Melt
Carrie Aarons
Copyright © 2017 by Carrie Aarons
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing done by Proofing Style.
Cover designed by Okay Creations.
This book is for every working mother out there.
May you be strong. May you be super. May you drink lots of alcohol.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Carrie Aarons
One
Jake
I love the Cherry Blossom Festival.
Now as a guy, saying that may make me seem kind of soft. As if I like those little pink flowers that float from the trees at every monument dotting the national lawn.
But hear me out. It’s a time when DC becomes a city of celebration, when families and groups of friends and college students put on their spring clothes and come out in droves. When the whole Capitol puts on its dancing shoes and smiles and attends parties, museum exhibits and street fairs.
Droves are a good thing for me. They’re a good thing for business. Thus, I love the Cherry Blossom Festival.
And okay, maybe there is a certain ambience about those little pink flowers in the trees, but you won’t hear me admitting that out loud. At least not to the ladies. Although if it gets me a leg up in that arena, then maybe I should.
I ponder the thought of all of the single women milling around my truck as I open the freezer, checking on my latest batch. Merlot and Fudge, and damn it’s as good as it sounds.
“Do you really serve alcoholic ice cream?” A blonde twenty-something slurs a bit as she peers into the window of the truck.
Clearly, she’s already partook in the alcohol part of this festival. “We sure do. Of course we have non-alcoholic flavors as well, for the kids and those not looking to get a buzz on. What can I get you?”
There are three people lined up behind her and it’s only ten o’clock. Sweet baby Jesus, I love cherry blossom time. And so does Cones & Corks, my business. My baby. My fleet of three food trucks that roam the streets of Washington, DC providing sweet treats for kids and adults.
“How is the Pistachio Pinot?” She bats her eyelashes, and though she’s about a day over twenty-one, I flirt back.
Because you know, always please the customer and all. "Delicious, the perfect treat for a hot day."
I give her my Virginia boy charm, flashing the smile and the dimple I know she's staring at.
"I'll take that then." She swishes her hips, and another four people get on line.
I quickly scoop her order, ring her up and have her sign the receipt. I'm not surprised when I get the piece of paper back with a wink, and her number scrawled at the top.
Politely, when she's out of view, I throw it in the trash bin. At thirty, I'm too old for her. And I've also sworn off women after my last disaster of a relationship.
Yep, it's just me, my laptop and a box of tissues for the foreseeable future.
Cycling through the line of customers, I chat and scoop. Hand out cards, give them the maps of where they can find this truck and the other two on any given day of the week.
"I want a Sponge Bob Popsicle!" A little voice yells from down below, and I have to peer out to see who it comes from.
Standing at the bottom of the truck is a little girl, her curly brown hair in pigtails and a little red dress hanging off her small body.
Her eyelashes blink up at me, and I wave. “Well hi there, pretty girl, I don’t have any SpongeBob here, but I think I have something that you might like.”
I look across the lawn, the Washington Monument shooting straight up into the sky. A frantic looking young woman jogs across the grass, a large bag slipping off her shoulder.
The minute she reaches my truck, and the little girl, her voice turns scolding. "Lennon, what did I tell you about letting go of mommy's hand?"
The little girl, who must be Lennon, shrugs, looking nothing but innocent. "Ice cream man says I can have ice cream!"
"He did, did he? I guess today I couldn't be any worse at being a parent, so fine let's get you a cone." She looks at the side of my truck, her eyes scanning the description for regular and alcoholic ice cream. "Do you really make alcoholic ice cream? Because I could use about a bottle of Cabernet in mine if so."
She sighs, her shoulders falling in defeat, and looks up. Dark brown eyes, long dark curls, a beauty mark on her left cheek, a strong, sharp jaw. Her looks resemble that of a fox’s, something mysterious and sharp about her. And a niggling in my chest tells me that this person is familiar.
I smile down at them from my place above in the truck. "Well, unfortunately we only serve half the bottle in our scoops."
Surprisingly, she laughs at my corny joke, a husky, deliberate sound that makes my skin vibrate. "Of course, just my luck. What do you have for this girl?"
She points to her daughter, and again I feel like I know her from somewhere. "Hold on a second ..."
Going into the truck, I make up a cone of Cookie Bar Crunch for the girl, the usual flavor I recommend for kids. And I get a cup for her mom, expertly pressing two round scoops of my favorite, Oreo Peanut Butter, into it.
"And here we are. I held off on the alcohol ... unless you weren't kidding, I could just hand over the bottle of Merlot I made my last batch with." Part of me hoped that she loved the flavor as much as I did.
