Chapter 27 #2
to stay in Harlot’s Bay any longer than necessary, and Charlotte had recognized their visitor’s voice from the Sadie Brazen
audiobooks.
Maybe I could help you back here sometimes? she’d tentatively suggested. You work such long hours, and I’d really like to—
And then he’d cut her off.
He’d told her he was fine. Dismissed her, unwilling to add more stress to her life. Assumed she’d made the offer out of pity,
not a genuine desire to learn from him.
But had he explained his reasoning? Or asked her what she truly wanted and why she wanted it?
No. He sure as fuck hadn’t. And now, here they were, just figuring this shit out, when she could’ve been helping him weeks
ago. Could’ve been learning valuable skills at his elbow. Could’ve allowed him more time off to spend with Molly.
Molly, who’d tried to talk to him about Charlotte. He hadn’t listened to her either.
And because he hadn’t told Charlotte how he felt about her, hadn’t expressed himself in even the most inadequate goddamn way, his daughter—in his heart, if not by law or blood—thought he considered her stupid and untrustworthy.
A burden. That he put up with her, rather than considering her one of the great joys of his fucking life.
The shame of it curdled his stomach.
Swallowing down nausea, he finally asked the right questions. “You really want to be my apprentice? Even though I’m a surly
asshole and the work hours completely blow?”
“Yes.” There was no doubt in her tone. “I want to be a baker, and I want to train under you. I already told my parents months
ago, and we figured out ways to make the logistics work, if you were willing.”
When he spoke again, he was careful to make things crystal-fucking-clear. All pronouns in place, with no room for any more
confusion.
“When we talked last month, Charlotte, I didn’t understand what you were asking or why, and I didn’t make any effort to clarify
things. I’m so damn sorry. But I understand now, so here’s my updated answer.” He met her wondering gaze directly. “You’re
smart when it comes to flavors, you listen well, and you pick things up quickly. You work hard. You’re friendly, kind, and
a great colleague. A great mom too, although that’s less relevant to your apprenticeship. And above all else, I actually enjoy
your company, which isn’t something I can say about too many damn people.”
With each compliment, her eyes grew brighter. Wetter.
By the time he finished, she was outright crying. She was also beaming.
“Charlotte, will you please be my apprentice?” He squeezed her trembling fingers. “My stupid back and I could both use a little
more time away from the bakery.”
When she opened her mouth to answer, he held up a staying hand.
“I want to say one more thing: No matter what you decide, you’ll always have a place in my bakery and my heart.
Not because I feel obligated. Because I want you in my life.
And no matter what you do or where you go, I’ll always be proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished.
I admire the hell out of you, Charlotte. ”
He’d never seen her stand straighter or look more confident, even as she blotted away her tears with a spare napkin.
“Yes, I’ll be your apprentice.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And brace yourself, Karl, because once Bez hears the news,
she’ll definitely ask next.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
“And as soon as Johnathan’s out of college . . .”
“We’ll deal with that shit when the time comes.” He paused. Worked up the courage to say what he now knew was damn well necessary. “You know I love you, right? Like my own daughter?”
His ears were burning, his hands shaking.
“I hoped you did.” More napkin dabs. “But I didn’t know. Not before tonight. It feels . . .” She paused. Choked a little.
“It feels really good to hear it.”
Without warning, her slight frame barreled into his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her tight, rocking
her back and forth a little.
“All these years, you’ve been my anchor, Karl. The one person I could always rely on, other than my parents,” she whispered
into his tuxedo jacket. “You know I love you too, right?”
After hearing her breath hitch, he rocked her some more. “Figured you might.”
But . . . yeah. She was right. It felt really fucking good to hear it.
The words sank into his bones. Braced and warmed him from the inside out.
And at long last, he finally, fully got it. What Athena and Matthew had been trying to tell him, again and again, for a while now. What Charlotte had just tried to tell him too. What his defensiveness, his fear, had stopped him from recognizing and acknowledging.
Honesty and protectiveness, acts of service to everyone he cared about—they came naturally to him, and they were important.
