Wrapped in Love

by Lexi Ryan

Jake gives me a hard look. “Listen, I know better than to tell a woman she doesn’t need to lose weight—losing battle. But do me a favor and don’t let Ava hear you talking about dieting, okay?”

  I frown. Ava is Jake’s wife and my stepsister. She’s tiny and perfect and currently has the world’s most adorable baby bump. The last thing she needs to worry about is her weight. “Why not?”

  Jake shakes his head. “She’s feeling frumpy. It doesn’t help that one of the teenagers at the theater told her she was carrying the baby ‘in her thighs.’”

  I flinch. “Ouch.”

  Brayden scowls at his brother. “You don’t actually let her believe that shit, do you?”

  “Let her? As if I can control what she thinks?” Jake shakes his head. “Don’t give me that look, Brayden. I tell my wife how beautiful she is every day, but apparently my opinion doesn’t count.” His huff expresses just how disgusted he is by that.

  I bite back a laugh, and a super-awkward snort slips out. “Boys are so cute and clueless.”

  “Everything going okay with her otherwise, though? The baby’s good?” Brayden asks.

  Jake beams. “Regardless of what Ava seems to think about the way her body is changing, everything is going beautifully.”

  “Molly, there you are!”

  Jake, Brayden, and I all turn to see the front door swing closed behind my landlord, Tom Eckles. He makes a beeline to my table, tracking snow in with every step.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you here,” Tom says. He drags a hand through his snow-speckled dark hair.

  “I’d better get back to the bar,” Jake says with a curt nod to Tom. I can tell by the change in his expression that he doesn’t like my landlord. Join the club.

  My gaze locks on Brayden in hopes that he might hear my silent plea not to leave me alone. It must work, because Brayden takes a seat in the booth across from me. “Hey, Tom,” I say, wariness making my voice thin. “What’s going on?”

  Tom seemed like a nice enough guy when he coached the girls’ volleyball team in high school. And he seemed like a nice enough guy when he agreed to rent me his late grandmother’s tiny two-bedroom cottage on the west side of town. I wish I could say he seemed like a nice guy last week when he made a pass at me and I declined, but nice guys don’t grab your ass and then call you an uppity bitch when you tell them to back off.

  “Hey, Brayden,” Tom says. “I just needed to talk to Molly for a minute.”

  Brayden lifts his chin, showing no sign of moving from his spot, thank God. “Hey, Tom. Talk away.”

  Tom pulls off his leather jacket and slings it over his arm as he shifts his attention back to me. “Hey, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m gonna need you and Noah out by the end of the week.”

  I blink at him, sure that I’ve heard him wrong. He didn’t just say—

  “You’re evicting her with a week’s notice?” Brayden says.

  Tom makes a face. “Not an eviction, exactly. I just need her to move. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to. But my niece is moving back to town next Monday, and she needs a place to stay.”

  “But you said . . .” He gave me a deal on renting his grandmother’s house and said Noah and I could stay there as long as we wanted. He even acted like he was doing me a big favor by not “locking me into a contract,” made me believe I wouldn’t need one anyway because “any day now” his siblings were going to come around to selling the house to me.

  “Sonofabitch,” Brayden mutters. “Where are they supposed to go?”

  Tom lifts his palms, but I see the way he instinctively backs away from Brayden. “My niece is pregnant, and my sister wants to see her settled before Christmas. The dad’s not around, and we’re just trying to help a young girl out.” He shifts his gaze to me. “You understand, I’m sure.”

  I understand because I’m a single mom, or . . . ? “I need more than a week.”

  There’s something cruel in his gaze as it tracks over me slowly before coming back up to meet mine. I see the residual anger in his eyes. Uppity bitch. “I wish things could have worked out differently.”

  He wishes I would have let him grope me when he tried to turn an awkward hug I didn’t want into an investigation of my ass. He wishes I’d spread my legs for him. He felt so entitled to what I didn’t give that now he’s fucking me over to punish me for it.

