Bliss and the Art of Forever (A Hope Springs Novel) (33 page)

Since Bliss didn’t open till ten, Brooklyn had arranged with Callum to come by first thing. That meant eight thirty, before she had too much time to work herself into a frenzy, or do something drastic like call off the whole thing. So as soon as she finished with roll call at eight, she and the parent chaperones lined up the children and saw to the loading of the bus.

The trip was short—thank goodness, because the closer they got to the confectionery the more rebellious her stomach grew. The driver let them out in front of the shop before pulling away from the curb to park in the alley behind it. Once everyone was in line and she’d done a quick head count, Brooklyn led the way to the door.

“Remember today’s rules, class. No talking unless you raise your hand to ask or answer a question, and only when it’s time. No touching anything without permission. Stay next to your trip buddy, and stand exactly where you’re told. I want everyone to be able to see and hear Mr. Drake.”

Seeing Callum, hearing Callum . . . her face began to heat, her stomach to tighten. She lifted a hand to her jaw, hoping her makeup had adequately covered the bruise she’d found this morning.
Deep breath, Brooklyn. Deep breath. No one but Callum knows.
But wasn’t that the worst part? The fact that he did, and would no doubt be thinking about what they’d done?

Three hands went up, which was about three less than she’d expected. “Yes, Kelly.”

“Do we get to eat any candy?”

“After the demonstration, you will get one piece each. Yes, Andrew?”

“What if we don’t want any candy?”

Because, of course, he had to be contrary. “Then you don’t have to have any. Yes, Adrianne?”

“Can I go play at my storeroom desk, since I know all about the candy already?”

“No, you’ll stay with the rest of the class and pay attention just like everyone else. When we get back to school we’ll talk about the demonstration, and if I ask you any questions, you’ll want to be able to answer them. Yes, Adrianne.”

“I can answer all your questions now,” the girl said, her brow creased as she thought through her logic, “and you won’t have to ask them when we get back to the school. That way I won’t have to watch.”

It took Brooklyn a moment to realize she was holding back on being stern with Addy because she was Callum’s daughter, because the girl had cried about wanting Brooklyn to be her mother, because she loved Addy as if she were her own, and that just wouldn’t do.

This was why she didn’t date a student’s parent. This was why even being Callum’s friend was a very bad idea, much less being in love with the man. And this field trip? An even worse one, she mused, a shiver fluttering down her spine. What in the world had she been thinking? Up against the kitchen door?

Oh, who was she kidding? Her feelings for him had leapfrogged her rule as if it didn’t exist. She thought she might be more excited than the children to get inside. And that just wouldn’t do, either. Especially since she and Callum would both be under the scrutiny of the chaperones. And she couldn’t imagine he’d forgotten a single moment of what they’d done last night.

“Class?” She held up her hand to get their attention. Once everyone was quiet and focused on her, she asked, “If any of you break field-trip rules while we’re away from school, what will happen when we get back to class?”

Fourteen hands went up. Addy Drake’s did not. “Bashir.”

Bashir Zaman wore the most solemn expression she’d ever seen on the boy, his black hair catching the morning light, his brown eyes big and wide and dignified. “The time-out chair.”

“Thank you, Bashir. Class? Did you hear that? Anyone who breaks the field-trip rules will have to take a turn in the time-out chair. Does everyone understand?” Fourteen heads nodded, leaving Brooklyn to ask, “Adrianne? Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Harvey,” the girl said, her eyes downcast, her bottom lip quivering, her tiny shoulders slumped.

Brooklyn took a deep breath. If she made it through this day . . . “Okay then. Let’s go inside and see how Mr. Drake makes candy.”

ADDY

MONDAY

Daddy says I should always pay attention, but that it’s not nice to stare. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing it right. Paying attention means I HAVE to stare. Like now, when I’m looking at Ms. Harvey when she’s looking at Daddy. And looking at Daddy when he’s looking at her.

