One Cup of Daddy and a Dash of Love - Victoria Sue Page 0,22
Fitzpatrick eyed Jensen carefully before focusing back on Dash. “I know Mr. Carmichael, of course,” she said, and she put out her hand. “Your aunt was very proud of your business success.”
Jensen had never heard of her, but he shook hands politely. She immediately focused back on Dash. “I was under the impression you’d left the area.”
Her tone was so accusatory. Like Dash had to account for every movement to her.
“No, I decided not to,” Dash said almost apologetically.
She arched an eyebrow. “I thought after the store closed there would be little to keep you here.”
Dash flushed. “This is my home.”
Jensen stepped closer. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he didn’t like this woman one bit.
She smiled thinly. “I suppose taking the offer for the store and the house you’ll be rolling in money. I wasn’t surprised you sold out.”
Dash’s lips parted, but nothing came out and he looked devasted as she walked away. Sold out? What the hell? Dash had been homeless. He still was technically.
Jensen really needed to call his lawyer on Monday and try and find out what had happened. “I’m hungry.” He knew if he had asked if Dash was hungry, he’d have gotten a no, but phrase it like it was something Jensen needed? He saw the worry change to immediate concern for Jensen and knew he’d made the right call.
And filed away the information for later.
“For lunch?” Dash asked, the worry in his voice making Jensen feel guilty.
“How about if we head home?” Jensen suggested. “We need to collect everything we bought, and I’d love to make you a parsnip soup.”
Dash agreed as Jensen—guiltily—knew he would, but he wanted him away from people like Eleanor Fitzpatrick.
He wanted him safe at home where no one would hurt him.
Seven
Eleanor Fitzpatrick. Of all people to meet it had to be her, Dash thought.
“I thought you said it was just you and Jean that worked in the store?” Jensen sounded mildly curious, but there was no way Dash could avoid the question, much as he wanted to. They were home and had just finished unpacking everything.
“Eleanor worked as the manager after Gran died.”
Jensen didn’t immediately reply. Dash could tell he was being cautious. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you,” he said quietly.
Dash blinked away the sting in his eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. Gran told me Eleanor had ran the café in one of the big stores in Charlotte, so I thought she would know what she was doing, and she said—”
Jensen looked over at Dash. He knew he was jittery but couldn’t seem to keep still. A million thoughts were rushing through him, and panic seemed to scratch the surface of his skin. Without speaking, Jensen took hold of his hand and led him to one of the big easy chairs. “I don’t want to be inappropriate, but?”
“Yes,” Dash whispered, prepared to beg, and Jensen sat down, easing him down gently and plucking Tuppence off the table and pressing him into Dash’s hands.
And Dash’s heart slowed. For a long moment he didn’t want to speak at all, and then out of nowhere, he needed Jensen to know. He needed Jensen to know how pathetic he was. He couldn’t stand the waiting to see when Jensen was going to decide he’d had enough of Dash and he’d have to go anyway. Surely it was better just to get it over with?
“I’d tried for six weeks. I can follow Gran’s recipes. I’d spent nearly two years watching her do them, and I can bake a perfect loaf of bread, just not thirty all at once. I spend so long getting one right that I run out of time. Eleanor came into the shop most days as a customer. She always seemed to want what I hadn’t made or made so few of we sold out in the first hour, and after the funeral she offered to help. She could see I was overwhelmed.”
Dash couldn’t bear to look at Jensen. To see the condemnation or even the pity in his eyes. “She offered to help. Said she was looking for a part-time job because her daughter had just had a baby and she wanted to be with her more. It was better at first, but I still couldn’t bake fast enough, so we were losing customers.”
Jensen frowned. “But didn’t she bake?”
Dash shook his head. “She ran the front. Handled the customers.”