Life is Sweet (9 page)

“Becca,” he said. “Please.”

She shook her head. “I'll provide the cake.”

Matthew stepped in before they got into a useless argument. “I'm happy to buy the cake myself. It's not a problem.”

“The cake is on the house,” she insisted. “I'll call Cal about scheduling the party.”

“Cal?”

“The stable owner. He's also my ex-husband.”

This new information sprinted through his mind.
So she was married . . . no, divorced . . . but evidently still had a relationship with the guy.
He'd just watched
His Girl Friday
with Olivia. Now “ex-husband” called to mind Cary Grant.

Not that it mattered.

“That's great,” he said. Then, seeing the confused pinch of her brows, he added quickly, “Great for me, that you know someone.”

“If there's a conflict, I'll let you know. Also, if the weekend you need is free, I should probably take you over to Butternut Knoll to check the place out. Would sometime Monday be okay? The shop's closed then, so it would work best for me.”

“Monday would be good.” He couldn't believe that this was actually falling into place so easily.

“That way you can see what you're getting yourself into.”

“A tween birthday party? I'm not sure I can know what I'm in for until I'm in the center of it.”

She smiled. “And then it will be too late to turn back.”

“I can't turn back now anyway. What would the alternative be? I don't think having the usual movie night and slumber party will work.”

“Why not?”

“A single guy overseeing a dozen eleven-year-olds? That wouldn't go over very well. Most of the moms around here seem to see me as an oddity as it is.”

“That's crazy. Believe me, you're doing as good a job as most parents. And certainly better than a lot of dads.” She reached for a business card and began to write on the back, pressing down with such vehemence that he half-expected the pen's point to cut right through the card stock.

For some reason, he felt the need to reassure her. “I was just guessing. Most of the moms have been great. Very helpful, actually.”

She offered him the card. “Here. You can usually reach me here, but just in case a question crops up when we're closed, I wrote down my home phone and my e-mail.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking it. “So you'll let me know what you hear from Ca—?” He almost said Cary.

“Cal,” she said. “Yeah, I'll give you a buzz. Which would be easier if I knew your number, right?”

He fumbled to give her one of his cards.

She glanced at it and tossed it next to the register. “I'll call you as soon as I have news.”

He bought a cupcake as a snack for later and left the shop feeling buoyed—because he'd taken the first step toward having Olivia's party in hand. It had nothing to do with having Becca's number in his pocket.

That was just business.

 

When she called to confirm that Butternut Knoll was available for a party on Olivia's birthday, Becca had offered Matthew a ride out to the stables on Monday. He wasn't about to refuse. Though he had lived in Leesburg for half a year, he hadn't explored the area enough to familiarize himself with the more pastoral byroads off the well-beaten path of the freeway in and out of DC. Beyond that stretched an unknown patchwork of quaint towns, McMansion subdivisions, farms, and Civil War memorials. If he tried to find the stables on his own, he'd probably end up lost on a battlefield.

Also, this gave him more time to talk to Becca.

On a whim, he Googled her and found lots of pictures of an adorable little kid he recognized now both from memory and from his new acquaintance with the grown-up Becca. Also, the search resulted in the occasional “Whatever Happened To?” headline, a photo of a slightly crushed cupcake, and Macaulay Culkin pictures. At first he wondered if there had been some kind of connection between Becca and Macaulay Culkin, who was looking a little cadaverous these days, but a quick experiment convinced him that an Internet search of any child star's name resulted in photos of Macaulay Culkin. He seemed to be the Google poster child for former child actors.

The only recent hit he received was a blogger who seemed to have been a fan of Becca's but who now had a lot to say on the subject of “arrogant has-beens” who thought they owed their loyal public nothing. The crushed cupcake photo was on this woman's blog, Megan's Musings. According to the post, the original was residing in her freezer until she could decide whether there was any value in keeping it. The signature on the bag, she reported with glee, was nearly worthless.

The thought of some weirdo out there stalking a nearly forgotten child star from the nineties made him shake his head. Who cared?

Of course, there he was, looking up whatever he could find on her. Guiltily, he killed the screen, feeling as if he'd just been caught peeping through an actual window.

The next afternoon, he met Becca in front of the cupcake store exactly at one o'clock. She was waiting on the bench, her purse slung over her shoulder, ready to go, and stood as he walked up. “We can take my car,” she said.

He looked around, expecting to see a sporty convertible or a European import, and was amused when she unlocked the doors of an old Subaru hatchback. The interior was a weird combination of farmy smells and vanilla.

“What?” she asked, catching him smile as they buckled up.

“I guess I was expecting a Jag, or something more . . .”

“More Hollywood?”

He caught an undertone of disappointment in the question. “I guess.”

Her mouth set in a tense line, which at first he chalked up to the need to focus on traffic and getting them out of town. Not that traffic in Leesburg was what anyone would call hectic.

He shifted. “People probably make all sorts of stupid assumptions, I guess.”

She shot a raised-brow look at him. “Were you a
Me Minus You
fan?”

“God, no,” he said, before he realized how that probably sounded to her. “I mean, I'm sure it was a good show. I'm not a TV critic. It just wasn't my thing.”

“Mine, either, actually,” she said.

“You didn't watch your own show?”

“That would have been weird. Besides, it conflicted with
Star Trek
. No DVRs back then.”

“You're a Trekkie?” He sat up straighter. “Me too.”

She cut another glance at him. “What would you say if I told you that I sat one table away from Captain Picard at my first awards banquet?”

“Seriously?”

“I even have his autograph on a napkin somewhere.”

“You mean it's not hanging on your mantel?”