  “I hope I can count on you to leave the place as nice as it was when you moved in,” he says.

  I wrap my fingers around my glass and take a long swallow of beer to keep myself from chucking the contents in his face. He knows how much I’ve done to that house in the three short months I’ve been there. He knows I’ve used my free time to tear down old wallpaper and paint, to pull up the ratty old carpet and reveal the original hardwood floors waiting beneath. He’d dropped hints that it would all be in my favor in the end, and that it was only a matter of time before his siblings felt emotionally ready to let go of their grandmother’s home. Any work I put into it would be well worth it when his brothers and sisters finally agreed to sell to me.

  I’m such an idiot.

  “You’re a real sonofabitch, Tom,” Brayden mutters.

  Tom’s gaze slides between Brayden and me, and his expression slowly transforms into a smirk. “Oh, I get it.” He waggles a finger between us. “I see how you got your job, Molly. Typical.”

  The blow strikes as hard as he intended it to, but I hide my flinch. “Jealous?”

  “Get the fuck out of my bar,” Brayden growls, and I wonder if Tom notices the way Brayden’s hands have curled into fists.

  He sneers at Brayden and shrugs back into his coat. “Word of warning? I’d be sure to wrap it if I were you.”

  Tom turns toward the door, and Brayden lunges out of the booth, but I grab his arm and squeeze. “Don’t.”

  His muscles bunch under my hand, but he doesn’t take another step, thank God. I don’t need Brayden fighting my battles. I knew what I was getting into when I moved back to Jackson Harbor—knew that a reputation like mine isn’t one you get to escape just because it’s been eight years.

  Only when Tom is out the door does Brayden turn to me. He studies my face for a beat before sliding into the booth across from me. “What are you going to do?”

  I shake my head. Three weeks to Christmas, and he’s kicking us out. Noah was so excited to be in a house for Christmas—one with a fireplace and chimney so Santa could come in the “right way.” And I foolishly fed that excitement by telling him all the cool things we were going to do. Now I’ll have to break it to him that we’ll be spending the holiday in a hotel.

  “The only thing I can do.” I push my food away, my appetite vanishing right alongside my plans for a relaxing evening. “I’m going to start packing . . . and find somewhere else to live.”

  “I can’t believe he’s doing this. What a jackass.”

  “It is what it is.” I swallow back the emotion threatening to break free. Don’t freak out. “But thank you for sticking around while he was here. It was nice to have . . .” A friend. I don’t say it aloud. I don’t know if Brayden considers me that at all. I’m his employee. I’m the woman he slept with once. I’m his sister-in-law’s stepsister. But friend? Maybe it’s strange that I could jump into bed with him so easily in New York, but the idea of calling him my “friend” makes me feel too vulnerable.

  Typical Molly.

  Maybe I haven’t changed as much in the last eight years as I’d like to think. Tom obviously didn’t think so, or he never would have tried to make a move on me.

  “Anytime,” Brayden says.

  I don’t like the way he’s studying my face—like he can see my thoughts and all the broken pieces I keep hidden under this pretty-girl façade. I lift my beer to my lips, but my stomach churns, and I put it down before taking a drink. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow?” I ask, more to change the subject than anything because, truthfully, it’s a stupid question. Brayden isn’t the kind of guy not to show up. Ever.
>
  He nods. “I’ll be there.”

  Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I head to the bar, where I wave at Jake to indicate that I want to settle my tab.

  “Molly?”

  I turn to Brayden, who frowns at me.

  “You don’t have to do this alone.”

  I close my eyes at the offer couched inside those words. He’ll help. His whole family will step up and help. That’s what the Jacksons do. He doesn’t owe me that. He doesn’t owe me anything. And yet . . .

  “She doesn’t have to do what alone?” Jake asks, handing me my bill.

  Brayden turns to his brother. “Molly’s landlord evicted her. He wants her out by the end of the week.”

  “What an asshole,” Jake mutters.

