Babycakes Page 8

  The question surprised Morgan, and Dre, too, if the smile she shot Lilly was any indication. “My hair? No. Feel it. It’s spiky, but it’s soft.”

  Looking alarmed and curious, Lilly shook her head, then added, “No, thank you.”

  Dre’s smile widened. “No problem. But ask me again if you change your mind. I just wanted to show you these.” She dipped her chin down and tugged the open collar of her top a bit wider, revealing a tattoo of a very elaborate, beautifully detailed and intricately colored pair of fairy wings, which wrapped partly around either side of her neck and disappeared under the neckline of her shirt and presumably down her back.

  Lilly’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “Are they real?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

  “They’re as real as yours are,” Dre said. “You can touch it if you’d like.”

  Morgan wasn’t sure how smart it was for Lilly to check out a tattoo. He could already imagine the ensuing conversation they’d have when his five-year-old niece begged him for one. But, it was too late.

  Dre turned back around, but remained in a squat, resting on her heels. Morgan almost spoke up, unsure of what the young girl might tell his impressionable niece, but, in her fascination, Lilly had forgotten to be shy and spoke first. “How did you get them?”

  “They’re like a drawing.”

  Lilly’s eyes widened further. “You colored on your own skin? Didn’t you get in trouble?”

  To her credit, Dre glanced up at Morgan, who merely smiled and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. She’d gotten herself into it after all.

  “No,” she told Lilly. “When you get to be my age, you can make those kinds of choices for yourself.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Lilly—”

  Dre waved off Morgan’s concern. “Just turned twenty-two.”

  “I just turned five.”

  “So I heard.”

  Lilly frowned. “Who told you?” She glanced up at Morgan, then back to Dre.

  “Little bird.” Dre smiled again when Lilly’s frown turned wary and whispered, “Your Grandma Birdie told me.”

  Back to wide eyes again, Lilly said, “You know her?”

  Dre nodded. “I do. She’s very good friends with Miss Alva, one of the other ladies who helps out here in the shop.” Dre spared a short glance at Morgan again, but went on without waiting for approval. “She’s very happy you’re here.”

  Lilly pressed against Morgan again, and he laid his palm on her head, careful not to dislodge the fairy antennae headband. He was ready to move the conversation along to cupcake purchases, when Lilly spoke again.

  “I am, too,” she whispered.

  Morgan’s hand, which had shifted to her thin shoulder, tightened reflexively as his heart knotted up all over again—in a good way.

  Dre smiled. “Good. So let’s pick out some cupcakes for you to take to her. I know which one is her favorite. But why don’t you tell me which one is yours?”

  She started to straighten, but Lilly impulsively reached out and touched her shoulder, then yanked her hand back as if surprised by her own impulsivity.

  Dre just winked at her and turned around one more time, tugging a little at the neck band of her shirt and giving Lilly one last look at the fairy wings.

  “They’re very pretty,” she said almost reverently. And Morgan started to formulate his speech against the tattooing of minors.

  Dre stood up and turned to face them. “I thought so, too. Come on. Let’s go look at cupcakes.”

  Shocking him speechless, Lilly put her hand in Dre’s and off they went to examine the display cases.

  Morgan stood there, wondering exactly when he’d completely lost control of the situation. Of all the people in the world he’d thought Lilly would feel comfortable with, the Mohawked, tattooed, multi-pierced Dre would not have made even the long list.

  “Moggy!” Lilly exclaimed a moment later. “Come here. They have turtles!”

  Oh boy. He walked over to them. “Turtles, really?”

  “They don’t look like turtles, but Miss Dre says they’re called turtles anyway.”

  Other than the time Lilly spent with Paddlefoot and his fellow rehabbers, which had been for part of every day since Morgan had shown her the egg mound a week-and-a-half ago, it was the most animated he’d seen her since the accident. Certainly the most chatty—in public, anyway. He smiled to himself, thinking Lilly might have interesting taste in whom she chose to place her trust, but he admired her for being her own person and making the choice without worrying what someone else might think.

