Courtship of the Cake (16 page)

LOYALTY LIES

I made myself useful, far away from the kitchen window so I didn't have to look out on Dani and Nash's PDA under the old maple tree. Quinn worked silently beside me, sorting trash from the recycling.

“I can't believe Nash is back,” Bear murmured from the breakfast nook. He licked the frosting from the bottom of a birthday candle, lost in thought.

I glanced at Quinn from my station at the sink. Her eyes and hands were darting back and forth, focused on their task. Compartmentalizing, like she always did.

“Dani seems nice,” Bear continued, absently sticking another candle in his mouth. “Good for him.”

“Yes. Hurray for Nash. Let's throw him a party next,” Quinn grumbled, yanking the trash bag from the receptacle so hard, the plastic drawstring snapped. She glared at her brother as if it was his fault.

“I meant she seems
good
for him.” He sucked the candle clean of frosting and slowly pulled it from between his lips. “For his psyche.”

Quinn hauled the bag over to the table where Bear was supposed
to be wrapping the leftover desserts. “He has a lot of nerve,” was all she said as she swept the nine remaining candles into the bag before Bear could leave his DNA on them. Knotting the frayed drawstring, she made for the side door.

I had a fleeting memory of my mother, carefully washing and drying the candles from my fifth birthday cake to stow in the drawer next to the sink.
We can reuse them for your next birthday, Mickey. Once they're lit, no one will know. Our little secret.
She'd winked.

My mom had had all sorts of little secrets. She was gone before my sixth birthday, so saving the candles hadn't mattered in the long run. The screen door slammed and the memory flickered out.

“Think fast!” Nash tossed something shiny toward Bear, who wasn't necessarily the world's fastest thinker. But his lightning-fast reflexes made up for it. He opened his large palm and inspected the keys that'd landed there. “It'll be in your shop tomorrow.”

Bear grinned like Christmas had come early. He rubbed his thumb over the raised VW insignia on the metal. “An old soul. Nice.”

“So when did her van break down?” I thought to ask, recalling Nash's story of how he and Dani had met.

“Six weeks ago. It's been to four different garages along the eastern seaboard since, but no one was up to the challenge,” Nash scoffed, but Bear needed no buttering up. He was always an eager beaver when it came to helping someone out.

Six weeks!
I had royal icing in my shop with a longer shelf life. With a smirk, I took scissors to the mountain of cardboard Quinn had left for recycling. While I would never use the term
love at first sight
, Dani had made me into a believer of “goner at first glance.” Yet I found it hard to believe she would rush into engagement after a mere six weeks in the company of a guy like Nash. She didn't seem the type to be swayed by money or fame. And Nash could barely commit to a hairstyle, let alone a lasting relationship. Something just wasn't adding up.

“What are you grinning at, Spencer?”

“Nothing that amounts to much,” I murmured, pushing the blades along the seam of the box the juice pouches came in.

“Joke's always on me, right?” Nash began to pace.

“Not everything is always about just you.” I kept my eyes on my task, crisply cutting out square after square from the top of each box.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Box Tops loyalty program,” I explained, holding up a colorful cardboard square. “Logan's school collects them, and they earn money for turning them in.”

“Well, so much for loyalty here on the Half Acre,” Nash blurted. “My kid's uncle has been holding out on me. And you, little Suzy Fucking Homemaker”—he gave my shoulder a shove—“I bet you laughed your ass off, watching me give a guitar to a deaf kid.”

“Hey!” I pointed the scissors at him. “It wasn't our place to tell. You could've made a point to come home once in the last ten years, Nash. Instead of holding court in whatever little backstage greenroom you consider worthier than your own stomping grounds.”

“Oh, so you didn't like having those VIP All Access passes hanging from your neck? Hated the attention you got from the girls at the after-parties? All those free shows I invited you to? I never showed you a good time at all, did I?”

“You showed us the rock-and-roll fantasy, sure. Very cool. But there was never time for one-on-one. Never time to sit down and really talk.”

Nash was shaking his head, an obtuse smile gracing his lips the entire time. “You talk about home like it's some fucking mecca. Maybe it is for you, Spence. But for me . . .” He gazed out the kitchen window. The late summer sky had morphed to blue-black, and the canopy of leaves from the mature trees on the property obscured the moon, making it impossible to spot the old trailer where it sat on the far end of the property. But I could tell his eyes had strayed there. “You talk of home. I didn't exactly have one to come back to.”

“So what the hell are you doing here?” I slammed down the scissors
and faced him. My earlier hope of Nash taking a few precious seconds out of his day to check in on Logan seemed like a lifetime ago. Since he had arrived in town with Dani, time had slowed to an agonizing crawl. What had I been thinking?
God works in mysterious ways
, my aunt loved to remind me.

Well, I knew how Nash operated as well. Someone was going to get hurt before this visit was through.

Nash stared me down, slowly turning his head to one side. The road life had worn lines around his eyes that deepened as he scrutinized me.

“I could ask you the same thing, Mick.”

“He feels music,” Bear suddenly blurted. I'd forgotten he was even in the room. “And each sound feels different.” Nash winced, taken aback. “It's true. He puts his hands on my amps all the time. I'll show you, tomorrow.”

“Show who
what
tomorrow?” Quinn was back, hands on hips.

“I was thinking we could jam,” Bear said simply. “It's been a long time, hasn't it?”

Nash just jammed his hands in his pockets in response.

Quinn snorted; she knew and I knew there was nothing simple about it. If Bear wasn't able to get angry, we would just have to get angry enough for him.

“Too good to collaborate with your old bandmate? After all he's done for you?” Quinn wanted to know.

“It's been a day,” Nash replied, his voice flat. “Let's see what tomorrow brings.”

