Holding her shouldn’t make me feel this way. She’s Devlyn, the girl I’ve known forever. We grew up together. She’s crying over her boyfriend, for Christ’s sake. That should be enough to make my dick stand down, but it’s not. I have to let her go, but I don’t. I’m now awake, and there’s no going back to sleep.
I run my fingers through her long, strawberry blonde hair, breathing her in. I’m a jerk. A huge ass jerk. If she knew what I was thinking right now, she’d knee me in the balls so hard. Focus on her, not on my cock.
Okay, I got this.
She sniffles. I’d like to make her moan.
She cries harder. Wonder how loud she’d be crying out my name.
Her hands grip the fabric of my shirt. Wish it was her nails down my back. Or better yet, a firm grip on her curvy ass.
Like they have a mind of their own, my hands slip down her back. She pulls back slightly, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I got your shirt all wet.”
Wish it was your panties that were wet.
I look down at her. This is better. Giving my dick some space to breathe is helping me focus on what she needs, not on what I want. I reach over the counter for a napkin, handing it to her so she can wipe her eyes.
“If only I’d figured things out . . .”
“Don’t do that. Don’t play the if game. It’s a game you’ll lose every time. Don’t set yourself up for that.”
Her blue eyes lift to mine, and the game shifts.
What if I kissed her right now?
“Tell me the truth,” she says, looking me right in the eye. “Did I do the right thing?”
Without hesitation, I say, “You did,” and I give her a little grin. “Want some more truth?” I ask, and she nods. “It’s not just Mia that would’ve missed you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEVLYN
“You know, you took your first step right over there,” I said. Mia looked up at me with her big, toothless grin. Most six-year olds could care less where they took their first step, but Mia wasn’t like most kids. She was precocious with an understanding way beyond her years.
“Daddy says my first step was more of a sprint,” she said with a sweet giggle.
I nodded. “I was there, and I’d say it was more like a dash.”
Looking over at the spot of said marathon, I had to smile. Almost everywhere in this town holds a Mia memory. She lost her first tooth in the diner, eating an apple. Took her first step by the gazebo. Vomited all over the Reverend at the town’s Christmas play.
As the sun began to set over Eden Valley, everyone in town started setting up their picnic blankets and lawn chairs. That is, unless you’re a Hollis. Their tradition has always been to bring out this old, worn out sofa, set it up in the back of the crowd, and watch the movie. It’s what Garrett’s grandparents did, what his parents did with him, and what he continued to do with Mia. For as long as I can remember, me and my family sat in front of them, which meant I ended up on the sofa with them. First with his folks, then with Mia and Garrett. Every other day of the year, the sofa lived in the storage closet of the hardware store.
“Daddy says the movie tonight is good,” Mia said, plopping down on the old sofa with me.
Garrett was finishing up at work, so I offered to get Mia settled in for the movie. Liking Indiana Jones seemed to be built into the male DNA. Watching Harrison Ford for a couple hours worked for most women, so it was a win-win.
“It is,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. It was the last movie night of the summer. There wasn’t a chill in the air yet. Instead, groans from all the children having to return to school filled the night sky. “So how are you going to wear your hair the first day of school? You know, the teachers always take pictures the first day. Maybe a bow or a cute headband?”
Her head hung low, and she shrugged. “I always wear it down.”
I pulled her closer. “It’s very pretty down.”
She looked up at me, her brown eyes rippling with tears. “Granny’s got something wrong with her hands, so she can’t do my hair.”
I knew she was referring to arthritis. “I’m sure your daddy . . .”
“Daddy can’t do a ponytail,” she whispered then broke down in tears, burying her head in my lap. “Please don’t tell him I told you that.”
“Shh,” I whispered. “I won’t tell him.”
She looked up at me. “He tried, but it was lumpy.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with my girl?” Garrett asked, tossing a blanket on the sofa and sitting down beside us.
My heart did this weird leap in my chest, wishing he was referring to me. Mia jumped in his lap, kissing his cheek, and he tickled her. He had the father thing down to a science now. Sure, he still had his rough days, but he loved that little girl so much you could see it a mile away.
His blue eyes landed on me. “She just bumped her knee. She’s fine.”
Mia smiled at me, and I gave her a little wink. Our first secret. Just one of many to come, I thought. Girls have to have a little mystery. Of course, I would never keep anything big from Garrett about Mia.
“Thanks for watching her,” he said.
“Anytime.”
“You should come have movie nights at our house,” Mia said, bouncing up and down. “I’ve got all the Disney movies.”
“Mia,” Garrett said with an apologetic tone, “Devlyn is busy. She doesn’t . . .”
“You got The Little Mermaid?” I asked.
“Uh huh, I have that one! And Beauty and the Beast and . . .” Mia continued to rattle off the entire Disney collection. “Daddy doesn’t let me watch them every night, but maybe if you come over. . .”
I laughed. I was a pawn in her game for more screen time. “Would you let me do your hair if I came over?” I asked Mia.
Her eyes grew huge, and her head was nodding so fast she looked like a little Mia bobblehead. “Daddy, please,” she said, making sure to draw out the e sound.
