“I’m used to the children’s section. Lots of time with nieces, and then their little ones.”
So, he was close to his extended family. Bryony pushed past the thought. His personal life was no business of hers. “What do we need to talk about?” She’d tried to reach Lillian several times, but all of her calls went to voicemail. Maybe Lillian was too busy with a birthday party, but not likely. She had probably turned off her phone in anticipation of Bryony’s protest about meeting with the man now sitting next to her.
She caught his fresh-from-a-shower scent and focused on his worn leather loafers as he explained about arranging for one of his students to work in the coffee shop. He laid out the details, the advantages to Lillian, the benefit to the students, the reduction in wage costs due to a funding grant, the hours the student could work, and the expectations placed on the supervisor.
Bryony’s thoughts settled down as she listened to him, visualized his ideas, and—eventually letting her eyes drift upward—clarified her role in the overall plan.
“Essentially, according to Lillian, you’d be his teacher and supervisor,” Cal said. “You would train him, analyze his strengths, his challenges, update me on needs so little problems don’t grow into big problems, and write a brief report at the end of each semester. Nothing major, a paragraph or two. Hopefully, you’ll keep him on after he graduates, provided you’re both happy with the situation.”
“I’ll do it,” Bryony said.
“Lillian thought you would,” Cal said, and now Bryony felt embarrassed, on display and small, a pawn for Lillian’s matchmaking strategy, but he didn’t skip a beat. “Can I send him over Friday morning?”
“How about seven a.m.?” She picked up her purse, ready to cut and run.
“He said he’s an early riser.” Cal pushed himself out of the chair and stood.
Bryony rocked forward once and failed to escape the squishy clutch of the foam. “These were not designed for looking cool.” Also, not designed for a quick getaway.
“Kids don’t care about cool until they’re too cool to sit in this area.” He braced himself and stretched his hands toward her. “I’ll help.”
She tried again on her own and, failing, reached up. His palms were warm, soft, and his fingers gripped with assurance. As soon as she steadied herself on her feet, she withdrew her hands. He shoved his into his pockets.
They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, until Cal, with a mischievous glint in his eye, asked, “Where’s my pie?”
The mention of pie caused a discernible shift in Bryony’s sense of whether, or where, she belonged in the world. She had just spent a delicious evening reliving the sensation of how baking empowered her.
“In the car,” she answered.
“What?” He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and gave a manual stop sign. “I was kidding. You don’t have to give me a piece of pie.”
“Couldn’t bring it in the library.” She strode toward the front door. “No food allowed.”
“You don’t need to do this.” Cal’s voice trailed behind. “I was joking.”
“Mitch always says I can’t take a joke. You said you wanted pie. I brought pie.”
Cal followed on her heel as she led the way to her car. The evening air cooled her exposed skin. Autumn approached. She liked calling his bluff.
The remote chirped, and she opened the back door. A small plain brown box sat on the backseat. She picked it up and turned around to offer it to Cal. “I cut a large slice. Let me know what you think.”
Lifting the lid, Cal brought the open carton to his nose and inhaled. “Oh, my.”
He still stood in the parking lot, holding the pie, when she pulled out and drove toward her house.
Next time, she would make bumbleberry. A block from home, Bryony opened her cell phone and hit the top number in “recent calls,” knowing Lillian would answer this time.
“How did it go?” Lillian asked.
“You are not my matchmaker, Lil,” Bryony said.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I said yes.”
“Yes to the student, or yes to Cal?” Lillian asked.
“I think it’s a package deal,” Bryony said.
Lillian squealed. “He’s perfect for you!”
“He’s a mess.” Bryony turned into her driveway and hit the garage door remote.
“You need a mess in your life, Bry. You need a little wild to liven up the manicured life you’ve managed to put together for yourself, by yourself.”
Bryony turned off the car. “What if he turns out to be more like an invasive weed?”
“He’s a sweetie,” Lillian cooed. “I can tell. Ask Mitch if Cal has a girlfriend.”
“Mitch won’t know.” Bryony’s brother could win at bar trivia, but he couldn’t remember his own wife’s birth date. “When did you know Rick was the one for you?” she asked as she unlocked the back door and walked into her kitchen.
“The first time I saw him,” Lillian said.
Bryony sighed. She had skipped supper but experienced no hunger, a classic symptom. “See you in the morning, Lil.” She walked to the hall and dropped her purse on the side table.
“You okay?” Lillian asked. “I was trying to be helpful. Did I overstep?”
“No, I’m just tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”
