Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2 (5 page)

“
Pieces of Heaven
, how can I help you?” The soft sweet voice on the other line answers.

“Hayley Welsh?”

“Speaking.” Then I hear her voice speaking actually to another person. “Give me a second, Parker, this might be a customer. Your spectacular news can wait to finish my screwed up Monday with a great finale.”

“Sorry for that, sir. What can I do for you?”

“This is Mitchel Knight, Muffin girl. I’m guessing Parker is telling you about the purchase of
Willows
.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I want to let you know that I’ll be visiting you tomorrow between the hours of twelve and two. We need to get this party started. See you then.”

Would it be evil to say score 1-0?

Hayley

I
stare at
the phone, repressing my need to scream, then turn around and look at my brother who is helping me close the bakery.

“He hasn’t changed, Parks.” I wonder if there is another way to keep the bakery afloat without
Willows
. “Why did you have to sell
him
the restaurant?”

“Because he offered me full price and he’s a friend.” His logical answer isn’t helping my anger. “You’re overreacting, think about it.”

“I swear, he did that on purpose,” I tell Parker as I squeeze the washcloth. “Between the hours of twelve and two, what is he: the cable man?”

Parker locks the glass door, starts turning off the front lights, then slowly turns around crossing his arms while giving me the
twisted mouth
fatherly stare.

“What?”

“Look, Hayl, I get that the two of you can’t play nice—”

“I can, as long as he stops teasing me. My name is Hayley, but he calls me everything but that. How can I take him seriously, Parks?”

I point at the phone but then I think about it and seems childish to think that he gave me a time frame just to play with me. It’s been three or four years since the last incident when he decided to cross the green line that separates the customers and the service area. He called me a
childish control freak that needed to chill out
for telling him not to cross the line.

“I’ll yield and give it a try, Parks. You’re right; a busy man like him can’t give me a precise time. I’m overreacting.”

“I didn’t say that, but what you say sounds reasonable and mature, Hay-Bear.”

Such an irony; including the words
mature
and my childhood nickname,
Hay-Bear
in the same sentence.

“You look tan today, tell me the truth.” I point at him. “Are you living on a tropical island?”

“You’re ridiculous; come on, Hay-Bear. The shop is clean and you need dinner before you have to go to bed in four hours.”

Baker’s hours
, I like to call my schedule.

“Do we have to?” I whine like a two year old.

“I’m afraid we do. It’ll be fine.”

He agreed to have dinner with Dad and our oldest brothers under the condition that they didn’t invite Paige and we eat at four thirty.

“So tell me what happened today?” he asks while hailing a cab.

“Mom came to visit me today and she wanted to know the 4-1-1 of the wedding.” Then it occurs to me that he hasn’t answered my earlier question, so I ask it again. “Are you going to the wedding?”

“Did you accept the honor of being in the bridal party?”

I shrug.

“Of course you did, Hayley. You’re too nice to her. She’s my sister and I love her but she’s a bitch with you. You need to put a stop to it before she hurts you more and causes irreparable damage.”

More?
I internally huff, knowing more is close to impossible.

“I’ll try to go, Hay-Bear.”

The conversation seizes while the cab drives through the busy streets of New York, heading to
Frida & Diego
. The twisting pain in my stomach increases as we approach the restaurant, knowing my two other brothers will be there. Another duo who like to bring my imperfections to the table and follow with an entire presentation on how I can overcome said flaws to become a better person. Starting, of course by giving me a recommendation letter to Harvard, Columbia or Yale where I’ll be able to spread my wings and reach my full potential.

The restaurant is on the main floor of one of those post-World War II buildings. There’s nothing special to it, except when you enter, it’s like you are transported into a different country without needing a passport. The wooden tables and chairs are hand carved with Mexican prehistoric symbols, while the walls are decorated with sombreros, artesian clothing and pictures of landscapes of the country. Soothing music plays on the speakers; classical guitar with a melodic soft male voice emulating what I guess is nostalgia and suffering—I don’t speak Spanish. The hostess takes us to the corner table where Dad’s already sitting next to Benjamin, my oldest sibling. The man is forty-six years old—yes, my mother’s age. He and Brent are Dad’s children from his first marriage, and they treat me more like their niece by lecturing me every second we’re together.

“Hayley,” Ben stands up and walks to the chair I’m about to sit on, he pulls it out lightly waiting for me to sit down, then kisses the top of my head. “How are you kiddo?”

“I’m well, thank you,” then I spot the grey and silver plaid tie I gifted him for his birthday. “So, you did like the tie.”

“I did,” he smiles and his blue eyes crinkle. They’re identical to Brent’s; they got that from Mel, their mother. Mel used to say that I look a bit like them. That, in fact, the five of us have many of my father’s facial traits, yet with the different hair, eye and skin color we don’t think we look alike. “I closed a sale for Parker and heard the new owner doesn’t play nice with you, will you be okay with it?”

“Yes.” I fake confidence because what’s the alternative? “A couple of years back we had a misunderstanding, but we’re grownups now, right?”

“I don’t think you should depend entirely on
Willows
, perhaps renting the space next to the bakery should be your next step.”

“No, Benjamin,” Dad cuts him. “Hayley isn’t going to expand, not at the moment when she’s about to lose her bakery.”

Thank you, Dad, for your vote of confidence.

“Is this a let’s bash Hayley party?” I ask them as I look for an escape route.

“Dad, we agreed over the phone that we were here to have a nice family dinner. Not to talk about our careers.”

“Hayley doesn’t have a career,” Benjamin corrected him.

