3. Ezra
“Okay, buddy,” I said, helping Hansen slip on his coat. “Papa is going to take you to play group, and Miss Lena is going to pick you up this afternoon and take you to her house until he gets off work. How does that sound?”
“Great!” Hansen cheered. “I love Miss Lena. She lets me go to the water.”
He dragged out the word ‘water’ in an awestruck, little boy manner, and I couldn’t help but grin. It eased my dad guilt that he so happily and easily rolled with the changes in our lives the last year.
They said it took a village to raise kids, and while I had absolutely no one on my side save my dad when we were in New York, moving to Michigan gave us the community we’d so desperately needed—the kind of family I’d longed for growing up.
Working at the winery was a breath of fresh air. The entire staff, from the corporate workers to the bus boys, the groundskeepers and the Delatou family themselves, welcomed me, Dad, and Hansen into the fold with open arms. I’d never be able to properly thank Leon and Lena for all they’d given me, so I simply made it my mission to be the best goddamn employee they’d ever seen.
Not to mention, my personal staff was a dream compared to the shit I’d dealt with in New York. Everyone deferred to my expertise and treated me with respect, which drastically cut down on my stress. I didn’t leave work each night with the desire to drown myself in a bottle of bourbon simply to take the edge off.
I went home, read Hansen a story and tucked him into bed, then headed either to the living room to catch up with Dad or my room for a shower and an hour or two of Criminal Minds .
Life on the peninsula was exactly what my family needed. I breathed easier watching Hansen flourish, and my dad slipped easily into his new role with a local construction company the Delatous had connected him with.
In short, we were living the dream.
I dropped a kiss on Hansen’s head then nudged him toward my dad, who grinned at me before extending his hand and tugging him out the door.
This morning, I had a meeting with Leon and Lena to discuss the winery’s contribution to the Apple Blossom Bay Fall Festival, an event Hansen was greatly looking forward to. Apparently, they’d been discussing it all week at his play group—which was really a fancy term for pre-K—and he couldn’t wait to walk through the corn maze and sample all the treats.
It was mid-September, and this far north, the leaves on the trees were already changing. There was a bite to the air each morning that dissipated before lunch, a promise of colder weather the next several months would bring.
The drive from our house to the winery took me down a winding, two-lane road surrounded by autumnal trees on all sides, shading me in a canopy of oranges and yellows, reds and pinks and browns. I’d only experienced the peninsula for two seasons now, but each new one was equally as stunning as the last, and I couldn’t wait to see what winter and spring would bring. Hansen, for one, was excited about the prospect of snow and playing in the yard.
Neither my dad nor I were looking forward to keeping our driveway clear, however. I was a city boy to my bones; I’d never needed to learn how to use a snow blower, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d do when the winery closed from January through March. Since I finished my culinary arts program and became a full-time chef, I’d never had much down time, and I had even less as a father.
Maybe Dad and I would tackle some house projects…
The gravel of the lot crunched satisfyingly under my tires as I pulled in and parked near the front door, then my shoes as I made my way inside. Leon and Lena waited for me, glasses of red wine resting on the table in front of them.
Leon shook my hand when I reached the table, and I dropped a kiss to Lena’s cheek.
“Would you like some wine?” she asked as I sat.
“I have to work later,” I reminded her.
She shot her husband a wink and said, “I don’t think your boss will mind.”
On cue, my boss raised his own glass and tilted it toward me in toast. Lena poured me a healthy serving, and I lifted it to my nose, inhaling the cherry and chocolate notes of Chateau Delatou’s signature Pinot Noir. When I sipped, aromatic liquid hit my tongue, spreading over my taste buds. I savored the flavors before I swallowed, sighing when warmth instantly hit my stomach and coated my limbs.
“So good,” I said when I returned my glass to the table.
“The best,” Leon agreed. “Lena worked hard perfecting all our recipes.”
I quirked a brow. “You mean these aren’t the ones your family started with?”
Leon boomed out a laugh as Lena chuckled indulgently beside him. “Hell no,” he said. “I loved my grandfather, but that swill they produced back then is nothing compared to the stuff we make now.”
“I’m sure technology has a lot to do with it.”
“That and…well, I’m a certified sommelier, so I like to think I know my way around a wine blend,” Lena said.
I blinked, surprised. These people were truly fascinating, and I loved simple meetings like this, when we got to sit and converse. I learned more about them each time, and it amazed me how poised they both seemed while running a wildly successful business and raising five daughters. Some days, I could barely keep my head above water with one kid. I’d spent time traveling after culinary school, and I could honestly say I hadn’t met anyone as worldly as Leon and Lena Delatou.
“How do you do it all?” I blurted.
The skin between Leon’s brows puckered, but Lena gave me a soft, understanding smile.
“We had help,” she said, reaching out to place her hand over mine. “A lot of it.”
I nodded and swallowed thickly. “Thank you for being that for us. I know we’ve only been here a few months, but I have no idea how we’d survive without you.”
