Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
brADLEY
Honey?
Honey.
I can’t even form words.
One thing she should know about me by now is I never joke when it comes to money or investment properties.
The other is, she can’t stop me from helping her and buying the building.
Yes, I believe it’s a smart business investment and the building itself is amazing, but my motivation in the bakery is obviously purely Chelsea based.
And I’ll be doing whatever it takes for her to stay in the game. Period.
However much it costs is irrelevant. I’m going to have a chat with Dad about dipping into my future trust fund a little if I need to.
I’m glad she trusts me to watch Deaton for her and take him to practice while she has to work, and truth be told, I’m looking forward to spending some time with him. He’s a great kid.c
Yesterday’s conversation about the building has been playing in my head over and over again. Especially after she fed me pizza and told me profusely she would figure something out. The only thing to figure out, in my opinion, is the finer details about the auction. And I’m already looking into it.
Later that day, before Deaton’s soccer practice, Noah, Deaton and I are doing the flyer drop on foot.
Sure, we could post the flyers out, or get someone in the office to do it, but when Dad first brought us into this industry, he taught us that it’s never above us to be out there on the street talking to people and drumming up business ourselves. It supposedly keeps you grounded.
Okay, we don’t get a lot of spare time to hit the streets, but when we do, it certainly is an experience.
I have a way with words, and I can get along with most people in a business setting, but I am known to be socially awkward at times.
Or as Mason likes to call me; an asshat.
But the main thing is Deaton is enjoying posting the business flyers through the letter boxes.
“Are we having fun yet?” I laugh as Deaton passes over the bag of mini donuts his mom made us for this afternoon. They’re covered in cinnamon sugar and just melt in your mouth.
“I am!” Deaton jumps up in the air with enough enthusiasm for the three of us.
“Why are we doing this again?” Noah lifts one eyebrow.
“Dad always says it’s good for the soul,” I reply, knowing I probably sound more like Josh right now, but it is what it is. “Remember when he had us stand in the middle of downtown LA and approach random strangers, all in the aid of training and getting used to rejection?”
Noah’s eyes widen. “Thank f— umm, fudge, those days are over,” he quickly corrects, forgetting for a second we have a six-year-old in tow.
“Your dad did what?” Deaton asks, intrigued, just when we thought he wasn’t really listening.
“He wanted to get us used to talking to strangers early on, and facing rejection. That way, when we were faced with it in everyday life in the realtor business, it wouldn’t be so harsh,” I explain. “The world can be an unkind place sometimes.”
“That sounds really scary.” Deaton pulls a face.
“It was,” Noah agrees. “But it definitely gets you out of your comfort zone. And when you get your first ‘yes’, well, it makes it all worth it.”
“You mean someone said yes and wanted to sell their house?” Deaton asks, catching on, his eyes wide as he pictures it.
“Yup, that’s right,” Noah says. “You know, we should send Brad downtown, Deat, just for fun to see if he’s still got the winning charm.”
“That’s a great idea!” Deaton laughs, shoving a bite of donut in his mouth.
“Well, we’d love to,” I say. “But Deaton has soccer practice in half an hour, so we have to get going soon.”
“Are you sure you’re not gonna let me drive?
” Deaton asks, skipping along happily beside us as we head back to the car.
We’ve posted quite a few flyers in the unsuspecting letterboxes of Tearwater, an upscale, family-friendly neighborhood not far from the office.
He was so excited when I turned up at school in my Porsche, he couldn’t wait to show all of his friends.
We must have spent twenty minutes at the school gate while his legion of friends oohed and ahhed over it, some of the dads included came over for a look.
I also couldn’t help but notice the interested glances from some of the on-looking moms at the commotion going on. Deaton’s school run gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, yummy mummy. Though none of them compare to Chelsea, of course. The Porsche was to blame.
I collected the jerseys earlier in the day from the bakery, managing to fit them in the small trunk of my car. Of course, Chelsea had washed and pressed them to perfection. Though I’m not sure how long they will stay like that with a bunch of six-year-olds running around.
“When I grow up, I want a cool car like yours,” Deaton tells me as we drive to practice.
“Yeah?” I eye him for a second. “What color Porsche do you want?”
“Red!” he laughs with glee and it warms me to see the bright smile on his face.
“Yeah, why’s that? Do you think it will go faster?”
“I think so,” he replies. “And I love the color red.”
“Well, that’s a great color, bud. Guess what my favorite color is?”
“Blue.” He says it like it’s a fact.
“That’s right,” I laugh. “It is blue.”