Crucial, even. But not sufficient. Because if he didn’t tell people how he felt, they might not ever understand. Even Charlotte—a
bright, perceptive woman he’d known and seen almost daily for years—hadn’t been confident of his love.
After less than a single month together, then, how was Molly supposed to read the contents of his goddamn soul?
And after all his endless talk of earning her trust, had he actually trusted her?
Nope. Not enough to openly express his emotions. Not enough to share his heart.
How the fuck had he expected her to haul all her shit across the country, remove herself from almost everything familiar to
her, and risk more heartbreak and disappointment for a man who hadn’t even said he loved her?
Hell, had he even told her how much he liked her? Using comprehensible human words?
She might know that much already. But she might not.
Had he imagined she’d make fun of him for how he felt? Had he thought she’d find him pathetic? That she’d cringe? Laugh?
Even twenty years ago, he’d understood one thing well enough: Molly Dearborn wasn’t nice. But she was kind. She wouldn’t meet
his vulnerability with scorn. Even if she didn’t love him the way he loved her.
But what if she did? What if she simply needed those three words from him before she could muster the nerve to offer them back?
He’d never know if he didn’t damn well try.
Screw appropriate bedtimes. He was talking with Molly tonight. Which meant Charlotte and Johnathan would need to be in charge
of cleanup.
After one last squeeze, he let Charlotte go. Handed her another napkin to blow her nose and appreciated the joyful smile on
her tired, red-eyed, red-nosed face.
“Listen, Charlotte, you and—” he began.
“Hey, Karl, you need to—” Johnathan arrived out of nowhere at a run, then skidded to a halt and eyed them in hard-breathing
confusion. “Everything okay here?”
“Everything’s great,” Charlotte said, still sniffling happily.
“Yep. We’re good.” Karl eyed him assessingly. “You fall asleep on the damn john again? Because I read an article just now,
and maybe you should go see a—”
“Not the time.” The younger man looked frantic. “If you’re fine, then you need to get to the hall outside the gym, Karl. Now.”
Karl frowned in confusion but followed his employee toward the exit, with Charlotte trailing close behind. “Why?”
“There’s some sort of confrontation happening.” After glancing over his shoulder to make sure Karl was keeping up, Johnathan
hustled faster. “Molly’s facing off against a random blond dude. He kind of seems like a dick?”
At that news, Karl broke into an outright run.
Molly was still here? And publicly arguing with someone, when she was the most private person he knew? Jesus H. Christ, what
the—
“She hurt?” he shouted to Johnathan. “In danger?”
“Not that I can tell,” his employee yelled back, still jogging.
Staccato flashes lit the hallway outside the gym, as Sylvia took photos of whatever the hell was transpiring. And as Karl
drew closer, the unmistakable cacophony of a three-way argument became way too audible.
Molly was much louder than normal, her tone livid. Lise, her own volume cranked to eleven, was backing up her best friend.
And some smarmy-voiced dickwad was telling them to calm down, which meant at least one of the women would shortly gut the fucker with whatever sharp implement was within reach.
Karl neared the entrance at last. Spotted all three combatants in the hallway. Molly, flushed and angry but not obviously
harmed, standing next to Lise, both women squaring off against a tall blond asshole. Who was—was he reaching for Molly’s goddamn
arm?
At the absolute end of his rope, still running, Karl roared, “What the actual fuck is going on here?”
Molly, Lise, and Blond Asshole turned his way.
The blond man’s nose wrinkled, like he’d smelled dog crap on his shoe. “Who’s that, Mol?”
“That’s my new boyfriend, Karl. The one you heard on the phone.” Molly offered her adversary an evil smile. “He’s apparently
very eager to meet you.”
Wisely, Blond Asshole stopped trying to grab her arm.
Somewhere behind Karl, Johnathan asked Charlotte, “Is it just me, or is this, like, peak teen-movie shit happening right now?”
“Rest assured, Johnathan,” Charlotte managed to pant out as she caught up with Karl and elbowed aside a gawker in the doorway,
“it’s definitely not just you.”