by J. M. Dabney
“Okay, maybe I'm fibbing a bit, but not much.”
He had his arms tight around her waist and was carrying her back to the house. “You can put me down.”
“Nope, not going to watch you make-out with the ground again.”
“I was not.”
She tried to ignore the feel of his chest and the hard curve of his stomach against her back as she dangled several inches off the ground. She couldn't remember the last time someone picked her up or touched her that wasn't her son it had been so long. Her head rested back against his shoulder, and his rough stubble-covered cheek rubbed against her temple. His closeness did weird things to her stomach. It was nervousness but also something else.
Bret didn't let her go until he placed her feet on the back porch and ushered her inside to the kitchen.
“What did you do to the poor girl? She's white as a ghost.”
“I nearly died, and he's not taking it seriously,” she announced as she put distance between herself and Bret.
She needed to stay busy, so she got to work on making the pie she'd promised Clayton.
“She didn't almost die. Old Red decided to come out of hiding and see what was going on. That old bull woulda done more damage to the truck than she woulda done to him.”
She watched Bret from the corner of her eye as he walked to the fridge and pulled out two beers, then glanced at her.
“Did you want one?”
“No, I don't drink.”
“I can refrain until after I take you home.”
“It's fine.”
It really wasn't, the scent of beer or liquor was still a huge trigger, but it was Bret's home, and she had no right—her thoughts ceased as he put one bottle back. Bret opened the beer for Clayton and set it in front of the older man.
“I said—”
“And you lied that it was fine. I'll have one when I get home later.”
She felt bad for ruining his routine. She wasn't scared of Bret. If that were the case, she'd have thrown a fit when he'd picked her up outside. She'd known the man for nearly twenty years, most of those as her teacher and then her son's coach and principal. He'd done so much for her and Miles without expectation.
Clayton and Bret spoke while she finished the dough for the crust and wrapped and put it in the fridge to chill. She'd made enough for four pies so there would be enough for everyone and maybe an extra left over for Clayton to have. She cleaned up her mess, and when she turned away from the sink, Bret was standing there with a tall glass of tea.
“You were almost out of tea. Sit down for a minute and relax. I didn't bring you here to work.”
“I'm almost done. After it chills, I just have to roll out the dough, and then all that's left is for them to bake. Harry’s going to want his kitchen back to make dinner.”
“Ms. Philly.”
A deep familiar voice called her name, and she looked in the direction of the back door.
“Now, that is a face I haven't seen in forever.”
Klein was a friend of Miles' who'd gone off to college. That boy had spent quite a few weekends at her place with Miles. She'd had a feeling they were more than friends but hadn't pushed for information. It wasn't her place to pry. Even if they had secretly dated, she'd known the relationship hadn't been an intimate one. Her son and Klein were close, and she knew when the older boy had left for college it had hurt her son. She'd noticed the change in Miles and even the recent ex wasn’t allowed to get too close. First loves were the hardest to forget or at least she assumed so.
She laughed as he rushed forward and gave her a quick hug.
“What have you been up to?”
“Went to school for a few years, came close to failing out before I realized that it just wasn't for me. Bret hired me on a few months ago. Still getting on my feet.”
“Miles didn't tell me you were home.”
“I don't think he knows. We kinda parted on bad terms.”
She leaned in and whispered, “Apologize, and all will be well.”
“I don't know if an apology is going to work.”
“My son is addicted to chocolate. You can never go wrong.”
“Thanks, Ms. Philly. I have missed him.”
“Work quick cause he's leaving for school in a few months. You're always welcome in our home, remember that.”
“I do, and I've always appreciated it.”
“Well, let me get these pies made. Don't be a stranger, okay? You still have my number if you'd like to come by on a night I'm not home.” She patted his bearded cheek.
“You're sneaky, Ms. Philly.”
“My son taught me well.”
She gave him one last squeeze as they ended their quiet conversation. She turned as Klein wandered off back outside and found herself alone in the kitchen with Bret.
“Where'd Clayton go?”
“He took his beer to the office. He still likes to try to keep up with the paperwork at least. Dad can't do as much as he'd wish, but he still tries.”
“His slurring isn't as bad as I thought it would be.”
Her unease hadn't subsided, and she knew it had nothing to do with Bret. Yet she still felt guilty for putting a safe amount of space between them. She tried to cover the movement by getting the dough out of the fridge, getting it separated and started rolling it out.
“Philly, did you ever talk to anyone after what happened?”
“After what happened?” She was grateful for the rolling pin that disguised the shaking of her hands.
“Please don't pretend, we both know neither of us is stupid. Does Miles know?”
Bret stepped up beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his large body, and he removed the pin from her hands. He took them in his and held them, raised them to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. She tensed at the feel of his firm lips on her skin.
“My son knows his DNA contributor hurt me and that's all, but I'm not naïve enough to think he doesn't know how I was hurt. How did you know?”
