And he definitely wouldn’t tell her that.
* * *
Trying to ignore her wobbling knees, Brooke crossed the floor, feeling both Dad’s and Sabrina’s eyes on her back like a real touch, gently pushing her forward. One of the girls noticed her coming over and poked one of the others. Then they all looked at her, frowning, and for a second she thought about turning and running right back. But she didn’t.
“Hey,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as her knees. “I’m Brooke.”
The girls all mumbled their names—Micaela, Jessica, Caitlin, Shandra. She thought they were all about her age, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell because of how they were dressed. All the makeup and stuff. Brooke picked up a cookie and took a bite, making a face she definitely did not have to fake. One of the girls snickered. Caitlin, she thought. Tons of reddish, curly hair.
“They totally suck, right?”
“This one sure does. Oh, jeez—” Brooke’s face flamed. “One of your mothers or grandmothers or somebody didn’t bring these, did they?”
“No worries,” Caitlin said, her smoky eye makeup so heavy you could hardly see her blue eyes. “But they’re free, so, you know.” She shrugged.
Another girl, her coloring more like Sabrina’s, took one of the cookies, munching on it as she said, “Those your parents over there?”
“What? Oh.” She turned. “My dad, yeah. But the woman...she’s only a friend.”
“Your friend? Or your dad’s?”
“Well, his, mostly. Like from when they were kids?”
Micaela—that was her name, right—laughed, her long, almost black hair spilling over her shoulders. “Yeah, well, he’s sure not looking at her like a friend, if you know what I mean.”
“And your dad’s kind of cute,” Jessica said, her green eyes all sparkly. Blonde. Dimples. Really pretty. “For an old guy, I mean.”
The others laughed, and Brooke blushed so hard it hurt.
“Hey, you guys,” Caitlin said, smacking the girl next to her. “Knock it off. You’re embarrassing her. Jeez.”
“No, it’s okay—”
“Like hell,” Caitlin said, and Brooke blushed again. “And we’re sorry. Aren’t we?” she said to the others, who mumbled their apologies. Then Shandra pointed to Brooke’s feet. “Where’d you get those shoes? They’re, like, supercute.”
The others all crowded around as Brooke looked down at her flats, black with little red sparkly stones across the toes. Almost boring compared with all the straps and buckles and stuff on their shoes, but Brooke loved them. “I got them when Sabrina—she’s the lady with my dad—took me shopping. Because that’s her job, in New York. To help people pick out clothes.”
All the girls looked across the floor at Sabrina. Who smiled and waved at them. Caitlin looked back, jamming a hand through her crazy curly hair. “Seriously? That’s, like, a real thing?”
“Yeah. She’s a personal shopper.”
“Huh. She pick out that top, too?”
“The whole outfit, everything.”
“So, what?” Jessica said, scowling. Not so pretty now. “You can’t choose your own clothes? Like you’re a baby?”
For a moment—but only a moment—Brooke felt her eyes sting. Then she thought, The heck with this, and said, “She knows all about fashion and style and stuff. I don’t. So what’s the big deal?”
At that, Caitlin lowered her eyes to her own chest, then back at Brooke. “You think maybe she might help me? Because I have no clue what to do with these,” she said, waving a hand over at her breasts. Which were, like, super huge. Seriously.
“Well...” Brooke pretended to think it over, then nodded. “I suppose you could ask...”
* * *
Upper East Side matrons, Sabrina could handle, no problem. Dazzle, even. A batch of Jersey adolescents, however...? Never mind she had a lot more in common with them than her Manhattan clients.
But Brooke had barely introduced her to the gang before two of the four—the least outrageously attired of the two, natch—practically attacked her with questions about what she did and where did she get Brooke’s clothes and could she help them, too?
“If you like, sure. And everything came from the outlet mall out on the highway,” she said, reaching for one of the cookies in a show of solidarity. Thing tasted like sweet dirt, blech. “Because you don’t have to spend the big bucks to look good. Something I figured out when I was your age and we had more kids in the house than money. So shopping became a game, you know?”
“Hey, that’s what my mom says, too,” the one with the biggest hair said. “She’s, like, really big into couponing.”
“So was mine,” Sabrina said, smiling.
“So what’s the big deal with clothes, anyway?”
This from Jessica, the blonde. Even more bodaciously curved than Caitlin, amazingly. Maybe fourteen. But before Sabrina could answer, Brooke said, “The right ones make you feel good about yourself.”
The girl flashed Brooke The Look, then jabbed one hand on her hip. Sabrina guessed there was an older model at home. “I feel plenty good about myself, thank you, exactly the way I am.”
“And that’s great,” Sabrina said, nonchalantly choosing another cookie. “No, really. Because a lot of girls your age—how old are you?”
Chin came up. “Thirteen.”
Holy hell. “A lot of thirteen-year-olds hide behind their clothes, partly because they don’t really know who they are yet. I sure didn’t. But what we put on our bodies says a lot about how we think about ourselves. And how we want other people to see us. Not only as pretty, but as smart. Confident. In charge of our own lives. Not as things, but as people.”
