“It will launder. I’m sorry, too. Really sorry you’re missing your best friend.”
The lump in her throat was back. She swallowed hard. “It’s always there, the ache of missing her, but sometimes, like now, it’s overwhelming.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead, trying to soothe the aching crying-jag hangover. “I really hate to cry.”
“I know.” His eyes were damp as well, when he smiled down at her. “If we’re like this for a couple of baby steps, what are we going to be like at her high school graduation?”
Jules sniffed again, then laughed. “The other parents are going to need a boat.”
He nodded and picked up Pippi, handing the tubby puppy to Jules. “She needs to go out. Would you mind?”
Jules gratefully took the puppy, snuggling the warm ball of fur into the little nook between her neck and shoulder, letting the feel of Pippi’s soft weight soothe her jagged edges.
As she walked outside, her mind was on the girls and the man who cared enough about them to play dollhouse. He was a natural with Emma and Eleanor. But by his own admission, he was good at adapting, a chameleon fitting in wherever he went.
He’d held her while she cried.
But what was real? How would she even know?
Chapter Twelve
Cam double knotted the laces on his soccer cleats. It was his first time making it out for the pickup game Jules’s brothers and brothers-in-law played each week with their friends. Jules had sent him off with a big bottle of water, a bag full of fruit and a wish for luck.
He didn’t need luck. He’d played real soccer in places where it was called football. It was a blood sport in many countries around the world and Cam traveled with a soccer ball, even when he was traveling light. Language barriers didn’t matter when it came to playing ball. Pretty much anywhere in the world, you could drop a soccer ball on the ground and instantly have a game.
Joe clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s go, guys. We have an hour. Stop messing around trying to tie your shoelaces into pretty bows.”
Cam grinned and jogged into the center of the field and stood next to Jules’s brother, dancing a little on his feet. He was so ready for this.
“Okay, play.”
Joe dropped back and Cam went for the ball, landing on his rear end as Latham bodychecked him. He rolled to his feet with a laugh. “Full-contact soccer. I see how it is.”
Latham dribbled the ball toward the goal, getting ready to pass to Ash.
Cam ran the ball down, stealing it from Latham and sending it downfield to Joe in a high-arcing pass. Joe took the shot but it landed in the hands of the goalie.
“How’s my sister?” Ash jogged backward, waiting for the goalie to kick to put the ball back in play.
“Truth?”
Ash shrugged. “Sure.”
The ball landed at Ash’s feet. Cam was faster, though, and turned the ball back the other way, dropping it right into the sweet spot where Joe slammed it in for their first goal.
Ash scowled. “You were saying?”
“She’s driving me crazy.” Maybe not literally crazy, because he was pretty sure if he was literally crazy, he’d be a lot less bothered than he was right now.
Every time he tried to concentrate on writing, he got distracted. From his desk, he could look right out the glass doors and into the kitchen windows. He could see her dancing in the kitchen in her bare feet with their pale pink toenails. He didn’t even want to know how he knew her toenails were pale pink. He shook his head.
Bonkers.
Ash got the pass from Latham, dribbled it downfield and took a shot on goal and missed. He jogged back toward Cam. “Crazy, how?”
“Her toenails are pink,” he blurted.
Ash grinned.
Colin dribbled the ball toward Cam, who did a little sidestepping which-way-are-you-gonna-go dance before he took the ball and sent it toward his goal again, but missed wide. The ball went out of bounds.
Because he was still thinking about Jules.
Setting up for the corner kick, Ash shoulder bumped Cam to the side. “I’m a newlywed with a little kid. I feel for ya, man.”
If Ash only knew. Cam drew in a frustrated breath. “She’s always in the kitchen baking stuff and singing show tunes...” Which scrambled any close-to-coherent thought.
Ash stopped running, digging his cleats into the ground and cutting back the other way to receive a chest-high pass.
Cam chased the ball as Ash tried to send it downfield, but it curved out of bounds again. He picked it up for the throw-in, hurling it to the ground at Joe’s feet.
To make matters worse, Jules called him down every little while to come into the kitchen with her, where all the show tune singing was happening. How was a man supposed to get a woman out of his head when she smelled like vanilla cupcakes and cooked like that? Much less get any work done?
He’d eaten French toast and muffins and thick slabs of bacon and maple turkey on a sweet potato biscuit—the clear winner. He couldn’t exercise enough to make up for all the food she’d been making him taste-test. Forty-five minutes into an hour-long game and he was sucking wind.
He bent over at the waist, gulping air.
“Water break.” Joe slapped him on the back. “Been eating too much of Jules’s good cooking?”
“He was complaining about her pink toenails driving him crazy.” Ash grabbed his water bottle from the bench with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Aw, Cam.” Joe grinned. “Real men aren’t bothered by a little toenail polish.”
“Speak for yourself,” Latham muttered.
Joe’s phone buzzed from where he’d left it on the bench. “That can’t be good. Everyone knows Saturday afternoons are sacred.”
He picked it up and glanced at the readout. “Well, looks like no one’s gonna be sleeping at our house for a while. Claire just went to the hospital to pick up a newborn. We’re getting a new foster baby.”