“I've always known. They were bragging about it in the locker room. I went to the Sheriff but without a complaint from you, it wouldn't hold up, and I don't think that backward bastard would've cared even with one. I did make the last year of school hell for them. They were benched more than they played, but I couldn't just do it for no reason, so I picked little things to take them out of the game. It was why I was so adamant about getting you back into school. You did nothing wrong, and you were the one paying for it while he lived his life.”
“I don't regret Miles. I don't blame him for what happened. I promise I loved him even before he was born.
“I have no doubts you love your son.”
“It was just so hard sometimes to not feel like I have to defend myself.”
“Did you talk to anyone?” Bret asked again.
“No, I tried to go to the school counselor for advice, and she kept asking me what I did to provoke it. I learned to shut up after that.”
She'd never felt so much shame as she had when that woman had asked why she went somewhere with the boy—what she was wearing.
“That was unacceptable. So, what are you doing?”
She felt relieved that he was changing the subject, but she knew they'd speak about it again and next time he wouldn't be so quick to drop it. He let go of her hands, and she went back to laying the bottom crust into the pans, then trimmed away the excess.
“I'm about to make them pretty.” She filled them with the filling of thawed cherries, sugar and cornstarch.
“Where'd you learn to bake?”
“Trial and error. I have a huge sweet tooth, and Gladys paid me extra for taking care of the desserts. Miles and I suffered through some horrific experiments until I got it right. What's your favorite dessert?”
Bret turned to lean back against the island as she used cookie cutters to cut out designs. The cutouts would be used to decorate two of the pies. She waited for him to move away and give her space, but he didn't. She felt his gaze
on her. She was caught between contentment and uneasiness, and she didn't understand what was happening. He'd always had an interest in her well-being. Never hesitated to ask if she was okay or offer to help.
“Cheesecake. Homemade, but I haven't had one in forever. I went to this bakery in Cheyenne, and they had killer New York Style cheesecake. I haven't had another that measured up.”
“I make a mean cheesecake, but I haven't made any in a while. Pies, cakes, and brownies sell the best at the diner.”
“Did you ever think about working in a bakery?”
“There isn't one around here. Everything at the grocery store is mostly frozen or delivered.”
“Maybe you should open one. I think the town might like that.”
“Bret—”
“Don't say no, maybe think about it. Miles is going away to college. You can find something all your own now.”
She finished off the pies by using an egg wash and then sprinkling them with sugar. She thought about what Bret said and realized that her life would be different. That wasn't a surprise because she knew that once her son was off to school, she'd have to learn to live on her own.
Bret helped her put the pans in the preheated oven, then he steered her onto one of the stools and took over cleaning.
“I don't know what I'm going to do. When you're a team for so long…I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.” She raised her hands to rest her chin in the cup of her palms.
While he was distracted with the mess she'd made, she studied him. His dark blond hair was threaded with random streaks of silver. His normally smooth jaw was covered with thick stubble that was a few shades darker than his hair. His body was broad and muscular, but not like a bodybuilder. Softer but still powerful. She studied the colorful ink that covered his arms and disappeared under the sleeves of his t-shirt.
“I never knew for sure you had tattoos.”
“Yeah, not many people do. It's a pain in the ass to hide them. I'm not ashamed of them, but I was a teacher, now principal of a small-town school. I don't think many would approve. I've been adding steadily over the years. To be honest, I don't have much skin left.”
“Can I get a closer look?”
He nodded without a word and walked around to stand before her. Bret held out his arms, and she briefly hesitated before she traced the lines. It was a beautiful mosaic of nature, flowers, and trees. Horses danced or reared onto their hind legs, blending into the landscape.
“I've always wanted to get one.”
“Why haven't you?”
“I don't know. Never seemed to have the time and really don't know what I’d want.”
She stopped breathing as he removed his t-shirt. His torso was covered in blond hair that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. The same type of scenes that matched the ones on his arms covered his ribs, and he turned to expose the designs that continued onto his back. Her hands shook as she raised them to draw her fingertips along the delicate lines and bright color.
“They're beautiful.”
“Thank you. Years of work, but I'm not taking my pants off so you can see the rest.”
“I'd never,” she gasped.
She pushed his chest as he spun back around to face her and he chuckled.
“Maybe you'd like to go with me this summer to see about getting one yourself.”
“You're getting more?”
“I don't know. I'm forty-eight. I think I'm covered enough.”
“What's your age have to do with it?”
“Nothing I guess, but I only have one calf left.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really, want to see?”
She rolled her eyes as he waggled his brows at her. “I appreciate the offer, but I'll unfortunately have to decline. You still have your chest left.”
“I'm not shaving my chest. I nearly went insane when they shaved the spots on my legs, and the hair started growing back at the same time the tattoos were healing.”
She felt the corners of her mouth twitch, and she bit her lips as she tried not to laugh.
“Woman, it wasn't funny. Especially when you're in class and trying not to look like you're scratching your junk.”
