Chasing Serenity

by Ashley, Kristen

  In fact, thinking on this as I pulled into his drive, he never fit in LA either.

  We were there, thus he was there because Mom’s work, for the most part (unless she was on location), was there.

  If it had been his choice, we probably would have grown up in Phoenix, or somewhere in Florida. Not Cali at all with its traffic, mudslides, wildfires and earthquakes. Definitely not LA.

  Tom Pierce was private. He hated the traffic. He detested the smog. And even if he had politically liberal tendencies, he leaned toward a conservative lifestyle.

  I parked with these new thoughts uncomfortably tumbling in my head, because I wanted to be one of those women who were one and done with cheaters.

  But my dad was not that man.

  And it forced me to face the fact that there were reasons behind anything, including betrayal.

  Which brought me to now, considering how much he gave of himself so Mom could have what she needed in ways none of us realized.

  Including Mom.

  Also, maybe, Dad.

  I was so stuck on these thoughts, until that moment when I’d angled out of my car, I hadn’t noticed that not only was Bowie’s Tesla SUV parked in Dad’s drive, a velvet-red Jeep Cherokee was parked there too.

  Apparently, someone else was coming to dinner, or at least they were at the house, because I had looked at Cherokees when Dad helped me buy my car (thus knew the term “velvet-red,” which I thought was lush, the name and the color). And though Dad had helped, and he’d favored the Cherokee, he didn’t own a Jeep.

  The garage door was open, so I went through the space, hitting the interior door, which I went through too.

  I entered a tidy mudroom that had Dad’s running shoes lined up with his golf shoes, plus his clubs, as well as a large, bespoke bag I knew contained no less than five tennis rackets.

  Just Dad’s collection of sports stuff seemed to belie high-rise living, which didn’t afford mud rooms and tons of storage space.

  I passed the door to the utility room on my way into the kitchen, calling, “Je suis ici!”

  I hit Dad’s kitchen and the first person I saw standing there was…

  Judge.

  What the hell?

  “Are you stalking me?” I demanded.

  He grinned.

  “Word was, you two knew each other,” Dad said, and I dragged my gaze from Judge to watch Dad approaching me wearing faded jeans and a lightweight, dove gray sweater.

  Tall, lean but broad along the shoulders, incredibly handsome, threads of silver in his dark hair, he’d given me that (mine without the silver…yet, though, mine could have also come from my grandmother, either way worked for me) and his eyes.

  Until Judge, I’d thought no other man was more beautiful than my dad.

  No.

  Wait.

  I didn’t just think until Judge.

  (But I did.)

  “Hello, beautiful,” Dad murmured before he leaned in and kissed my cheek.

  “Father,” I greeted curtly.

  He pulled back with brows drawn at my tone as he looked at me.

  “Hello, darling,” Mom greeted, swanning in wearing white jeans, a tan belt, and a soft denim shirt, cute tan booties on her feet.

  An outfit of which I approved, mostly because I’d purchased each piece for her, and then I’d spent two hours with her in her closet explaining the variety of outfits she was allowed to create with the different pieces.

  That outfit being one.

  I met her halfway, and we did a continental kiss, brushing our lips on each cheek.

  “Hey there,” Bowie rumbled his greeting next, and it was accompanied by a warm hug.

  When he let me go, I looked pointedly at him, at Mom, then to Judge.

  Bowie did not miss my meaning.

  “We’re here to talk about Tom and me doing some PR stuff for the Kids and Trails program,” he explained.

  This made absolute sense.

  And none whatsoever.

  Perfect for PR not only for the program, but for our family.

  Havoc on my brain.

  “I see this is an excellent idea, however, I’m uncertain what part I play in it,” I noted.

  “We want you and Judge to produce the project, which should be video, digital and print,” Mom said, and she did this looking all over my face, except in my eyes.

  They’d seen me and Judge on Bowie’s veranda. They’d maybe even seen us kissing.

  And thus, now, they were matchmaking.

  In so doing, they were throwing me and Judge together with an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  Oh. My. God!

  How infuriating!

  I mean, even though he ran the program, so he knew it far better than me.

  And even though I knew all the players and had an innate talent for branding and marketing (if I did say so myself, which I did), not to mention, ran my own mutual aid program that might not be flourishing, but it worked.

  So, this made sense.

  And even though I had utterly no qualms with interfering in the lives of people I loved, case in point, me conniving to get Mom and Bowie together, and there Mom and Bowie were…together.

  Still!

  “We thought we’d talk about it over dinner,” Dad entered the conversation. “Nail some things down. Get it started.”

  His get it started really meant get it done so he didn’t have to hang out with Bowie for too long.

  Mom and Bowie had reunited in September. It was now January.

  But I knew that was nowhere near long enough for anyone to get used to the fact the love of their life had moved on.

  Suddenly, I was getting ticked.

  At Mom.

  And not for her intervening with me and Judge.

  But for her being entirely clueless about what she was doing to Dad.

