‘Because, if it is, I’m sorry.’
Josie’s rising ire paused. He was sorry? No one she’d cared about had ever said sorry to her before. Not her mother in the note she left. Not her father for distancing himself.
She didn’t know what to do with the apology. Wasn’t sure that it changed the fact that his words back at the bakery had spelled out the simple truth that she didn’t mean to him what he had come to mean to her.
She folded her arms across her chest, ordered her shoulders to relax. ‘What part of what happened back there are you sorry for?’
‘All of it?’ Callan’s hands were raised, palms upturned. ‘For how badly I handled it. I made you sound like nothing but an employee. Then I didn’t explain it properly when Mia talked about our … you know.’
He couldn’t even say the words. Couldn’t admit to their shared intimacies. Like they embarrassed him. Or had meant nothing.
‘Yeah well. You said what you said and I know where I stand now. So that’s good.’ Josie focused on the ashes in the fireplace and fought the bubble of hysterical laughter that rose. How apt. The fireplace was the perfect representation of her life. It had gone up in flames once more. Now it was time to sweep her own personal hearth and start again.
‘Callan, while you’re here I may as well tender my resignation. I’m sure, considering the circumstances, that you won’t mind that I’d like it to take effect immediately.’
Callan sprung up from the seat and began pacing the room. ‘Resignation? What? I don’t understand. I know I handled the situation back there badly. Terribly, in fact. But to leave because of it? Because my foot was firmly in my mouth and I didn’t say that you were …’ A long silence followed.
Unsurprising, considering Callan had no idea what she was to him.
And if Josie were honest, she had no idea either. ‘Girlfriend’ felt too … cheap. Their connection – or so she’d thought – was too deep for such a simple term. ‘Partner’ went the other way. It was what you called someone who you’d been with forever. Not known for a few weeks. Either
way, if he couldn’t name it and neither could she, maybe it was because there was nothing there to name.
Josie wiped her palms over her damp cheeks. ‘Callan, I can’t keep doing what we’re doing, and after what happened back at the bakery, I don’t know that I want to anymore. You can’t describe what we are to each other. Neither can I. It’s too hard. Too … vague. And while I’m happy to take things slowly, to not rush into a relationship, I can’t do that and hide my feelings. Or be okay with it when you hide yours in front of others. The secrecy hits me right in here.’ She touched the spot between her breastbone. ‘It leaves me feeling like I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend, or partner, or whatever it is that I am. I’m afraid it means you’ll leave me at any second like I never meant anything to you, and that all that’ll be left between us is distance. And I can’t do that again. Not with someone I’ve given my heart to.’
Josie forced her gaze up. Hoped to see understanding in Callan’s eyes. That he got what she was saying.
Prayed that he would tell her she was wrong.
Her heart seized when she saw anger darkening his eyes.
‘I can’t give what’s going on between us a name because I don’t understand it myself. It’s more than a fling. It’s too new to be called long term. But I do know it was serious. That I was serious about you.’ His hands curled into fists as he tucked his arms across his chest. ‘Yes, I was taking things slowly. I didn’t want to hurt you because I know how badly you’d been hurt by those you’ve loved in the past. I also didn’t want to hurt Mia. Or myself.’ Callan’s shoulders deflated like the fight had gone out of him. ‘I just can’t believe you’d think I would treat you like you were nothing if things didn’t work out between us. I never could. I never would. Not when you pulled me out of my sadness. Showed me I could live again. That I could feel again. That I could maybe even love again.’
With each point made Josie inched back, until she hit the wall behind her. Callan had liked her. He’d wanted to do the right thing. Because he didn’t want to hurt her. Because he had cared. And perhaps could have done more than cared, had she given him more of a chance.
The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams Page 17