11. Christopher
eleven
”It never works that way.” Why is she so jaded? I’ve had my share of shit, but I’m a fighter. I don’t let go until I have what I want. Although, right now I want her hand back inside mine, but I have to let it go.
For now.
“Ready for galette?” I ask, looking at our empty plates.
Skye shrieks in excitement. We quickly clear the table and set it for dessert. “Alexandra, are you familiar with Galette des Rois?”
“Skye told me about the bean and the crown,” she answers. “Sounds exciting!”
I clear my throat. That wasn’t the answer I was looking for. She really has no clue about baking. I need to remember that. “It’s a pate feuilletée filled with frangipane.”
“Amazing,” she says, a small smile on her beautiful face. She still clearly has no idea what I’m talking about.
“Puff pastry filled with almond paste,” I add.
Her eyes widen. “Definitely amazing.”
Skye sets the galette and a clean dishcloth on the table, then crawls underneath the table. “It’s part of the tradition,” I say to Alexandra.
Skye giggles. “Daddy! Your feet stink.”
“They do not.”
“Do to!”
“Oh my god, it smells heavenly!” Alexandra says. “I can’t wait.”
Grace laughs out loud.
“You hear that, little bug? My feet smell heavenly.”
Alexandra turns a bright shade of red. “I mean the galette.” She grabs her phone, swipes off a bunch of new notifications, and snaps a few photos of the untouched galette. She’s beaming, and my stomach does a funny little thing.
I slice the galette, then cover it with the dishcloth. “Alexandra. Do the honors,” I say, handing her the pie server, and for some strange reason, that turns me on. “Just be sure to keep the galette covered, so there’s no cheating.”
She sets her phone down, slides the server under the cloth and loads a random slice of galette. I call out the ritual question, “Who is this one for?”
“Aunt Grace!” The answer comes from underneath the table.
Alexandra serves Grace, then, sliding the server under the dishcloth, loads the second slice.
“Who is this one for?” I ask.
“Ummm. Daddy!” Skye says, and Alexandra serves me, then loads the third slice.
“Who is this one for?”
“Alek—zandra,” Skye calls out.
As Alexandra is ready to put the slice on her plate, she freezes, her eyes zooming in on the fava bean at the edge of the slice, and makes a face. Her eyes dart between me and the tablecloth. I get her idea and lift the cloth while she swiftly switches slices. It’s such a treat, for a child, to get the bean.
“And…who is this one for?” I ask while I push the bean well inside the slice, so Skye won’t see it right away. Alexandra is ready to set it on Skye’s plate.
Our eyes meet.
My chest warms.
“Meeee!” Skye cries as she comes out from underneath the table. Back in her chair, she takes an unsuspecting but hopeful bite. I’m anticipating the moment she finds the bean. But my fatherly joy is soon interrupted.
“Aaaah. This is soooo good,” Alexandra moans, eyes closed, a flake on the corner of her lips. Mouth still half-full, she continues, “Buttery. And crispy outside. Mellow inside. Almond… mmm.” She swallows and opens watery eyes on all of us staring at her. Then, she starts taking close-up photos of her slice.
Grace keeps looking between the two of us like this is the most fun she’s had in a while.
Skye nods and says, “I told you. Best in the world!” Then takes another large bite.
I haven’t touched my slice, yet. I’m sure it tastes much better straight from her mouth, and that’s where my eyes linger. Until today, I never knew bread tasting could be such a turn on, but after I was done with her in the kitchen, I had two choices. I could take her on the kitchen table, or I could leave.
I left.
“I don’t even have the words to describe it,” Alexandra says, her eyes not quite on me, as if she’s intimidated about giving me a compliment.
My dick stretches painfully against the seam of my jeans. This can’t be happening. My own daughter is right here, and so is my cousin, and my dick is having a life of its own, punishing me for too many months—years—of abstinence.
“I’ve been telling him to enter New England’s Best Baker competition,” Grace is saying, referring to the bread baking TV show that has viewers glued to their screens twice a year. “He won’t listen.”
Alexandra looks up at me. “Seriously. This is heaven,” she says, and I’m pretty sure what I see is admiration.
Heat spreads through me.
“A competition?” she asks me.
“A TV show.”
She narrows her eyes on me. “You don’t like the spotlight?”
I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it. I don’t think I’d mind it. I entered some competitions, back in the day, and although they weren’t televised, I kinda liked the public aspect of it. “I don’t have time for that.” I shrug.
“Interesting,” she says, drawing out the word like I’m some fucking experiment.
“Skye, what do you think? You want to see your daddy on TV?” she asks.
Skye rounds her eyes and nods frantically, her mouth too full to talk.
Grace giggles, and I know what she’s thinking.
Because I’m thinking the same thing. Alexandra knows what makes me tick. I guess it’s not rocket science. Single dad and all, I’m bound to be swayed by my little girl.
“I think your daddy would look awesome on TV.” She taps her phone, like she’s got some footage there to prove it.
I could get addicted to this.
