5. Carrie

5

CARRIE

“ H e’s nice and the girls are sweet.” I cross my fingers when I say it so the lie doesn’t count.

“You didn’t sleep with him, did you? Not on the first night?” Suzie has that bossy big sister tone to her voice.

I think about Cole’s thick arms and solid chest and the grumpy way he looked at me like I was a pest on his land. “No. I definitely did not sleep with him on the first night.”

“Good.”

It seems to mollify Suzie. “Just wait to get to know him a bit better first.”

Which is rich coming from her, considering how she got together with her husband.

“Look, I’ve got to go. Cole’s taking me, um, horse riding.” I wince at yet another lie. But there is no way I’m telling Suzie what really happened. She practically begged me not to come here, warning me Cole might not be what he seems, and I can’t bear to tell her she was right.

I get off the call and chuck my phone on the couch next to me. I’ll tell Suzie once I’m back safe and sound in Hope, the small town at the base of Wild Heart Mountain where we live. She’ll only worry if she knows the truth. That I’ve been catfished by a granny. A sweet, kind granny, but still.

Joyce has been nothing but kind. When I asked if she had any baking ingredients last night, she stopped by with everything I need for cupcakes.

It’s what I do to feel better. When mom was sick, the house was full of baked goods. The neighbors must have gotten tired of eating the cookies and cupcakes and cakes I brought them every few days. But they always took them with smiles on their faces, trying to mask the pity they must have felt for an eighteen-year-old nursing her mother through cancer.

I wonder how many of my creations got eaten and how many ended up in the trash. It doesn’t matter. Baking made me feel better at the time, and it always has since.

Probably because it’s the one thing I used to do with my mother without Suzie. My sister never liked baking. When we got the mixing bowls out, she’d screw her face up and go outside to practice basketball instead, although she always came back to lick the bowl.

I push thoughts of Suzie out of my head. She’d flip if she knew what had really happened here, and it’d be even worse if she knew I’d stayed the night once finding out Cole wasn’t real. I think about his solid bulk and the scent I caught of pinewood and diesel and the way it made my lower belly pull up tight. He’s real all right.

He just doesn’t want anything to do with me. If only my car can get fixed today, and I can get the heck out of here. Maybe I can rent a hotel room somewhere for a week, and when I get back to Hope, I’ll tell Suzie it didn’t work out.

The cupboards are well stocked for a holiday home, although it dawns on me that this isn’t an AirBnB either. It’s probably the spare family cabin for when visitors come to stay.

I’ve worked out that Joyce lives on the property in her cabin alone, but there’s no mention of Cole’s parents. I wonder what happened to them and if it’s as tragic as what happened to his wife.

I shake my head to clear the thought. It’s none of my business. As soon as my car’s fixed I’ll be driving out of here and leaving this family to get on with their lives.

I choose pink food coloring for the frosting and make it up in a big silver bowl I find in the cupboard. It’s Saturday today and I watched Cole leave with the girls, their curious faces peering out at me from the pickup truck. I suppose they’re heading off for Saturday sports and dance class. Cole, I mean Joyce, told me all about what the girls are into.

I waved at them from the porch, and two small arms tentatively waved back. Only Cole maintained a stony expression. Like it’s my fault his grandma tricked me into coming here .

I spend the morning icing the cupcakes and eating one as I sit on the porch reading a paperback.

Joyce comes over to tell me Gus needs to order in a part for the car and it could take a few days. I call the rental company again hoping the situation has changed and they miraculously have a car in the area today. The woman seems bored and unhelpful.

There are no cars available.

I’m stranded here until the part for the Jeep turns up.

I grab another cupcake and stuff it in my mouth.

Joyce is so apologetic I can’t be angry at her. She invites me to have dinner with her, and I accept. If I’m stuck here, I may as well make the most of it. And I’m beginning to enjoy the company of the older woman, even if I haven’t quite forgiven her yet.

The property borders part of the national park, and there are trails that head off into the woods. I do a short walk in the afternoon and come back to the cabin to cool off. It’s unseasonably hot, and I take a cool shower before heading to what’s become my favorite armchair on the porch.

Sometime while I was out, Cole came back. The pickup is parked out front, and the giggles of the girls travel across the yard as they bounce on the trampoline.

I grab my toiletries bag and dig in it for the nail polish I shoved in there. I don’t often paint my nails; I need to keep them short for work, and who’s got the time to keep up a nail regime? But with nothing to do but wait for my car to get fixed, I take the time to file them into shape. Then I choose a forest green from my small collection. It goes with my surroundings and happens to be my favorite color.

