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Mackenzie hung up the phone but didn’t crank the engine immediately. Her mind was racing but her body was motionless. After ten minutes of taking long, deep breaths, Mackenzie finally felt calm enough to drive and set off for her friend’s Balboa Park bungalow. Rayna was right. Her daughter’s prayers were her prayers. She just hadn’t been prepared for this prayer to be answered so quickly.
* * *
“Little one!” Molita Jean-Baptiste, the bakery manager, poked her head into the kitchen. “There’s a young man out here who wants to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Mackenzie said as she slid a large pan of carrot-cake cupcakes into the oven. “I’ll be right there.”
Mackenzie closed the door of the industrial baking oven and then wiped her hands on a towel before she headed for the front of the bakery. She put a welcoming, professional smile on her face as she pushed the swinging doors apart and walked through. But her smile dropped for a split second when she saw Dylan standing next to one of the display counters.
“Hi,” Dylan greeted her with his friendly, boyish smile. “Nice place.”
“Thank you.” Mackenzie glanced over at Molita who was restocking the cases and pretending to mind her own business. “Are you here to order cupcakes?”
“No.” Dylan laughed. “I’m here to see you.”
“Oh.” Mackenzie frowned. “Okay.”
For the last week, she had lost countless hours of sleep trying to figure out what to do about Dylan. And after so many sleepless nights, she still hadn’t figured out how to blindside the man with a ten-year-old daughter.
“Would you like something to eat, young man?” Molita asked. Haitian-born and in her sixties now, Molita was as round as she was tall. Whether Molita was having a day of aches and pains or not, she always greeted the customers like family. She was the backbone of Nothin’ But Cupcakes, and Mackenzie often joked that customers came to see Molita as much as they came for the cupcakes.
“No, thank you.” Dylan put his hand on his flat stomach. “I’m trying to watch my girlish figure.”
“Well...” Molita smiled warmly at Dylan. “You’ll let me know if you change your mind. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
Dylan thanked Molita for the offer and then asked in a lowered voice, “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“Um...yeah. We can talk in my office, I suppose. But I only have a minute.”
“This won’t take too long,” Dylan said.
“I’ll be right back, Moll. I’m just going to step into my office for a minute or two.”
“You know I’ll call ya if I need’ja,” Molita called out from behind the counter.
Dylan followed her to the office. She didn’t typically take anyone to the office, and it struck her, when she opened the door, just how tiny and cluttered it really was.
“Sorry about the mess.” Mackenzie shuffled some papers around in a halfhearted attempt to straighten up. “Believe it or not, I have a system in here...”
“I’m not worried about it.” Dylan closed the door behind him. If Jenna didn’t use a coaster under a glass, it bugged him. But, for whatever reason, Mackenzie’s untidy office didn’t bother him so much.
Dylan squeezed himself into the small chair wedged in the corner on the other side of Mackenzie’s desk.
“It smells really good in here.” Dylan shifted uncomfortably, his knees pressed against the back of the desk.
Mackenzie hastily shoved some papers in a drawer. “Does it?”
“It does.” Dylan looked around the office. “Now I know why you smell like a sugar cookie.”
Surprised, Mackenzie slammed the drawer shut and stopped avoiding the inevitable eye contact with Dylan.
When Mackenzie looked at him with those unusual lavender-blue eyes, Dylan felt an unfamiliar tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach. There was something about Mackenzie’s eyes that captivated him. He hadn’t been able to get those eyes out of his head since the party.
“So...” Mackenzie said after an awkward lull. “What can I do for you, Dylan?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the framed picture of her daughter, Hope, and resisted the urge to turn it away from Dylan.
“Actually...” Dylan tried to cross one leg over the other in the tight space and failed. “I wanted to do something for you.”
Mackenzie pushed her long sleeves up to her elbows. “What’s that?”
Dylan took the picture of Hope off the desk. “Cute kid. Yours?”
“Yes.” Mackenzie’s pulse jumped. “That’s my daughter, Hope, at her fourth birthday party.”
Mackenzie waited, anxiety twisting her gut, and wondered if Dylan would recognize his own flesh and blood in that picture. When he didn’t, part of her was relieved and the other part was disappointed. Dylan put the picture back on the shelf without ever realizing that Hope was his. Mackenzie moved the frame to her side of the desk and turned it away from Dylan.
