Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
The phone on his desk buzzed, but he stayed rigid, in perfect posture, not reaching for it as it continued to ring, lights on the old-fashioned console flashing. A landline call was likely important.
I sighed and pushed to standing. This wasn’t getting solved right now. “You should take that.”
“Wait,” he called after me as I crossed to the door. “We’re Murphys. We don’t leave angry.”
It was a family rule borne of a lifetime of service, commitment, and risk-taking. We took our vows to the family seriously and knew full well how precious life was. Both he and my mother had never let us go to bed angry or upset, even in the trying teen years, and every phone call, every goodbye, was treated with respect.
“I’m not angry.” I couldn’t manage a smile, but I tried to soften my expression nonetheless. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Sean. We’ll talk soon.”
What that meant, I wasn’t precisely sure. I wanted to believe he simply needed a little time to digest this news. No guarantees though. But we had love on our side. I paused outside his office, not ready to rejoin the baby festivities. What I wanted was to talk to Denver, really talk, the way we’d been needing to for weeks now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Denver
“Hello, Denver?” It wasn’t the first time a ringing phone in the middle of the afternoon woke me, and it wouldn’t be the last. This was, however, my first summons from a certain short, scientifically minded tween.
“Wren?” Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up in my bed. I didn’t bother asking how Wren had gotten my number. I probably didn’t want to know all of Wren’s tricks. “Is everything okay?”
“No. I want to make a mousse.” Wren delivered this news with the gravity of an oil spill closing a major highway. “Did you know there’s a science to each precise element in a perfect chocolate mousse? It’s more foam than solid but not liquid.”
I stretched to make sure I was indeed awake. My arms hit the curved metal headboard where I’d had Sean… Can’t think about that right now.
“Yes, I know. It’s a challenging dessert, even for expert cooks.”
“I like challenges.”
“I know.” I had a vision of the ways in which a mousse could end up exploding all over Eric’s perfect kitchen. Leaving my cozy bed, I searched for a pair of jeans. Due to all the shift rearranging at Honey’s, I wasn’t on the schedule tonight. Might as well make myself useful.
“I need plain gelatin. John is at the gym with his football player friends. Rowan is at play practice. Sean will pick them up, and Jonas will be home soon from the hospital, but I want to surprise all of them. In a good way.”
“I have some gelatin.” Luckily for Wren, I had some left from my own experiments. And knowing how tricky it could be to work with, I was happy to show Wren what I’d learned. And strangely, I was happy for the summons and the excuse to leave my apartment and the endless cycle of thoughts that had plagued me for weeks. “I’m coming over.”
“Excellent.”
A short time later, Wren and I were in Eric’s big kitchen, ingredients assembled, and working through the steps for mousse in a race against time to get it chilling before the others arrived home. Wren had had the day off from school for some sort of teacher workday and had also ambitiously attempted baked ziti. I’d arrived in time to help get the casserole in the oven, but I was impressed with how far Wren’s cooking had come in a few short weeks.
“So, what made you think of mousse?” I asked Wren. They were doing most of the work, so I lounged against the island.
“Rowan went to prom. There was a fancy dinner. He said mousse was the perfect dessert.” Wren did a decent imitation of Rowan’s dreamy way of saying perfect. “I said nothing could ever beat ice cream, but Rowan said I’ve never had mousse. He’s right.”
Wren frowned like this was a grave shortcoming in their culinary education, and I suppressed a smile.
“Ah. I see. Definitely something to try. But I have to admit, good quality local ice cream wins for me. Especially strawberry.”
Wren made a sour face as they expertly whipped heavy cream with a hand mixer. “Ice cream isn’t fancy.”
“True.” I waited for Wren to tell me why fancy was important. I’d learned with Wren that if I stayed quiet but present, all facts eventually made sense.
“I wanted a fancy dinner tonight. I’m practicing.”
“For?”
Wren took a deep breath, tongue coming out as they folded melted chocolate into the mixture. “Someday, my dad will probably date again. Maybe. And I’ll make mousse.”
Ah. Lord, help me. I glanced at the back door. No Sean or anyone else coming to rescue me.