Babycakes (13 page)

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Authors: Donna Kauffman

BOOK: Babycakes
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Lani opened her mouth, then closed it again, and appeared thoughtful.
Charlotte shook her head, but there was a distinctly wistful look in her eyes. “Carlo’s family would definitely never forgive me if I kept him away.”
“Sounds like he needs to grow a pair if you ask me,” Alva commented, sending them into snorts of laughter, Charlotte included.
“You’re not necessarily alone in that opinion,” Charlotte said, “but their culture is very different, very matriarchal, especially in his family.”
“Well, you’ll be the matriarch of the family you and Carlo begin . . . why not start your reign of rightful terror now?” Lani asked, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “Besides, I heard from Riley last night that she and Quinn will be back on the island the day before Thanksgiving.”
Charlotte’s eyes lit up, and she appeared to waver.
“At least think about it,” Lani asked.
Alva was already grabbing a pad of paper and pen. “My goodness, it’s less than a week from now. We hardly have any time to plan.”
Franco stood and walked over to Alva and put his arm around her diminutive shoulders, which, given the disparity in their height, was somewhat comical. The fact that he had on his Pink Panther apron again, while Alva was sporting her purple-maned My Little Pony apron made the duo even more amusing. “You’re talking to a room full of trained chefs,
ma petite belle amie
. I think we can pull this off.” He took Alva’s hand and bowed low over it, then pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Just tell me what you need done.”
Alva, who had surely been on the receiving end of Franco’s charms for as long as they’d been on the island together, still blushed a pretty pink behind her carefully applied layers of foundation, rouge, and powder. “You’re a scamp.”
“You have no idea,” he replied, and everyone laughed.
“You know, I think I love this idea,” Lani said, excitement building in her own voice. “We should do it. A Cupcake Club family dinner. My dad will want to come, of course. You know, Charlotte, you could always invite Carlo’s family down here. Since Quinn and Riley will be back, we could see about having the meal at their house.” She looked at Alva. “Not to take away from your lovely offer, but they have the most room.”
“And the kitchen of the gods,” Franco added reverently.
Quinn and Riley’s whirlwind romance had happened during the fall of the year before, when he’d come to the island to write his newest book and Riley had been hired to stage the house he’d ended up leasing.
“What do you say, Kit?” Lani asked. “Dare to join us?”
Kit had been looking forward to meeting Quinn and Riley, but hadn’t thought much about what she was going to do over the holidays. She’d tried to avoid thinking about it, actually. She supposed she’d figured on working. There was plenty to be done. But now . . . she had an offer. She couldn’t deny it made her feel warm and welcomed and . . . happy. She smiled. “Well, it depends.”
“On?”
“How gauche would it be to ask Quinn to sign one or ten of his books over turkey and canned beets?”
Everyone laughed.
“Don’t think just because he’s part of the family now that we haven’t gotten him to do the same thing. Every one of us.”
“Good to know,” Kit said. “I might have to slide a cookbook in front of your husband, too. I know I asked this before, but how is it again that two members of the club have snagged famous husbands?”
Lani just smiled. “We blame it on the cupcakes.”
Kit looked at the half eaten Death by Chocolate cupcake still in her hand and carefully—very carefully—placed it back on the table.
Lani laughed, Charlotte smiled, Alva winked, and Dre shook her head. Franco, in the meantime, took Kit’s hand and spun her expertly into his arms, then into a deep dip. “It’s too late now,
mon amie,
” he told her as a slow smile spread across his handsome face. “You have bitten
ze
cupcake, Cupcake. There is no going back.”
Kit didn’t know whether to laugh or be afraid. Very afraid.
Chapter 10
“
C
oraline, I know you miss her, that you all do.” Morgan shifted the phone to his other ear and, after peeking to make sure Lilly was okay with her lunch at the kitchen table, he stepped farther into his office. “But we’re going to stay here on Sugarberry for Thanksgiving.”
“Mr. Morgan, Miss Lilly should be with family, as should you.”
“She is with family,” he told the Westlake’s head housekeeper calmly, gently. He’d been expecting this call. He was only surprised they’d waited until the Sunday before the holiday to make it. “We’ve just settled in here and, for now, we need to keep doing that.”
“You’ll be home for Christmas, then.”
“Cora—”
“The missus is suffering, too,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “She lost too much. Too much. She shouldn’t lose you and that child, too.”
Morgan sighed then. He didn’t discount the pain that was clear in her every word, but he knew it was Coraline who was feeling it. For all of them. “Cora, she hasn’t lost us. We’re just not going to live in the same house. I appreciate how much you and the staff all personally miss Lilly. I promised we’d come back for a visit when the time is right, and and I meant that. Still do. But, it’s not time yet.”
“But, Missus Olivia—”
“Cora, you know as well as I do that my mother hasn’t a sentimental bone in her body about this time of year.”
Or any time of year,
he could have added. “To her, the holidays merely represent business opportunities for the firm. All those holiday functions are like a press junket to her.”
