“But it would be a story I’d like to hear later.”
“I do live to entertain,” Violet said. “But maybe not on that score.”
The door opened and a customer walked into the bakery, and they had to stop talking about propositions.
Clara stood, draining the rest of her hot chocolate and lifting her cookie in mock salute. “I have to go, or Alex will put the food in the wrong spot, and the wrong things will touch. I can’t have onions flavoring up anything.”
“What will you even eat at Thanksgiving?” Violet asked.
“Mashed potatoes are all right. Turkey breast. Black olives.”
“How do you even teach your kids to eat healthy?”
“They like broccoli,” Clara said, looking genuinely distressed. “They might be changelings.”
“Don’t worry,” Violet said, her tone mock-comforting. “A lot of successful people have liked broccoli.”
“A lot of serial killers, too, I bet,” Clara returned.
“It’s probably not what makes them serial killers,” Violet said.
“You don’t know that,” Clara said. “No one can know that.” And with that, she smiled and exited the shop.
When Violet looked out the window, Wolf was gone. And she tried to keep herself from checking continually over the next hour. He had moved on. Whatever he was doing, he was done with it now, and she needed to let it go. She really did.
She served customers and kept looking out the window, trying to get a glimpse of him. And she kept thinking about what Clara said. About doing something for herself.
She felt disloyal, immediately, even having that thought. However briefly. She was so lucky. She was so lucky to have her dad. And so very lucky that he had found Alison. Because everything else they’d had was just difficult. And if she had a dad that was any less... Well, she knew exactly what would’ve happened. The night that she’d gotten drunk at that barn party in their first few weeks in Copper Ridge was the evidence. But her dad had gone out looking for her. Her dad had come after her. And she’d been angry, and humiliated and embarrassed at the time. But now she realized. Now she understood.
What he’d done had been the ultimate demonstration of love. He had come to get her. He had come to rescue her, in a way. Even though it had been from herself. Her father cared for her. He was willing to make her angry, willing to risk her hating him, in order to keep her safe.
And she’d realized since then what a profound love that was. How sacrificial it was, truly. And all she wanted to do since then was pay him back. Pay him back for being there. For being two parents to her. And then for giving her another parent who was just as supportive. Just as loving.
So yeah, she felt...guilty thinking about the things Clara had said. About just how much she did for everyone else. And she knew why. She was afraid. She was afraid of not being enough. She was afraid of not adequately being able to pay them back.
And maybe... Maybe that was the problem. That no matter how wonderful the people in your life were, it was just very difficult to erase the fear that the kind of profound abandonment issues you got when your mother left you entrenched in you.
She frowned.
The other thing Clara was right about was that she was old enough that nobody had to know. She was not a rebellious teenage girl. Her father did not need to storm the barn, so to speak, to stop her from making a drunken mistake.
She realized just then that she had put an extra egg into her batter. She growled and scooped it out the best that she could. Then she finished mixing, and popped the cookies into the oven.
And right then, the door to the bakery opened.
It was Wolf.
“I wondered if this was you,” he said.
She felt all hot and flushed, her cheeks tingling. She had only seen him this morning, and she still felt...giddy.
Had it been this morning? It had been ten hours ago, so it felt like longer ago. The day felt very long.
“It is,” she said. “The bakery.”
“Is your stepmom here?”
“No,” Violet said. “I’m here by myself.”