Fortunately, the waitress arrives to take our drink order and since I know their menu – “For me it’s going to be the grilled chicken salad and water, please,” I order what I usually have here. Dad orders a taco combo and my two brothers choose the trio fajitas.

“Hey, Parker, have you thought about having an alpaca farm?” I try to steer the conversation to a much safer one… away from me.

Before the waitress leaves, Dad speaks, “Make sure you grill her chicken away from my sons’ shrimp,” the waitress writes something down and disappears.

I’m allergic to seafood, and any contact with it requires a shot of an EpiPen and sometimes a trip to the ER. Another reason why a bed of baby greens with cucumber, corn, beans and fresh cheese with cilantro vinaigrette sounds great.

“You need to eat more than rabbit food.” Benjamin is on a rampage to finish what my parents started earlier.

“I have enough with Paige’s wedding, if I add a few pounds to my already fat body my mother will send me to some eating disorder rehab center. Believe me, she notices those things.”

“You’re not fat.” Parker, Benjamin and Dad say simultaneously.

“And yet Mom finds the need to remind me every time she sees me and you can’t forget the part that I need to do something with my life and stop with that hobby of mine. The bakery.”

“Well, then expand it.”

Before any of us can talk, a hand places a glass of water in front of me.

“Gentlemen, Miss Muffin, what a surprise.” I tilt my head and find a beaming Mitchel Knight delivering water, a basket of chips and a container with guacamole to our table. “A token but not from me; Brent called to apologize. He’s still in the middle of the board meeting. He said you’d understand. Now, the rest of the meal is on the house.”

“Why is he giving us free food?” I whisper to Parker.

“Because I own the restaurant,” he mumbles close to my ear, his tousled hair caressing my skin and making me shiver. “By the way, Parker mentioned earlier something about margarita cupcakes. You should think about supplying those little jewels to my restaurant.”

I switch my gaze from him to my father, then to Benjamin, and I wonder which one of them is the lesser of those evils. Then I stare at the knife but realize a butter knife won’t help me with getting the release I need.

*

I place the
fruit on top of the cutting board and make sure I choose the right knife before starting the daily task of chopping. “You can always move to Seattle with me.” Parker says the next day as he pours milk in the mixer. He decided to help me open the bakery, after yesterday’s dinner, where Mitch Knight and Parker talked for two hours about restaurants. Parker dropped me at home and promised to help me today for a few hours so we could have some bonding time. “I can teach you how to milk cows.”

“Oh joy, I can also sing for you ‘Old MacParker had a farm’,” I eye him before I continue. “E-I-E-I-O,” then I begin chopping while humming the tune of “Old MacDonald.”

“I talked to Ben yesterday,” he starts with a name I don’t want to hear at the moment. Love the brother, didn’t like him yesterday. “He fears you might not have a fall backing and that’s why he’s trying to push you to take the next step; either a solid career or expanding your business.”

“You heard Dad, right?” He sighs and turns the mixer on.

I continue chopping the strawberries and decide to ignore everyone, and if I have to, I’ll deal with Mitchel Knight and prove my family wrong. I can keep this bakery open, maybe tear the wall down and build a café. Margarita cupcakes in his restaurant might not sound as bad as I thought when Parker threw that bucket of ice yesterday afternoon by saying, “
I sold the restaurant to Mitch Knight.
” It’ll bring in some extra income while I expand and make the necessary changes to the business plan so I can survive on my own.

“If all else fails,” I tell Parker, trying to look serious. “I can always leave the dream and move to Seattle. I’ll sing with your cows, pigs, horses and the chicks too.”

He presses his lips tightly, but those playful eyes tell me he’s only doing it because he’s trying not to laugh.

“So, why is Ben being so insistent about my future, anyway?” I ask, wondering why he wanted to circle around that conversation yesterday. Not that we talk much about it—thank the Lord.

“One reason, I know for sure, he doesn’t want you to end up like Caroline, depending on a man to survive. According to Ben, if you follow her example, you’ll end up doing nothing with your life.”

“I’m nothing like my mother; she slept with a sugar daddy and to me that’s just foul.” Loved the father but I can’t see myself dating a fifty year old man. Then it occurs to me that Ben’s never been friendly with my mother. The few times they’ve been in the same room, he is always extremely rude to her. “You know what? It puzzles me that Ben hates Mom so much. When Dad slept with Mom, he was married to Bridget—your Mom. His mother was out of the picture by then.”

“Do you know how your mother met our father?” I shake my head and set out for more fruit. As I come back, he continues the conversation. “Caroline tried to date Ben first; his college sweetheart broke up with him because of her. I don’t know the details, but things got ugly. The point is that your mother turned out to be knocked up, not that I mind the results. I like you better than my other three siblings, mostly because you’re compact size.”

“Too early for that kind of information and your height jokes, Parks.”

I really need to find me a new family with less baggage. My mind suddenly rewinds to the part about Ben and Mom with the words: “
and things got ugly
” and “
knocked up
”. He never said anything about her dating Dad. My overactive imagination took a wrong turn and as it was about to crash against a big bulky reality; I ask to confirm that I’m being an idiot.
Please let me be an idiot, I don’t want Ben to be my dad.

“Ben isn’t my father, is he?”

My back muscles tighten as I wait for an answer.

“I’ll open the door,” Parker makes me realize someone is at the back door and he leaves me hanging.

Mitch

“T
his isn’t between
the hours of noon and two,” Parker opens the door of the bakery, his eyes looking weary and his clothes are dusted with flour. I glance at my watch and shrug. “She thinks you gave her the time frame just to fuck with her, Knight.”

“Of course not.” The entire phone call was to play with her head. “I decided to come early because I have a few things to do this afternoon and I also wanted to taste her treats.”