She points to the galette and to the rolls now sitting on the side table. “This needs to be shared with the rest of the world. Seriously.” Her eyes land on me, and it’s more convincing than any speech.
“I mean, how good are the other bakers?” she asks, looking around the table.
I give her my cocky-smile, silent answer. Not as good as me.
But I feel the need to prove that to her, and maybe that’s primitive of me.
So what.
I know my worth, and I know I’m one of the best bakers in Vermont, and probably the whole Northeast. But, until now, I didn’t feel the need to prove it to anyone.
Grace is silent, smiling. Enjoying the show of her cousin’s demise.
Even I’m enjoying feeling myself fall for Alexandra’s trap. What’s not to enjoy? Look at her face. Wonderment. I did that.
The silence is stretching between the adults, until Skye shrieks and pulls out the bean from her mouth. “I’m the queen! I’m the queen! Where’s the crown?”
Thank god for kids. It was getting awkward.
We cheer and applaud. I get the golden paper crown from the console, tie it around her head, and hand her the second crown.
She comes down ceremoniously from her chair and crowns me. “You’re my king, Daddy” she says, hugging me tenderly, burrowing her head in my neck. Making my heart beat faster.
I kiss her head and hug her tight. As I lift my eyes, I see Alexandra snapping a photo of us, and I mouth “thank you” to her for giving me this moment with my daughter. My eyes are trained on Alexandra, my arms latched onto Skye, and that damn fluttering radiating from my stomach just gets worse.
It’s fucking scary.
After dinner, Skye demands that Alexandra tucks her in. “I’m the queen tonight.” She kisses me and Grace good night.
“All right, Your Majesty. Shall we?” Alexandra takes her hand.
I watch them leave the room, my heart hurting at the perfect image. “Teeth, face, ha—”
“Hands and nails,” Skye continues.
Grace finishes clearing the table while I start on dishes. “When are you getting a dishwasher?” she asks for the millionth time.
“I don’t need one. It’s just the two of us.”
I expect her to comment on that, but she doesn’t. For a few minutes, we work in silence. “Hey, could you babysit Skye for me, a week from tomorrow?” I ask her.
She smirks, a twinkle in her eye. “You’re taking Alex out?”
“No.”
“Oo-kay? Just asking.”
“Just saying. I’m not taking Alexandra out. I’m her boss.”
“I see. You’re pretending this is a work thing, but you’re taking her out. That’s cute.”
“I’m not taking Alexandra out. Why would I do that?”
“You guys have been eye-fucking all evening.”
“We have not.”
“Chris, it’s fine. You deserve some fun. You’re not taking anything from Skye by having an adult life outside of work.”
“I need to go over my financials with Emma.” Emma is not only Caroline’s mom. She’s also the only CPA in town.
I see her a lot. Too much, if you ask me.
“Oh, right.” She hands me the stack of dried plates. “Why do you need a babysitter? Don’t you normally bring Skye so she can play with Caroline?”
I asked myself the same question. That’s been the MO between us. Single parents and all. We bring our kids to work meetings. “I guess she wants to meet at the office? I dunno. She asked if I needed her babysitter.”
“Huh.” Grace shrugs. “Sure. You know I love taking care of Skye. And I’ll get to spend more time with your ‘apprentice,’” she adds, air-quoting the word with her fingers.
“She is my apprentice. That’s why I didn’t ask her to babysit Skye.” Though I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mind. She’s been here all of a week, and she and Skye are thick as thieves.
“Huh,” she says again.
“What.”
“Emma.”
“What.”
“You know what.”
“That’s history, Grace.” There was a time when Emma was coming onto me pretty clearly. She even put it bluntly, once. “We make sense together,” she’d said.
“Ya think she’s one-nighter material?” I’d asked Justin after too many drinks, the desperation of my horniness getting to me.
“Sure thing,” he answered. “One time’s all you need. She’ll have your balls on her mantlepiece. One and done.”
Thank god for sober bartenders. That was the end of that messed-up plan to get me some action.
“She got the message,” I say to Grace. “She’s not stupid.”
“No, she’s not. She’s just… lonesome.”
“Nothing I can do for her there,” I answer.
“Oh, I know,” she says playfully. “Especially now.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I grab her in a playful headlock and rub my knuckles on her skull.
“Ow! It hurts!”
“I know it does. Trying to drill into that silly skull of yours that there. Is. Nothing. Going. On.”
“For now,” she mumbles under my arm. “I have a lot of money on you. Don’t disappoint me.”
I let go of her. “Seriously? Gracie bear. You, of all people. I am disappointed in you.”
I wrap a galettefor her parents and hand it to her. “A week from tomorrow.”
She pecks me on the cheek. “I’m happy for you, cousin,” she says as she leaves.
This betting thing, it’s annoying and it’s nice at the same time. I know everyone here just wants what’s best for me. But Alexandra is a big city girl with a fancy career. She doesn’t want a baker.
I got burned once believing I could be enough. I’m not repeating that mistake.