Born to Make You Smile

SIX

That Sunday morning, I was at the Brinley residence, setting up for Charlotte's twelfth birthday party. I’d helped her plan the day, and she’d been meticulous about the details. The theme was pink lemonade , and the backyard burst with pops of pink and yellow. There were balloons, jars of lemons, pink tablecloths, and, of course, plenty of sweet pink lemonade. I’d made the themed birthday cake, lemon scones, as well as a Tuscan turkey sausage and spinach pasta bake. I also arranged for pizza to be delivered later on.

We had several stations set up—one for candy, another for jewelry making, and one for cookie decorating. Charlotte also made sure she had a craft table and games organized for the younger children. Mostly, it would be Charlotte’s friends from school and their siblings in attendance, as well as family—Gavin's parents, his brother and sister, and their children, at least the younger ones and those available and in town from school.

Gavin strolled into the backyard with a wide smile, wearing a buttoned-up white polo shirt, hands in the pockets of his tan pants. His presence made my cheeks burn. I likely resembled a ripe red bell pepper from his garden.

“Wow,” he said, glancing around at the table setup. “This looks incredible. You outdid yourself.”

“I can't take all the credit. It was the brainchild of your daughter. She’s amazing. She had to make sure every detail was in place and that everyone was looked after.”

His gaze dragged down my body. “By the way, you look gorgeous. You fit right in with the decor.”

Running my hands over my hips, I awkwardly fixed the skirt of my breezy floral print yellow dress. “Thanks.”

With a hum, he looked up at the peach tree, then took hold of a small barren branch. “Pity there are no peaches this year.”

“I know.” I shrugged, arranging the candy bins on the table in front of me.

“That chilly winter got the best of us. Ahh well, it happens. Hope you aren’t too disappointed.”

I pushed out a smile. “There’s always next year.”

Truthfully, I was disappointed as I used the fruit in my cooking, mostly Austrian desserts my mother used to make. While the recipes called for apricots, my mom substituted peaches from the Brinley tree. The peaches were the right size and had a gentle tartness. Perfect for baking.

Gavin ran a hand over his neck. “Will your gentleman friend be joining us today?”

While Ethan and I had been on several dates so far, a birthday party with family and children seemed a touch too serious for the budding status of our relationship.

“No, he won't,” I answered.

“Shame.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “I could really see him getting into that craft table over there. Have the children glue tissue scraps all over him and turn him into a human pi?ata. Then watch him get smacked with a stick repeatedly.”

“ Gavin !” I scolded playfully. “That’s terrible!”

“It's all in good fun,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “He's so buff and tall, he wouldn't even feel the whacking.”

I shook my head, but I couldn't help but smile at the absurd visual.

***

The festivities were almost over, and Charlotte sat on a lawn chair on the grass, opening her gifts. Her brown hair, sleek and straight, spilled long down her back, and as per the theme of her party, she wore a pink T-shirt and a ruffled yellow skirt. She already looked like a young woman, growing up way too fast before my eyes.

Finally, she got to my present. She loved Peanuts—Snoopy and Woodstock in particular, so I hope she appreciated my gift.

“Yes!” Charlotte cheered, flailing her hands as she opened the bag. She pulled out the items one at a time: a hoodie and Converse sneakers with Snoopy and Woodstock on them. I’d found them both at a secondhand vintage store downtown for a fraction of the price.

“These shoes are amazing! Thank you, thank you!” She turned her head to Gavin. “Dad! Come look what Grace got me!”

He walked closer and glanced at the shoes Charlotte held up, his brows raised. “Very nice.”

Then he leaned in and whispered to me, his breath making the hairs on my neck twitch. “Thank you, love.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the unwelcome flush of tingly warmth his nearness brought to my body.

Gavin’s girlfriend, Michelle, walked by with her son, Hunter. Over the weeks, I had gotten to know Michelle. She was thirty-nine, a market researcher, and had been divorced for two years. She was nice, polished, a little quiet but friendly. I really hoped her son had fun. He and I did some painting together, but he didn't want to play with the others and clung to his mother most of the day.

Michelle put her hand on Gavin’s arm. “We’re gonna get going. But I'll call you tomorrow.”

“All right. I'll walk you out,” he said.

We all said our goodbyes, and I noticed Gavin leaning in to kiss Michelle with a quick peck. Suddenly, I was overcome with an intense jolt of discomfort deep down in the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling of possessiveness, of someone encroaching on my territory.

These jealous feelings were ridiculous. Awful. Impossible. They needed to end immediately.

I glanced at my phone and saw a message from Ethan.

Ethan: I had a lot of fun Friday night. Thinking about that kiss ;)

His text made me smile, a good distraction from these unhinged emotions I felt for Gavin.