  Naturally, this meant I turned right to Judge and bit off, “We need to talk. Outside.”

  I then tossed my bag on Dad’s kitchen table and flounced out the glass door that was one of several in the house that led to the back yard. And believe me, I was a girl who could flounce, and I didn’t hesitate to put all my flouncing abilities into that one.

  I also did not stop in the firepit seating area that was close to the house.

  I did not head to the hot tub area that was also close to the house.

  I headed beyond the pool, out to the remote seating area that sat on the edge of Dad’s lot that butted, over a fence, a large strip of greenway that provided a wide, gorgeous, desert-landscaped buffer (however this “desert” had lush, green grass and numerous tall, shady trees). This was situated between the houses on Dad’s side and the houses on the other side.

  It had walking trails and some practice putting greens, not to mention attractive exercise areas.

  Totally Dad.

  The pads on the built-in semicircle bench that surrounded another firepit were black with white piping.

  His furnishings around the pool area and throughout the house were divine, partially because I micromanaged his interior designer until (I was pretty sure) she was this close to quitting.

  We got the job done, though.

  When I whirled on Judge, I wanted to be surprised that he was right behind me—no lag, he was with me all the way—but I wasn’t.

  I also wanted this not to feel awesome.

  But it did.

  “Right,” I launched in, “we need to handle this.”

  He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.

  Jeans and a black Henley.

  A tightfitting one.

  I’d already sensed he had a magnificent chest, this item of apparel just proved it and I hadn’t even seen him with his shirt off.

  Lord, this man.

  “Handle what?” he asked.

  I didn’t begin to open my mouth in answer before he went on.

  “By the way, it’s super fucking cool what you do to assist women in getting better gigs.”

  It was good my mouth was st
ill closed; I could grit my teeth immediately.

  He grinned at me again.

  He then said, “Ice queen, my ass.”

  My jig was up.

  “I’m going kill my mother,” I stated casually, like I considered this activity every day.

  Another grin.

  Then, from him, “Do you ever wear anything other than heels?”

  I was in mustard houndstooth slacks with a drop, double swoop, gold chainlink belt at the front, a slim, cream turtleneck and a pair of fire-engine red pumps.

  “I came here direct from work, but…yes,” I answered.

  “Baby, those shoes,” he murmured, low and hot. “My favorites so far.”

  “Stop flirting,” I hissed.

  He took his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms on his chest, which made his pecs bulge against the thermal fabric.

  God damn it.

  “Right. You’re being serious. What are we handling?” he asked.

  I felt a finger of happiness trail down my spine at the word “we” in that final sentence.

  I ignored it.

  “We need to get this done, no muss, no fuss, no delays. Preferably, having a working concept by Friday, have the project complete next week.”

  Slowly, his eyebrows rose.

  “Say again?” he demanded.

  “Completion date next week.”

  “Friday is tomorrow,” he told me something I knew.

  “It is,” I confirmed I knew it.

  “Chloe, I know you’re pretending you’re not into me—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I grumbled.

  “But there is no way in fuck we can get this done properly in a week.”

  I lifted my nose.

  Just a smidge.

  “Well, I don’t want my father dragged through this any longer than necessary, so what do you think? Two weeks? Most, three? And we handle them through technology. Until we produce the video, Dad isn’t involved physically at all. And if we can manage it, his stuff will be shot separate.”

  Judge looked confused.

  And then he did not.

  “Chloe,” he said gently.

  Yes, he figured it out.

  I said nothing.

  He took a step closer, and his voice was quieter when he said, “Okay, honey, I get you, but they both sound really into this idea. Tom and Duncan came up with it, and they seem willing to work together on it.”

  “My father would run through a hail of gunfire to make my mother happy.”

  Oh no.

  Oh shit.

  Was I going to cry?

  I turned my head a tad and got myself together.

  When I faced him again, his expression told me he didn’t miss anything.

  Not a thing.

  And just that expression was going to make me lose it.

  “Don’t be nice to me, Judge,” I whispered.

  “Okay, baby, I’ll start being a dick again.”

  “Okay, good,” I said shakily.

  He didn’t start being a dick.

  He just looked at me like he wanted to be Superman so he could scoop me into his arms and fly away.

  “You’re being nice!” I accused.

  “Right, right.” He nodded. “Uh…”

  He said no more.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Can you not be a dick?”

  He shrugged. “I want that for you, but I’m coming up with nothing.”

  “You didn’t have a problem with it when we first met,” I reminded him.

  “I wanted your attention when we first met. I’ve got it now.”

  “Argh!” I griped then stomped to the chest-high fence that separated Dad’s space from the communal space.

  I glared at the deep, perfectly clipped flowering hedge that stood in the way of the fence and the thick strip of green grass before the walking trail started.

  Privacy without privacy.

  An unobstructed view with obstructions.

  Ingenious.

  I folded my arms on top of the fence and looked out at the view without seeing it.

  I felt Judge come up beside me and lean into his side, facing me.

