Chapter 22 #2
“Cay-Day.”
Cay-Day. I had my own nickname with her. A little squeal went off inside me. “Hey, June Bug.”
The three-year-old rushes for me and I bend to pick her up. With June on my hip, I tickle her belly and she sucks in the toddler pudge before wrapping her arms around my neck.
God, I needed this hug.
Setting June back on her feet I get additional hugs from Winnie and Zelle before looking up to find Vale watching me.
The youngest sister of the Sylver siblings might appear quiet but beneath her is a storm of sisterly protection.
She doesn’t verbally question my appearance any more than Stone did.
Instead, she hugs me in turn like the girls, but her language suggests she’s still wondering why I’m here.
I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the past few minutes.
“What are we doing today?” I ask instead, looking from the girls to the smattering of ingredients on the counter.
“We’re making cookies,” Winnie proudly announces, returning quickly to the stool she was kneeling on to lean over the island counter.
Zelle holds up the bag of chocolate chips for further confirmation before dumping the entire bag into the mix.
“Stir it up, Zelle,” Vale encourages.
“Mind if I watch.” I don’t want to get in the way, but I need a Sylver darlings’ moment before I storm back to the airport and return to Nashville. No point in lingering in Chicago but I can spare a few minutes for these ladies I’ve been wanting to see for months.
Vale glances up and offers a warm smile. “Take a seat.” She points to a vacant stool.
As Zelle struggles to blend the thick mixture and baking chips, I pepper the girls with questions.
How is being back in Chicago? How is school? Did Zelle learn to braid hair? Did Winnie learn to write my name? Something she had been practicing when I was in Arizona. When was June going to give up that thumb?
Good-naturedly, I tug at the slobbery, red digit and lean forward like I want a bite of it.
While Vale explains how the girls can scoop out the dough and plop it on the baking sheet, I turn to Stone who has been leaning against a counter, quietly observing the chaos.
“How’s he really doing?”
Stone’s casual position of crossed ankles and folded arms does nothing to lessen his concern as patriarch of his family.
“He’d displaced his shoulder. Something that’s happened before and it was an easy fix.
But he officially tore his rotator cuff and he’s been ignoring it.
Today solidified that he’ll need surgery. ”
“Surgery means recovery, though.” Look for the positive.
“Four months at the least. Six months would be best.”
I cringe. “Ford probably does not like the sound of that.” With the season starting, he’d miss almost half of it, before he could return. If he can return.
“Probably not.” Stone huffs but a smile curves his mouth.
The creak of the oven door opening, and the glide of a baking sheet draws my attention toward Vale, the girls watching raptly at the tray that will convert the blobs of dough into delicious treats.
“Sounds like a party down here.”
Everyone glances at Ford standing with defeat weighing down his shoulders and his arm in the sling. With a ballcap backward on his head, he looks good. Too good. His voice is tight, though, gritting through the pain.
“Ford, you should be resting,” Vale admonishes.
“I’m not an invalid,” he counters sharply.
“Yeah, but sometimes, you’re an idiot.” Her eyes track to me and hold a second. Ford doesn’t look at me, and that’s my cue to leave.
“Well, my darlins’, it’s been fun, but Aunt Cay-Day needs to fly.”
“No,” Winnie whines.
“Why?” Zelle asks.
June struggles to lower from the stool she climbed up on, and Ford and I nearly collide as we each reach for her. With his bum arm, he shouldn’t catch her.
“I got her,” I mutter, helping the toddler to the ground.
Ford finally looks at me, right at me, his typically piercing blue eyes dull. “Or you could stay.” There’s no enthusiasm in the request. No apology for his behavior upstairs or genuine desire for me to remain.
Shaking my head, I turn away from him. I answer Zelle instead. “Must be flitting off.” When what I want to do is flip off her father.
With a tight hug, I embrace each of the girls. “Enjoy your cookies.”
“If you wait three more minutes you can take some with you,” Vale suggests after twisting to glance at the timer on the oven.
I smile hard, the falseness almost cracking my jaw. Three more seconds in Ford’s presence and I might implode. “Nah. More for you all to devour.”
“When will we see you again?” Zelle asks as I reach for my bag. The room goes very quiet.
“I don’t know, darlin’.” I could explain how I’m busy with my production company and re-recording songs, but none of that is going to be worth a hill of beans to a little girl wanting to see me. “When does your summer break begin?”
The question buys me some time to think.
“June second,” Zelle announces as if she’s already counting the days.
“Me Wune,” June states.
“Lucky you, girl. You have an entire month named after you.” This makes June beam. Her little curls askew on her head. Those blue eyes looking at me. Gah, my heart.
“Okay, Zelle. Let’s check our social calendars and maybe I can come see you in the summer.” I hate to make a false promise, but Enya is their aunt and maybe there’s some way to swindle a visit through her.
“I don’t have a social calendar,” Zelle counters.
Ford tightly laughs, reaching for her ponytail and curling it around his fist. “Dance lessons. Softball. School. Your calendar is full.”
“Me want cawendar.” June announces, thumb back in her mouth.
Ford groans, insinuating he’s overwhelmed with Zelle’s. Winnie probably has a calendar as well. He’s outnumbered and I’d like to know more. Did he find a new nanny? How is he managing? Has he ever thought of me after Arizona?
Not until I’m back in the car does the most important question hit.
Why did Ford think I changed my number? How would he think that unless he did call me?
I shift in my seat, glancing out the rear-view window as if Ford might have rushed down the front porch stairs to answer my question.
Silly fantasy.
I twist toward the front seat when we turn left at the end of Ford’s street.
The only man chasing me is the one I don’t want.