by Skye Jordan
“She also hasn’t had sex in six months,” Laiyla says.
“Good point.” Chloe shrugs. “Pretty beta works.”
I laugh. “Thank you for your approval.”
“What was the present you put together?” Laiyla asks.
“It was the cutest bed I’ve ever seen. It was a white wood bunk bed, but it was designed as a playhouse. It had a pink roof and pink window shutters with pink curtains. Seriously adorable. And he might be an amazing doctor, but he doesn’t have the ability to visualize, at least not on man-made structures.”
When I look up, both Laiyla and Chloe are frowning at me. Laiyla tips her head. “What’s happening here?”
“Nothing is happening other than me going the extra mile to better my possibilities of a hookup. That’s it.”
Chloe’s eyes narrow on me before she glances at Laiyla, who returns the skeptical look.
“So, you didn’t hook up?” Laiyla says.
“No.”
“You just invested hours of manual labor to his personal endeavor? While you have stitches in your arm?” Laiyla says.
“You’re making it sound like I’m normally selfish.”
“No,” Chloe says. “But you are usually brutally direct.”
“I was. I mean, at the end when he asked me out, I told him I don’t date, but that I’d consider a hookup.”
Laiyla’s brows lifted. “And he said…?”
“He didn’t. I think I blindsided him. And I stayed because he was trying really hard for his kids, and he needed a little help.” My gaze goes distant, and a deep cord pulls inside me. “Every little girl deserves a perfect Christmas morning, and every dad deserves to feel like a hero once in a while.”
I don’t notice the quiet that falls until I come out of my own thoughts and find Chloe and Laiyla staring at me like I’m growing horns.
“Stop,” I say with a shooing motion. “Get out of here so I can sleep. We can talk all about the wedding at dinner.”
I can’t help myself from grabbing Laiyla’s hand and looking at the ring again. More than the flashy diamond, I see it as a symbol of belonging. It feels like Levi has circled the wagons around Laiyla, standing up for her by telling the whole town she belongs, and if anyone has a problem with that, they’ll deal with him. “This is so cool, Laiyla. I’m thrilled for you. I really am.”
After another round of hugs and kisses, they leave, and I curl back under the covers, lulled toward sleep by the soft sway of the water. But I can’t drift off right away. I’m annoyed by a dissatisfied burn in the pit of my stomach. The one I sometimes get when I’m lonely. When I miss my dad. Or my crew. Or my domain in the engine room.
I should feel like I belong here, but now that Laiyla’s engaged, it feels like I’m on the outside looking in again. Like it’s me against the world.
Logically, I know that’s not true. I know Laiyla and Chloe are committed to this project. And I know that I’m not just jumping on board, but providing a crucial, elemental, and vital service to make our joint dream a reality. I also know they love me, heart and soul, unconditionally, which has always felt like the glue that’s held me together through the tough times over the last seven years.
So I don’t understand this new sense of…what? I’m not even sure how to categorize the feeling. I search my mind for a reference to try to understand it. Longing? Joy? Anxiety? Loss?
I drop my forearm across my eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
Maybe it’s just the holiday melancholy after talking about my dad with Ben last night.
My cell phone dings with a text, and my reflexes react so quickly, I fumble the phone and drop it on the floor. “I’m such an idiot.”
I turn to my side and fish the phone from the floor, then roll to my back and find a message from Ben. It’s a video. I catch my lower lip between my teeth and press Play.
There is an image of a closed door, then Ben’s voice saying, “Okay, you can come in.”
The door swings open, showing a little girl standing in the doorway. She looks a little subdued, expression blank. It takes her a second to absorb what she’s seeing, then she gasps, covers her mouth with both hands, and jumps in a circle, squealing.
“My bed,” she screams, laughing and crying. “Santa brought my bed.” Lots more screaming, Ben laughing, other girls joining in, and another little voice, closer to the phone, saying, “This proves Santa is real.” There is a little defiance in her voice, which probably means it’s the middle daughter. I think eight is around the age belief starts to fade. “We know Daddy couldn’t put this together himself. He needed the help of all Santa’s elves.”
I break out laughing. Jazz is climbing all over the mattresses Ben must have put in after I left, then up the ladder, only to pop her head out the window on the end. Still screaming.
“Needless to say,” Ben says in the background, his voice deep and sexy, “Jazz sends her thanks for your help.”
The video stops, and my body is bubbling with something foreign and uncomfortable. I replay the video three more times, until tears slide down my temples. And I text back. That made my week. Merry Christmas.
4
Ben
My mother’s living room is in utter chaos, wrapping paper and bows and boxes over every square inch of the floor. My very spoiled girls are running around mom’s house with new toys, mostly playing, occasionally fighting. I’m deep in the sofa, stuffed from dinner, exhausted from the day, and completely distracted by memories of KT.
Thankfully, Mom, my sister Jackie, and her husband, Raul, are debating politics, which I never get involved in. They’re also giving me a pass because they know how draining holidays can be for me.
Jackie is several years younger, and she and Raul haven’t had kids yet. We lost our dad twelve years ago to a heart attack, but he was a workaholic, so we weren’t exactly close.
