by Susan Ward
“Noah?”
“Yeah.” She gazes lovingly at her son, tilts her head, then grimaces. “At least until he’s out of diapers, starts his own band, and joins the family business.”
ERIC’S QUIET WHEN WE get back to the room. He’s lying on the bed, a bundle of tension. I’m not sure what’s going on with him. He got a little heated with the reporter, then Ethan joined the fray, smoothed it out, and everything was fine by the time dessert arrived. But Eric’s been brooding since he returned to the table.
“Are you OK?” I ask, not looking at him while I undress.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I lost my cool and ruined our dinner.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” I turn to stare at him and smile adoringly. “I’d have been disappointed in you if you hadn’t yelled at that jerk. It was for a good cause.”
“Yeah, but yelling doesn’t fix anything. I should know better by now. Be able to keep my cool like Ethan.”
I sink down on the bed next to him. “You’re not Ethan.”
He glances up at me, running his finger along my thigh. “I’m like my dad. I have a temper. You haven’t seen it before. I’m sorry you saw it tonight.”
He says that like it should be a surprise to me, but it’s not. Avery’s right. He’s a hurricane. It doesn’t come as a shock he expresses all things as passionately as he makes love to me. It was heart-melting watching him get all flustered and hot trying to protect Noah.
“You didn’t hit him. That’s a positive. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have, Eric.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m trying to woo you with how wonderful I am, and I go off on some jerk on the street.”
Woo me. “You could always try to make up for it.”
His eyes are shimmering cobalt now. “I’d have to do something extraordinary to make up for the spectacle I made.”
My insides melt. I sink down beside him, curling into his chest, and his arm wraps around me. “Holding me might do it.”
His lips kiss across my hair. Then he’s at my ear, sending shivers town my limbs as he gently nips.
“Even better, Eric.”
He flattens me on the bed and moves to my breast. His tongue circles my nipple and he peeks up at me. “I’m starting to feel better. How about you?”
I laugh. “I felt good when we got to the room.”
“Really?” He blows, sucks, then eases off my rosy tip. “Do you want me to stop?”
I sink my fingers in his hair. “Never, Eric. I don’t ever want you to stop.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Willow
THE NEXT MORNING, WE stand beside Ethan’s car as the bellhops load their luggage and baby accessories into the cargo bay.
Avery turns to me. “You’ve got my number. I’ve got yours. Don’t be a stranger. And whenever you’re ready, I’ll jump you into the family chat string. It’s fun. Like a private message board. It’s just the kids, not the parents. But it’s pretty much the one-stop shop for news on the family.”
I dart a glance at Eric. He’s on the other side of the car talking with his brother and I can tell he didn’t hear Avery.
“I’m not sure we’re there yet but thank you.”
Avery gives me a breezy hug. “Oh, you’re there. I’ve known Eric a long time. He’s one hundred percent in with you. You’re perfect together and I couldn’t be happier for Eric.”
I flush. They’re important to Eric and it means a lot to me that they like me. Maybe the rest of his family will, too. That is if I ever meet them. Which is too much to think about this morning.
“Do we have everything, E?” Avery asks.
Ethan does a fast double-check of the cargo bay. “I think so, babe.”
Avery moves to Eric and wraps him in a sloppy hug. Swaying in each other’s arms, I can see their arms tighten and they both let out little groans.
“Take care of this lady. Take care of you,” Avery orders softly, staring up at Eric’s face.
“Take care of my brother. Take care of Noah. Take care of you,” he replies, his features tightening with emotions.
“Try not to get into any more curbside arguments with the press!”
She crinkles her nose, he crinkles his back at her, then Eric grimaces and the news stories we saw online this morning run through my head. The slow drip of media attention—as Avery put it—concentrating on him is now a rip-roaring rapid.
One argument in front of a sidewalk café with the fourth estate and, like that, he lit up the internet. The posts on the blogs are not only over-the-top ridiculous, many of them are flat out untrue. I now get Eric’s advice about not responding and his comment that the tabloids will invent a story even if there isn’t one. It would have been nice if he’d listened to his own warning.
The morning started with a wake-up call from Simone to let us know that the entrance of the hotel was surrounded by paparazzi and that he’d ordered the valet to bring Ethan’s car to the private level of the garage because, apparently, there’s an exit out of here where their car is unlikely to be noticed leaving from the front of the hotel.
During our breakfast, his friend Hank suggested Eric might want to rethink having part of his security detail here with him in Seattle. That had made Ethan frown and Avery roll her eyes. It made my stomach drop because before then I hadn’t been aware that security was a normal thing for Eric or that he might need them. But Eric had laughed and called himself a has-been, irritating his friend to the point where he launched into a rambling story about some kid named Getty.
I don’t know what to expect next, how things will work in Seattle for us with a horde of press waiting to pounce on Eric, his manager pulling on him to jump-start his career again, and his worry over his mom pressuring him to go home. It all feels so different now. I can’t catch up with the fast shifts of my life, but I sure as heck know what they’re telling me.