  Brayden nods in agreement, but I’m barely aware of them, too focused on imagining Noah’s face when I have to tell him our Christmas plans have changed. If my mom hadn’t just sold her house and moved into a small apartment, I could go stay with her.

  The idea of sleeping in my stepfather’s house has bile rising in my throat. Maybe it’s a blessing that moving in with her isn’t an option, because I know I’d do it. If it meant giving Noah the Christmas morning he’s been dreaming of, I’d do it. Even if it meant facing demons I’ve spent the better part of a decade running from.

  Brayden

  “This is it.” I lead Mom into the new Jackson Brews taproom. She didn’t want to see it until it was finished, but after months of construction, we’re finally getting there. Thursday is our grand opening, and I want her to see the space dedicated to our father before we open it to the public.

  Her eyes widen as she scans the room—the long, polished walnut bar with the live wood edge, the high-top round tables lining the bank of windows that overlook the harbor, the dark tiled floor, and the muted turquoise walls. She takes in every detail, and the emotion in her eyes fills me with a pride I can hardly speak around.

  “What do you think?” I manage to ask.

  A big chalkboard for our offerings spans the space between the open shelving on either end of the bar, and beneath it is the dedication plaque.

  In loving memory of Frank Jackson, who dared to chase his dreams.

  Mom presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, your father would be so proud of you.”

  “This is all because of him.” My voice sounds like sandpaper. Selfishly, I’m glad I decided to bring her here alone instead of making it a family affair. My siblings will get their chance to celebrate with her during the grand opening.

  Mom shakes her head. “Oh, no, Brayden. This is because of you—all of my kids, but mostly you and Jake, of course. All the hard work you’ve put in turned your father’s little dream into something bigger than he ever could have imagined.” She swipes at her cheeks, at the tears that flow easily. “And now Levi is part of the legacy too. Your father would be proud indeed.”

  The door to the kitchen swings open, and a dark head flies past us in a flash, little limbs pumping. “You can’t catch me!” Noah shrieks.

  Molly emerges behind him, her face glowing with joy as she chases her son. “Wanna bet?”

  He circles back and moves to dart behind the bar, but Molly wraps him into her arms before he can pass her. She lifts him off the floor and swings him around. He giggles madly in response. “Faster! Faster!”

  I’m vaguely aware of my mother beside me—the way she watches me watching Molly—and I school my expression the best I can, giving away nothing of what this sight does to me. Molly’s love of Noah transforms her face from beautiful to radiant. And maybe it’s because I was thinking about my father or because bringing Mom here has my emotions at the surface, but seeing Molly like this and witnessing the bond between her and her son does something to me. It reminds me that she isn’t just the beautiful woman I took to my room one night. And she isn’t just my employee. She’s this beautifully layered and complex human who has become one of the brightest spots in my life, whether she knows it or not.

  And she’s completely off-limits.

  My chest goes tight with the longing I’ve done my best to ignore since she returned to town. It’s hard to ignore something that grows with every passing day.

  Molly spots us and stops spinning. She was so lost in her time with Noah that she ran right past. Some of that raw joy fades from her eyes and is replaced by caution. “Oh, hi.” She lowers her son to the ground. “Sorry, we didn’t know anyone else was here. Noah just got done at preschool, and we were having lunch together in my office before I take him to Veronica.” She holds his hand, as if trying to keep a leash on that wild energy now that they have an audience. “How are you, Kathleen?”

  Noah waves at us with his free hand. “Why are you crying?” he asks Mom. “Are you sad?”

  Mom shakes her head. “I’m just fine.”

  “’Cause it’s okay to be sad,” Noah says, nodding solemnly. “Mom said it’s okay to cry too. Even for boys.”

  Mom beams at Molly, and if my mom hadn’t already been half in love with my new banquet center manager, I know Noah’s words have sealed the deal. “Your mom’s right, but these are happy tears.”

  Noah frowns as if he’s trying to make sense of that. “Why?”

  “Because I have so much happiness in my heart, it bubbles up and leaks out my eyes,” Mom says.

