Chapter 18 #3
I’m planning less than what I had for the Billings fair, but I took on a last-minute anniversary cake order, another round of cinnamon rolls for a funeral, two birthday cupcake orders, and a family reunion. Everything’s getting celebrated this week while so many people are in town.
“You’ll sell them Sunday.” He almost sets the food on the table, but he jerks it back.
All my notes. He must be afraid to mess them up.
I rush over to gather them all into a pile. “What if people are sick of baked goods after the street fair?”
“That’ll only happen if they buy so much from you on Saturday that they can’t possibly stuff another bite in their bodies.”
I need Cruz and all his optimism in my life.
I grab for another stack of mail I had pushed toward the wall.
The return address for the correctional center Dwayne is in slips free.
I scramble to stuff it under another envelope.
When I peek at Cruz, he lifts his gaze from the stack in my hands. His smile is small but understanding.
I do not deserve him. I transfer everything to a clean edge of the island. “Have a seat.”
Adrenaline, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong, pumps through my veins, but I grab us a couple of bottles of water like the mail is nothing out of the ordinary. For me, it’s not.
I’m fine. It’s fine.
Totally okay that I’m hiding a secret from Cruz and he’s been an open book.
It’s for his own good.
I hang up my apron and join him at the table. He’s already set out the chips and salsa. I ignore my food container and dig into the chips. He does the same. The crunching fills the silence between us.
“How was work?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since last night.
He went into work today for Iverson since Jamison went back to work and Cruz didn’t want her to worry about juggling a baby on her first day back in the office. He went home after to feed his horses and do the rest of his chores. Naturally, he showered before he picked up our dinner.
“Good.” He opens his to-go container and steam escapes. “I like Mondays when we’re closed and I can just do work without having to put on a show.”
“Clem said tours go through the distillery several times a day in the summer. I can’t imagine the kitchen being open to public viewing.”
He nods and keeps eating. Am I imagining the awkwardness between us?
“Cruz . . . about my mail.”
He stuffs his fork into his rice and inhales. “You don’t have to tell me.”
I wipe off my mouth and take a drink of water. How can he be so accepting? He knows I’m keeping something from him, and he’s trying to act like it’s not bothering him.
I want to spill everything. Tell him every single detail. I stuff a chip into my mouth and bite down. A sharp point stabs me in the gums, and dammit, I deserve it.
What if I spilled the ordeal to Cruz? He’s a smart guy.
Maybe he’d have ideas on how to stop my ex and his brother.
I let my gaze drift over his still-damp hair and his clean T-shirt.
He was so stressed that I wouldn’t trust him about the interested women that come and go from the distillery, and it’s because he can sense that I’m still walled off.
I open my mouth and his words from weeks ago filter through my head.
No. I can’t be a tell-all right now. I can’t risk putting Cruz on alert and doing something he’ll regret.
I chug another drink of water. But I can say some things. “Dwayne writes me sometimes.”
He abandons his fork loaded with his own carne asada. “I have to admit that I’ve seen his letters before.”
“You have?”
Guilt passes through his features, but he nods. “I didn’t read them. But I saw the address.”
Of course that’s the mail of mine he sees, and not my invoices for my flour shipments and the standing freezer I just purchased. “It must look so familiar.”
“Different place, but same thing basically.”
That sums up how I feel about the letters. Same feelings, basically. “What are the odds?” My half-hearted comment lands flat between us.
He smiles anyway. “Seems to be a hundred percent. It’s just one of the many things that drew me to you. Like you had things in your past you didn’t want held against you. People who did bad things that you want nothing to do with.”
There’s always been a connection between us. I fought it for too long, but I’m glad he didn’t give up on me. I need his patience just a little longer. I’ll tell him everything once I get rid of my Damon-and-Dwayne problem. “I don’t reply. I don’t email him, and if he tries to call, I don’t answer.”
