“Mari?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Could I have a hug?”
I answer by pulling her into my arms, cradling her against me as though the force of my love might protect her against hurt. It’s a feeble thought, but it’s all I have right now.
She’s sniffling against my chest, and I stroke her hair to let her know she can cry on me all she wants. I don’t know how long we stand like that before Soph draws back with a watery smile.
“You give good hugs.” Her lopsided smile gets bigger as she wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “My mom used to smother me.”
“Hugging too tight, you mean?”
Soph shakes her head. “Her boobs are really big and sometimes I’d get trapped in there and—”
“Okay, I get it.” I ruffle her hair, then grab the tissue box off the table. “You can come to me anytime for non-smothery hugs. Deal?”
“Deal.” She takes a tissue and blows her nose loudly, prompting a fresh round of squawking from Leonard.
“Love you!” he shouts. “Griffin Walsh! Love you!”
Soph turns to look at him. “Wow,” she says. “I guess he really likes my dad.”
“I guess so.” Since he’s parroting me, it’s safe to say everyone in this room feels that way.
Movement flashes in the corner of my eye, and I glance out the window to see Griffin striding up the walk. He sees me and grins, then bounds to the door and raps twice.
My heart pounds as I throw it open, wishing I could throw myself into his arms.
“Hey there!” He pulls me against his chest, answering my unasked question about how he wants to handle things with Soph. “I see both members of the Walsh family had the same idea.”
Soph grins and wraps her arms around the both of us. “She gives the best hugs, huh, Dad?”
“That she does.” Griffin plants a kiss on top of my head, and I pray Soph won’t decide to praise the huggability of my small boobs. “I was actually coming by to see if Mari might want to have dinner with us Tuesday.”
“What’s Tuesday?” I cross my fingers and hope I haven’t forgotten someone’s birthday.
“Nothing special.” Griff draws back and grins. “Well, it’ll be special if you’re there. But it’s also the first day all week that I don’t have to work late training new staff in the brewery.”
I hesitate only a second before accepting. Surely it’s not an ethical issue if his daughter is there, making it not a date? “I’d love to come,” I tell him. “What can I bring?”
Soph wrinkles her nose and glances at the garbage can. “Maybe not muffins.”
“Definitely not muffins.” I laugh and look at Soph. “I have it on good authority you like things a little tart. How about I bring lemon meringue pie?”
The girl gapes at me. “You can make that?”
“No, but Patti and Colleen make the best lemon meringue pie I’ve ever tasted. And if they can’t teach me to bake one between now and Tuesday, I’m hoping I can persuade them to sell me one.”
“Deal.” Soph laughs and skips over to Leonard’s cage. “You hear that, birdie? We’re getting pie.”
Leonard tilts his head and looks at her. “Bad sign!”
I force a laugh because that’s how Griff and Soph respond, but I have no idea how he learned that phrase. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.
But deep down, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I just need to get the forms signed. Then I can tell Griffin and things will be okay.
I take a deep breath, hoping like hell that’s true.
Chapter 12
CONFESSIONAL 729
Walsh, Griffin (Brewmaster: Juniper Ridge)
Yeah, I’ve made mistakes in my career. Bought a bunch of used equipment with my first brewery and scorched some expensive grain when the heating element malfunctioned. Coulda burned down the whole brewery if I hadn’t caught on in time.
But I try to learn from stuff like that. It sounds cocky, but I’m a damn good brewer, and I owe that to my own screwups. I’m in a good place now because I was in a bad place before, and isn’t that what progress looks like?
“Not to brag, but I’m pretty sure those were the best ribs I’ve ever made.” I rest my napkin on my plate and look at Mari. “Did you want to get the film crew in here to document their majesty?”
She laughs and wipes her hands on her own napkin. “They were pretty amazing. Did you do something special?”
“Soph and I picked up a Traeger in town last week.” I glance at my daughter, remembering the easy joy of strolling the home improvement store debating the merits of hickory versus pecan versus alder for our wood pellets. A year ago, we were flat broke and couldn’t have afforded a bag of pellets, let alone a top-of-the-line smoker.
Soph looked so happy, swinging her arms as we surveyed the options. “Junipers are trees, right?” She touched a bag of applewood pellets. “We should find some of those to go with our new home.”
Hearing her call Juniper Ridge “home” had my heart swelling up like Ballpark franks on a grill. We’ve come so far these past couple months, and I owe much of that to Mari.
She catches me smiling at her and grins back. “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” she says. “Unless someone just happened to put one medium-sized, extra saucy rib on my plate. Then, I’d be forced to enjoy it.”
I grab the tongs to set one on her plate. “Your sacrifice is admirable.”
“Dad, can I get dessert?” Soph stands up and eyes Mari eagerly. “We’ve got your pie and also banana bread. I made it myself because your banana muffins didn’t work out.”
“That’s so thoughtful.” Mari sets her rib down and smiles at my kid. “Any chance I can have both?”
Soph beams and turns to the kitchen. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
While Soph’s back is turned, I reach across the table and take Mari’s hand. “Thanks for joining us.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” She glances at Soph. “Both of you. You’re officially two of my favorite people to spend time with.”
“That’s just the ribs talking.” I squeeze her hand as Soph bangs around in the kitchen.
“And the dessert,” Soph calls. “Two kinds.”
Mari smiles, but her eyes are earnest. “I mean it, though. It’s just so easy being around you. I don’t feel anxious or awkward.” Her smile turns self-conscious. “Okay, a little awkward. But no more than normal.”
“Joel says that happens when you find your people.” Soph returns to the table with two plates, both piled with slices of pie and thick hunks of banana bread. “So maybe we’re your people.”
Mari stiffens, and for a second I think Soph said something to freak her out. Then a slow smile spreads over Mari’s face. “Maybe so,” she says as Soph sets a plate down in front of her. “Maybe so.”
She’s still smiling as Soph puts a dessert plate down in front of me and grabs my empty plate. “Are you done with the ribs?” she asks Mari. “And do you maybe want to come with us to the Mental Museum?”