AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“All right.” I tilted my chin down at the mousse. “I brought this to apologize to you and your wife for missing dinner last night. Shall I set it in your fridge?”
“Should be able to find some room,” he answered. “Looks delicious. Did you make that yourself?”
“I did.”
A note of obvious pride had crept into my response. Tell me you’re an overachiever without telling me you’re an overachiever. As my cheeks heated tellingly, his smile deepened.
“Sure is pretty,” he said. “I might have to be rude and ask if you’d be willing to dish up a little bit for us to share.”
With a wry arch of my eyebrow, I said, “I have a feeling you couldn’t be rude if you tried, Mr. Wilder.”
“Tim,” he corrected gently. “And I have my moments. Just ask my kids. There are bowls in the cupboard just to the left of the sink. Silverware is in the first drawer on the right in the island. But only if you’ll enjoy some with me.”
Slowly, I nodded. “Okay.”
With Tim’s gaze heavy on my back, I let myself into the quiet house and set the mousse on the island, then found the bowls and utensils exactly where he’d instructed. With two servings balanced in my hands, I joined him on the porch again. The air was so pleasant and warm, but he still had his lap covered by a crocheted blanket.
I handed him the larger of the two servings, and he tucked in immediately, closing his eyes and making a happy humming sound. “This is delicious, young lady.”
My chest warmed as I watched his obvious enjoyment. Maybe Sheila was onto something because this whole making food for someone felt pretty damn amazing.
“Thank you,” I told him. Then I took a bite and sighed when the bright burst of strawberry mixed with the cream and the rich, silky chocolate. He was watching me, and I allowed a small smile as I finished my first bite. “It’s not terrible.”
He chuckled. “No need for false modesty, Ivy. I think you know it’s far from not terrible.”
“I suppose I do.” I took another bite and relaxed into the rocking chair. This mousse was fucking amazing, and I’d live off the high all damn week that I’d made it with my own two hands. A smile tugged at my lips when I thought about how much I wish Ruth could’ve seen it. It was easier to stare into the endless stretch of trees when I allowed for a small admission. “We have a housekeeper named Ruth. She makes delicious things all the time. It’s so natural for her, I always imagined that she didn’t even think much of it. But if I could manage to make the things she and your wife do, I’d be obnoxious about it.”
He laughed easily. “Did you tell Ruth about your mousse?”
“No.” That would’ve been a great time to admit that I’d snapped no less than ten influencer-worthy photos, though, and barely stopped myself from sending them to her as soon as I’d finished my sugar-laden masterpiece. Like a little kid who wants to hang their crappy artwork on the fridge. And knowing Ruth, she would have too.
Tim nodded. “You should. Always good to have someone we love tell us they’re proud of us.”
“How do you know I love Ruth?” I asked dryly.
“Written all over your face when you say her name,” he said.
Was it? I felt the slight pinch in my brows as I pondered that. I’d never thought of myself as easy to read.
Under his breath, Tim laughed softly. “It bothers you that I can see it, doesn’t it?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “How on earth could you possibly know that?”
Tim took his time finishing another bite of the mousse, then set his bowl on the table between us. He didn’t answer right away, simply stared out into the trees much like I had.
“I have a lot of kids, Ivy. You learn real fast how to read the things they don’t say. It’s the only way you can survive the adolescent years without losing your mind.” He closed his eyes, sighing contentedly when a gentle breeze picked up. “Kids always go through a phase where their parents are the last people they want to talk to about anything. But they still need help dealing with things, even if they’re not saying so out loud.”
Before I came to this place, I’d never given much thought to different parenting styles. Kids only know what they know. And the type of parenting I’d known was not that of Tim and Sheila Wilder. Even the times I’d felt frustration with my dad, I didn’t bemoan the way he parented me because it was my only experience.
But there was the slightest whisper of curiosity about what it might have been to have parents like these two people, who sought to understand their kids for who they were. Not who they might be molded into with the right instruction.
It was a pointless train of thought, something I ruthlessly ignored, taking another bite of the mousse before setting it aside like Tim had.
“Thank you for the mousse, Ivy,” he said. “It was a very thoughtful thing to do.”
It didn’t feel much like I deserved his praise, but I smiled politely anyway. “My first attempt at it was a bit less impressive. But I shouldn’t have let it scare me away. I have a terrible tendency to only want to do things if I can do them perfectly.”
He chuckled. “I have a couple of kids like that,” he said. “I bet you got straight As, didn’t you?”
