Falling for the Fling

by Lili Valente

  I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the fight he’s spoiling for. “I’m not discussing Lark with you. I just came to see if you wanted lunch and to make sure the boat was in good shape before I took it out on the lake.”

  His nose wrinkles, but after a moment, he settles deeper into the porch swing with a shrug. “See for yourself. It’s in the barn. Was fine the last time I took it out.”

  “Thanks.” I step back, but before I can turn around he launches his next attack.

  “Should have just taken it. We both know you didn’t want to buy me no lunch.”

  “I didn’t want to give you an excuse to come after me with your shotgun, either,” I snap. “Figured letting you know I was on the property was the safest bet.”

  “Speaking of shotguns, I’m sure Lark March’s daddy would like to take a shot or two at you, boy. He know you’re messing around with his little girl again?” he asks, clearly not ready to let his favorite verbal punching bag go just yet.

  Uncle Parker is no stranger to physical violence—much like stepdad numbers four or seven—but growing up, I swear my uncle’s words hurt more than any black eye. A bruise heals and stepdad number four, at least, was always sorry once he sobered up and realized he’d taken out his frustrations on a kid half his size.

  But Parker never feels remorse, and he always knows where to target a verbal assault where it will do the most damage. He’s mean and bitter and has a chip on his shoulder the size of Georgia about the lousy lot life has dealt him, but he isn’t stupid.

  “I bet he doesn’t,” he continues when I don’t answer. “If he did, he’d run you out of town so quick you’d mess those nice pants of yours. Bob always knew trash like you wasn’t good enough for one of his classy little bitches. You ask me, it’s only a matter of time before that girl figures it out, too.”

  “I’m going to get the boat,” I grit out, reminding myself that he’s saying those things about Lark to get a rise out of me, and if I take the bait then he wins.

  And I refuse to let him win. Or ruin anything else for me.

  Not now. Not ever again.

  “Good.” His mouth pulls into a frown. “Take it, and don’t bring it back. I don’t want your shit taking up space in my barn anymore. You bring it back here, and I’m selling it for whatever I can get.”

  “Sounds good.” I turn my back on him, knowing if I stay much longer I’ll lose all the ground I gained in therapy and let him drag me back into the dirt with him.

  “Good seeing you, Mason,” he calls after me. “Glad all your dreams came true.”

  The way he says it turns everything into a joke—all the years of study, all the sleepless nights during my residency, everything I learned and everything I fought for. The past four years living in a rat hole of an apartment, eating macaroni and cheese and taking handy man jobs during my rare time off to save enough money for a down payment on a condo in Atlanta—to Parker, it’s all a joke, and coming back for Lark is the biggest joke of all.

  She was too good for me when we were younger, and she’s too good for me now. I hear what he’s saying loud and clear: I’m might be trash with an M.D. and a better haircut, but I’m still trash.

  And maybe he has a point. Lark is from one of the most established families in Bliss River, from a long line of people who care about each other and stand up for each other and are classy and intelligent and kind and believe in good things happening to good people. For me to think that I could ever truly be a part of that—especially after what I did to Lark—is laughable.

  No, I think as I stomp into the shadowy barn and pick my way through the mess of half-finished projects my uncle is never going to see through to completion.

  It isn’t laughable, and I’m not a joke. I’m doing my best to make amends and prove I deserve a second chance, and I’m not going to let Parker poison me with doubt. I’m going to take Lark out and have a wonderful afternoon, and afterwards I’ll find somewhere to keep my boat.

  One of my basketball buddies from high school, or my old friend, Nash, might be interested in having it around. I’ll either find someone to share it with in exchange for storage, or sell the damned thing myself. I’m not bringing it back here for Parker to sell.

  I’m not coming back here again, period.

  I pause with my hands on the edge of the tarp that covers the boat, the realization hitting me hard.

  I don’t have to come back here.

  Not ever again. I’m finally free.

  I suppose I’ve been free for a long time—since high school, I only lived with Uncle Parker during the summers, and I haven’t seen him at all in the past four years—but some part of me still felt tied to him.

  After all, he’s the only family I have left.

  I haven’t seen my mom since the day she skipped town, the summer before my junior year of high school. She used to call every few months, but by the time I graduated from college, the calls had stopped. Last I heard from her, she was moving to Mexico with husband number ten and planned to send me her new number when she was settled.

  The call never came.

  If I cut myself off from Uncle Parker, I’ll truly be a man without a clan.

  There was a time when the thought would have scared me, or at least felt wrong. Parker didn’t have to take me in. He could have left me to fend for myself, especially after high school, when I was legally an adult. If he hadn’t let me shack up with him here at his farm during the summers, I never would have been able to save enough money to pay for my apartment and expenses during the school year. I would have had to go to school part time, and it would have taken years longer for me to get my M.D. And yeah, we fought and he beat the shit out of me sometimes, but he also played a part in making my dreams come true.

  I’ve always felt like I owed him for that, at least a card every Christmas and birthday, and lunch every now and then.

