Chapter 11
Sutton gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, like letting go wasn’t an option.
Her stomach was doing some serious acrobatics, because today Lynlee was meeting her family—one she knew nothing about. Sutton had a very strong feeling that this was the exact moment everything could go spectacularly wrong. Or spectacularly right.
She wasn’t sure which scared her more.
The only thing tipping slightly in her favor was that half the town seemed to be here too—so at least the spotlight on her little family wasn’t quite as blinding.
Sutton pulled the keys out of the ignition and then swung around in her seat to face Lynlee, giving her full attention. “Hey, pumpkin, we can leave any time you want. Just say the magic words—‘I’m tired’—and we’ll pack up and head home, no questions asked.”
Lynlee tilted her head, curls bouncing, suspicion and curiosity warring on her face like she was waiting for the catch. “I don’t want to go home. We just got here and I need to hand out my birthday party invitations.”
Lynlee held up a giant stack of construction paper cards that she’d painstakingly made last night. They were orange and had horse stickers all over them. Sutton helped write the details on the inside, but Lynlee printed her name on each one like she was Taylor Swift signing an autograph.
“Just remember, bedtime is only a few hours away, so when the sun starts to go down it’s party over.”
Lynlee paused, her little brows knitting together, clearly trying to make sense of the offer. The concept didn’t quite compute—leaving early, no fuss, no bargaining required.
“Why do you want to leave, Mommy?”
Sutton’s lips curved into a gentle, practiced smile. “I don’t, Pumpkin. I’m just letting you know so you can be prepared.”
So that I can be prepared. Because hope without an exit plan had burned her before, and she would not be caught without a way out if things went wrong.
Sutton unbuckled her seatbelt, released Lynlee from her car seat and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they stepped out of the car.
The September breeze hit them, carrying the buzz of laughter and music from the party inside. Sutton took a deep breath, willing herself to look calm, and led Lynlee up the stone walkway to a sprawling ranch.
The house sat low and wide against the early-afternoon sun, all warm wood and stone, with a front porch that promised long afternoons and a life that ran slower than the world outside.
A few bikes leaned casually against the railing, flowers bloomed from painted water troughs, and a porch swing swayed gently in the breeze.
Sutton nearly turned tail and considered driving straight back to San Francisco.
This felt way too real and far too permanent.
There was nothing staged here. Just like there was nothing staged about the family who owned it.
Today was more than an inconsequential neighborhood get-together, yet there she was in a plain, silky yellow top—that was in need of an iron—balancing a casserole in one hand and holding sticky fingers in the other.
She had, at last count, three separate anxieties competing for the top spot: whether the casserole would tip, whether Lynlee would say something devastatingly true at the worst possible moment, and whether she herself might simply combust before making it through the door.
She knocked, half hoping no one would answer, half praying someone would. Before she could leave, the door opened, and all the uncertainty fled.
Vivi was on the other side dressed in a bright blue sundress and even brighter smile. “You made it!”
“We did,” Lynlee said with so much excitement, Sutton’s chest felt tight and heavy with nerves. “And I’ve gots this for yous and Mister Boone.”
Lynlee held out a card and with a gentle smile Vivi took it. She studied it as if it were a prized painting. “This is a beautiful invitation.”
“I made it myself. Can yous come?”
Vivi clutched it to her heart. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Lynlee bounced on her toes with excitement. “Can I gos swimming? I broughts my bathing suit and floaties and everything.”
“You mentioned in passing that you had a pool. I wasn’t sure if it was a swim party, so I brought her things just in case,” Sutton said a tinge of embarrassment heating her cheeks. “But if it’s not, that’s no problem.” She wiggled Lynlee’s hand. “Right, Pumpkin?”
Lynlee blew out a big sigh of disappointment. “Right.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought it. There are a few other kids here and they’re already in the pool.”
“Yay!” Lynlee jumped up and down. “Can we gos swimming now?”
“After we say hi to everyone,” Sutton said. “Plus, don’t you have a few more invitations to hand out?”
“Right,” Lynlee said with so much determination one would think she were handing out gilded invitations to the Queen’s coronation. “Invitations then swimming.”
“Let me take that.” Vivi reached out and Sutton handed over the dish.
“It’s lemon bars,” Lynlee said.
“My favorite.”
“Mine too,” Lynlee said with glee. “I helped mommy make it.”
“Then I’m sure they’ll be delicious.”
A sound reminiscent of a herd of elephants came stampeding down the hall.
