Chapter Five
CECE
I’m just closing up shop. I’ll run upstairs to change and feed Spock, then I’ll head over.
CeCe sent the text to her mother, then flipped the sign in the window to Closed and locked the door.
She rarely closed the café early, but tonight she’d make an exception.
Her wayfaring father was finally coming home after spending several months at a dig site in— Where were they excavating this time?
Argentina? Peru? He hopped so many continents searching for ancient artifacts she struggled to keep track.
As she climbed the back stairs leading to her cozy apartment above the café, her mother’s familiar words swam inside her head. Don’t be so hard on your father. He loves us very much.
Just not as much as he loves being Indiana Jones , she wanted to retort. But she never did. Why hurt her mother more? As hard as she tried, Durene Dupree wasn’t the eternally happy housewife she presented to the world, content with her garden, volunteer work, and part-time job at the art gallery.
Growing up, CeCe had heard her mother’s quiet sobs through the paper-thin walls of their tiny beachfront bungalow more nights than not.
And when they said grace at dinnertime, when her mother prayed for the Lord to keep her husband safe in faraway lands, CeCe knew she’d really asked God to bring him home.
Tonight, they’d be celebrating the answer to her mother’s prayer over her famous curry goat—a labor-intensive family recipe and her father’s favorite meal. Not that he deserved it.
“Spock, I’m home!” CeCe kicked off her shoes in the small foyer. Early evening sunlight streamed through the balcony windows facing Main Street, illuminating the open floor plan.
Her feline roommate barely lifted his head from his perch on the wide windowsill, but what did she expect?
She’d named him after her favorite Star Trek character, Spock, a half human, half Vulcan being with pointy ears and an aversion to displaying emotion.
While the cantankerous cream-and-ginger kitten had grown into the personality of his fictional counterpart, his ears had not.
As a Scottish Fold mix, Spock’s ears pointed down, not up, an ironic trait CeCe found adorably endearing.
“Sorry, I can’t stay long.” She headed straight for the kitchen pantry. “Tonight’s the big night, when the prodigal father returns. Mama’s making curry goat.”
Spock lifted his head, suddenly interested.
“I’ll try to save you some. But until then, how does salmon and shrimp sound?” She withdrew a can of cat food and showed him the label.
Spock hopped off the window ledge, seemingly pleased with her selection.
“I feel guilty I’m not more excited to see him,” she admitted, peeling back the tin lid. “But how excited can I be about a man I barely know? I mean, he’s traveled so much of my life, I relate more to kids raised by single parents.”
Spock settled on the ground by his water dish and listlessly licked his paw. He’d heard her melancholy monologue before.
“You’re right. Who needs complicated human emotions?
Indifference is the way to go.” She scratched his head before setting his dinner in front of him.
“I’m happy for Mama, but I won’t get my hopes up for some Hallmark-worthy family reunion.
I doubt Dad’ll be in town for more than a few days before he takes off again anyway.
By the way,” she said, straightening. “Mystery Man came back today.”
Spock briefly glanced up from his food dish as though mildly curious.
“It was the strangest thing.” CeCe poured herself a glass of chilled coconut water from the fridge.
“I wanted to give him one of Abby’s leftover sample cakes—she chose the Toto, by the way; no surprise there—but he bolted out of the café before I had a chance.
He looked like he’d seen a ghost and left without finishing his latte. ”
Spock cocked his head, appearing contemplative, then went back to his dinner as if the mental effort to conjure an explanation wasn’t worth his time.
“I know we get all kinds of customers in the café, especially during tourist season, but there’s something off about this guy.
I wish I could put my finger on it.” She drained her glass and set it on the counter.
“But that’s a mystery for another day. Tonight’s mission: pretend to be a loving, happy family with a man who’d rather spend time digging through dirt than getting to know his only daughter.
” She paused, frowning. “I sound bitter, don’t I? ”
Spock chirped in agreement.
CeCe sighed. “I’ll work on it.”
Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her back pocket.
Hi, sweetie. Dad called. He won’t be home tonight after all. The expedition has been extended by a few more weeks, maybe months.
CeCe stared at the screen, her fingers clenched tightly around her phone. He’d canceled. Last minute. Again . Did he even care what he put them through?
“Well,” she said, her throat hoarse. At the crack in her voice, she swallowed her emotions. “I may have to work a little harder on not being bitter. Dad isn’t coming home.”
Spock sat back on his haunches, his amber eyes soft, almost sympathetic.
