by Holly Rayner
As we eat, Colt tells us about his day at camp. I watch Garrett take in the tidbits of information that his son shares and process them.
After Colt tells us about a particularly competitive boy in the class, Garrett says, “You didn’t get upset with him, did you?”
Colt shakes his head. “I did like you said, Dad. I just let it go. It’s not worth fighting about.”
“Good boy,” Garrett says. “If you take the high road, others will follow your example.”
I watch Colt absorb his father’s advice. He thinks it over as he chews, and then he says, “I wish I did that with Kevin when he was picking on me at lacrosse practice,” he says. “After I pushed him, he just started to be even more mean to me.”
“That’s called escalating the problem,” Garrett says. “It’s okay. You made a mistake. It happens. That’s why it’s so important that you practice taking the high road during this basketball camp. It just takes practice, that’s all. You’ll get it.”
“I just hope Coach Bates lets me back on the team,” Colt says.
Garrett nods. “If you keep practicing good team skills at this camp, I’ll have a word with your coach when we get home.”
Colt smiles. He looks hopeful as he takes a bite of pasta and sauce. The end of a strand of pasta hangs from his mouth, and he slurps it up, which splatters pasta sauce all over his cheeks. Garrett laughs and hands his son a napkin.
Wow. Here I was thinking that Garrett shipped Colt off to basketball camp just to get rid of him, but Garrett is actually trying to help Colt work on his social skills.
Maybe Garrett isn’t exactly the absent, clueless father that I thought he was.
Garrett turns to me, and the conversation turns to the sauce. I tell them a bit about my grandmother, and then share some stories of learning to cook with her.
“That’s why I want to start my business, Karla’s Kitchen,” I say. “She was such an amazing woman. Every time I stepped into her kitchen I felt brighter. Happier. She had that effect on people, and part of her magic was the food that she shared. I want to share that feeling with others. Her name was Karla, too, you know. So Karla’s Kitchen is kind of an ode to her.”
“She sounds like quite the woman,” Garrett says.
“Oh, she was,” I say. “I wish you could meet her. She passed away years ago. That’s when I really started to focus on my work. I want her legacy to live on. It means a lot to me.”
Colt speaks up. “So you have a restaurant? Dad, can we go eat at Karla’s restaurant?”
“Not a restaurant,” I say. “I actually sell the foods to grocery stores, so that people can bring a bit of Karla’s Kitchen into their homes. Well, that’s the goal, anyway. I have a production plant downtown where we’ve been bottling the sauces and packaging dried pasta, and a few desserts, but it hasn’t really gotten off the ground yet.”
“What’s the holdup?” Garrett asks as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Your product is good. This is the best marinara I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m still tweaking my marketing strategies,” I say. “I have to get wholesalers to buy from me in bulk, and to do that I have to convince them that customers are going to be interested. My branding is close, but not perfect.”
“It’s an iterative process, branding,” Garrett says. “You have to keep correcting and fine-tuning. After enough cycles you get to the tipping point, where it’s close enough to be effective.”
“I completely agree,” I say. “I even know the corrections I need to make. I learned a lot from the last advertising push I made. I also spent a lot.” I blush, thinking of the ten thousand dollars of debt that I racked up on my credit cards. “But once I have more funds, I’m going to make the changes I need to make and try again.”
“Good attitude,” Garrett says. He turns to Colt. “It’s a good lesson for you to learn, too. In business, persistence is the name of the game. You just can’t give up.”
“Okay then, can I get the new Zombie Crusher video game?”
Garrett laughs. “That’s persistence, I’ll give you that much.” He turns to me and says, “Colt’s asked me for that game about a dozen times a day since we got here on Friday evening.”
“Everyone’s going to be playing it this week,” Colt says. “If I go back to school without playing it, I’m going to be left out.”
“We’ll see,” Garrett says. “We’re here to get fresh air and spend time together, not play video games. Hey, did you bring that graphic novel you’ve been reading with you? I want to check it out.”