I should start working on the dishes, but I'm going on about three hours of sleep, and I have to work first thing tomorrow, three twelves over the next three days. So, yeah, maybe I’m giving myself a pass too.
Hands clasped over my stomach, I’m wishing I hadn’t eaten so much. I might have to go for a short run when we get home, just to keep my body digesting. I’ve only made it to a couple of CrossFit classes since we moved, and I already feel like I’m pulled out of alignment and overly stressed by fatigue. I need to get my shit together. I need to set and keep a regular exercise schedule, eat better, finish unpacking, find a nanny.
Get laid.
That idea flips a switch in my brain. I stop thinking about all I have to do and start thinking of all I want to do, which brings me back to KT. While Jackie and Raul debate the nation’s budget crisis, I let my eyes close. Let my mind drift back twelve hours, to the feel of KT’s lips. To the heat of her tongue. I think about the way she welcomed the surge of passion, the way her body pressed and moved against mine.
“Sex. Just hot, sweaty, raw sex for the sake of sex.” Her words drift through my head for the hundredth time today, and images flicker through like a slideshow. I wonder if what we consider hot sweaty sex is the same thing. I mean, sex is sex. You can only do it so many ways, right? But maybe not. She’s ten years younger and clearly more experienced. I’ve never been intimidated by intimacy before, and I don’t know what to do with this.
I’m getting way ahead of myself here. Just because she offered doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. Who the hell knows what will happen between now and when we see each other again? She could lose interest, I could lose interest, our schedules could make it impossible, the kids could keep us apart. When I really stop to think about starting a relationship, I always hit the wall that tells me it’s a pipe dream and heartache waiting to happen.
Not for the first time, I see the unadulterated wisdom in her “No befores, no afters. Just hot, sweaty, raw sex for the sake of sex” idea.
“How are you liking the house, son?”
I open my eyes and pick up
the conversation like I’ve been listening the whole time. “It’s amazing.”
“What’s your favorite part?” Jackie asks.
“The view. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of seeing the lake and the mountains. I love waking up to it.”
“Did I tell you Levi Asher is one of the developers?” Jackie asked.
I search my mind. “Do I know him?”
“He was in my class. He’s got a construction firm with another friend. He’s dating one of the three women working on the property.”
Oh, Christ, please do not tell me it’s KT. “Who’s that?”
“Laiyla Saxon. You probably don’t remember her. She was two years younger, rich parents, came up during the summer to spend time with her grandfather, Otto. He willed her the lake land, but she didn’t do anything with it for a while. The renovation is a real benefit for everyone buying in Whisper Cove. It will keep your view beautiful.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“They’re really nice, all three of them. I’ve met them in town several times, and the other two women are just as pretty as Laiyla.” Jackie gets a sneaky grin on her face. “Might want to make a stop on your way home, introduce yourself.”
I’d love to stop, but it would be to intimately introduce myself to KT. Of course, with three little girls in tow, that’s a nonstarter.
“Sounds like Mom’s been coaching you.” I rub the fatigue from my face. “I’ve got enough to handle right now, thanks.”
“Is Violet doing any better?” Mom asks.
My mind turns toward my oldest, who, for the most part, has been an angry hotbed of fight instigation between the three girls. “She’s a little better with me, but she’s raising hell with Isabel.” The teenaged babysitter I’ve been using is on the edge of quitting. “Violet’s still instigating fights, sassing, and pushing back on everything—bedtime, meals, rules, homework.”
“Homework?” Jackie asks.
“Her teacher gave everyone homework over the Christmas break.”
“I hate when teachers do that,” Jackie says. She got her degree in education, following in my mother’s footsteps, but then went into medical transcription. Now she runs her own business transcribing for the doctors at the hospital, so she makes her own hours. In fact, she told me about the job opening in the ER.
We arrived in town a little over a month ago, and while Poppy and Jazz have managed to make a few friends at school, Violet hasn’t.
“Hang in there, son. She’s a good girl with a good heart. She’ll find her way.”
“In case that takes longer than expected,” I say, looking at Jackie, “can you scout for a backup babysitter?”
“Sure will.”
Jazz enters the living room, crying. “Daddy, Poppy and Violet won’t let me…” I can’t understand anything she says after that. I lift Jazz into my arms and she immediately lays her head on my shoulder, sniffling. “I want my new bed.”
“Yeah.” I pat her back. “I want my bed too, muffin.” I call my other daughters, pack up, and we make our way to the door. It’s an emotional, moody production that takes thirty minutes and mentally exhausts me. When I’m walking down the front steps to our SUV, I turn to look at Jackie. “We’re still on this week?”
With doctors taking time off during the holidays, Jackie’s hours are shorter, and she’s helping me out with daycare while I’m waiting for the nanny service to find me someone suitable and flexible enough to work with my crazy schedule.
“Absolutely,” she says. “I’ll be there at six thirty tomorrow morning.”
This will give Isabel a break from my fussy, fighting girls. I’m hoping I’ll be able to keep her, because looking for another sitter is going to be a bitch, and I’m not up to it. “I owe you.”
5
KT
I loosen the last bolt on the manifold cover from one of the pleasure boats, set it aside, and pull the top off. I’m greeted with more sludge.