  But now…

  Well, it’s obvious he cares even less for me than he used to. I succeeded when he promised I would fail, and he’s hateful enough to resent me for making something of my life. He did his best to make our first conversation in four years as miserable and antagonistic as possible, for God’s sake.

  Any pretense of family feeling between us is gone. It’s time for me to move on, to move forward toward a better life.

  With Lark.

  I’m going to win her back. I’ll prove Parker wrong about that the same way I’ve proven him wrong about everything else.

  Head on straight once more, I hitch the little fishing boat to the back of my car and pull down the gravel driveway without a glance in the rearview.

  It’s too dusty to see much, and I’m done looking back.

  Chapter Seven

  Mason

  Date Two

  * * *

  I pull up to the curb outside Lark’s parent’s house at three p.m. on the dot, heart lifting when I see her waiting outside on the front porch. I jump out of the car with a grin, so excited to see her that I’m halfway up the walk before I realize she’s not dressed for an afternoon on the lake.

  In fact, she’s not dressed at all.

  At least, not for leaving the house.

  “What’s up?” I glance down, gaze skimming over her oversized gray t-shirt and thin pink pajama pants.

  “I’m not feeling well.” She sniffs, rubbing her nose with the tissue wadded in her fist. “I woke up yucky.”

  “What are your symptoms?” I ask, snapping into doctor mode, hoping she’s up to date on all her vaccinations. “Any fever? Body aches?”

  “No, nothing serious.” She sniffs again. “Just a runny nose and sinus pressure. Must be spring allergies or something. I don’t know, but I’m definitely not up for fishing today.”

  I shrug, taking the news in stride. “Okay. Why don’t we just hang out and watch a movie or something? I can make you chicken soup with extra noodles and rub your feet.”

  “No. I don’t want to make you sick.”

  “You said i
t was probably just allergies,” I remind her. “And even if you were sick, chances are I wouldn’t catch it. I’ve spent the past four years at the hospital swimming in germs. I’m immune to everything. Or almost everything.” I smile, nudging her socked foot gently with my shoe. “Besides, I’d risk a virus to spend the afternoon with you.”

  “That’s sweet, but I think I should go back to bed.” She tucks her chin, causing her hair to spill around her face, hiding her expression. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I could use the rest.”

  “All right.” I try to ignore the stab of disappointment in my chest, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing Lark again since the moment she closed the car door behind her last night. After our disastrous first encounter at the wedding, our first date went better than I could have imagined.

  I woke up this morning hopeful that I was on my way to winning a second chance, and that date two was going to be even better than date one.

  Now, I’m going to spend the afternoon alone.

  But she can’t help being sick….

  Hmmm…

  Lark…sick….

  I furrow my brow. Come to think of it, have I ever seen her under the weather? I rack my brain, but with the exception of a nasty case of food poisoning from raw oysters at a Mardis Gras party a year after we started dating, I can’t recall her ever being ill.

  There’s a first time for everything, of course, but the way she’s refusing to meet my eyes makes me wonder…

  “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She keeps her head tucked to her chest as she stands and reaches for the door.

  I stop her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, letting my fingers brush along the back of her neck.

  No fever. After a harrowing year working in the E.R. during the pandemic, I can guess a person’s temperature by touch.

  She shivers and glances at me over her shoulder. “What was that for?”

  “Checking your temperature.”

  “With your fingers?”

  “You’re right. Can’t tell for sure with fingers.” I can tell with my fingers, but she doesn’t know that and an excuse to get closer to her is suddenly too tempting to resist. Leaning in, I brush her hair to one side before bending to press my lips to the column of her throat.

  She sucks in a breath, and my chest goes tight.

  God, her skin is as soft as I remember, soft and warm, smelling of shampoo and spiced apple lotion and Lark, the most honest and mysterious and addictive scent in the world.

  In the past four years, I’ve dreamt about this smell dozens of times. Now, here I am, with my lips on Lark’s bare skin and the smell of her making my head spin, and I can’t resist just one more kiss.

  And another…

  And another…until she makes a soft, pained sound and spins away.

  “Is that how you treat all of your patients?” she asks, her voice shaking. She’s scowling, but her breath is coming faster, making me hope I’m not the only one affected by the chemistry between us.

  “Only the ones I really like,” I joke, hoping to lighten the moment, but her scowl deepens.

  “Oh yeah? And how many of those have there been?”

  My smile slips. “I was joking, Lark. I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just—”

  “No, I know there must have been someone.” She hitches her chin up, the way she does when she knows I’m not going to like what she has to say. “Probably a lot of someones. You were gone for four years, Mason. Don’t tell me you didn’t date anyone the entire time you were gone.”

  “I thought we were talking about doctor-patient relationships,” I say, not wanting to talk about other women. I don’t even want to think about other women.

  Lark is the one for me. End of story.

  She shrugs. “Well, now we’re talking about boy-girl relationships.”

  I nod, buying myself some time. Obviously she isn’t going to let this go. I was hoping to have at least one more low key date before we started talking heavy stuff, but if she wants answers then I’m prepared to give them to her.

