Kelsey’s frown deepens as she looks from Liv to me. I smother a rush of shame and turn to my food. Liv and Kelsey chatter on all through breakfast before I pay the bill and we head to the art fair.
Every year it’s held in a huge room at the convention center, with tables of arts and crafts for sale. The place smells like pine and cinnamon. Christmas music wafts from overhead speakers. We leave our coats in the coatroom and wait in a short line to buy tickets.
“I want to look at the wreaths first.” Liv grabs a basket at the entrance and heads into the crowd.
Kelsey and I follow. She tucks her arm through mine. “It’s still the baby thing, isn’t it?”
I haven’t even thought about the baby thing in weeks. “No.”
She doesn’t look as if she believes me. I watch Liv as she examines a table filled with Christmas wreaths. Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, her cheeks flushed from the outside cold and inside warmth. She’s talking with one of the vendors, gesturing to a wreath, smelling some sort of flower.
“She’d be an amazing mother,” Kelsey remarks.
“Yeah.”
I feel her looking at me. “And you would be an amazing father.”
I don’t reply. She pulls me to a halt and turns to face me.
“You would, Dean,” she insists. “I know it.”
“No one knows that.”
“Liv does. She wouldn’t have thought about children if she didn’t know that about you.”
That has never occurred to me before.
“What do you think of this one?” Liv comes toward us, holding up a wreath about the size of a tire. “It’s made of noble fir, cedar, juniper, and I just love these little frosted pinecones.”
“Looks great,” I say.
Liv beams. “She’ll throw in a snowman ornament and a garland too. I’ll pay now and she’ll hold it for us to pick up later.”
She heads back to the wreath table. Kelsey and I look around at some of the other arts and crafts, and before we’ve gone halfway through the room Kelsey has a basket full of star-shaped glass ornaments, Christmas cards, handmade earrings, nutcracker stocking holders, and scented candles.
“For gifts,” she tells me defensively when she catches me grinning.
“Uh huh.”
“Come on, I’m hungry. That quiche wasn’t enough for me.” Kelsey hooks her basket over her arm. “Let’s find the fudge. Where’s Liv?”
We wind through the crowd to the section where vendors sell gourmet food items and gift baskets. I catch sight of Liv and point her out to Kelsey. We head toward her.
Then I stop.
He’s there. The chef who taught Liv’s cooking class. The man who kissed her.
He’s standing behind a vendor’s table. And he’s looking at my wife. Liv is a short distance away, her expression guarded but polite as she talks to him.
Rage boils so fast, so hard, that it propels me forward. I shove Kelsey aside and plow through the crowd to get to Liv. The other guy jerks his gaze to me, alarmed.
“Dean!” Sensing danger, Liv whirls around before I reach her. Her eyes widen. She holds out a hand to prevent me from crashing over the table and strangling the chef.
Which I’m this close to doing.
“Dean.” Liv spreads her hands across my chest and tries to push me away from the table. “It’s okay. Dean, it’s nothing.”
The chef—whatever the hell his name is—stares at me, his face white. Good. Let the little bastard be scared.
“What were you saying to him?” I’m half-aware that people are glancing in our direction, but I don’t care.
“Nothing. Just hello. He’s selling spice mixes.” Her fingers tighten on my shirt. “Dean, please.”
“Really… really, man, it was nothing,” the chef stammers.
I point a finger at him. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
Another hand closes on my arm. Kelsey. She yanks hard enough to catch me off-guard. “Come on, Rambo. Take a seat.”
She manages to pull me to an eating area and shoves me onto a bench. Liv stays where she is, watching me warily. The crowd resumes its normal movement.
Kelsey bends to look me in the eye. She looks pissed. “What the hell was that?”
I pull in a breath, my anger still hot. “She kissed him.”
“What?” Kelsey steps back, blinking in confusion.
“That asshole was her cooking teacher. He walked her to her car one night and kissed her. She kissed back.”
Kelsey shakes her head. “I don’t get it. Liv kissed him?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But why…” She glances back at Liv in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not. Ask her. Then ask her if it was good.”
“Oh, Dean.”
“Fuck, Kelsey.” I drag a hand down my face. “I can’t get rid of it.”
She doesn’t say anything. I’m grateful. There’s nothing she can say that would make it any easier.
“Dean?” Liv’s voice is tentative as she appears behind Kelsey. She glances from me to Kelsey and back again. “Please don’t be mad.”
I exhale hard. “I’m not mad.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. I’m not either.