“Okay.” Maggie nodded her head, looking from Bryony to Cal. “We could talk about that.”
“I’ll drop by tomorrow,” he said. “Is four good?”
“I’ll be here. Thanks.” Maggie smiled, accentuating the wrinkles at the outside corners of her eyes, and the darkness of the delicate skin above and below her eyes. She left the table and disappeared through a door beside the bar.
“Thank you, Cal.” Bryony said. “I should have thought of the possibility myself. Todd’s been a dream for us.”
“I think he’d say the same about you.”
She countered quickly with, “How’s school going?”
He’d seen her do that before, dodge compliments, hide from attention.
“School is good.” Cal didn’t want to talk about school, but school was safe, and she seemed to need safe, so he gave her twenty minutes of coverage. She asked the right questions. He elaborated and made her laugh, and her laughter made him warm inside.
He knew he’d rushed her on the night of the bonfire, but thinking she might be more ready now to let him in, he said, “Tell me about you, Bryony.” He wanted to know everything.
“Not much to tell,” Bryony said. “I’d like hear more about you.”
“I think I’m having a déjà vu,” Cal said. “Haven’t we done this before, and didn’t it lead to a mud bath and bruises for you, public ridicule for me and my dog?”
“Bailey’s nowhere near.” Bryony said. “I think we’re safe. Tell me about you. Why did you take the job here?”
“Don’t you want to know if I’ve been married, have ten kids, and date dozens of women at a time?”
She put her hands in her lap. “Or start there.”
“I retired last spring and came here for one year to fill a need.” Might as well get that on the table right away. He would be around no longer than next June. “I’ve never been married, have no kids, and date one woman at a time. I haven’t dated anyone since my last breakup. I’m not rebounding. I am certifiably single, and interested in you, Bryony, though I have to warn you, like I said, I will be leaving no later than the end of the school year. So, in all fairness, I need to say I’m looking for a dating friend, not so much a girlfriend.” He waited only seconds before saying, “God, I love seeing you blush.”
Her hand flew up to her hair, tugging a lock down until it ended, and her fingers slid off. “I don’t like blushing.”
“Most people don’t, and I’ve never understood why because it’s the most endearing sign of being fully human. People who don’t blush can be monstrous.” He waited a beat before saying, “Your turn.”
Bryony smiled and shook her head at him. “Okay, me. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I was going to wear pants, but I wanted to look nice for you, and now I feel overdressed. I like to make pie. The last man I was with told me I was boring, and dumped me for someone younger.” Her pace picked up. “You seem to like me, and that scares me. I’m not looking to date anybody. You’re an unwelcome surprise”—she paused, lowering her head—“that I say yes to. Something about you makes me say yes.” She raised her head, her voice becoming stronger. “And did I mention I like to make pie?”
Flummoxed, Cal considered he had never dated anyone who matched his ability for openness and honesty. Most of the women he dated offered verbal resumes, reeled off family trauma, or settled for being coy and no need to talk about little old me. Bryony’s answer showed a kind of vulnerability that matched his own.
He replied with the first thought that came to mind. “Your pie is wonderful.”
They went back and forth a few more times. She seemed to be able to keep up with his teasing remarks, and parried with a few of her own. Bryony exceeded his expectations in so many ways.
After what could have been twenty minutes or two hours—awareness of time suspended by the flow of their conversation—Bryony looked behind Cal. “Here comes our food.”
Cal moved his arms away from the table as Lillian slid a red plastic basket of fried chicken with french fries and a small dish of coleslaw in front of him. She placed a similar basket and bowl in front of Bryony, and a wicker basket of dinner rolls, a plate of butter pats, and a bottle of ketchup between them.
“Need anything else?” Lillian asked.
“Bigger pants?” Cal said.
Lillian laughed. “You’re too skinny anyway, Cal.” She walked away, winking at Bryony, who seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid noticing.
Bryony picked up a french fry and bit the end of it. “I always take at least half of it home.”
“Bailey will be having chicken for breakfast.” Cal picked off the breading and tasted the meat.
“Good, isn’t it?” Bryony asked.
“It is!” Cal answered. “But not as good as that pie you made. How did you learn how to bake like that?”
Between bites, she shared the story of her plan to make pies from around the world, giving up, and then, thanks to Todd’s encouragement, finding the list of pies again with a note from her mother. She ended with, “I like to bake pies. Sweet or savory, I like pie.”
“Sounds like an advertising jingle.” He ate another french fry. “You have ketchup on your chin.” He almost reached out to wipe it away for her, but the act might be perceived as too intimate.
She brushed her chin with her own napkin.
“What a great story,” Cal said. “So, you’re going to finish the list? I mean, as Todd pointed out, you have to make the pies now, right?”
“Yes,” Bryony said. “I’m going to make all of the pies on the list.”
“That apple pie you made was really exceptional. Have you ever thought of selling them?”
The idea seemed to shake her up a bit.
“I don’t know,” Bryony said. “It’s a big step.”
“Every big step is preceded by smaller steps. Sounds like finishing the list is a great start.”
“Maybe….”
