Baby Talk & Wedding Bells

by Brenda Harlen

  “What will you have?” Jerry asked her.

  Cassie perused the menu, pleased to note that they had her favorite. “A vanilla latte, please.”

  “And I’ll have a regular decaf,” Jerry said.

  “Can I interest you in a couple of triple chocolate brownies still warm from the oven?” Peggy asked.

  “One for sure,” Jerry immediately responded, before glancing at Cassie in a silent question.

  “Brownies are my weakness,” she admitted.

  “Make it two,” he said.

  “You go ahead and grab a seat,” Peggy said. “I’ll bring everything out to you.”

  “Can we sit outside?” Cassie asked.

  “Anywhere you like,” the other woman assured them.

  They sat on opposite sides of a small round table, beneath a green-and-white-striped awning. Peggy delivered their coffee and brownies only a few minutes later.

  Jerry poured two packets of sugar into his coffee, stirred. “The first time I saw you here, visiting Irene, I thought you must be her granddaughter. Then I found out that she never married, never had any children.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Cassie confirmed.

  “So what is your relationship?” he wondered. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t mind,” she told him. “And although our relationship has changed a lot over the years, Irene has always played an important part in my life—from librarian to confidante, surrogate mother, mentor and friend.”

  “You’ve known her a long time then?”

  “Since I was in fourth grade.”

  “I’ve known her a long time, too,” Jerry said. “We grew up across the street from one another in the west end, went to school together, dated for a while when we were in high school. I’m sure both my parents and hers thought we would marry someday.” He cut off a piece of brownie with his fork. “In fact, I was planning to propose to her at Christmas, the year after we graduated.”

  “What happened?”

  He chewed on the brownie for a long minute, his eyes focused on something—or maybe some time—in the distance. “I met someone else that summer and fell head over heels in love.” He shifted his attention back to Cassie, his gaze almost apologetic. “I’d fallen in love with Irene slowly, over a lot of years. And then Faith walked into my life and the emotions hit me like a ton of bricks. Everything with her was new and intense and exciting.”

  “And you married her instead,” Cassie guessed.

  He nodded. “She was the love of my life and I’m grateful for the almost fifty years we had together.”

  “And now you’ve come full circle,” she noted.

  “Do you disapprove of my friendship with Irene?”

  “Of course not,” she denied. “But I don’t want to see her get hurt again.”

  “Neither do I,” he told her.

  She considered his response as she nibbled on her own brownie, savoring the rich chocolate flavor.

  “Have you ever been in love, Cassie?”

  “I was engaged once.”

  “Which isn’t necessarily the same thing,” he pointed out.

  “I haven’t had much luck in the love department,” she acknowledged.

  “It only takes once,” he told her. “You only need one forever-after love to change your whole life.”

  She sipped her coffee. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “It’s not about the mind,” Jerry admonished. “It’s about the heart. You have to keep an open heart.”

  * * *

  Cassie thought about Jerry’s advice for a long time after she’d said goodbye to him and left Serenity Gardens. A week later, his words continued to echo in the back of her mind.

  She headed to the library much earlier than usual, eager to get started on the setup for the Book & Bake Sale. The forecast was for partly sunny skies with a 25 percent chance of precipitation, but that was not until late afternoon. Cassie hoped they would be sold out and packed up before then.

  The event was scheduled to start at 8:00 a.m. but she was on-site by six thirty to meet with a group of volunteers from the high school to set up the tents and the tables. There were boxes and boxes in the library basement—old books that had been taken out of circulation and donations from the community.

  Over the past several weeks, Tanya and a couple of her friends from the high school had sorted through the donations, grouping the books into genres. Some of the books were horribly outdated—such as Understanding Windows 2000—but she decided to put them out on display anyway, because local crafters often picked up old books to create new things. In addition to the books, there were board games and toys and DVDs.

  The student volunteers were almost finished setting up the tents when Braden showed up just after seven. It was the first time she’d seen him since she’d abruptly ended their conversation the previous Saturday morning—though she’d heard from Megan that he’d checked out some books when she was on her lunch break a few days earlier—and she wasn’t sure what to make of his presence here now.

  “The sale doesn’t start until eight,” she told him.

  “I know, but I thought you might be able to use an extra hand with set up.”

  “We can always use extra hands,” she admitted.

  “So put me to work,” he suggested.

  “Where’s Saige?” she asked.

  “Having pancakes at my parents’ house.”

  “Lucky girl.”

  He smiled. “My mom’s going to bring her by later.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Most of the tents have been set up, Tanya and Chloe know how to arrange the tables, which Cade and Jake are bringing out, so why don’t you help Ethan and Tyler haul boxes up from the basement?”

  “I can do that,” he confirmed.

  She led him down to the basement and introduced him to the other helpers, then went back outside to help Brooke arrange the goodies on the bake table. With so many volunteers from the high school—most of them students who were regulars at Soc & Study—there wasn’t a lot for her to do, and she found herself spending an inordinate amount of time watching Braden and pretending that she wasn’t.