She covered her mouth as she busted out laughing until she couldn't breathe and his menacing glare only made it worse. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as she bent forward and her forehead came to rest on the thick cushion of hair on his chest.
“Philly, it's not nice to find someone's discomfort so amusing.”
Her chuckles turned to hiccupping giggles and even when his fingers combed through her hair to curve around the back of her head, she couldn't stop.
“Why are you half naked and isn't her laughing her ass of a bad sign? I told ya you were getting soft.”
Clayton's disgusted tone made her clear her throat as she straightened. She raised her hands to her face to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“She wanted to inspect my ink.”
“I was looking at his arms. He made the decision to take his shirt off,” she protested.
“That's not the way to woo a lady, son. You coulda just asked her on a date.”
All amusement fled at the mention of a date, and she tried to retreat, but Bret's fingers were still tangled in her hair. She darted a glance at his face. He wasn't looking at her.
“Dad, could you give us a minute?”
Clayton grumbled, but she listened to the tap of his cane fade into the distance.
“Now, baby, I want you to relax.”
“This can't be a date. I can't—”
“Why not, what's wrong that I might what to take you on one? Did me taking you to dinner make you uncomfortable? Or bringing you out here?”
“Yes.”
“What made you uneasy about being around me? Have I, in any way, ever approached you in a threatening manner?”
“I want to go home.”
“If that's what you want.”
She tried to ignore his hurt and disappointment.
“I'm going to go tell Dad we're leaving.”
“I'll check the pies and get my bag.”
She flinched as his breath fanned her mouth and then he stroked his lips across hers. The brief caress caused her to pull away, and thankfully he let her go. She peeked at him as he put his shirt back on and exited the kitchen.
Her eyes closed as she tried to bring her heart rate back under control. It wasn't like she didn't have a sex drive because she did. She took care of it herself. Dating was her nightmare.
“Let's get you home, Philly.”
“Okay.” She hopped off the stool. Quickly checked the pies and removed them so they could cool.
Bret didn't approach or crowd her in any way. She opened her mouth to apologize, maybe explain but he shook his head.
“We're good, Philly. I promise.”
In her gut, she knew he lied to her about them being good. She'd never had friends. Miles was her best friend, and she was about to lose him. She shrugged into her backpack and wondered if this was the end. The tears that threatened to escape were forced back with long practice, but when she returned home, she'd let herself weaken enough to cry.
When Everything Falls Apart
Graduation was behind him, and the summer had started. He scrubbed his hand over his beard that was quickly turning shaggy. When Miles had walked across the stage, he'd glanced in the direction of where he knew Philly sat. She hadn't talked to him in two weeks, and it was childish, but he hadn't visited the diner as he normally did on his trips to town. He'd just needed a few more minutes with her in the kitchen but his dad saying that one word had his woman shutting down.
Her little gasp when he'd removed his shirt had stroked his ego. He was a middle-aged man, and the way she'd touched him and traced the lines of his ink made him feel good. He knew he was still an attractive man but knew he wouldn't ever be a woman's first choice.
He groaned because he sounded pathetic even in his own head.
Headlights approaching had him turning to look down the long drive, and he recognized Miles' car. He set his beer bottle aside and stood, the planks of the porch a bit rough under his feet. Descending the steps, he hoped that Philly would be with the boy.
“Hey, Bret,” Miles called out as the boy exited the car.
“Everything okay?”
“Um, can we talk about something?”
He was concerned by the frown on the boy's face. Miles was one of those guys that was always happy. The positivity just flowed off Miles.
“Miles, what have we discussed over the years?”
He'd made sure that Miles always knew his door was open if the boy wanted to talk. He'd been the second person that Miles came out to, and he'd been honored by that trust. Miles was built like a linebacker and could take care of himself, but that didn't mean he didn't keep a closer watch out for the boy.
“I know, you were always there when I needed to talk.”
“Does your mom know you're here?”
From Miles' obvious nervousness he figured out the answer.
“No, I wanted to talk about her, and if I said I was coming to see you, she'd freak out.”
Had he made Philly that uncomfortable that she didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore? Seeing Philly was an almost daily occurrence over the years. Two weeks of giving Philly her space had turned into hell.
“Come have a seat. I can tell it's serious.”
He retook his seat and Miles took the one beside him.
“I'm worried about Ma.”
“Which is understandable. You're leaving in a few months—”
“No, she's been weird the last few weeks since you dropped her off. My DNA contributor did horrible things to my mom. I always wondered if I somehow looked like him. There's nothing she won't tell me, and I don't want to meet him, but I've never wanted to ask her.”
“Hey, look at me.” When Miles didn't, he was out of the chair and crouched in front of him. “I, for a fact, know you look nothing like him. You're an exact male copy of Philly except for towering over her.”
“I don't want Ma alone when I leave. She's put her own life on hold for, fuck, years and she has nothing of her own.”
“Your mother is a strong woman. She raised you on her own. She has this amazing young man who is off to college.”