Love Like Ours (Sugar Lake Book 3)

by Melissa Foster

  “Man, do I love knowing that.”

  He kissed her quickly, aware of the minutes ticking by. “Before you meet my father, I just want to remind you again that sometimes he gets agitated, and—”

  She quieted him with a hand to his chest. “You don’t have to warn me. I read about Alzheimer’s last night. From what I understand, with mild dementia, people can go through their normal days, but little things get missed. Maybe their shirt is on backward, or they might go searching for something and can’t remember what it was, or tear apart a cabinet and forget they were looking for something altogether and even deny they made the mess if asked. And in moderate dementia, the person lives more moment to moment, needing routine. Even simple things—like a stranger showing up,” she said with a compassionate glance, “can throw the person off. There was so much information. I don’t remember all of it, but I know some sensory aspects are difficult. A shower can feel like a hailstorm; discomfort can come from spaces feeling confined or cold or any number of things, which can cause the person’s world to feel out of control and confusing.” She swallowed hard, and hurt rose in her eyes. “Not to mention, they’re losing words, and things become hard to process. The language they’d always known, their surroundings, and the people they love are suddenly foreign to them.”

  She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and said, “It’s such a terrible disease. I don’t want to make anything harder for either of you, so if at any point my being around is too much, I won’t be hurt if you ask me to leave. And on the flip side, I would really like to get to know the man who raised you, in any form possible.”

  Derek’s throat thickened with emotions. He felt splayed open, with all the heartache he’d experienced exposed. At the same time, he was filled with gratitude and wonder for the woman he’d only just gotten to know who had taken it upon herself to try to at least understand his father and his situation.

  Talia wasn’t afraid of many things, but when she was researching Alzheimer’s, fear and compassion swelled inside her, and she’d ended up in tears. The thought of losing a loved one to such a horrible disease frightened her, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d learned that early- or younger-onset Alzheimer’s was caused by a gene mutation and there was a high probability of it being passed down to children. Derek was not only caring for his father without any familial support, but surely he knew what she’d only just discovered, and that tore her heart out and told her just how strong a man he really was.

  Derek slipped her coat from her shoulders and hung it on a hook in the foyer, giving her a moment to take in her surroundings. From the outside, the farmhouse had a welcoming, lived-in feel, though it was in need of a little TLC, with missing shingles and a faded red metal roof over an expansive front porch, which she’d noticed was missing a few balusters. She wondered if Piper or her father could replace them for him. The interior was clean and well loved. Hardwood floors had faded paths from one room to the next, ingrained with the history of family life. A small kitchen was tucked to the left of the front door, the spacious, high-ceilinged living room to the right. The foyer opened to a wide hallway feeding two rooms behind closed doors and another open living area. It was easy to imagine Derek as a boy racing through the house in sock feet.

  He took her hand. “Ready?”

  She felt tension in the tightness of his grip as he led her into his living room to meet his father. Flaxen-colored walls with off-white trim, earth-toned sofas, and upholstered end chairs made the room feel homey. Bookshelves packed tight ran along a half wall separating the living room from the foyer, and a fireplace flanked with tall windows made Talia want to cuddle up with Derek and hunker down for the evening by a roaring fire. The mantel was decorated with pictures of Derek and, she assumed, his parents, since the man in them appeared to be a younger version of the gentleman currently sitting in a leather recliner, looking through a journal.

  Derek squeezed her hand and then released it as he crouched beside his father’s chair and touched his hand, drawing his attention. Talia’s thoughts skidded at the deep-set, radiant blue eyes gazing up at Derek. Only while Derek’s were strikingly aware of everything, his father’s eyes had the softness of a man looking at the surface, but not actively participating in his surroundings, which tugged at her heartstrings. She saw so much of Derek in his father’s features, the dark brows that arched up at the edges, a square jaw covered with a few days’ whiskers, and large hands. Did Derek see himself in his father, too? If so, did that scare him?