  “Is there somewhere else you’re supposed to be?” he asked, when he caught her glancing at her watch for about the tenth time.

  “Serenity Gardens in half an hour.”

  “Aren’t you about fifty years too early for Serenity Gardens?”

  “So maybe we were talking about the same Miss Houlahan,” he mused.

  “She’s been retired for several years, but she never misses any of our fund-raising events.”

  “I didn’t know she was still alive,” he admitted. “She seemed about a hundred years old when I was a kid.”

  “I’m seventy-one,” a sharp voice said from behind him. “And not ready for the grave yet.”

  Braden visibly winced before turning around. “Miss Houlahan—how lovely to see you again.”

  Behind square wire-rimmed glasses, the old woman’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “You’re just as cheeky now as you were when you were a boy, Braden Garrett.”

  Cassie seemed as surprised as he was that the former librarian had remembered him well enough to be able to distinguish him from his brothers and male cousins—all of whom bore a striking resemblance to one another.

  “I was planning to pick you up,” Cassie interjected.

  “Jerry decided he wanted to come and get some books, and it didn’t make sense to drag you away if he was heading in this direction,” Miss Houlahan said.

  “Where is Mr. Riordan?”

  “He dropped me off in front, then went to park the car.”

  “Well, we’re not quite finished setting up, but you’re welcome to wander around and browse through th
e books we’ve got on display.”

  “I’m not here to shop, I’m here to work,” Irene said abruptly.

  Cassie nodded, unfazed by the woman’s brusque demeanor. “Was there any particular section you wanted to work in?” she asked solicitously.

  “Put me near history,” the former librarian suggested. “Most people assume old people are experts on anything old.”

  “We’ve got history set up—” Cassie glanced at the tables queued along the sideway “—four tables over, just this side of the card shop. Give me a second to finish this display and I’ll show you.”

  “I’ve got a box of history books right here,” Braden said. “I can show her.”

  “It’s ‘Miss Houlahan’ not ‘her,’” Irene corrected him. “And I know where the card shop is.”

  “I’m heading in that direction anyway, Miss Houlahan,” he told her.

  But she’d already turned and started to walk away, her steps slow and methodical, her right hand gripping the handle of a nondescript black cane. Braden fell into step beside her, the box propped on his shoulder so that he had a hand free in case Miss Houlahan stumbled.

  She didn’t say two words to him as they made their way down the sidewalk. Not that they were going very far—the history/political science table wasn’t more than thirty feet from the library’s main doors—and not that he expected her to entertain him with chatter, but the silence was somehow not just uncomfortable but somehow disapproving. Or maybe he was projecting his childhood memories onto the moment.

  When they reached the table, he eased the box from his shoulder and dropped it on the ground, perhaps a little more loudly than was necessary, and got a perverse sense of pleasure when she jolted at the noise, then glared at him. As he busied himself unpacking the books, he reminded himself that he was no longer a child easily intimidated but a CEO more accustomed to intimidating other people.

  He’d just finished unpacking when he heard the sweetest sound in the world: “Da-da!”

  Tucking the now-empty box under the table, he turned just in time to catch Saige as she launched herself into his arms. “There’s my favorite girl,” he said, giving her a light squeeze.

  “Choo-choo, Da-da! Choo-choo!” she implored.

  “Later,” he promised.

  Unhappy with his response, she turned her attention to her grandmother, who was following closely behind her. “Choo-choo, Ga-ma!”

  “We can go find the trains in a minute,” Ellen told her, before greeting Irene Houlahan.

  While his mother was chatting with the old librarian, Braden slipped away to get a chair for Miss Houlahan. By the time he got back, his mother and Saige were gone again.

  Miss Houlahan thanked him, somewhat stiffly, for the chair before she said, “Your daughter doesn’t look much like you.”

  He smiled at her blunt statement of the obvious fact that so many other people tried to tiptoe around. “Her paternal grandmother was Japanese.”

  “You adopted her then?” she guessed.

  He nodded.

  “Adoption is a wonderful way to match up parents who want a child with a child who needs a family,” she noted.

  He appreciated not just the sentiment but her word choice. He didn’t want to count the number of times that someone had referred to children placed for adoption as “unwanted,” because that description couldn’t be further from the truth. Perhaps untimely in the lives of the women who birthed them, those babies were desperately wanted by their adoptive parents. And in the case of his own daughter, he knew that Lindsay had wanted her child but, even more, she’d wanted a better life for Saige than she’d felt she would be able to give her.

  “There was a time I considered adopting a child myself,” Miss Houlahan surprised him by confiding. “But that was about forty years ago, when unmarried women weren’t considered suitable to take on the responsibilities of raising a child, except maybe a child who was in the foster care system.”

  “I’m not sure much has changed,” he admitted.