“Now, Mr. Morgan, this is a time for family—and you and Miss Lilly are all the family she has left.“
“I know. We miss you, Coraline. All of you. I have a great deal of respect for your loyalty to my mother, but”—he sighed again—“let’s not pretend here, okay? We’re all suffering because Asher and Delilah are gone, especially now, facing the holidays without them for the first time. I know losing Asher was devastating for my mother, even if she has a hard time showing it.”
“She has to be strong,” Cora said.
“Yes,” Morgan said, resigned. “She’s always that. She made sure we all knew she never missed a single day of work, even if she had to work from home, for propriety’s sake, right after the accident. She took whatever she was feeling, bottled it all up, and just kept on going. Have you seen her shed a single tear? Or appear to be incapacitated by what happened in any way?”
The silence on the other end of the line grew lengthy.
“I know that was harsh, and I’m not trying to be, truly.” He softened his tone. “But we need to be honest about the reality of the situation. I need to be, for Lilly’s sake.”
And my own,
he thought. Coming back to Georgia, even after years of being gone, even after finding his own way, happy with his life, had been much harder than he’d anticipated. And not just because of the tragic circumstances.
“People all grieve differently,” Coraline said, somewhat stiffly. “And someone has to stay on top of things at the firm.” What went unsaid was tnow that Asher was gone, it should have been Morgan stepping in to help, at home and at the company.
Morgan didn’t bother to mention Asher had never been anything more than a puppet figure, that his mother had always held the reins to the firm in a tight, unyielding fist, never giving up an ounce of control she didn’t have to. That most certainly wasn’t going to change now. Asher had thrived on the glad-handing and social whirl required in their circles, but it had never been Morgan’s path. As tragic and painful as the loss of Asher and Delilah had been, he would never be stepping in to take his brother’s place. He couldn’t play the role Asher had, and there was no way his mother would relinquish her hold on the firm. Not even if he wanted her to—which he most decidedly did not.
“Yes, people do grieve in their own way,” Morgan agreed. “But you need to understand my mother’s dedication to the family firm has and always will be her first and foremost priority. I think Lilly would be better served by being around people who are more . . . openly supportive of her specific needs right now.” He’d been about to say more openly loving, but that would have been a direct slap at the household staff, who did love Lilly very much. To their credit, they had always done their best to show her . . . as they had shown him.
However, Morgan knew their first loyalty would always be to his mother, whose demands would be met regardless of their personal opinion on what might be best. Even when it came to her children . . . or her grandchild. Without Asher or Delilah to serve as a buffer, there was no way he’d have left Lilly there to fend for herself. Hell, he wouldn’t leave himself there. Taking Lilly back into that environment, when they’d just begun settling into their new life, would not be good.
“I will tell her not to expect you, then,” Cora said, coolly professional.
He knew he’d hurt her, and regretted he’d had no other choice. “Thank you, Coraline. And thank you for calling to check up on us. We’re doing well here. Lilly is okay.” It was why she’d really called. He doubted his mother knew she was calling or had thought one way or the other about the holiday itself, other than how it would look to others that her surviving son and her only granddaughter weren’t present at this holiday function or that one.
Growing up, Thanksgiving dinner had always been a stuffy, rigid affair, complete with formal dress, full staff, and a table full of people Morgan had never met and who seemed disinclined to talk to children. He missed—greatly—being in Colorado with the close friends he’d made there . . . but he didn’t miss being in Atlanta. He hoped Sugarberry would become to him and Miss Lilly what he’d found out west. The Thanksgivings he’d known there were full of the true holiday spirit he wanted her to experience.
He had no doubt Olivia would make the rounds, handling things efficiently, with polish and poise sharpened to a bright luster, with ruthless determination, and an attention to detail that made her the envy of everyone around her—just as she always did. Not that any of those around her were close to her personally—Olivia was more the type for allies, rather than actual friends—but they did covet her position, her fortune, and how expertly she wielded it.
He imagined she’d be lauded for putting on such a brave face, for soldiering forward in such difficult times. But he wasn’t going to let her trot Lilly out as some kind of little Westlake show pony, not this year or any other. At least while he was her guardian.
Morgan used to feel bad for having such thoughts, and had struggled with guilt for a very long time. But as he’d gotten older and made his own way, he’d eventually come to understand the truth was . . . simply the truth. Far more difficult had been accepting that nothing he did would ever change it.
“Please tell everyone that Lilly says hello. And that I do, as well. And wish them a good holiday. I’ll tell her you called.” He heard Cora’s shaky sigh, and wished things were different for her and the others, if nothing else.
“You have a good Thanksgiving, Mr. Morgan,” she said, her tone softening once again, emotion seeping back in.
Likely that honest emotion caused Morgan to add, “If any of you would like to come to Sugarberry, you know you’re welcome.” He was pretty sure the silence on the other end was from shock.
“I—why, thank you,” Coraline said at length. “We’ll be tied up through the holidays, but perhaps afterward . . . ” She trailed off, as if unsure whether he’d really meant it or was just being polite in the spirit of the holidays.
“We’d like that,” he said, smiling, absolutely sincere in his invitation. “Please, just give me a few days advance notice and we’ll get everything set up.”
