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“It’s a wedding cake. Bride’s from Frederick. It’s a big fancy, splashy wedding, so the cake has to be exactly what she wants. Simple. Elegant.”
Suddenly the pieces fell into place. “And that’s your business?”
“Brides are willing to pay a lot to get the exact cake that suits their wedding. Which means a job a month supports us.” She glanced around. “Of course, I inherited this house and our expenses are small, so selling one cake a month is enough.”
“What do you do in the winter?”
“The winter?”
“When fewer people get married?”
“Oh. Well, that’s why I have to do more than one cake a month in wedding season. I have a cake the last two weeks of April, every weekend in May, June and July, and two in August, so I can put some money back for the months when I don’t have orders.”
“Makes sense.” He drank his coffee. “I guess I better get going.”
She smiled slightly. “You never said what brings you home.”
Not sure if she was trying to keep him here with mindless conversation or genuinely curious, he shrugged. “The family jewels.”
Missy laughed.
“Apparently my grandmother had some necklaces or brooches or something that her grandmother brought over from Scotland.”
“Oh. I’ll bet they’re beautiful.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve yet to find them.”
“Didn’t she have a jewelry box?”
“Yes, and last night I sent my mom pictures of everything in it and none of the pieces are the Scotland things.”
“So you’re here until you find them?”
“I’m here till I find them. Or four weeks. I can get away when I want, but I can’t stay away indefinitely.”
“Maybe one of these nights I could grill chicken or something for supper and you could come over and we could catch up.”
He remembered the afternoons sitting on the bench seat of her grandmother’s picnic table, trying to get her to understand equations. He remembered spring breezes and autumn winds, but most of all he remembered how nice it was just to be with her. For a man working to get beyond a protracted divorce, it might not be a bad idea to spend some time with a woman who reminded him of good things. Happy times.
He smiled. “That would be nice.”
He made his way back to his house and headed to his grandmother’s bedroom again. Because she’d lived eight months of the year in Florida and four months in Maryland, her house was still furnished as it always had been. An outdated floral bedspread matched floral drapes. Lacy lamps sat on tables by the bed. And the whole place smelled of potpourri.
With a grimace, he walked to the mirrored dresser. He’d looked in the jewelry box the night before. He could check the drawers today, but he had a feeling these lockets and necklaces were something his grandmother had squirreled away. He toed the oval braided rug beneath her bed.
Could she have had a secret compartment under there? Floorboards that he could lift, and find a metal box?
Looking for that was better than flipping through his grandmother’s underwear drawer.
He pushed the bed to the side, off the rug, then knelt and began rolling the carpet, hoping to find a sign of a loose floorboard. With the rug out of the way, he felt along the hardwood, looking for a catch or a spring or something that would indicate a secret compartment. He smoothed his hand along a scarred board, watching the movement of his fingers as he sought a catch, and suddenly his hand hit something solid and stopped.
His gaze shot over and there knelt Owen.
“Hey.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Hey. Does your mom know you’re here?”
The little boy shook his head.
Wyatt sighed. “Okay. Look. I like you. And from what I saw of your house this morning, I get it. You’re a bored guy in a houseful of women.”
Owen’s big brown eyes blinked.
“But you can’t come over here.”
“Yes I can. I can get through the bushes.”
Wyatt stifled a laugh. Leave it to a kid to be literal. “Yes, you can walk over here. It is possible. But it isn’t right for you to leave without telling your mom.”
Owen held out a cell phone. “We can call her.”
Wyatt groaned. “Owen, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but if you took your mom’s phone, you might be in a world of trouble.”
He shoved up off the floor and held out his hand to the little boy. “Sorry, kid. But I’ve got to take you and the phone home.”
Wyatt pulled the hedge back and walked up the steps to Missy’s kitchen, holding Owen’s hand. Knocking on the screen door, he called, “Missy?”
Drying her hands on a dish towel, she appeared at the door, opened it and immediately saw Owen. “Oh, no. I’m sorry! I thought he was in the playroom with the girls.”
She stooped down. “O-ee, honey. You have to stay here with Mommy.”
Owen slid his little arm around Wyatt’s knee and hugged.
And fifty percent of Wyatt’s childhood came tumbling back. he hadn’t been included in the neighbor kids’ games, because he was a nerd. And Owen wasn’t included in his sisters’ games, because he wasn’t a girl. But the feeling of being excluded was the same.
Wyatt’s heart squeezed. “You know what? I didn’t actually bring him home to stay home.” He knew a cry for help when he heard it, and he couldn’t ignore it. He held out her cell phone and she gasped. “I just want you to know where he is, and I wanted to give back your phone.”
She looked up at him. “Are you saying you’ll keep him at your house for a while?”
“Sure. I think we could have fun.”
Owen’s grip on his knee loosened.
She caught her son’s gaze again. “If I let you go to Mr. McKenzie’s house for a few hours, will you promise to stay here this afternoon?”
Owen nodded eagerly.
Her gaze climbed up to meet Wyatt’s. “What are you going to do with a kid for a couple of hours?”
“My grandmother kept everything. She should still have the video games I played as a boy. And if she doesn’t, I saw a sandbox out there in your yard. Maybe we could play in that.”
Owen tugged on his jeans. “I have twucks.”
Missy gave Wyatt a hopeful look. “He loves to play in the sand with his trucks.”
He shrugged. “So sand it is. I haven’t showered yet this morning. I can crawl around in the dirt for a few hours.”
Missy rose. “I really appreciate this.”
“It’s no problem.”
Twenty minutes later, Missy stood by her huge mixer waiting for her gelatin mix to cool, watching Owen and Wyatt out her kitchen window. Her eyes filled with tears. Her little boy needed a man around, but his dad had run and wanted nothing to do with his triplets. Her dad was a drunk. Her pool of potential men for Owen’s life was very small.