Colt’s eyes light up. “It’s in my bedroom! I’m at a really good part, too. Johnathan, the main character guy, is about to go into an old train tunnel in the Rocky Mountains.”
I can see that Colt is thrilled that his father is interested in his book, so I say, “It was really nice eating with you both. I’d better call it a night soon. If you two want to go read, that’s fine by me. I can just box up some of these leftovers.”
“Yeah!” Colt says, jumping up from his seat. “Dad, you are going to love this book!” He takes off for his bedroom.
Garrett takes the last sip of his beer and then stands, too. “I guess I’d better go see what this train tunnel is all about. Don’t you dare clean up the leftovers. I can take care of that. Thank you for dinner, Karla.”
“My pleasure,” I say with sincerity.
Garrett bids me goodnight and then follows his son out of the dining room. Left to myself, I ignore Garrett’s orders and begin tidying up from dinner. It feels natural to bring the plates into the kitchen, and then begin rummaging around for Tupperware for the leftovers.
I’ve never minded doing the cleanup. Since I live by myself, I’ve been cleaning up my kitchen messes for years. It wouldn’t feel right to leave the cleanup all to Garrett. Besides, I still have to stuff the cannoli shells with the ricotta-based filling that I made.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m rinsing the last soap suds from the pot I boiled the pasta in when I hear Garrett enter the kitchen.
“Karla!” he says. “You’re still here?”
I turn, lifting the pot from the sink as I do so. “I decided to do a bit of cleanup and finish the cannoli,” I say. “I didn’t want to leave you with such a mess.”
“Yes, but you did all of the cooking,” he says, approaching me. He takes the wet pot from my hands and then lifts a dishcloth from the countertop. As he dries the pot he says, “Whoever does the cooking should get to relax after dinner.”
I smile and sigh. “That’s not how it works when you’re single,” I say. “I’m used to it. It’s habit.” I lean back against the sink and shrug.
He stops polishing and examines me. “How is it that such a beautiful, smart, caring woman like you is single?” he says thoughtfully.
His compliments, along with the intense way he’s looking at me, make a flush rise up in my cheeks. “I could ask you the same,” I say. “Mrs. Romano seemed to think you are the most eligible bachelor in Oklahoma City, you know.”
He laughs softly and then reaches past me to set the pot down on the drying rack. He’s so close; I can smell his aftershave. My breathing becomes shallow. The butterflies, that I’ve been getting to know well, appear in my stomach.
“After I lost my wife, Colt’s mother, I immersed myself in work,” he says. “I guess we all have habits that may or may not serve us.”
“So you haven’t dated much?” I ask tentatively. “I mean, is there a woman back in the city, waiting for your return?”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The last woman I was with… well, that was you.”
He’s closer now. I feel the heat of his body. His height is more apparent when he’s so close to me like this. I look up into his eyes.
“What about you?” he asks. “Is there a man, back in the city, waiting for your return?”
I shake my head. “No man,” I say. “The last date I went on involved dinner out followed by some pretty terrible line dancing.�
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He chuckles. “Whose dancing are you calling terrible?”
“Not mine,” I say. “And you were the only other beginner in the room.”
“If I remember correctly, I was getting the partner swing down to an art form. It went something like this…” He reaches for my hands and then holds me in just the way he did when we danced together, weeks ago. Then he starts singing, softly, a song that we danced to.
We move together for a few minutes, me giggling, him singing under his breath. As he finishes, he pulls me in close. My back is to him. I feel my whole body, magnetized to his, in all the places we touch. His strong arms are wrapped around mine. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Did I get that right?”
I turn my head slightly. I can feel the heat of his cheek. I know his lips are close—they’re right there, near my ear. If I turn my head even a little, we’re going to collide. I want to kiss him—badly—but I know that would be a mistake. We have so much to work out. I can’t mess it all up now. I can’t act impulsively. I have to use my head.
