Chapter 15 #2
“I mean.” Wells gulped, thinking through how long it would take him to make the caramel sauce alone. “You…could, but I’m sure it won’t live up to yours.”
“That’s why I want to try it. See how they’re doing here.”
“Didn’t your doctor say you, uh…” Wells stuttered, trying to think of a reason. “You needed to watch your…something?” He grimaced.
“Fit as a fiddle.” Pop slammed his menu shut and handed it to Jessica. “And tell them extra apple pie,” he said with a wink.
“You got it,” Jessica said, laughing.
Wells stared at his coffee, already panicking over how to make everything. But as Jessica went through the kitchen door and exclaimed “Holy cow,” he jumped up by reflex.
“I just realized I, um”—he patted his pants pockets—“left my car lights on. I’ll be right back.”
His mom was, thankfully, already talking with Olivia and Pop about their plans for that afternoon.
Wells calmly walked around the edge of the diner until he was out of sight, then sprinted to the back, throwing open the door. “What’s wrong? What’s on fire? What happened?”
“Look.” Jessica held up a curl of apples Tiny had sliced. “For the pancakes. He’s going to fry them. Isn’t that so cute?”
Wells put a hand to his chest. “I thought something was on fire.”
“Just admiring my craftsmanship,” Tiny said flatly.
“Please, please don’t mess up the apple-pie pancakes,” Wells said, already pulling out the ingredients for their order.
“They’re just pancakes, man,” Tiny said. “Maybe you should meditate with me.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Wells said, tossing bell peppers at him to chop.
“I’ll start on the apple-pie pancake caramel sauce, but then I’ve got to go back out there.
And you.” He angled a look at Jessica, who smiled proudly.
“I am proud of you for negotiating and blackmailing me very effectively. But next time, just ask.”
“Or, you could proactively take care of your employees.” She stuck her tongue out and walked through the door holding a coffee pot.
Jesus, maybe I should sponsor her pre-law classes.
“She’s right, man,” Tiny said, chopping the bell peppers into perfect bite-size pieces with surprising speed, despite hardly moving at all in his zen-like state.
“The best defense is a good offense, or as I like to think, appreciation expands the more that you express it. You know, as the philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, said…” He droned on about existentialism, but Wells shook his head and went back to working on the caramel sauce.
A ping on his phone pulled him out of his work.
OLIVIA
Getting suspicious.
Shit. He tossed down the pancake batter he was mixing. “Add some nutmeg.”
“Got it, boss,” Tiny said.
Wells dashed through the slippery kitchen, walking around to the front.
You could be a grown-up, he thought, running his fingers through his hair as he walked around the diner, trying to catch his breath.
Tell his stepfather, the only man who had ever really loved him like a son, that he’d fucked up his entire life’s work because of his chaotic ideas and bald-faced hubris.
He swung the front door open and was surprised to see the mother of his future child talking with his family.
Fucking hell.
He hadn’t seen Allison since their last hookup a few nights ago. It had been brief, hot, and he’d made her eat a sandwich afterwards because she’d been too busy at work that day to have lunch. She’d scowled at him the entire time, and he’d almost had to bend her over again.
It was still too early to know if the last few sessions had taken, so to speak. He felt relieved seeing her there, safe and sound, looking healthy and happy. Her cheeks glowed a pretty pink, and her cream sweater highlighted her curves.
“I invited Allison to join us,” his mother said with a placid smile. “If you two can get along,” his mother added.
“Oh, right,” he said, shaking out of his stupor. “Ugh,” he growled, hopefully convincingly. “She wouldn’t want to have breakfast with me.”
Allison blinked, shaken out of something.
“Right,” Allison said, playing along. “Table’s not big enough for the both of us. Both literally and metaphorically. Glad to see you’re on the mend, Pop.” Allison patted his shoulder.
“We can kick him out. I like you better,” Pop said with a chuckle.
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m here for a to-go order.”
Wells’s eyes followed Allison to the back of the diner. The sway of her hips had him entranced. He’d sunk his hands into their soft curves the last time he’d seen her. She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes landed on his.
Fuck, caught staring.
Like he liked her, or something.
He darted his gaze away.
“So, Wells,” his mother said, in a tone that meant business. “You’ve been here for a month. Pop is fully recovered, and all the bruising is gone. You’re always welcome to stay, but…don’t you need to get back?”
“I was thinking of looking for a place here,” he said, deciding to ease them into his chaos-incarnate plan. “Olivia is staying here. Maybe move here permanently.”
His mother beamed at Pop. “Oh, that would be lovely.”
He had started to look at different house listings, but nothing on the market caught his eye. It was early February, not the perfect time to sell or buy a house in Pennsylvania.
A few minutes later, as they talked about streets and cute houses and who might be moving soon, food that looked edible appeared in front of them.
Wells waited with bated breath as all three of them took a tentative bite of their food.
“This isn’t disgusting,” Olivia said with a happy smile.
Pop bit into his famed recipe for apple-pie pancakes and nodded. “Tastes like there might be…”
Don’t say bourbon.
Pop ate another bite. “Maybe extra butter or…”
Please don’t be bourbon.
“Bourbon,” his mother said as she licked her finger.
Pop looked impressed. “I think it’s an improvement.”
Phew. Fucking Tiny.
As his mother bit into her skillet, her eyes narrowed at him from across the table. “This tastes…familiar.”
Oh no.
“It’s the salsa.” She shook her head in recognition. “I have the same at home.”
Wells blew out a breath, wrung out from the drama.
“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” Olivia said, smiling mischievously. “You know what? I think we should do it every week.” Their mom and Pop agreed happily, chowing down.
“I hate you,” Wells muttered, and Olivia cackled in a way that endearingly looked exactly like their mother.
Allison waved briefly at him as she walked out with her to-go order, and he returned it, a stolen gesture just between the two of them.
Wells wasn’t exactly sure what to do with this new overflowing cocktail of fulfillment, anxiety, fear, pride, and hope dancing through his veins as he took in his family, the revived diner, and a tall, pretty woman walking away with a sway in her hips.
But he hoped it might make him a better dad in about nine months.