Everything in the last twenty-four hours warns he’s going back to California sooner and not later. His daughter’s there. His family. His manager with offers of gigs. His career. His life. I wish I could slow down the world around us, and I wonder if this is his life without me: fast, twisting, and unpredictable. I sense that I don’t even know the half of it yet.
I want to be all things to this man, because he’s everything to me, but we have too many pieces that don’t fit together and there are too many things out there waiting to pull him away from me. The question isn’t if, it’s when and which one.
Tears prick and pool in my eyes as I watch the brothers hug. “I’ll call you as soon as we get there,” Ethan says.
Eric nods. “Tell Mom I’m OK and that I’ll see her soon.”
“I’m holding you to that, brother. You’ve been gone too long.” Ethan pats him hard on the back and steps away.
“Bye, Willow.” Avery waves from the front seat, then holds up her pinkie and thumb, wiggling it by her ear—call—before Ethan closes the door.
I gaze into the concrete tunnel as their SUV disappears, and after a few minutes I can’t hear their car anymore. Silence; heavy, empty and sad.
Eric stares at me. “Do you want to go back to the suite or should I grab a car from Simone and take you to work?”
What? My mind is in a flat spin. Not the either/or I expected. I know his brother leaving has hit Eric in some way, I can feel it—shouldn’t we talk about that?—and what the hell am I supposed to think about two options that say he intends to put space back between us?
I lift my nose. “Get the car, Eric. It’s Thursday, and you owe me two full days of hard labor in exchange for Ivy. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”
He blinks at me, then regards me passively, not moving. “Why the hell did you have to say hard, baby?” he says softly, blandly, and for a moment his words don’t register.
His eyes widen fractionally, and I feel my face heat.
I start pointing at vehicles as if to ask which one? “Don’t
try any of your tricks. Whatever you’ve got on your mind isn’t happening. You owe me two days’ work. I’m not letting you back out of your promise.”
His eyes are wide and luminous when he looks at me. “Don’t get hot and bossy. Who says I want to back out? You had me at we’re spending the day together.”
As he goes to retrieve keys from the box, I shake my head at him. He’s impossible. Even if I can’t figure out what comes next with him, he’s adorable, impossible him.
WE’RE AT THE INTERSECTION on the corner before Mel’s, stopped even though the signal light is green.
Eric stares, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Fuck. I wonder how long they’ve been camped out in front of the bar.”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Ivy didn’t text me a thing about this. It’s better than at the hotel. There are only two.”
I do another fast check of the pavement. Yep. Only two. The tabloid photographer from last night that Eric got steamed up at, and somewhere he found a friend.
Eric brushes back his hair and looks at me. “What the hell is that orange box painted on the sidewalk in front of the door?”
“It looks like chalk, but since we don’t have any in the bar I’m suspecting Ivy used Cheez Whiz. I think it’s meant to be a do not cross line.”
“Cheez Whiz. Yeah, that’s Ivy. What do you want to do? I can let you out here and turn around before they see me, or—”
I swivel on my seat to stare directly at him. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t even try to be that sneaky. Park in the alley behind the bar. You can’t go back to the hotel. Who am I going to sexually harass on my breaks?”
He turns to gaze at me and my insides quiver. “How soon is your first break?” he asks and pulls into the back alley.
“WHY DON’T YOU GO have lunch, Willow?” Ivy announces as she continues to load her tray. “It’s not busy. I can handle it by myself.”
My gaze does a fast dart around the bar. Forty minutes into the noon rush and it’s clear it’s not going to be a profit-setting day. It’s too slow for a Thursday and I wonder what’s up with that. The tabloid photographers parked at the door or is it the Cheez Whiz do-not-cross line?
“If you’re sure you can handle it,” I concede.
“This?” Ivy’s blond brows shoot up. “In my sleep.”
Of late, it seems Ivy’s more capable than me at handling everything. She came into work this morning even though I’d texted her not to. The bar was set up for opening, the kitchen prep work done, and she’d even reorganized the Friday-through-Sunday employee schedule, noticeably without me on it. There was nothing left for me to do, and I’ve felt of no use since I arrived. I don’t like that feeling, like I’m in the way.
I use the bar towel to wipe off my hands. “I should go see if Eric finished writing the employment ad for our new waitress.” I gave him the task because having him on the floor is too distracting, more for me than the few regulars we have here.
“I did that already.” She fishes from her pocket a sheet of paper and slides it across the bar at me. “Why don’t you take a look at that when you have time?”
My gaze strays to the folded note on the scarred wood counter. What’s with this showing me up, being on top of things routine? It’s like she’s been waiting for me to take a few days off to stage a coup or something. I’m vaguely hurt, though I’m sure I shouldn’t be.
I unfold the paper, read the first line, and my eyes shoot to Ivy’s face. “This is an ad for a bar/restaurant manager.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what you need. Not another server.”
I stiffen. What’s she implying here? “Wouldn’t that kind of leave me out of a job?”
Her amused gaze meets mine. “I look at it as giving yourself a promotion. Isn’t it time you joined the bourgeois class, came in here only a couple of times a month to make sure we’re not all loafing, and stop wasting your time on a business you never wanted in the first place?”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Are you trying to insult me?”
