Free Sugar on Top by Marina Adair Page A

of coffee, a decent attempt at a breakfast cake, and the most pathetic-looking omelet he’d ever seen. But the girl was trying to cook and Cal appreciated the effort. Without hesitation, he dug in, prayed for a miracle, and took a bite—freezing mid-chew.
    “Well?” Payton asked, pulling her blond hair over one shoulder and twirling it into a single spiral. Cal resumed chewing—and chewing—while she sagged into the chair across from him. “Oh God, it’s awful, isn’t it?”
    “No, baby, it isn’t awful,” he assured her, willing the brick-like chunk of cake down his throat and a smile to his lips. Awful was being too generous, but his little girl had been working herself up in the kitchen since last week, trying to perfect this breakfast cake, and she had finally hit critical mass. Payton was primed for a good pout.
    Once upon a time, that had meant a cute puckered lip and a few sniffles. Nowadays, it was more a devastated, end-of-the-world explosion with a ninety-percent chance of major tears. Being a single dad to a teenage daughter meant he’d gotten used to tears. Didn’t mean he had to like them, though.
    “Yes, it is,” she whispered, sagging ever more and breaking his heart a little. “Everyone is going to laugh.”
    Cal swiveled his body sideways and popped out his left leg, making a daddy-sized knee-chair. He gave his thigh a pat. “Come here.”
    When she didn’t roll her eyes or scoff, and instead plopped down and wrapped her arms around his waist, Cal felt his world go right. Fashion magazines, hormones, and hair products couldn’t hide the fact that this was his little girl. Although when he pulled her to him in a bear hug and buried her head under his chin, he registered that she didn’t fit like she used to. She was growing again. The long arms and legs to her neck were all McGraw. The other parts—the curvy parts that he didn’t like to acknowledge—those were all his ex-wife’s doing.
    “Now, you want to tell me what’s going on, since I am pretty sure this has nothing to do with a breakfast cake?”
    Payton took a dramatic breath and snuggled closer, resting her cheek against his chest. “Saturday is the Cleats and Pleats Pep-Luck.” She leaned back, flashing those baby blues his way. “Get it? Potluck meets pep rally?”
    “I remember.” Cal already knew he wasn’t going to like this story. Cleats and pep rally were each a single degree of separation from his least favorite word— boys —and the way Payton was smiling, big and broad and not reaching her eyes, he knew that she had been excited about going and somehow his ex-wife had ruined it.
    “The football team has been pulling double days all summer, so to pump them up for the scrimmage, the cheer team always hosts a breakfast after their 6 a.m. practice. I was signed up to bring Mom’s rise-and-shine cake, you know the one with the cinnamon and peaches that you used to say was magical?”
    Cal nodded. He knew the one. And he knew where this was going.
    “Well, Mom called Friday. I guess she can’t come this weekend ’cuz she’s going to Cabo with Randal.” Payton sniffled and Cal wanted to throttle his ex. And good old Randy. “She e-mailed me the recipe but I think it’s missing something because no matter how many times I make it—”
    She gave the cake a hopeless glance and shrugged.
    “Did you try calling her?” Cal already knew the answer and felt like kicking himself for asking when his daughter’s eyes went misty. As usual, her mom was probably too busy with the new hubby to answer.
    “No, and she also told Kendra’s mom that she’d head up the griddle. And I’m going to be the only girl there without a m—mom and the older girls are going to think that I’m not pulling my weight.” And just like that the sniffles took a sad turn.
    “Hey, no tears.” He wiped the corners of her eyes with his thumb. “We’re McGraws. We’ve got this. You and me.”
    Her face lit up with hope. “You know