“Congratulations, Dad.” Ash grinned. “You guys single-handedly keep my practice afloat.”
“Boy or girl?” Cam asked.
Joe squinted at the phone. “No idea. She didn’t say. I hate to do this, guys, but I need to get back to the house. Our stash of newborn diapers is low and I have no idea what we did with the bassinet after we used it the last time.”
“We’ll bring dinner over. We have plenty of food.” Cam rolled the ball toward himself and bounced it up to his hands before tossing it to Joe to stuff in his bag. “If you need anything else, let us know.”
“You’ve got a huge house. Go to foster parent class and get licensed so they have someone else to call sometimes.” It was a throwaway comment from Joe as he swung the heavy bag of balls and cones over his shoulder and walked off to the parking lot, but it stuck in Cam’s mind.
Joe and Claire—Ash and Jordan, too—took in kids no one else wanted. Kids who needed a safe place while their parents tried to get their act together. Kids like Cam.
His life would’ve been so different if he’d had a family like the Sheehans. It didn’t do a lot of good to look back now, but looking forward to the future, maybe he could be that family for another kid.
In the back of his mind, though, the same old refrain kept playing. The one that said, If you stick around, they’re going to find out who you really are. Then there was the old favorite: It’ll hurt less if you do the leaving.
He was pretty sure in this case that it was going to hurt either way.
* * *
Jules looked down into the tiny newborn’s face. He was sleeping, a fragile fringe of lashes curving across his cheek. Every once in a while, his mouth curled into a lopsided, milk-drunk smile. Jules was entranced.
Jules and Cam had brought over all the leftovers from her taste-testing endeavors: ham and biscuits, homemade bread, a variety of cookies, cupcakes a
nd desserts. The only thing they’d needed to round out a pretty decent dinner were some chips and fruit, which she’d picked up at the store on the way.
Eleanor was thrilled to have a chance to play with her cousins, and Cam had taken the opportunity to throw the football with Deke. Amelia had seized Emma as soon as they got out of the car and taken her across the yard to the swings. So Jules found herself with time on her hands and an itty-bitty love in her arms.
Claire came out through the back door with two glasses of sweet tea, handed one to Jules and settled in the swing beside her. “Want me to take baby Jack? I don’t want you to miss out on your break.”
“He’s fine. Perfect, actually.” Jules patted Jack’s swaddled booty. “I remember Eleanor and Emma at this age, but I didn’t spend as much time with them as I wish I had now.”
She watched Cam throw the ball in a long spiral toward Deke, who caught it, spun and sprinted like he was running for the end zone. The kid had talent. She hoped he’d get to stay here long enough to play next year. “You think Deke will be here for a while?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so. He’s been in a couple of other foster homes, so it seems likely. It helps to have Cam spend some time with him. Deke’s had a rough go of it.”
Jules didn’t ask any questions—it wasn’t her place, or her business. Maybe given some time to build trust, Cam could encourage Deke to see that there was a life on the other side of growing up with parents who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take care of you.
A couple other boys had joined in the game. Cam was showing one of the younger boys how to grip the football with his fingers parallel to the laces. Now that she looked closer, she thought maybe it was Tyler, the one who had the meltdown last week. She smiled as he managed to throw the ball in a wobbly arc and Cam gave him an exploding fist bump.
Mentoring suited him. He was good with the boys and they clearly looked up to him. She had to wonder... Was this the real Cam? She wanted to believe it. This Cam was handsome, generous, loving. And did she say handsome?
“Does he know how you feel about him?” Claire asked quietly.
“What? I mean, of course.” Jules blushed, her cheeks going hot under the weight of Claire’s scrutiny.
“You had such a whirlwind wedding. It’s not hard to figure out that you two got married to protect the girls.”
Jules let the silence stretch for a long moment, but when it came down to it, she couldn’t lie. “Cam’s mother filed a petition for custody. The two of us together have a stronger case than either of us alone. Or that’s the theory, anyway.”
“But somewhere along the way, you developed feelings for him?”
“Not exactly subtle, huh?”
Claire shot her a skeptical look. “Not much, no. But, really, who could blame you? Look at him.”
Jules laughed, startling the baby in her arms. “For real. He’s so sweet with the kids and with me. But because of his childhood and being on his own when he was so young, he’s learned to adapt so he can fit in anywhere. I know it’s a skill that’s helpful to him. I just don’t know if he’s unconsciously trying to mold himself to fit in with our family or if he’s really that good a dad.” She nodded at the boys. “Really that good a mentor.”
Claire pushed the swing with her foot, letting it rock for a few beats. “That’s a tough one. We’ve had some kids come through here who are pretty good con artists. Some don’t even know that’s what they’re doing, it’s such a part of them.”
Jules nodded. “Right, exactly.”
“It’s a survival skill, you know? Not conscious deception.” Claire squinted at one of the kids on top of the playset in the yard. “And it’s an authentic part of who they are, even if it seems like it’s the opposite. I don’t know if that makes any sense at all.”
