Chapter 4
Roman
West Chester is a college town, close enough to Philadelphia to be considered a suburb, with the feel of a small town. And it never seems as small as when you’re the talk of the town.
In the week since we’ve unpacked, Mazie has started first grade, and I have sort of begun fixing up the house that had fallen into disrepair in the last decade, but I don’t have much time, with getting everything up and running at my shop.
I’ve loved cars my entire life, a passion I inherited from Ian.
He practically raised me, and I was at his side while he restored a number of cars.
It was a skill I picked back up after dropping out of college, but I was never able to hold down a job long enough to make a real living from it until about seven years ago.
To actually help make my return journey home where I belonged.
But now that I’m here, I’ve quickly realized I don’t have much time to do everything that needs doing with Mazie constantly hovering around me. Which is why I have her buckled into my Tahoe to drive downtown to Ian’s tattoo shop on Aster Street.
I hit the dial for music, and without even taking her attention away from her window, she says, “Play ‘It’s Raining Tacos.’”
I never should have given her access to YouTube.
“No way.”
“Come on,” she whines. “Please!”
“No.”
I tune the stereo to one of my favorite bands, but my perfect angel of a daughter shout-sings over the blazingly fast drumbeat, “It’s raining tacos!”
“Fucking song,” I mutter, teeth clenched. It’s nails on a chalkboard. The stupidest shit I’ve ever heard, and she loves it.
Instead of fighting her, I shut off the stereo. “Play a game instead.”
“What game?”
“Count the stop signs.”
I won’t play I Spy or any other dumb driving games, but make her do something to win a high five? Works every time.
She counts all the stop signs we pass as I make my way through town, tree-lined streets giving way to old stone and brick buildings.
We pass cafés and boutiques, a few people walking dogs or sipping coffees at outdoor tables.
The spire of the county courthouse comes into view as I turn toward Aster Street, with brick-paved sidewalks and flower baskets hanging from lampposts.
A vinyl record store blasts classic rock tunes next to a pet store, a chalkboard sign out front informing customers they sell homemade dog treats inside. Even though the architecture is old, the downtown has a youthful vibe. Especially because the university isn’t too far away.
My new shop is two blocks south, which is perfect for me. I can easily drop Mazie off when I need a babysitter, but right now, I park on Aster, and she immediately pulls me toward the bakery.
I’ve had to keep Mazie on a leash anytime she’s seen it because the place is wall-to-wall pink, and she’s been begging me to go.
Finally, I give in, letting her drag me to Sweet Cheeks Bakery with its striped pink-and-white awning and curlicue logo on the window.
A bell above the door tinkles when I open it, and I feel like a bull in a china shop as soon as I step inside.
Mazie gasps. It’s basically her dream. Petal-pink walls with murals of cupcakes and macarons, a gleaming floor of checkered black-and-white tiles, and iron-rod tables and chairs that look so dainty I would most likely break them if I were to sit down.
Mazie beelines for the display case along the left wall, filled with pastries so perfectly arranged they appear fake. She presses her face right up to the glass, leaving smudges from her nose and palms. “Oooooh.”
A young Asian girl with a name tag that reads Mio, she/her and her hair pulled back in a ponytail smiles down at Mazie. “What looks good to you?”
My daughter then turns to me, finger tapping on the case. “Can I get that? Pleeeeaaaaaaase?”
It’s a huge cinnamon bun dripping with thick white icing. The thing is massive. Easily the size of her face.
“You’ll be bouncing off the walls.”
“Pleeeeaaaaase, Daddy?” She hops up and down, already off the walls.
But she might as well write a list of what she wants when she gives me those goddamn puppy-dog eyes. I heave a sigh as I dig my wallet out of my pocket. “We’ll take one of those cinnamon rolls.”
“The buns are what we’re known for. Eloise is the queen of cinnamon rolls.” Mio grins, reaching for a sheet of bakery paper. “Anything else for you today?”
I shake my head. “I’m sure we’ll be back.”
“Would you like it for here or to go?”
“To go, please,” I murmur, tugging Mazie away from the glass.
As Mio rings me up, I study the photos covering the wall behind her.
Happy customers holding up half-eaten cinnamon buns and other treats.
I huff in amusement, realizing every single member of my family is scattered among them. My brothers, sister, and their kids.
