“Well, we’d love to,” I say. “But Deaton has soccer practice in half an hour, so we have to get going soon.”
“Are you sure you’re not gonna let me drive?” Deaton asks, skipping along happily beside us as we head back to the car. We’ve posted quite a few flyers in the unsuspecting letterboxes of Tearwater, an upscale, family-friendly neighborhood not far from the office. He was so excited when I turned up at school in my Porsche, he couldn’t wait to show all of his friends. We must have spent twenty minutes at the school gate while his legion of friends oohed and ahhed over it, some of the dads included came over for a look.
I also couldn’t help but notice the interested glances from some of the on-looking moms at the commotion going on. Deaton’s school run gives a whole new meaning to the phrase,yummy mummy. Though none of them compare to Chelsea, of course. The Porsche was to blame.
I collected the jerseys earlier in the day from the bakery, managing to fit them in the small trunk of my car. Of course, Chelsea had washed and pressed them to perfection. Though I’m not sure how long they will stay like that with a bunch of six-year-olds running around.
“When I grow up, I want a cool car like yours,” Deaton tells me as we drive to practice.
“Yeah?” I eye him for a second. “What color Porsche do you want?”
“Red!” he laughs with glee and it warms me to see the bright smile on his face.
“Yeah, why’s that? Do you think it will go faster?”
“I think so,” he replies. “And I love the color red.”
“Well, that’s a great color, bud. Guess what my favorite color is?”
“Blue.” He says it like it’s a fact.
“That’s right,” I laugh. “It is blue.”
“Mom said your eyes are like the Pacific Ocean.”
I stare straight ahead, my heart suddenly pounding. “She did?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “She was telling her friend, Bea, that she’s never seen you without your suit on, too.”
She mentioned it the other night, and it is true, but not because I’m one of those guys who thinks he’s dashing. It’s because I’m a workaholic. “What else did she say?”
“Umm, Bea asked if you were dating anyone and Mom said she didn’t think so.”
I smile to myself. Sounds like Bea is trying to do a little match-making; since she’s already married, I’m assuming she doesn’t mean for herself. Nope. I stay away from married women at all costs. “Do they talk about me often?” I chuckle.
“Sometimes. Bea asked Mommy if she was ready to move on from a cob loaf to a croissant.”
My eyes widen at the analogy. I know Bea and how she thinks, and she is a meddler. I rub my chin. “What did your mom say?”
He shrugs. “It was weird. She said she really liked croissants, but the croissant in question was a rare kind of pastry, and she didn’t want to ruin her appetite by consuming it all at once.”
I double blink.What the?Consuming it all at once? Is that an analogy for something, or am I delusional?
“Sounds like your mom has something new cooking in that kitchen,” I laugh, wondering if she really was talking about croissants. But then the Pacific Ocean thing, and Bea asking about if I was dating. It can’t be a coincidence. She was talking about me to Bea, there’s no doubt about it. And Deat is more than happy to tell me all he knows.
“She has. Mom is always coming up with something new,” he says thoughtfully.
“What’s your favorite thing your mom makes in the bakery?” I ask him suddenly.
He pops his lips as he thinks for a second, drumming his fingers on the seat either side of him. “The double chocolate cupcakes.” He grins sheepishly. “But the chocolate croissants are pretty good, too.”
“That they are. I ordered some of your mom’s cupcakes and muffins for my showing on the weekend, and I took a whole box of the croissants to work the other day. The staff were very happy.”
I smile thinking about the croissant/cob loaf analogy, something tells me I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that little ditty.
Does Chelsea think I’m some special kind of pastry?
“Did everyone like them?” he asks, breaking my thought for a second. Probably a good thing before I go getting all carried away with myself.