“It does.” She’d just never looked at it that way before.
Claire stood, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “James Frederick. Put that rock on the ground before you break House Rule Number One.”
She waited until the little boy, around seven years old, complied, before she sat down again. “Kids who come from hard places do learn to adapt. They have to in order to survive.” She nodded to where Cam was on the bottom of a heap of laughing boys, wrestling his way out. “But kindness and generosity, those are character traits that don’t change.”
Amelia bounced up the steps with Emma in her arms. Emma caught sight of Jules, registered that she was holding another baby, and screeched in anger.
Claire laughed and took the new baby from Jules. “Looks like your break time is over. Mine, too, but I’m so glad I wasn’t spending this nice afternoon in the house cooking dinner. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. I’m sure I’ll have more to bring over later in the week. I’m going to bake tonight after the girls go to bed.” Jules stood and settled Emma on her hip. She searched the yard for Eleanor and found her playing in the grass with a couple of half-grown kittens. Oh, man, she’d better get over there before Cam decided they needed a cat for their growing menagerie.
As she walked into the yard, Claire’s insights were running through her mind. Jules had wanted Cam to be real with her. And maybe he had been. He’d shared his past. He’d shared his desire for a family and a home. He was trying.
He had trust issues and rightfully so, but she wondered if she wasn’t the one with the bigger problem here.
* * *
It was after midnight when Cam walked into the kitchen with his empty mug, puzzling out a plot point in his head. His character was stuck in Casablanca and Cam had no idea how to get him out of there. Truthfully, Casablanca was beautiful and his character just wanted to stay there with his lady. Cam didn’t blame him. But this was an adventure story and adventures must be had.
He didn’t even realize Jules was working in the kitchen until he was halfway into the room. She had her earphones in and was singing along with a song he recognized from a current musical on Broadway. Maybe a little off-key, but man, she was beautiful when she wasn’t so careful.
She had a little smudge of flour on her cheek and was stirring something on the stove that smelled amazing. Oh, no—she wasn’t stirring it, she was stuffing cupcakes with it. He stifled a groan.
“Jules.”
No response.
“Jules.” He tapped her on the shoulder.
She screamed and whirled around. Snatching her earbuds out of her ears, she smacked him with a dish towel. “You should know better than to sneak up on a person!”
He laughed and nipped the dish towel out of her hand. “Don’t blame me—it’s not my fault you had your music turned up so loud you couldn’t hear me.”
Jules scowled at him and held up a spoon of some kind of sticky golden goo. “Okay, you might have a point there. Want a taste?”
“What is it?”
“You have to taste it and see. Just how brave are you?”
“Well, I’ve eaten tarantulas in Cambodia. I can probably handle anything you throw at me.” He opened his mouth to continue his list of weird foods, but she stuffed the spoon in before he could speak.
His knees threatened to buckle. It was that good. “Jules. Seriously.”
“Okay, now try it like this.” She handed him a cupcake. “It’s a butter cake with pecan pie filling, topped with a bourbon–brown sugar frosting.”
He bit into the cupcake. The butter cake was tender, the pecan pie filling gooey and the frosting melded it all together in one delectable bite. He might die of a sugar rush, but if he did, he’d die a happy man.
She raised her eyebrows. “Well...?”
“Jules, I’m not exaggerating when I say that’s probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.
“That’s exactly the response I was going for.” She sent a sparkling grin his
way, turned back to the counter and piped a perfect swirl on the next cupcake.
“How do you do that?” He downed a cup of milk and swiped the back of his fist across his mouth.
“It’s all in the wrist. Watch.” She moved to the next cupcake and piped a swirl.
“You didn’t even move your wrist.”
Jules laughed. “Sure I did. Want to try it?”
He cut his eyes at her. “Of course I want to try it. Give me that thing.”
She held it out to him. “Cradle it gently. Like you’re holding a baby chick.”
He dropped his hand. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
Cracking up, she tried to keep a straight face and failed. “I’m not. I’m really not.”
She offered him the pastry bag again. He took it, holding it between his hands like he was about to play some tennis. She laughed again and then said, “Don’t worry. You’re not hopeless.”
Standing slightly behind him, she reached around and closed his fingers around the top of the bag, where it was twisted shut. Her scent surrounded him, and every touch of her body against his arm was a unique kind of torture.
“This is your flow control, so to speak. How much pressure you use here affects how much frosting comes out at the tip.” With her fingers still over his, she gently applied pressure and made the tiniest circle with her wrist to make the frosting swirl on the cupcake.
Cam stepped back, away from her, and looked at it critically. “Nope. I’m gonna have to eat that one. Or I would, if I wouldn’t go into a sugar coma. I think I’ve got it. Let me try.”
His lip caught firmly between his teeth in concentration, he made a large uneven swirl on top of the next cupcake. He frowned at it. “That doesn’t look like yours.”
“It takes a lot of practice to make them the same every time. Want to try some more?”
“No one would want to eat the ones I made.” He handed the bag of frosting back to her and watched in amazement as she deftly frosted twelve cupcakes in the time he’d painstakingly frosted one.
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