Page 50 of Restored Dreams

[Lily]

Chopper stirs batter with the efficiency of a mix master. Beating the crap out of the ingredients has given him some focus despite the sway to his steps when he initially arrived. He walks with a swagger of sorts, but his pace was that of someone who’d been drinking, and I take another breath of relief he’s sitting in my bakery kitchen instead of driving on the road.

I probably shouldn’t have called Brut. Chopper will think I betrayed him in some way, but I also thought I needed to let Brut know what had happened and how I handled things. I wasn’t Chopper’s parent—I wasn’t a parent period—so the respectful thing seemed like giving Brut a heads-up. The decision whether to be here or not would fall on Brut, but I offered my place as a haven, a neutral territory of sorts for father and son.

I am lost in Chopper’s eager stirring, so it takes a second to realize someone is rapping on the back door to the kitchen.

“Special delivery?” Chopper asks, his brow raised in the familiar way of his father. Looking up at me with his teasing grin and his relaxed face as he mixes batter in a bowl, I see the child inside the man, and my heart breaks a little for him.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t open the door this late, but I have a suspicion of who it could be, and a smile graces my face. Brut instantly admonishes me for opening the door without peering through the peephole.

“You know it isn’t safe to open your door this late.” His eyes narrow as I step back, allowing him entrance through the delivery door. “Unless you’re expecting someone.” The drop in his voice and the hesitation that I might be waiting for someone else sends cartwheels inside my belly. Does he really think I’d already be with another man? Brut Paige has ruined me once again, and I won’t be dating or anything else for a long time.

“I was only hoping it was you.” The statement might have come out a little too breathy, a little too desperate, so I clarify. “For Chopper, of course. I was hoping you would show for Chopper.” With that, I turn and lead Brut farther into the kitchen.

“What the…?” Chopper stops his rapid swirling to peer up at his father, and then he looks at me, the depths of confusion unmasked in his eyes. “Lily?”

“I called your dad. He needed to know about Lauren.”

Brut hesitates beside me, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He stands like an errant child, and I marvel at the exchange between father and son. Who’s the parent here? I wonder until I see the crushed expression on Brut’s jaw, a twitch at the pain he feels knowing his son doesn’t want him here.

A heavy silence falls between us, thicker than the batter in the bowls. The first to speak is Brut, his tone calm, his body language shifting.

“Whatcha making?” I hear it in the sound of his voice. This is how Brut has mastered taking care of others. He isn’t yelling or screaming, threatening to hit something, which might have happened in my family. He’s calm and confident, at least in presentation, as if he can handle this situation. In response, Chopper’s shoulders settle, and he looks down at the bowl before him.

“Monster cupcakes,” Chopper replies, his voice lowered. Brut steps forward, keeping the steel work table between him and his son.

“What’s in those?”

“Oatmeal and M&M’s and peanut butter. It’s like a cookie on crack.” Brut laughs at his son’s explanation. He hesitates as though he’d like to help, as if he can’t help himself not to offer, but he holds back, just watching his son who is no longer swirling but mashing the whisk into the thick mixture.

“Sounds delicious.” Brut points at a second bowl, the one I’d been experimenting with. “And what’s that one?” It’s chocolate with salted caramel and a bottle of liquid caramel sits to the side. Brut’s lips twist in a recognizing grin.

“Lily says it’s Midnight Nibble, but I think Midnight Nipple sounds better. She’s going to cover the top with drizzles of caramel.”

Brut’s eyes jump to mine, but I look away quickly, feeling the heat on my face.

“Sounds even better.”

I can’t look at him, but the corner of my lips curl. I hate that I’m responding to Brut when he hurt my feelings the other day, accusing me of sleeping with his son and then accusing me of knowing him without Brut’s knowledge. I also think back on the sex we had against my front display case. Desperate. Raw. Edgy. As if we were saying goodbye forever, taking the one last chance we didn’t get when we were interrupted Saturday morning. My grin grows heavy as I realize I may never touch this man again.

“Want to help?” I offer. We all have our own thoughts tonight, and cupcakes may distract us for a little bit. Cupcakes can be the solution to many unanswerable questions.

We mix, stir, and fold before we bake. Small words travel between us until I reach for the whiskey.

“Let’s toast,” I begin. In the Irish tradition, you take a shot in honor of the dead and turn the glass upside down on the casket. We won’t be doing such a thing for Lauren, but something could be said in honor of her. Chopper warily peers at me while Brut’s edge has returned.

“To fathers and sons,” I begin. “For love and understanding. Patience and kindness. Dedication and devotion. Relationships that—”

“Can we just drink?” Chopper interjects to which Brut responds, “Don’t interrupt Lily.”

Chopper defiantly slams back the shot, and Brut watches, his anger slowly brewing. I sigh, taking my shot for liquid courage. Chopper lowers his glass with a sharp thud on the steel and hops off the stool he’s been sitting on most of the night.

“I’m out of here,” he announces, swiping at his lips, but before he takes two steps, Brut asks, “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Chopper snaps, turning for my front door. Without thinking, I reach a hand for Brut’s forearm but direct my voice at his son.

“Sit,” I snap, and Chopper freezes. Slowly, he turns his body to face me, fists clenching at his sides. Before he can even say excuse me, which I see lingers in his eyes, his father speaks up.