by Brynne Asher
I look up at his frowning face. But even through the frown, I can’t take my eyes off his that are glaring right back. And those pissed-off eyes are perfectly bright blue, framed in matching pissed-off heavy brows. His short clipped goatee is dark-blond and surrounds his hard set mouth and chin, matching the rest of his perfectly pissed-off bone structure.
He’s wearing a black Under Armour fitted ball cap turned backwards. Even from here, I see a pair of what look to be sporty Oakley’s sitting on the back of his hat, resting on the brim with the arms hugging his head. He’s wearing a royal blue t-shirt, faded from wears and washes. It reads “The Shed” and underneath in smaller letters, “Run Hard, Run Deep.” Looking down I see loose, black athletic shorts on his thick legs with running shoes to top off his athletic ensemble. I can tell it’s not for show because I not only see the sweat on his shirt, but he smells like a man who’s been working out. I can’t say he stinks and he undeniably could use a shower, but if a smell could be rugged, he’s bursting with it. Even though I’m not around many like him, don’t ask me how, I just know he smells all man.
But I have to focus, even with the horny teenage kid standing to our side. “Don’t call me darlin’. I’m the one wearing whatever drink this is. You spilled it on me, this is not my fault.”
“Dr. Pepper,” he clips, still frowning.
“I don’t care what it is.”
He shrugs. “You asked.”
My voice rises. “I did not.”
“Do you want me to help you to your car? I can carry your food for you,” the kid offers with a glassy look on his face.
“No!” the brick wall and I both answer at the same time.
I exhale a breath of air and yank my shirt out as far away from my body as it will go. Shoving the napkins back at the kid, I demand, “Give me my food.” I look back up at the bright blue-eyed brick wall with the perfect facial bone structure. “Really, it’s okay. I forgive you.”
He raises one of his pissed-off, thick eyebrows and shakes his head. Grabbing my food that I’m not at all hungry for anymore, I sidestep them both and head out the door.
My afternoon has gone to shit. Now I need to make a stop at my apartment to shower, change and maybe make it to Gabby’s so I can meet my deadline. Who am I kidding, I might get a start on my photos, but there’s no way I’ll be able to write all my articles by tonight.
I walk my wet t-shirt winning self to my “mom-car” that my parents just forcefully handed down to me, insisting my Civic was on its last leg. I know I’ve had that car since high school and all through college, but no one at the age of twenty-six who dresses like I do and lives in a kind-of crap apartment drives a three year old Lexus. As I round it to get to the driver’s side, my eyes flit to the windows of my favorite burger joint. I see the brick wall standing with his arms crossed watching me. The minute I catch his eyes, he shakes his head and turns toward the front of the restaurant.
What the hell? I hope they make him buy another drink and clean up the mess on the floor. What an asshole.
I feel terrible.
“I think it’s all aired out. Really, I’m feeling better now.” My cousin, Gabby, tries to make me feel better even though she still looks a little green around the gills. She’s newly pregnant and the smell of BBQ pork with all the fixings sent her straight to the bathroom when she walked into her house after a long day.
Gabby has an amazing kitchen and it looks great on my blog. She, along with the rest of my family, let me use their houses for photo shoots. But today I’ve apparently stunk it up and made her sick, even though I think it smells delish.
“I’m so sorry,” I offer. “I wrapped up leftovers for Jude so you don’t have to cook dinner and took the rest out to my car. I hope the smell is completely gone.”
“Don’t worry, I never know what will make me sick. It came on last week, maybe it’ll pass soon,” she explains.
I started my catering business, Birds of a Feather, a few months ago and I’m doing fairly well. But what has surprised me and everyone else is the other side of my business that has come to life out of nowhere.
When I started catering a few months back, I hit the land of social media hard thinking it would be free advertising. With my degree in Graphic Design, it was easy to throw together a website and link it to all the popular social media outlets. My followers quickly grew far and wide. I thought, why not sell advertising and make a little extra money? It took off in a way I never dreamed. I’m still catering, but now I plan my blog around holidays, entertaining, in-season food, meal planning, and anything else I feel like writing about. I manage my own advertising sales so I make more than if I farmed it out. Now I’m running two businesses and am busier than I ever planned when I started this venture.