Me: Me too :)

I imagined kissing Ethan again. The feel of his smooth, warm lips and skilled tongue. Then I thought about taking things a bit further. Hands wandering. Clothes off. My stomach wobbled. I wasn’t sure why even the idea of becoming more physical with him made me uncomfortable.

***

After the guests went home, I hung around in the kitchen to help clean up and wash dishes. I loved the Brinley kitchen, with its warm white cabinets, the cozy peninsula, and the best part—the large window to the backyard, which showcased the peach tree to perfection as if it were in a picture frame.

Gavin came up beside me, close enough that I could sense his body heat. “Grace, you can go home. Don't fret over the mess.”

“It’s all right. It’s no trouble at all.” I glanced at him, then continued my focus on washing.

“Let me help you, at least.”

He grabbed a tea towel to dry off some platters and dishes I had washed.

“Did you enjoy yourself? You spent so much time on the go. I didn’t see you sit down once. I hope you know it's not expected of you to always be on duty.”

“Definitely. You know me, I like keeping busy. And I do it because I enjoy it.”

Lately, I preferred to stay occupied. A busy mind didn’t have time to focus on other things. Like bills and debt.

I proceeded to scrub and rinse the baking dish that held the pasta bake, but remnants of it were stubborn.

“Your scones were delicious, as usual. Not one left. And this cake. I can’t believe you made this from scratch,” he said, glancing at the more than half-eaten cake on the counter. I baked a triple-layer strawberry-and-lemon cake with fluffy pink vanilla frosting, covered in candied lemon slices.

“I hope it was good. I didn’t get a chance to try it.”

“You can’t be serious!” He dropped the tea towel with a huff, then went to the cake and cut a slice. “You need to have some.”

“Gavin. It’s fine...I've had it before. And I’m washing—”

Before I could protest again, he put the cake-laden fork in front of me. Rolling my eyes, I let him slip the cake into my mouth.

He looked at me with a grin as he slowly pulled the fork out, the cool metal sliding along my lips. Something about him feeding me was strange and sensual, and tingles pierced through my belly.

Why was my body reacting like this all of a sudden?

I had to admit, the cake was delicious, and I couldn’t help but let out a little hum as I enjoyed the sweet delight. There was definitely icing grazing over my upper lip. I tried to lick it off, but it felt like I only pushed it farther up.

“Good, hey?” he asked, licking his lips.

I nodded as he grabbed a paper towel, then wiped my lips, then my cheeks, my forehead, and my neck.

I batted him away, laughing. “Come on, there is no way I was that messy!”

“I’m afraid you were,” he said with a straight face. “Your cheek especially.”

“My chee—”

Another forkful of cake was suddenly smeared on my left cheek.

Oh my God. What was he doing? Was he a child? In all the years I’d known Gavin, he’d never acted this way—so silly and playful. Sure, we joked around, but not like this. It was almost, dare I say, flirtatious .

“ Gavin ...” I said, annoyed, followed by a small giggle.

He chuckled, then wiped the icing off my cheek with a towel. “All clean. But please, I'll take care of the rest of the kitchen.”

“I’m almost done...”

“Wait, one more bite.”

I was hesitant that he’d put it all over my face again, but then he put the bite of cake in front of me. I opened my mouth, but he moved the fork away.

“Aha! Too slow,” he said, slipping the cake into his own mouth instead.

I flashed him a stern glance while he put another piece on the fork and held it out to me again.

“Okay, here, this one is yours.” He moved it close enough to touch my lips, leaving some icing on them, then moved it back again.

Seriously now?

I grabbed his wrist with my wet hand and moved the fork toward my mouth.

“Gotcha,” I said before slipping my lips over the cake, my eyes fixed on his, trying not to focus on the minor fact that he’d just had the same fork in his mouth.

With a stiff clearing of his throat, he hastily placed the fork down, then wiped his wet wrist with the tea towel.

“Okay, finish those, then please go home and rest,” he said.

“You should go rest too,” I pointed out. “You have three root canals tomorrow.”

We typically referred patients out for endodontic procedures, but if the case wasn’t too complicated, Gavin took care of it despite not being his favorite. To be honest, they were so tedious I really didn’t enjoy them either.

“ Three ?” Gavin groaned but then broke into a smile. “At least you’ll be there by my side. You make even the most dreadful situations more delightful, love.”

He moved behind me and put a hand over my right shoulder, the warmth of his fingers like a shock of lightning on my bare skin, striking me where I dreaded it most. The touch of another man had never induced a sensation that powerful in me before. These feelings were foreign and alarming. Scary.

Must. Wash. Dishes.

I scrubbed a tray furiously as if it were my mission.