“Is Brand your married name? I remember you as Bronson.” Dylan glanced down at the ring finger of her left hand.
“No.” Mackenzie shook her head. “I decided to take my mom’s maiden name when Hope was born. I wanted Hope to truly be her namesake.”
Dylan’s gaze was direct as he asked, “So, you’re not married...?”
“No.” Mackenzie wasn’t subtle about looking up at the clock on the wall. As much as she knew that she needed to talk to Dylan about Hope, this wasn’t the right time. They had three catering gigs set for the evening, and the afternoon lunch crowd would be lining up soon. She was already struggling to make payroll; she couldn’t afford to lose one sale.
“Dylan...look, I don’t mean to be rude...” Mackenzie started to say.
Dylan held up his hands and smiled sheepishly. “Okay...okay. I’ll admit it. I’m stalling. It’s just that, what I wanted to say to you seemed like a good idea this morning, but now...”
Mackenzie leaned forward on her arms and waited for Dylan to continue. Whatever it was that he wanted to say was making him turn red in the face and shift nervously in his chair. He had turned out to be a nice-looking man, with his dark brown hair and vivid green eyes. But Dylan wasn’t classically handsome. He wasn’t a pretty boy. Dylan’s nose had been broken when they were kids and it hadn’t healed back completely straight. There was a Y-shaped scar directly under his left eye from the time he’d caught a baseball with his face during a Little League game. These little imperfections didn’t detract from his good looks for Mackenzie; they enhanced them.
“All right.” Dylan rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just going to say what I came here to say. I owe you an apology, Mackenzie.”
Mackenzie’s chair squeaked loudly when she sat back. “Why in the world would you need to apologize to me?”
“Because...” Dylan looked at her directly in the eyes. “I remember what happened between us the night of Jett’s wedding.”
Mackenzie ran her hand over her leg beneath the desk and gripped her knee hard with her fingers. “Oh.”
“Obviously that wasn’t the sort of thing that I wanted to bring up while we were standing on the street.”
“No.” Mackenzie shook her head first and then nodded in agreement. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“But...I didn’t want you to think that I had forgotten about...after the reception...”
“We both had a lot to drink that night...” Mackenzie said faintly.
“Yes—we did. But, I still think I owe you an apology...” Dylan leaned forward. “You were Jett’s little sister, and no matter how much I had to drink that night, I shouldn’t have...taken advantage of you.”
“Taken advantage of me?” Mackenzie asked incredulously. “You didn’t take advantage of me, Dylan. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“You had just broken up with your boyfriend...” Dylan said.
“And you had just broken off your engagement...” Mackenzie countered. “I think we both need to just give each other a break about that night, okay?”
Dylan took a deep breath in as he thought about her words. Then he said, his expression pensive, “I should’ve called you, Mackenzie. After that night, I should’ve called you.”
“And said what?”
“I don’t know...” Dylan shrugged his shoulders. “I could’ve checked on you, made sure you were okay.” He looked down at his hands for a second before he looked back up at her. “I should’ve let you know that I’d gotten back with Christa. I look back and I think maybe I used to be kind of an insensitive jerk...I know I can’t apologize to everyone, but at least I have a chance to apologize to you.”
“Well...” Mackenzie crossed her arms in front of her body. “I appreciate the apology, Dylan. I do. But, I never thought that you’d wronged me in any way. And I don’t ever remember you being a jerk, at least not to me. You were the only one of my brother’s friends who never ignored me. You never treated me like the weird fat girl.”
“I never saw you that way,” Dylan said, surprised. “And it’d make me feel better if you’d accept my apology...”
“Then I accept.” It felt as if she just might be laying the groundwork for him to accept her apology later. “Of course I accept.”
“Good.” Dylan smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Mackenzie stood up. “Listen—I’m sorry that it seems like I’m always cutting things short, but...”
“No. No. That’s okay.” Dylan’s chair knocked into the wall when he stood up. “I’m holding you up from work. But before I take off, I really want to show you something outside. It’ll only take a second, I promise. And, trust me. You’re gonna want to see what I have to show you.”
