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17

JESS

I tell Grandma Dolly the good news about her being able to meet with KJ. She loves kids and always wishes she had some of her own, hence my adoption. She’d fostered for years and we celebrated my “Gotcha Day” party a month before my eighteenth birthday. Technically, she’s my adoptive mother, but everyone always called her Grandma Dolly … and she likes spoiling me as only a grandmother can, so there’s that.

I sign that I’m going to the grocery store if she wants me to pick up anything.

She signs back, “#MrDarcysAbs.”

I tell her that I’m still working on the player autographs and that one is a bit of a heavy lift.

Grandma Dolly replies, “He’s the one doing the heavy lifting, doing all those abdominal workouts. I bet leg day, glute day, and arm day are pretty good viewing too.”

After the conversation last night with Cara and Pierre, I can’t keep the smile off my face.

She asks me what I’m picking up and I tell her that Liam requested I make a Bundt.

My grandmother’s eyebrows bounce and she winks at me as I walk out the door.

After a long day filled with errands, including scoping out various childcare centers, meetings with several pediatricians, and picking up Bundt cake materials—it’s doubtful Liam owns a tin—I get to the Old Mill building just before dinner time.

KJ hugs my legs and doesn’t let go as I lug in the shopping bags. I sign that he helps me unload, telling him the words for each item. When we’re done, I boost him onto the counter.

He tells me about Elizabeth, Mrs. Kirby’s dog, and how much he loves puppies.

I relay to him that he’s going to meet Grandma Dolly soon and that she always has cookies.

Liam appears, sporting my favorite amount of facial hair and gives me a curt nod. His phone beeps, but he ignores it.

So much for the cake. He’s not getting any treats. Just fish and fennel for a boring dinner.

KJ climbs on the chair and helps me wash potatoes and set the table.

I use the air fryer for most of the meal and soon call, “Dinner is ready.”

Even though this wasn’t on today’s list of tasks, Liam doesn’t seem to question it. He digs right in. KJ stares at his plate as if wondering where the cookies are hiding.

I patiently wait for Liam to come up for air in … three, two, one.

He asks, “Did you put black licorice in this?”

“No, it’s fennel and it’s good for you.”

“Tastes like licorice.”

“Serves you right. You didn’t even say a word of thanks.”

“I didn’t ask you to cook dinner. I thought you brought this from the meal service that Nat, the nutritionist, signed me up for.”

“I meant thanks to—” I point toward the ceiling. “It doesn’t hurt to count your blessing from time to time.”

Chastised, he leans back in his chair and says a quick prayer, shoves his fennel bulb aside, and devours the rest of his fish and potatoes.

“You’re not setting a good example,” I say.

He glances at the kid who’s playing with his food and grunts. Once more, his phone beeps with a message, but he doesn’t check it.

“This isn’t a cake.”

“We don’t always get what we want when we want it, Mr. Ellis.”

“Are you trying to teach me a lesson?”

I tip my head from side to side. “Sometimes we get something even better. We’re going to make the Bundt together!”

He starts to protest.

Shaking my head, unwilling to give him an inroad, I say, “You even get to wear an apron.” For Cara and Grandma Dolly’s benefit, I’m about to add shirtless but hold back. I shouldn’t push it.

“I don’t know how to bake.”

“Or use your napkin or say please, but you can always learn.”

After dinner, I make a game out of cleaning up with KJ while Liam answers emails on his phone. He glances up at me a few times as if afraid I’m going to leave him with a mess. He suggested I hire a housekeeper, but I told him he already has me. Plus, I don’t mind tidying up or spending time with KJ. I rather enjoy it.

As I put away the dishes, his slitted eyes drift over me, predatorily, like if I so much as leave a fork in the sink, he’ll poke me with it.

He’ll be doing the dishes after we’re done baking. So there.

With KJ working as my assistant, I sign the recipe and how first we make the batter. I ask him if he wants special fillings. He asks for cinnamon and sugar. We’ll layer and swirl it so when we cut into the cake, it’ll look pretty in addition to being tasty.

KJ seems very concerned that we’re not going to be able to eat the Bundt tonight. I tell him about being patient and that good things come to those who wait. He already had a cookie, so he’ll get cake tomorrow.

I sign and speak, “I had to wait sixteen years before I ever got a birthday cake and blueberry pancakes. It’s a toss-up, but those might be my favorite. Just think, you’re only three and get to eat a slice of the Bundt tomorrow.”

The math is most certainly lost on him, but the look Liam gives me is part curiosity and part something else I’m not sure how to read.