“Mom said your eyes are like the Pacific Ocean.”
I stare straight ahead, my heart suddenly pounding. “She did?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “She was telling her friend, Bea, that she’s never seen you without your suit on, too.”
She mentioned it the other night, and it is true, but not because I’m one of those guys who thinks he’s dashing. It’s because I’m a workaholic. “What else did she say?”
“Umm, Bea asked if you were dating anyone and Mom said she didn’t think so.”
I smile to myself. Sounds like Bea is trying to do a little match-making; since she’s already married, I’m assuming she doesn’t mean for herself. Nope. I stay away from married women at all costs. “Do they talk about me often?” I chuckle.
“Sometimes. Bea asked Mommy if she was ready to move on from a cob loaf to a croissant.”
My eyes widen at the analogy. I know Bea and how she thinks, and she is a meddler. I rub my chin. “What did your mom say?”
He shrugs. “It was weird. She said she really liked croissants, but the croissant in question was a rare kind of pastry, and she didn’t want to ruin her appetite by consuming it all at once.”
I double blink. What the? Consuming it all at once? Is that an analogy for something, or am I delusional?
“Sounds like your mom has something new cooking in that kitchen,” I laugh, wondering if she really was talking about croissants.
But then the Pacific Ocean thing, and Bea asking about if I was dating.
It can’t be a coincidence. She was talking about me to Bea, there’s no doubt about it.
And Deat is more than happy to tell me all he knows.
“She has. Mom is always coming up with something new,” he says thoughtfully.
“What’s your favorite thing your mom makes in the bakery?” I ask him suddenly.
He pops his lips as he thinks for a second, drumming his fingers on the seat either side of him. “The double chocolate cupcakes.” He grins sheepishly. “But the chocolate croissants are pretty good, too.”
“That they are. I ordered some of your mom’s cupcakes and muffins for my showing on the weekend, and I took a whole box of the croissants to work the other day. The staff were very happy.”
I smile thinking about the croissant/cob loaf analogy, something tells me I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that little ditty.
Does Chelsea think I’m some special kind of pastry?
“Did everyone like them?” he asks, breaking my thought for a second. Probably a good thing before I go getting all carried away with myself.
“They loved them.”
“Mom’s making some mini strawberry and chocolate cupcakes for my class next week,” he says brightly.
“Wow, what a combination!”
Deaton giggles. “Not together, separate cupcakes!”
“Oh, I see. Silly me,” I chuckle along with him. “What’s the special occasion for the mini cupcakes?”
Deaton immediately stops laughing and stares ahead of him out the window. All of a sudden he seems rigid, his little hands clasped together in his lap, his lips pressing together tightly.
“Deat?” I ask, wondering why the sudden shift. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugs his shoulders and I don’t miss the sigh that leaves him. “It’s nothing.”
But I know it’s something. His whole demeanor has changed in an instant.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but it’s okay if you want to share it, too. My brothers might not agree with me, but I’m a pretty good listener.” I glance at him and a little smile tries to break out on his face.
“You’re nice. Mom says you’re nice all the time,” he says. “And I think she’s making the mini cupcakes for my class because she feels bad.”
I glance at him as we stop at the lights, just around the corner from the soccer ground, as I take in more of his revelations.
“Yeah? What do you think she feels bad about?”
He sighs again and swipes his hand over his nose. “That I don’t have a daddy,” he sniffs. “And some other kids in my class don’t have a daddy, either.”
A lump forms in my throat quicker than I can blink. Oh shit. “Is there something happening at school with dads next week?” I ask.
He nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s bring your dad or buddy day.
My teacher, Mrs. Kite, says it’s okay if some kids don’t have a dad, because there are all kinds of families.
We can take our grandpa, or our uncle, or even a friend.
But I don’t have anyone, Grandpa is on vacation.
” His little lip trembles and I feel it right to my gut. Fuck.
“You’ve got me,” I say immediately. “I mean, we would have to check with your mom that it’s okay, but I could come to school and be your buddy? That’s if you’d like that?”
His head whips around to me so fast, his eyes wide and curious. It’s like I’ve lit up his world again. “You’d do that?”
“Well, you are my buddy, right? And I’m yours.”
His smile says it all as he relaxes back into the seat. “Yep!”
I smile to myself. Poor little guy. My parents may have split when I was a teen, but they remained friends. Seeing Deaton sad about not having a dad is like a punch to the gut.
There’s no way I’m going to disappoint him or let him miss out. And who knows? I might even enjoy it.