10. Wonder
SHAWN MENDES
10
WONDER
He knew smacking a kiss on Sadie’s cheek at the Sugartree Sunshine Festival was probably not his wisest decision. Even if it did make the top three in Dakota’s list of most satisfying moments he’d ever had with her. Was it insensitive? Probably. She had, after all, nearly jumped out of her skin when he’d barely, and innocently, perched his hand on her back earlier that day. But Dakota just simply couldn’t resist ruffling her up a bit. Being around Sadie always made him feel as if he were a live wire, brimming with too much energy and in dangerous need of a conduit.
After wrestling for that Bomb Pop, seeing Sadie’s full lips stained with the colors of his popsicle had thrown him over the edge. And since he couldn’t just kiss the smile off her cherry red lips while on Main Street—especially not right after she’d berated him for simply touching her, for goodness sake—he’d acted on impulse and slapped her with a quick, chaste, totally virtuous, good luck cheek-kiss.
It was awesome.
In fact, he didn’t regret it one bit. Until… he did.
When Sadie had barely spoken to him after the pie eating contest. When it’d felt like she wouldn’t look him in the eye, and she’d skirted around him in their group, never letting herself get too close. It became clear very quickly that his impulse kiss was a move he, again, would have to apologize for.
Which brought him to Sadie’s front porch. Not only was he knocking on Sadie’s front door for the first time to offer an honest apology, but he’d also been sent by his most definitely scheming mother to ask Sadie to join him on a Good Start business errand that just happened to be on the other side of the state. And then, he was to formally invite Sadie to join the annual Remillard family vacation.
He did take the time, of course, to finish a little friendly service on the piece of junk Sadie called a vehicle, sitting in the front yard, before finally deciding to go knock on the front door. Nothing more than a guilty puppy with his tail between his legs.
He walked as confidently as he possibly could up the steps of the old brick home, taking in the small details of the front porch. Planters hung from rusted hooks with full ferns spilling over, and bright pink flowers, he didn’t know the name of, bloomed in pots on either side of the door. There was a small mail slot—something he didn’t see often—to the left of the door with Mills engraved on a nameplate above.
Then he studied the door ahead. Navy blue paint peeled around the edges of the frame, revealing a maroon color underneath. He reached out and ran a finger over a piece and watched it fall—delaying the inevitable a little longer—only for the door to open suddenly, revealing a small, elderly woman staring up at him.
She flicked a single eyebrow high, tilting her dark gray-haired head and her mouth to the side in tandem. An identical move he’d seen countless times in Sadie. Dakota felt as though he were looking at a version of Sadie fifty years into the future. She shared Sadie’s mannerisms, the same playful fire in her amber eyes, and smile lines that told him this woman loved to laugh.
“Well, were ya ever gonna knock or were ya just planning to wash the whole house too… after peeling off my door paint? Time’s a wastin’, and you’ve been out here forever.”
Dakota felt the heat rise in his cheeks and brushed his hands off, extending one to the woman. “Um, I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m Dakota Remil…”
“I know who ya are, son. I’ve met your daddy a time or two, and you’re the spittin’ image. All tall and mysterious with that dark hair and them hazel eyes. But it’s your mama’s smile ya got. Now,” she brushed her hands off, “I’m Edwina Mills. Sadie’s mama.”
Edwina…
She grabbed his hand with both of her’s and squeezed hard—harder than necessary. Surprising, considering how small and fragile she appeared. Then she moved aside slowly and wrapped her hand into the crook of Dakota’s arm, using him to support her walk back into the house. “Now we’re properly introduced, so you’re gonna sit in my kitchen, Dakota Remillard, and have some biscuits and honey. You must’ve worked up an appetite after all that hard labor on the car.”
No questions. Only the full use of his name—another trait her daughter had picked up honestly—and a more than forceful invitation to accept her hospitality. They navigated around a suspicious amount of moving boxes stacked four to five deep, some left open at the top, others already duct-taped and labeled.
“Excuse me Mrs. Mills, but are y’all goin’ somewhere?”