When Mio notices what’s caught my attention, she eyes me, obviously making some kind of connection. “You know them?”
“Yeah. I’m, uh…Roman Stone.”
Her jaw hangs open for a second before she remembers herself. She’s clearly heard of me.
“It’s so nice to meet you.”
Mio smiles and extends the small light-pink box to Mazie, who says a little too loudly, “I’m Mazie. This is my dad! We just moved here!”
“Yeah?” Mio leans over the counter. “You’re gonna love living here. Everyone’s so nice, and you’ll make lots of friends. There are great places to eat including…” She aims her index finger out the window, pointing down the street “See that sushi restaurant? My parents own it.”
“It looks like there’s a sleeping bag on that sign.”
“You’re right, it does kinda look like a sleeping bag. But it’s a sushi roll. Have you ever had one?”
Mazie shakes her head, busy tearing open the takeaway box. “Nuh-uh.”
“You think you’d ever try it?”
“I’ll try it, yeah,” Mazie says with a suspicious squint, pulling her hand out of the box, her fingers covered in icing. I swipe a bunch of napkins from one of the holders. “Daddy says if I don’t like it, I don’t have to fucking eat it.”
I slap a hand to my face, explaining to a giggling Mio, “She’s not— We don’t— She doesn’t usually curse.”
“Yes, I do,” Mazie retorts, and I glare at her.
Yeah, the cursing is a fucking problem, and I’m trying to watch my mouth.
“Let’s get out of here,” I grumble, pushing her toward the door.
Mio waves. “I’ll see you around.”
With a nod, I head back outside, tugging my tiny troublemaker with me. “Jesus Christ, Maze, you’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Mazie shrugs and bites into a piece of the cinnamon roll, smearing it all over her face. I shove one of the napkins at her as we head right next door to Stone Ink.
My brother’s tattoo shop is all black and gray. Ironic since it’s next to that pink palace and a bookstore on the other side with twinkle lights in the window. I know Ian’s girlfriend owns it, and I was informed I’d be meeting her today as well.
I swing open the door, greeted by a B-52’s soundtrack and the smiling face of a girl at the desk.
“Hey, I’m Riley,” she says, like she’s been expecting me, then nods at Mazie. “I see you’ve been introduced to the bakery, huh?”
My daughter nods, her mouth full.
“So good, right?”
She nods again, attacking that cinnamon bun like she’s never eaten in her life.
Riley laughs and walks out from behind the reclaimed wood desk, gesturing for Mazie to sit with her on the gray leather couch.
“Whoa, look who’s here,” Ian says, and Mazie waves at him, palm covered with icing. He bends, ruffling her hair. “How’re you doing?”
“Good,” she mumbles.
Ian helps himself to stealing a bit of the cinnamon roll and pops it into his mouth with wide, playful eyes that make her giggle.
Which brings everyone else over.
I was in middle and high school when Ian had his kids, and seeing them now as adults is whiplash.
Jasper, his oldest child, is the first to approach, both of us silently shaking hands.
Jaybird, his younger brother, comes in for a laughing hug, slapping my back, telling me, “Good to see you, uncle.” Then he introduces me to his best friend, Cash, who is apparently like an adopted Stone.
All these guys are tall and muscular, but not close to my 6’5” or 270, though they cut imposing figures themselves.
The genes we inherited from my father. The wannabe professional athlete who threw it all away for alcohol.
Same thing I did. So I can’t be too judgmental for that fact. Everything else, l sure as shit can and do blame him for.
Sloane brings up the rear, and Ian explains that she is the only female tattoo artist here and specializes in watercolor.
Her work is amazing, as evidenced by some of the framed artwork on the walls.
She says she has two kids about Mazie’s age and would be happy to set up a playdate for them all to meet, an offer I plan to gratefully accept.
No matter how much I worried about this move, it was the right decision.
This is exactly what Mazie needs, a big support system. Although I’m not too arrogant to think I don’t need it. I did it for myself as much as my daughter.
“There she is,” Ian says, gaze focused outside, and a moment later, the door opens, revealing a brunette with big blue eyes, a long dress with a flower pattern, and a smile only for my brother. He greets her with a kiss and an arm around her waist.