A moment later, a little boy just about Lynlee age, but a foot taller, skidded to a stop. He was dressed in dinosaur swim trunks, fresh-from-the-pool hair, and smelled like chlorine. Sutton recognized him from parent pick up at the preschool.
“Parker!” Lynlee said excitedly. “You still wants to come to my birfday party?”
“Sure,” Parker said.
“I’m gonna have cake and presents and a pinata!” Lynlee added, practically spinning in circles.
“A pinata?” Parker asked, eyes wide with surprise. Sutton seconded the moment of surprise, because up until that moment there had been no pinata talk. “Will it have candy in it?”
“Will it, Mommy?”
Sutton ruffled Lynlee’s hair. “Since this is the first time I’m hearing about a pinata, we’ll have to talk about it.” Lynlee opened her mouth to start the talk and Sutton said, “When we get home.”
Lynlee turned back to Parker and with a serious tone, repeated, “We’ll have to see.”
“I hope so.”
“Me too.”
Well, it looked like Sutton’s plan to keep the sugar levels low had backfired. She’d been outsmarted by an almost-five-year-old. Because once Parker heard the word pinata he was already counting his loot. Already counting down the days until Monday so he could tell the whole class about the pinata.
Sutton was equal parts relieved and stressed. Relieved because there would be more than just adults at her precocious kid’s party. Stressed because, how in the hell was she going to host a party bigger than her apartment?
She refused to leave any kid out—she’d been that kid—but she didn’t have enough money to rent out the local gymnastics studio.
A problem for another day.
Today was about seeing firsthand what kind of family her daughter could possibly be a part of. And there were some pretty big ifs in the equation that had consumed her life for the past four years.
“You wanna hand these out wif me?” Lynlee asked.
Parker smiled a toothy grin. “Okay.”
“Is that okay, Mommy?”
“You bet. Just no running on the pool deck. And wait for me before you go swimming. Understood?”
Without answering, the kids disappeared around the side of the house, Lynlee’s little pigtails bouncing behind her.
“Come on in,” Vivi said. “Jo’s in the kitchen and I can’t wait to introduce you to Lady Rea.”
“Lady Rea?”
“She is an honest to god Duchess from Britain and every bit the lady. Well, unless you ask for man advice, then all bets are off.”
“I’ll be sure to steer clear of man-talk then.”
Sutton followed Vivi to the kitchen, where she placed Sutton’s dish next to the others.
Jo gave her a casual jerk of the head in greeting. “Sup.”
“Hey.” Sutton walked across the kitchen to hug her—which Jo endured like a feral cat being briefly domesticated against its will.
Sutton took in the room with awe. The Callahans’ kitchen was the kind of space that made you want to roll up your sleeves and host a dinner party.
Wide-plank floors worn smooth by generations of boots grounded the space, their scuffs and knots proudly visible beneath a massive reclaimed-oak cutting board scarred with knife marks and dents from a hundred meals.
It was rustic ranch bones softened by opulent restraint. Marble countertops veined like river stone caught the light from wrought-iron pendants overhead, while a farmhouse sink that was big enough to bathe a lamb sat beneath a window that looked out over rolling pasture.
Fresh herbs spilled from clay pots along the sill, and a bowl of just-gathered eggs sat casually beside a crystal butter dish, as if elegance and practicality had struck a permanent truce.
“There’s enough food to feed an entire football team. First, second, and third string,” Sutton said.
“That’s good because there’s an entire football team made up of single-and-ready-to-mingle men in the backyard,” Jo said.
“I didn’t know you were looking,” Sutton said.
“For more than a good fuck?” Jo said. “I am not.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” a crisp British voice cut in, smooth as champagne and twice as tart. “Because flings are only fun when everyone involved knows precisely what they’re buying—and what it’ll cost them later.”
They all turned as the woman glided into the room. Elegant posture, silver hair swept into a neat knot, and all-knowing eyes that appeared to have seen everything life had to offer and had partaken in every minute.
“I spent my twenties mistaking expensive dinners for affection,” she went on cheerfully. “Perfectly thrilling. Utterly unsustainable. If you’re going to keep it casual, darling, do so with eyes wide open and your own wallet firmly in hand.”
“I like her.” Sutton laughed. “I’m Sutton.”
“Lady Rea,” she said, offering a hand. “I’m a former gold digger turned reformed romantic, and a current professional meddler.”
Sutton shook her hand. “Sounds … effective.”