“Okay,” she said, an edge of excitement and awe in her tone. “We’ll do that.” For the first time in as long as Morgan could recall, she sounded like a normal person.
“Have a good Thanksgiving, Cora.”
“We’ll do our best. And please, hug Miss Lilly extra tight for us, will you?”
“I will.” He hung up, unsure of what lunacy had prompted him to cross that invisible line, but he was happy for whatever confluence of emotions had caused him to do it. If anything, Cora and the rest of the staff had been Lilly’s true family. He was tempted to go tell Lilly, but decided against it for the time being. Until there were concrete plans in place, he didn’t want to get her hopes up. He wasn’t sure whom Cora would get to travel with her, but even if only she came, it would make him and Lilly happy.
He wondered if Cora would tell his mother about the invite. And what Olivia would think of her paid staff heading out to Sugarberry to visit her granddaughter when she hadn’t received a similar invitation. He smiled, then chuckled. He had absolutely no idea. But it was fun to think about.
He tucked his phone away, then snagged an envelope off his desk and went out to the kitchen. “You about done there, sweet pea? Dr. Gabe is waiting for us.”
“I’m done.” Lilly slipped down from her chair and took her plate and glass to the sink. “Can I wear my fairy skirt?”
Just when he thought they’d get out the door without The Negotiation. “Sweetie, what you have on looks great. Besides, you’ve worn that the last few times we went out there.”
“Paddlefoot likes it. It’s his favorite.”
“I’m sure he does like it, because it’s really pretty. But remember how we got a little messy with the finger paints Dr. Gabe got you?” Morgan might not ever entirely forgive him. Clearly Gabe had no idea how hard it was to get that stuff off clothes, skin, hair . . . and fairy skirts. “I haven’t figured out how to clean it yet and I don’t want to ruin it.”
Lilly paused, and Morgan took shameless advantage of the rare breach in her normally rock solid negotiation tactics. “Why don’t you wear that pink sweatshirt with the sea turtles on it?” He’d ordered it online back when she’d first shown a real love for the turtles, thinking it would be a good stocking stuffer . . . then had caved the moment it arrived and let her open the package immediately. He definitely had to work on that before Christmas rolled around. Or they’d need a bigger cottage. “Paddlefoot would be happy because you’re wearing something that looks just like him.”
She thought about it, and Morgan sent up every prayer he had. This was why he wasn’t a trial lawyer.
“Okay.” She skipped off to her bedroom to get it.
Morgan let out a sigh of relief on par with having just negotiated someone down off a ledge. “Why can’t it always be so simple?” he murmured.
Lilly came out a minute later with two ribbons, three coated elastic bands, and a plastic headband. “Can I have braids?” She held out the beauty parlor assortment.
Morgan’s chin dipped straight to his chest. “You’re going to make a great defense attorney someday.”
“I wanna be a turtle doctor. Like Dr. Langley.”
Gabe had asked her to call him Dr. Gabe, but Lilly stuck with his formal name. Morgan liked how she still straggled out the last name, so he didn’t buck her on it. “Well, you’ll be very good at that, too.”
He took her hand, wondering if he could Google how to braid hair. It had gotten him off the hook when she’d asked for a manicure the week before. So, it could work. Maybe. He’d need fully illustrated, step-by-step drawings, though. “Why don’t we wait until we get back for the braids?”
“Maybe we can ask Miss Kit to help,” she suggested easily. Too easily.
Morgan paused as he reached for the front doorknob and glanced down at her with a narrowed, speculative gaze. “Definitely defense attorney.”
They went out the door and he helped her into the backseat of the SUV. “I don’t know if she’ll be there today, but if not—”
“She’s coming today,” Lilly said confidently.
“Okay, well, we’ll still have to ask her.”
They hadn’t crossed paths with Kit since their meeting with the coloring books the previous week. Gabe had said one of his new volunteers would be happy to keep watch on—
Ah.
Morgan smiled at Lilly in the rearview mirror. She’d answered the phone when Gabe had called the day before to set up the meeting. Apparently they’d had quite the chat before he got out of the shower.
Yep, he was so locking her up the minute she hit thirteen. Maybe ten. Or perhaps starting next week. She was too clever for her own good, that one.
He turned down the short, crushed shell road to the center. A handful of cars were in the lot, which wasn’t entirely surprising for a weekend, even in the off-season. Although, with it being the Sunday before Thanksgiving, he’d figured the place would be deserted. Assuming everyone was traveling to see loved ones, he didn’t think there’d be much, if any, tourist trade.
Lilly was already unbuckled by the time he got out and opened the rear door. They’d been to see the turtles pretty much every day since he’d first shown her the egg mound, even if just for a quick hello to Paddlefoot. Morgan worried she was getting way too attached, worried what would happen if one of the turtles didn’t make it through rehab, or when they were released or shipped out to a long-term facility. But then he’d look at the excitement on her face and think . . . that had to be a good thing, right?
Since their first visit, none of the turtles had been released nor had the eggs hatched, but he’d been thinking maybe they should start talking to Lilly about how the process worked.

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