Chapter Eleven
The town square was packed, bustling with people and music and chatter. The syrupy sweet smell of pancakes wafted from countless tables, luring even more people onto the street. Charlotte’s mouth watered. Pancakes were definitely on the morning agenda.
She spotted the Girl Scout troop and found Gracie standing nearby in her cute little outfit, complete with sash and hat. The train station loomed in the background, taunting Charlotte with memories of her first night with Tripp.
She tapped the little girl on the top of her head. “Hey, Gracie.”
Gracie whirled around and hugged her. “Charlie!”
Charlotte looked around at the handful of stressed-out moms manning the booth, one of whom wore a uniform just like Gracie’s. She must’ve been the troop leader.
“Looks like you’re almost ready to go.” The bags of batter were out, and skillets sat on a heating element plate.
Gracie worried her sash, a tiny frown puckering her forehead. “Yeah, we have to start making the pancakes soon, and my daddy is the expert flipper, but he’s not here yet.”
“That’s all right, kiddo. I can flip a mean pancake,” Bo said, hanging near the table. Charlotte noticed the wink he tossed at the troop leader, but the woman did not look impressed.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“Come on, Erica. When are you going to stop pretending you don’t like me?”
“When you give me a reason to think differently,” the woman, Erica, said without looking up from stirring the pancake batter in a big bowl.
“Oh, I’ll give you plenty of reasons to like me. Starting tonight. Dinner?”
“Never.”
Charlotte stifled a laugh. The smooth-talking Bo Drake was having a hard time with this woman? Interesting.
“How about breakfast, then?” he tried. “I’ll take over Tripp’s place. He just texted that he’s running late.” He glanced at Charlotte. “Cow emergency.”
Erica looked at Bo dead in the eye.
“You know you need me,” he said, grinning.
But Erica just smiled and, keeping her eyes on Bo, said, “Excuse me, miss?”
Charlotte blinked. Apparently she was talking to her. “Ah, yes?”
“Can you help flip pancakes?” Erica asked her.
Charlotte was about to say no way in hell, because she couldn’t make an ice cube much less a pancake, but Gracie looked so hopeful.
“Sure,” Charlotte said, hoping her grimace at least resembled a smile.
Bo didn’t say anything, just looked at Erica like he was truly wounded. Erica merely tossed Charlotte an apron. She put it on, the bright red fabric with dancing green peppers tied tightly around her waist, and took up a station beside Gracie.
Erica set a big bowl of batter down next to her and handed her a spatula. “Just pour a quarter of a cup at a time and flip every thirty seconds or so.” Then she shuffled over to the next table to help other girls and their moms get going.
Gracie smiled up at her, and Charlotte tried to tamp down her nerves. There was a line of people already forming, paper plates in hand.
“Well, here we go…” Charlotte said, and poured the batter.
The pancakes bubbled and Gracie smiled. “You’re doing good.”
She appreciated Gracie’s support, because when Charlotte looked around, she realized she was getting the stink-eye from two of the women in nearby tents. The same two she’d run across before.
She took a deep breath and flipped the pancake and wondered if black was the correct color for a pancake, just as their first customer approached.
With a tight smile and Gracie at her hip, she started doing her best as “acting pancake parent.”
…
Tripp hated being late, but sometimes the ranch made it tough to get out of there. Only twenty minutes into the festivities, and already the town square was packed. Hopefully Bo had taken over his station until he could get there.
“Hey, man,” Bo said, sidling up to him while scraping a paper plate of pancake syrup.
“Where’s Gracie?” Tripp demanded. “Why aren’t you with her?”
“Relax, she’s with Charlotte. Maybe I was wrong about our chat the other day.” He licked his fork. “These are damn good pancakes.”
Tripp didn’t register half of what Bo was saying. He’d already spotted Charlotte with Gracie behind the table, flipping pancakes. Pride and happiness swelled in his chest.
“She stepped in?” Tripp asked.
“More or less,” Bo said. “But Gracie is happy. You seem to be, too.”
He was happy. And seeing Charlotte with his daughter doing mom-type things, like watching a movie or making pancakes, made him want so badly to give that to Gracie. It also made him want Charlotte all the more.
“Maybe she’ll stick around after all,” Bo said. “But who am I to know a damn thing. I’m going to get more pancakes. You coming?”
Tripp nodded. “Yeah. They turn out well?”