I paint my fingers first, and while they’re drying I read my book. Once my fingernails are dry, I move onto my toes. For my toes, I select a deep red. I’m bent over painting the last pinky when a child’s voice startles me.

“What are you doing?”

I glance up to find the youngest girl staring at my toes. She’s in a soccer uniform stained brown and grass-green. Her knees are caked with mud and her dark hair is hanging in loose wispy strands, tangling together as they blow in the breeze.

“I’m painting my nails.” I wiggle my toes and hold out my hands so she can see the bright colors.

She peers are me, her round eyes serious, but doesn’t speak.

“I’m Carrie. What’s your name?”

The girl ignores my question and darts to the left to retrieve a soccer ball that must have rolled there. She turns to head back over to her side of the yard when her sister jogs up behind her.

“Hi!” The sister is less reserved than the younger girl, and her eyes go wide when she sees the pots of nail polish on the table.

“O.M.G. You’re painting your nails!” She squeals in delight and picks up the bottles of polish, inspecting them one by one. “Can you do mine?

The little sister tugs on her older sibling’s t-shirt.

“Dad says we aren’t allowed to talk to her.” She darts a look up at me, and I try not to be offended. Cole doesn’t know me. He’s just cautious about his girls hanging out with a stranger.

“That was last night,” the older girl says with authority. “He didn’t say it today.”

The little sister’s brow knits together as she processes this information. She must conclude that what her sister says is correct, because she takes a small step closer to me.

“My name’s Kyra,” says the youngest girl. “I’m six years old.” She gives me a shy smile like she’s proud of her age.

“Six!” I exclaim. “What a great age.”

“Olivia’s nine,” Kyra continues. “She goes to hip hop on Saturdays, but I do soccer. I can kick it into the goal. Do you want to see?”

Now that Kyra’s started talking, she doesn’t stop. I watch her as she demonstrates kicking the ball, lining up two tree stumps as goal posts.

Her brows furrow in concentration as she runs and kicks the ball. It looks like it’s going to go wide, but it curves around and slips in between the tree stumps.

Kyra comes running over with a big grin on her face.

Meanwhile Olivia’s inspecting each color, holding it up to the light. “Do you have any pink?” she asks.

I rummage in my bag and pull out a pale pink color, and she grabs it from me.

“Can you do my fingers this color?” Her grin is wide and infectious. “Please,” she adds.

“Sure. ”

Kyra picks up the green, the same color I chose. “I want this one.”

Olivia nudges her and she adds, “Please.”

The girls hold their hands out to me. Kyra’s are caked in mud, and even Olivia, who comes across as the least wild of the two, has dirt under her nails.

“First thing we need to do, girls, is give these hands a good scrub clean.”

Kyra screws up her face, but they both follow me into the cabin. I wonder if Cole’s watching and if he’s going to storm over here and tell them off for coming into ‘the stranger’s’ cabin. I direct them to the kitchen sink because it looks over the yard, so at least he can see where they are.

With their hands scrubbed clean, I lead the girls back outside and get to work on the nails. Luckily I bought my entire manicure set, because their nails are a disaster. Kyra’s look like they haven’t been clipped in weeks, and Olivia’s are bitten down so much I can’t get the nail file close enough to shape them.

I guess nail care isn’t a priority when you’re a single parent. I try to remember what it was like when I was growing up. Mom raised us on our own, so I’m pretty sure my nails were a mess too.

As I apply the nail polish, the girls chat with me, telling me all about their school and their interests.

They ask me lots of questions: Why I wear a skirt? - Kyra.

Have I ever been to a nail bar to get my nails done properly? - Olivia .

Who my favorite soccer team is? - Kyra

How I got my hair into the topknot? - Olivia.

While their nails dry, I grab my hairbrush, and they take it in turns sitting in front of me while I brush the tangles out of their hair. I give them both French braids, which Kyra has trouble keeping still for.

“Do you girls like cupcakes?” I ask

Olivia’s eyes go wide. “Yes please!” Kyra gives her a look I can’t interpret, and Olivia nudges her.

“Do you have any allergies I should know about?” I ask Olivia.

She shakes her head. “No, nothing.”

I pop inside to grab the plate of cupcakes, and Olivia squeals when she sees them.

Olivia reaches for one and takes a big bite, but Kyra hesitates.

“Dad wouldn’t…” Whatever she’s about to say gets cut off by Olivia delivering a sharp jab to the ribs.