Right now I’m ramping up for summer and the Fourth of July, which is more than a month away, but people like to plan early. Thus the reason for the BBQ spread that has made my pregnant cousin sick from the smell alone. Not really a shot of confidence for a caterer.
I turn and look toward the garage door when I hear Gabby’s husband come in. “Hey, Jude.”
He barely greets me with a lift of his head because his eyes go straight to his wife and he frowns. “What’s wrong? Are you sick again?”
Gabby tries to give him a bright smile. “No, I’m fine. It goes as quickly as it comes.”
He strides straight to her, concerned, and lifts her face to his. “You look awful.”
“Thanks,” she deadpans.
“Sugar, don’t be a smartass. You know what I mean. Call the doctor,” he demands. Jude has taken overprotectiveness to a new level since Gabby got pregnant. And he was protective to begin with but now he’s off the charts.
She looks over at me rolling her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“I’m really sorry I made you sick. I won’t bring food over again until you’re passed this,” I say. “I left dinner in the fridge for you, Jude. You might want to eat it outside.”
“Thanks,” he says to me without looking away from his wife and leans to kiss her forehead.
“I’ll get out of your way,” I say as my phone starts ringing. I see it’s my friend Brian, so I let it go to voice-mail. “I’ll be at Sophia’s all next week with the boys, maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Sounds good. If you run out of things to do, bring them over. We’ll build a fire outside and roast marshmallows. I wonder if the smell of toasted marshmallows will make me sick?” she ponders, asking no one in particular.
I grin back. “We’ll see. Thanks, and sorry about today.”
“Don’t worry.” She says as I let myself out and head to my car.
I’m on my way home and sigh as I contemplate what to do about Brian. He and I have been friends since our third year of college at Creighton. It’s not lost on me that he wants to be more than friends, but I’m not interested in him that way.
My phone rings over the Bluetooth in my new fancy car telling me it’s Brian. Again. His persistence lately is reaching new levels. If he doesn’t let up, I’m going to have to say something. I press the button and answer. “Hey, Brian.”
“What are you doing tonight? We should take in a movie, maybe grab a late dinner.”
I shake my head as I drive. “I can’t. I got behind and need to work tonight. I told you I’m keeping Sophia’s boys next week, I’ve got a lot to do.”
His voice is bright, intruding into my quiet night of work. “Not a big deal. I’ll bring over pizza and beer, keep you company.”
“I’m really behind. I need to focus,” I insist.
“Come on, Paige. It’s Friday. You need to relax a little bit. You can catch up this weekend.”
I shake my head at myself and do what I always do—give in—because I have a hard time saying no to people. “Okay, just for a bit. But don’t bring a pizza. I have a ton of BBQ with all the sides I made today for the blog but bring beer. Remember I can’t hang out all night, I have work to do.”
“C
ool. I love it when you feed me. See you in an hour.” I hear him smile over the phone making me silently groan because, again, I don’t know what to do about him.
I don’t have tons of friends outside of the Carpinos. My family is huge and I never have to venture far for friendships. I do have a new friend, Rosa, but she’s eighty-five. I take her to the grocery store and visit her a couple times a week. Maybe it’s time I expand my horizons—widen my network. What I do know is Brian is pushing the friendship boundary lately and I don’t like it.
I’ll work tonight, edit the pictures I took today, and get started on my articles. I’ve got a dinner to cater next Thursday that needs to be planned and I grit my teeth as I think about having to do laundry. If my favorite tank is ruined, my day will officially suck. I’ll try soaking it in bleach first.
Damn the Dr. Pepper-drinking blue-eyed asshole.
“When are you going to move? You can afford something nicer, not to mention bigger now that you’ve got Birds up and running.” Brian is lounging behind me on my old sofa.
