Part 10 (2/2)
I returned to the bowl of piecrust, deciding to finish it off with cinnamon-dusted apples and an inch-high streusel. I knew just the man who would appreciate a homemade pie.
”Sorry about the outburst, Charlie,” Tova said quietly when she stood again by my side. ”And I do want you to know I totally listened to what you said about lard and b.u.t.ter. It made perfect, awesome sense.”
I raised my eyebrows in her direction. ”I'm on to you now, Tova. And I'm willing to guess that compliment wasn't exactly genuine.”
She started to speak and then stopped, her pretty painted lips parting in a smile. ”Okay, fine. But I do like pie. That much is true.”
I shook my head but found myself giving Tova a pa.s.s. ”You fit in around here way better than I do.”
”Thanks!” she said, effusive. ”You're so sweet. And Charlie!” She beamed. ”I think we'll have a super emotional reconciliation on screen, don't you?”
I closed my eyes and took my time counting to three. Then I texted Kai. I was hoping it wasn't too late to get in on the day trip to sun and orchards and a bossy sister or two.
Kai picked me up the next morning after the breakfast rush at Howie's, and we were on our way out of the city by ten.
”Hey,” he said, holding the car door ajar for me. He leaned in to kiss me softly on the cheek. ”Mmm,” he murmured into my hair, ”you smell delicious.”
”You too,” I said, my nose in his warm neck, still damp from a shower. ”How do you scrub all the kitchen smell out of your skin? I always feel like it's a losing battle.”
He pulled back and took me in with his eyes, making me feel a little exposed and a lot happy. ”I use a very special soap made only here in Was.h.i.+ngton. And Tibet. Was.h.i.+ngton and Tibet. The secret is sandalwood.”
”Seriously?” I said, all ears. ”Can I have some?”
He shut my door and jogged around to the driver's side. ”You know,” he said while turning the ignition, ”for such a city girl, you believe lots of things told to you by nervous men on all-day dates. I use Dial soap. And you can certainly have some. I buy it in bulk at Target.”
”See now,” I said, shaking my head, ”it's highly irritating that you set me up to feel like a total idiot and then you soften the blow by being humble and transparent. Shrewd, Malloy.” I reached over and took his hand. ”Why are you nervous?”
”Well, first, because you are breathtakingly pretty. The dress ... ” He stopped, took a deep breath, stole a look at me, even though we were in heavy traffic. ”The hair, your face ... you can be intimidating, Garrett.”
I stifled a smile, secretly giving Manda props for convincing me to buy the dress. It was a maxi, insanely soft and comfortable while also feminine and beautifully cut along the bodice. The blue-gray on top slowly faded to a deeper blue by the time it brushed the tops of my new strappy sandals.
”I would think I'd be more intimidating in my chef's whites, my gelled-back bun, and my I'm-a-girl-and-I'm-angry kitchen face.”
He sniffed. ”No way. I could totally take you down in the kitchen.”
I raised one eyebrow. Then I cleared my throat. He ignored me and kept his eyes on the road.
”But,” he added, ”hit me with wavy, day-off hair, freckles, and a feisty smile, and I'm a goner.”
I let my spine sink into the seat, willing my back to relax and my mind to stay far, far away from Thrill and Margot and Avery and TV shows. Much of Seattle was hurtling through a weekday, sidewalks full of people walking with purpose, talking on cell phones, trying to dodge the light rain that had developed in the clouds overhead. I watched the city fall away as we moved first past traffic, concrete, and metal, then neighborhoods, trees, and driveways.
Kai and I laughed and talked as we felt the miles and our normal lives drop behind us. I recoiled when he picked the radio station (eighties punk), and he mocked me mercilessly when it was my turn to choose (seventies funk with an unrepentant helping of disco). We agreed to let Paul Simon sing us through the Cascades and so listened to him tell stories about diamonds on the soles of her shoes and Rene and Georgette Magritte as we climbed and then descended in the greens and blacks and purples of the mountains.
”So, tell me about the orchard. And how about a crash course on family names, please.” I reached for my bag and took out a memo pad and a mechanical pencil. I'd drawn a neat line down the middle of a page, with ”orchard” on one side and ”family” on the other when I felt Kai's eyes on me. I met his stare and surmised he wasn't going to compliment my dress and hair this time.
”You're taking notes.” He said it as a statement of fact, and I nodded, forsaking my impulse to say, ”Duh.”
”Family details can get confusing,” I reasoned. ”I don't want to accidentally call your niece the name of a nephew. I'm guessing that in a family where the children are named Kai, Gemma, and Dahlia, the kid names might be some hair-raisers.”
