About mid-afternoon, as I was helping an out-of-towner select some souvenir jams, I saw a familiar black car pull into the lot. Guilt niggled in my chest; I hadn’t talked to Alex since before Brice Evans’ funeral. He’d texted that afternoon, but I’d been in the middle of the big reveal to Sam, and after that, I’d been too miserable and nervous to talk to anyone.
I finished up the jam sale, wrapping the glass jars and bagging them carefully. Alex wandered around the produce, trailing a hand over the oranges. I caught his wink just before he spoke.
“Miss, I have to tell you, this is the greatest farm stand I’ve ever seen. And I’m an expert, because roadside produce stands are my business.”
“Thank you, sir.” I struggled to keep a straight face. “Just what kind of business is that?”
“I write books about the stands. I travel the world, finding the best and brightest and spotlighting them in my books, Roadside Gourmand: Eating My Way Across the Country One Stand At A Time.” He winked at my customer. “Volumes One through Eighteen.”
“That’s intriguing. I’ve never heard of those books.” The woman smiled at him. “Are they in bookstores?”
“You should definitely ask at your local bookstore. You’ll be mesmerized.” He shot her the smolder, and I watched her melt. “But if you wait for Volume Nineteen, you’ll be able to see this very business as the highlight feature.”
“Well, isn’t that wonderful?” She beamed at me. “You’ve got to be so excited. I can’t wait to tell my friends that I was here when you found it!”
Alex sketched a bow, like the goof he was. “Of course.”
The woman glanced around. “You know, I was on the fence about buying that big basket of preserves and pickles . . . but I think I’ll get them. Do you mind ringing them up? Even though I’ve already paid?”
Did I mind? That was our single most expensive item in the stand. Hell, yeah, I’d ring her up again.
Once my new favorite customer had paid and left, happy about her purchases, I turned to Alex. “You, my friend, are devious.”
“But effective.” He stood in front of me, hands on his hips. “Now to business. I just stopped by to say two things. I’m mad at you, and what the fuck?”
I winced. “I’m guessing those two things are related. Okay, I’ll grovel. I’m sorry. I know it was shitty of me not to answer you. Or call. I have no excuse except that it was a really, really hard few days.”
“Yeah, I know. Because Meghan, who is a good friend—but not my best friend—was good enough to answer my texts.” He leaned his hip against a table. “So how’re you doing?”
I blew out a breath. “Honestly, I’m not sure. On one hand, it went a lot better than I had any right to hope. I mean, yeah, Flynn was furious. He was shocked, and he was hurt.” I wrapped my arms around my middle, remembering. “But he actually got beyond it a lot faster than I’d expected.”
“So are we talking happily ever after? Should I be getting out my tuxedo and working on my man of honor speech?”
I barked out a sharp laugh. “Hardly. Flynn’s willing to deal with me in order to see Bridget. He wants a relationship with his daughter, so he’s going to be as pleasant to me as he can. But nothing more than that’s going to happen between us.”
Alex reached across to brush his hand over my arm. “I’m sorry, Ali Baba. That sucks.”
I managed a smile. “What? Like I was expecting Flynn to come back into town, find out he has a kid with his high school girlfriend and declare his undying love to me? Nah. It’s been a long time. Too many years. I’m just happy that he’s sticking around to get to know Bridge.”
“And how’s our girl dealing with the newfound daddy?”
“Amazingly well. It’s almost weird. She didn’t ask that many questions about where he’s been all this time. She just kind of accepted it. I expected . . .” I spread out my hands. “I don’t know. I thought she might be upset and want to know why I’d never talked about Flynn before. But she didn’t.”
Alex nodded. “Well, count your lucky stars, I guess. Who knows, maybe she’ll have a delayed reaction and flip out when she’s a teenager.”
I shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s change the subject. Are you on your way back to Hotlanta? Did you see the boy toy last week?”
“There might’ve been a sighting. I’m still not ready to dish, though, so no digging. And yes, I’m heading west. I don’t know when I’ll be back in town again, but don’t worry, I’ll be keeping my eye on you. I have my ways.”
