Apple Blossom Bride

This was no boy, definitely not the teenage heartthrob she’d spent hours daydreaming about. Michael Masters was a grown man, with a daughter and responsibilities.

He’d been married once, now he had a child.

That alone was a good reason not to go with him for coffee. She’d already made two mistakes trying to achieve a relationship where she completely trusted her partner. One where her heart wouldn’t be at risk.

Young Mick Masters had been anything but safe. Michael Masters the man would be no different.

“I don’t know how you do it, Mom.” Michael savored the last bite of apple pie his mother had saved for him. “You work a much longer day than I do yet you still manage to make a home-cooked dinner and entertain Tati when I can barely keep one foot in front of the other. Amazing.”

“No, honey. It’s just years of practice. And owning a restaurant.” She chuckled as she picked up his plate, set it in her dishwasher. “Things will get easier for you, I promise. When you and your sisters were little your father and I were walking zombies. But we learned how to cope. You will, too.”

“The difference is you had Dad. I sometimes wonder if Tati’s suffering without her mother.”

“Has she said something?”

“No. She seems fine at the daycare. But it’s hard to leave her there with strangers all day. Thanks.” He accepted the tea she handed him, watching out the window as Tati climbed the old slide and whizzed down it just as he and his sisters had done.

“Tatiana is adjusting well. She has a stable home now, a daddy who loves her. That has to be better than gallivanting all over the globe with Carissa. Children need security. You’re providing that. Cut yourself some slack.”

“I guess.” He mulled that over as he got up, dried the pots and pans she had washed, then resumed his seat. Tati was busy in the sandbox so he had a few minutes to talk. “I wanted to ask you about someone I met. A woman—tall, blond. She looks like a movie star or something. Her name is Ashley—”

“Adams.” His mother nodded. “You should remember her. She used to live in the Bay. She was in my Bible class before her parents separated. Her mother moved away, but Ashley came back every summer to stay with her father, Regan Adams. Remember him? He died several years ago—a salesman who traveled a lot. Ashley’s a good friend of Piper Langley’s.”

“Wow. Do you also know her shoe size?” He stared at her in admiration. “Nothing gets past you.”

“Remember that,” she teased.

“She was at the school today.”

“Of course she was. I sent her there to talk to Jillian about showing her art slides.” His mother stored the last of the pots away. “Ashley used to work in a fancy gallery in Vancouver. She keeps a collection of slides from noteworthy work she’s handled. If what I’ve heard is correct, they’re perfect for Jillian to show to her students.”

“A gallery?” He sat up straight. “You said ‘worked,’ not ‘works.’ She’s not there anymore?”

“She was in an accident. She came to Cathcart House to stay with Piper and recuperate. I don’t know if she’s going back or not.” His mother gave him “the look.” “If you’d spoken to her, you could have asked her.”

“I tried. If I’d known about the gallery gig, I might have tried harder.” He checked the backyard, saw Tati hovering by the fence. “Uh-oh, she’s restless, which can only mean trouble. I’d better go. Are you sure she didn’t ruin your tablecloth? That juice is a pain to get out.”

“After surviving you three my linens are indestructible to childish spills. Besides, it wouldn’t matter a whit if she did,” his mother insisted. “I can buy another tablecloth. But that sweet child will only be four years old for a very short time.”

“True. The question is whether I can last till five.” Michael rose, massaged the tense cords in his neck. “Thanks again for dinner. I appreciate not having to cook.”

“Are you going to work tonight?” his mother asked. She tapped one knuckle on the window to get Tati’s attention, shook her head. Apparently Tati obeyed.

“Tonight I have to check over some homework I stupidly assigned last week.” He groaned. “Teaching takes up so much time. I never imagined I’d be spending so many hours at it. It makes it hard to find time—” A squeal from outside drew his attention. Michael sighed as he went to investigate. “We’d better go. It’s almost bath time.”

Teaching, Tati and trivialities—that’s what took up his time nowadays. Frustration ate at Michael as he fastened her into the car seat, but a pat on his cheek from her little hand tamped it down. He’d choose Tati over his silly dream every time.

His mother waved them off while Tati chatted merrily about her friend Wanda at day care. Tales of Wanda filled the entire drive to the house he’d purchased a few short months ago. The place had seemed the right decision then, but on days like this he wondered about all his choices.

Michael struggled to engage Tati in their nightly bubble war. Though she was up to her eyebrows in the iridescent globes and only too willing to douse him as well, she wasn’t entirely happy about something. He didn’t press. She wouldn’t tell him until she was good and ready anyway. At least he’d learned that much about her.

His attention strayed too long. The bubble bottle slipped and it took ages to clean up the slippery mess. Another half hour to clean Tati off, get her into pajamas and dry her hair.

But once she was tucked in bed, pressed against his shoulder as he read her a favorite story, Michael couldn’t begrudge her one second. This was worth everything.

“Wanda says daddies and mommies are supposed to live together. Is that right, Daddy?”

“That’s the way God planned it, sweetheart. But sometimes things don’t work out like that.”

“Because my mommy is in heaven?”

“Uh-huh.” He so did not want to get into this tonight.

“Well, I don’t like it. I want a mommy to do things with me like Wanda has. Do you know her mommy made her a pretty dress for her birthday? I want to have a pretty dress, Daddy. One that’s white with frills and lots of ribbons. Just like Cinderella’s.”

Tati wouldn’t last two minutes in frilly white, but Michael only smiled and nodded. “Very pretty, honey.”

“Can I have a dress like that, Daddy?”

He studied the picture she indicated, wondering what the right answer was.

“Those dresses are for special occasions. Like Christmas and stuff. They’re not very good for finger painting, or for playing in Granny’s sandbox.”

“I know.” She flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. “Can I have a dress like this for Christmas, Daddy?”

He stared at Snow White’s layered organza perfection and wondered if children’s clothiers even made such a thing anymore.

“Tell you what, Tati, we’ll have a look in the store when they get their Christmas clothes in. But that’s a long time away. You might change your mind. How about if we think about it till then?”

“I guess.” She tilted her head back to study him. “Wanda says ‘We’ll think about it’ means her mommy won’t do it.”

“I’m not Wanda’s mommy,” he told her wishing the four-year-old fount of wisdom his daughter played with would, just once, run out of answers. “We’ll both think about it. And when it gets nearer Christmas we’ll talk about it again. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. I love you.” She reached up to encircle his neck with her arms and squeezed as tight as she could. “This much,” she grunted as used all her strength to show him.

Michael closed his eyes and breathed in as he wrapped his own arms around her tiny body. “I love you more, Tatiana,” he whispered.

They outdid each other in hugs for a few minutes until he caught her yawning. She said her prayers then hugged him once more.

“Goodnight, sweetie. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

She gave him one of her old lady looks. “Wanda says there are no bed bugs in Serenity Bay.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s this then?” He gently pinched her leg under the covers, grinned at her squeal. “You tell Wanda she better watch out.”

“You’re silly, Daddy.”

Michael leaned down, brushed his lips against her forehead. “I love you.”