  “Pop, this is my friend Talia. She’s coming with us to the museum today,” Derek explained.

  His father’s eyes moved slowly over her face, and a smile lifted his cheeks. “Eva, you love the museum.”

  Derek glanced at her, and then he looked at his father and said, “Talia does look a lot like Mom.”

  She put her hand on Derek’s shoulder, recalling what she’d read about helping Alzheimer’s patients feel good about themselves. She knew not to try to convince his father she wasn’t his late wife. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said gently. “I do love museums.”

  The gratitude in Derek’s eyes warmed her to her toes.

  “This must be Dusty.” His father pointed to a drawing in the leather journal on his lap. “But this is wrong. Dusty was smaller. I’ll have to fix that.”

  Talia glanced at the cartoonish drawing as Derek took the journal from his father’s lap.

  “Dusty was my father’s dog when he was young,” Derek explained. “Let’s put this down for now so we can go to the museum.”

  “Eva loves the museum,” his father said as he rose to his feet.

  They went to the foyer, and as Derek helped his father into his coat, his father’s brows knitted and he stared at Talia for a long moment. She could see something changing. Despite having researched the disease, she was struck by how clouds seemed to lift from his father’s mind and the way his gaze became clearer, more active.

  “Hello,” his father said. “Derek, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “I am.” Derek put his arm around Talia, relief evident in the cadence of his voice. “Pop, this is Talia Dalton.”

  A haunted smile appeared on his father’s face. It was the smile of someone who knew they were slipping away. He took Talia’s hand between the two of his and said, “How’d my son swindle a pretty girl like you into coming over?”

  Derek chuckled. “Talia, this is my father, Jonah Grant.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE HALOWELL HOUSE was a small arts museum located in an old brick Colonial in the historic section of Harmony Pointe. The wide-planked hardwood floors creaked, the walls were chipped, and Norma, the petite, wire-haired woman who ran the place, had to be eighty years old—and one of the kindest women Talia had ever met. Derek hadn’t clued her in to the fact that the museum was normally closed on Sundays, but Norma opened it just for Derek and Jonah and had been doing so for the past few years, whenever they wanted to visit.

  As his father looked over the artwork hanging on the walls, Derek explained that overstimulation often caused confusion and agitation for his father. He didn’t want to give up taking him to the places that Jonah had always enjoyed, so he’d made arrangements with Norma.

  “I spent so much time in this museum with my parents when I was growing up that being here brings back good memories. I hope it sparks some for him, too.”

  She’d been wondering about his mother, but she didn’t want to get into a heavy discussion that might sadden him, so she simply asked, “What was your mother like?”

  He glanced at his father with a nostalgic expression. “She was everything my father isn’t or wasn’t. She was an accountant—organized, efficient, and methodical in everything she did. She was careful, like you. My father used to say she was the ink to his pen.” His gaze softened. “Almost every memory I have of my father includes a notebook or drawing pad in his hand or pocket. If he wasn’t coming up with recipe
s or taking notes on life, he was drawing. He was an incredible cartoonist. Still is sometimes.”

  “Was that his drawing of Dusty?”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t Dusty. That was one of mine. But when we get back I’ll show you his drawings.”

  “And yours?” she asked, excited to see another side of him.

  He slipped an arm around her waist, eyeing his father. “And mine.” Pulling her closer, he said, “I hope you’re not too bored.”

  “Not even a little,” she said. “I’ve never been here, and experiencing it with you and your dad makes it even more special.”

  After a quick kiss, they joined his father, who seemed to appreciate meandering through the museum. Derek answered his questions and didn’t rush him or get irritated when he had to repeat answers several times. Talia added patience to the growing list of things about Derek she admired. The brief lucid moments his father experienced throughout the day were as heartbreaking as they were incredible, giving Talia a peek into the depth of their relationship. Those short-lived moments brought new life to Derek’s eyes, only to be stolen away far too quickly. She ached at the emotional battering he and his father were going through.