“Aren’t we all, Dakota Remillard?” She shakily slid out a wooden chair at a well-worn kitchen table with homemade biscuits and honey already waiting. A floral printed pitcher of lemonade sat to the side.
“Were you expectin’ someone today?” Dakota asked, pulling out the chair next to him and helping her into it before sitting down himself.
She put two biscuits on a plate, slathered them in butter and honey, and pushed them under his nose along with a glass filled to the brim with lemonade.
“When I was a youngin’, my mama made a batch of buttermilk biscuits every single mornin’ until she wasn’t able anymore. She said it was always best to plan to be hospitable, and if no one showed up, then more biscuits for us.” She slathered the same concoction on her own biscuit. “I just figured I’d do the same… until I’m not able anymore. Then I suppose my girl will have to start. She’s the one who insists on the lemonade. Strange combo in my opinion, but if it brings ya joy, I suppose it’s worth it.
“I believe it was J.R.R. Tolkien who said, ‘If more of us valued food and cheer over gold, it would be a merrier world.’” She waved her hand at him and took another bite, talking through it out the side of her mouth. “Or something like that. It was that Hobbit book, ya know? Too much description of mountains and trees for my taste, but what do I know? I only studied literature for the better part of fifty years, give or take.”
“You studied literature?”
She nodded her head and smiled. “Oh, yeah. Just ‘cause I’m Southern, don’t mean I’m simple.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, ma’am. I’m sorry… I just didn’t know. Were you a teacher?”
“I taught humanities and English literature for my entire adult life. Wrote some. Read a lot. But don’t tell anybody I said a lot, though, alright? I don’t like to put on airs, but I do have a reputation to uphold.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am. And your husband… Sadie’s dad… What does he do?” He didn’t want to pry, but he loved the inside peek into Sadie’s world he was suddenly being offered. Books and biscuits. A whole new landscape he wanted to explore every inch of.
“Sadie sure didn’t tell ya much about us at all, did she? I’ll have to get on her about that. And maybe tell ya a story or two. I bet she never told you about the year of her life that she was just downright determined to grow a pouch in her belly, because she wouldn’t stop reading Katy No Pocket. Horribly long children’s book if ya ask me, but she loved it. Insisted she needed to carry all her stuffed animals around everywhere she went just like that mama kangaroo with no pocket.”
Mrs. Mills paused and took a tiny bite, licking the crumbs and honey off her dark brown lips. Her jaw sharpened, and she pointed a shaky finger at Dakota. “Now eat, son. I won’t have ya wastin’ perfectly good buttermilk biscuits. Sadie will be along in a minute. She’s helpin’ her daddy.”
“Oh I wasn’t… I just came by to ask her…”
“Stop playin’ coy with me. Ya came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have snack time with an old broad like me. But it just so happens that I’m the first stop on your track to my girl, so eat. Now.”
Dakota did as he was told. And happily ate two more biscuits when Sadie’s mother insisted and fixed them onto his plate. He’d never be able to tell his own mama, but they were the best buttermilk biscuits he’d ever tasted.
Without preamble, Mrs. Mills scooted out her chair, but swatted at Dakota when he aimed to help her up, and hollered, “Sadie Edwin, ya have a visitor, darlin’.”
She turned back to Dakota and put a hand on his shoulder. “I sure am glad to have finally met you, Dakota Remillard. You’re ‘bout as handsome as my girl described. Although I think she may have underplayed your muscles a bit. I like a strong man, myself. My Edward is brawny and bold. You’ll see him any minute now.”
She waved her hand again at him. “Anyways, I think we can put this down on our own Cordiality Count, don’t you? And I’m definitely winnin’. Cornbread and conversation. That’s two points right there. You didn’t stand a chance… We can call it our first date.”
Dakota smirked. He was already enjoying this visit far more than he’d anticipated. “We didn’t have cornbread, ma’am.”
“Nah. But I like the alliteration of it all, don’t you?”
She winked, patted his shoulder, and then laughed as she walked slowly away, leaving Dakota stupefied in her wake.
“He’s full and happy, darlin’,” she said, greeting Sadie as she entered the kitchen with a towering man, who Dakota assumed was her father, leaning on her arm.
