A Father's Second Chance. Mindy Obenhaus
Читать онлайн книгу.
daughters.
“How old are they?” She faced him as they reached the sidewalk.
“Seven and five.”
“Busy ages. I guess they keep you on your toes.”
He chuckled, holding the door as she walked inside. “You have no idea.”
She retrieved a copy of her drawing from the small office beside the stockroom, remembering the sight of Gage dancing with his daughters. Must be difficult, trying to be both parents and run a business. She couldn’t begin to imagine. Though she was curious. What would it be like to have a family? Children? Someone who looked up to you and hung on your every word?
We aren’t cut out to be mothers, Celeste. She always found it odd when her mother said those words. As though she were apologizing or making excuses. Still, Celeste understood what her mother was saying. Her mother wanted to give her the world. At least the world as Hillary Ward-Thompson saw it.
Shaking off the conflicting thoughts, Celeste returned to the dining room and handed Gage the file folder. “Would it be all right if I sent cookies for Emma and Cassidy?”
“Oh, man...they’d love that.”
She bagged the treats for him.
“What’s this?” He pointed to a stack of fliers she had beside the cash register.
“Now that the high season is over and things have slowed down, I thought I’d offer some kids cooking classes.”
The look he gave her made her think she’d sprouted horns. “In my experience, kids and cooking don’t always go together so well.”
Considering Emma’s actions the other night, she could understand his skepticism. Though the thought of Emma’s mischievous grin made her smile.
“Well, they’re not exactly cooking classes.” She picked up one of the orange fliers and gave it to him, along with the cookies. “Our first one is called Cupcake Mania. We’ll provide the cupcakes and icing, and then each child gets to design four custom cupcakes to take home.”
“You’re talking Emma’s language, all right.” He studied the paper. “Both girls would be gaga over this.”
“Good. I hope you’ll consider signing them up, then.”
He turned for the door, grabbed hold of the handle. “I’ll be in touch.”
She watched as he continued past the front windows. How could someone be so infuriating yet so appealing? Gage’s disposition left much to be desired. However, the way his face lit up when he talked about his daughters was enough to have women swooning all over Ouray.
Donning her apron, she went to check things in the kitchen. “Are the potatoes on yet?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Karla, the closest thing Celeste had to an assistant, looked up from the apples she was peeling for tonight’s dessert and pointed to the proofing cabinet along the wall. “And the rolls should be ready to go in the oven any time.”
“Perfect.” Celeste pushed up her sleeves and headed for the pastry table to roll out the crusts. “Thanks for taking care of that for me, Karla.”
“Not a problem.”
Celeste’s cell vibrated against her hip. She pulled it from her pocket, hating the sense of dread that fell over her when she saw her mother’s name on the screen.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Celeste, darling. How are you?”
“Wonderful.” She sprinkled flour over the table’s marble surface.
“You don’t sound wonderful. You sound tired.” Hillary Ward-Thompson always thought Celeste sounded tired.
“Mom, I’m very well rested.” She slept a thousand times better in Ouray than she ever even dreamed of in Fort Worth. “So where are you today?”
“Istanbul.”
She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Hey, if you happen to make it to the Bazaar, pick me up some spices.” Of course, her mother rarely did any sightseeing. She was all business, all the time.
“Or you could hop a plane and join me. That way you could pick out your own spices.”
Realizing where this conversation was headed, Celeste wiped her hands on a bar towel and wandered into her office. “You know I can’t do that, Mom. I have a business to run.”
“Celeste, you and I both know a restaurant— especially one in a tiny little place like Ouray—is not where you belong. I didn’t bring you up to be slinging hash in some greasy spoon.”
She paced beside her desk. Since moving here in April, her conversations with her mother were always the same. Celeste knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ouray was part of God’s plan for her. Though it definitely was not a part of her mother’s plan. “I do not sling hash, nor is Granny’s Kitchen a greasy spoon.”
“Oh, now you’re getting defensive. I’m sorry, darling.”
“You’re criticizing my livelihood.”
“I am not criticizing, Celeste. I’m merely stating facts.”
Stay calm. Don’t let her get to you. “You haven’t even seen my restaurant.”
“Are you forgetting that I grew up in that restaurant? I know what it’s like.” Mom’s last sentence held a hint of disdain. She paused for a moment before forging on. “By the way, I ran into Andrew Hemsworth from Golden Triangle Finance the other day. I was telling him all about you and he has a position that would be perfect for you.”
“Mom...I’m not interested in any position. I have my own business. I’m happy where I’m at.”
“Celeste, you might think you’re happy, but you haven’t even been through a winter in Ouray.”
“No, but I can’t wait. I love snow.”
“Hmmph.”
Celeste took a deep breath and stared at the mountains outside the window. Twin Peaks, was it? She had yet to learn the names of all the summits, but just the sight of them made her frustration wane. “You’ve got to let this go, Mom. I’m not you. I have to live my own life.”
“I know, darling. I just want you to be happy.”
Hadn’t they just been over this? “I am. Happier than I’ve been in years.”
“If you say so.” A moment of silence passed. “Well, I must run. It’s late, and I have meetings all day tomorrow.”
Celeste knew better than to think her mother was complaining. Mom thrived on those meetings, mostly because she was the one in control. Not to mention good at what she did. Magnet Oil would be lost without her.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, darling. Love you.” The sound of kisses filtered through the line, just as when she was a little girl.
“I love you, too.” Celeste ended the call, her gaze focusing on a worn piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board over her desk.
Follow your dreams. The word your was underlined.
After Granny’s stroke, she couldn’t walk or talk, so when Celeste went to see her, she’d talk enough for the both of them. She’d talk about work and her dislike thereof, the promotion she was up for, but really didn’t want. And she’d talk about her dreams. How she longed to escape the big city and find a simpler way of life. A life she could enjoy and call her own.
Apparently Granny’s mind had fared better than her body. Because, somehow, she’d managed to scrawl those three words.
Celeste would never forget the look of urgency in her