“Maybe,” he said, tossing me a look like he knew I had better things to do—but I didn’t. Nothing could hold a candle to movie night with Garrett and Mia.
I reached into my purse. “I think I’ve got a comb and hair elastic. How about we start tonight? I can braid it for you.”
She looked to her dad for permission, which he gave with a smile. Mia then moved to the ground in front of me, and I ran the comb through her hair. I looked over at Garrett, watching us, a sad look in his eyes. I bumped his elbow. “Why don’t you follow along? I can teach you a thing or two.”
*
“Over, then under,” I said, watching Garrett’s hands trying to craft a braid in his daughter’s hair, which was difficult considering one of his hands was about the size of her head. I had to continually remind him not to pull too hard, but he was used to wielding a hammer, not a brush.
Still, over the course of a few movie nights at their house, he got it. He could now do a ponytail in five seconds flat. A bun. A basic braid. A French braid. I even taught him how to do a fishtail braid, although that one did take him all of Finding Nemo to master.
He twisted the elastic into Mia’s hair. “All done.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, jumping up and running off to the bathroom to take a look.
I started to gather my things when Garrett touched my arm, and my toes curled. “Thank you, Devlyn. She’s so happy. You did that.”
I shook my head. “I just ate popcorn and bossed you around. It was fun.”
His fingers stroked my skin, giving me goose bumps. I wondered if he even knew he was doing it. “She misses having a mom around,” he said softly.
“Garrett, you are doing a great job with her.”
He grinned at me. “Thanks, DD.”
His childhood nickname for me. That’s how he’d always think of me—his childhood friend.
Two simple letters that could break a girl’s heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GARRETT
“What are you doing?” Mia as
ks, rubbing her eyes as she walks into the kitchen.
“Making breakfast,” I say, pointing to the coffee pot.
“But we go to Biscuit Girl for breakfast,” she says.
I can’t tell her that I think Devlyn probably has a hangover from hell. I can’t tell her that I’m feeling our little binge drinking session myself. I absolutely can’t tell her that I beat off in the shower this morning thinking about Devlyn. I don’t dare tell her that I walked Devlyn home and tucked her safely into bed. Or that I stayed most of the night just to make sure she was alright.
“Won’t Devlyn wonder where we are?” Mia asks.
Shit, she’s right. A woman’s mind can come up with some off-the-wall shit. I can’t tell you the crazy scenarios Mia has come up with. It never ceases to amaze me how one benign comment from five years ago can still sit in the forefront of her mind. I can’t tell you where I was five days ago. If we don’t show for breakfast this morning, Devlyn might think it has something to do with what she told me last night. I won’t do that to her.
“Besides, her coffee is better than yours,” Mia says, kissing me on the cheek.
Her everything is better. What the hell? Maybe it was just last night. The crazy date, the confession, the drinks. Maybe my dick was drunk. A drunk dick is not an honest dick.
“You got me there,” I say. “Go get dressed.”
She rushes off, which means I’ve got less than five minutes to clean up this enormous mess I’ve made. I’ve never mastered the whole cooking thing. It’s a wonder Mia didn’t starve to death. I guess I have Devlyn to thank for that. We’ve eaten more meals in the diner than we have in our own kitchen.
I hear a little rap on the back door right before it opens. I don’t even glance up, knowing who it is. “Morning, Dad.” When he doesn’t answer, I look over. Slumped against my doorframe with a bloody rag against his head, my dad holds his hand up. “Jesus!”
“I’m fine,” he says. “Just need a Band-Aid.”
“A Band-Aid?” I say in disbelief. The man looks like he was in a bar fight and lost. I try to help him inside to sit, but he shoos me away. “Let me take a look.”
“It’s fine. Knew I shouldn’t have come over here. I just didn’t have any bandages in the house.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Your mother happened.”
If Mom wasn’t dead, I could totally believe she’d whack my father in the head—playfully, of course.
“You know that old box she has in the closet with pictures and such?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to remove the rag to take a look.
“I always told her not to put it up there. Anyway, I went to get it down. I wanted to take it with me to visit her this morning. When I went to get it, I fell off the chair and knocked my head.”
“I’d say you did more than knock it. This needs stitches.”
“Oh, don’t make a big fuss,” he says.
“Granddad!” Mia cries.
It’s not me he has to worry about making a fuss. Mia will have that covered in spades. “I’m fine,” he tells her. “Can you get your old granddad a Band-Aid?”
She looks up at me, obviously in complete agreement that the old man has lost it. “How about stitches and a CT scan instead?” I ask.
*
Eden Valley isn’t big enough to have its own hospital. There’s one about twenty minutes away, though. Dad insisted the entire time that he didn’t need to go, that I was wasting my time. He even tried to convince me that I was helping to destroy the environment with the gas I was wasting on the trip. Sorry, ozone, my dad’s head injury is more important.
My dad is not a grumpy old man. He’s quite the opposite, but he hates being the center of attention. His job, as he sees it, is to take care of his family, not the other way around. The fact that he’s getting older and roles are shifting a little doesn’t sit well with him.