  He leaned over her and read the little sign. “Mmm. Turtle cupcakes, with chocolate, caramel, and pecans. Those might be my favorite, too.”

  Clearly thrilled with that pronouncement, Lilly reached for his hand and held it tight. “Can we get some?”

  “Sounds good. Do you think we should find out what Grandma Birdie’s favorite is?”

  Lilly nodded and turned to Dre, who said, “That’s easy. Strawberry shortcake.”

  Lilly looked at Morgan. “Have I had that?”

  “If you have to ask, probably not,” he said with a laugh. He looked at Dre, who had moved behind the display case. “We’ll take three of each, please.”

  She nodded and went about boxing up their order as the bells jingled on the door, announcing another customer. Lilly’s hand tightened in his, as did his on hers. It was their first real foray in public together on the island, and though he knew they’d have to be prepared to start meeting people, he’d hoped, since it was a weekday, that it would be more of a trickle than a steady stream.

  “Hey, Dre, is Lani in the back? I have a question about the—oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had customers.”

  Morgan turned to find the redhead he’d met at the research center standing just inside the door. She looked . . . different, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Hello, again. Kit, right?”

  “Right,” she said, stepping all the way inside and closing the door behind her. “Mr. Westlake.”

  “Morgan, please. You remember Lilly.”

  She gave a little wave to Lilly, who apparently had become empowered by the fairy costume, or by meeting the intriguing fairy-winged Miss Dre, or maybe it was a sugar rush from the smell of cupcakes, because she gave Kit a short wave back.

  “Here’s your order,” Dre said, pulling his attention away.

  He turned back to the counter.

  Lilly let her hand slip from his and moved to the door. Near Kit. “We’re having a picnic. Did you know, too?”

  Who was this kid, Morgan wanted to know, and what had she done with his quiet, shy, little niece?

  “I might have heard something about it,” Kit said, and Morgan appreciated her honesty.

  “Do you know my gramma, too?”

  “I just moved here, so I haven’t met her yet. But I hear she’s a very nice lady. My friend, Miss Alva, is her best friend. I think if Miss Alva likes her so much, I will, too.”

  Lilly seemed to think that over. “We’re getting her cupcakes. She likes shortberry cake. I got the turtles.”

  “I like turtles, too. Cupcake ones and real ones. You know Dr. Langley, don’t you?”

  Lilly nodded and looked a little wary.

  “He introduced me to your friend Paddlefoot.”

  Lilly’s eyes all but goggled. “He did?”

  Kit nodded. “He told me the turtles really like you. And your pictures. They’re really good.”

  “Uncle Moggy did some of them.” She looked at Morgan as if debating whether to say something, but remained silent.

  Kit looked up at Morgan. “You colored turtle pictures?”

  “Sure did. I’m not as good at staying in the lines as Lilly.”

  He thought he heard her say, “I’ll bet” under her breath.

  “He’s practicing to get better,” Lilly assured her, and Morgan noticed Kit fought to keep from laughing outright.

  “Do you want to d
raw some?” Lilly asked. “Dr. Langley can give you a coloring book. I have a box of colors if you don’t have any.”

  “That sounds like fun. I’ll ask him the next time I see him.”

  “We’d better go.” Morgan handed the money to Dre, who had gone back to her dispassionate, young-punk demeanor. Apparently she was only animated with folks under four feet tall.

  “Cool kid,” she offered as he took the string-tied box.

  He smiled at that. “She is that. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  He wasn’t sure if there was a bit of warmth in Dre’s response, but chose to think maybe Lilly had bought him a little headway. Taking Lilly’s hand, he remembered what Gabe had admonished him to do, but it was hardly the time or place. He nodded to Kit. “Good to see you again.”

  “Have a good picnic.” Kit’s smile shifted to something a little less warm as she lifted her gaze from Lilly to him.