I fiddled with the hem of my T-shirt. “Did you see Flynn? Did you talk to him?”
Alex shook his head. “Just at the funeral. I was planning to stop by yesterday, but after Meghan let me know what was going down, I figured he needed a little space.”
“He’s staying in town, you know. Indefinitely. He told me yesterday that he’s going to make Burton his center of operations, whatever that means. But he’s giving up his apartment in New York.”
“Wow. That’s huge.” He quirked one eyebrow at me. “When I talked to him on Thursday, at the wake, he made it sound like he couldn’t get out of town fast enough.”
“It’s just Bridget. He wants to be a good father, and what more can I ask?”
“Sexy times? A little hard-core romping in the sack with the guy who took your V-card back in the day?”
“Nice, Alex. C’mon. Nothing’s going to happen between us. He can barely tolerate me.”
“Uh huh. I’m going to reserve the right to dance the I-told-you-so all over your face when Flynn ‘tolerates’ you onto your back. In a good way.”
I rolled my eyes and flipped back my pony tail, channeling my inner-teenager. “Whatever.”
“Hmm? Aren’t you even the littlest bit interested? You’re telling me Flynn Evans doesn’t still make your heart go pitty-pat?”
I turned my back to Alex and busied myself with the day’s receipts. “Whether he does or doesn’t is immaterial. I need to be an adult and make sure we have a good relationship for the sake of our daughter.”
He whistled. “That did sound very grown-up. And I almost bought it. If your eyes weren’t saying, ‘I want Flynn Evans between my legs, pronto’ I might’ve believed you.”
I shook my head. “You’re insane. My eyes were so not saying that. They were saying, ‘I’m a mature, well-adjusted woman who doesn’t need a man between her legs to be happy.’”
“Oooh, baby.” Alex faked a leer. “The dudes like a lady who can take of her own needs.”
“You’re despicable.” I couldn’t help grinning as I swatted at his arm. “Don’t you have some place to go?”
“Sadly, yes. But I’ll be texting you for updates, and if you don’t respond, I’ll text Flynn. Oh, and I’ll be back in town in two weeks.” He winked and grinned lasciviously. “Another, ah, business meeting in Savannah. And this one might just close the deal.”
“Oooh, baby!” I mimed his words and leer. “And if you, my friend, don’t decide to tell all, I might just hold out on you when it comes to Flynn and me.”
“Aha!” Alex held up one finger. “I knew it. I knew there was something going on.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “You’re such a pain in the ass. Go home, Alex. Go terrorize the good people of Atlanta.”
“Going.” He grabbed me and gave me a smacking kiss on the cheek. “But I’m coming back. And when I do, I want the juicy stuff.”
“DADDY!” BRIDGET RAN OUT of the school, her smile wide. Her dark hair was in braids that bounced on her back as she trotted toward me, and her backpack dangled from one shoulder.
“Hey, pretty girl!” I caught her with both arms and swung her up. “How was school today?”
Her grin began to fade. “It was okay.”
I set her back on her feet. I’d been told that eight years was too old to hold her for more than just a hug, and I was conscious of not embarrassing my daughter in front of her friends at school. Fatherhood was new, but
I remembered being in second grade. “Why was it just okay? Did something happen?”
She shrugged as I led her toward my truck. I’d returned the Audi to the rental company two weeks before and leased a Chevy pickup from the dealership. I’d never considered myself a truck man, but it felt right, what with my new life in Burton. Opening the passenger door, I boosted Bridget into the cab, and she climbed into the small backseat.
I didn’t press her for an answer as we drove to my mom’s house. She was quiet, and that worried me. One thing I’d learned about my daughter in the past three weeks was that she was a bubbly, happy kid. Nothing seemed to bother her, not even when Graham, my little demon of a nephew, tortured her dolls. Glancing at her small face in the rearview mirror, I saw only troubled brown eyes. No sparkle, no laughter.
I turned into my mother’s driveway, pulling to the side so that Mom could get to the garage after she got home. I knew she wouldn’t be long behind me; she’d gone back to work at the library last week, but she always cut out early on Tuesdays, when Bridget stayed with us.
