Chapter 8 #2
“Sounds like they’re having fun, at least,” I said. “Gracie sure did a number on her hair.”
“Yeah,” he said, his expression softening. Another shrug. “Little kids, you know.”
“Sam cut her braids off when she was six or seven,” I said. “And I tried to give myself a buzz cut with Mom’s clippers once.”
Chase’s brow creased. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I was too dumb to know better?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “So nothing’s changed then.”
“Oh, he has jokes!” I said and watched, fascinated at the way I could see him actually fighting a smile.
He lost the battle.
“Fuck off,” he said, but he said it with that smile and none of his usual anger, so I smiled too, then got back to getting dinner ready. It wouldn’t take long for the pasta to boil, so I dumped the sauce in a jar into a smaller pot to heat it.
There was the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and then Sam poked her head around the door and said, “Come and see Gracie’s amazing new hair!” in a tone that suggested that even if Gracie came down those stairs as bald as an egg, we’d better tell her how great she looked.
We nodded obediently and trooped through to the living room, and a moment later Wilder came down the stairs, leading Gracie by the hand.
Gracie’s previously wild, uneven hair had been cut into what I thought was called a pixie cut. It was still a little asymmetrical, but it looked intentional now. There was a clip with a bow on top and everything, but the biggest change was that now Gracie was wearing a smile.
“Oh wow,” Chase said, crouching down. “You look awesome, sweet pea!”
“Sam says short hair is cool!” she exclaimed, and Sam gave her a grin and a thumbs-up.
“I didn’t want to get my hair cut either,” she said. “But when the medicine made it all fall out, Mom promised she’d make it look pretty again when it grew back. And she did, right?”
Gracie beamed at her. “Yeah!”
Chase cast a wide-eyed look at me and then looked away again.
“Honey,” Mom said to Sam. “Set three extra places for dinner. The boys and Gracie are staying to eat.”
“Oh, we couldn’t,” Wilder said, his brows pulling down.
“Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “It’s no bother, and it’s already dark out. It’ll be Gracie’s bedtime by the time you get home, and you don’t want to start making dinner then.”
“Just say yes,” Sam said and headed into the kitchen. A moment later I heard the clink of plates.
“Did you want to stay, Gracie?” Wilder asked.
“Yes! Sam said we’re having shit in a jar!” Gracie said happily.
There was a moment’s horrified silence and Mom started to say, “I am so sorry—”
Wilder just laughed. “Trust me, she’s heard worse. A lot worse.”
Which tracked, if Wilder hung around with Chase. I wondered what his deal was.
When dinner was ready, we managed to squeeze everyone around the kitchen table, though it was a tight fit.
Gracie sat on Wilder’s lap and dug happily into her pasta.
It felt like a long time since our house had been so busy, and I liked the energy that new people and new conversations brought to the table.
Wilder was friendly, and Gracie was funny, and even Chase opened up around Mom and Sam.
Mostly because Sam was still laughing at how the goose had gone for his nuts earlier in the day.
We had apricot Danishes for dessert—leftovers from Gobble de Goose, of course, and reheated for a few minutes and served with ice cream.
“How come you didn’t bring any Danishes home?” Wilder asked Chase.
“He hightailed it out of there so fast that I didn’t have a chance to tell him to take anything,” I said. I caught Chase’s gaze. “Stick around for a bit tomorrow.”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah, okay. I will.”
“Do you make Danishes at your new job, Uncle Chase?” Gracie asked, wide-eyed. A job where you made cakes and pastries probably sounded like the best thing ever to a little kid.
Chase shook his head. “Nah. I just make coffee.”
Wilder grimaced, and Chase caught it.
“Hey, screw you. I make great coffee!” he said, glaring at Wilder. “Now.”
I snorted. “He makes adequate coffee.”
“Still an improvement,” Wilder said, grinning. Chase narrowed his eyes at him and scowled. It was reassuring to know it wasn’t just me he was rude to.
Wait. Did that mean he didn’t hate me as much as he made out?
By the time we’d finished dessert, Gracie was sagging against Wilder’s chest. “Time to get that little girl home,” Mom said softly.
Wilder nodded. “Thank you for today.” He reached back and pulled a battered wallet out of his pocket. “What do I owe you?”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “I was happy to help.”
Wilder glanced down at Gracie, who was snuggled up against his chest. “Are you sure?”
