Bliss and the Art of Forever (A Hope Springs Novel) (15 page)

Now it was Wednesday, one day shy of a week since she’d met him, and he’d been constantly on her mind. The only other time she’d known this level of infatuation had been with Artie, and she could not let herself believe this was the same. Love was the last thing she was looking for, the last thing she had time for. Later. When she was herself again. She just wasn’t ready. Not yet.

The donations center was in a small addition at the rear of the church’s main building, next to the youth annex, which included the nursery and the choir’s practice room. It was open late Wednesday for the convenience of members dropping off items before services. And it was manned with volunteers.

Today those volunteers were Dolly Pepper, whom she knew only from Two Owls Café, and Shirley Drake. For the briefest second, Brooklyn hesitated near the door, then made her way to the counter, behind which both women were sorting items from several boxes onto long folding tables. “Hello, Mrs. Pepper. Mrs. Drake.”

Callum’s mother looked up from checking the label inside a woman’s cream linen suit coat, her face nearly expressionless. “Why, Ms. Harvey. What a surprise. It took me a minute to place you outside of the school. Dolly? This is my granddaughter Adrianne’s kindergarten teacher, Brooklyn Harvey.”

“Delighted, Ms. Harvey.” Dolly extended her hand over the counter, her smile genuinely kind. “I know your name, of course,” she said, leaving Brooklyn to wonder if she recognized it from the stories the
Hope Springs Courant
had run about the fire that had claimed Artie’s life. “I’m so glad to finally have the pleasure of meeting you.”

“Brooklyn, please.”

“Dolly and her husband, Mitch, do a lot of the cooking at Two Owls,” Shirley said, her gaze traveling from Dolly to Brooklyn and back as if making some sort of assessment.

Unable to imagine what Callum’s mother would be assessing, Brooklyn simply responded, “Yes. I know. I eat there often.”

“Have I seen you there with Jean Dial?” Dolly asked, pulling a pair of blue jeans from a now empty box and holding them up to examine.

Brooklyn nodded. “She’s my next-door neighbor.”

“Oh, lucky you.” Dolly tossed the jeans onto a table with what looked like items of children’s clothing. “Jeanie is an absolute saint. She’s the reason Rick, my son, survived third grade actually reading at a third-grade level. I’ve baked her pumpkin muffins at Thanksgiving every year since.”

“I’ve actually eaten those pumpkin muffins,” Brooklyn said with a laugh. “You need to put them on the café’s buffet for the holidays.”

“You know, I might just mention that to Kaylie. Not that we don’t already have more food than we know what to do with.”

“I wonder how your daughter-in-law would feel about working with the church to make use of those leftovers,” Shirley said, having hung the suit and moved on to inspecting the labels on the blouses from the same box.

“I believe she’s talked to the city about doing just that. Unfortunately, it’s more complicated than dropping off clothing, what with the health department regulating how food is dispensed to the public.” Dolly folded down the flaps of the box and set it near a door that led to the donation center’s warehousing area. “Anyway, Ms. Harvey. Brooklyn. Can we help you with something?”

Gesturing behind her toward the parking lot, Brooklyn said, “I’ve got several boxes of clothes and small tools. Everything's in good shape, some of the items never worn or used. Before I give it all to Goodwill, could y’all use it?”

“Oh, yes,” Dolly said. “Tools are welcome. My stepson-in-law is forever looking for good deals for his employees. Let me give him a call and see if he wants me to set anything aside. And let me find Grady to unload your car.”

Brooklyn watched Dolly go, then turned and offered an awkward smile to Callum’s mother, who continued to check labels as she said, “Adrianne told me you went to the park with her and her father on Monday.”

Tucking back her hair, Brooklyn nodded. “I ran into them at Cat Tales, though I guess it would be more accurate to say they ran into me. Jean and I swap paperback romances. Medieval-set. I was looking for anything we hadn’t yet read.” And why in the world was she explaining herself to Callum’s mother? It wasn’t like she’d kept her son out past his bedtime.

“And then you went to the park.”

“After we went for ice cream, yes.” Might as well get it all out on the table. “Adrianne invited me before Callum could stop her. But I have a feeling he doesn’t tell her no very often.”

“Not as often as he should.”

“He seems like a devoted father.”

“Oh, he is,” Shirley said, shaking out a skirt she then held up to her waist as if she were shopping at Macy’s. “It’s one thing he’s managed to do right.”