When my siblings came over the other day, they all eventually filled me in on their new partners.
Griffin was widowed when his twins were born, but now he’s with the woman he hired to be their nanny a couple of years ago.
Taryn is dating a younger, stand-up guy—from all accounts—and I’m glad.
Her ex-husband is a piece of shit, and my sister and her two kids deserve the world.
Ian told me he and his bookshop girl started off in some kind of triangle of a relationship while she was still married, but everything worked out for the best, and he actually grins when he says, “Roman, this is Nicole.”
She extends her hand to me. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m happy to finally meet you.”
“You too.” I notice a few tattoos on her that I know are Ian’s work. His eye for detail is incredible, his art one of a kind. “I appreciate everyone taking the time to meet us.”
Ian waves away the thought. “We’re all family, right? It’s what we do.”
And as I sweep my gaze around his girlfriend and kids, biological and not, I suppose we all are. This is what we do.
I’ll have to get used to it.
“Where’s Juniper?” I ask, and Jaybird blows a raspberry.
“Late, as usual.”
As we wait for her, Ian talks about some upcoming fall festival thing at the end of September that apparently closes down the street.
All the businesses set up booths outside, and he proudly informs me that Nicole is a new member of the community association and she’s put the festival together this year, so I better have my ass there.
I offer him a mock salute as a young woman with long curly brown hair enters from the back. It’s Ian’s daughter, the youngest of his three kids, and still in college.
She prances in, a backpack on her shoulders. “Hey-oh!” Her gaze skirts over all of us in the front of the shop, and she smiles when she notices me. “Uncle Roman!”
She runs toward me for a hug I don’t expect. Her arms wrap around me tight, strength belying her tiny stature, and I recall a time when she was in a car accident with her mother and we thought she wasn’t going to make it. But she did, and she’s all grown up now.
“Hey, Junie. Good seeing you.”
“You too,” she says, then kneels on the floor in front of Mazie. “And you must be Mazie.”
“Yep!”
Seeing my niece and my daughter next to each other, it’s funny how much they look alike, and when I glance over at Ian, he must notice too, his brows up in surprise.
“I love all your pink, and you have a cinnamon bun from next door. Did you meet Eloise?” When Mazie shakes her head, June stage-whispers, “She loves pink too. I think you two will be best friends.”
Mazie grins, dimple popping in the same cheek as Juniper’s. It’s eerie, actually. They both take after Mom so much.
“I’m going to be your new babysitter,” June tells Mazie, who cheers.
“And we’re cousins!”
June laughs. “Yes, we are.”
Riley interrupts, leaning in. “I’m not really your cousin, but you can call me that. I’m June’s best friend, and we’re together all the time, so I’ll be babysitting you too.”
Mazie dances in her seat. “Party! Woot Woot!”
Not that I expected this meeting to go badly, but it couldn’t have gone any better. Nicole asks me some questions about myself, my business, and if I like to read. She lives in the apartment above the tattoo shop with Ian and says she’d love to have Mazie and me over one night for dinner.
I’m about to answer when I hear an amused “oh god” behind me, and I turn in time to see June point outside. “It’s Kyle.”
Everyone follows her finger, a few of them snickering at some joke I’m not in on, but I spy a lanky white guy in khakis and a blue button-down crossing in front of Stone Ink. “Who’s that?”
“Kyle,” Jasper mutters as he pivots toward his tattoo station.
Jaybird curls his hands around his mouth, yelling, “Stop being such a fucking Kyle, Kyle!”
Outside, Kyle stops and throws Jay a middle finger. Jay returns the gesture with both hands.
I glance from person to person for an explanation.
Riley is the one who clues me in. “Kyle works at the bank down the street. He’s always going next door. He’s obsessed with Eloise.”
“And he’s a douche,” Jay adds.
“He can’t take the hint that she doesn’t like him, and she’s too nice to tell him to fuck off,” Sloane says, finishing that last part in a whisper so Mazie doesn’t hear. But at this point, it doesn’t matter. My kid isn’t beating the allegations of being the one to corrupt everyone in her class.
“And who exactly is Eloise?” I ask because I keep hearing her name.
“She owns Sweet Cheeks, and we’ve been best friends since high school,” Sloane explains. “I’m sure you’ll meet her soon. She’s all over the place.”