“My dad does the same. Why do they keep trying?” He grabs his fork and stuffs his food into his mouth. “I mean,” he says around the mouthful, “we’re not reciprocating.” He sits back, embarrassment filling his eyes, and he brings his napkin to his mouth. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Talking with my mouth full.”
That hurt little boy makes appearances at the most startling of times. Talking about guys in prison must do that to him. “I’m honored you felt comfortable enough around me to do it.”
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“It’s the time,” I say, tilting my head toward the stack of mail.
“They have nothing else to fill every facet of the day. For Dwayne, it used to be how he could swindle money and resources. How to make a quick, easy buck. It was a game. Constant mental stimulation. Now . . . he’s cut off. The same for your dad?”
“I’m sure he’d disagree.”
“Do you . . .” How do I even ask this? I haven’t been completely honest, yet I’m going to prod at a deep wound.
How much has he stuffed away about his dad?
How bad is it for him? I used to struggle with what was real between me and Dwayne, and it’s easier to assume nothing was.
But for Cruz, it’s his dad. The prison situation has to be harder for him. “Do you have good memories of him?”
His brows pop. “Good? Of my dad?” Disgust drips from his tone.
If I could claw the question back, I would, but it’s out there. If I explain more, will that help? “I dated Dwayne for too many years, but once I learned of his true nature, it was easier to divorce myself from him, if that makes sense. Your dad is an awful person, but he’s . . .”
“A part of me?”
“I think you got the best of him. You and Lane are what he and your mom could’ve been.”
His features soften. “Never thought of it that way.” He pushes his food away and crosses his arms.
Did I rob him of his appetite? I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but discussing how he handles a person in jail who used to be close to him is soothing for me.
It shows that it’s not just me. A good guy like Cruz has done bad things in his past. He was mostly a kid, but the parallel makes me feel less foolish.
“Lane has more memories,” he finally says. “It’s one reason why he still talks to Dad. The guy walked out before I was three. When he tried to come back into our lives, it got ugly, and then he was in jail before I got out of high school.”
“It’s valid. However you feel? Totally valid.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “That’s what my school counselor used to say. I thought he was full of shit.”
A giggle bursts out of me.
He laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I can see now I might’ve been wrong about Mr. Bauer.”
Scooting his food back in front of him, he eats some more. Good. I didn’t ruin our meal together.
When we finish eating, I start to gather our empty containers. “Thank you for dinner,” I say as I rise.
“He used to bounce me on his knee.” Cruz doesn’t look at me.
I slowly sink back into my chair.
“I thought for a while I was just making shit up. Wishful thinking of a kid, you know.” He rubs the back of his neck, and his gaze touches on my stack of mail.
“Then Lane said he used to bounce us each on a knee like we were racing on horses side by side, and we’d laugh so hard we almost fell off.
He, uh, wrote me about that story after Lane told him we rode our first horses at the Baileys’. ”
“Did your memories become clearer after you read that?”
His nod is jerky. “I remembered more too. Like when he would take me and Lane to get a burger and fries. We felt like fucking kings.” He runs his hands along his thighs. “Mostly because Dad would call us out of school to do it.”
It’s a sweet memory, and unlike mine with my ex, it was likely genuinely a dad who wanted to spend time with his kids while he was in a decent place mentally. No con. No scam. Cruz and Lane’s dad wasn’t using them. “I imagine you thought you were a big deal.”
“So fucking big.” His smile fades. “When he didn’t stand us up.
But, yeah. There were some good times, and I think that fucked with me more than anything.
I know he can dangle a solid father-and-son relationship in front of me and yank it away at a moment’s notice.
I don’t have anything to do with him, but I’m forever tied to him, as much as I don’t want to be. ”
I get up and cross to sit on his lap. We end up like this a lot. I set my glasses on the table and wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you for telling me.”
“And thank you for telling me,” he says solemnly.
My dinner threatens to heave right back up. “You’re welcome.”