She blinked hard, fighting the urge to cry. Indifference, CeCe. Don’t let him get to you . “It’s fine. It’s not like it’s a big shock.”
Spock hopped onto the counter and nudged her hand.
She smiled weakly, sliding her fingers through his silky fur. “You’re more of a softy than you let on. You know that, right?”
Spock purred.
CeCe sniffled, already feeling bolstered by his uncharacteristic bout of affection. “On the bright side, if Dad isn’t coming, that means more curry goat for me.”
Spock mewed.
“And you,” she added with a laugh. She quickly composed a response to her mother and hit Send.
Sorry to hear that, Mama. I’ll be over soon, and I’m bringing dessert.
She’d made an extra four-inch Toto cake with lime glaze, knowing her parents would love it.
It’s Friday night. I’m sure young people have better things to do than have dinner alone with their mother. I’m fine. I’ll pack up the leftovers for you. Go out and have a good time. Maybe call that boy who asked you to dinner after church last Sunday.
Her mother added a winking emoji to her text, but CeCe knew an attempt at deflection when she saw one.
She also knew her mother didn’t want her to come over because she planned to spend the entire evening crying into her curry—the curry she’d slaved over for hours in loving preparation for her husband who, once again, didn’t have the decency to fulfill a promise.
The familiar flame of protective indignation burned hot inside her stomach. When would her mother realize he wasn’t worth her tears?
I’m coming over. We can watch a movie or work on that puzzle you got last week.
She hated to think of her mother alone, wallowing over a man who probably wouldn’t give her a second thought.
Really, sweetheart. I’m fine. I got a new historical fiction novel from the Unbound Bookshop that I’ve been dying to read.
But you won’t actually read it tonight, will you? CeCe thought but decided not to press further.
Okay. Love you, Mama.
Love you, too, ma chouquette.
CeCe’s chest squeezed at the sight of the familiar nickname—the nickname given to her at birth by her father, who’d been born in France.
The endearment translated to my little one , and more literally referred to a small choux pastry.
A pastry her father had taught her how to make, along with several other delicious French desserts.
In truth, her love of baking began with those lessons, rare fond memories of her father from her childhood.
But now, CeCe attributed her culinary passions to her mother and her mother alone.
After fixing herself a simple meal, she drew a hot bubble bath infused with coconut milk and lavender essential oils. While the tub filled, she threw her hair into a messy topknot and slathered a mixture of oatmeal and honey on her face—another one of her mother’s DIY beauty treatments.
As she looked in the mirror, she tried not to notice the features she’d inherited from her father—her slightly lighter skin tone courtesy of her biracial heritage, the smattering of freckles across her nose, and the dimple in her left cheek.
She was her mother’s daughter, through and through, and that’s all she wanted to be.
She slid her toes into the steaming suds, then paused when her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Balancing on one foot, she checked the message.
Just left some curry goat on your doorstep. Love you.
CeCe gazed longingly at the mound of fragrant foam calling her name. The curry would be fine outside for a few hours, wouldn’t it? With a sigh, she slipped on her well-worn bathrobe, deciding it wasn’t worth the risk.
She shot a warning glance at Spock, who sat poised on the edge of the toilet seat, ready to pounce. While he loathed water, he loved popping bubbles. “I’ll be right back. Don’t even think about going near the tub while I’m gone.”
Spock leaned back on his haunches with a huff, but his coy expression said he couldn’t be trusted.
Swiftly, CeCe skipped down the steps to the side entrance.
A large plastic Tupperware sat on the welcome mat.
Even though she’d already had dinner, her mouth watered at the sight, and she couldn’t resist peeling back the lid for a quick whiff of the aromatic sauce.
The savory scents of cumin, coriander, and turmeric wafted from the opening, bringing a smile to her lips.
A bright, startling flash of light caught her off guard.
The Tupperware slipped in her grasp, sloshing soupy sauce onto her robe.
Great. What a waste.
Another flash blinded her, followed by several more.
Then came the shouting.
“CeCe! CeCe Dupree! Over here!”
“How long have you been engaged?”
“When is the wedding?”
“Can we see the ring?”
CeCe squinted, shielding her eyes with one hand, struggling to reorient herself. Engaged? Wedding? Ring? What were they talking about? And who were all these people?
“CeCe, tell us. How did Jayce propose?”
CeCe’s heartbeat stuttered. Jayce? Her Jayce? Wasn’t he in Paris or somewhere filming a movie? They hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, but she’d certainly remember a proposal.
Where on earth had they heard such a ridiculous rumor?