Two hours into the emergency visit, the scan of his head came back clear, and he’s been stitched up. We are just waiting on the discharge papers to go home. I give Mia a quick call to let her know I’ll be home soon then hand my dad a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria. “Take you by to see Mom on the way home?”
He pats my hand. “You know what I talk to your mother about every day?”
I shake my head, taking a sip of my own coffee. It’s really terrible. “Mia.”
“Well, yes, but mostly you.”
“What about me?” I ask.
“Mia will be gone soon,” he says. “And so will I.”
“Dad . . .”
He holds his hand up, stopping me. “Your mother and I were real hard on you after Mia.”
“No, you and Mom were . . .”
He stops me again. “We were happy to watch her so you could work, take classes, but we weren’t going to watch her so you could go out, party, date.”
“Dad, that was only fair. Mia is my responsibility.”
“Yes, but I’d like to see my son in love. I’d like to see you have what I had with your mom.”
Releasing a deep breath, I say, “Why is everyone so concerned about this all of a sudden?”
“It’s not sudden,” he says. “I’ve talked to your mother about this for years.”
“So you agree with this dating hunt Mia has me on?” I ask, lifting my cup to take another sip.
His grin covers his whole face. “Nah, I think the woman for you is right under your nose.”
*
Right under my nose.
I stare out the window of my hardware store across the square at Biscuit Girl. I haven’t seen Devlyn since last night. I’m sure she’s heard about my trip to the ER with my dad, which explains my absence this morning. The town rumor mill can be useful. There’s no reason for me to go over there, none at all. Nothing except this ache in my chest that won’t seem to go away.
“Garrett?” I hear Trudy, the local postwoman, say.
“Yeah?”
A stack of mail waves in front of my face. “Got at least twenty more letters in there.” She holds one up. “This one smells like perfume.”
I snatch it from her and say, “Pretty sure you aren’t supposed to snoop through my mail.”
If you pictured a nosy person in your mind, that’s Trudy. A little older, a mysterious glint in her eye that matches the smile permanently etched on her face.
Smirking at her, I toss the letters in the trashcan.
“Daddy,” Mia cries, starting to dig them out. “Don’t do that. The love of your life could be in there.”
“It’s true,” Trudy says. “One time a letter got delivered to the wrong man from this woman. He wrote her back. They ended up writing every week. They got married.”
“Who was this?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t know. Happened down in Atlanta.”
“Uh huh,” I say.
Trudy heads for the door, calling out before she leaves, “Mia, make him open the perfumed one.”
Mia starts to rip open the letters. “You never told me how your date went last night.”
“I suppose ‘none of your business’ isn’t going to work for an answer.”
Her mouth goes right into a pout. “Guess that means it didn’t go well.” I watch her eyes scanning the letter in front of her. “This lady . . .”
“One more, Mia. That’s what we agreed. One more.”
“But . . .”
“No. I have that date on Friday afternoon. Then that’s it.”
“I just think . . .”
I give her my best serious Dad Look. Mothers may have all kinds of looks, but I only need this one. I perfected it years ago. I spoil Mia, overindulge her, but she knows when to back down. This look is her warning.
Her shoulders slump, as she slides all the letters into the trashcan. I can tell it’s killing her.
“How about we focus on your birthday?” I say. “Eighteen is a big one.”
She nods, but her eyes cast down. “Do you think my mot
her remembers my birthday?”
We don’t ever really talk about her mom. I didn’t design it that way. It’s simply a side effect of my hatred for Sheena. I tried my best to hide it over the years, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job because Mia learned from an early age to avoid the topic. “I’m sure she does.”
Mia looks up at me with those big eyes of hers, and I try my best to hide any discomfort I’m feeling. “Do you know where she is? What she does? Anything like that?”
“Last I heard, she was living in Europe somewhere. That was years ago, though.”
“What about kids? Do I have any half-siblings or . . .”
“Mia,” I say gently, pulling her into a little hug, praying she doesn’t ask me to help her get in touch with her mother. I’d do anything for Mia, but I’m not sure how I’d handle that. “What’s this about?”
“It’s just, certain times I wish I had a mom around. Not even necessarily her.”
“I get it.”
She looks up at me. “You do a great job, Daddy.”
“Mia, you don’t need to do that. I understand. I do my best, but shopping for prom dresses isn’t my strong suit.”
She smiles. “Some of the girls from my class were talking about the stuff they’ve done with their moms to get ready for college.”
“A trip or something?” I ask. “We can do that.”
“No,” she whispers. “Birth control.”
Fuck me! Okay, stay calm. She is almost eighteen. I’ll pummel the guy who . . . No, calm. Mia needs me to be chill, cool. I can do this.
“Some of the girls’ moms took them to get on the pill.”
“Penny?” I ask.
“I’m not telling you names,” she says.
That’s a yes! For fuck’s sake, my daughter’s best friend needs birth control. “Mia, do you need birth control?”
She takes one look at me and busts out laughing. “You should see your face. You look like you’re about to vomit.”
“I’m doing the best I can here.”
All My Life Page 6