“Of course not.”
I frown at her. “Then what is this?”
She shrugs. “What someone should have told you a long time ago. You deserve something better than this. Haven’t you given up enough for the people you love? You spent practically your entire childhood working in here. Then you dropped out of college to support Dean, so Jade and the guys could build their company, their dream. And now you’re trying to preserve your dad’s memory by keeping the bar going, but all that’s going to do is have you waste your life here the way Mel did. I’m telling you you’ve got options and it’s time to exercise them.”
Options, i.e. Eric. I thought Ivy had resolved to butt out of my personal life. Clearly, she’s had a change of heart. “And do you have a manager there in your pocket I can afford to hire?”
She lifts her chin. “Yeah. I was thinking of me. It’s the job I would have had if your dad hadn’t died. I’ve worked here twelve years and I like it. Running Mel’s would make me happy. It’s never going to be enough for you.”
My face heats. Where is this coming from? I never knew she felt this way. It’s all so unexpected.
My gaze narrows and a suspicion forms in my brain. I shove her ad into my pocket and make my way up to the third floor where Eric is, hopefully done with the ad I asked him to write and now tagging the things from Dad’s apartment to be sold at our parking lot sale.
As I step off the elevator, the sight of him sends a small thrill of excitement pulsing through me even though I’m annoyed from the thought he’s at the root of Ivy trying to push me out of my own business.
“Is it finally break time?” He grins at me.
“Don’t try to flirt with me. Did you put Ivy up to this?” I hold out the paper to him.
Frowning, he takes it, reads, and then his shoulders move in a slight shrug. “No. But I wish I had. It’s a great idea. Why are you upset?”
I drop down on the floor beside him. “Because she’s trying to push me out of Mel’s.”
He laughs, slipping his arms around me and scooching me back into his chest. “No, she’s not. She’s just taking some initiative to get what she wants.”
“Is that how you see it?”
“Yep. It’s a big move for her. Your dad promised her the job years ago and never gave it to her. I guess she decided it was time to speak up. You should try to see things from her point of view instead of being so defensive.”
My emotions fall. I didn’t know my dad promised her a management job, and I wonder why she told Eric and not me. I flush because there’s just enough chide in that to make me feel petty and overreacting. “You’re probably right,” I concede, feeling a bit mollified.
“Tell me why this got you so upset.”
Because I don’t feel solidly in any part of my life right now. In my job or with you. I sigh. “I’ve just never thought about not working here. That’s all.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
What’s he implying?
When he doesn’t expand on that comment, I add, “I like working. I like staying busy. It’s what I do.”
“I like to stay busy. You’re what I do.”
His voice has changed—huskier—and I can feel my tension melt into something else. He starts planting light kisses on my neck. “Maybe all Ivy is saying is that it’s time you start thinking outside the box.”
“Methinks you’re trying to get into my box.”
His chest shimmies from laughter. “So suspicious today.”
“Not suspicious. You’re unbuttoning my shirt.”
I LIE NAKED ATOP Eric, held in his arms and curled on his chest.
“I like how we spent lunch,” he whispers.
I murmur my assent, basking in how he runs his fingers up and down my back.
“Sex should be considered one of the four food groups,” he says, kissing me on my hair.
“I’m sure you think so.�
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Deliberately, he lifts his head to make sure I don’t miss his grin. It’s heady stuff, looking at him, how he makes me feel, surrounded by the smell of him and sex.
I groan and drop my cheek back on his chest.
“That wasn’t a content sound. What’s wrong?”
“I need to get back to work.”
“No, that’s not it,” he says knowingly.
I scramble off him and reach for my clothes. “I called my new tenants to let them know they’ve got the apartment. They’re coming to sign the lease and drop off the deposit Sunday. They want to move in next week. I still have my bedroom to clean out and paint.”
“Do you want me to help?” he asks, staring up at me, at a loss over what to make of me.
I nod, and he smiles.
“Was that so hard?” He cocks his head to one side and raises his brow.
“What?”
He taps my nose. “To admit we’re a team and you like having me around as a supportive partner.”
Is that what we are now? Partners? “I’m used to doing things on my own.”
He says nothing for a minute, but I sense his grin. “But it’s more right when we do things together, isn’t it? It feels that way for me. Like it would be unnatural to do anything in my life ever again without you.”
Yes—it feels that way for me, too.
Glancing at my watch, I note that it’s after three. “Well, it’s time to get moving, Eric.”
“I THOUGHT YOU CAME down here to help me?” I murmur, glancing up from the box I’m packing on the floor.
He flips a page from whatever he’s looking at and smiles at me. “I decided to respect your privacy instead.”
“You know, that’s the same quilt that was on that bed seven years ago. There are probably spiders in there and all kinds of things.”
He makes the springs squeak, leering at me. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
“God, you’re a sex maniac.” But my inner me is giddy and couldn’t be happier.
He bites his lip. “Only with you. You look so sexy sitting on the floor. Gets my thoughts going.”