They look at each other a LOT. Even more than they did the day we went to the park with our ice cream and books. Or when I was sad about what Grammy said and forgot to eat my cake and pie.

Sometimes Daddy forgets what he’s saying about the candy, and then Ms. Harvey tries not to laugh, and Kelly Webber’s mom looks like she’s mad at the WHOLE WORLD.

I don’t think Kelly Webber’s mom likes Ms. Harvey anymore. She asks me TONS of questions when I go to their apartment. She wants to know if Ms. Harvey sleeps over at our loft, but I tell her we don’t have enough beds.

Then she asks if we go to Ms. Harvey’s house. That is just so SILLY! How can we go to Ms. Harvey’s house? We don’t know where she lives!

I tell her about the park and the ice cream and the kitty who lives at the bookstore—but I don’t tell her that Ms. Harvey LOVES ME—and how much I really really REALLY want a kitty of my own. She says doing things with Ms. Harvey is TOTALLY INPROPRATE. I don’t know what that means but it sounds like she doesn’t think I need a cat.

Now Daddy is talking about the Oreos and Andrew raises his hand. Ms. Harvey tells him he can ask questions later, but I know all he wants to say is that he doesn’t like Oreos. Kelly Webber told me her mom said Andrew’s mom is crunchy so he’s not allowed to have cookies or candy or ice cream unless it’s made out of bananas or coconut milk and that is just the YUCKIEST.

I like Daddy’s Oreo candy, but he makes them ALL THE TIME and I know all about how he crunches the cookies into little pieces. Sometimes I get to crunch them, and I want to raise my hand and tell Ms. Harvey I know how.

But we can’t ask questions on field trips until she says so. I hate rules. I hate time-out chairs. I don’t like it when Kelly Webber’s mom looks at Ms. Harvey. I think she wants to yell at her, because she has a mean face.

But Daddy’s face is happy, and Ms. Harvey’s face is happy, and that makes me happy, even if I have to listen to BORING stuff about making candy when I could be playing at my desk with my Olaf and Anna and Sven and Elsa and Kristoff toys and watching
Frozen
on my tablet.

Then I feel Ms. Harvey’s hand on my shoulder, and I look up and her eyes tell me I’m not paying attention, but she smiles, too, and she looks happy, and I wish I could hold her hand, but I don’t want to hear Kelly Webber’s mom say TOTALLY INPROPRATE again because I really want a kitty.

I don’t want Ms. Harvey to stop smiling so I put my eyes on Daddy and listen to all the words he says. He’s smiling, too, so I smile. And it feels good to be happy with Daddy and Ms. Harvey. I think my kitty’s name will be Candy.

Brooklyn had agreed to meet Callum at Bliss after the shop closed on Saturday three weeks later, and go with him to show Addy their house. He’d asked her a few days after she’d taken her class on their field trip. She’d been as surprised as she’d been honored; she’d thought for sure he’d want to share the moment with his daughter alone.

But, no. He wanted her there because she’d helped him pick out the furniture that had finally been delivered—a bit of a stretch, since all she’d done was tag along and make suggestions. He’d argued the point, and he’d cajoled, but he hadn’t needed to do much of either. She’d known when he’d asked that she’d say yes.

Her attempt to beg off had allowed her to hide her excitement. She didn’t want to appear too eager, since she was seeing him less often these days than she had the first month they’d met. During February, and even early March, they’d crossed paths a lot, and on a few occasions made actual plans.

Now, however, she was busy with her house, and he was busy with his. And what a metaphor for their lives that was: her selling and leaving, him buying and staying. Her looking for her life, his already found. It sure would’ve been nice if she’d met him when she had things figured out.

Then again, she had a feeling figuring things might take longer than a lifetime. All she had to do was look at Jean Dial to realize that. Jean, who had family to keep her from being lonely, and friends with whom to share gossip, and a male dinner companion to fulfill another sort of need.

Jean Dial, who at seventy-three years old had admitted to never moving beyond the loss of her love, but who had never stopped living. Brooklyn was going to miss Jean more than any of her friends. Except for Callum.

