by Whitley Cox
He took Warmy. “Okay, is that it?”
She shook her head, blinking up at him with those big, beautiful blue eyes of hers. He had a tough time saying no when she looked at him like that. “I want you to come and sing me a song. Sing me the Night, night, stars song, and then lay with me until I fall asleep.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
He let out a long exhale. “Go back to your room, climb into bed, and I’ll bring your Warmy to you when it’s ready.”
With a smile, she slid off his lap and skipped out the door.
His child or a red-blooded woman, he was a sucker for a pretty face.
He glanced over to the side of the bed where Violet was hiding. “You can come out now.”
Like a beautiful, green-eyed prairie dog with flushed cheeks and wild hair from all the orgasms, she popped up. Dressed.
Damn it.
“I should really just go,” she said quietly, finding her second tennis shoe under his bed. “I just ordered a cab.”
He reached for her hand. “No. Stay. I swear she’ll be asleep in like ten minutes. Twenty tops.”
Violet’s smile made his cock jump in protest in his jeans. “It’s just better if I go. We can try again another night.”
He followed her to the door, where they peeked out and down the hall toward Mira’s room. The coast was clear.
They both hightailed it down the stairs.
“This was a lot of fun,” she whispered. “I’m glad you ordered me to come over. You’re a bit of a bossy ass, but … ”
Damn, she was cute. She also had no idea how bossy he could be. He slipped his arm around her waist. “But you liked it, didn’t you?” She looked down between them, biting her lip. He tugged it out from beneath her teeth with the pad of his thumb. “Didn’t you?”
She nodded, lifting her eyes back up to his. “I did.”
He pulled her hard against him, letting her know just how much he still wanted her, how much he wanted to be back inside her. His lips fell to hers, and he took the kiss deep and driven, spreading her lips wide open and forcing his tongue possessively inside. Fuck, she tasted good.
“Daddy! Where’s my Warmy?”
They broke apart as if they’d suddenly caught fire. Both of them faced the direction of the stairs, praying that Mira was still in bed or at the very least still upstairs and not making her way toward them.
“I better go,” she whispered with a soft chuckle. “Until next time.”
He opened the door for her and leaned against the jamb. “Until next time.”
She stepped out into the cool but not cold May night, turning around to face him. “And by the way, I expect you ready for dance practice next week. You’re good, but you’re rusty, and if we’re going to dance for Art in the Park, we need you in tip-top form.” Her grin was salacious but at the same time coy.
Fuck, he wanted to grab her by the hair and kiss her again, press her body up against the side of the house and take her right then and there. But the call of his name from inside made him stop. Instead, he just raked her from head to toe with his eyes. “And I expect you to wear as little as you did on Wednesday.”
“We’ll see about that.” She wiggled her hips and gave him a sassy smile, her eyes glowing in the approaching headlights of the cab. “I will if you will.”
His cock was throbbing now. “Oh, baby. You’re on.”
13
“Girl, you are floating,” Kathleen said with a chuckle, popping open the microwave in the back office and pulling out her lunch. “I haven’t seen you smile like this in forever. What’s gotten into you?”
Adam.
Adam had gotten in to her.
And on top of her.
And behind her.
And between her legs.
And most definitely under her skin.
Violet grinned back at Kathleen. She was one of her mother’s nearest and dearest friends and now she was also Violet’s good friend and her receptionist. “Life is finally getting good again.”
Kathleen pushed a strand of her bright red hair behind her ear and then blew on her lunch, which appeared to be some kind of chicken in a cream sauce. “Well, you deserve it.” She sat down in the chair across from Violet’s desk, still blowing on her lunch. “So … dish. What’s got you walking on air?”
Violet grabbed a grape from the container of fruit on her desk and popped it into her mouth. “I think I’m seeing someone.”
Kathleen’s brown eyes went wide. “Really? Who?”
“Do you know who Mira’s father is?”
Kathleen’s eyebrow slid up. “You mean that sexy copper-haired hunk of man meat?”
“Kathleen!”
The woman batted a dismissive hand toward Violet. “Leonard and I are happily married, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty when I see it. And that man”—she fanned herself—“he is gorgeous.”
Violet’s lips twisted. “He is, isn’t he?”
“You go, girl!” Her mouth dropped open in a delighted laugh.
Violet joined in on her laughter. “You sure I’m doing the right thing?”
Kathleen’s brown eyes turned motherly. “Honey, just because you’re happy, it doesn’t mean you’re betraying him. He would want you to be happy.”
Violet grabbed another grape and glanced out the window, chewing methodically.
“Have you been to see your mother?” Kathleen asked.
Violet turned to face her. “No, not recently. It’s hard.”
Kathleen nodded in understanding. “I went yesterday. She’s struggling.”
“I know. And I feel like total shit not visiting her when I know she’s in so much pain from losing Dad, but we’re all in pain. Mitch lost Melissa, Jayda lost her mother, I lost Jean-Phillipe, and we all lost Dad. But unlike Mom, we’re still plugging along through life. We’re still getting out of bed, living our lives as best we can. And here she just wants to end it all.”