“Bliss seems to be doing well. He did that, didn’t he?” Defending Callum, whom she’d known but a week, to his mother, whom she’d come to associate with Adrianne’s education, left her feeling rather unbalanced. In fact, this whole conversation needed to be reined in.

“Ask him sometime where he got the money.”

Brooklyn crossed her arms, her purse swinging from its shoulder strap against her hip. “I don’t think that’s any of my business.”

“I suppose not,” Shirley said, discarding the skirt onto the pile of blouses, still not making eye contact, as if Brooklyn weren’t really there. “But if you happen to run into him again, just keep it in mind.”

“I’m sorry, but are you warning me away from your son?”

“I’m saying that my son doesn’t always make the best choices.”

Seriously? “And seeing me is a bad one?”

“Now that’s just a silly thing to say..” She picked up a pair of pumps and checked the wear on the soles. “It’s just that he’s got his daughter to take care of and his business taking up the rest of his attention.”

Meaning he didn’t have time for a woman in his life. Was that what she was saying? Or was that what she feared? That she’d lose her son for a second time, and along with him her granddaughter?

“Mrs. Drake. I’m a friend of your son. Nothing more,” Brooklyn said, wondering if the words rang truer for Callum’s mother than they did in her own ears. “I teach his daughter. Those are the only relationships Callum and I have. Even Adrianne will tell you I turned down her offer to watch
Frozen
with them Monday night.”

“I would think, as a teacher, you wouldn’t get personally involved with your students’ parents,” Shirley said, the shoes still in her hands as she finally lifted her gaze to meet Brooklyn’s, her expression harsh and judgmental.

“I don’t,” Brooklyn said, frowning. “As I told you, Adrianne and her father ran into me at the bookstore. The ice cream and the park . . .”
Who is making bad choices now?
“Those were one-time, spur of the moment things. I can’t imagine they’ll happen again.”

The strange moment passed, leaving Brooklyn more wobbly than ever as she watched Shirley toss the shoes aside, then fold down the flaps of the empty box much as Dolly had done with hers. “I did tell Callum about the next parent-teacher conference. I’m happy to come along, or come instead, if it would be more conducive to the discussion.”

Did the woman think Brooklyn was going to drag her son across her desk and have her way with him? “Since I haven’t had the chance to go over Adrianne’s work with her father, this will be the perfect opportunity for the two of us to do just that. But I do want to thank you for signing him up for the dads’ story hour. The kids adored him. Like you said, he knows what he’s doing with the kids.”

It wasn’t exactly what Callum’s mother had said, but Brooklyn paraphrasing, or extrapolating, didn’t seem like such a sin. Until Shirley Drake came back with, “He knows what he’s doing with Adrianne. And I hope to heaven he keeps his expertise to that girl. The idea of him taking on more responsibility when he’s already up to his eyeballs—”

“Here we go, Brooklyn,” Dolly said, her timing saving Brooklyn from saying something she knew she’d regret. “I’m so sorry that took so long. Brooklyn Harvey, this is Grady Barrow. He’ll unload your car for you.”

Brooklyn shook the boy’s hand. He was as tall as she was, probably no more than fourteen, with dark brown hair that fell over his forehead, and sparkling blue eyes. “Are you the same Grady who’s been working at Bliss?”

“Yes, ma’am. Me and Jo helped Callum pack shipments to go out for Valentine’s Day,” he said, though all Brooklyn could hear was Callum’s mother whispering, “Good Lord,” under her breath, as if she didn’t approve of her son’s choice of temporary help.

Before Brooklyn could respond, Dolly stepped around the counter and began walking with her to her car. “We’re having a bake sale and carnival on Friday night. Why don’t you come? We’re raising money to get the bell in the steeple fixed.”

Brooklyn hesitated. She wasn’t a church member, though she did attend with Jean. And the idea of spending more time with Callum’s mother . . . “Oh, I don’t know—”

“Yes, Shirley will be there, but she’s working the cakewalk so she’ll be too busy to care what you’re doing. I could use some help at the refreshment station. We’ll be selling Two Owls brownies along with some goodies from Butters Bakery. There’s a dessert competition. I think Callum may have entered his chocolates. Orville and Merrilee Gatlin will be judging.