Not having loving parents of my own, it’s been difficult seeing the distance between father and son, however, Liam has started to open up, tickling and wrestling with KJ which makes him laugh to no end. He’s been making an effort to learn more about the DHH community. I only know this because I had to send an email for him and noticed he had a few newsletters from groups, including one that focuses on Deaf children and parents who hear.

It might be happening slowly, maybe in fits and starts as Liam’s pride battles with his love for his son, but I have faith he’ll get there. Maybe sooner rather than later because right now, the two of them have their heads bent together over some spilled flour, big and little, same hair color and shape. Using their fingers, they’re drawing shapes. My heart swells at the sight, giving me hope.

KJ wants to mix the batter with his hands, but I tell him, “I’ll get some Play-Doh next time I’m at the store.” Then a lightbulb goes off in my mind. “Or we could make some.”

I don’t remember the sign for it, but I improvise and will ask Grandma Dolly tomorrow. I bet she has a recipe.

After KJ butters the fluted Bundt pan, Liam tells the little boy to get ready for bed. His face bunches up with frustration, but I don’t think he’s upset that it’s nearly time to sleep. More like he knows his father is telling him to do something, but he doesn’t understand. I think this has been the problem from the start.

Without thinking twice, I take Liam’s hands, which are like giant mitts compared to mine. He flinches at first as if coming too close to a flame, but then relents as I demonstrate the signs for, It’s bedtime .

Elbowing him, I say, “Also, smile. Try to be expressive.”

His lips pull back in a leer.

“What are you doing? You’re going to give him nightmares.”

Trying not to move his lips, Liam replies, “You told me to smile.”

“Sir, that is not a smile.” My lips fall. “Actually, I’ve never seen you smile.”

He grunts.

The detail sticks with me until after I say goodnight to KJ, promising cake the following day.

He asks, For breakfast ?

I laugh. “Not for breakfast. After a wholesome lunch.”

The song “Tomorrow” from Annie comes to mind and how when growing up I yearned for the hope the next day would bring and that my lousy situation would change.

KJ doesn’t have it that bad, but it could be better. For instance, his dad could smile from time to time.

When I return to the kitchen, locked and loaded with admonishment, I find The Beast wearing an apron.

I squawk a laugh and then cover my mouth. I don’t think KJ would hear me shriek, but because he hasn’t had proper hearing tests done, in case he does, I don’t want to scare him.

“That is a look,” I say.

“You’re a good cook.”

Shocked, I tuck my chin. “You didn’t eat the fennel.”

“I never said I didn’t like it.”

I remind myself that he did say he didn’t like me.

“Then why didn’t you eat it?”

The corner of his lip hitches.

“To annoy me?”

He shrugs.

“You’re maladjusted or a twelve-year-old boy who never learned how to interact with girls short of pulling their pigtails.”

“No, that would be my brother.”

“So you’re saying that you’re suave with the ladies?”

He snorts a laugh and his phone beeps. He continues to disregard it. The guy has major cell phone control. When I get a message or notification and ignore it, my blood pressure reading goes up incrementally. I can feel it.

He says, “You’re also really good with the kid.”

I’m used to surly Liam and this version of him makes me perspire. I take my sweater off, leaving my camisole underneath, put my apron back on, and start preparing the icing so it’s ready for when the cake cools.

After a minute, I ask, “Is this your way of asking me to babysit?” I practically already do.

He shifts from foot to foot. “Things with Mrs. Kirby didn’t work out.”

“You mean you scared her away?”

Liam watches me for a long moment and then says, “What if I don’t want to wait for tomorrow for cake?”

“It takes a while to bake and then has to cool. Help me with this.” I gesture to the bowl of frosting.

He starts beating it with the spoon.

“Don’t manhandle it.”

“Show me.”

When I take the spoon from his hands, ours brush well, kind of stick together because we’re both sticky. This time, he doesn’t pull away. My skin melts against his.

We move awkwardly to the sink and he lets me wash my hands first, then I show him how to make the frosting.

I say, “Looks like you have a hockey team bake sale future.”

“I think I’m well past that phase.”

“Oh, right. You’re in the big leagues. But what about when KJ plays?”

Liam’s expression goes blank like I unplugged a computer monitor. I incline my head and lift my eyebrows.

“I never thought of that.”

“You mean you’re not grooming him to fill your skates? I thought all dads wanted their sons to follow in their path of greatness or something.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not most dads.” He leans against the counter. The man is practically a pillar of stone on a good day, but now he’s somehow more still. Strangely quiet.

“You’re a good father.” I’m about to launch into one of my perky pep talks, but the words fall like pebbles into a pond.