I breathe a few times, at the brink of turning to search out his lips, and drink him in like I did on the night we first met. Though it’s difficult, I resist the urge and pull gently away from him.
I take a deep breath and then reach for the tote bag I used to carry the dinner ingredients over. It’s now empty, lying crumpled on the countertop. I lift it up and loop it over my shoulder.
“I think you have the partner swing move down,” I say. “You’re going to sweep some young cowgirl off of her feet the next time you go to that bar.”
His face remains neutral, impossible to read.
“I’d better head over to the guest house now,” I say. “Good night, Garrett.”
“Good night, Karla,” he says. He leans back against the countertop.
I feel his eyes on me as I walk away. Though I want to turn around, walk up to him, and deliver the kiss that I know he’s thinking about, too, I don’t. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Chapter 15
Karla
Once I’m back in the guest house, I take a hot shower and then dress in a loose-fitting T-shirt. I sit on the side of the bed, rub lotion into my hands and feet, and think over the day. Thoughts of Garrett fill my mind, and it’s in a distracted state that I idly pull my phone from my purse so that I can charge it overnight.
As I plug the phone into the charger, I see that I have a voicemail. I must have been close enough to Garrett’s office at some point to get enough reception for the message to come through.
I consider leaving it for the morning, but then I notice that it’s from the temp agency that I’ve been working with.
I’d better listen to it. It might be about my current job at Crystal Clear Skin Care. I’ve been so preoccupied since leaving on Friday afternoon that I completely forgot to call in sick this morning, let alone think about what my manager will think about me spending a week in Texas while I sort out my housing issues.
Seeing the number of the temp agency reminds me that I’d better inform my manager that I’ll be absent for a while. Briefly, I remember his “three-strikes-and-you’re-out” lecture. Before I can dwell on it, the voicemail begins.
It’s a female voice, and one I haven’t heard before. It seems that every time I talk to someone at the temp agency, it’s a new person.
“Hello, this is a message for Karla Moretti,” she says, in a formal tone. “Karla, we received notice from Crystal Clear Skin Care that you were a no-call, no-show today. Your manager reported that you left unexpectedly on Friday afternoon, as well, shortly after violating one of the rules of the office.”
I roll my eyes. She must be referring to my use of a cellphone at my desk.
“If you do not show up for work tomorrow morning at eight a.m.,” the message continues, “we will assign another worker to the position, and your contract with our agency will be temporarily suspended. Please call me back to let me know you got this message. Thank you, and I hope you’re having a wonderful day.”
I hang up and plug my phone in. Then I flop down on my bed and place the back of my hand on my forehead. Yikes.
If I want to keep my temporary employment, I have to leave Texas now, crash at Christy’s place tonight, and then kiss some serious behind when I show up at my cubicle in the morning.
If I leave Texas now, I’ll never find out where this thing with Garrett is going to go.
There was tension back there in the kitchen. There are still sparks between us. There’s chemistry. I feel it—in my bones, my heart, my gut. And getting to know him feels good.
I roll over to my side and stare absentmindedly out the window.
Oklahoma City, and all of my problems there, feels so distant. I don’t have housing. I’m unmarried, and pregnant. My business is failing. Soon—starting tomorrow, unless I act now—I’m going to be out of a job. My income is uncertain.
All of that feels like a distant dream—a nightmare, more specifically.
Here, on Garrett’s ranch, I can pretend that all of those problems belong to someone else. When I think about Garrett, it all just seems to fall away.
I know I’m going to have to face reality eventually, but I don’t want to do it right now. Right now, I just want to fall asleep in this bed, thinking about Garrett.
Today I learned so much about him. It was like I was seeing another side of him—a softer side—and I liked that. I want to stay here and continue to get to know him.