“Owww.” Kyra gives her sister a dirty look. “What did you do that for?”

Olivia swallows her mouthful and hands a cupcake to her sister. “Just try one, okay?0 See if you like it.”

“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like cupcakes.” I smile at the girls. I guess Cole isn’t much of a baker, because Olivia devours her and grabs a second before glancing up at me, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I have another one?”

“Sure,” I tell her. “But no more after that or you might not want your dinner.”

Kyra takes a nibble of hers and chews it with a frown on her face as if trying to decipher the ingredients I’ve used. I see the moment it hits her taste buds, because her eyes go wide in astonishment and the frown disappears. She takes a bigger bite and chews it furiously, dropping crumbs on the ground.

Her ears wiggle as she eats, and it makes me laugh. Olivia laughs too, and a bit of cupcakes flies out of her mouth.

That makes her laugh even more, and then we’re all laughing so hard I don’t notice Cole until he’s striding across the lawn towards us, a look of fury on his face.

“Shit,” says Kyra.

I look at her in surprise, wondering where a six-year-old learns language like that. She’s spitting out the cupcake into her hand while Olivia furiously chews the rest of hers, trying to swallow it quickly.

“What are you feeding my girls?” Cole thunders across the yard. “Is that…” He stares at the plate where one solitary cupcake remains. “…cupcakes?”

I hold up the plate. “You want the last one?”

“You fed them cupcakes without asking me?” His eyes flash dangerously.

“It’s only cupcakes. Your mom dropped the ingredients off for me because she knows I love to bake.” Which he would know if it had really been him I was corresponding with.

“How much sugar is in these things?”

His shoulders shake, and it dawns on me he’s angry. Like, really angry. This can’t be just about cupcakes .

“I’m sorry, I should have checked first. Olivia told me no one has allergies.”

“You asked a nine year old?” As he says it he looks down at the girls for the first time, and he freezes.

Olivia clasps her hands behind her back, but Kyra, too slow or unaware of the danger lets him take her hand. He holds it up and frowns at the nail polish.

“You put nail polish on a six year old?”

He’s saying these things like I’ve mortally wounded them, but since when did nail polish and cupcakes hurt anyone?

“They were curious. We had a little girl time.” I keep my tone light, not wanting to scare the girls, but my voice sounds tight.

Cole runs a hand through his hair. “Girls, get in the house.”

“But Dad…” Olivia starts.

“Now.” Kyra runs off immediately, but Olivia frowns at her dad and makes a show of stomping her feet.

“She was just being nice.”

“Olivia…” Cole’s voice has a warning note to it, and his daughter wisely stomps off.

I feel terrible that I’ve gotten them into trouble. “It wasn’t their fault. I was doing my nails…” I hold out my fingers and wiggle them in front of Cole. “…and they came over. I didn’t think there was any harm in it.”

He scowls at my nails, and a vein ticks in his neck.

“No harm in teaching young girls they need to preen themselves in order to have self-worth. ”

I take a step back, shocked by his train of thought. “It’s just a bit of fun…”

“And feeding them cupcakes. Do you know what all that sugar does to your insides? The effect it can have over time?”

There he goes on about sugar again. I agree sugar isn’t the healthiest food source, but everyone needs a little bit of sugar in their lives, and it seems Cole does most of all. “A little sugar once in a while can’t be bad.”

“This is a sugar free home.”

My eyes widen in surprise. I’ve heard of such things but I didn’t know they really existed. How can a man with two little girls never eat any sugar? What do they have for dessert?

A terrible thought hits me. I bet those girls don’t eat dessert, not even on weekends, not even on special occasions.

That’s a terrible thing to do to a child, and I’ll bet anything this isn’t just about sugar.

“It was just a cupcake. I’m sorry. It won’t harm them, and it won’t happen again.”

“Damn straight it won’t. Isn’t your car meant to get fixed today, or are you hanging around thinking you’ll win me over?’

The words sting like a slap to the cheek, and I take another step back.

His expression immediately softens, but it’s too late. It’s not my fault I’m stranded here with the world’s grumpiest man.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cole. I was tricked into coming here, remember? I’m not the one who’s so up his own ass that his grandmother needs to search outside the state to find him a date.”

He lets out a surprised back of a laugh. But I’m too fired up to see the funny side.

“You don’t deserve the last cupcake.”

I snatch up the plate, turn on my heel, and storm into the house.

That grumpy hot mountain man with the manners of a pig can go fudge himself.