After I shut off the engine, Bridge undid her seatbelt and slid into the front seat. Before she could open the door, I caught her arm. “Hey, kiddo. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? What happened today?”
She frowned again and twisted the end of one braid around her finger. “Nothing.”
I sighed, rubbing my hand over my jaw. “Do you miss your mom? Do you want me to drive you home? I mean, back to the farm?” It hurt that she might feel that way, but seeing her smile again was more important than how I felt.
Bridget shook her head. “No. I mean . . . I miss Mom, but I know I’m going to see her tomorrow, and I want to be with you, too.” Her lip stuck out, trembling just a little.
“Bridget, honey, talk to me. I want to know what’s wrong.” When she didn’t answer, I dug into my pocket and brought out my cell phone. “Want to call your mom and talk to her? Would that help?”
“No, thanks.” She clamored onto her knees. “Can we go inside now? Grandma said she was making me brownies for today.”
“Okay.” I climbed out and went around to the other side to help her down. We went into the house, and as was her habit, Bridget hung her backpack on the newel post and followed me into the kitchen. I cut two brownies, poured us some milk and was just about to join her at the table when my phone buzzed. The readout on the screen blinked twice, signaling an incoming call. Ali.
I hit the button and answered. “Hey, Ali. Everything okay?”
Her voice, low and coated with a lifetime of Georgia, filled my head. “Uh, hey, Flynn. Yeah, I think so—but can I talk to you just a minute? Is Bridget right there with you?”
I glanced at my daughter, who was completely involved with her chocolate. I couldn’t help smiling at the sight. “Yeah, we just got home. She’s elbow-deep in Grandma’s brownies.”
“Mmmm. Color me jealous.” Ali’s near-purr went straight down through my center and settled between my legs. I coughed and turned my back.
“So what’s up?” I didn’t mean to sound gruff, but Ali’s voice changed to all business.
“I got a call from the school just now. Bridget’s teacher, Mrs. Hazelbeck, said there was some kind of dust-up on the playground.”
“Bridge was fighting?” My daughter was a scrapper, but she was usually a pretty chill kid.
“No, she wasn’t, but someone was. I guess it was a kid named Charlie and Graham.”
“Graham? My nephew?”
“Yeah.” Ali exhaled long a long breath. “Mrs. Hazelbeck said no one wanted to talk, but she finally got the whole story out of Charlie. Apparently, Graham was giving Bridget a hard time, and Charlie was defending her.”
A lump formed in my stomach. “What do you mean, a hard time? About what?”
“Ah, Flynn, they’re kids, you know. Kids say stuff all the time.” She hesitated, and I knew she was reluctant to speak the next words. “Graham was telling the other kids that Bridget wasn’t really your daughter. He said she was just pretending because her real daddy left her when she was just a baby.”
I closed my eyes. Damn it. Forcing a smile, I patted Bridget’s back. “Honey, I’m going to step outside and talk to your mama for a minute, okay? I’ll be right back in.”
I opened the screen door and stood on the back stoop. “Ali, what the hell? What was he talking about?”
“I don’t really know. I’m just telling you what the teacher said Charlie told her. Is Bridget okay? Mrs. H. said she was a little shaken up. That’s why she called.”
“She was quiet all the way home, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. Shit. What’s wrong with Graham? Why would he be such a jerk?”
Ali didn’t answer for a minute. “Well, maybe he’s not so happy about his new cousin. He’s been the only child, the only grandchild for a long time. Could be he doesn’t like sharing the spotlight.”
I thought of his interaction with Bridget at my mom’s house. I’d noticed he didn’t seem to be welcoming her with open arms, but he was a boy. Boys didn’t do warm and fuzzy. I figured in a few weeks, they’d be playing together in the backyard, the best of friends.
Clearly I’d been wrong.
“So what do I do?” This was beyond my meager parenting skills. I’d only screw it up. “Do you want me to bring her home? Or do you want to come out here to talk to her?”
Ali laughed. “No, Flynn. If you bring her back to the farm, she’ll think she’s being punished. And if I drive all the way into town, she’s going to think it’s a bigger deal than it is. Maybe just talk to her. Give her some assurance. Oh, and if I were you, I’d talk to Iona and find out what’s going on with her son.”
