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It strikes me as I start the truck that I not only subconsciously thought about staying in Lindell, but I also handed down my father’s legacy to my son.
I haven’t spent much time at the store in the last couple of weeks because I haven’t found someone to help with the boys, despite contacting a placement service that’s supposed to be fast at finding help. Hell, their website said they could find someone for an impromptu date night the day of. Considering it’s beenover a week, I’m going to call that false advertising. I know Lindell is out in the middle of nowhere, but there has to be people willing to move here.
I wave to Rebecca and George Shears at the four-way stop in the center of town before pulling up in front of the bakery. The boys scream their delight, and I swear I have inner ear damage as I climb out of the truck.
“Madison likes the orange creamsicle ones,” Cale so helpfully informs me as I open his door and unbuckle his belt.
“Wait until I come around,” I tell him, closing the door and making my way to Cole’s side of the vehicle.
They haven’t mentioned their mother or asked for her since we left Detroit for that final meeting, but I can’t get away from Madison’s name.
“Maybe she’s here!” Cole says the second I open his door.
Cale squeals in delight at his brother’s hope, and I find it impossible to catch them once their little feet hit the sidewalk.
They work as a team to push open the heavy door to Fondante’s Inferno, yelling her name the second they step inside.
When I finally catch up, Adalynn is shaking her head with a frown. For some reason, I feel the same wave of disappointment the boys feel when they turn back toward me with sadness in their eyes.
“Maybe we can get her one and take it to her house?” Cole asks.
I struggle with my response because I feel like these boys are much too young to have already been let down by so many people. Life lessons aren’t always a bad thing, but damn they need a break.
I could easily lie to them and tell them that we can get her a cupcake, assure them that I’ll make sure she gets it and simply throw it in the trash after dropping them off at Dad’s, but lying doesn’t feel right.
Upsetting them further doesn’t feel any better, but it’s the truth.
“I’m all out of orange creamsicle, but maybe I’ll have some the next time you come in,” Adalynn tells them. “Cale, I do have the mint one you like, and if memory serves me correctly, Cole, your favorite is cookies and cream like your dad, but I only have one.”
She looks up from the boys, her smile fading instantly. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen hatred in Adalynn Tate’s eyes before, but there’s no denying the existence of it now.
Rather than glare right back at her, I mouththank you. She didn’t have to save me, but from the daggers she’s throwing my way, she’s not the type to take her anger out on my boys because they don’t deserve it. Hell, I’d like to know why I deserve it. I completely understand backing your friends, but wrong is wrong. I’m not the one who sold my private life for a payday. Madison is the one who did that.
I wait for her to package the cupcakes and hand them to the boys before I speak.
“Have a seat over there,” I tell them, pointing to the table near the window. With any luck, they’ll get distracted by the people walking by rather than formulating their next plan to bring up Madison’s name.
“Thirty-five fifty,” she says when I step up to the counter.
“For half a dozen cupcakes?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “They were made with love, Chase, not that you would know anything about that.”
“I’m sure they were made with love,” I mutter before swiping my card, knowing full damn well that she doesn’t charge anyone else in town that much. She might be able to get away with that astronomical price in the city, but folks around here would laugh her right out of business.
“Is there a reason you seem to hate me now?” I ask when she hands me the receipt to sign. I add a tip just because I know it will irritate her even more. She’s trying to rile me up, and maybe any other day I’d let it happen, but I’m too close to the edge to take that leap right now, especially in front of my boys. Waking up with a massive hangover on the front porch sort of dulled that quick decision part of me for a while.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t hate you?” she asks rather than arguing about my assessment.
“Is this about Madison?”
She tilts her head as if what I just asked is the most ludicrous thing she’s ever heard.
“Why, Chase Woodson, why on earth would I be upset that you made my friend fall in love with you and then you just tossed her aside to go back to your ex?”
It’s my turn to look confused. “Excuse me?”
“There are no excuses for you,” she says, swallowing as if the hateful words taste bitter on her tongue. “Now the boys are welcome to stay and eat their sweets, but I think I’ll have to ask you to wait outside.”