Lennon tore right into the cone, getting drops of it on her red dress and not caring in the least. Kids were amazing like that. Her mom took a tiny spoonful and carefully put it in her mouth, her lids fluttering when the taste hit her tongue. And shit, I think I had a semi right then.
“That is incredible, oh my God. Wow. Okay, kid, you did good finding this ice cream man. How much do I owe you?” She looks up at me.
"It's on the house. Cute kid discount." I was shamelessly flirting by giving her free ice cream, but hey, I was the boss and I did what I wanted.
"Stop it, really, that's too much. Let me pay. This is quality stuff." She shuffles her feet, that big bag weighing down her shoulder.
"I should know, I make it. But no, it's on the house." I hesitate, still feeling a connection to her. "Hey, this may be weird, but do I know you from somewhere?"
She studies me closer, those big brown eyes inspecting my face. "I'm not sure ... did you grow up around here?"
"I've been arou
nd here for a while. Since college actually."
She tilts her head to the side, her curls blowing in the wind. "I went to Madison College, maybe that's where I know you from?"
Suddenly it all clicks. Her face a little younger, that perky butt in gym shorts. "You were a freshman when I was a senior! I worked in the gym, goofy kid in the red polo at the front. Jake Brady." I sound so desperate, trying to get her to remember me. But I used to have a major crush on this girl.
"Hmm ... I kind of remember. Sorry! Most days my brain is the consistency of scrambled eggs living with this little one." She points to Lennon. "I'm Samantha, I'm not sure if we ever officially met."
Not really, since I was too chickenshit to go after the innocent freshman back then. Lennon, now done with her ice cream, starts pulling on Samantha's jeans. "Mommy, we go see Dorothy now?"
Samantha chuckles but ruffles her daughter’s hair. “Yes, we can go see her shoes. Dorothy herself isn’t there, though.” Turning up to me, she rolls her eyes. “What three-year-old is obsessed with the Wizard of Oz? I used to be petrified of those flying monkeys, but not her. Thanks for the ice cream, and nice to see you again!”
She waves as Lennon pulls on her, dragging her toward the Smithsonian Museum of American History.
I watch as they amble to the line, a ball of energy and fun chaos surrounding them. Samantha. I couldn’t remember her last name, maybe I never knew it.
But for the rest of the day, as I served and promoted, my thoughts kept straying to the sexy freshman who had just tumbled back into town.
Two
Samantha
Alone time. Sweet, sweet alone time. Finally.
As any mom, especially single mom, knows ... the times in your bed to do whatever you want are few and far between.
“Ashley” by Big Sean bumps quietly out of my laptop speakers as I surf my Facebook timeline. I get distracted and click on some celebrity drama bait, falling into the black hole that is the Internet.
After about twenty minutes, I blink, shaking my head and leaning it back against the headboard. This week has been a whirlwind, and that's putting it lightly. Coordinating movers, setting Lennon up with daycare for the days my mom can't watch her, getting ready for my new position, trying to show my daughter the city that I once called home.
And now call home again. It's her new home too, and I've been trying to make it as fun of an experience as possible. Taking her to the monuments, teaching her the history she can understand, showing her things like Dorothy's slippers at the Smithsonian.
So far, she’s been great. Well, as great as a three-year-old who bores easily and wants a snack every five seconds can be. She only asked about Derek once, and after explaining that her daddy was still in Seattle, she dropped it. I hate to sound like the bitter, scorned woman … but it’s not like he spent much time trying to make himself a part of her life. I should have seen it the day she was born, his indifference, his need for exploration not squashed. Lennon had become my biggest adventure, and the man who had helped create her wanted to travel the world without consequences.
Blowing out a breath, I can’t help the sour taste that settles in my mouth. I’m being melodramatic. I chose to leave, to come home and set up a life for my daughter. No looking back now, even if my heart was broken.
But you know what fixes broken hearts? Wine and a little bit of ice cream. Picking up the stemless glass from my bedside table, I take a sip of the Riesling I’d had chilling in the fridge since we moved into our two bedroom apartment in Crystal City. It was the perfect place, with tall windows and a community pool downstairs. And without a man, I was allowed to decorate in whatever style I wanted.
The wine bubbled as it slid down my throat, and my thoughts flitted to the ice cream truck from today’s list of activities. The cute guy who was working behind the window. What was his name?
Jake. I think.
A blush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. I hadn’t recognized him, and even though he’d explained our connection, I still couldn’t place him. It was one of those awkward scenarios where you knew that the other person knew more about you than you knew about them … and you felt bad about it.
But he was cute.
