39. Cooper
39
Cooper
I am ready to knock Austin Hansen’s teeth in. I haven’t seen the guy since my senior season of football. But here he is, just begging to get hit.
How had I been so blind to the way my actions affected Leah all those years ago?
My body jerks toward Austin’s, my fist clenched at my side—but with Leah’s free hand, she presses against my chest, keeping me in place.
“My honest answer?” she says to Austin, her lip curling as if looking at something gruesome. “I really don’t.” With purpose, she looks him over. “At all.” Giving him a mocking smile, she pats my chest. “Let’s go.”
My hand is tight around Leah’s, my head hot.
The cool evening air is a welcome slap to the face.
“Coop,” Leah says.
I clear my throat, sweat pooling at my neck and forehead.
“You’re cutting off my circulation.”
“I am?” I say, peering down at our knotted hands. “I am! Sorry.” I release her hand, my eyes glued to her fingers as they stretch out, fist, then stretch once more.
“You okay, sweetie?” Andrea asks, her brows cinched.
“I’m fine,” Leah says, her gaze dragging up to me. “That guy was an idiot. It was a long time ago.”
“Really?” Mitch says. “Because that’s not what you said six weeks ago.”
And now, I sort of want to punch Mitch. Wow. My testosterone is working overtime. I’ve never had so many violent thoughts in my life.
“Well, it’s been an eventful few weeks,” Leah says. “Things aren’t always as they seem. And some things need to be forgotten.”
The heat in my head seems to move to my chest, and my angry energy calms.
“I think Coop and I should walk home,” Leah says.
“Walk?” Andrea looks at her. “We’re almost a mile from your place. And it’s less than fifty degrees out here.
“Yep. I’m definitely walking,” Leah says, her eyes still on me. “Do you want to walk with me, Cooper?”
I slip my hand back into hers, gently lacing our fingers. “I do.”
Andrea sighs. “Fine. See you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early,” Leah tells her.
We walk along the quiet street, hand in hand in comfortable silence.
“Can I show you something?” Leah asks, filling the space.
“Yeah.” When will she realize I might agree to anything if she’s suggesting it? I never understood how my brothers could be so whipped. So dang smitten. And now, here I am.
“This way.” We take a left down a residential neighborhood, going in the opposite direction we should in order to get back to Leah’s place .
“How’s your brother?” she asks into the quiet of the evening.
I don’t need to ask who she means. She knows I’ve been worried about Miles. “I haven’t talked to him. He still doesn’t know that I know. Honestly, I’m not sure how they’re doing.”
“For as many family meetings as you Baileys have, you think you’d share more often.” She smirks, her hand around mine tightening. “You just need to talk to him, Coop. You’ll feel better.”
“And if he doesn’t want to talk?” I’m not sure I’d want to.
“Confession is good for the soul.” Her brows lift, and I know she’s silently telling me that I need confession just as much as Miles.
Leah stops in front of a small red house. “Here we are.” There’s a light streaming through the wide front window. “This is where I grew up.”
“Yeah?” I peer at the house with new eyes. White shutters, white door. A swing in the tree where little Leah probably played.
“Yeah.” Moving in front of me, she peers up at my face. “My parents are probably inside.”
“Oh, they still live here.”
She nods. “Yeah, going on twenty-five years.” She lobs from one tennis shoe to the next. “Want to come inside and say hello?”
I swallow, my nerves racing. “Yes. I do.”
“They’ll swarm you—just an FYI. They’ll smother and ask questions. But I like you, Cooper. I want you to meet them. I want them to meet you. And what I want to show you is inside that house.”
“What are we waiting for?” I lean down, pecking her lips. No one could hold me back. If Leah’s in the mood to admit she likes me, I’m going to kiss her. I’m going to meet her parents. I’m going to do anything I can to show her that I return the sentiment. This isn’t a one-sided affection. This isn’t casual.
Leah doesn’t knock on her parents’ front door. This is her childhood home; I wouldn’t knock on Mom’s door either. Only, unlike me, she isn’t still living here. She walks inside, pulling me in after her. The place is bright and colorful with teal and orange walls in the entry. Spicy aromas fill the air. It’s a warm place to get out of the cold.
A woman’s voice rings out, singing a song I’ve never heard, in a language that Leah and Mr. Macias both would say I do not know.
“My mom,” Leah says.
We walk down a long hall, passing an open doorway to a living room. There’s a television sporting the nightly news and a man sitting in a chair, his back facing us, watching the screen.
“Dad,” she whispers, pointing. “Hey, Dad,” she calls as we pass by the room.
“Leah! Hey, darlin’,” Leah’s dad calls back as if he were expecting her. He doesn’t turn around; he just lifts his hand in a wave. He must be enthralled with the story about penguins on his television screen.
The nearby singing stops. “Is that my Leah?” Leah’s mom yells from some unknown place.
We pass another room, the door closed, and keep trekking toward the light and the doorway at the end of this hall.
“Leah?” the female voice calls again. This time, a head with long brown waves peeks out from the doorway.
Leah’s mom. She’s Leah in every way—except maybe her eyes and the few grays sprinkled throughout her wavy hair. Mrs. Bradford’s eyes land on Leah, but slide over to me just as quick.