  Perversely, it made his smile spread fully across his face. Dre might have a bit of a wall up, and he could understand the reserve. He was still a stranger to them, his motives concerning Birdie unproven. But this woman had an entire fortress erected . . . and she didn’t know Birdie or him. He was suddenly just as curious to find out why as Gabe had been. On impulse, he said, “We’re going to the research center again tomorrow afternoon. We’ll bring the crayons.”

  Lilly looked up with an animated face and hopeful smile. “You can come color with us.” She looked at Dre. “You can come, too.”

  “I’ll be at my other job,” Dre said, warm smile instantly back in place. “But maybe next time.”

  Lilly nodded, then looked expectantly back at Kit. “Can you come?”

  “I’m pretty busy getting the new shop ready,” she began, but when Lilly’s little shoulders sagged, Morgan could see her relenting. Good to know he wasn’t the only softie where Lilly was concerned.

  “Around three?” he prompted.

  She flashed him a look that, though she was smiling, told him she wasn’t keen on his using Lilly to manipulate her into going. His smile grew, and he was completely unrepentant about it. He didn’t mind folks having something against him, but thought he should know what it was he was being condemned for, at least.

  “I’ll try.” She smiled at Lilly, leaving him out of it.

  Lilly smiled up at Kit, then waved to Dre as Morgan moved around her to open the door. Dre lifted a hand, nodded, and gave Morgan an unreadable look.

  “Tough crowd,” Morgan murmured dryly as they exited to the sidewalk.

  Lilly all but skipped beside him, and it was such a flashback to the child who’d charmed him all the years leading up to the accident, whatever frustration he felt immediately dissipated. He realized more each day that he’d done the right thing by coming to Sugarberry and his confidence had grown with the realization—which was good, considering his main reason for doing so was presently waiting for them at the local community center.

  Although only a short block and a half off the main square, the closer they got to the building, the slower Lilly’s steps became. Her grip on his hand tightened and she drew closer to him, all the bravado she’d achieved at the cupcake bakery having fled as swiftly as it had come. When they got to the walkway that led to the front doors, she stopped altogether.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  She kept her gaze on the doors. “Do we have to go in?”

  “I think we should. You remember how Kit and Dre said your grandma was excited about the picnic.”

  Lilly nodded, but she looked as if she was facing the gallows rather than a fun picnic outing.

  The mild irritation Morgan had felt back at the bakeshop, presumably for being judged by the actions of his family, paled in comparison to the flash of real anger he felt toward his own mother in that moment. He hadn’t had a say in what Olivia had done to ostracize Delilah from her own family, and later, Delilah’s daughter from the same family, but he wished he’d at least tried. All the adults who mattered most in Lilly’s life had failed her in varying degrees, himself included.

  Because of that, the picnic mattered more to him than he’d realized. It would be a first step toward doing right by her.

  Morgan crouched down and gently tugged Lilly’s hand so she turned to face him. “Why don’t we go in, say hello, and take her our cupcakes? We can see how it goes from there.”

  “Could we leave then?”

  “If we really want to. I hope we won’t, though.”

  Lilly turned and buried her face on his shoulder. Surprised by such a complete turnaround from just minutes ago, Morgan instinctively gathered her close and hugged her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders for all they were worth. He was on the verge of telling her maybe they’d try another day, when she whispered, “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “Oh, baby.” Instant tears sprang to Morgan’s eyes, which he blinked back as he kissed the top of her head. He gently pried her loose and looked at her face. “She loves you. She always has. It’s just . . . sometimes families make decisions for reasons that don’t make sense to anyone else. But Grandma Birdie has always wanted to know you.”

  Lilly seemed to take that in, but Morgan hadn’t any idea if she believed it, much less understood it. How could he explain someone like Olivia to a five-year-old? “Let’s go in and say hello like we talked about, and then we can decide how to go from there. Okay?”

  Lilly nodded, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it.

  “I wouldn’t ask you to do something if I didn’t think it was okay, or might be bad for you. You know that, right?”