  “Probably a waste of my breath, but still gonna ask you to talk to me,” he said.

  God help me, I didn’t deny him.

  I went for it.

  “Mom’s happy. Deliriously so. She and Bowie were really…they were…they were really…” I cleared my throat, “in love. Back in the day.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” he said softly.

  “And, um…now.”

  “I noticed.”

  “So, she’s all in with that and she doesn’t get…”

  I trailed off.

  Judge picked it up.

  “That your dad’s still in love with her.”

  I looked up at him. “She gets it, she’s just…”

  I again couldn’t finish.

  Judge again did it for me.

  “In her bubble.”

  I turned away, muttering irritably, “Something like that.”

  “It’s more?”

  “It’s clueless,” I told the greenway.

  “Pardon?”

  I tipped my head to him. “Clueless. And actually, thoughtless. I mean, the reasons why…the whole thing behind…the split…wasn’t…good.” I was talking haltingly because I had to talk, get it out, but I couldn’t do it and give anything away. I found it easy to talk to him (as much as that peeved me), but he was nowhere near being a member of my very tight Circle of Trust. “But her doing this, her being okay with this, being a part of it, championing it is almost…cruel.”

  “Cut her some slack, honey,” he suggested gently. “She’s allowed her happiness.”

  “At the expense of someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  My head jerked.

  “Happiness is worth anything,” he declared.

  Oh my.

  He kept going.

  “Your dad is going to be okay. He’s a mature adult who knows better than you where he’s at. If he couldn’t handle this, he’d have said no.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “He still didn’t say no, and if he can’t handle it, and he agreed to it, how is that on her?”

  I’d been looking at him.

  Now I was glaring at him.

  As it seemed with me (not that I was hiding it), Judge didn’t miss anything.

  Which had to be why he asked, “Why are you suddenly pissed at me?”

  “Because you’re making sense and you being logical doesn’t fit with my mini-tantrum.”

  A pop of his dimple and, “Ah.”

  “I still want this done quickly.”

  “For your dad?”

  I turned to face him. “You’re right about all you said. But the fact remains, he’s in hell and he might be willing to do a good thing for your program because it’s something that’s close to his heart. He’s always given time to anything that gets kids into sports or interested in stepping away from their TVs and PlayStations, getting outside and being active. This will still kill. And I want him to do what he feels he needs to do for Mom and Bowie, our family and the people who could benefit from the program. But I don’t want it to last forever.”

  “You got plans this weekend?”

  Of course I did.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It’s Thursday and we can’t get started on it unless we get started on it. What are you doing this weekend?”

  “Saturday during the day, I work. In the late afternoon/evening, Cooking Club with Mi-Young and her boyfriend, Jacob. We will consume that then go to a speakeasy and consume beverages. Brunch on Sunday with my friend Tiffany.”

  “I like to cook.”

  I stared at him.

  Then I inquired, “Are you inviting yourself to Cooking Club?”

  “Sure.”

  “We can’t get program work done while we’re frying chicken thighs,” I noted.

  “Back up,
what is Cooking Club?”

  “Once a month, me, Mi-Young and Jacob get together and cook a three-course meal, from scratch, from start to finish.”

  He loved this idea. I could tell.

  “Who’s Mi-Young?”

  “My best friend and business associate.”

  “She work with you on your Fabulous Foot Forward program?”

  Dear Lord, he even knew the name of my baby.

  Totally going to kill my mother.

  “Yes,” I clipped.

  “So she might have some good ideas and she knows your family dynamic, including the recent addition of Duncan.”

  Damn it.

  “Yes, but—”

  “So we can cook and brainstorm.”

  “You live two hours away and we’re not done until late, and that’s even before the speakeasy.”

  “I got buds down here I can crash on their couch.”

  “Do you also have an answer to everything?” I asked fake-sweetly.

  “When it comes to you, no. But I’m learning.”

  Time to get over my emotion, get over how easy it was to talk to him, open up to him, and get us back on track…

  That being both of us on different ones.

  “Judge, I think—”

  “You got a full-time job, I got a full-time job, and we live two hours away from each other. So, Chloe, we can either fit this in when and where, or we can make room for it. What’s it going to be?”

  “I don’t like being backed in a corner,” I noted crossly.

  “I hate to point this out, but you put yourself there, babe. I got time. None of those folks inside have asked for a rush job. It’s you who wants us to get this done quick. If you wanna take care of your dad, call your friends and tell them to buy a couple more chicken thighs.”

  “The. Club. Is. At. Mine. This. Time,” I said through clenched teeth.

  This delighted him.

  Openly.

  “Perfect,” he decreed. “Text me your address.”

  He was so very wrong.

  It was not perfect.

  But someone had to look after my dad.

  And with Matt across the country (and not talking to me) and Sasha…whatever she was, that was down to me.

  Like it was always down to me with everything, one way or another.

  So it was the only avenue available.

  And thus, I had no choice but to take it.

  Therefore, on a nod which received a blinding smile from Judge, I did.