by Addison Cole
“Ted loves you, babe. Nobody could fake the look in his eyes or the pride in his voice when he talked about you.”
“I hope that’s true, but I’m still messed up, because I wouldn’t have come here for myself. But don’t worry. I’m trying to figure out why.”
He kissed her softly and said, “You can’t imagine how happy that makes me. I want you to feel good about letting your bright light shine for all to see.”
“There’s something else I want you to know. I’m going to talk to Desiree when she gets back from her honeymoon and tell her everything—about volunteering, working with Joni, sculpting…”
Surprise rose in his eyes. “You are?”
“Yup. That gives me a few weeks to mentally prepare for our cards-on-the-table moment. You should be a therapist with all the stuff you’ve got me spewing.” She pulled him across the parking lot. “Now, let’s go. I feel naked.”
He chuckled.
“Keep laughing. I’ve got a store full of sex toys and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“As long as they’re not replacing me, I’m cool with that,” he said heatedly.
“I meant use them on you.”
He stopped walking.
She laughed and tugged him toward a sandy path that cut through the dunes to the beach. “You know that uncomfortable feeling you’ve got right now?” she said when they stopped to take off their boots at the edge of the path. “It’s about half as uncomfortable as I feel every time you get me to think about stuff I don’t want to think about.”
“Damn, baby. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing worth anything in this life comes easily, right?” As they crossed the dunes she said, “Isn’t that what everyone says?”
“Violet!”
They spun around and saw a little girl running toward them wearing a blue button-down shirt with a fluffy green tutu. Her skinny little arms were spread wide, her fine brown hair floating above her shoulders. A guy stood at the end of the path in shorts and a colorful striped Baja hoodie.
“Hold that thought,” Violet said. “That’s Joni and Rowan.” She scooped up the excited little girl and twirled her around. “Hey, peanut butter.”
Little-girl giggles filled the air. “Hey, jelly! Do you like my tutu?”
“That’s a spectacular tutu,” Violet exclaimed. “Did you get it from a gorilla at the bank?”
Joni buried her giggling face in Violet’s neck and said, “No.” Then her head popped up and she said, “I got it from the mermaid at the zoo!”
They all laughed. Joni was adorable, with crooked baby teeth, happy brown eyes, and so much love for Violet it radiated off her. He wished Violet would let everyone see this warmer, animated side of herself.
Violet said, “Joni, this is my very special friend, Andre.”
“Hi!” Joni said. “Where did you get your shirt from?”
Andre leaned in close and lowered his voice as if he were sharing a secret as he said, “I got it from the giraffe in the park!”
Joni wiggled from Violet’s arms, giggling. She reached for each of their hands and pulled them toward Rowan. “Come on! There’s hamburgers and hot dogs and lizards and snakes…”
As Joni rattled off several types of animals, Violet said, “Joni’s got the greatest imagination on the planet.”
Joni let go of their hands and ran to Rowan. He was a big man, at least six four, with shaggy hair, a short beard, and kind eyes. He lifted Joni up and kissed her cheek. “Love you, Jojo.”
He set her in the sand as she said, “Love you, too, Daddy.”
“How’s it going, sugar?” Rowan threw an arm over Violet’s shoulder, hugging her against his side.
Sugar?
Rowan extended a hand and said, “Hi. I’m Rowan. It’s Andre, right?”
“No, Daddy,” Joni said. “His name is pretzel!”
Andre shook his hand and said, “She’s right. My name is pretzel, but you can call me Andre if you’d like.”
Joni grabbed Violet’s hand and said, “Can me and peanut butter go down by the water?”
“You know the rules.” Rowan winked at his little girl.
Joni turned wide, hopeful eyes up at Violet and said, “Would you like to play by the water with me?”
Violet glanced at Andre. “Think you’ll be okay for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Yay!” Joni dragged Violet toward the water, where a few other children were putting their toes in the water and then running up the beach.
“She’s a cutie,” he said to Rowan.
“Violet or Joni?” Rowan smiled and said, “I’m kidding. She’s a great kid, and Vi’s pretty awesome, too. Let’s go grab a drink.”
They walked down the beach to where a group of people sat on chairs and blankets in a semicircle, talking and eating. There was a mix of twentysomethings and seniors. Parked by the dunes were three trucks with enormous tires, one with coolers in the back. Near the trucks there were two grills and a table covered with platters of burgers, hot dogs, salads, pasta dishes, cookies, and a host of other delicious-looking food.
Andre and Rowan grabbed sodas, and Rowan introduced him to some of the other volunteers. After chatting with the others for a while, they sat in the sand talking. Rowan was easygoing, smart, and he kept a keen eye on his daughter, who was busy building a sandcastle with Violet.
“So, who goes first?” Rowan asked.
“For…?”
“You know, the regular crap that we’re avoiding but probably should get out of the way.” He sipped his soda.
“Ah, well, Violet’s already filled me in on how you two met. She said you own a food truck and that you’re raising Joni alone. I’m sorry about your wife.”
“Carlotta was my girlfriend, not my wife, but thank you. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. But you’ve got one up on me. Vi didn’t tell me anything about you, other than your name.”