  “This is my favorite part of the visit,” Derek whispered to her. He put a hand on his father’s back and said, “Let’s go see what’s in the local artist section.”

  “They have local artists? How nice,” his father said as Derek guided him into the next room.

  The room was smaller than the others, with only a handful of drawings hanging on the walls. Talia admired the pen-and-ink cartoons, each one signed in the lower-right corner by Jonah. Shocked by the realization, she couldn’t help but stare at Jonah, trying to put the pieces of an artist, chef, and father together with the man before her. He was inspecting a drawing, and she tried to see it through his eyes. Did he know it was his? The first cartoon was of a couple sitting on a blanket in the grass. A bottle of wine lay on its side next to a basket overflowing with food. A short-haired woman with wide, happy eyes lay on her stomach, bare feet in the air, her chin propped up in her palms as she watched a man with longish hair drawing in a notebook. The man’s expression was serious. He had scruff on his cheeks, his mouth twisted in concentration as he drew a portrait of the woman. The only color in the drawing was the dusty pink on the woman’s lips.

  “Eva,” his father said as he ran his finger over the image of the woman. His eyes filled with pride. “I drew this.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Emotions bubbled up inside her, and she looked at Derek, who was a little misty-eyed. “She’s beautiful.”

  They moved to the next drawing, this one done in pencil. Eva stood in a field of wildflowers, her arms crossed over her pregnant belly. Her hair was a little longer, blowing away from her face, her eyes half-closed, a small smile on her lips. The wind blew her dress and cardigan, both varying shades of blue, against her, accentuating her belly.

  Jonah blinked several times, and Talia wondered if he knew his wife was gone, or if he was reliving the moment he’d drawn that picture.

  “I’m talented,” he said with awe.

  “Very talented,” she agreed. “These are wonderful.” When his father moved on to another picture, she whispered to Derek, “I thought your father was a chef? I didn’t know he was also a well-known artist.”

  Derek squeezed her hand. “Let’s just say this is another favor Norma was kind enough to carry out for me.”

  “You’re amazing, arranging all this for your father, letting him relive his glory.”

  “Maybe I’m allowing us both to relive it.”

  After leaving the museum, they stopped at Fresh Eats, a small family-owned market, where the owner greeted Derek and his father by name and had their groceries waiting to be paid for. Derek explained that although he’d been raised to do things for himself, when he’d realized errands posed issues for his father, and with the constraints on his time, he’d had to rethink his stance on asking for special favors.

  When they arrived back at Derek’s house, his father settled in to watch television, and Talia and Derek unloaded the groceries. Talia hadn’t known how she’d actually feel, spending the day with Derek and his father, although she’d wanted to enjoy it. As she and Derek put away the groceries, she realized that not only had she thoroughly enjoyed their time together, but Derek had opened up the most intimate part of his life to her.

  “I’m not sure if there’s anyone around to tell you this,” she said, “but you’re really good with your father.”

  “Thanks. I don’t need anyone to tell me, but I appreciate hearing it from you.”

  “Everyone needs a pat on the back sometimes.”

  “Maybe, but this disease strips the ego from everyone it touches—patients, family members, caretakers . . .” Derek said as he put a head of lettuce in the fridge.

  “Because you need to ask for special favors?” she asked as he drew her into his arms, smiling as if he hadn’t a care in the world, though she knew better. It made her appreciate his happiness even more.

  He pressed his lips to hers, soft and warm. “When the person who raised you, who you knew to be smart, funny, and sharp as a tack, doesn’t recognize you, or gets angry and says hurtful things, you learn to let go of everything you were taught about standing up for yourself or expecting appreciation. Because that’s the disease taking over, and that man in there? He doesn’t need to feel any worse than he already does about what’s happening to him. Better that I accept being wrong, take a verbal lashing that I know is not from his heart, or even become invisible when need be, and he remain in a peaceful place for as long as he can.”

