I’m so stupid.
For the hundredth time, I’m calling myself a fool and trying to talk myself out of doing this. Jansen will probably just say something to piss me off. I shouldn’t even bother trying—especially after our last conversation. I stare at the strawberry cake I just made and want to groan.
I’m sooooo stupid.
I made this for Jansen after hearing Maggie and Petal talk about how much Jansen loved the strawberries they picked him from my garden. I swore I wouldn’t do anything nice for him again—not after the way he acted about Cyan and Petal’s little surprise. How a grown man could think I’d send him a box full of condoms and pictures of the female’s reproductive system is beyond me. It’d almost be funny except for one thing…
The knowledge that two of my youngest children are trying to set me up with a man.
I had to talk plain with them, and I only hope they listen. At the very least, I’m hoping they’re afraid to matchmake anymore because as it is, they won’t be allowed to leave the house except to go to school, for at least a week.
I went down to Jansen’s office to explain what had happened and that’s when I heard him and Green talking. His words struck me so deep I couldn’t breathe. I never had a father who cared enough to give me heart to heart talks. Orville did and until I heard Green talk with Jansen, I had forgotten how special that bond could be. Jansen didn’t have to do that, but he took the time to gently teach my son. Green’s smart. I know when the time is right the seeds that Jansen sewed will take root. So… I wanted to thank him.
By baking him a cake. After our fight and the talk about me sending him dessert.
Admittedly, the fight between us really had nothing to do with the piece of cake I sent him. But still…
I’m so, so, so, sooo stupid.
I’m also nervous, which is crazy. The trip to Jansen’s quarters doesn’t take long, but it feels like forever. I try to talk myself out of it a hundred more times, but out of pure stubbornness I keep going, holding the strawberry cake like it’s a dang shield.
When I get there, Jansen’s door is open, so I knock on the door trim instead.
“Have you got a minute?”
Jansen turns to look at me. He’s wearing a white shirt under a blue jean jacket and faded Wranglers today. He doesn’t have his hat on and his dark hair is rumpled, streaks of gray around his sideburns and along the edges. I wish I could quit noticing how good looking he is. It’d be better all the way around if I could. He takes off his reading glasses and nods at me.
“Sure.”
“I… Well, Maggie and Petal mentioned you liked strawberries. I had some left in my greenhouse… I thought…”
“Ida Sue—”
“I wanted to apologize. Well, I mean not for me, really. More for my kids. It’s just—”
“Cyan told me.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He came down the next day and explained he put the box on my desk and wrote your name.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, I figured that out. I went off half-cocked. I don’t do that much anymore, but I did this time. Children… well the having of them… it’s a sensitive topic for me, I guess. You kind of got caught in the crossfire of that. I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“I am, too. I don’t know what got in their heads.”
“I suspect they were trying to get us together.”
“Yeah. Before you ask, Mr. Reed, I didn’t tell them to, or give them any—”
“I never thought you did. I’m learning kids pretty much have a mind of their own,” he laughs.
“Ain’t that the truth,” I murmur, joining in with his laughter as I put the cake on the desk.
“That’s a mighty-fine looking cake,” he says, making me grin.
“I could cut you a piece?” I offer.
“Ida Sue… at the risk of upsetting you again…”
“Are you about to accuse me of something else?” I joke.
“I’m allergic to strawberries,” he says looking really uncomfortable.
“What? But… The girls…”
“Well they picked me a handful of those things and I couldn’t hardly say no, especially when little Petal was so proud of them.”
“You ate them?” I gasp.
“Well, yeah.”
“You ate strawberries, knowing you were allergic to them?” I ask again, not quite believing him. “What if you had died?”
“I took some allergy medicine and it’s not like a major allergy. I mostly break out in hives and itch like a… mother… like a pig that’s been rolling in poison oak,” he finally says, clearing his throat and blushing. I can see the color on his face.
“But, that’s crazy. What are you going to do if they bring you more strawberries?”
“I’m hoping considering the time of the year and all, you might not have anymore?”
I grit my teeth because I have quite a few more in my greenhouse. Jansen reads my face quickly.
“I guess, I better stock up on allergy meds,” he says with a weary sigh.
“I…I’ll get rid of them.”
“Nah. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. You work hard in that greenhouse. In fact, you work hard from sun up to sun down. You need to learn to relax a little.”
“What’s that old saying? I’ll rest when I’m—”
“Dead,” he adds, with a small laugh. “Still, you need to enjoy time with your kids. I know you’ve been working extra because of money, but you need to take some time to enjoy life instead of making yourself old before your time.”
“There are days, Mr. Reed, that I feel ancient.”
“Mr. Reed was my dad. Call me Jansen.”
“Jansen,” I murmur and like I’m some damn school girl—not a woman almost forty—I can feel heat rise on my face.
“I like that,” he says and I start to ask him what, but I don’t. Maybe, I’m afraid of his answer.
“Are you really going to Green’s ballgame this weekend?”
“I was planning on it. Is that okay? I know you asked me not to get around your kids, but—”
“I say a lot of things when I’m mad, and most of them are foolish. It would mean a lot if you go to Green’s game. To him, I mean. It would mean a lot to him.”
I stumble on the words, feeling like a silly school girl.
“Then, if you’re sure, I’ll definitely be there.”
“Sounds good. I guess I’ll head back to the house… Uh… with my cake.”
“I’m sorry, Ida Sue…”
“Don’t be. The kids will eat it after dinner tonight, it will be gone before you blink. I still feel bad…. Uh… Would you… I mean, you don’t have to… but, you’re more than welcome to come up to the house and have dinner with us.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Your kids might think I’ve set my cap for you.”
“We’ll make it clear you haven’t,” I tell him.
“It might encourage their matchmaking…” he warns.
“I’m brave if you are.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” he says. I’m almost out the door when a thought occurs to me.
“Mr. Ree—”
“Jansen,” he corrects.
“Jansen, uh… are you allergic to apples?”
“I love apples,” he says, looking at me strangely.
“Good to know,” I respond. I turn to leave, and I have the strangest urge to skip all the way to the house.
I resist.
Barely.