Page 25 of Cookies and Control

Betsy makes me want to be a better man, to stop using my mother’s standards of right and wrong. It’s time I admit what is true in my heart. Betsy shouldn’t have to suffer another word.

“A little makeup wouldn’t hurt. How do you expect to catch a nice young man’s attention?”

The light in Betsy’s eyes dims. Her shoulders drop as she places another cookie on the tray.

“I mean, you have such potential.” Mother leans closer. “Time isn’t standing still, you know. And men these days, they’re so particular about—”

“Mother.” My voice comes out sharper than intended. I cross the room in three strides, positioning myself between them. “Betsy doesn’t need fixing.”

“Oh, look at Bull being the protective father. I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re not being helpful.” I place my hand on Betsy’s shoulder, hating that she cringes at my touch. “She’s perfect exactly as she is. Beautiful, inside and out.”

Betsy’s shoulder relaxes.

“She doesn’t need makeup or anyone’s approval. What she needs is respect and trust for the incredible women she already is.”

Mother blinks, taken aback by my intensity. But I can’t stop. Not when I feel Betsy trembling under my touch.

“Look at her, Mother. Really look. She glows with her own light. That’s not something that needs enhancing or fixing.”

The room falls silent. I realize I’m rubbing Betsy’s shoulder. I drop my hand, but not before catching the flash of something in Betsy’s eyes. Hope? Fear? Both?

“What’s gotten into you, young man?”

“Betsy. We’ve been talking through things lately. She’s opened my eyes to a whole new world, and I plan on fully supporting her.”

“Fully?” Betsy bites her lip. “Does this mean you’ll support the bikini barista business?”

My chest tightens. The thought of other men ogling her will always burn, but I force myself to focus on the gift I most want to give her—my trust. “You have my full backing.”

Mother’s face turns an alarming shade of red. “Bikini barista? This is lewd! Inappropriate! You’re her father. You’re supposed to teach her right from wrong!”

“I did my best.” I meet Betsy’s eyes. “But now she’s teaching me. About courage. About being true to yourself.”

“Teaching you? What could she possibly—”

“And as for needing a man?” I take Betsy’s hand, my heart pounding. “She already has one. If she can forgive me for being such an idiot, I promise to spend every day attempting to be the fantasy man she deserves.”

Rocky has stepped beside us and takes her other hand. “She has both of us. And I—”

Mother’s eyes roll back. Her knees buckle, and she crumples toward the floor. Rocky and I catch her before she hits the ground.

Sixteen

Betsy

I sink into the plush armchair, emotionally drained from Grandma’s dramatic fainting spell. She’s physically fine, but Bull was right all along—she’ll never be able to understand what we have.

The house feels eerily quiet now that all the relatives have cleared out.

“That was something.” I snack on one of the cookies I piled onto a plate.

Rocky leans against the fireplace mantel, his expression soft. “I guess Bull was onto something when he said we should wait until after the party.”

Bull kneels before me, taking my hands in his, returning my cookie to the pile. “I’m done hiding how I feel about you, Betsy.”

“I was starting to think you were Mama’s boys,” I tease, but my voice catches.

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