“No, no.” Molly raised a hand. “You stay. I should head out now anyway.”
“But—” Charlotte and Karl began in unison.
Molly didn’t let either of them finish. “Karl and I are old schoolmates, and I hadn’t seen him in a few years, so I just stopped byto say a quick hello. Lovely to meet you, Charlotte. Your kiddos are adorable, as I’m sure you already know. You make a beautiful family.”
Truth. Whenever Charlotte, Brooklyn, and Junior managed to take a family picture, it looked like a fucking stock photo.
“Thank you?” Charlotte sounded uncertain, and he had no idea why.
Only... Karl abruptly stopped spinning. Did Molly think—
“Brooklyn and Karl aren’t my kids, Dearborn. Charlotte’s like a daughter to me.” He shoved an accusing finger in Molly’s direction. “You just thought the worst of me again. Not two decades ago.Now.”
Brooklyn made an odd sound, jerked, and vomited down the back of Karl’s tee.
“I’ve told you not to spin her like that, no matter how much she loves it,” Charlotte muttered, already digging for wipes. “Last time you babysat, the same thing happened.”
Cuddling Brooklyn to his chest and rubbing the poor kid’s back, Karl shut his eyes in disgust. At the foul-smelling wetness seeping through his shirt. At the entire goddamn situation. “Motherfucker.”
“I’m so sorry about the mess, but...” Charlotte sighed and took back her daughter. “Language, Karl. Please.”
“Lang-wedge,” Brooklyn echoed.
“Lang-wedge,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry, Charlotte. Easy cleanup.”
Molly shifted on her feet. Looked guilty as hell. “How can I help? Do you need a towel, or—”
“You can stop assuming I’m an a—” He looked down at Brooklyn. Rephrased. “A not-good person, for f—forheaven’ssake. You canstay.”
Silence, other than muffled soft jazz and little Karl’s Duplo-deprived whimpers of complaint.
“We’ll go.” Charlotte finished cleaning her daughter’s face, threw out the used wipes, and washed her own hands. “You two should finish your conversation in privacy.”
Within seconds, she’d hustled the kids out and shut the door firmly behind her.
After glowering at Molly, he stalked to his office. Whipped off his apron and shirt, somehow without dirtying his hands or hair. Carefully balled up the soiled clothing and shoved it in a plastic bag. Good enough for now.
One fresh tee remaining in his desk drawer. He needed to restock his supply. Between cooking and kids, things at the bakery got messy on the regular.
In a perfect world, he’d ask Dearborn to wash his back. But this world was frequently shitty, and that’d be too intimate. No time to stop home either, so he’d have to scrub extra hard tonight. Probably feel itchy in the meantime. Ugh.
He tugged the tee over his head. When he could see again, Molly was in his doorway, cheeks flushed. Eyes downcast. Penitent.
“I apologize, Karl,” she told him, lifting her chin to meet his stare. “When I told you I didn’t trust anyone anymore, I meant it. But you deserved the benefit of the doubt, especially after I’d misjudged you already. I should have asked before assuming things. Even though Charlotte is gorgeous and clearly very close to you. As are her kids. One of whom is named Karl. As in,Karl Junior.”
“No shit you should have asked, Dearborn.” He edged past her, avoiding dangerous body-to-body contact, and scrubbed his hands vigorously at the nearest sink. “You owed me before. You owe me double now.”
“Yeah.” When he turned around, she was rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. Her voice sounded tired. “I do. And I have to admit, seeing you with your surrogate daughter and grandchildren was... oddly appealing. But...”
She dropped her hand, and he noticed it then. Exhaustion. Dark smudges beneath red-rimmed eyes. Stiff tension girding that elegant posture.
“Four weeks is too high a price to pay for the mistakes I’ve made, and there’s no point getting close to a man who lives across the country.” She spread her hands, a gesture of regret. “Once this break is over, I won’t have the time or energy to try anything long-distance.”
Didn’t she have anyone in her life who’d make her rest when she needed it? Who’d tell her when she pushed herself too hard?
Before he’d gotten the flu, he’d assumed his own answer to those questions would be a firm, repeatedfuck, no. For better or worse, cranky-ass hermits didn’t get well-meaning interference from concerned friends.
Only... Bez and Johnathan had browbeaten him into seeing a doctor when his fever first spiked. Charlotte had come by his house several times to drop off medicine and check on him. Matthew and Athena had texted him way too goddamn often. After that bizarre obit had run, the Nasty Wenches book club had descended on him too, using every means of communication short of carrier pigeon.
