22. Dexter
DEXTER
Gretchen pushed her cape over her right shoulder, her brows knit in consternation. “Is that sausage?”
“Yup.”
“You’re making sausage donuts?”
I chuckled at her gobsmacked expression as I stirred chorizo in the large skillet. “Technically, so are you.”
She gave a full-body shiver. “I’ve never heard of a sausage donut. Will it taste good?”
“Heck, yeah! It’s chorizo jalapeno. Savory with a kick.” I punctuated my claim with a side kick, pleased to earn a giggle.
Our recent weekly donut dates had felt a little strained lately, and I knew that had to do with news about the baby. I wasn’t sure if Gretchen was hurt that she hadn’t known sooner or perhaps bummed that I’d succumbed to societal norms regarding reproduction.
Reg thought I was being sensitive. “You know her, Dex. Gretch processes information her own way. She’s thinking things through. Next come the questions. Get ready for ’em.”
In the six weeks since I’d first announced my impending fatherhood to the town, Gretchen hadn’t asked many questions at all. Nor had she seemed particularly interested, which made her an outlier for sure.
Wood Hollow was buzzing with the news. I couldn’t walk down Main Street without someone stopping me to check in on the baby or surrogate. They knew Freya’s name, and thanks to some intrepid Internet sleuthing, knew where she lived, what she looked like, and that she was an artist.
Janey in the kitchen, scrolling an iPad with Alberto, Meg, and Dallas peering over her shoulder: “She’s beautiful! Glowing, even. This child is going to be gorgeous.”
Davey, ringing up my latte at Rise and Grind: “I followed Freya on Instagram. Love her aesthetic! I can’t afford the ceramics, but maybe someday my prince will come.” He’d batted his eyelashes for effect and knowing Davey, to make the old lumberjacks in the queue behind me squirm a bit.
Mrs. Galbraith, picking up her grandson from flag football practice: “I hear congratulations are in order and that your surrogate is Swedish. The Swedes have an admirable work ethic, and they’re known for being punctual and organized.”
Troy had snickered as the older woman walked away. “In case you didn’t catch it, that was a direct dig at you for being one minute late.”
“More like thirty seconds,” I’d retorted. “And you were here.”
“Never mind her. Let’s talk about your other favorite Swede,” he’d teased.
I’d ignored Troy, but I was beginning to worry that my infatuated state was too obvious to contain.
If my friend suspected there was something more between me and the lumberjack, others might clue in soon.
I preferred to think everyone bought the story we were selling—Viggo and I had become friends through Freya.
Hey, it was the truth. At least part of it.
The other half: I was head over heels for the cranky lumberjack.
Our weekend in the UP had changed something between us. No, it had changed everything.
I supposed revealing the worst moments of your life post-migraine, post-vomiting, and post-my mother’s less than stellar reaction to becoming a grandmother might do that. Christ, I was grateful Viggo hadn’t run for the hills. I wasn’t positive I’d have stuck around after that shit show.
But he’d been…amazing.
There were no kind platitudes, no commiseration, no sharing past angst to lessen my burden. He’d just been there like a solid, strong anchor in a storm.
To the outside observer, we were unlikely new friends drawn together by circumstance.
They’d probably heard that Viggo had offered to make the crib and that I’d insisted on helping.
But they didn’t know that I hung on Viggo’s every word, sat as close to him as possible in his workshop, and challenged him with smartass commentary designed to incite that put-upon scowl and usually, a hint of a smile, too.
They didn’t know that my newest donut creations were based on Viggo’s list of impossible combinations. He loved sausage and jalapenos were fine in salsa, but together? No. I couldn’t wait to see his face and—
“Is Thor your boyfriend?” Gretchen asked, ripping me from my reverie.
“Who?”
“The guy with the beard who works for Uncle Coop. He comes here a lot.” She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “That’s what Dallas says.”
Thanks, Dallas.
“His name is Viggo. He’s making a crib for the baby. He’s a good friend of my surrogate’s,” I added. “And mine.”
Remember, that was the line I’d been feeding the town all month, and it was becoming part of a stock response if his name came up in conversation.
Honestly, it didn’t happen that often. Most folks were more enamored with the notion of a newborn in town than they were in decoding a secret relationship.
The explanation made sense. They knew me to be a friendly guy—the type to embrace anyone associated with my little miracle.
That wasn’t un-true, but it certainly wasn’t the whole story. Not by a long shot.
Gretchen’s sharp side-eye indicated that my cape-wearing sous chef suspected as much.
I handed over the spatula, purely for distraction. No such luck.
“Does he play flag football?”
“No, but I think the guys at the mill are trying to talk him into it.” I smiled, remembering Viggo’s annoyance at the constant harping of his fellow loggers. They won’t leave me the fuck alone about it. Grumble. Grumble.
