My father was right. Once we learned to get along, we made a great team.
I’d made us enemies because I couldn’t be his friend. Even as a kid, I’d known having only a piece of him would never be enough.
NINETEEN
TYLER
“Sam, Tyler is here!” my mother called over her shoulder as she pulled me inside her front door.
“You don’t have to bother Dad. I can’t stay that long anyway.”
She took the boxes and bread from my arms, exhaling in a huff as she looked behind her.
“Since he retired, he hangs out in the basement all day long. He can unearth himself for just a little while to say hello to his only son.”
“I just saw you a few weeks ago. Dad had a tough job.” I followed her into the kitchen. “After all those years of fighting fires, he could use the rest.”
“He rests enough, trust me.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit. Can I get you something to eat? I know you’ve been working late.” Mom looked me over, her brow furrowed. “I hope you stop to eat sometimes.”
“I do. You don’t need to worry. Busy is good. I don’t mind the grunt work when it’s my own place.”
She slid into the seat next to me, her eyes glassy. “I’m very proud of you. And I don’t think I ever really told you. Not just for what’s happening recently, but in general.” She squeezed my hand. “Please know that.”
“I know,” I replied with a crack in my voice. Truth was, up until Donnie’s wedding, Ididn’tknow. I knew my parents loved me, but it never seemed like they took a genuine interest in what I did or was trying to do by opening up my own bakery. Both of them warned me of the pitfalls of starting a business, which I took as their disapproval. The bakery was a dream and a goal I assumed only I cared about, but the pride radiating off my mother from across the table was an unexpected thrill and a relief.
“I know you love me for more than free baked goods.” I smirked, trying to lighten the mood as I draped my hand over hers.
“I love you more than anything.” She leaned back, narrowing her eyes. “You sliced the bread for me, right?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Don’t I always?”
She smiled and patted my hand. “Perfect. I’ll make you a sandwich before Carla and Olivia get here.” She stood and headed to the refrigerator.
“Oh, I didn’t know they were coming by today.”
She craned her head at me, lifting a brow as she pulled out a platter of cold cuts. “Why the face? I thought you and Olivia got along now? Or you did at Donnie’s wedding.” Her gaze slid to mine, a recognition flickering in her eyes I wanted to ignore. I wasn’t sure if she was referring to how well Olivia and I got along that night at the table or later on against the wall.
It had been almost a month, and no one had brought up what else happened between Olivia and me. Every time I’d seen Olivia since then, the air was charged with it, but neither of us mentioned a word.
“That was a nice thing she did for you too,” Mom noted.
“We do, and it was. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
I asked Olivia if I could tell my mother about the post, but of course, she already knew about Olivia’s secret job. There wasn’t much our mothers didn’t share.
“Olivia’s actually helped me out over the past couple of weeks.”
Mom cut me a look, scrutinizing me for a long minute before she pulled the plastic wrap off the platter.
“When her post went viral and we had all these pie orders coming in, she went to buy ingredients for me so that I could keep working and stayed to help me set up before the night shift guys came in.”
Mom shot me a look as she reached for a plate in the cabinet. “Turkey and Swiss? I have some honey mustard.”
“Yes, and please.” I leaned back in the chair, anticipating what she was about to say. “She’s gone to the store for me a few times since it’s been so busy I couldn’t send anyone out. I’m going to have to staff up soon.”
Usually, whenever I came to my parents’ house, Mom did all the talking and I’d respond with a grumble, not wanting to get into anything. It was like that for a while after Amy and I broke up and a couple of years ago when I’d first told them my plan for leasing an old bakery space and making it mine.
Now, I was running my mouth in a neurotic effort to fill the silence and stop my mother from asking the questions I knew she had but that I didn’t want to answer.