Angling her car into a parking slot in front of the empty storefront next to Bliss, she shifted into park, glancing up as Callum pushed open the front door and walked out behind a woman. They were deep in conversation, the woman gesturing expansively and Callum laughing.

If Brooklyn hadn’t known who he was, she wouldn’t have any trouble imagining the two as a couple, exiting a shop where they’d gone to pick up a gift, laughing over a story the store’s chocolatier had told them, caught off guard by the prices his chocolates commanded and rushing to escape.

This woman, whoever she was to Callum, and other women, too, like Lindsay Webber, or the room mothers who’d so appreciated him at story hour, would be here to keep him company and . . . other things, when Brooklyn was not.

She was going away. For Artie. To see his family. To teach with Bianca. To scatter his ashes. To prove that she was over her mourning and moving on with her life.

What had happened to doing things for Brooklyn?

And why was it so hard to ask herself that? Why did doing so seem so selfish when it was anything but?

Once she returned from abroad, if she returned from abroad, in a year, or two, rather than finding a small terraced home overlooking the Mediterranean and staying on, she had no reason to come back to Hope Springs at all. Her job was gone. Her house, with its sale pending, would be gone. Her friends were already out of touch.

Except she did have a reason. And she was looking at him now. Her Irish rogue. Her chocolatier. The man she loved. The man she knew loved her.

She swallowed hard, blinked back the threat of tears. How in the world was she going to be able to get on that plane next month? How was she going to be able to stay and work with Bianca when Callum would be on her mind?

Opening her car door caught Callum’s attention. He raised a hand. He grinned. He waved her over.

“Brooklyn Harvey, this is Juliana Bower. Her daughter Grace is going to be Addy’s sitter for the summer. Brooklyn is Addy’s kindergarten teacher.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Harvey.” Juliana held out her hand.

“Brooklyn, please,” she said, and took it, so pleased that he’d found reliable help. And strangely relieved that the woman’s connection to Callum wasn’t anything more.

Just then, Addy came out of Bliss with a teenager wearing red athletic shorts, white socks and sneakers, and a gray T-shirt with the Hope Springs Bulldogs mascot and logo.

Addy ran for her father and he swung her up in his arms. “Ready to go, pumpkin?”

“Ms. Harvey! Daddy’s got a big surprise for me!”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she hiked her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “He told me.”

“Do you know what it is? He won’t tell me!” the girl said, gesturing dramatically with both hands.

“If he told you, it wouldn’t be a big surprise, would it?”

Addy pouted. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like this one,” Brooklyn said, laughing along with Juliana while Callum rolled his eyes.

“Can Grace come, too?”

“That’s not up to me, sweetie.” Brooklyn looked from Addy to Callum to Grace, who shook her head.

“I can’t,” the teenager said. “I’ve got to go wash some cars.”

“You don’t have to wash cars, silly,” Addy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can drive through the washoteria.”

Grace laughed, her black ponytail bobbing. “We’re doing it to raise money for a band trip next year.”

“Can I come? On the trip? I like to take trips.”

“Well, you have to play an instrument, and you have to attend Hope Springs High, and you have to be at least fifteen.”

“I’m almost fifteen. I’m six already.”

“C’mon on, Addy,” Callum finally said. “You’ll have plenty of time this summer to go places with Grace. But she needs to get to her car wash, and you have a big surprise waiting.”

“Is it a kitty? Is it the kitty from the bookstore?”

Callum glanced at Brooklyn as if to remind her why he hadn’t told his daughter about the new house before now. “No, pumpkin. The bookstore kitty lives at the bookstore.”

“Kitties don’t even like books!”

“The bookstore kitty does. He reads
The Cat in the Hat
every night when the store’s closed,” he told her, waving at Juliana and Grace as they headed the opposite way.

“Oh, Daddy. You’re so silly sometimes. At night, there’s no one there to turn the pages.”