Kathleen was one of Violet’s mother’s closest friends. The two met back when Mitch and Kathleen’s son, Mason, were in high school together. Both boys were big into wrestling and were on their varsity team, so the mothers met at the wrestling matches and became fast friends. Kathleen had been looking for a part-time job and had office experience, so when Violet mentioned she was looking for a receptionist, it was a no-brainer for both of them. The woman was like a second mother to her, and she welcomed her presence, advice and love.
“You should go see her. I think she’d like that. Take her out somewhere. Maybe for lunch or shopping. She isn’t getting out much, and I think that’s making the depression get worse.” Kathleen took a sip of her coffee. “What does Mitch think?”
“He’s the same as me. We understand how she feels, we really do, but we both moved back to Seattle to be close to her. To bring the family together. And when we go see her, she’s dark and depressed and constantly talking about how she wishes she was dead but can’t bring herself to end it because of us.” She shook her head, her eyes going wide as she pleaded with Kathleen for understanding. “Mitch and I are trying to deal with our own grief, not only over Melissa and Jean-Phillipe”—her words came out strangled as she fought back the tears—“but also over our father. We lost him too. We don’t have the strength in us right now to deal with her.”
Kathleen’s eyes held sadness and her mouth dipped into a frown.
“You think I’m a horrible daughter, don’t you? That I need to just suck it up and be with her? Be there for her?” She reached for a tissue off her desk and wiped her eyes, glancing back out the window to where a robin sat on the sill, cocking its head back and forth at her. So much for her good mood, for her floating.
“I don’t think you’re a horrible daughter, honey. I think you’re all hurting. Your family has had some tremendous losses in the last year, and you’re all grieving and dealing the best way you can.” Kathleen got up out of her seat and came to stand next to Violet. Her hand fell to Violet’s shoulder. “You
’re a wonderful daughter. And I bet that if you went to see Greta and refused to take no for an answer, took her for lunch and maybe shopping for a new summer outfit, the old Greta would shine through. You’d see glimpses of the mother you remember. And who knows, it might help you too.”
Violet’s bottom lip wobbled as she brought her tear-brimmed eyes up to meet Kathleen’s. “I do miss her.”
“And you need her.”
“I do.”
“Then go see her. Go see your mother. Grieve together, be together, move forward together.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Violet, her large bosom a cushiony pillow for Violet’s head. Violet hugged her back, sniffling against her shoulder and shaking as the sobs softly wracked her body. She hadn’t had a good cry in a long time.
Kathleen pulled away. Tears filled her own eyes, and she hastily wiped them away with her glamorous bejeweled fake nails, plastering on a big smile. “I miss him too, honey. Bert was a one-of-a-kind man. I know Leonard misses his fishing buddy terribly. Pours a little splash of beer out on the water whenever he casts a line. Says it’s Bert and the fish gods who are all looking down on him and going to help him land the big one.”
Violet chuckled and sobbed at the same time, using her tissue to sop up more tears. “He was one heck of a fisherman.”
Kathleen’s hand landed back on Violet’s shoulder, and she squeezed. “Go see your mom.”
Swallowing, Violet pushed up out of her seat. She needed to go check her face in the mirror. The students would be arriving soon, and she couldn’t look like a mess. “I’ll stop by after work later this afternoon. See if she wants to grab dinner.”
Kathleen smiled. “Great plan.”
Violet made her way to the washroom with the intention of splashing some cold water on her face when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
More silence.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and checked the number. It wasn’t one she recognized, and the area code was 872. Where the heck was that?
“Hello? Is someone there?”
Still nothing.
Was that breathing on the other end? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
Shrugging, she hung up. If she remembered when she got home, she’d Google the number and see if it belonged to a telemarketing company or if it was some scam.
“Heading to Emerald City Bakery for a cinnamon bun,” Kathleen called through the bathroom door. “You want anything?”
Violet turned the faucet on. “Red velvet cheesecake bites, please.”
“How many?”
She splashed cool water on her face. “Two.” She studied her dripping face in the mirror. “No, three.”
The sound of Kathleen’s bangles jostling moved away from the door. “You got it, honey.”
Violet blotted her face with a towel, scrunched up her nose, then flung the door open and called out after Kathleen, “Better make it four!”
“Knock, knock. Mom?” Violet rapped her knuckles on the front door of her childhood home at the same time she turned the knob and let herself in. “Mom? You home?”
“Violet?” came a distant voice from deep inside the house. “Is that you?”
Violet shut the door and made her way through the foyer and into the house toward the sound of her mother’s voice. Despite the fact that it was only five o’clock and a beautiful spring day, all the blinds in the house were drawn, and none of the lights were on. It was dark and took Violet’s eyes a moment or two to adjust.
“Where are you?” she called out. “Mom?”
“In here,” her mother shouted from the direction of the study.
Violet wouldn’t call her mother a hoarder per se, but since her father passed away, her mother had definitely let the cleaning slip. There were stacks of boxes and piles of things that Violet had never seen before lining the hallway and in various mounds on the kitchen table. The layer of dust on the tops of picture frames and her grandmother’s china cabinet was pretty thick, and when she walked past the bathroom, a musty odor surrounded Violet like a wet blanket the dog had just been dried with.
