Chapter 5
“I don’t want to see another box of Fruit Loops in my life ever again.” ~ Harper
Harper
“W here are my Fruit Loops?”
I jar awake at the shouted question.
“Harper!”
I blow out a breath and search for some patience before I scream back. Trust me. Screaming back at my dad doesn’t help.
I roll out a bed, grab a sweatshirt from the floor, and stumble my way to the kitchen.
“Good morning, Dad.”
He grunts in response. And everyone says I’m the grump. Ha! They obviously haven’t met my father.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“There aren’t any Fruit Loops.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t make it to the grocery store yesterday.” My jaw aches to remind me why.
“You should let me go to the grocery store by myself. ”
Ugh. Not this again. Dad suffered a moderate stroke shortly after Mom died.
He did rehab and has regained quite a bit of his mobility, but his right arm and leg never fully recovered.
He gets around with a cane pretty well, but the grocery store is too far for him.
And he refuses to use a motorized wheelchair.
“You can go to the grocery store by yourself,” I begin and he smiles, “if you use a motorized wheelchair.”
“I am not using a motorized wheelchair ever again.”
“You can’t walk to the grocery store from here. It’s too far.”
“Bullshit. I can do it.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Did you forget what happened last time?”
His cheeks darken. “You shouldn’t shame a man for having an accident.”
“I’m not trying to shame you. I’m reminding you of how the police called me because you were caught relieving yourself in the neighbor’s rose bushes.”
“It was fertilizer.”
“And then you sat down on the chair inside the other neighbor’s playhouse and couldn’t get back up.”
“Damn chair was tiny.”
“Because it was a child’s playhouse.”
“If your mother was here, she’d let me go to the grocery store.”
His shot hits me straight in the chest where he aimed. I struggle to breathe for a second. Mom was the sweetest, kindest person to ever walk this earth. She was also a pushover for my dad. Whatever he wanted, she gave him .
I’ve never seen love the way my parents loved each other. It was beautiful to behold. But then my mom got sick and died when I was a freshman in high school. Dad had a stroke a year later.
According to Google, there’s no way the stroke could have been caused by heartbreak. I disagree. I witnessed my vibrant, loving dad shrivel away after Mom died.
Since sophomore year of high school, I’ve been in charge of managing this house, making sure Dad makes it to his doctor’s appointments, overseeing Dad’s recovery, and paying all the bills once Dad’s benefits ran out.
It’s the reason I bought the Rumrunner when I had the chance. I didn’t realize I should have hired an accountant to review the sales price. I’ll be paying off the bar until the day I die.
“I’m sorry, Dad, but Mom’s not here.”
He glances away from me but not before I notice the pain in his eyes. It’s been sixteen years – half of my life – and he’s still grieving for the woman he loves.
“You’re stuck with me. And I got in a fight in the grocery store parking lot and didn’t manage to buy your Fruit Loops before the bar opened up yesterday.”
He scowls. “Why’d you do a fool thing like get in a fight?”
“I was provoked.”
“One of these days, your temper is going to get the worst of you.”
I shrug. “It’s not my fault the woman thought I was budging in line. ”
“It’s never your fault.”
I poke my tongue out at him. “How about I make some pancakes for breakfast?”
He perks up. “With butter and maple syrup?”
I nod. “With butter and maple syrup.”
Ever since Dad’s stroke, we’ve been on a healthy diet in this household. Plenty of fruits and vegetables, wholegrains and high fiber breads and cereals, lean meats, poultry, and fish. The one exception is Fruit Loops for breakfast.
I’ve tried my best to rid Dad of his Fruit Loops addiction, but there’s only so much I can do when he decides to protest by refusing to go to therapy. You try carrying a grown man into a car and then we’ll talk.
I gather the ingredients I need for the pancakes and switch on the griddle. The doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.”
“Go ahead. It’s not for me anyway.”
I frown. Dad used to have an active social life when Mom was alive. Now he doesn’t speak to any of his friends. His friends stopped coming around when he refused to open the door for them.
I need to do something about his social life. Dad’s in his fifties. He has years of living ahead of him. He’s way too young to give up on life.
“Hey,” I greet Parker when I open up the door.
She lifts up a coffee and small bag. “As requested.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She giggles. “True. I save lives as a pastry chef all the time. ”
I open the bag and inhale the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. “Total lifesaver.”
“It’s a Siren’s Snap cookie. I put my own twist on the classic ginger snap.”
“I don’t know why you’re still in Smuggler’s Hideaway and not baking in a patisserie in Paris but I thank the mermaids every day for it.”
“My French sucks anyway,” she jokes but her smile is strained.
There’s a story there, but I’ve never had the chance to dig into the past with Parker. She works early morning hours at the bakery, and I work late hours at the bar. We’re two ships passing in the night.
“Are you going to leave the door open all day and let all the flies in?” Dad – my very own reason for not leaving Smuggler’s Hideaway – complains.
“Do you want to come in? I’ll share my cookie with you.”
“You’d share a cookie with me?”
I frown. “I know how to share.”
She snorts. “Which is why you got detention in second grade for refusing to share your crayons with Sophia.”
“Sophia broke all of her crayons and threw them at Flynn.”
She rolls her eyes. “Those two were destined for each other from a young age.”
Sophia – a friend of ours who is part owner of the local brewery – was a year behind us in school, but in a place the size of Smuggler’s Hideaway, everyone knows everyone. And everyone knows everything about everyone .
“I heard you got in a fight yesterday. I thought you’d have a shiner.”
Told you. Everyone knows everything about everyone. But the details are often a bit fuzzy.
“I didn’t get into a fight.”
She lifts her eyebrows.
“It was a scuffle at most.”
“And Kai Raider came to your rescue.”
I scowl. “Kai Raider didn’t come to my rescue.”
“I heard he jumped off stage, ran to you, and picked you up and carried you to the ER when you got knocked out.”
“I did not get knocked out,” I growl. “And I didn’t go to the ER.”
“But he did jump off stage and pick you up?”
I grunt. There’s only one reason why she’s being this persistent. “Are you seriously betting on whether Kai and I will get together?”
She shrugs. “The man has been pursuing you hard for the past few months.”
“Man? Are we still discussing Kai?”
“He’s twenty-four. Legal.”
“Holy smugglers. You make me sound like a cougar.”
“If the claws fit.”
“I do not want a younger man. I want a man who will help lighten my load, not make it heavier.”
“Sorry.” Her nose wrinkles. “How’s your dad doing anyway? ”
“I’m being assaulted by two thousand angry flies who got into the house because my daughter doesn’t know how to close a door,” Dad shouts from the living room where he’s sitting on his favorite chair watching television.
“And there’s the answer to your question.”
Parker giggles. I don’t find the situation amusing, but I keep my growl contained. Pirates Pastries is struggling. She could use a bit of laughter in her life.
“Do you want to come in? I’m making pancakes.”
“Nah. I better get back to the bakery. I left Holly in charge. Her teenage friends will devour every pastry I’ve ever made if I don’t stop them.”
“Okay, but let’s grab a coffee and catch up soon.”
“Sounds good. I’ll schedule you in for some time in 2030, which is when I assume the next time we both have time off aligns.”
“I’ll order an agenda for 2030.”
She waves as she walks off. I shut the door behind her.
“It’s about damn time. I’m starving. Where are my pancakes? Or can I have your cookie?”
Pfff… The 2030 comment wasn’t far off.