  “Back then, not a lot of men would be willing to raise an infant on their own, either,” she noted.

  “I’m a Garrett,” he reminded her. “There are currently thirty-one members of my immediate family in this town—believe me, I haven’t done any of this on my own.”

  Miss Houlahan smiled at that, the upward curve of her lips immediately softening her usually stern and disapproving expression. “It takes a village,” she acknowledged. “And a willingness to rely on that village.”

  “Believe me, I’m not just willing but grateful. I don’t know how I would have managed otherwise.”

  “Where does Cassie fit into the picture?” Irene asked.

  He didn’t insult her by pretending to misunderstand the question. “I’d say that’s up to her.”

  “Hmm,” she said. Before she could expand on that response, a tall, silver-haired man ambled over. “I let you out of my sight for five minutes, and you’re already chatting up other men,” he teased Miss Houlahan.

  She pursed her lips in obvious disapproval but introduced the newcomer as Jerry Riordan to Braden, and the two men shook hands.

  “You’re not trying to steal away my girl, are you?” Jerry asked.

  Braden held up his hands in surrender. “No, sir. I can promise you that.”

  “I’m not anyone’s girl and I’m not your anything,” Miss Houlahan said firmly to her contemporary. “And Braden has his eye on Cassie.”

  “Then I’d say he’s got a good eye,” Jerry said, sending a conspiratorial wink in Braden’s direction.

  Miss Houlahan sniffed disapprovingly. “She’s a lot more than a pretty face, and she deserves a man who appreciates her sharp mind and generous heart, too.”

  Braden silently acknowledged the validity of her concerns, because as much as he appreciated Cassie’s pretty face and sharp mind, he had no interest in her heart—and even less in putting his own on the line again.

  Chapter Seven

  The library didn’t spend much money to advertise the Book & Bake Sale, relying mostly on word of mouth to draw people to the event. As Cassie looked around the crowds gathered at the tables and milling on the sidewalk, she was satisfied the strategy had succeeded.

  She wandered over to the children’s tent—always one of the more popular sections—where, in addition to the books and games and toys for sale, balloon animals were being made and happy faces were being painted. Chloe, a straight-A student and an incredible artist, was turning boys and girls into various jungle animals and superheroes, and the lineup for this transformation seemed endless. While Cassie was there, a pint-size dark-haired toddler came racing toward her, baring tiny white teeth. “Raar!”

  In response to the growl, Cassie hunkered down to the child’s level. “Well, who is this?” she asked, peering closely at the little girl’s face. “She looks a little bit like Saige and a lot like a scary lion.”

  “Raar!” Saige said again, then held out the train in her hand for Cassie’s perusal.

  “What have you got there?”

  “Choo-choo.”

  She glanced at Braden. “Daddy finally caved and bought you a train, did he?”

  Though the little girl probably didn’t understand all of the words, she nodded enthusiastically.

  “Not Daddy, Grandma,” he corrected. “My mother spoils her rotten.”

  “If that was true, she’d be rotten and she’s not,” Ellen Garrett protested as she joined them. “In fact, she’s so sweet I could gobble her right up.” Then she scooped up her granddaughter and pretended to nibble on her shoulder, making Saige shriek with laughter.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that you indulge her every whim,” Braden pointed out.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t give her what she really needs,” his
mother said.

  He sighed. “Mom.”

  The single word was a combination of wariness and warning that gave Cassie the distinct impression she was in the middle of a familiar argument between the son and his mother.

  “But I can give her a cookie,” Ellen said, apparently heeding the warning.

  “Kee?” Saige echoed hopefully.

  Braden nodded. “One cookie,” he agreed. “And then I need to get her home for her nap.”

  “I can take her back to my house,” Ellen offered.

  “You already had her for most of the morning,” he pointed out.

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t spend more time with my granddaughter?”

  “You know there isn’t,” he said. “And you know how much I appreciate everything you do for us.”

  Cassie kept her attention on Saige, quietly entertaining the little girl with the “Handful of Fingers” song while her father and grandmother sorted out their plans.

  “Then maybe you could do something for me,” his mother suggested.

  “Of course,” he agreed readily.

  “Stick around here to help Cassie with the cleanup—and make sure she gets something to eat.”

  “Oh, that isn’t necessary,” Cassie interjected. “We have plenty of volunteers.”

  “But you can always use extra hands,” Braden reminded her of the statement she’d made only a few hours earlier.

  “That’s settled then,” Ellen said happily. “Come on, Saige. Let’s go get that cookie.”

  Braden stole a hug and a kiss from his daughter before he let her head off to the bake table with her grandmother.

  “You really don’t have to stay,” Cassie told him. “You’ve already done so much to help.”

  “I do need to stay—my mother said so.”

  She smiled at that. “Do you always do what your mother tells you to?”

  “Usually,” he acknowledged. “Especially when it’s what I want to do, anyway.”

  “There must be something else you’d rather do with your Saturday.”