“Leah and… friend .” Those inquisitive eyes drop to our hands knotted together. “Mija,” she says.
“Hi, Mama. I’m here to show Cooper my abuelo book.”
“No, no, no,” Leah’s mother says, a hand out to stop Leah’s hike. “I raised you better, young lady.”
“You did.” Leah pulls in a breath through her nose and sighs, but she’s smiling. “Mama, this is Cooper Bailey?—”
“Cooper Bailey?” Her mother’s eyes have widened beyond normalcy.
She’s heard of me. And I’m guessing a whole lot of it wasn’t good. Awesome .
I grit my teeth, ready to defend why I’m not all wrong for Leah.
“As in the singer, the dancer, the sexy boy that?—”
“Yes, Mama,” Leah says, hushing her up. “Cooper, this is my mother, Camila. She will ask you too many questions and attempt to feed you even though you aren’t hungry.”
“Ay!” Camila says, glaring at her daughter. “Everyone needs to eat. We just finished and there are leftovers. Do you–”
“We ate, Mama.”
Camila glowers at her daughter. “And I do not ask too many questions.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, holding out a hand.
But Camila doesn’t shake; instead, she takes my outstretched hand and pulls me over to the kitchen table. She pushes me into a seat and stands in front of me. “I saw you from afar at your brother’s wedding. You are even more adorable close-up. So, what will it be? Cocoa or coffee? Surely you have room for a drink.”
“Um.” I look at Leah who is rolling her eyes. “How about cocoa?”
“Good choice.” Camila winks at me. “I add cinnamon, and it’s perfection.”
“Mom, we’re not staying. We came to say hello and grab my abuelo book. I left it here.”
“It’s in your bedroom. Go grab it. Who’s stopping you?” Camila turns to the stove and turns on a burner, a teapot already in place over the fire. “Okay,” she says, sitting beside me. “Tell me how this happened.”
After twenty minutes of ‘ Do you like your job? What’s your middle name? Do you get along with your mother? Do you want children in the near future? ’ Camila smiles. “I approve.”
“Mama,” Leah says, sitting across from me. She’s been gnawing on her lip since she got back, unable to get a word in. She’s anxious, but, whew , I am relieved.
“I say what I think—you know that,” Camila says. “And I like him. I never liked that PJ?—”
“ Mother —”
“I’m with you on that,” I tell her.
She smiles—and I feel as if I’m looking at a future version of Leah. Beautiful, spirited, and kind. I know our reunion wasn’t that long ago. I know my feelings are new—and hers are in even earlier stages. But I want to see this version of future Leah—no, I want to be with that future Leah.
“See?” Camila says to Leah as if my siding with her on PJ proves she’s right about me. Then, without warning, that woman is showing off her lung capacity. “Zeek!” she yells. “Your daughter is home, and she’s brought a man with her!”
“Mama! We don’t need to chit-chat with Daddy too. We’re going soon and?—”
“Hush,” Camila says. “Your father will want to see this. ”
I stir in my seat, hoping I get the same approval from Dad as I did from Mom. Can a guy get so lucky?
A slim man in a red cardigan and round spectacles enters the kitchen. His eyes land on me, and he grins. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.
“I thought you were tricking me,” he says to Camila.
“No trick. Just one yummy treat.” Camila bounces her dark brows at her husband.
“Holy crap, you have got to be kidding me,” Leah mutters to herself.
“Darling.” Camila loops one arm through her husband’s. “This is Cooper,” she says. “Cooper Bailey .”
Zeek blinks and double takes a glance at his wife. “As in, Do-You-Think-I’m-Sexy Cooper Bailey?”
Great . I am famous in Leah’s household. I guess I should have known.
Camila beams, giving him one dramatic nod. She stands and walks to the stove once more. “Chocolate or café?” she asks her husband.
“I’m fine for now.”
“Chocolate it is.” She pours her husband a cup, stirring the dark liquid with a cinnamon stick before handing it off to him and sitting down beside me. “So, what do you think?” she says, peering up at Zeek.
Is she asking what he thinks of me? Have I even spoken to the man yet?
I hold out a hand and find my voice. “It’s great to meet you, sir.”
“Cooper Bailey,” Zeek says, a lopsided grin on his face. “Well, son, you are fairly sexy.”
“Dad!” Leah gasps, as I choke on my last swallow of Camila’s hot cocoa. “Okay. That’s it. We’re going. I can show you the book at my place.” Leah walks around her parents and tugs me up by the hand, the book we came here for tucked beneath her arm.
“Mija,” Camila moans. “Don’t go. What did we do? He is very nice to look at, you can’t deny.”
Leah rolls her head. “No, Mama, I can’t. But?—”
“Stay. Just a little longer. Besides, I need Abuelo’s book for your sister’s birthday dinner. You have all the recipes memorized, but I don’t. Could you leave it here? Just one more week?”
“Caitlyn’s not even coming home for her birthday.”
“That doesn’t mean we won’t celebrate with her favorite dinner. It’s tradition. You can bring Cooper.”