With that final thought, I sit up and reach for my phone. I compose a quick email to the temporary agency. I explain that due to a health emergency, I am unable to continue work for Crystal Clear Skin Care. When I hit send, I feel palpable relief throughout my body. It’s as though my nerves were on fire, and they’ve just been cooled and calmed with refreshing water. I get to stay here, with Garrett and Colt, for the rest of the week. That’s what I want.
I’ll have to make some difficult decisions soon, but for tonight at least, I can continue to play make-believe.
Chapter 16
Karla
The next morning, I wake up and get ready for the day. I keep peeking out of the guest house windows, looking for signs of Garrett out in the yard. I dress with care, paying extra attention to my hair and makeup. A feeling of excitement simmers inside of me. When will I see Garrett? Is he out in the stable? In his office? Will he come over to check on me?
By nine a.m. I still haven’t seen him, and I’m getting antsy. He’s probably in town, dropping Colt off at camp and doing who knows what else. There’s so much uncertainty around my situation with Garrett; there are things unsaid, and feelings to sort out. I know we have important decisions to make about the twins and how we’ll raise them. I have no idea how that is going to play out. The excitement that I woke up with threatens to turn into anxiety. To calm my nerves, I leave the guest house and walk over to the horse stables.
The stable is constructed of pale, rough wood siding and a metal roof. I can already smell the fresh hay inside, and the earthy smell of the horses. I walk inside and let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I spot Cream Puff in one stall, gazing at me with interest. Princess is just past her, and at the sound of my footsteps as I cross over to the stalls, she looks at me, too.
“Good morning, girls,” I say, an unexpected smile tickling the corners of my mouth. I can feel their calming energy already. Cream Puff looks at me with her large, kind eyes, and seems to tell me that everything is going to be okay.
“Are you sure?” I whisper to her as I walk forward. “Because right now, my life seems pretty chaotic.”
She blinks. Her eyelashes brush her cheek, and when she opens her eyes, she looks right through me again.
“You’re certain,” I say. “Everything is going to be okay?” I pat her nose. “Well, it’s good to hear that you think so, Cream Puff.”
Princess offers a little whinny, in the stall next door. “Oh, I know,” I say. “I’m coming over to s
ee you, too.”
I’ve never had a pet. I’ve always tried to keep animals at a distance, thinking of them as unpredictable and messy. After Christy adopted her dogs, she tried to convince me to get a pet of my own. “It will help you relax,” she said. “You work too hard. An animal will help you remember to have some fun. Besides—it feels so good to be loved, and to give love.”
I always refused. How would I take care of a pet? I don’t have the time to take a dog out on walks and potty breaks every few hours. I insisted that my life was simpler without an animal around.
But now, as I pet Princess, I feel the love that Christy was talking about. It feels so good to pet her soft nose and look into her eyes. She seems to adore me, though I’ve done nothing to earn her love.
Is this what it will be like to have children? Is this loving, nurturing feeling that’s flowing through me something that will also course through my veins when I hold my infants in my arms?
I entered the stable looking to ease my anxiety, but now I can’t even remember what I was anxious about.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Princess.
I spend about an hour in the stable brushing Princess and then Cream Puff. I place some fresh hay and water in their troughs, and then say goodbye and thank you one more time.
As I exit the stables, a garden bed next to the stable doors catches my eye. I spot basil leaves, poking up amidst tall, uncut grass and a few thistles. The closer I look, the more herbs I see in the little plot.
I kneel down next to the garden and begin pulling out the weeds.
The sun climbs higher into the sky, and it’s about noon when I hear a vehicle pull into the driveway behind me.
I turn and see Garrett’s truck.
Standing, I brush my dirty hands off on the back of my jeans and then smile and wave as I catch sight of Garrett in the driver’s seat.
He gets out of the truck. In one hand, he has a shopping bag. He must have run some errands after dropping off Colt. With the other hand, he waves. He’s smiling as he approaches me. “What are you up to over here?” he asks.