Quinn turned on her heel. “Dani and Logan are out by the fire pit.” She unlatched a cupboard door and pulled a few items. “Make yourself useful, Spencer?” A bag of marshmallows hit my open hands.

•   •   •

Dani's and Logan's fingers danced in the light of the fire pit, set way back on a concrete pad on the property.

“Hey, you sign?”

“I finger spell,” Dani corrected me. “And I know a few signs. Yeah.” She didn't elaborate.

“That's great. I'm not nearly as fast or as confident.” Handing Logan chocolate, I mimed breaking the bars to him, and he began his task. “When I sign, I mean.”

“You guys seem to do well together, though. Sometimes you don't need words.”

“But sometimes you do.” I handed her a box of graham crackers.

The screen door slammed, and Nash's hulking figure paused on the dimly lit steps of the porch. I saw his head turn toward the darkness once more, searching out a memory, before he strode purposefully toward us.

“It's late. We should get going.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dani laughed. “I haven't had a s'more in years. Come're.” She patted the bench between her and Logan. “Sit.”

To my amazement, he sat. Logan smiled at him and handed him a square of chocolate. Dani handed him two squares of graham crackers. They both turned to me.

“Well,” Nash drawled. “Lay one on me, Slick.”

I popped the bag of marshmallows, and their sweet scent sifted into the air, mixing with the smoke. I tossed one to Nash, who caught it between nimble fingers. I wondered when the last time the bad boy of rock and roll had had his hands on an old-school, fat campfire marshmallow. We hadn't exactly been Boy Scouts growing up.

We sat in silence, save for the crickets and pops of the flames. All the ingredients were there, but without the tools, they were useless.

Quinn came marching out of the house. With metal marshmallow skewers in hand, she reminded me of those army goons the Wicked Witch had in
The Wizard of Oz
. I could practically hear that chorus of “
O-ee-O, whoa, O
” and expected flying monkeys any moment. Or the witch, with her stubby broom.

“One,” she signed to her son as she handled him a skewer. “Then bed.” Logan screwed his brow up, clearly insulted that turning double digits didn't earn him more fire pit time with the adults. I loaded two marshmallows onto his skewer with a wink, to make up for it.

Quinn doled out the rest of the skewers. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I only knew where four were. I had to hunt down the others.”

Dani shifted uncomfortably, and Nash speared Quinn with a look that read,
Cool it
. I knew it was just Quinn's way. She was a creature of habit. Marshmallow roasting was a nightly ritual on the Half Acre all summer. Four skewers were all that was necessary, on the nights I didn't work and Bear didn't gig. Otherwise, all she needed were two.

Quinn and Logan were used to just two.

I held out the bag to her and she retrieved her own marshmallow. “Where's Bear?”

“He'll be here in a minute. He's putting his guitar in his Jeep.”

Nash and Logan were already twirling their sticks into the flames. Dani had edged away from father and son, to either give them some privacy or to move out of the smoke's current path. She stood there, empty skewer in hand.

“You didn't think I would forget about you, did you?” I asked, soft enough for her ears only.

“It's okay if you did,” she came right back with. “I gave up desserts after dark anyhow.”

My back was to the fire, but the heat I felt between us had it totally beat. In the firelight, her blond hair haloed her face like a blazing ring. She plucked a powdery puff from the bag that hung from my finger and impaled it on my skewer, her eyes never leaving my face.

“Well, for old times' sake, then.” I pushed one slowly onto the tip of hers, before dragging my eyes off her.

Bear was bouncing around, like a Native American performing a fire dance. “Got a show tonight,” he whooped. A black leather vest had been added to his ensemble, over his skinny bare chest.

“One of your cover bands?” Nash asked.

“
Tributes
, man. It's all about the tribute.” He held up the marshmallow-topped skewer his sister had prepared for him in reverence. “Tonight it's Ozzy.” With his free hand, he finger spelled
O-Z-Z-Y
for Logan's benefit, then stuck out his tongue, Gene Simmons–style, and substituted index finger for thumb to change his
Y
into the universal sign for metal: the devil horns. Logan threw back his head in silent laughter. “Are you guys coming down to the gig?”

“It's been a long day, Bear. Maybe next time,” Nash said slowly. Dani smiled apologetically from behind a yawn.

“Next's gig's Tuesday. Empty Garden . . . it's an Elton John tribute.”

“Oh. Jeez. Maybe the time
after
that.” Nash gave a laugh. “Promise.”

Bear turned to me.

“Sorry, man. I gotta get back to the Night Kitchen and get a few things done.” Birthday festivities aside, my normal Sunday work schedule had taken a backseat the minute Dani walked into my shop.

“I'm not even going to ask
you
.” Bear dismissed his sister. “You never want to go anywhere.”

“Hello? Got a kid, remember?” Quinn said. “Speaking of which . . .”

Logan was sneaking more chocolate and crackers, eating them sans marshmallow middle. The excitement of the day had worn him down; he wasn't even trying to read lips and keep up with the conversation. Like any other ten-year-old, he was just trying to catch that last sugar high before crashing.

“Go brush your teeth extra-well,” Quinn signed and spoke aloud to her son. “I'll be there in a minute.”

Logan made his way around the campfire, doling out knuckle bumps to everyone. I caught the signs he and Bear had used that morning for “cake,” right before Logan double fist-bumped me in thanks. “You're welcome, buddy. My pleasure.”

He turned to his mother. Fingers slashed through the air and
elbows jabbed. Logan stole a glance at Nash, and Quinn gave him a Mom look that clearly meant
we'll talk about it in the morning.
Logan's shoulders slumped, and he gave a tired wave to everyone before trudging toward the house.