Bent Not Broken (A Cedar Creek #1) (17 page)

But Sunday breakfasts were special to me. Sundays were the only days when I could take the time to make and consume an awesome breakfast, so I usually made things from scratch. Just not so many of them.

Deciding not to feel embarrassed but own it instead, I fully stepped into my kitchen and said, “What? It’s Sunday. Sundays are special. Sundays are the only days I get to make breakfast from scratch. And I like breakfast, and believe it or not, I can pack it away. I knew Tommy was coming and he is a growing boy who needs a lot of food, and seeing as I didn’t know what he liked, I wanted to give him choice. And you are you. Big and muscly. Which I assume means you can also consume a lot of food. So there you go, a lot of food ready to be consumed,“ I ended my babbling by throwing an arm out, indicating the food on the table.

“She is right, dad. Lots of food to be consumed,” Tommy said, a laugh in his voice. “So can we start consuming it, or what?” he asked hopefully, if a little rudely.

“Bud, you wait until everyone is seated,” Cal disciplined his son.

Hungry and ready to eat, I swiftly moved towards the table and took a seat across from Tommy, then looked up at Cal expectantly, waiting. Cal’s lips tipped up. He shook his head at me, but thankfully walked towards the table, put my coffee beside my plate, then sat down next to me while saying, “See this is how it’s gonna go,” with amusement in his voice.

As soon as Cal was seated, Tommy dug in and so did I. But seeing as I was not an eleven-year-old boy, I did this more slowly and passed the plates of goodness to Cal. Cal took them from me, still amused, and I knew this because his lips were still twitching. I gave him a smile, then dug into my pancakes.

“These pancakes are the shit!” Tommy exclaimed with his mouth full.

“Bud. Manners,” Cal said in a low voice.

Tommy finished chewing, then swallowed and said, “Sorry, dad.”

Cal took a bite of his own pancakes, chewed, swallowed, then confirmed, “Tommy is right. These are the shit, baby.”

“I know. They are awesome!” I said, a smile in my voice after which I heard Cal chuckle. I giggled under my breath and resumed eating. And I was right before. I liked this. This was how it was supposed to be.

Comfortable.

Intimate.

Happy.

Normal.

And instead of questioning it, I decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

Every single minute of it.

*****

Breakfast consumed, Cal and I were standing at the sink doing the dishes together. No, I didn't have a dishwasher. My house was old and so was my kitchen. I had refurbished and painted my kitchen cabinets a nice bright white, had new wooden counters put in and a new sunken porcelain sink installed and had painted the walls a nice warm, light green colour.

My kitchen was perfect and I loved it. It looked exactly the way a farmhouse kitchen should look. My upper cabinets had glass fronts, so you could see my collection of oddly mixed and matched dinnerware as well as my hand blown glassware that had a hint of green to it and, so tied in with my green walls. The bottom cabinets had lots of drawers, which I loved, seeing as drawers were more practical. I didn’t like crawling into the dark recesses of my kitchen cabinets to find the lid that matched the pot I needed to cook my spaghetti. My awesome farmhouse kitchen table was right smack in the middle of the kitchen, white legs, used butcher block top, matching the kitchen perfectly.

What I had not done was install a dishwasher.

I liked doing the dishes. It gave me peace. It was normal. And there was only me, so really I didn’t have that many dishes to do in the first place.

The kitchen was where I spent most of my time when I was home if I was not outside on my front or side porch, reading a book and drinking a cup of coffee or slaving away at my dining room table. Now, with Cal beside me on drying duty and Tommy at the table with his nose in a book, it felt even better, which I hadn’t thought was possible.

“Did you build your own house?” I asked Cal while looking at my hands in the soapy water, trying to keep the conversation from breakfast going.

“I did,” Cal answered.

“I helped!” Tommy added excitedly, “I helped dad laying the tile in the bathroom and the hardwood floors in the living room. And I helped pick out the colours for the walls, though I wasn’t too good at painting, so I didn’t help with that. And I picked out everything in my room. It’s awesome!”

“You did all that? That’s so cool! I’m sure you guys had lots of fun together.”

“Yup,” Tommy again, “it was good father-son time. When I’m old enough, I’m gonna help dad build houses. I can’t wait!” I had to smile at how grown-up Tommy sounded sometimes. Had to be all those hours with his nose in a book. He had clearly enjoyed spending time with his dad. That was good.

“So what was left for you to do if Tommy did most of the hard work?” I teased Cal.

He chuckled. “Not much, other than building the walls, a roof, putting in windows, doors, installing a kitchen and bathrooms, painting walls, and setting up furniture.”

“So really, Tommy
did
do most of the hard work,” I said grinning.

Cal chuckled again. “Looks like it,” he said with laughter in his voice.

I had learned a great deal about Cal and Tommy during breakfast. Seeing as Cal hadn’t been on my radar these past nine years, there was a lot to learn. I hadn’t even known what he did for a living. Turned out he built houses. Log homes to be precise. I loved log homes. They were so nice and cozy. Cal owned a relatively small company that built log houses all over the county. It took him away from home quite a bit due to his long days sometimes. Recently, he had been working on a house on the outskirts of town, so that was why he had been able to pick Tommy up from the bookstore every day—and stalk me all week.

When his building locations were further out, Tommy stayed with his grandparents. Again, how could I have missed that Betty was Cal’s mother? Was I in my own head so much that I didn’t even know the connections and goings-on in this small town that I had called home for these past nine years? I adored Betty and thought her and Pete were just right together. Why had I never asked her about her life? That had to change. It was very rude not to inquire about people you liked, who liked you back. Rude and self-centered. So I would remedy that immediately and be more open and interested in other people’s lives.

