21. Ian
TWENTY-ONE
IAN
Tess watches me with one fist up to her mouth, her thumbnail caught between her teeth. Her gaze dances from me to the box of cupcakes she set on the back patio table a minute ago like she’s waiting for the desserts to explode. Seems extreme. Worst thing I can imagine is her raccoon friends might scamper through and steal the treats before I get a chance to eat any.
“They look perfect. The frosting makes a nice—” I swirl a finger in the air. I don’t know the terminology, but it’s wavy like a soft-serve ice cream cone. It’s honestly a lot of frosting, but judging by the ones I had last week, that might be my favorite part.
Her lips tilt into a smile around the tip of her thumb, and she drops her hand. “Thank you. But I need you to taste them.”
“Pushy. I like it.”
I pull one from the box. There’s no pretty way to eat a cupcake this big. I’m guaranteed to get frosting in my beard. But Tess asked me to try her new flavor combination, so you better believe I’m going to follow through.
My first bite is half frosting, half cupcake, all delicious. The second bite captures some of the red jelly filling, bringing the J in the flavor’s PB&J theme. The last two bites are just me in a shark frenzy, my eyes rolled back in my head.
“It’s really good,” I tell her when I’ve swallowed the last of it down. I decimated the fat cupcake in four bites. I think she can draw her own conclusions.
Her eyebrows lift. Maybe that wasn’t the most helpful review. I cast about, digging deep for any hidden food critic skills.
“The cake’s rich without being overpowering. The buttercream has the right amount of flavor, and the peanut butter flakes add interesting mouthfeel. The strawberry jelly has a brightness that gives the whole thing a nice kick.”
Her eyebrows hitch even higher. Possibly because I said the word mouthfeel for the first time in my life.
“I would eat another, is what I’m trying to say.”
She grins, and her shoulders ease into a more relaxed posture. “Go for it. How about a glass of milk to go with it?”
“Please.”
August leaps onto the porch and heads Tess off before she reaches her door. “Can I try, too?”
“Sure, buddy. Take a seat with Ian.”
In a minute, Tess comes back out with two glasses of milk and three forks. We sit at their patio table and share one of the sample cupcakes, August swinging his feet in the seat between us. The sun’s just starting to ease into twilight, the harsh light of day fading into something softer for our cozy little taste-testing.
“Does Dutch like cupcakes?” August wants to know.
“He’ll inhale them if he gets close enough.” He’s already standing between August and me, his nose an inch away from the tabletop. He’s well behaved most of the time, but he’s not too proud to lick up the crumbs that fall onto the patio.
“Can I give him a bite?”
Can’t hurt anything. I nod, and August grabs a forkful of cake between his little fingers. He passes it to Dutch, who takes it from him with an excessive use of tongue.
August squeals with delight. “He likes it!”
“I thought he might.”
August eats another forkful, watching me as he stretches his tongue to reach all the frosting left around his mouth. “Can I see your bunny?”
I pause, my fork hovering over the remains of the cupcake. “My what?”
“Mama and Aunt Wren said you have a boy bunny. I want to see it. I like bunnies.”
Tess and I share a look over his head, but she just makes a “no idea” face.
He looks so eager, I hate to disappoint him. “Dutch is the only pet I’ve got, kiddo.”
His hopeful expression falls. “But they said you have a man bun.”
Tess throws one hand in front of her face, coughing and spluttering around her last bite of cupcake. It’s not enough to hide how her cheeks wash with pink, though.
“Oh, did they?” I lean closer to August. “What else did they say about my man bun?”
“Aunt Wren said she didn’t think Mama liked them very much, but Mama said she really likes yours.”
“Okay,” Tess chokes out. “Why don’t you go play in the yard a little longer. It’ll be bedtime soon.”
“But the bunny?—”
“It’s not a bunny.” Her gaze lifts but doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “We were talking about Ian’s hair. He wears it in a bun .”
“Oh.” August scrutinizes me for a few seconds, taking in my hair I’ve tucked up. “I like that, too, I guess. But I’d like a bunny more.”