“I don’t—” Leah shakes her head, not finishing her thought. She huffs out a tired sigh. “Fine, keep the book, but we’re going to my old room.”
“Wait,” Zeek says as Leah tugs me along. His eyes lock on mine. “Football or basketball?”
“Um, football,” I say, feeling like I might be on a gameshow, risking everything.
“Nice,” Zeek says. “Wait! How many kids? One to three, or four to six?”
Leah pulls on my hand, moving me faster down the hallway. That’s okay—I’m not sure how to answer that last one anyway.
“Um—” My eyes meet with Zeek’s one last time.
“Four to six. I knew it,” he says, though I’ve given him no answer at all.
Two seconds later, we’ve escaped into a small bedroom. Leah shuts the door behind us and lets out an audible breath.
“They’re—”
“Intense,” she says, finishing for me. “I know. But they mean well. They’re good parents. ”
“I was going to say nice,” I say, squeezing her hand. “They’re nice, Leah.”
Her eyes water and her lips twitch. She drops my hand and hugs the fat photobook to her chest, clinging to it as if it were her grandfather. “They really are.”
“I can see how much you love them.”
She steps over, standing in front of me. “Can you see how much they drive me crazy?”
I shrug. “Just love.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip, drawing my eyes there. I am in Leah’s childhood bedroom—the one she came home to after the prom. The one where she cried when Rob broke her heart and I embarrassed her.
I’m so tempted to apologize again—to the Leah of this room, of this time. But she’d only scold me. She asked me to stop apologizing a while ago. She says I’m forgiven. And most of the time, I believe her.
She holds the photobook in one hand at her side, her eyes still on me. “Never did I ever think I’d be sneaking Cooper Bailey into this room.”
My mouth twitches, quirking up in a half grin.
“Sit,” she says, reminding me a little of her mother.
I find a spot on her old twin bed and wait for my next directions. Like any good, whipped man.
Leah sets her book on the desk next to her bed and stands in front of me. Moving into the cove between my thighs, she peers down at me. Her fingers lift to my face, brushing over my right cheek and splaying into my hair. She bends toward me ever so slightly, and I lift my chin, meeting her halfway as she presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“Cinnamon and sugar.”
She smirks, her lips so near that I feel as they turn up in a grin. “ What was that?”
I lift my hands to her waist, planting a palm on each of her hips. “You smell like sugar.”
“The bakery?—”
“Just you.”
Leah giggles, brushing her nose over mine. “You smell like mint and bergamot.”
I blink, trying to focus better, to see her better. “Berga-what?”
Her arm snakes around my neck, and she sits right on my knee. “Bergamot. It’s a citrus fruit found in Italy. It’s sweet and herbal.” She tilts her head, the soft skin of her nose tracing over my ear and down my neck while breathing me in. She’s going to drive me crazy—completely loco.
“Can I show you this?” A brown curl as dark and bold as the cocoa Camila served me falls in front of her eyes. She brushes it away, then slides from my leg and onto the bed beside me.
I’m pretty sure we were just fine sitting as we were—but whatever.
She snatches the book from the desk and holds it in her lap. “This is a book my abuelo and I started when I was little. Mom added the photos later. Abuela had her tried and true recipes while Abuelo and I liked to experiment. We’d write the recipes with our alterations down in this book. I thought maybe it would help explain why Sweet Swirls—the name and the place—are so important to me.”
I know that it’s important to her. I’ve never doubted. But this book means a lot to her—that’s clear. I’m glad she wants to share it with me.
The book is made up of sturdy paper, with pictures and lined notebook paper taped inside. At the top of the page, in scrawly script, the beginning of the book has been dated sixteen years ago. Below the date is written: Leah’s Sweet Swirls . The taped-in notebook paper is yellowed with splatter marks all around the handwritten recipes.
“Usually he’d teach me,” she says. “But he’d always let me experiment, adding in anything I wanted.” She flips a few pages and points to another lined and yellowed notebook piece of paper. “I still make my orange rolls like this.”
I scan over the recipe. “Tea?”
“Yeah. It was one of my ten-year-old experiments. I used oolong tea, orange zest, and confectioners’ sugar to make a glaze—and it came out kind of amazing.”
“More than kind of.”
Her pretty lips purse as if she’s holding back a grin. “Well, shh. It’s a secret.”
“And I’m the only one who knows?” I slip an arm around her back, hugging her to my side.
“You, Abuela, Mom. Also, Andrea, Cricket, and—” She swallows.
“And?”
She flicks her eyes in a roll. “PJ.” She leans her head against my shoulder and groans. “He never saw my book, but I told him way too many of my secrets.”
“Because you loved him?”
“Because I thought he was brilliant. I wanted to impress him, and I thought for a minute that he loved me.” She blinks, her eyes locking onto mine. “He didn’t. I knew that I didn’t love him.” She swallows. “But I liked him. And I thought that I should love him. That one day I would.”
“You shouldn’t love anyone who questions your worth.”
“I know,” she whispers, her eyes drifting back to her book. Her abuelo recipe Bible.
“Thanks for sharing this with me.”
With her head on my shoulder and my arm around her waist, we turn the page.