“Anyhow,” she said, waving a hand as she walked, “Mitch and Kaylie do the baking and packaging for all the church functions, so I let them off the hook for having to sell. Say you’ll come. You can take home any brownies we have left at the end of the night. They’ll be wrapped up and ready to freeze.”

“Oh, I don’t need that kind of temptation looking at me every time I open the freezer door,” Brooklyn said, laughing.

Dolly joined in. “Why do you think I’m sending them home with you instead of taking them home with me?”

“What about me?” Grady asked. “My mom’s got lots of room in her freezer.”

“Are you and Quinn coming to the carnival?” Dolly asked.

“I think so. As long as she gets off work in time.”

“If she doesn’t, you call me.” Dolly wrapped an arm around him and hugged. “Mitch and I can pick you up on the way.”

“Sweet,” he said, then turned to the trunk of Brooklyn’s car. “Let me go get the handcart. I’ll be right back.”

“He’s a good boy,” Dolly said, watching him jog back toward the youth annex building. “Proof right there that a single parent can do just as good a job as two.”

Uh-oh. “How much of my conversation with Shirley did you hear?”

“Enough to tell you to ignore most of what she says. Callum’s a fine man. A wonderful father. And sometimes I think he’s a better son than Shirley Drake deserves.”

“I’m not going to touch that with a pole of any length,” Brooklyn said, though she feared she was beginning to agree.

“Good,” Dolly said. “Because here comes Grady. The carnival opens at seven, so be here at six if you can. That gives us plenty of time to set up.”

When Brooklyn opened the front door to Bliss Thursday evening, the store was empty. Callum stood behind the display case with Lena going over a printout of the month’s sales by individual candy. They did this every other week, and should’ve done it on Monday, but the holiday weekend had thrown off more than his twice-monthly check of what flavors were selling best.

Some combinations were instant hits—Cookies and Cream, Spiced Praline, Caramel Rum—and he kept those in stock. Others, like the ones made with crushed sunflower seeds and honey, or orange and lavender . . . those had a much smaller, though devoted, following. His artisan chocolates had a three-week shelf life, but sold out long before, requiring he plan his schedule in advance. Having the ingredients on hand when he needed them was how he managed his inventory’s rotation.

He bought his honey from the Gardens on Three Wishes Road, his organic butter from a farm in Bastrop, his fruit from local markets. He did what he could to support the Hill Country economy, but most ingredients required he do his shopping elsewhere.

Which was why he and Addy had gone to Austin Monday. Some of the more unconventional items he had shipped direct. Some he bought in specialty stores there. He liked picking out individual vanilla beans. The same with cardamom pods. And he was ridiculously picky when it came to rum.

This week he’d made two of Addy’s favorites, Strawberry Shortcake and Toffee Crunch, and that after making the candy he’d had her take to Brooklyn. He hadn’t made just the one, but he
had
gone through three batches of filling before he’d gotten the taste right. Then he’d made a full tray, using each row of the mold as a sandbox to get the look he wanted for the shell.

The browns and reds and copper. Spatters of liquid cocoa butter versus airbrushed iridescent powder versus random swipes of color with his fingertip. He’d spent a good four hours working to make the perfect candy to give her, his mind on his task but also on his life, his daughter’s life, and where Brooklyn might fit in—and he had no idea why; she wasn’t sticking around.

He did know where the inspiration had come from: the time they’d spent together on Monday. The bookstore. The ice cream. The park. He’d expected the day with Addy to be like all their others—full of nonstop nonsense and exhausting. Not that he would’ve changed it for the world, but adding Brooklyn to the mix had been damn great.

He’d actually expected to hear from her before now. Addy had confirmed delivery of the candy box on Tuesday, and it had been all he could do not to grill her that afternoon and Wednesday afternoon and even after school today about her teacher’s reaction.

He’d thought Brooklyn would call during lunch, or come by after school. He’d thought she’d send a note home with Addy, a thank-you, or a fuck-off. He wasn’t sure which he deserved.

Giving a woman a box of candy was one thing. Making a batch of candy with her in mind was another. But what he’d done . . . he’d shown a vulnerability he didn’t like admitting to. He’d pushed himself into a part of her life where he didn’t belong.

And why? Because she made his daughter happy? Because she made him happy? Made him wish what the old woman in the park had seen was true?

The door closed behind her, the canned jazz piped over the speakers barely registering over the beat of his heart. He held Brooklyn’s gaze as he said, “Lena—”