He hops off his chair and finds a kickball in the yard, Dutch up for whatever. Tess’s gaze is locked on them, her lips pulled tight between her teeth. She’s trying hard not to look at me, which makes the whole scene that much more adorable.
She wants to look at me. Because she likes my man bun.
An absolutely stupid thing to preen over, but I’ll take everything I can get with this woman.
“You’ve really got a thing for my hair.”
She makes a sound of mock exasperation. “Don’t gloat. It’s not a good look.”
I lower my voice and tip my head toward her. “That’s not what I just heard.”
She laughs but finally meets my gaze. I break out my most rakish grin—because yes, I will do whatever it takes to keep her thinking of me as a sexy pirate.
If I’m a pirate, her sharp intake of breath and soft “Oh” in response are all the treasure I need.
“That’s the Ian I remember.”
I go still even as my heart throbs at her words. For years, I’ve resented it whenever people brought up who I was in the past. It shone a light on a comparison I could never win. But this isn’t a better/worse scenario. She’s pointing out a glimpse of the man I used to be. Maybe he’s not completely lost in here, after all.
“About that. You said we’d never spoken, but you talk like you knew me well.” I’ve racked my brain these last two weeks trying to remember her, but nothing much comes to me from back then. I spent my days leading white water rafting tours about an hour north of here. Despite what Tess seems to think, I spent most of my nights crashed on Amy’s couch.
She shifts in her chair as if she might like to escape, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “You stood out.”
I scratch my beard as if I’m pondering that. “Even without the man bun?”
That earns an eye roll. “I won’t pretend you weren’t cute,” she starts.
I grin wider. It’s been fifteen years, but come on. I’m only human.
“But it was your personality. The way you carried yourself. Like you weren’t afraid of anything.” Her gaze drifts to August in the yard. “I was afraid of everything.”
“Shy kid?” I ask. She hasn’t seemed like a shy person from what I’ve seen, except occasionally when it comes to me.
“Not exactly, just…timid. I looked for the safe path. I never would have thought about climbing a mountain or white water rafting or even talking to a cute boy.”
“He would have been thrilled to have you talk to him.” He sure is today.
She cringes. “I doubt it. I was only seventeen. I don’t think I would have been on your radar.”
“My loss.” She’s right, though. I might have been a shameless flirt, but I wasn’t so thoughtless as to seek out someone underage.
“You know,” she says, “all these years later, I’m just as terrified about making wrong choices as I was back then.”
“What choices are you afraid of getting wrong?” Maybe I’m pushing, but this doesn’t sound like a hypothetical.
Her gaze stays on me, and I could swear she’s debating just how to answer.
“Cakes, for one,” she finally says.
“Cakes?” Not the choices I thought we were talking about.
“We mostly do pies in the bakery, as you probably saw. But a few years ago, I started experimenting with cakes on the side.” She shakes her head, a wry smile shining out. “That makes it sound so illicit, but it kind of is to my mom. The thing is, I love making fancy cakes. I love pairing the exact right flavors together. I love coming up with simple but elegant decorations. And I love knowing I helped make someone’s special day that much more memorable.”
Her heavy sigh tugs at something behind my ribs.
“I got my first wedding cake request today. I talked with the couple this afternoon—they’re so excited, it’s impossible for me not to be excited, too. My mother, though. She’s not excited. I want to add my specialty cakes to our website and menu, but Mom doesn’t think the business can support it. And I have to trust she knows best.”
“Does she?”
Tess splays a hand as though obviously she must. “She says it’s too much of a risk.”
“Sometimes a little risk is a good thing.”
She huffs out a breath. “Why am I not surprised you’d say that?”
“My brothers and I risked a lot when we pooled our money together to start our guiding business. We grew faster than maybe we should have. But it worked out because we weren’t afraid to try.” I can just imagine Pierce’s indignant reaction if he’d overheard that trite explanation. “I’m oversimplifying, and we had setbacks along the way, but we wouldn’t have our successes if we’d played it safe.”