Tommy was in grade six. He had skipped a grade. Not very surprising.

I had also learned that Tommy’s mother was not a part of his and Cal’s life. She lived in Montana, but never saw or talked to her son. Tommy didn’t have anything to say about his mom. She had left when he was only a baby, so he didn’t know her at all. What he did, though, was get very quiet and sad all of a sudden. When I lifted my eyebrows at Cal at this disturbing fact, he shook his head at me, mouthed a
later
and changed the subject. Guess he didn’t like talking about his son’s mother much either. At least not in front of his son.

It was almost time to get ready and go to town to open my store, but I realized I didn’t want this to end. Not having much of a choice, seeing as I was a business owner and if I didn’t open the store, nobody would, which would lead to me having to go to the grocery store to stock up on Ramen noodles, I led the conversation back to work by asking Cal, “Do you have to work today?”

“Make it a point not to work on Sundays. Sundays are family time.” That warm feeling in my stomach was back. Sundays were family time. And he had brought his son to my house on a Sunday.

Whoosh
.

“That’s nice,” I breathed softly, a little bit of disappointment laced my voice, because I
had
to go to work on Sundays, which meant it was not family time for me. I also didn’t have family to spend this time with.

“Yeah, dad and I spend every Sunday together and do whatever we want to do. Though, he won’t bake cookies or a cake with me, says he’ll cook, but draws the line at baking.”

Tommy gazed at me, thinking. Then he asked hopefully, “Will you bake a cake with me? I love cake!”

He loved cake. So did I. I would definitely bake a cake with him. And cookies. And anything else he wanted.

“I would love to. And seeing as your dad is too manly to join us, we’ll eat it all and won’t save him any,” I said conspiratorially.

“You are so full of it,” Cal said through a chuckle.

“Am not,” I snapped at him.

“We’ll see about that.” I looked over to Tommy to see him grinning wide and winked at him.

“Tommy and I are going to work with you today. Hang out. Spend time together. That okay?” Cal asked me.

They wanted to include me in their Sunday family time plans. That instantly made me feel better. They would stay with me and hang out at
Serendipity
to spend time with me.

I liked that.

I wanted that.

What I said was, “Okay.”

“Cool, we’re hanging out with Ivey all day! Killer!” Tommy seemed excited, indicating that he liked spending time with me and, thus, liked me, which also made my stomach fill with warmth.

I giggled.

“Yeah. It’s cool.” Even I could hear the smile in my voice.

Done with the dishes, Cal tossed the towel onto the counter, leaned a hip against it, then took hold of my hips, and pulled me closer to him. My hands ended up on his chest and my head tipped back to see his head tipped down to me.

“I like this,” he said quietly. “Feels good.”

Yeah. I liked it, too.

I smiled up at him and leaned into his body in agreement. His eyes on me were changing again, just like they had in my front hall when he had first come in and greeted me. And just like I had in my front hall, I didn’t quite know what it meant, but knew I liked this look. Especially when it was directed at me.

“Tonight I want you over for dinner at our house. Then it’s your turn to tell us about you.”

That warm feeling in my stomach instantly disappeared, and my body went stiff. I tried to take a step back from him, but his hands were tensing on my hips, keeping me from doing that. Forcing myself to relax, I took a deep breath.

“There isn’t much to tell,” I then said evasively as I moved my eyes from his to his shoulder in an effort of hiding my anxiety.

“Look at me,” Cal demanded quietly.

Slowly and cautiously, I glanced back at him. Cal’s eyes on me had changed yet again. Now they were more alert.

Alert and assessing.

This look I did
not
like directed at me.

His hand came up to cup my cheek and he lightly brushed his thumb across my cheekbone, trying to make me relax.

“We’ll go easy on you,” he promised quietly. I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, then opened them again, and said hardly above a whisper that betrayed my fear and anxiety, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask,” he said, then brushed his lips softly against mine.

*****

I was standing in the romance aisle sorting books when I heard someone call my name.

“Ivey, you in here?” My body froze solid for a second. Then I cursed.

Shit!

What was he doing here?

I hurried out of the aisle, made a left turn, and there he was.

Shit again!

Today had been another busy day for me. Sundays usually were, since I was only open for a few hours. I had hardly had any time to talk to Cal. He didn’t seem to mind and just leaned against my counter watching me work, a smile playing at his lips. Now his lips were not smiling and he was not leaning against the counter. He was standing in the middle of my bookstore with his hands on his hips, looking at Grant.

Grant
.

Fuck!

“Ivey, I need to talk to you,” Grant practically begged me when he saw me coming around the corner. He came towards me, but was instantly blocked by a hulking Cal stepping in front of him. Grant’s head snapped up and his eyebrows drew together in irritation.

“You got a problem?” he said to Cal in a challenging tone.

Oh no. I had to shut this down before it escalated. Now.

I kept walking towards the two men while I asked, “Grant, what are you doing here?” At the mention of Grant’s name, I saw Cal’s body tense even more.

“I need to talk to you, Ivey. Please,” he begged again while trying to walk around Cal and coming towards me. Cal again cut him off from reaching me by pivoting his big body with Grant’s movements. Grant’s head snapped back up to look at Cal, “You got a problem, man?” He asked, this time louder.

Oh shit. I felt like that was the wrong thing to ask Cal.

“Yeah. I do. Seeing as you’re storming into my woman’s bookstore, shouting her name,” Cal answered.

“Your woman?” Grant whispered, his eyes swinging to me. I could see first confusion, then shocked surprise, and then hurt in them.

Shit.

“Grant—” I started, but was interrupted.

“My woman,” Cal stated in a firm voice.

No. Not just firm.