Scott
Four days have gone by since the disaster that was last Saturday occurred.
The kids continue to mope over Emma’s bowl, and even though I had the boys apologize to Nova and Grey both for their outburst, Clay and Griffin still aren’t speaking to each other. Nova’s been distant, spending her breaks since Saturday texting back and forth with whom I can only assume is Grey Kasen, the lucky bastard. My heart has a few cracks in it for a variety of reasons as well.
It’s my fault. My crabby attitude towards Nova last week didn’t help matters, and it put the kids in the middle. She hasn’t said much the last few days, including what it was she wanted to talk to me about after the game, which is fine. After overhearing the boys’ argument, it’s been hard to talk about anything with her because I’m so embarrassed.
Sleep was hard to find last night as my mind tossed and turned along with my body. Maybe Vera Kay saw that Nova would pair better with him, even though she had dropped hints for weeks that Nova and I had good chemistry, and tried to convince me to take a shot.
I count up all the ways I fall short to Grey Kasen. He’s undeniably a good man, always going above and beyond to help my kids, all of whom look up to him. Well, maybe Clay’s going to need a pep talk now. He’s close to Nova’s age, and although the man stays busy in the community, he doesn’t have the same baggage I do and doesn’t have to plan every moment of every day out.
Not that I regret it, but it does complicate things.
Although, like with many other things in my life, I have to accept my defeat because there’s no way after that big blowup that she’ll give me a chance. I may have lost her to the golden boy of Silverton, but I can’t stand to lose her in our lives because I acted like a semi-jealous asshole. Okay, a fully jealous asshole.
She deserves to be happy, though. If Grey brings her joy, I can keep my feelings to myself and step aside.
First things first, I owe Nova a big apology, which I’ll give to her as soon as I get to Baked & Brewed today. Then, I’m going to prove to her how much we want her in our lives.
Nova agreed to open up this morning, allowing me to take a couple of the kids to the dentist, then back to school. Henry wasn’t feeling too well, so I dropped him off by Vera’s, who said she’d bring him with her to the shop. His sudden illness seems to have more to do with guilt than feeling green around the gills if I’m right.
Still, a day off won’t hurt him as he’s one of the smartest in his class and always makes straight As like Halle. I do worry that his self-consciousness about his scar will cause him an even bigger complex as he gets older, but Vera Kay swears up and down he’ll embrace it when the time is right. She’s also quick to remind me that Hadley’s more than willing to beat the snot out of anyone who makes him feel bad about it, as her suspension in the spring proved.
Entering the shop, I only see Millie Haberdasher sitting in her regular seat. The loud clanging of pots and pans signal where I need to go. Casting a quick wave at Millie, who’s completely engrossed in whatever’s on her laptop, I make my way towards the kitchen area, ready to eat crow when a new sight catches my attention.
A brand-new wooden display shelf, stained to match the cabinetry, sits front and center on the back coffee bar countertop. I’m almost sure none of my kids became carpenters or elves overnight, which means it’s mostly likely Vera Kay’s doing.
Multiple shelves house a set of white plates and cups, with some small houseplants and various metal decorations scattered in between. I admire the handiwork of the unit, noticing a small Kasen Construction brand on the bottom panel.
Even though it tastes bitter, I swallow my pride, realizing I owe Grey a thank-you for such a thoughtfully crafted item. As I do the mental math on what a unit like this will probably cost me because I can’t accept his charity, my gaze comes to a halt.
On the shelf at eye level, two very special items sit together—a framed pencil sketch of Emma with Harper’s signature on the bottom right-hand corner and the blue bowl that belonged to Emma’s grandmother. Although, the bowl now sports the addition of some gold paint along where the bowl was repaired.
Careful not to cause any damage, I take the bowl from its perch and inspect it, knowing full well these pieces had found a home in the trash can Saturday night.
“Dad?” Henry’s voice startles me, nearly causing me to drop it from my hands. I place it carefully back where I’d found it just a moment ago and turn to address my oddly chipper son.
He sports a big grin, a sight almost as rare as Griffin’s, and starts hammering me with questions and details. “Didn’t Nova do a good job?”
“She sure did,” I acknowledge, happy to see his depressed mood from this morning has lifted. Pointing to the prominent lines on the bowl, I ask, “Is that gold paint?”
“It’s called kentonsugar—or something like that.”
“Kintsugi, dear,” Vera corrects as she passes by, giving us both a look before walking over to Millie’s table with a plate full of biscotti in hand.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he agrees. “And you know what else?”
I nod as if to say I don’t, spurning him on as he points to the golden veins that encase the crack lines now. “Nova says that scars are the best part, just like mine.” His small finger touches his cleft lip scar, something he usually shies away from doing. “That they mean something’s too valuable to be thrown away.”
Nova. Tightness creeps across my chest as my heart swells. If she believes all that she did was restore an old bowl, she’s sorely mistaken. She just might have put some of the pieces of a little boy’s self-esteem back together as well. “Well, she’s right about that.”
Henry looks towards the kitchen, adopting a hushed whisper. “You’re not gonna throw her away, are you, Dad?”
I squint my eyes together, wondering what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”
He sighs as if he shouldn’t have to break things down for dear ol’ Dad. “I want her around for a long time. She’s kind of like the kindersuggin, you know.”
I muffle a laugh at his wild mispronunciations. “And how’s that?”
Taking on a more serious countenance, he stares at me in earnest and says, “Because she brings out the best in all of us.”
11
Nova
After Scott returned yesterday, he found me in the kitchen, elbow-deep in biscotti dough. Things have been strained, to say the least, since my aunt decided to play matchmaker over a week ago at the ballgame. I was worried that he was still in a mood or might even be angry that I had Grey install the shelf he built for the shop, one of the donations given for the Soiree from his dad’s company, Kasen Construction.
That was until he kissed me…
“Scott,” I began while trying to peel the biscotti dough from my fingers, “We need to—”
He closed the distance between us, cupping my face in his hands. “I’m sorry” was all he got out before he drew his lips to mine. Electricity zinged where his soft lips met my glossy ones, releasing all the tension from the past week and building it back with a whole new kind.