The girl snorted, but Sabrina could tell her words had struck a chord. A dissonant one, maybe, but a chord nonetheless. But she also knew—because she remembered thirteen like it was last week—that a subject change was definitely in order. And when she took her next bite of the Cookie from Hell, inspiration struck.
“There’s a kitchen here, right?”
Shandra frowned. Dark, glowing skin. Gold eyes. Stunning. “Yeah. Why?”
“Great. So who likes to bake?”
With a shy smile, Brooke was the first to raise her hand. Grinning even more broadly, Caitlin followed, then Micaela. The other two looked intrigued but skeptical.
“Dunno, I’ve never done it—”
“Me, either. Since Mom never lets me near her kitchen.”
“Then, why don’t we use the one here, bake some real cookies?”
“Or brownies?” Brooke said, and Caitlin high-fived her.
“Whatever you want. I’ll buy the ingredients, we can have ourselves a baking party. Some for here, some to take home to your families. Because these things—” she waved the dirt cookie still in her hand “—need to die. Now.”
That got an actual giggle from Miss Thirteen-Going-On-Twenty-Six. “Um...they’re about to close...”
“Monday, then?”
After another shared glance, the girls muttered a chorus of “Sure, whatevers.”
“Okay. Why don’t you all find a recipe you’d like to make? You can use cookbooks or find something on the internet. Something not too complicated—”
“But if we’ve never baked before, how’re we supposed to know if it’s complicated or not?”
“Good point. So take out your phones.” Four blinged-out phones duly appeared, and she gave them her number. “If you’re not sure about the recipe, call or text me.”
Jessica’s green eyes zinged to Sabrina’s. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“How’s about we go to the store with you?” Micaela said, her face practically glowing. “So we could get our own ingredients?”
“Actua
lly, that’s a great idea. Let’s meet here at one on Monday. How’s that?” When they all nodded, she said, “But give my number to your parents, have someone call me to make sure it’s okay.” She looked at their feet. “And wear comfortable shoes, we’re going to be standing a lot—”
“Okay,” Matt called out, clapping his hands. “Six o’clock! Equipment goes into the storage closet, windows locked, stray clothes picked up—you know the drill!”
Sabrina watched in amused silence as the girls tidied up, showing Brooke where the plastic storage containers were underneath the folding table, then dumping the plates of cookies into them...which shed light on one reason why the things were so awful: God alone knew how old they were.
Their chore done, the girls all thanked Sabrina—a couple even hugged her—waving goodbye to Brooke before clomping across the wooden floor toward the exit. Two of them were joined by a couple of the boys, although whether they were the girls’ brothers or...something else, Sabrina had no idea. And wasn’t sure she wanted to know, frankly.
“So that worked out well, huh?” she said to Brooke as they walked back toward Cole, standing by the door as kids swarmed past him like a river, laughing and talking.
“Yeah. It did.” The girl flashed her a quick smile. “I really like Caitlin. And Shandra.”
“Me, too. They seem like good kids.”
“So how’d it go?” Cole asked, his eyes briefly touching Sabrina’s before focusing on his daughter.
Brooke beamed. “The girls are pretty cool. Well, a couple of them, anyway. And we’re going to get together and made cookies. With Sabrina.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Doesn’t it? Hey, Wes,” she said as her brother approached, tossing Sabrina a look only marginally less toxic than the one from Jessica or whoever she was. His mistrust stung, no doubt about it. But, really, what did it matter, since she wasn’t going to be in Maple River very long, anyway? And who knew where Cole and the kids would end up?
As Brooke launched into a play-by-play of the last half hour, Matt came up, tugging Sabrina’s ponytail like they were still kids. Honestly.
“Those two remind me of us at that age,” she said to her brother.
“Except you were never that nice to me,” Matt said, and she smacked his arm. “It’s true. Man, you were a major pain in the butt.” He looked at Cole. “How the hell did you put up with her?”
“I’m not sure,” Cole said, his gaze touching hers. Touching. Hell, fondling. Eesh. “Because your brother’s right—”
“And now that we’ve settled that I was the devil’s spawn,” Sabrina muttered, wondering why, as she dug her car keys out of her pocket, Cole’s honesty stung so much, “I guess it’s time to head out—”
“And I need to get home before Kelly gets that Oh, thank God look on her face,” Matt said. “But what is this about a baking party with the girls on Monday?”
“That’s the plan, yep.”
“You might want to check out the kitchen first,” he said, backing away. “It’s been a while since anyone used it. I can’t vouch for how clean it is.”
“Got it,” she said, watching her brother walk away before frowning toward the other end of the vast room. Brooke came up beside her; without thinking, Sabrina slung her arm around the girl’s shoulders.
“What is it?” Brooke asked.
Sabrina’s gaze traveled upwards, scanning the huge space, eerily silent now that everyone had left. “When I was little, maybe six or seven, my mother brought me here one evening for some reason or other, I forget now. She got to chatting with someone, and like a doofus I wandered off to explore.” Brooke giggled. “Got totally lost, couldn’t find my way back. Ever since then...” She shrugged.
“The place gives you the creeps,” Cole said, right behind her.