“Anytime,” she said. “We never got the chance to raise a boy, and now that our babies are grown, well…it’s nice to have that energy back around the house. Hansen is a wonderful kid, far too smart for a two-year-old,” she added with a chuckle.
I snorted. “Don’t I know it.”
“But really, we don’t mind.”
I took Lena at her word. This winery and the enterprise it represented was their livelihood, sure, but their daughters were their entire world. Since moving to town, I’d met all but one. Chloe was the oldest, the one Leon hoped to pass the mantle to one day. Delia, the classic middle child, practically burst with restless energy and had a wild streak. I could admit, though—the girl was a hell of a social media strategist. Ella, the quiet second youngest with dainty, fine line tattoos lining her arms, had a love for flowers and nature.
And, of course, there was Brie.
The baby.
The baker.
The girl I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for nearly three months.
I didn’t know how to explain it other than to say something electrified the air between us that day, and I’d been shocked by my reaction to her. After Shannon, I was sure I’d never feel that way about anyone ever again. Hell, I’d never really felt it for her. But Brie Delatou called to some basic part of me, and learning she was moving away for a year had settled like a lead weight in my stomach.
She’d felt it too, right? The spark? She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off me, and she’d agreed so quickly when I asked if she wanted to bake for me sometime.
No, she definitely felt it—as had her parents. It was why Leon had made that comment about us only being friends.
I found myself counting down the days until Christmas time, when, thanks to her parents, I knew she’d be returning to our small town.
“Now, how about we get down to business?” Leon asked, clearing his throat and snapping me out of my thoughts.
Damn, this man would murder me and bury my body in the vineyard if he knew I was romantically interested in his daughter.
Then again…was I really? Or was it some weird, flukey physical attraction that would wear off with distance?
Given that had yet to happen, I was betting not.
“Obviously, I’ve never participated in this event,” I started, forcing myself to focus on the here and now, “so I’m not sure what’s expected of me.”
“Finger foods,” Lena said, twisting to reach into the bag slung over the back of her chair and withdrawing a piece of paper.
She passed it to me, and I scanned the list of ideas in her elegant scrawl.
“Turkey legs?” I asked, huffing a laugh.
“There’s just something very… fall about people walking around gnawing on massive turkey legs, don’t you think?”
I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. At least, not with her husband sitting nearby.
I liked my head attached to my body, thank you very much.
“Otherwise,” Lena continued, “I was thinking mozzarella sticks, corn dogs, hot dogs and burgers, pepperoni pizza rolls—”
“Oh, I actually have an amazing recipe for those,” I said, perking up for the first time. There wasn’t anything wrong with the items Lena had listed, but they were all things you could buy at the store and cook at home. Until she mentioned pizza rolls, I was having difficulty imagining why my services were necessary. “I make them like a pinwheel shape instead of the traditional pizza roll style. Hansen loves them.”
“Then they’ll be perfect for the festival.”
“I have some other ideas as well…”
“Such as?” Leon asked, tone warning me to tread carefully.
“I like corn dogs because, I must admit, my beer batter recipe is top-notch. But for the rest of it, I think we can get a little more creative. Do you have a pen?”
Lena dove back into her purse and withdrew one of the winery branded pens, handing it to me. I flipped her list over and began to scribble.
“Walking tacos, bacon-wrapped corn, stuffed potato pancakes, deep fried pickles,” I listed as I wrote. “Deep fried macaroni and cheese bites, fried green tomatoes, and some of my famous Swedish meatballs.”
When I looked up at the Delatous after finishing my brainstorm, they had their brows raised in question.
“Are you sure you want to put that much work into it?” Lena asked.
“Positive,” I assured her. “Things like mozzarella sticks and hot dogs and burgers are great, but they’re all things people could easily go out, buy, and make at home. This stuff”—I gestured to my list—“isn’t as complicated as you think, and I think the festival goers will really appreciate the variety. ”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am. But I hope you’re putting someone else on sweets,” I said with a chuckle. “I can’t be held accountable for that. I’d burn everything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad, but we’ve got someone in Traverse City handling all that.” She turned to her husband. “It’s a shame Brie isn’t home, though. She always loved the festival growing up.”
“Where did she learn to bake?” I blurted, desperate for more intel on this girl. “Neither of you can cook.”
They were both still for a beat before Leon tipped his head back and laughed loud enough that the girl carrying our appetizers jumped and nearly dumped them on the ground. I leapt to my feet, steadying her with my hands on her upper arms. She looked up at me gratefully, though I didn’t miss the pink tinge to her cheeks.
Quickly, she set down our food and scurried away. When I returned my attention to the Delatous, they wore matching bemused expressions.
“What?” I asked, lifting a piece of grilled bread and spreading some of the whipped ricotta.
“That girl has a crush on you,” Leon said.
I scoffed. “She does not.”
“Oh, honey,” Lena said, placing her hand over mine on the table. “She absolutely does.”
“Well…” I trailed off, unsure how to navigate this shift in conversation. At last, I settled on, “She’s too young for me.”
“Have you given any thought to…romance lately?” Lena asked .