I am keenly aware I haven’t lived by that motto in years.
“Do you miss it?”
It wasn’t all standing on the tops of mountains. So much work goes into a climb, the preparation and planning, both mental and physical, knowing weather could turn us away before we make it to the top. But mostly, I remember the exhilaration of reaching new heights, the views still stamped in my memory, the sense, however fleeting, that I could do anything.
“Every day.”
Hurts to admit when I’ve spent so much time running from that truth. I miss it, but I can’t recapture it. Not like it used to be.
“It wasn’t just about conquering mountains and the rush of adrenaline,” I go on. “I always knew exactly where to go, where I was headed, and how I would get there. I didn’t question any of it. Now…I’ve lost my way. Like a compass without a needle.”
I don’t like admitting as much to her. I’m stuck, in a way I’ve never experienced before. For the first time in more years than I can count, I don’t know what I should do next. I’m not even sure what’s possible.
“You can find your way again,” she says softly.
I want to trust her. I just don’t know how anymore. “Easier said than done.”
Tess watches August secure a cape around Dutch. It matches the one he’s wearing, and when they take off, the capes billow in their wake like superheroes. I want to take a picture and preserve this memory to make sure I never forget it.
“My father left us when I was twelve,” she tells me. “Mom, Wren, and I banded together. Maybe too tightly. Wren and I didn’t go away to college. We went to culinary school right here and worked with Mom in the bakery. I like to think it’s what we both wanted, but I was still that timid girl, afraid of making the wrong choice.
“When I was twenty-five, I decided I didn’t want to be that girl anymore. I wanted out of Sunshine, out of the house I still lived in with my mother and sister. I thought I could reinvent myself. So I got a job at an inn in Lake Tahoe and set off on an adventure. A small one, maybe, but it would be mine.”
“Leaving everything you know takes a lot of courage.” Clearly, she came back, but trying takes guts.
She shakes her head at that. “I wasn’t brave. I was naive. I came home six months later, pregnant and alone.”
“The father…?” I have to ask even though I can tell already I won’t like the answer.
“Uninterested in ever being called that.”
I want to track the guy down and punch him in the face on her behalf. And August’s. And one just for me.
“It must be tough to do it all alone.” The small glimpses I get show she’s a dedicated parent who puts her child ahead of herself. Some kids don’t give half so much attention even when there’s two parents on the team.
“I have Mom and Wren. But I’ll admit, being an unwed mother in a small town isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“Do people make it hard on you?”
“Some do. The first thing I had to let go of was worrying over what everyone thought about me. I’m not perfect at it, but that’s the goal.” A genuine smile touches her mouth. “And I got August in the end. No matter what anyone says about me, I could never regret that.”
Her positive attitude in the face of public scrutiny puts my pity party in a harsh new light. She’s not mired in feeling sorry that people are judging her in the first place, and she’s sure not losing sleep over her choices or their results. Not like I have been.
“I haven’t worn shorts in public since my accident. Eighty degrees out today, and I’m in sweatpants.” I tug at the fleece over my prosthesis’s socket. I went to the grocery store this afternoon, covered up as usual.
“Can’t be comfortable.”
“Nope.” The sweat on my leg itches like mad as we speak.
“Are people weird about your prosthetic leg?”
“Sometimes. Mostly, they ask too many questions. Give me too many condolences for all the things they assume I can’t do anymore.”
Tess scoffs. “As though you are remotely incapable.”
Kind of loving the way she said that. Like the thought of me not being able to do something is inconceivable to her.
“Maybe I need to take a lesson from you and not worry about what anyone else thinks.”
Pretty sure the person I’m actually afraid of judging me for all my failings is me.
“For the record, I like how you look in shorts.” She holds my gaze. “All of you.”
My chest turns molten, the warmth of her praise seeping through my limbs down to my fingers and toes. There’s nothing timid about Tess in this moment.
Even if, in the very next one, she scoops August up and takes him inside with a flurry of rushed goodnights.