  “I was thinking too narrowly, and I take it back. You aren’t ‘really good with him’; you’re amazing all around.”

  “No, I’m not, babe. I’m just a regular guy taking care of his father the best way he can.” He kissed her again. “I’d really like it if you’d stay for dinner. A little bird told me that you could use a cooking lesson. But if you’ve had enough babysitting for the day, I’ll understand.”

  He’d given her an out before with his father, and she had to ask the burning question. “Do women usually tire of spending time with you and your father?”

  “I wouldn’t know. For the past few years, women haven’t been a big part of my life.” He dipped his head and kissed the hollow of her neck. “But I’m no saint, Talia. I don’t want to mislead you. I’ve gone out with a few women, but, um . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “I wouldn’t call them dates, and no other women have met him.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. That shouldn’t surprise her. Most of the people she knew had casual sex. But there was no denying the sting it brought hearing it from Derek. On the other hand, she much preferred his honesty to a man who would lie just to get her into bed. “Stress-relief hookups?”

  “I don’t know. I’d say they were more to remind myself I’m still a single guy in my late twenties even if my life isn’t typical.” He leaned against the counter, bringing her between his legs. “I’m not a sleazeball, Talia, but I’m not going to lie to you, even if it hurts. You mentioned having trust issues, and I want you to know that you can trust me. For you, I’m an open book.”

  Did he know how much of a turn-on his unrelenting honesty was? “Thank you. A cheating ex left me wary,” she said softly.

  “Well, I’ve never been a cheater, and I certainly would never cheapen our relationship in that way. My situation guides me through life, and there’s no room for covering my tracks.”

  “Why me? Why now? Why not just try to have a one-night stand?”

  His brow furrowed. “You are not a one-night-stand girl. You’re too smart and you respect yourself too much. Hell, Talia, I respect you too much for that. And despite what I’ve done over the past few years, I’m not a one-night-stand type of guy. I want more out of life than meaningless hookups. Eventually, I want what my parents had. And right now”—he slid a hand to the nape of her ne
ck, drawing her closer—“I want to kiss you until you forget everything I just said and go back to thinking about only you and me.”

  His lips smothered hers so exquisitely, she couldn’t think at all. One hand threaded into her hair and the other slid to her ass, holding her against him from mouth to middle, and oh, did he feel good. Her insides flamed as their bodies took over, grinding and groping, electrifying her entire being. His whiskers abraded her skin with tantalizing prickles as he kissed the edges of her mouth and along her jaw, nipping and kissing a path down her neck. He slipped his finger into the collar of her sweater, tugging it down, stopping just short of the swell of her breast. Blood pounded through her veins as he touched his open mouth to her sensitive skin, tasting and then sucking so hard her knees nearly gave out. She stifled a moan, her gaze darting toward the living room.

  He trailed kisses along her breastbone. “His chair creaks when he gets up.”

  “Then don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  In the next breath, he had her against the counter, kissing her fiercely, groping her ass, and fondling her breasts. She clutched at his shoulders, bowed off the counter, trying to feel more of him.

  When his mouth left hers, she arched her neck. “Kissmekissmekissme—”

  She pushed his head lower, wanting more of the delicious sensations of his hot mouth on her skin. He lifted her sweater, revealing the blue lace bra she’d carefully chosen that morning, and made an utterly male sound. He kissed her above the lace, his hand wreaking havoc with her senses as he brushed his thumb over her nipple in lazy circles. Eyes closed, she pushed her hands into his back pocket, rocking against his hard heat. He sealed his mouth over her sensitive flesh and sucked so hard lust zinged through her like sparks beneath her skin.

  “Oh God. Derek,” she panted out, wanting, needing more.

  Cool air washed over the swell of her breast as he lifted his mouth. She opened her eyes, meeting his approval-seeking gaze, and didn’t hesitate as “Yes” left her lips.