Mom reached out and patted Wilder’s arm. “My kids were young when their father passed, and I still remember what it was like raising these two on my own. It’s tough, and some days are tougher than others. So when someone offers to help? You take it and say thank you.”
Wilder blinked hard, then nodded. “Thank you.”
“And you bring that girl of yours back here when she needs a trim.”
“Trim?” Wilder repeated, his brow creasing. “I thought you fixed it?”
“For now,” Mom said. “But you know it’ll need regular cuts while it grows back.”
“Uh,” Wilder said, his expression suggesting that no, he hadn’t known that.
Mom just laughed softly.
“Can we go home, Daddy?” Gracie mumbled. “I want to show Avery my new hair.”
There was another round of thank yous and goodbyes, and I couldn’t help my gaze finding Chase’s. He glowered at me, then dipped his chin in a nod and murmured, “Thanks.”
“See you tomorrow, Chase,” I said.
“Yeah.” His gaze darted up again, and for a second his expression looked almost open, almost vulnerable. Then he wrinkled his nose, turned his glare back on, and said, “See you tomorrow.”
The next morning, a little before six thirty, Chase knocked on the front door of Gobble de Goose, and I went and unlocked it to let him in.
“It’s early,” I said. “That wasn’t a criticism, just an observation.”
He shrugged off his jacket, swearing when the zip caught. “Yeah, I thought I’d come in and study my coffee sheets. Want me to make you one?”
Warmth spread through me. “Sure. And the first batch of cinnamon rolls are almost done, if you haven’t had breakfast yet.”
The look he gave me was customarily wary. “Uh, okay.” Then he dug into the pocket of his jacket. “Gracie made your mom a card.”
I took the card, smiling at the drawing of, presumably, Gracie on the front. “Is this the before or after drawing of her hair?”
“Fuck if I know,” Chase said with a shrug.
Inside the card, in big, uneven letters, it said: THANK YOU LINDSAY. I LOVE YOU!!!
I went in the back, and Chase followed to stow his backpack and jacket on the shelf outside the bathroom. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he put his apron on and tied it, liking the way it hugged his hips and the ties framed the top of his ass.
Then I remembered I was supposed to be in the kitchen, so I hurried inside before he caught me looking.
“Behind!” Tyler called, and I stepped out of his way. He set the tray down on the table and stretched. “Chase is in early today.”
I hummed my agreement.
“That positive attitude of yours must be contagious, boss.”
“Fuck off,” I said. “Did you ice the cinnamon rolls yet?”
“Almost done,” he said, nodding at the other prep table.
“Good, I’m starving.”
When the rolls were ready, we went out front and Tyler loaded them into the display case.
“Made you a macchiato,” Chase said and blinked at the mug. “Possibly? And Tyler, here’s your cappuccino. Also possibly.”
I laughed and took the mug. The aroma was perfect. I took a sip. “This is great, Chase.”
“It’s whatever,” he muttered.
He was prickly today but not as antagonistic as usual, so I was taking that as a win. I nodded at his mug. “Have you found a coffee you like?”
“This is steamed milk and the cocoa powder that I’m supposed to sprinkle on the cappuccinos,” he said. “By the way, we’re almost out of cocoa powder because I used most of it for this. Do I do the orders for coffee stuff or do you?”
“Write it on the board in the back,” I said. “And we’ll get some decent stuff to make hot chocolates with. You like those, right? I mean, that’s pretty much what you’ve made.”
Chase shrugged. “Okay, yeah.”
“Thanks for the cappuccino, man,” Tyler said and headed to the back again.
I reached into the display case and picked a cinnamon roll up with the tongs and held it out to Chase. “Breakfast?”
He grabbed it as fast as a raccoon raiding a trash can.
“And remember what I said last night,” I told him. “Stick around after your shift, and there will be leftovers to take home.”
He rolled his eyes and said through a mouthful of cinnamon roll, “I’m not fucking you for leftover Danishes, Lee.”
I blinked at him, heat rising in my cheeks. “That’s—that’s not—”
He swallowed and very deliberately drew his finger through the icing on his pastry, then darted his tongue out to lick his finger clean. He smirked. “But I’ll probably fuck you for more of these.”
“Uh,” I said. “Well, okay then. Noted.”
And then I walked into the wall beside the doorway when I attempted to leave and spilled my macchiato all over myself.