  “Oh. Okay.” Noah nods, seeming content with this answer and ready to move on to something more interesting.

  “I was showing Mom the taproom,” I tell Molly. “I wanted her to see it before the grand opening.”

  Molly hoists Noah into her arms, and the boy wraps himself around his mom, leaning his head against her chest like I’ve seen him do a hundred times in the few months they’ve lived here. “Have you seen the banquet rooms?”

  Mom shakes her head. “This is the first time I’ve been to this location. I wanted to wait until everything was ready.”

  “I can give you the tour,” Molly offers.

  Mom grins. “I would love that, if you have time.”

  The banquet center has its own entrance on the opposite side of the building, but Molly leads the way through the kitchen, showing off the setup she painstakingly picked out as she prepared the space. “I brought the chef on early so she could help me design the kitchen,” she says. “In addition to having a modest selection of small plates for the taproom, we want to be able to serve full meals for as many as two hundred and fifty guests at a time on the banquet side, so we needed a design that could accommodate both jobs in as little space as possible, since we’re paying for prime real estate on the water.”

  Mom flashes a look to me, a single gray eyebrow arched. My siblings have made enough comments over the last few months that I can guess what she’s thinking.

  “This is Molly’s project,” I say, reading the question in her eyes. “She made the decisions. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said this wasn’t going to be another responsibility on my plate.”

  “Don’t believe him.” Molly laughs, shifting Noah in her arms as she leads the way to the hall that runs behind the kitchen and banquet center. “He keeps careful tabs on everything I do here, so the banquet center has definitely added work to his plate.” She shrugs. “But it’s true that he let me have the reins and gave me the final say on design. I know—wonders never cease.”

  Mom huffs. “To say the least. But maybe he just needed someone like you in his—”

  “I’m working on it,” I say, flashing a warning look to Mom. I’m really not in the mood to fight her matchmaker instincts today.

  “Our offices are all off this hallway,” Molly says, pointing out each. “Levi’s, mine, and Brayden’s.”

  “You’ve finally given yourself an office away from home,” Mom says. She squeezes my wrist. “It’s about time.”

  I never wanted an office at the bar, even when Jake offered to give up his apartment for me to set up shop above Jackson Brews. It seemed easier and quieter to work from home, but not having a work space for business m
eetings has been an obstacle over the years. When we were designing this space, Molly suggested I could put my office here and hold meetings in the small conference room. It made sense, and it seems like it’s going to work out great.

  “Down at the end of the hall is the stairwell,” Molly says. “You can take them up to get to the employee entrance of the rooftop terrace, and down to get to the locker room and break room in the basement.”

  Noah wiggles in her arms. “Down,” he says, wiggling with more vigor until Molly sets him on the floor.

  “On the other side of the stairwell,” she says, pointing, “is the storage room, and beyond that, a kitchenette that leads into two smaller party rooms and the small conference room. Off the hall opposite that is the main banquet hall.”

  I lead the way, opening the door just as Noah races past me and into the big, empty room. The lights are off, but the wall of windows overlooking the lake provides enough light to illuminate the vast space.

  “Oh, it’s absolutely stunning!” Mom scans the room as if she can imagine what it’ll look like when it’s set for a reception—the floor filled with tables and fine linens, the far alcove made into a dance floor, the rustic wooden rafters overhead draped in tulle. I was never very good at imagining such things, but once the space was ready, Molly had it set up, and a photographer came in to take pictures for the website. Now potential clients don’t have to use their imagination. They can see for themselves how every detail was planned for elegance.

  Noah races to the alcove at the end of the room and shakes his booty. “This is where you dance!”

  Molly grins, and a little sound escapes, like she’s biting back a laugh. “That’s right, Noah.”

  “Come dance with me, Kathleen!” he calls.

  Mom watches him with the same delight I see on her face when she’s around my niece, Lilly. “You’ve done a spectacular job, Molly,” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s talking about the banquet center or Noah. Probably both, and I would have to agree.

  “Thank you,” Molly says.