She stirred the sausage lazily. “Does he like babies?”
“I think so.” Or the truth: He said he doesn’t, but I don’t believe that for a second. He’s a freaking teddy bear and the nicest guy I know. “How about you? Are you warming up to the idea of having an honorary cousin around?”
“Cousin?” She cocked her head curiously. “But we’re not related.”
“That’s where the honorary part comes in. Or he or she could just be your friend.”
“Is it going to be a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’ll be a surprise.”
“Hm.” She fixated on the chorizo again, nibbling her bottom lip. “I looked up some facts about babies to go with our fruit facts.”
A grin spread across my face like wildfire. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Did you know that babies have more bones than adults?”
“No way.”
She shrugged. “I think it’s ’cause their skulls are in pieces. Gross.”
I chuckled and turned off the burner. “That’s interesting.”
Gretchen jumped off the stool. “I have another one.”
“Bring it.”
“Did you know that babies can cry and swallow at the same time?”
“Are you pulling my leg?” I winked, shaking a leg as I rinsed off the jalapenos.
“Oh, brother.” She snorted. “Also…they also use a lot of diapers. Like…thousands.”
“You’re gonna help me change this kid, right?” I joked, reaching for a paper towel.
“Ew! That’s so icky!” She made a sucked lemon face followed by a round of faux gagging.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Okay, okay. Just kidding. You’re off the hook.”
She frowned. “I can help. Not with anything gross, but I can do something. I could read to the baby.”
“That would be very nice,” I replied, touched by the offer. “I bet babies like fruit facts.”
Another eye roll. “No, I think they like boring baby books.”
“And fruit facts.” I clapped, signaling it was time to focus on food.
“I’m going to remove the seeds and chop the jalapeno finely.
As in so small, it’ll look like tiny green specks.
After that we’ll make our batter, fold in our special ingredients, and put a batch in the oven.
We have twenty minutes before your dad picks you up so, let’s do it. ”
Gretchen smacked my outstretched palm and flounced her cape behind her theatrically. She was all smiles again, chattering away till the bell rang above the door in the donut shop and Reg called a greeting.
“We’re in the kitchen, Daddy!” Gretchen licked icing from her fingers and whispered, “Shh. Don’t tell him it’s spicy.” I made a zipped-lip motion that made her giggle and add, “This is going to be so funny. I hope we still get to do this after the baby comes.”
I didn’t have a chance to reply. Reg bounded in, looking exhausted and Rhys was pumped up from practice, talking a mile a minute about his awesome touchdown and the teammate whose mom brought freeze pops for the kids ’cause it was so hot outside.
I nodded along and plied them with donut treats while acutely aware of another shift.
No so long ago, I’d hoped to join their family.
I’d wanted to be part of something safe and kind.
Maybe it was me wanting to be on a team again.
And I’d loved Reg—just not the way you’re supposed to love someone you thought you could spend your life with.
But I’d respected him, wanted him. I’d loved his kids’ energy, their tenacity, and their individuality.
And they’d liked me. That had seemed like a solid start.
The rest would have come with time. If he’d have let me, I would have forced a happy ending and made us out to be something we weren’t. No better than my mother.
Gretchen was smarter than the average kid.
She’d known about her dad and me, even though we’d gone out of our way to tell the kids we were only friends.
Reg and I hadn’t made any promises to each other, let alone his kids, but she’d sensed a loss, another separation, another divorce, another way her world was shaken and rendered unsafe.
I’d bonded with Rhys over flag football and with Gretchen over the alchemy of donuts and when it was obvious that Reg and I were cooling off, I’d assured them nothing would change.
But change was definitely coming.
She knew it. Months ago, she’d admitted that she didn’t want to share my time. But the truth was…she didn’t want to be forgotten. No one did.
“Hey, Gretch.”
She turned in a flurry, the black fabric of her cape twisting around her slim body. “Yeah?”
“Donuts are forever.”
I was rewarded with a shy grin and a fierce hug.
Reg held the door open with one hand, his gaze darting between his kids racing for his truck and back to me. “Thank you. She thinks you’re the bees’ knees.”
“I am.”
He chuckled lightly. “I know you are. G’night, Dex.”
I locked the door and drew the window blinds, my mind spinning in five directions. I was supposed to be at a game in Elmwood in an hour, but I was hungry and no, I would not be eating another donut. The chorizo jalapeno was going to be a hit, though. Even Viggo would love it.
Buzz buzz
My pulse revved as I glanced at my cell, frowning at the caller ID.
“Mom?”
“Yes.” No secretary acting as sentry. That was…odd. “Hello, Dexter.”
“Uh…hi. How are you?” I asked in a stilted tone.
“Well. I’d like to discuss the child.”