Kai shook his head. ”You are, um, quirky, Garrett. Scratch that. You're a head case.”
I was rummaging in my bag for the little container of extra graphite I kept with me at all times. My pencil was running low, and I would not suffer a dull point.
Kai was still talking when I emerged victorious. He was starting to mutter. ”This from the woman who shares her name with millions of American men.” He pointed at my list. ”But just to fly in the face of your prejudices, I'll have you know that Gemma and Kory's little girl is named Lucy. And Dahlia and Ruben have two kids, Ted and Anna. Mainstream, Fourth of July, all-American top-100 names, all the way.”
I grunted and wrote the names under the proper heading. I quizzed him about the kids' ages (Lucy was a toddler, Ted and Anna were fourteen and eleven, respectively), and the ways in which his sisters met their husbands. I had just moved into work experience and pet/food allergies when Kai strong-armed me across the front seat, not unlike the way my mom used to hold me back at stop signs.
”What?” I asked, scanning the road for oncoming vehicles.
At that, Kai swerved, pulling onto a wide shoulder and next to some sort of farm stand. He put the car in park and turned to me, eyes bright. ”I love the CIA. I do. I think they play a pivotal role in national security. But you,” he said as he took my notepad out of my hands and tossed it roughly into the back seat, ”are a chef, not a CIA operative. And we are in central Was.h.i.+ngton during the summer. So you can ask Gemma all about the time she got hives at summer camp when she was eight when you actually meet Gemma. But for now, can we please stop with the talking points? There's someone I want you to meet.”
Before I could respond, Kai bounded out of the car and was reaching for a handshake with an elderly man. A light breeze lifted the canopy above the baskets of apricots, blueberries, and cherries. I opened my car door and lifted my chin to the movement of warm air and the cloudless sky, amazed at how much a climate could change when a girl crossed a mountain or two.
”Charlie,” Kai said as I approached the stand, ”I want you to meet an old friend of mine. Tom Breyon, this is Charlie Garrett.” I thought I saw Kai's ears pinking but felt Tom's hand in mine before Kai finished speaking.
”Well, I'll be,” Mr. Breyon said, his blue eyes crinkling with mischief. ”I thought I might not make it to this auspicious day.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to repress a grin. His hand was as rough as a swath of sandpaper between my two palms. I held on, taking an immediate liking to this man in worn Levis and Velcro tennis shoes.
”What makes this day auspicious?” I asked.
Kai said, ”Tom, I really don't think-”
”Well, for one thing, I don't often have the pleasure of seeing women around here, see.”
Kai rolled his eyes and looked as though he might have heard this line before.
”My wife was the most beautiful woman in the world, G.o.d rest her soul. After she died ten years ago, the only people who kept hanging around were my male field hands and an occasional tomboy.” He frowned for dramatic effect. ”Tomboy is actually cutting those girls some slack. They rarely shave their armpits and seem to think organic means 'don't bathe.'”
I drank this man in, my laughter only appearing to egg him on. Kai wandered among the baskets of fruit, dipping his nose, feeling the apricots for firmness.
”So,” Mr. Breyon continued, ”this day is auspicious because I have a lovely city girl here and I can already tell, she took a shower today.”
I grinned. ”Well, this is a red-letter day.”
”Secondly, this day is one for the books because Kai Malloy has had the good fortune to nab a girl and dupe her into visiting his hometown. I believe this is the same man who said at the end of his high school years that he would shake the dust off his feet as he left and not worry about ever coming back.”
”That was Jesus who said that,” Kai called from over by the blackberries. ”I just said I thought Wenatchee was a waste of s.p.a.ce and that I was sick of everybody knowing all my business.”
Tom nodded slowly, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. ”Auspicious, I tell you.”
”That's probably enough of this conversational topic,” Kai called from the end of the row of baskets. His ears, I noticed, were still pink. ”If you can take a moment away from hara.s.sing your customers, I'd like to purchase some fruit.”
Before attending to Kai, Mr. Breyon winked at me. ”Welcome to Wenatchee, Miss Garrett. You got yourself a good man here, even if he is a bit of a pain.”
I watched Kai negotiate a price with his friend, neither of them looking one bit interested in the money exchanged once the banter had concluded. I watched him hug Tom warmly and ask him to say h.e.l.lo to mutual friends. And I felt his arm loop around my waist as we walked back to the car, our bags full of apricots, berries, a box of crackers, and Mr. Breyon's house-made strawberry-rhubarb jam. Kai felt alive and warm and protective in all the right ways.
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