  “Okay,” I say, propping my hands low on my hips. “I’ll talk about boy-girl relationships and anything else you want to talk about. Get your swim suit on and we’ll talk while we catch some fish for supper.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “I told you, I’m too sick to—”

  “You’re not sick.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You don’t know that.”

  “I know you don’t have a fever, and you haven’t had to use that tissue a single time since your first dramatic nose wipe.”

  “Dramatic—” Lark’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  I lift my hands in the universal sign of surrender. “I’m not calling you anything. I just know you’re not sick, and I really want to take you fishing.”

  “No, you are calling me a liar. I’m not stupid, Mason,” she says, but she doesn’t sound nearly as outraged as the old Lark would have. The old Lark took great pride in her honesty. “If you’re going to insult me, at least have the guts to own it.”

  “All right.” I step closer, bracing my hands on the door on either side of her face, trapping her within the circle of my arms. She tilts her head back, her lips parting in a way that has me dying to kiss her all over again. Instead, I whisper, “Unless I’m sorely mistaken, you’re lying about being sick in order to get out of going on a second date with me. But the real question is…why? What are you afraid of?”

  She huffs. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Really?” I prod gently. “It’s okay to be afraid. I’m afraid all the time. The trick is not to let fear keep you from enjoying the good stuff.”

  The skin between her brows wrinkles. “But is this the good stuff?”

  I lean closer, until I can feel her breath on my lips and my entire body starts to hum. “I certainly think so. Nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

  “Nothing?” she echoes in a breathy whisper.

  “Nothing,” I assure her.

  Her gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth, and her tongue slips out to wet her lips, making things low in my body twist. God, how I want to taste her, to pull her so close her breasts are pressed tight to my chest and her—

  “You have to go, Mason,” Lark says, her words ice water poured down the back of my shirt.

  I flinch. “What?”

  “You have to go. I can’t do this. I can’t…” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I thought I could, but I just want to enjoy my vacation. And I can’t do that with you showing up every day making me feel all…” Her eyes squeeze closed. “I just can’t, okay?”

  “Making you feel all what?”

  “No.” She shakes her head again, her eyes still closed.

  “Please, Lark,” I beg. “If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling, how can I help you feel better?”

  “I don’t need you to help me,” she says. “I just need you to go.”

  My throat tightens. “But I thought we had a good time last night.”

  “We did have a good time.” She rakes a clawed hand through her hair. “Too good a time, and I went to bed feeling sad and alone for the first time since I finally accepted you weren’t ever coming back.” She lifts her eyes, her gaze filled with pain I put there. “It took over a year to stop hurting all the time, Mason, and I can’t… I can’t forget that, even if I wanted to, and I’m not sure I do.”

  I nod, though I secretly wish I could make us both forget.

  “I’m stronger and smarter than I used to be,” she continues. “I can take care of myself and other people and I don’t have to call my boyfriend to see what he thinks every time I need to make a decision.”

  I frown. “You never—”

  “Yes, I did, and we both know it,” she says, her tone gentler than it was before. “And that’s okay. I was just a kid when we started dating. I needed someone to lean on. But I don’t need that anymore. Now, people lean on me, and I don’t want to g
ive that up to become some starry eyed kid in love all over again.”

  I stare hard at her, into her, but she doesn’t blink or look away. She’s telling the truth. She honestly believes this isn’t going to work, no matter what I do to try to convince her otherwise.

  I suppose most men would take that at face value, count their losses, and slink off somewhere to lick their wounds in private, but I’m not most men.

  Uncle Parker was certain I’d never make it through medical school. In his eyes, my failure was confirmed before classes even started. But I refused to accept my uncle’s bleak vision of my future, and I refuse to accept Lark’s, either.

  Not until I’ve given this everything I’ve got.

  I can make her happy, I know I can, if she’ll just give me the chance.

  “Six more dates,” I say after a beat. “And then I’m gone.”

  She growls beneath her breath. “Are you listening? I don’t—”

  “I am listening,” I cut in evenly. “I don’t want you to lose anything you’ve gained. I want you to be strong and independent, but I also want you. In my life. However that shakes out. We were good friends once, and I know we can be again.”

  “We were more than friends,” she grumbles. “And I think you still want to be more than friends.”

  “Would that be so terrible?”

  She sighs. “Yes? No? I don’t know because I’m scared and confused and having a hard time thinking clearly?”

  “Then don’t think.” I slip an arm around her waist, heart lifting when she doesn’t push me away. “Feel. What feels right? Right now?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, but a moment later she softens against me. Her palms flatten on my chest, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, her fingers curl into my shirt, making my pulse beat faster.

  I lean in, breath held as I tilt my mouth closer to hers.

  I’m lost in her, heart hammering as I realize my first Lark kiss in four years is mere seconds away, when suddenly the door swings open behind her and something flies through it.

  I see the projectile coming in my peripheral vision, but there’s no time to move out of the way. The object hits my nose with an offended squeak and I flinch and curse, summoning a high-pitched squeal of delight from inside the house.