family, and that was unexpected. She hadn’t felt that way the day they’d all gone to the park, but she hadn’t known him as well then; they’d just met, they hadn’t kissed. That day he’d been Adrianne’s father. Today she knew about his struggles with his mother, the life he’d lived—and left behind—in California, and he knew about Artie, about Italy, about her.
But she also felt out of place because they weren’t a family. Callum was not her husband. Addy was not her stepdaughter. And the girl was in a mood Brooklyn didn’t know how to interpret. First she hadn’t wanted to get off his bike, and he’d had to lift her and dodge her kicking feet. Then she hadn’t wanted to walk inside, and he’d had to carry her. At the door, he’d told Brooklyn Addy just needed a nap, but the girl had curled her face into his shoulder like it was more.
Callum had ordered her a bowl of mac ’n cheese, a corn dog, and applesauce, reminding her they were her favorites when she said everything was yucky. Then he’d eaten his burger, ignored her playing with her food, and asked her about her day. She’d done nothing but shake her head and drink her milk. They’d argued about that, too. She’d wanted chocolate. He’d told her she couldn’t have dessert if she had chocolate with her meal.
His exasperation had tugged hard at Brooklyn’s empathy. He was trying to be reasonable when his daughter couldn’t have cared less about reason. She hadn’t wanted to talk to Brooklyn at all, giving terse responses and only at Callum’s insistence. Brooklyn had finally stopped trying. Something had happened between Addy leaving class this afternoon and Callum picking her up. Since the only place the girl had been was in the school cafeteria . . .
She looked at Callum. “When you left my classroom earlier, did the teachers mention anyone visiting after school?”
“Visiting?” he asked, and when she gave a nod toward Addy, he said, “Oh,” and set what was left of his burger on his plate, reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth before turning his attention to his recalcitrant daughter. “You never finished telling me about the hopscotch game you and Kelly Webber were playing when I came to get you.”
“It was stupid. School is stupid. Kelly is stupid.”
“Adrianne Michelle.” Callum’s tone was firm, his voice pitched low. “You know better. We do not call people names.”
“Kelly said I was stupid.”
When Callum frowned up at Brooklyn, all she could do was shake her head and shrug; she was clueless. “Why would Kelly do that?” he asked, returning his gaze to Addy.
“Because I wouldn’t share the cookies Grammy brought me, but Grammy told me they were ’specially mine,” she said, then curled up into her father’s side, pressing her face into his shirt as if it were a giant tissue for her tears and runny nose.
Callum muttered several choice words Brooklyn hoped Addy couldn’t hear, wrapping his arm around the little girl where she sat next to him on the booth’s bench. When he finally looked up, it was as if to say, See what I’m dealing with here?
“I wish I had an answer.” It was all she could think of.
“It’s my problem. Not yours. But thanks. Nice to know I’m not alone in this corner,” he said, glancing down then back up. “So to speak.”
She wished she was sitting beside him, too. He looked as if he could use a hug of his own. “You are doing a good job. Your mother’s right about that.”
He huffed. “Probably not the best time to be mentioning her.”
“I get that,” she said, her hands in fists on the edge of the table in front of her. “But there’s a lot going on here, and it’s obvious as far as she’s concerned that I’m in the way.”
His eyes grew dark, his mouth grim. And when he said, “You are not in the way,” his voice was on the verge of breaking.
She was stopped from responding by their server arriving and asking, “Can I interest either of you in dessert?”
“I’d like a slice of key lime pie,” she said absently, having seen it on the menu when ordering her food.
“Coming right up. Sir?”
“How about a piece of the tres leches cake?”
“Good choice,” the young man said, leaning over the table to gather their empty plates. “And for the little one?”
“Tell you what,” Brooklyn said, when Callum shook his head as if nothing would