“That doesn’t really surprise me.”
“Nah, it shouldn’t if you know Vi as well as I think you do.” Rowan set his soda can in the sand and looked over at Violet and Joni.
Joni was sitting in Violet’s lap, playing with the ends of Violet’s hair. Violet was rocking side to side, and she looked like she was singing. Andre had seen Violet with dozens of children in Ghana, and she’d been just as at ease with each and every one of them.
“To be honest,” Rowan said, “Violet told me everything I needed to know by taking you to the coffeehouse. I saw Steph and Cory the other day, and they told me you’d been there a few times with her. But even if I hadn’t known that, the way she looked at you before going off with Joni? That told me she totally digs and trusts you, because Vi doesn’t look for approval from anyone.”
“It’s mutual.” He told Rowan how he and Violet had met and about their time together overseas. And then he said the hardest thing of all. “She took off more than two years ago, and I had no idea where she was or how to find her.”
Rowan stretched his long legs out and said, “She’s just like my Carlo. Feisty, stubborn. Every time I got too close, Carlo pulled away. That’s why we never got married. We’d been together for two years when she got pregnant with Jojo. The second I mentioned marriage”—he shook his head—“she was like a pup that had seen the wrong end of a newspaper too many times. Her parents had an awful marriage, and she wanted no part of that union. I’d bet my life we would have had a great marriage, but what’s a piece of paper? Right?”
“I made that mistake, too. I proposed to Vi. It was one of the reasons she took off.”
Rowan smiled and said, “Everyone says guys are afraid of commitment, and look at us. Two dudes who fell in love with probably the only two women around who aren’t pining for a ring on their finger. But Carlo and Vi? They have something else in common—two of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. Since the day Vi and I met, she’s been like an aunt to Jojo. She’s come over when Jojo was having fits and I had no idea what to do, and
she’s picked her up from school when I had the flu. She’s so easy with her, like she totally gets her in ways that sometimes confound me.”
They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes, and then Rowan said, “From the second Jojo was born, she was mine and Carlo’s world. Nothing in this world matters more than that trusting little girl, but I think I’m messing up pretty badly.”
“She seems happy,” Andre said.
“Most of the time. But she gets real panicky, and when that anxiety sets in, it’s like she gets lost in it. I’ve talked to her doctors and therapists. Vi works with her, and that seems to help, but how do you help a little girl past anxiety and frustration that no one can explain?”
“I’m a pediatrician, and when I was practicing in the States I encountered that often with children, much more so than overseas. Anxiety can come from many directions and oftentimes from several at once. It sounds like you’ve had her evaluated by licensed professionals?”
Rowan nodded. “They said it might have to do with losing her mom and that lots of kids get anxious when they go to school. The docs don’t think it’s unusual, and they say she’ll probably outgrow it.”
“When did you first notice her anxieties?”
“About the third week of preschool, when she was four. She started pitching fits, not wanting to go. I talked to the teachers, and they said it was normal, but it didn’t feel normal. Still, I’m a first-time father, so I tried taking their advice, letting her cry when I left. But that was too hard on both of us. She’s my baby, and she relies on me to take care of her. After a few weeks of constant struggles, I took her out of that school. But kindergarten was the same way, except her anxiety started the first week. She’s six now, and she already hates school. Can you imagine how rebellious she’ll be as a teenager?”
“The two might not go hand in hand. How’d she do with hitting milestones? Did she have any trouble remembering nursery rhymes? Her alphabet?”
“Nursery rhymes?” He scoffed. “She hates them. Even at three and four she mixed them up. That’s why she has such a great imagination. She’s been making stuff up for years.”
Down the beach, Joni and Violet were running in and out of ankle-deep water. Andre hated to second-guess other physicians, but his gut told him Joni’s doctors were seeing a different picture than he was. “I may be way off base, but has she been evaluated for dyslexia? Preschool is young to diagnose issues related to dyslexia, but depending on the teaching methods and expectations, it can cause anxiety. It should at least be considered.”
“I assume so. The doctors don’t really tell me what they’ve ruled out. They ask a lot of questions about when Carlo died and our lifestyle. Sometimes it feels like they’re too focused on those things or they just think I’m an overly worried father. Of course she’ll always miss having her mother around, and maybe I am worrying too much. Or maybe I messed her up by taking her out of preschool or by letting her pitch a fit when she’s frustrated. But sometimes there’s no calming her down. Kids should come with guidelines, because the only thing I can think to do is distract her, hold her, make sure she knows she’s loved even if she hates school.”
“Love goes a long way,” he said, thinking of how much Violet would have given for a mother who had seen the trials and tribulations she’d gone through and put her daughter’s happiness above all else. “My buddy is the chief of pediatrics at Hyannis Hospital. He knows the best doctors and specialists in the area. Why don’t I make a few calls and hook you up with him? I obviously haven’t evaluated Joni, but it doesn’t sound like you’re overreacting. David’s a father and an excellent physician. He won’t let you slip through the cracks.”