Surprised to see him, Sadie stumbled just slightly as Dakota stood from the table and offered a hand to her father. “Hello, sir. I’m Dakota Remillard.”
Mr. Mills’ giant, dark hand grasped Dakota’s and tightened. Dakota had met a dad or two over the years, and he had to admit, this guy definitely knew what he was doing. He didn’t think he’d regain feeling in his fingers for days.
“Edward Mills. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Mr. Mills said in a low, gritty voice. “Pleasure.”
With the way he was gripping Dakota’s hand, he didn’t think Mr. Mills found it a pleasure at all. He imagined in his younger years, Mr. Mills stood at least five inches over six feet. He was the epitome of imposing. Dark, ebony skin. Heavy set, graying eyebrows that made him appear more gruff. But his eyes, espresso-colored with a distinct, bright sunflower in the middle of the iris, could only be construed as friendly. The sight nearly set Dakota at ease. Nearly.
“I’m real glad to meet y’all. Sadie is…” Dakota fumbled. What was Sadie? His headache-inducing enemy? His sisters’ best friend? An adopted member of his family? The woman he’d always want more with?
“Well, she’s important,” he admitted.
Sadie took an audible inhale, and her dad miraculously tightened his grip. “She sure is. Sadie’s special, ya understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Dakota stared into the man’s eyes. Not daring to look at his daughter, watching on.
“And she's a force to be reckoned with.”
“You’ll never hear me argue otherwise,” he agreed.
Mr. Mills jerked him forward, leaning into his ear and whispered, “I won’t have her hurt. Do ya hear me? Not again. So if you hurt my girl, Dakota Remillard, I don’t care how old and feeble these bones are… I’ll find you.”
Dakota gulped and nodded, believing him entirely and hearing those words reverberate through his brain over and over again.
I won’t have her hurt… not again.
“Well, glad we understand each other, son.” He slapped Dakota good naturedly on the shoulder. “I see ya had yourself some of my wife’s famous biscuits. Best you’ll ever have. Maybe you’ll be invited back for more… We’ll see.” He kissed Sadie’s cheek and released her arm, only to take his wife’s.
They supported one another as they slowly left the kitchen, arm in arm, leaving Dakota with the formidable woman he wanted to know everything about but clearly knew very little of.
He grinned, hoping to disarm her just a bit as she stared back at him, but her father’s earlier warning repeated in his brain once more.
I won’t have her hurt… not again.
Dakota knew they’d argued and picked at one another in the past, and obviously there was the uninvited, friendly kiss from the weekend, but he’d never hurt Sadie. At least, not intentionally.
No, Mr. Mills’ warning was a preemptive one. He wasn’t the sort of man who’d let Dakota stand in his kitchen and eat his wife’s biscuits if he believed Dakota had hurt his daughter in any way, shape, or form. And that fact… the fact that Sadie had been hurt, and by the sound of it, deeply, gave Dakota the urge to hunt the sleaze bag down with Mr. Mills—giving him some weaksauce, twenty-four-year-old back up—should the need arise.
But his warning, in a strange and wonderful way, also provided Dakota with a fractional fluttering of hope.
Because Sadie had never disclosed that pertinent information. If she’d been hurt, he understood her hesitancy and distance. And maybe… just maybe… he could prove to her that he was worth the risk. If he could stop acting like a fool, and if he could stop gazing at her lips like he was at that very moment.
Still staring at Dakota with a look of stunned confusion written across her face, Dakota felt as though he were seeing Sadie in fresh light. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the world. He wanted to know everything that had happened to her, while simultaneously never wanting to hear what could have possibly wounded her so deeply. He, more than anything, suddenly wanted to be—needed to be—the one she talked to about it all. Instead, at that moment, he just aimed to make her smile.
“It seems I have another apology to give you.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s a popular repeat activity with you.”
He tilted his head, inspecting her head to toe, through a new, bright-rose colored lens, and said, “And I promise, it’s one I will get to very soon, but first,” he adopted his most playful smirk, “tell me you have a kangaroo tattoo hidden somewhere on that canvas of yours…”