“Jesus.” I take the cover into the shop Levi built for me next to the marina and lay it on the workbench. “Another complete rebuild.”
I like doing rebuilds, but I know I’ll have my head and my hands in this engine for the next week, more if I run into problems. And I still have a lot of work to get done to have everything up and running for the opening of the season, Memorial Day weekend.
Every time I think about dates lately, my mind drifts to Ben. It’s been nearly a full two weeks since Christmas and I haven’t heard one word from him. Yeah, I’m surprised. Most men find me reasonably attractive, but it was the offer of uncomplicated sex I thought he’d jump at.
I head back outside and find a kid on the dock looking into the boat I’m repairing. I’m no good with kids’ ages, but she’s not little. She’s maybe a preteen. I search my mind for what day it is, because I work every day and my days often bleed together. I have to take my phone from my pocket to figure out it’s Saturday.
I look around, searching for an accompanying adult. Maybe someone is in the office with Laiyla or Chloe, talking business.
I make my way down the dock, and she looks up. Her expression is shuttered. She steps away from the boat and crosses her arms.
I stop a good distance away and smile. “Hey there, where did you come from?”
“I live up the street.”
I nod. “Where are your parents?”
“Working.”
“Who’s taking care of you?”
“My aunt.”
These terse answers expose just how defensive she is. I totally get it. I was a defensive kid too. Always getting into fights on the playground, taking on the bullies, girl or boy.
I keep my voice curious and caring. “Does she know where you are?”
The girl looks down at her feet, sullen.
“I guess that’s a no.” I pull my phone from my back pocket.
“Don’t call her.” The girl turns pleading. “I just needed to get out of the house. Can I watch? I won’t be trouble, I promise.”
“I’m not going to call her.” I offer the kid the phone. “You are.”
She gives an eye roll, and her face tightens in a way that makes it look like she’s going to cry, but tears have never swayed me.
She takes the phone and thinks a second. “If she says it’s okay, can I stay and watch? I’ll be really quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“If it’s okay that you stay, I’m putting you to work. No one gets to just stand around.”
The girl surprises me by perking up. “Really? I can help?”
I laugh. “I like you already. Call your aunt.”
She looks at the phone, and her expression goes dark again. But she sighs and dials. “Aunt Jackie? It’s Violet.” She goes quiet a second. “I’m at the marina—” She rolls her eyes. “I know. Yes, I know. No. Wait. Please? I just needed to get out of the house. The girl here says I can stay if it’s okay with you.” Her gaze darts to mine. “She’s fixing boats. I’m just going to watch.”
I smirk.
Violet sighs heavily and offers me the phone back. “She wants to talk to you.”
I take the phone. “Hello.”
“I’m so sorry,” the aunt says. “She was in a time-out and she snuck out of the house.”
I laugh. “Been there, done that. Do you want me to send her back? She really is welcome to stay, but I’m not going to interfere. I’ll do whatever you want.”
She sighs and thinks about it a second. “Who is this?”
“I’m KT Rivers. I’m working with Laiyla Saxon and Chloe Hart on the renovation.”
“Hi, KT. This is Jackie Monahan. We met in passing at the auto parts store a while back. You helped me pick the right windshield wipers.”
“I remember. How are you?”
“I’d be better if Violet’s attitude would improve.”
I pin Violet with a look. “Attitude problems, huh?”
Violet shifts on her feet and lowers a guilty gaze to the ground.
“Growing pains,” Jackie says. “I don’t want Violet keeping you from your work.”
“Oh, she won’t.” I grin at Violet. “If she stays, I’m putting her to work.”
Jackie laughs. “If you’re sure it’s okay, that might be really good for her.”
“You got it.” I give Violet a thumbs-up, and the joy that fills her expression is priceless. “What time do you want her home?”
“Whenever you get tired of having her around or we come get her, whichever happens first.”
“Sounds good. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on her.”
I disconnect and hold my fist up. Violet meets it with her own, a big smile on her face. Then I waggle a finger at her. “No more attitude problems.”
“Okay,” she readily agrees.
“Here or at home.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
“Ready to work?”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Yeah.”
I step onto the boat, and she follows me. “I’m a really good swimmer,” she says. “You don’t have to worry about me around the water.”
“Good to know, but you should remember that at this time of the year, that water is really cold, and if you fall in, you could get hypothermia, which would make it incredibly hard to get out, no matter how good a swimmer you are.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll be careful.”
I kneel in front of the motor and pull a pair of disposable gloves from my supplies. “Put these on so you don’t go home with greasy hands.”
“What are you doing?” Violet asks.
“I’m taking the engine apart so I can clean it and put in new parts.”
“Ew,” Violet says, making a face at the grayish-brown muck. “What’s that?”
“An engine uses oil and gasoline,” I tell her. “And it’s built to keep the water out, so when it breaks and water gets in, the oil and water mix, creating this crap.”
“I did an experiment like that in Science, only the oil and water didn’t mix.”
“That’s because they weren’t forced to mix. In here, the power of the engine pushes the molecules together, like it or not. That’s what happened here, which is no bueno.”