He shakes his head and then starts doing the dishes. Over the stream of water, he says to himself, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one does.”

“Except you. You’re a natural.”

“A natural what?”

“Mom, caretaker. You just innately know what to do.”

A great fissure of laughter erupts out of me. “That’s hilarious.”

The space between his eyebrows crimps. “What’s so funny?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing either.” The reason why shoves against the laughter, but I won’t let myself cry, least of all in front of Liam.

“Then you’re good at faking it. I bet your mom baked you cookies, read to you, and showed you how to do stuff.”

Having come up to temperature, the oven beeps. I slide the Bundt onto the rack, telling myself the burst of heat is what colors my cheeks red and makes my eyes water.

“No, Liam. I didn’t have one of those.” I set the timer and am about to leave, but I don’t trust him to know when the cake is going to be done. Should’ve thought of that before.

After standing there for an awkward moment, Liam says, “Tell me how you became such a good cook and learned how to bake Bundt cake.”

My voice is scratchy when I say, “You haven’t even tried it yet and you didn’t eat your fennel.”

He bites his lip. “I will next time.”

“Maybe KJ will too so he can grow up big and strong like his dad.”

This comment seems to have a similar effect as the one about his son filling his skates. Liam drops onto the sofa and leans back, hammocking his head and crossing his ankle over his knee as if contemplating a deep thought. “I still want to know how you learned to cook.”

I fidget with the tie on my apron. “I thought we didn’t talk about personal things.”

“Are you implying that you want to know something about me?”

“How’d you learn to be such a jerk?”

His lips part and he gets to his feet. “Oh, that’s how you want to play?”

“I didn’t mean it. The words just kind of slipped?—”

He stalks toward me, eyes heavy.

Flustered, I answer his question, “When I was a kid, there was rarely enough food. My mother left one day and all I had was a half-empty jar of peanut butter. I was five. Never saw her again.”

He abruptly goes still.

“At fifteen, I got a job at the All Ears Diner & Fuel Station.”

“By the highway?”

“I met Grandma Dolly there.”

“Like your grandmother would come in and?—?”

“No, that’s where we met for the first time.”

His expression sharpens as if he senses there’s more to the story.

“I knew how to sign because, when I was eleven, the family I lived with had a daughter who was Deaf. I learned fast and it stuck with me, I guess.” I rub the back of my leg with the top of my foot because this conversation makes my skin itchy.

“Was the Bundt Dolly’s favorite?”

“No, she only ever ordered coffee. But we connected. I’d go to her house and she’d teach me how to bake and cook. Always said a gal needs to know how to feed herself and her family—her husband had passed away earlier that year.”

“Funny, my grandmother says that too … and she’s a widow.”

I cannot imagine this man having a family other than a pack of wolves, though Pierre commented that he has siblings.

“Now, I mostly read cooking blogs and plan a dream that will never come true—to become an actress.”

“How does that relate to food blogs?”

“Baking is a lot like building a road to Hollywood, step by step—even though that was a big, fat, bust.”

“What happened to Mrs. Hyper Positivity?”

“Miss.”

With a lift of his eyebrow, he seems to register this detail of my singlehood and logs it for later. “When do you have time for this blog reading and daydreaming?”

“When I can’t sleep which is almost always.”

“But you don’t cook much?”

It almost feels like we’re having a normal conversation with a side of subtext. “Rexlan preferred pizza rolls and not the homemade ones, which I perfected, I might add.”

“Whoever Rexlan is has terrible taste.”

“You don’t know that.” I’m not sure why I’m jumping to my ex’s defense.

Liam captures my gaze. “I’d try them and guarantee I’d like them.”

I roll my eyes because if nothing else this man is a contrarian.

Eager to change the subject, I say, “Tell me how you became captain.”

“Kind of fell backward into it.”

“You don’t seem like the type to fall, not on the ice or solid ground.”

“I’ve taken a few spills.”

The sweet, buttery scent of the Bundt cake filters from the kitchen, filling my nose along with longing and the truth that I’ll never be loved or even liked—and the man standing an arm’s length away from me is certainly not looking.

Not that I am either, at him, though he is kind of cute in the apron.

“You’re still wearing the—” I start to pull it over his head when he grabs my wrist and stares at it for a long moment. I’m about to tug it away when he closes his eyes.

My heart jitters and that swizzly feeling runs through me when Liam’s gaze meets mine and holds so long I lose track of what happened before this moment.

The oven timer dings, startling me.

I move to brush past him to check the cake and he drops my wrist.

While I like to believe that I generate my own sunshine and warmth, my skin is suddenly cold.