“Yeah, you can bet on it.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, Ali. Thanks. You could’ve made a big deal out of this. But you’re trusting me to handle it, and I really appreciate it.”
“You’re her father.” Ali spoke softly. “I know most guys get a little ramp up time to this kind of deal, and I’m sorry you’re getting tossed into the deep end, but you can handle it.”
“I hope so.” I turned as I heard my mom’s car. “Listen, I’ll call you tonight and let you know how it goes, all right?”
“Uh . . .” She sounded a little flustered. “You don’t have to report back to me, Flynn. We can just talk tomorrow.”
“No, I’ll call tonight.” Ali trusted me, and I wanted to repay that with full disclosure. “I’ll talk to you then, okay? After Bridge goes to sleep.”
“Okay.” She spoke on a whisper. “Talk to you then.”
I ended the call and was about to go back inside when I changed my mind. Mom was in the kitchen now, pulling Bridget onto her lap and laughing about something shared between grandmothers and granddaughters. I scrolled through my contacts and hit my oldest sister’s number.
“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Iona sounded weary. “Listen, Flynn. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no idea Graham was even in the house, but he must’ve overheard us talking—”
“Heard who talking about what?” I was pissed, but I knew my sister would never do anything to hurt my daughter. Both Iona and Reenie had been great with Bridget. Which, of course, probably had only made Graham unhappier.
“Right after everything came out about Bridget, I was telling Mark the whole story. I mean, he knew it, mostly, but you know he’s a guy, and he’d forgotten you’d even dated Ali. Crazy, right? So I was trying to explain it to him, how Ali married Craig, and we all thought Bridget was his, and then about Craig leaving. Graham must’ve come inside without me hearing him. I never knew he’d been eavesdropping until the principal called today to say he’d been fighting. When I heard the whole story, I wanted to die. I’m so sorry. You know I love Bridget.”
“Yeah, I know.” I was silent for a few beats, trying to rein in my mad. “Did Graham say why he did it?”
She sighed, long and deep. “He’s a spoiled brat, Flynn. It’s not a nice thing to say about your own kid, but it’s th
e truth. And we’re trying to make it better, but eight years of only kid can’t be undone in a month.” She paused. “We were worried about this anyway, with the baby coming.”
“Baby? Iona, are you knocked up again?” Gladness filled me.
“Yeah, surprise, surprise. We never planned to space our kids out this far, but you know Mark’s been trying to build up his practice, and what with one thing and another.” She sniffled. “I wish I’d known to tell Daddy. Wouldn’t he’ve been thrilled?”
“You know it.” I thought about how much I hated that my dad had never known Bridget was his granddaughter. I didn’t want to do regret, but I could still be sad. “Iona, I’m not upset with you or Mark, but you got to make sure Graham understands that he can’t go around telling people I’m not Bridget’s father. He needs to know I’m her dad.”
“I just talked to him hard for twenty minutes, but I’ll talk some more when Mark gets home. And Graham’s grounded for two weeks, if that makes you feel any better.”
I laughed. “It doesn’t, but thanks. Talk to you later.” I ended the call and went back inside, where Mom and Bridget were still giggling over brownies. The sound of my daughter’s laughter had the miraculous power to release all the knots in my chest, and I slid into a chair to join them.
I’d only known about this kid’s existence for about a month, but I was ready to lay down every dream I’d ever had to make her happy. I’d do whatever it took.
For the rest of the evening, I didn’t bring up Graham or what he’d said. Bridget was having too good a time with my mom and then with Reenie when she got home. We all made dinner together, and my sister taught my daughter how to do the Twist when it came on the radio. I sat at the kitchen counter with a beer, breathing in the smell of my mother’s fried chicken and biscuits and watching Reenie and Bridge giggle and dance. For just a fraction of a breath, I felt my dad near me, his hand on my shoulder as he watched them with me. Then it was gone, and so was he. At the stove, my mother lifted her head to meet my eyes. She smiled a little and nodded.
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