Not that dating was something on a twenty-seven-year-old single mom’s to-do list. Please, most mornings I was lucky if I got out of the house with my hair brushed and a shirt not stained with Lennon’s cereal. But single moms could have fantasies, and maybe cute ice cream guy would be mine.
Resigning myself to the fact that I should get all the sleep I could afford, I switched off the light and settled into bed. Sleeping alone was a new phenomenon for me, something I hadn’t done in nearly eight years.
And I wasn’t about to lie and say I hated it. Sleeping alone was kind of excellent. So I stretched myself out all over the queen bed, and fell into a peaceful night’s rest.
* * *
“MOMMY!”
I growled, literally grated my teeth together, while the water ran over my body. I’d only gotten in here two seconds ago after putting Lennon in front of the TV with her Lucky Charms. Sugar and entertainment were a no-no in all of the parenting magazines, but what the hell did they know? They weren’t trying to get a rambunctious three-year-old out the door on time on their first day in a new job.
“I’ll be right there!” I shouted, praying she’d let me get conditioner in my hair before stumbling into my morning shower session.
“Mommy, I want to wear my Winnie the Pooh costume to Mimi’s today.” Too late, little lady was officially in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet with her baby blanket grasped firmly in her fist.
Doing the quickest wash of my body possibly in history, I turned the shower off and grabbed my towel. “You can’t wear a Halloween costume, sweetheart, it’s April.”
“But Mimi likes it, so I can wear it.” Oh, the logic of a toddler.
“How about we find some clothes for you, and you can bring your stuffed Tigger for the day instead.” Distraction and compromise; two of the best tools in a mother’s arsenal.
I hurry into my room, Lennon hot on my heels, as I put my hair in a towel and begin to dress in the clothes I laid out last night.
“Can you please go into your room and put on the outfit Mommy laid out?” I put a tinge of sweetness in my tone, hoping she will obey.
“I want fruit snacks.” Dear God, of course you do.
She toddles out of my room, going to do lord knows what, but I need to finish myself before I can start on her. Blow drying my hair so that at least it’s not sopping wet, I swipe on some mascara and lipstick and consider it a job decently done.
“Lennon Rose, you better be in your room getting dressed.” Mommy voice in full effect.
When I walk in, she’s in nothing but her underwear, laying on the bed talking to a stuffed owl.
“Into your clothes, please.” I pick up the summer shorts and shirt I’d laid out, and shove them over her little body. At least she complies, then letting me slide her feet into sandals and allowing me to buckle them.
“Mommy, did I used to drink your milk?” Lennon looks at my boobs, the opening to my sleeveless sweater down by her tiny face.
“You did, once upon a time.” A simpler time, a time where you didn’t ask questions like that. Especially not in public.
“Can I drink from my own?” She looks down at her chest.
I bite back a laugh, internally panicking as I look at the clock. “No you cannot. Now let’s go, get your bag and stuffed Tigger.”
With one bite of toast in my stomach, I shepherd us out the door and down to the garage, loading my daughter into the car and starting to drive for my mother’s house.
One huge plus of coming back to Washington, DC was that my mom lived ten minutes from us. She could watch Lennon during the day, save me a ton of money, and was a familial lifeline exactly at the time I needed her.
The morning was a tornado of hustling, tears, kisses, traffic and paperwork. When I finally s
at down to my desk, files and files stacked upon it, I took a deep breath.
“Knock, knock.” Someone proceeded the action with speech.
Turning my head, a woman stood in the doorway to my small office. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I feel like it’s the first time I’ve sat down all day.”
“And it’s only nine o’clock, so you better take a few minutes.” She smiles conspiratorially. “I’m Jenna, I work in the office next door, so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself. You know, in case you need to borrow a paper clip or something.”
Her expression is open and friendly, her blue eyes and short blond bob pretty but smart, and I like her immediately. I extend a hand and she takes it. “Samantha Groff. I’ll stop over if I need a stapler, but don’t worry, I won’t steal it.”
She laughs. “You’re the new manager of the park rangers, right?”
I nod. “Yep, I am.” My phone rings, the first call of the day. “And that is probably a ranger right now.”
“Take it, I’ll stop over before lunch to see if you need anything. Good luck, and welcome!”
I take the call, suddenly flung into a crisis in Utah where two of the Jeeps have gone missing. Just another day in the life of a National Parks employee, but damn do I love my job. After college, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I followed Derek out to Seattle, and just happened to fall into a job at Mount Rainier. For five years I worked my way up, pausing for a bit in the middle when I got pregnant with the huge surprise that is Lennon. And then my dream job came along back home, and I jumped at it. Used all of my connections within the organization, interviewed through rounds and directors, and finally landed the position.
Melt Page 1