  She nodded again, with a little more conviction.

  “You liked Miss Dre, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. She has funny hair. And earrings in her face.” Lilly said it solemnly, as if everyone knew those things constituted automatic friendship.

  Morgan grinned and simultaneously decided he was locking her in her room until she was eighteen. Maybe twenty-one. “And you liked Miss Kit.”

  “She likes turtles. Her hair is a color book color, too.”

  “I like her hair,” Morgan said. It suited her. A lot of other things about her would have suited him, too. Like those flashy green eyes and that luminous skin—if, of course, she didn’t loathe him on sight. “So, you already met some nice people today. I think most people on Sugarberry are nice.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because it’s a nice place to live. They’re happy here.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  Morgan nodded. “More and more every day.” He was hesitant to ask, but knew he couldn’t pass up the chance to find out how Lilly was really feeling. “Do you like it here?”

  She had such a contemplative look on her face, Morgan wanted to hug her again. She was such an amalgamation, one part reserved, polite child and the other an inquisitive, social little girl.

  “I like the turtles. I like the beach. I like my room. It’s blue.”

  Having seen her studious and conservative bedroom at home, Morgan had known, going in, he wanted her to be a big part of choosing how her new room was decorated. He’d offered to paint it any color she wanted—within reason—thinking she’d go for something girly and pink. They’d picked out the paint swatches together, and all of hers had been some shade of blue. They’d settled on a pretty sky blue, with a pale chiffon yellow ceiling and window trim. No curtains yet, or bedspread, just window blinds and a regular blanket, but she liked it. It was . . . cheerful.

  He wished he knew how to make its occupant feel the same way at the moment. “Pretty good start, right?”

  She nodded.

  He straightened and took her hand. “So, let’s go inside and see if this is something we can add straight to the like list.”

  “The like list?” she asked, scrunching up her face as she looked up at him.

  “Yep. The official What We Like About Sugarberry List. It’s growing pretty quickly already.”

  She thought about tha
t. “Okay.”

  Just like that, they were heading inside.

  Morgan breathed a quiet sigh of relief . . . and decided right then and there if Birdie Wiggins wasn’t pretty much Glinda the Good Witch of Grandmas, they were heading straight back out. The emotional roller coaster was wearing him out.

  Chapter 7

  “Pretty hot. For an uncle.”

  Kit shot a look at Dre as she ducked behind the counter with her, then headed toward the kitchen to see Lani. “He’s a Westlake.”

  “Doesn’t mean he can’t be hot. For an uncle.”

  Kit let out a little sigh. Her hormones were still jumping all over the place from their surprise meeting, which made it next to impossible to pretend he hadn’t affected her. “I know. Dammit.”

  Dre might have cracked a small smile; it was hard to tell. She was an ambiguous mix of I’m-so-over-it cynic and creative genius, but sometimes Kit had to remind herself this was the same person who had designed and made her that incredible, whimsical apron.

  “Tell Lani we need more turtles,” Dre said. “They’ve been popular today.”

  “Will do.” Kit bumped her hip against the swinging door and entered the kitchen. “Lani, I—” She paused while Lani picked up the remote control for the stereo and cut Elvis off right between a little more action and a little less conversation. Lani didn’t play the music as loud during business hours as Kit had come to discover she played it when baking solo in the early morning, pre-opening hours, or late night after hours, but music was usually on if she was baking. When Kit had asked her about it, Lani had explained she’d gotten used to baking to music since opening the shop, claimed it helped her creativity.

  Having grown up in a family of strong-willed, slightly eccentric women, Kit understood that explanation completely. “Dre says we’re low on turtles.”

  “I know. I peeked out when I heard that deep voice. He’s pretty—”

  “Hot,” Kit finished. “I know. For an uncle.”

  “For an anything.” Lani wiggled her eyebrows. “I also might have been peeking out there when the two of you were making googly eyes at one another.”

  “We were not. There was no googling of eyes, I can assure you.”