She laughed. “First, I don't have a mantel, and second, I actually had a huge geeky crush on Data, so maybe I didn't prize Patrick Stewart's autograph like I should have. In fact, I spilled my Shirley Temple on the napkin.”

“It's still pretty damn cool.”

She focused on the road again, and remained quiet until they turned onto a rutted asphalt road with no lane markers. Her tone became more businesslike. “The horse-friendly acreage in the area is really shrinking, but this is all pasture open to riding.” With a tilt of her head, she indicated the fields out their windows. “On the day of the party, Cal will probably ride the kids around the ring for a little bit, just to make sure they can all stay upright on a horse. Then we can take them on a very gentle trail ride.”

“We?”

“I was going to help Cal out.” She caught what must have been a furrowed-brow expression. “Don't worry—
you
won't have to get up on horseback. I'd bring a book, though. Waiting for the trail riders to get back could be boring.”

He hadn't actually been thinking about the party. Instead, he'd been wondering again about Becca's relationship with her ex. “You two still hang out?”

She hung a right onto a dirt road, and the Subaru trundled through an open gate. “I keep my horse here—he's used to it, and I get a former spouse discount. Plus, Cal's an old pal of my best friend, Pam, so . . . yeah. He's around sort of a lot. But there's no big reunion in the works, if that's what you mean.”

As if you have any right to ask,
her sidewise glance silently added.

“I didn't mean to pry.” It seemed odd to be apologizing for an innocuous small-talk remark when last night he'd been doing Internet searches and staring at childhood photos of her.

“I just don't want you to worry that Cal and I will be playing out some kind of romantic comedy while we're supposed to be watching the kids,” she said. “He's a great riding instructor. I've watched him. There's nothing about teaching kids to ride that he doesn't know. Also, part of his brain is permanently stuck in twelve-year-old land, so he's usually a big hit with the bubblegum set.”

“I wasn't really worried.”

But maybe he should have been, he realized when they rattled up the dirt road to a cavernous old barn. Someone was just walking out with a saddled, snorting beast that struck him as imposingly huge. The animal was much bigger than the ponies Matthew remembered riding at Camp Kayahuga when he was a kid. Damn. It began to sink in why Nicole was so freaked out. “Just slipping off that horse while it was standing still could do some serious damage,” he observed.

Becca pulled back a little and sent him a puzzled look. “Why would anyone fall off a horse that wasn't moving?”

It was the kind of sensible, are-you-kidding question he could imagine Olivia asking him. Although Olivia would probably voice it at a much higher volume.

Becca waved him forward. “Come on. I want to introduce you to the love of my life.”

I thought it was all over between you two.
The thought died when Becca climbed onto the first rail of a wood paddock fence, put her fingers in her mouth, and released an eardrum-piercing whistle.

Several clusters of horses were grazing in the pasture, and a few looked up at the sudden sound, but only one large white horse trotted over. Matthew recognized it as the horse from the pictures in the Strawberry Cake Shop. When the animal bowed his long neck over the fence for a pat, Becca pressed herself against him, then drew back and nuzzled his nose, finally dipping her hand into her pocket and producing some carrots for him on her outstretched palm.

While the horse munched noisily, Becca looked over at Matthew. “This is Harvey.”

Olivia's dream horse. He seemed especially huge. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-one—almost an old man. But he still has some spring left in him. Someone gave him to me when we were both ridiculously young. We've been through a lot together.”

“So you brought him with you from California?”

“Of course. I could never part with Harvey.” She nuzzled his neck. “Through thick and thin. Right, buddy?”

The horse snorted in agreement.

Becca looked over at Matthew again and laughed. “Okay, now that I have you thoroughly creeped out by the horse-human bond, let's go find Cal.”

It didn't take long. A rusty-haired guy lumbered over, obliterating any remaining thoughts of Cary Grant. The man had the weathered look of a guy who spent most of his days outdoors, and his mud-stained jeans would never pass for a dapper wardrobe. Still, he possessed a nice, reassuring smile and a firm handshake, and didn't waste any time before giving Matthew a tour to check out the facilities and meet quite a few of the prospective equine party participants. All of them seemed smaller and more sedate in their stalls than the horses outside. Cal ended by showing him the area in the yard—non-horse accessible—where they would set up a tent with a table for cake, punch, and presents. He then presented Matthew with permission slips and accident waivers for the parents to sign off on.

The waivers gave him pause—he didn't like to think about any of the girls having a birthday party incident—but he could see the sense of it, especially from the viewpoint of Butternut Knoll. And Becca had already told him that the parents would need to be warned of risks.

“I'm impressed,” he commented on the way home.

Becca swung toward him. “Really? Cal impressed you?”

“The whole thing did. When you work in front of a computer all the time, you can't help feeling wistful about who's making a good living doing something that allows him being out and moving around all day.”

“ ‘Making a good living' is a relative term.”

“But you know how it is. Seeing someone who's escaped the nine-to-five trap is like being a zoo animal watching one of the others hop the fence and make a break for freedom.”

She smiled. “Zoo escapes always end badly for someone. Usually the escapee.”

“Maybe you've never been chained to a desk.”

“Oh yes, I have. Only for a few years, but I get what you're saying. Being outdoors all day seems idyllic, at least if you don't have to wear a hard hat and an orange vest.”

But she'd walked away from it all—from living out here, and from her marriage. What had happened? He had to remind himself that it was none of his business, and train his thoughts back on something that was. “I think it will be a great party,” he said. “I just have to report back to Nicole and then convince the other parents to come.”

Becca mashed down on the brake.

One second they were talking, the next his heart was in his throat, as if they were about to crash. Her sudden stop tossed them both forward against their shoulder belts. Grabbing the armrest, Matthew scanned the road for some pothole or critter he hadn't seen.