“Okay. But then I really need to get back to work. I have a ton of special orders to fill.” Mackenzie walked through the door that Dylan held open for her. “And let me tell you, there’s a seedy underbelly of sugar addicts in San Diego and they all start to line up for a lunchtime fix.” Mackenzie stopped at the counter and checked on Molita. “Are you doing okay, Moll?”
“Don’t you worry about me, now. I’ve got everything under control.” Molita sprayed glass cleaner on the front of the display case. “You go handle your business.”
“I’ll be right back,” Mackenzie said.
“I wanted to show you my baby.” Dylan held open the bakery door for her. “My girlfriend doesn’t understand old school, but I knew you’d appreciate her.”
Mackenzie stepped onto the sidewalk, but halted in her tracks just outside the door. “Is that what I think it is?”
Dylan smiled triumphantly at her as he walked over to his car. “Didn’t I tell you you’d want to see her?”
Mackenzie couldn’t take her eyes off Dylan’s rare, vintage car. This car could easily sell for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “You do know that this is the stuff of legends, right?”
“You know I do,” Dylan said. “And you know exactly what you’re looking at, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I took Old School 101 with Dad and Jett...which I aced, by the way,” Mackenzie bragged as she walked over to his car. “This sweet girl is a 1963 split-back Chevy Corvette. Super rare because the split window went out of production in 1964.”
“You got it.” Dylan’s smile broadened.
“Basically, the Holy Grail.” Mackenzie ran her hand along the curved hood of the car.
“That’s right.” Dylan nodded his head, his arms crossed loosely in front of him. “See? I knew you’d be excited to see her.”
“You have no idea.” Mackenzie walked around to the back of the car. “Dylan—this’s all original. Jett would die to get his hands on this car. She’s not for sale, is she?”
“Not a chance.” Dylan shook his head as he walked up to stand beside her. “But I really want Jett to restore my Charger.”
Mackenzie found herself smiling at Dylan. “That would mean a lot to Jett, Dylan. It really would.”
“I was thinking about giving the Charger this same silver-flake paint job with flat black accents. What do you think?”
Mackenzie’s phone rang. “Hold that thought.”
“Sure.” Dylan leaned casually against his car.
“Hi, Aggie.” Mackenzie leaned her head down and plugged one ear. “Wait a minute—what happened?” Mackenzie’s face turned pale. “Tell Hope I’m on my way.”
“Everything okay?” Dylan asked.
“No.” Mackenzie headed back to the bakery. “My daughter got hurt at the barn.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Dylan called after her.
“Thanks.” Mackenzie pulled the bakery door open. Inside the bakery now, she stopped and threw up her hands in the air. “Tamara has my car! Molly—did you drive today?”
“My granddaughter dropped me off.” Molita put a cupcake in a box for a customer.
Mackenzie made a quick U-turn and pushed the bakery door back open. “Molly—I have to go get Hope. Hold down the fort, okay?”
“What happened?” Molly asked, concerned.
“She hit her head at the barn.” Mackenzie pushed the door open. “I’ll call you later with an update as soon as I have one!”
Dylan had his blinker on and he was about to ease out onto the street when he saw Mackenzie bolt out of the cupcake shop and run toward his car. He braked and rolled down the passenger window.
Mackenzie bent down so she could see Dylan. “Can you give me a ride? My car is out with the deliveries.”
Dylan reached over, unlocked the door and opened it for Mackenzie. “Hop in.”
* * *
The thirty-minute ride out to the barn was a quiet one. Mackenzie’s entire body was tense, her brow wrinkled with worry; seemingly lost in her own internal dialogue, she only spoke to give him directions. And he didn’t press her for conversation. He imagined that if he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t be in the mood for small talk, either.
“Turn left right here.” Mackenzie pointed to a dirt side road up ahead. “You’ll have to go slow in this car—with all the rain lately, there are potholes galore on the way to the barn. Not many Corvettes brave this road.”
“I can see why not.” Dylan slowed way down as he turned onto the muddy dirt road. He looked at the large sign at the entrance of the road.
“Pegasus Therapeutic Riding—is that where we’re heading?”
“Yes.” Mackenzie unbuckled her seat belt.
Dylan glanced over at Mackenzie. “What’s wrong with your daughter?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Hope. She’s perfect,” Mackenzie snapped. After a second, she added in a tempered tone, “Hope loves horses and she loves helping people. Volunteering here is what she wants to do with her free time.”