Owen pushed a yellow toy truck through the sand as Wyatt operated a pint-size front-end loader. He filled the back of the truck with sand and Owen “drove” it to the other side of the sandbox, where he dumped it in a growing pile.
Missy put her elbow on the windowsill and her chin on her open palm. She might not want to get involved with Wyatt, but it really would help Owen to have him around for the next month.
Still, he was a rich, good-looking guy, who, if he wanted to play with kids, would have had some by now. It was wrong to even consider asking him to spend time with Owen. Especially since the time he spent with Owen had to be on her schedule, not his.
She took a pitcher of tropical punch and some cookies outside. “I hate to say this,” she said, handing Owen the first glass of punch, “but somebody needs a nap.”
Wyatt yawned and stretched. “Hey, no need to worry about hurting my feelings. I know I need a nap.”
Owen giggled.
Wyatt rose. “Wanna play for a few hours this afternoon?”
Owen nodded.
“Great. I’ll be back then.” He grabbed two cookies from the plate Missy held before he walked over to the hedge, pulled it back and strode through.
Watching him go, Missy frowned thoughtfully. He really wasn’t a bad guy. Actually, he behaved a lot like the Wyatt she used to know. And he genuinely seemed to like Owen. Which was exactly what she wanted. Somebody to keep her little boy company.
She glanced at the plate, the empty spot where the two cookies he’d taken had been sitting. Maybe she did know a way to keep him around. Since he was in his grandma’s house alone, and there was only one place in town to get food—the diner—it might be possible to keep him around just by feeding him.
That afternoon Missy watched Wyatt emerge through the hedge a little after three. Owen was outside, so he didn’t even come inside. He just grabbed a ball and started a game of catch.
Missy flipped the chicken breasts she was marinating, and went back to vacuuming the living room and cleaning bathrooms. When she was done, Owen and Wyatt were sitting at the picnic table.
Marinated chicken in one hand and small bag of charcoal briquettes in the other, she raced out to the backyard. “You wouldn’t want to help me light the briquettes for the grill, would you?”
Wyatt got up from the table. “Sure.” Grabbing the bag from her arm, he chuckled. “I didn’t know anybody still used these things.”
“It’s cheaper than a gas grill.”
He poured some into the belly of the grill. “I suppose.” He caught her gaze. “Got a match?”
She went inside and returned with igniting fluid and the long slender lighter she used for candles.
He turned the can of lighter fluid over in his hand. “I forgot about this. We’ll have a fire for you in fifteen minutes.”
“If it takes you any longer, you’re a girl.”
He laughed. “So we’re back to high school taunts.”
“If the shoe fits. By the way, I’ve marinated enough chicken for an army and I’m making grilled veggies, if you want to join us for dinner.”
“I think if I get the fire going, you owe me dinner.”
She smiled. She couldn’t even begin to tell him how much she owed him for his help with Owen, so she only said, “Exactly.”
She returned to the kitchen and watched out the window as Wyatt talked Owen through lighting the charcoal. She noticed with approval that he kept Owen a safe distance away from the grill. But also noticed that he kept talking, pointing, as if explaining the process.
And Owen soaked it all in. The little man of the house.
Tears filled her eyes again. She hoped one month with a guy would be enough to hold Owen until…
Until what she wasn’t sure, but eventually she’d have to find a neighbor or teacher or maybe somebody from church who could spend a few hours a week with her son.
Because she wasn’t getting romantically involved with a man again until she had her business up and running. Until she could be financially independent. Until she could live with a man and know that even if he left her she could support her kids. And with her business just starting, that might not be for a long, long time.
While the chicken cooked, Wyatt ran over to his grandmother’s house for a shower. He liked that kid. Really liked him. Owen wasn’t a whiny, crying toddler. He was a cool little boy who just wanted somebody to play with.
And Wyatt had had fun. He’d even enjoyed Missy’s company. Not because she was flirty or attracted to him, but because she treated him like a friend. Just as he’d thought that morning, a platonic relationship with her could go a long way to helping him get back to normal after his divorce.
He put his head under the spray. Now all he had to do was keep his attraction to her in line. He almost laughed. In high school, he’d had four years of keeping his attraction to her under lock and key. While she’d been dating football stars, he’d been her long-suffering tutor.
This time he did laugh. He wasn’t a long-suffering kind of guy anymore. He was a guy who got what he wanted. He liked her. He wanted her. And he was now free. It might be a little difficult telling his grown-up, spoiled self he couldn’t have her… .
But maybe he needed some practice with not getting his own way? His divorce had shown him, and several lawyers, that he wasn’t fond of compromise. And he absolutely, positively didn’t like not getting his own way.
He really did need a lesson in compromise. In stepping back. In being honorable.
Doing good things for Missy, and not acting on his attraction, might be the lesson in self-discipline and control he needed.
Especially since he had no intention of getting married again. The financial loss he’d suffered in his divorce was a setback. He would recover from that with his brains and talent. The hurt? That was a different story. The pain of losing the woman he’d believed loved him had followed him around like a lost puppy for two years. He had no intention of setting himself up for that kind of pain again. Which meant no permanent relationship. Particularly no marriage. And if he got involved with Missy, he would hurt her, because she was the kind of girl who needed to be married.
So problem solved. He would not flirt. He would not take. He would be kind to her and her kids. And expect nothing, want nothing, in return.
And hopefully, he’d get his inner nice guy back.
When he returned to Missy’s backyard in a clean T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, she had the veggies on the table and was pulling the chicken off the grill.
“Grab a paper plate and help yourself.”
He glanced over. “The kids’ plates aren’t made yet.”
“I can do it.”