The look of relief on Rowan’s face was palpable. “That’d be great. Thank you.” Rowan clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m not giving up on my beautiful girl.”
Andre watched Joni and Violet heading toward them hand in hand and thought, I’m not giving up on mine, either.
Chapter Twelve
“HEY, HOT MAMA.” Emery breezed into the office of the inn Monday afternoon wearing a bikini top and sweatpants and flopped into a chair across the desk from Violet. She crossed her legs, smacking her chewing gum, and tapped her finger on the arm of the chair. “I’m still buzzing from that orgasmic breakfast you and your man whipped up.”
After joining Emery for couples yoga, Andre claimed he wanted to teach Violet how to make eggs Benedict and cranberry muffins. He’d taken full advantage of every second her hands were busy and had made her so hot and bothered by the time their friends arrived, she’d dragged him back to the cottage for a quickie before he started his part-time work at the clinic.
Violet looked up from the bills she was paying and said, “And you thought it was a good idea that I witness your post-orgasmic bliss?” She’d spent the morning responding to inquiries, handling inventory, and working through reservation schedules. When she’d first come to the inn, she had been completely opposed to anything even resembling a schedule. Now she had schedules for the inn, the gallery, the hospital…
Emery blew a bubble, then sucked it back into her mouth and said, “It’s cold in here.”
“It’s September and you’re wearing a bikini top.”
“Last-ditch effort to work on my tan, but it was too chilly.” She smiled and said, “Now that the others aren’t around, you can give me the real scoop on you and Dr. McHottie.”
“Not happening.” Violet went back to paying the bills.
“Oh, come on!” She smacked her hand on the arm of the chair. “This morning you two looked hot doing couples yoga. You were so in sync it was like you’d been doing yoga together for years. That doesn’t come from a week of good sex.”
We are hot. Violet smiled inwardly. Emery was right. It didn’t come from a week of good sex. It came from three months of using couples yoga as a means to try to calm their passion until Violet had been ready to finally make love with Andre.
“Vi-o-let!” Emery hopped to her feet and leaned all the way across the desk, placing her elbows on the schedule Violet had prepared. She propped her chin in her hands and said, “Talk to me. That’s what friends do.”
Violet stared at her, thinking about what Andre had said about shutting out her friends from certain parts of her life. Okay, maybe she could give Emery something…But what? Definitely not anything about their sex life. The gossip girls would have a field day if they knew she sometimes totally disappeared into him, turning into a pile of mushy, romantic emotions. Or if they realized she and Andre had found a darker side of themselves when he’d loved her in the shower yesterday morning.
“Why are you blushing?”
Violet blurted out, “I’m meeting his parents.”
“Oh my gosh! His parents?” Emery began pacing. “This is serious. I was a nervous wreck meeting Dean’s parents. We have to go shopping. What are they like? Where are you meeting them? Have you ever met a guy’s parents? It’s the worst experience you could ever imagine.”
Violet dropped her pen and pushed to her feet. “Can you please try to control your giddy word vomit?”
Emery put her hands on her hips and said, “Nope. When are you going?”
“Saturday. Lunch. Boston.” Great, now she was getting nervous again.
“Restaurant or their house?”
“No idea. Shoot. Does that matter? Either way I’ll feel like I’m under a microscope.”
Emery crossed her arms and tapped her chin with her finger, squinting at Violet. “It’s lunch, not dinner. So you can be casual, but it’s a first meeting, so not too casual. Maybe slacks?”
“Not a chance.”
“Skirt?” Emery asked hopefully.
“Unless it’s leather and mini, no.”
Emery let out a disapproving sigh. “I think we can do something with skinny jeans and the black fringe boots you bought for Des’s wedding.”
“I have black skinny jeans.”
“The ones with
tears?” Emery sat on the edge of the desk.
She didn’t own jeans without tears. “Yes.”
“You can’t meet his parents wearing torn jeans. We need to shop, or I can lend you a pair, but you should have some clothes that aren’t black and…Oh my gosh! You’re wearing a maroon shirt. Holy cow. How did I not notice that at breakfast?”
“Between Dean’s kisses and your egg-gasms, is it any wonder you missed it?” Violet looked down at her shirt and said, “I dress for my moods. Can we please move on? I have no idea what his parents are like, but they’re doctors.”
“Oh, Vi.” Compassion rose in Emery’s eyes. “I know your tattoos are a big part of who you are, but what if his parents are super uptight and conservative? You don’t want to be judged unfairly.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing, even though it goes against everything I have ever believed in,” she confessed.
“Well, you don’t have to cover them.”
Violet paced, mulling it over.
“You could ask Andre what he thinks,” Emery suggested.
“No. Then he’ll be in a sucky position. Who wants to tell their girlfriend she should cover her ink? Oh, who cares.” She threw her arms up and said, “I’ll cover up. I’m going to be nervous enough. I don’t need my tats becoming a thing.”
“Okay. So…shopping?”
“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”
Emery squealed and threw her arms around Violet. “Because the best girlfriend-time memories always carry a little regret! Although it’s usually from too much tequila and a guy whose name you can’t remember in the morning.”