I shift in my seat to shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t make fun of my business. People love the name and my logo kicks ass.”
“I still don’t get what it has to do with food,” he says.
I turn back to my work and continue to edit my images. “I told you, it has nothing to do with food. It has to do with me. Birds of a Feather, like the saying, they stick together. It’s about family, supporting each other, you know?”
“I guess.” He sighs. “Maybe that’s why I don’t get it.”
This time I turn fully and spout, “You need to stop. Your mom and sister are great. Just because you don’t have a huge family doesn’t mean you don’t have what I have. You might’ve lost your dad when you were young, but the three of you are tight and they love you. I hate it when you talk that way.”
Brian’s dad died when he was six-years-old and, besides his mom and sister, he really doesn’t have extended family. He’s got his own lot of guy friends but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one he ever talks to about his dad, and even I know little about him. Brian mentioned he had health problems and his mom once alluded to the fact it was more, but never elaborated. It’s not my place to ask and I never have. I’ve seen pictures of his dad at his mom’s house and Brian is a carbon copy. Tall and lanky, but fit, with the same shock of brown hair and deep brown eyes.
He gives me a half-grin and drains the last of his beer. “Relax, little one, I don’t need any counseling. I’d better go so you can work. Thanks for dinner. If it looks as good on the Internet as it tastes, you’ll hit it out of the park.”
I get up and walk him the whole seven steps to my apartment door and smile up at him, giving him a sideways one-armed hug. “Thanks. And thanks for the beer.”
He returns my only-for-friends hug. “No problem. Maybe I’ll swing by your sister’s next week, hang out with you and the kids.”
“I don’t know, give me a call first.” Tonight has been good—Brian hasn’t pushed our friendship boundary once. Maybe he got the hint and I won’t have to say anything after all.
He gives me one more smirk before leaving. “Lock up.”
I roll my eyes before slamming my door on his heels. Men. Like I’m not going to lock my door. Do they all think we’re idiots?
Chapter Two
Dadmire
Paige
“I’m here to pick up Noah and Cayden Woods and, ah…” I look down at my phone to find the names of Sophia’s neighbor’s kids. “Oh, here it is. Jordan and Caroline Montgomery.”
“That’s Jordy and Cara. I’ll need to see a photo ID before I send them out,” the counselor explains, as if I’m trying to break in to this high security day camp for kids. I pull out my wallet to prove I’m not a crazy kidnapper.
“Paige Carpino.” She reads my license. “Great, you’re on the pickup list for all of them. Sign here and I’ll have them get their stuff.”
I sign all four kids out of what seems to be a kid’s camp penitentiary. A couple minutes later my nephews, along with a boy who’s a bit bigger than Noah and a little blonde girl come running out to me. Noah and Cayden slam into me like usual, giving me hugs, and the other two hang back a bit cautious.
“Hey guys.” I greet my nephews and look up to the other two with a big smile. “You must be Jordan and Caroline. I’m Paige, Noah and Cayden’s aunt. You guys are going to hang with me this week.”
“I’m Jordy and this is Cara,” the boy says, a bit guarded.
Jordy’s a big kid, not just tall but solid. He has short, dark blond hair with brown eyes. He’s the exact opposite of his little sister. Cara’s a tiny thing with long, pale blonde hair, and beautiful blue eyes.
“Well, nice to meet you Jordy and Cara. How old are you?” I ask, as little Cara hides behind her brother.
“I’m seven,” Jordy answers. I look to Cara but she hides her face in her brother’s arm. Jordy goes on, “She’s five. She’s quiet sometimes.”
I smile at Cara as she peeks around her brother. “There’s nothing wrong with being quiet.”
“Can we have ice cream?” Noah yells up at me.
“I went to the store today and have all kinds of goodies for the week. I thought we’d bake cookies and make ice cream sandwiches. How does that sound?”
“I don’t wanna make cookies.” Cayden frowns.