“Oh God no, not Charlotte’s. I don’t think the woman can cook to save her life. I got some of Erica’s pancakes.”
Erica was the troop leader and a busy single mom. He liked her. Gracie loved her. And Bo always went out of his way to talk to her.
One of these days, they’d have to have a talk about hitting on single parents.
Tripp saw a little too much smoke coming from Charlotte’s skillet, and when she flipped the pancake, it was closer to charcoal than butter brown. Gracie blew at the smoke and Charlotte waved her hand over the skillet. It looked like a train wreck, but Gracie started cracking up and nudging Charlotte. Like she just wanted to be near her.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, or how that vision was making his heart thunder in his chest. Even now, they looked like they belonged together. All of his worries seemed minuscule in that moment, watching his daughter laugh and smile. Charlotte couldn’t make pancakes to save her life, but she was there, trying. She showed up. Which was more than Gracie’s real mother had ever done.
Tripp looked at the sea of troop moms, but only one woman held his attention. He may have thought she was the exact wrong one, but she didn’t seem so wrong any more.
…
“Oh God…oh come on…” Charlotte cringed, trying not to curse as yet another pancake burned. At least no one was really standing in her line anymore. She looked down at Gracie. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”
“My daddy says trying is all that matters,” Gracie said.
Charlotte smiled. There was so much love and kindness in the little girl. Tripp was an amazing father. “Well, hopefully your dad will still feel that way when he gets here.”
“There’s Daddy,” Gracie said, pointing a few yards out in front of the table where Tripp stood, watching them. He’d clearly come straight from the ranch, and Charlotte found herself biting her lower lip, looking extra long at the way his T-shirt clung to his muscles.
They were out of earshot, but Charlotte saw the woman approach him with her daughter, about the same age as Gracie, in tow. It was one of the women from the nut fry. She had on khakis and looked the type to carry sunscreen and dried organic banana chips in her purse. In short, she looked like a mom. A real mom.
“Amber! Over here!” Gracie called. The other little girl dashed over. While the two talked animatedly, Charlotte tried to focus on flipping burned pancakes, but she kept glancing up at Tripp and Amber’s mom.
When the woman took a step closer, leaning in when she spoke to Tripp and slowly rubbing his biceps, Charlotte accepted what she’d known from the moment she met him. Tripp was a catch. And women like Amber’s mom? They looked right with Tripp. She was from the same town, had the same values, and probably liked the same things as Tripp. Charlotte was from the city, had no desire for family or clue how to be a part of one.
Charlotte looked at her fifteenth attempt at a pancake—still burned. Which was telling of this whole situation. She would never be the “Amber’s mom” type who cooked and cleaned and took care of the house while her husband worked. She could play with Gracie, sure, and keep Tripp’s bed warm at night, but was that enough? No.
They deserved better.
She shook her head and tried to refocus. Stifling a curse, she scraped the latest batch of burned pancakes off the skillet.
A hand slid along her ass. Tripp kissed her cheek and whispered, “Thank you,” in her ear.
“Daddy, we made pancakes,” Gracie informed him.
“I can see that,” Tripp said, discreetly removing his hand from where it seemed more than happy to linger. “You want me to take over?”
“For the love of God, yes,” Charlotte said, handing him the spatula. She took off the apron and tried to move away, but he wasn’t having any of it.
Tripp wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“I have to go check on my grandma,” she said. Lie. Grammy was fine. She’d left her and Princess Peanut Butter at the bunco club table, where a cheerful conversation about who’d cheated in their last game had started up immediately.
Not that she’d tell Tripp that. She needed space from her thoughts. Thoughts that got foggy whenever he was around.
“Okay, well, how about dinner tomorrow?”
“Um, I have some errands to run in town,” she said, not sure if she could bear getting even more caught up in the Montgomerys. It’d just rip her heart out that much harder when she left. If nothing else, the “Amber’s mom” incident solidified that, yes, she would be going home.
“That’s okay. Gracie has her troop meeting in town, so maybe after? Say five?”
“Charlotte can pick me up,” Gracie added.
“Only if it’s okay with Charlotte?” Tripp said.
She blinked at him. Wait. He was going to let her pick up Gracie and bring her home? He trusted her?
She met Tripp’s eyes, and his smile was her undoing. “Okay.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
With that, he gave her a wink. As all the women flocked to his line, she turned and walked away.
Would tomorrow be the test she failed to prove to Tripp, and to herself, that she really was in over her head?