“There you are,” she said, finding her mother sitting in her father’s dark green velvet chair, a book in her hand but no lights on. Upon further inspection, it appeared that her mother was staring at a photo album. Her wedding album to be exact. Violet crouched down on the floor next to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you think this is a good idea?” She glanced down at the photo her mother was staring at. It was of Violet’s parents dancing their first dance around the country-club dining room. Violet’s mother had been a dancer as well. Not at the professional level that Violet was, but she’d danced for most of her young life.
Both her parents had smiles from ear to ear, and her father was looking down at her mother as if she were the only woman in the room. The only woman he wanted to dance with for the rest of his life.
Violet swallowed hard. Her father had always looked at her mother that way. With the kind of love and devotion that would stand the test of time and carry on into the afterlife. It was the way Jean-Phillipe looked at her when they danced as well.
“Mom, I really don’t think this is such a good idea. Why don’t we go and grab dinner? My treat. And then you can come help me buy some new summer outfits. My closet feels drab, and you’ve always had such great taste.” She went to pull the album away, but her mother held on to it tightly, her whole body beginning to shake with the effort to keep it on that page and on her lap. “Mom … come on.”
“I’m fine,” her mother whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’m fine.”
Violet made to pull it away again. “No, Mom, you’re not fine. This isn’t healthy. I know you miss him, we all do. But you can’t keep doing this.”
Her mother slowly lifted her head to look Violet in the eye. Tears brimmed her green eyes, the same shade as Violet’s but dull and almost lifeless. “Today was the anniversary of when your father proposed,” she blubbered. More tears dripped down her cheeks. “Thirty-eight years ago today, your father asked me to marry him. Thirty-eight years. We couldn’t even make it to our fortieth wedding anniversary.”
“But you made it to thirty-seven, and that’s nothing to balk about. That’s more than most, especially given the high rate of divorce these days.”
“I would never divorce your father. I love him.” Her mother threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin, glaring down at Violet in indignation.
Violet fought the urge to roll her eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant you guys beat the odds. You didn’t become a statistic. Your love persevered through the storm, through children and hardships. You guys made it.”
Her mother shut her eyes and exhaled slowly through her nose. “What are you here for, Violet? I’m really quite tired. I was going to retire to bed early.”
Violet looked around the study. It, too, was a disaster. She and Mitch needed to get her mother out of the house for a weekend so the two of them could come in and clean out. And then get some professional cleaners in to de-grime the place. No off-the-shelf Lysol was going to cut it.
“I’m here to take you to dinner. We haven’t spent much time together since the dance studio opened. I’ve been so busy, and I missed you. Plus, it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday, and I’d like to buy you something pretty.”
Always a fan of dressing up and wearing some bling, her mother perked up just slightly. “What did you have in mind?”
“This was so nice,” Violet said, taking a sip of her wine and glancing out the window toward the water. They were right down on Pier 66, enjoying a lovely dinner of fresh-caught seafood and basking in the warmth of the low-hanging sun as it dropped behind Bainbridge Island. “How are your scallops?” She turned back to face her mother.
Decked out in a very stylish cream pants suit and enough bling to see from space, her mother picked at her food like a bird. “They’re good. A l
ittle overdone.”
Violet rolled her eyes. She highly doubted they were overdone. This place was expensive, and she’d never had a bad meal there in her life.
“Well, my halibut is incredible. Do you want a bite?”
Her mother shook her head, appearing to be lost in thought and staring out the window. “Why is that man waving at us?”
Violet’s head whipped around from where she’d been watching a group of seagulls fight over a sandwich to find Adam, of all people, standing on the other side of the window next to them. He was wearing a big smile, covered in sweat and waving.
Uh-oh.
“Who is that man?” her mother asked warily.
Violet’s smile was not nearly half as big as Adam’s. She waved back. He motioned that he was out for a run, waved goodbye, winked and then took off down the stairs.
“Who is that man?” her mother asked again. “And why did he wink at you?”
Violet took a sip of her wine. The waiter passed by. She flagged him.
“More wine, please,” she said, draining the glass. Looked like her mother was driving home.
The waiter nodded and took off with her empty wineglass.
“Violet?” her mother probed.
“He’s the father of a dancer at the school.”
“Why did he wink at you?”
She let out a long exhale. Where the hell was that waiter with her wine?
“Why. Did. He. Wink. At. You?”
“Because we’re sort of seeing each other,” she said quickly, diving into her halibut and putting her head down as if it was not only the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten, but also the most fascinating.
Her mother gasped, just like Violet knew she would. “You’re seeing someone?”
Violet cringed. She did not want to get into it right now. They’d been having a nice dinner, a nice time. And although the conversation had been minimal, it was good to see her mother out of the house and wearing something besides her pajamas.
“Kind of,” she finally replied. “We don’t really know what it is yet. He’s also my dance partner for the arts council performing arts exhibition in July.”
