not lemons, Mom,” Birdie called, impatience mixing with disappointment in her voice. She looked at her father and beamed. “It’s lemonade.”
Her father tweaked her nose and Leif almost vomited in his mouth. He couldn’t picture Abigail with this slimeball with the saccharine smile and slick ways. He wondered what had happened between them. Wondered if Cal had left her and now regretted his choice. Leif understood regret. But he didn’t understand a man abandoning his wife and child. He knew what it was like walking life’s path without a father. Not easy.
But there was no sense jumping to conclusions.
Abigail rolled her eyes before passing him a sheet of paper. “Here’s Birdie’s assignment.”
“Thanks.” He took the sheet and placed it over Abigail’s drawing of an apple...or a blob. Either descriptor worked.
Abigail walked toward her ex-husband and daughter. “Let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”
“Can I ride with Dad?” Birdie asked.
“Sure,” Abigail said, following them out the door. Just as her nice derriere disappeared, she stuck her head inside, the dark curtain of her hair swishing. “Hey, at least I don’t have to shower.”
“What?”
“My blast from the past didn’t bring cake.”
Leif laughed. “There’s that.”
“Yeah. See you Thursday?”
“Thursday.”
And then she was gone, leaving nothing but eraser crumbs on the table in front of him.
ABIGAIL PEEKED IN at Birdie curled beneath her quilt. The girl slept on her back, mouth slightly open, out like Lottie’s eye. Abigail had no idea who Lottie was, but her mother had used that expression all her life and it had stuck.
“She down?” Cal said from over her shoulder. The family quarters were on the third floor of Laurel Woods’s main house. Abigail had wanted to revamp one of the guest cottages to serve as their home, but money had been tight after the divorce—and Cal hadn’t been there to carry out their former vision. Instead, her part-time employee and friend Alice Ann occupied one lone cottage, dividing her time between Laurel Woods and her son’s place in town. Abigail nodded, closing the door with a soft click and motioning toward the stairway. She walked down the stairs to the B and B’s common area, Cal following.
When she reached the main floor, she saw Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks had returned from their day-long swamp tour aboard the Creole Princess.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Orgeron,” Rita called, wiping snickerdoodle crumbs from her mouth. Abigail set hot cocoa and cookies out each evening for her guests, and her great-aunt Vergie’s snickerdoodle recipe always garnered rave reviews. “I adore these cookies. You must tell me the recipe.”
“Sorry, it’s a secret family recipe. My great-aunt would haunt me if I gave it away...and I’m not sure there’s room for any more ghosts in this house. Rufus is about all I can handle.”
“Rufus, eh?” Mr. Hendricks laughed. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of your Confederate ghost.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Cal said, smiling at the older couple. They looked questioningly at him, so he extended a hand and his most charming grin. “I’m Cal Orgeron, Abigail’s husband.”
“Ex-husband,” Abigail said smoothly, wiping up the drips of cocoa on the antique sideboard, ignoring the awkward pause.
“Yes, ex-husband,” Cal clarified with a laugh. “And now ol’ Ruf will have to make an appearance. He doesn’t take to doubters.”
“Oh, my,” Rita said, looking to her husband.
“Don’t worry. If Rufus shows, he’s harmless. Not a mean bone in his noncorporeal body,” Abigail said.
The Hendrickses chatted for a few more minutes, before retiring for the evening.
“How many people are staying here tonight?” Cal asked, snagging a cookie. They had always been his favorite.
“Five,” Abigail said, picking up the tray and pushing through the swinging door into the large kitchen. Cal followed.
“That’s pretty good for midweek.”
“Yeah, an early Mardi Gras piggybacking onto Christmas has me busier this year.” She set the tray on the counter, frowning slightly when Cal snagged another cookie. She didn’t like the way he made himself at home. Laurel Woods no longer belonged to him. She’d received the house in the divorce settlement, and though she struggled to make ends meet, she was proud of what she’d done on her own.
“I love these things. If I ate these every night, I could play Santa in the Candy Cane Parade.” He patted his still trim stomach.
“Well, it’s fortunate you don’t eat them every night,” Abigail said, sealing the leftovers in the plastic storage container and tidying up the kitchen. A last-minute arrival had made her almost late for the art class, but she couldn’t turn away a paying customer.
Leif’s image flitted across her mind, and she let it gallop past. She had to deal with the man presently in her kitchen.
“I’ve got some questions, Cal.”
He swiped a hand across his mouth, the silver threads in his hair glinting in the pendant lights hanging over the granite-topped island. California had agreed with her ex-husband. His sun-soaked skin gave him a healthy glow and the crinkly lines around his eyes weren’t as pronounced. Maybe he’d had some work done. She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t really looked at him in years. No reason to take stock of the man who’d broken her heart, betrayed their vows and treated their daughter like she didn’t matter.
“About me coming home?”
“No, about the playlist on your iPod.” She bit off the “dumb ass” she wanted to add. “Of course, that’s what I mean. Why are you back?”
“Because one day I woke up and wondered what in the hell I’d been doing.”
“Simple as that?”
Cal shrugged, settling his behind against the counter. “Yeah. Look, I know I’ve been an ass, but I want to make amends for—” he paused, his dark brown eyes staring into the space above the oven hood “—my midlife crisis? I guess that’s what most would call it.”
Exactly. That’s what everyone in Magnolia Bend had called it.
“Yeah, that’s what they call it,” she said, casting her gaze at the herbs growing in her garden window. The thyme looked a bit yellow. Maybe she’d watered it too much.
“I’m ready to show you how much regret I have. I want to press Rewind, but I can’t.”
“Where’s Morgan?”