“Then you can play outside and I’ll bake cookies. And because I love you, I’ll let you eat some anyway.”
The boys all cheer in unison before we trudge out to my sister’s minivan where I make sure everyone’s buckled in. All the while, Cara never makes a peep but she also never takes her eyes off me. Jordy wasn’t exaggerating when he said his sister’s quiet.
“I’ve got to call my dad,” Jordy says from the back of the van.
“Oh, okay. Here, use my phone.” I try to pass it back.
Jordy digs into his backpack. “It’s okay, I have a phone.”
“You have a phone? Aren’t you seven?” I ask.
“Yeah, but my dad wants me to call him whenever I want to call him. And he wanted me to call him when we left camp,” he explains.
Okay, that’s weird but, whatever. I hear Jordy make the quick call to his dad, having the shortest conversation in the history of conversations. I guess it’s inbred in men not to be phone talkers from an early age.
I make my way to the edge of town where Sophia and Lanny live, turning into their development. It’s not really a development, but rather a bunch of houses spread out on large lots of land, a couple of acres each. The houses are situated for privacy with the benefit of having neighbors. I make my way through the wooded roads and turn onto the last street. They live near the end of Athica Lane, a long winding road lined thick with trees that are in full bloom this time of year.
My brother-in-law, Lanny, grew up loving animals. He’s a vet and wanted a country life. My oldest sister, Sophia, is not country whatsoever. They finally settled on this compromise about five years ago. It’s beautiful. The homes have been here a few decades and the trees and woods surrounding them are huge, thick, and lush. It’s the best part about the area. Sophia’s goal was to slowly update the house—a rambling ranch with large, spacious rooms. But they just had their third baby last year, I think it’s going slower than she planned.
I pull the minivan into the garage and as soon as we hit the house, the boys run toward the backyard with Lanny and Sophia’s two dogs. The day camp must not be doing its job—they don’t look worn out in the least. The neighbor kids must be here a lot because Cara hauls her little self onto a barstool, swinging her legs, while looking up at me with her bright eyes.
I go to the sink to wash my hands before I get started on the cookies. “How was camp today, Cara? You have fun?”
She still doesn’t say anything, but nods affirmatively.
Hmm, this could be a long week.
I try again. “What was your favorite thing about today?”
She sc
runches her nose, shrugging almost to her ears, silently.
“Did you make crafts?” I ask.
She nods.
“Did you play games?” I try.
More nods.
I smirk. “Did you look for bugs?”
She quickly shakes her head.
“Did you eat bugs?” I grin.
She finally smiles, shaking her head no even quicker.
Well, no one’s ever accused me of not being able to carry on a one-sided conversation, so I decide to go for it. “You know what my favorite part of today’s going to be?”
With big eyes, she gives her head another little shake.
“Cookies. I love to cook and bake. I love it so much I made it my job. But we’re not doing anything fancy today. We’re gonna keep it simple—good old chocolate chip. And even though it would make Sophia blow a gasket because of the raw eggs, we’re going to snack on cookie dough in the process because it’s too good not to. But just you and me. The boys don’t get any cookie dough because they didn’t want to help. Their loss, don’t you think?”
I’m not sure she knows what to think, but she gives me another big-eyed nod anyway.
“But what’s going to make these cookies special is we’re gonna let the ice cream get a little bit soft and then plop a hunk of it in between two cookies, squeezing them together for a sandwich. Guess what we’re going to do then?”
If it can be believed, her beautiful bright eyes get even bigger.
I smile. “We’re going to eat them before dinner.”
And, finally.
My chocolate chip cookie rant wins me a grin and a giggle.
“If you think that makes you smile, my chocolate chip cookie s’mores’ll knock your socks off.” She giggles even lounder. “Do you like to bake, Cara?”
In her sweet little voice, so tiny I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t listening close enough, she utters, “I bake with my grammy.”
I smile big at my new little friend who just whispered her first words to me. “Well then, I’m sure I would love your grammy. Crawl up here, sweet girl. Let’s get crackin’.”