There wasn’t even a trace of don’t-be-silly derision in his voice. Only understanding. That soul-deep kindness she’d taken for granted so long ago...that made him the kind of man any woman would kill to partner with. Any sane woman, at least.
“Only when it’s empty. Quiet like this.”
“Yeah,” Brooke said, her own voice hushed. “Like you can hear your breathing echoing.”
Sabrina chuckled, the sound pinging off the rafters. “Exactly.”
“You scared now?” Cole said, still kindly, and her throat clogged. But she shook her head, smiling down at Brooke.
“With you guys?” Her gaze glanced off Cole’s. “Not a bit.”
Liar.
“So where’s this kitchen?” he asked.
“Through that door over there... What are you doing?”
“Expecting everybody to follow me. Come on, Wes, get your nose out of your phone and let’s go exploring,” he called, his voice booming through the empty space and sending those old fears scampering for cover.
To make room for new ones, only too eager to take their place.
Chapter Eight
By the time they’d determined the church kitchen wasn’t in egregious violation of any health department code, everyone was starving. But when Brooke pleaded with Sabrina to join them at the local burger joint where they used to hang out in high school—and which still made the best burgers in Jersey, far as Cole was concerned—she’d begged off, insisting she was so tired after the long day she wasn’t even hungry.
A big fat lie if ever he’d heard one. But probably just as well, since between his girl-child’s glomming on to the woman and his son’s obvious distrust—not to mention Cole’s own conflicted feelings—spending more time together probably wasn’t in any of their best interests.
That look she’d given him, back at the church...
Yeah. Meaning he guessed he wasn’t the only conflicted one. Also, that all that unresolved crap was apparently going to remain unresolved, because that was life. His, hers, everybody’s.
Even so, he thought as he knocked on his old bedroom door, interrupting Wes’s Xbox gaming spree, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to see Brooke smiling, to hear her laugh. Even if the reason for those smiles, that laughter, was only a jump-start. Not a permanent solution.
Hence the rampant ambivalence.
“Yeah?” Wes said, not taking his eyes off the small TV screen, assorted comatose pugs sprawled around him.
“Your hour’s up, kid. Time to wind down and get ready for bed, anyway.”
“Dad. I’m not a little kid. And it’s summer—”
“And I’m not raising a vampire. Eleven is plenty late for a thirteen-year-old.”
Clearly disgusted, Wes stabbed at the controller’s buttons to exit the game, then tossed it on the floor, jerking awake the nearest dog. “I don’t get it,” he said as the dog stiffly rose, came over for reassurance. “Nana said you used to play Mario Brothers all the time when you were my age—”
“Not all the time, but far more than was good for me. Because I had no clue how to interact with actual human beings. Meaning my real life sucked. Not letting that happen to you.”
Brandishing his best grump face, the kid slouched down in Cole’s old beanbag chair—because his mother threw out nothing—his arms clamped across his chest. Yawning, the dog lay down again, immediately passing out once more. “Sounds like it didn’t suck that much.”
“Because I basically had no supervision whatsoever?”
“Well...yeah. You could do whatever you wanted, right? And anyway, if you hadn’t played games so much, you probably wouldn’t have been able to make up your own.”
And the problem with having smart kids was...
“Maybe. But if I’d known then what I do now, I would’ve said the trade-off wasn’t worth it. It’s about balance, you know? The all-or-nothing approach rarely works out well, in the end.”
“So why’d they let you do it?”
Feeling both out of his depth and grateful for being forced to learn how to swim, Cole sat on the edge of his old bed—complete with the same navy blue comforter—leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I think because they were both raised with too many rules. Lots of don’ts. So they didn’t want that for Diana and me. They meant well,” he said quickly, “but this whole parenting thing...” He sighed. “It’s hard. No matter how much we don’t want to screw it up, I think the odds are at least fifty percent we’re going to, anyway.”
“So...” A devilish smile pushed at the kid’s mouth, much like the one he used to give as a toddler, when he’d grab something he wasn’t supposed to have and take off with it, belly-laughing the whole time. “If that’s the case...”
“No, you cannot stay up all night. Or play video games until your eyeballs fall out.”
The kid shrugged. “It was worth a shot. But I still can’t believe you actually admit you’re...” He frowned.
“Human?”
“Yeah. That’s it,” Wes said, and Cole laughed. Then he sobered.
“Diana and I...we never really knew what was going on in our parents’ heads. Not that they were deliberately keeping things from us as much as they never saw a reason to share.”
“That is definitely not you,” Wes said with a snorted laugh.
“I hope not, anyway. And I don’t expect us to share every little secret with each other. I’ll always respect your privacy. But if you need to talk things out—anything at all—I’m here. And I won’t judge.”
Not that he’d planned it that way, but he’d just given the kid an opening to talk about Sabrina. If he wanted to, that was. Since even Cole knew that any attempt to push the subject would most likely backfire. And why take that risk, when in a few weeks it would all be moot, anyway?
Wesley stretched out in the chair, his hands behind his head, his brow furrowed. “Did we just have one of those creepy parent-to-kid talks?”
“It would appear so,” Cole said, getting to his feet, mildly disappointed that Wes hadn’t taken the bait. “And, hey, nobody’s head exploded.”
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