I inhaled so sharply, a piece of bread lodged in my throat, and I coughed roughly, trying to clear it from my windpipe. My eyes watered as I fought to regain my composure, and I lifted my glass to wash it away with some wine.
Not ideal, but it did the job.
“Why are you asking me about romance?”
Lena lifted a slender shoulder, attempting not to make a big deal of her trying to pry into my private life.
Had I somehow broadcasted my curiosity about Brie to her? Was this mother’s intuition at work?
“You’ve been single for an awfully long time, Ezra. Long before your marriage truly ended.”
“And?”
“And…we all need that companionship. Hansen could use a mother figure in his life.”
“He has you.”
Lena’s entire demeanor shifted, sadness clouding her peculiar golden eyes. “I don’t count.”
I averted my gaze as blood rushed to my cheeks. This conversation was so fucking uncomfortable for a number of reasons, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to fly off the handle. I knew Lena’s concerns came from a good place, from that deep-seated maternal instinct that drove her to mother everyone around her.
But my romantic life—or lack thereof—wasn’t up for discussion.
“We’re doing just fine on our own,” I told her, leaving no room for argument.
I chanced a glance in her direction, and though she looked like she had more to say, she nodded curtly before returning to our discussion.
We spent a few tense hours going over everything we would need for the little popup food stand we’d put in the old Delatou family barn, and then I headed into work. The afternoon and evening passed in a flurry, and by nine p.m., I was home, sagging against the door in relief.
“Long day?” Dad asked from the living room as I strode through. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose, an old Harlan Coben novel clasped in his hands.
“You could say that,” I told him, continuing toward the fridge.
I withdrew a bottle of beer, twisted the top off, and guzzled as much as I could before pulling it away and gasping for air.
“What’s going on?”
I startled, not having heard him approach. “Just…” I turned to him, and he waited me out while I marshaled my thoughts. “How come you never moved on after Mom left?”
Surprise flicked across his face before his expression settled into determination and acceptance, as though he’d been waiting for the day I’d want to have this conversation. It was impossible not to draw the parallels between our situations, and after my earlier conversation with Lena, I was curious how alike we truly were.
“At first, between keeping a roof over our heads and keeping you alive, I just didn’t have time. But the longer I went without having a person to share my life with in that way, the more I realized I just…didn’t need it. I was content with just me and you.”
“Weren’t you angry? ”
I was angry. Angry that Shannon had chosen drink and drugs over her son. Angry that we’d never loved each other to begin with. Angry that, like me, Hansen had to grow up without a mom.
“I was, but I got over it.”
“Well, clearly, it hasn’t been that easy for me.”
“I think you’re holding onto your anger as an excuse because you think it’s better than admitting nothing that happened with Shannon was your fault.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Dad cut me off. “You’ve always been a martyr, walking around your whole childhood thinking you were the reason your mother left. In reality, the woman was as easy to nail down as the wind. She was never meant for motherhood. You’re here because I begged her to keep you, to give the family thing a shot. And she tried, but in the end…well, you know the rest. The point is, Shannon was never meant for motherhood either. It’s not your fault she stepped out on you and had substance abuse problems. Those issues existed long before you came into the picture. I know you love your son, Ezra, just like I love you, but to be the best father you can be, you have to be happy. And right now, you’re so far from that, I’m not even sure you know what it looks like anymore.”
I scowled. “And how do you propose I find it?”
“Moving us to Michigan was a good start.”
“And what about you?” I asked quietly. “Are you happy?”
Suddenly, the answer meant more to me than I could express. If he wasn’t happy…it was yet another thing I’d carry on my shoulders. I’d uprooted him from the only life he’d ever known so I could run away from my problems. But maybe…maybe I hadn’t actually been running from them. Maybe I was simply running toward a solution.
Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, kid. I am.”
“But haven’t you been lonely all these years?”
“I haven’t been lonely,” he protested. “I had you.”
I groaned. “You know what I mean, Dad.”
He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Some days were harder than others, but at the time, I had other priorities.”
Me , I reminded myself.
“And now?” I asked. “I’m grown, Dad. Taking care of myself.”
He squinted at me briefly, his eyes hazing over, as though a veil had dropped between now and the past. Then he said, “Come with me.”
Confused but curious, I followed down the hall toward Hansen’s room. He pushed open the door, both of us wincing as it creaked on its hinges, hoping it didn’t wake my sleeping boy. Thankfully, Hansen could sleep through a hurricane. Everything in me softened as I watched the delicate rise and fall of his chest, at his blanket twisted around his legs, arms flung wide, his face slack and peaceful. That was my whole world right there.
“He has to be the most important thing to you,” my dad whispered, glancing over at me. “But just because he and his happiness have to be the most important doesn’t mean they have to be the only important thing in your life.”
“You’re important to me,” I protested.
He grinned. “Obviously, but…I made a lot of mistakes, Ez. With you, with your mother, with my life. And things turned out okay. Just…don’t make the same ones. ”
With a squeeze of my shoulder, he padded away, in the direction of his own room, leaving me there to watch my son sleep and mull over his words.
To question if, maybe, I was more ready than I thought to not make his mistakes.