“Oh, I see.” Mel elongated the vowels. “You poor thing. We’ve all been there.”
“Excuse me?”
“How you feel about him. But he’s put you in the friend zone even though you’re the one who would do anything for him, even help raise the child he had with someone else.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Please, you don’t have to pretend with me. I can assure you I’m no threat.” There they were—claws fully extended while her voice dripped with honey.
“You’ve quite the imagination, but you have this wrong,” Violet said. “Kyle and I are barely friends. We’re certainly not involved.”
Mel did the wide-eyed thing again and held out her hands in a sign of submission. “I’m sorry. Again, I’ve misinterpreted.”
“Don’t make a habit of it. I can assure you, I’m the one Kyle will listen to when it comes to his baby. You answer to me as much as you do him. This is a business arrangement. You’re not family or even a friend and I expect you to remember that.” Violet turned toward the door. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No need. I’m quite capable of figuring out how to get where I’m going.”
I bet you can.
A few minutes later, Violet knocked on Kyle’s bedroom. “Do you need anything?”
The door opened. Kyle appeared without Mollie in his arms. He’d changed from his work clothes into a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. His tousled hair and bare feet reminded her of an afternoon last August when they’d all hung out at Brody’s pool. She’d stayed as far away from him as possible that day. Now she was close enough to smell his cologne. The heady scent of Kyle.
Behind him, Mollie was in the middle of the bed, swaddled in her pink blanket.
“She woke up, so I changed her,” he said. “It’s time for her evening bottle, right?”
She glanced at the clock. It was just after seven. “Yes, perfect timing. I think we’re getting her on a routine already.”
“You with your routines,” he said.
“You’ll thank me later.”
“I’m thanking you now.” He motioned for her to come inside the room. “Keep me company while I feed her?”
The request pleased her more than it should. “Sure.”
She grabbed the already made bottle from the dresser as he gathered the baby into his arms.
“Let’s go in the living room,” he said. “Would you like a glass of wine? I imagine it was a long day.”
“It was. I forgot how hard a newborn is.” She led the way to the living room. “Plus, Dakota acted awful. I think he’s jealous.”
“He’s used to having you all to himself.”
“True.”
She helped herself to wine while he settled into the easy chair with the baby. Without asking, she poured him a scotch. He thanked her when she left it on the end table.
Violet found her same spot on the couch from the night before and curled her legs under her. She stole glances at him as she sipped from her glass of wine. His sharp nose and angular features appeared softer in the dim light, making him seem younger and almost vulnerable. He was sexy. No question, unfortunately. His remarkably high cheekbones and chiseled jaw screamed of strength with a dose of danger. Not that he was her type. She liked blond men, surfers, like Zane and Jackson. Not this dangerous, wolfish man before her.
He surely didn’t look wolfish now, not with the way he gazed down at his daughter with a look of pure love, his dark lashes splayed against his cheekbones. A slight dimple on the left side of his mouth twitched occasionally like an involuntary smile.
He glanced up, catching her staring. She flushed and looked away.
“Am I doing it wrong?”
Violet turned back to him. “Wrong? You mean the feeding?”
He nodded. “Is the angle of the bottle right?”
“No, you’re just right.”
“Are you sure? Because I feel like a giant oaf around her.”
“You’re anything but an oaf.”
“She deserves the best. Sadly, I’m all she has.”
“You’re enough.” The back of her throat ached.
“I’m hanging on to every word you’re saying for dear life.”
She looked toward the window, catching their reflection. They looked like a happy couple with their newborn. Hardly. “I remember what it was like those first few weeks. The utter terror.”
“Terror. Yes.” He smiled down at Mollie, who ate with her usual fervor. “The cutest terrorist in the world.”
Tell me more.
Where had that come from? Twenty-four hours ago, she hated him. That was before she saw the human side of him.
She supposed when one sat across from an enemy and witnessed their vulnerabilities it wasn’t so easy to marginalize them from your own experience. Without armor to deflect their innate humanity it became obvious how similar they were to you. Fear and love simultaneously steered the course of our lives. The study of history told the same tales repeatedly and yet we never learned. Wars continued over power and money, destroying lives and alienating cultures from one another. If only we could set aside our metal shields and bare our hearts. Perhaps then the world might solve its problems.
Had she taken the time to ask more questions of Kyle rather than to cast judgement, maybe they could have been friends and worked through a solution together. He’d brought jobs to their town. The town she cared so much about. Maybe she had been wrong.
Mollie had finished half the bottle. He hoisted her up to his shoulder and patted her back.
“Wait, here. You need this.” She grabbed a burping cloth from the stack that she’d unpacked earlier and placed it on his shoulder. “This is to keep the spit-up from ruining every single one of your shirts.”
“I wondered what those were. I thought they were cloth diapers.”
She laughed. “They kind of look like them.”
Mollie burped.
“You left kind of abruptly after the interview,” she said.
“That girl.” Kyle said placed the bottle back in Mollie’s mouth. “She reminds me of a cat.”
“A cat?”
“A smart cat about to catch a bird in midair and eat the entire thing, bones and all.”
She smiled. “Would you believe I thought the same thing?”
He met her eyes. “I would.”
“We can interview someone else.”
“I could tell you didn’t like her,” he said.
“She’s fake and pretentious. I can’t stand people like that.”
“She’s like twelve years old, so that’s part of it,” he said. “Maybe trying too hard.”
“I figured you liked that about her.”
“What does that mean?” An edge crept into his voice.
She shrugged. “You know. Nubile and willing.”
A faint pink flush spread over his neck. What would it feel like to press her lips against the muscle that connected to his shoulder? Stop it. What was happening to her? Loneliness, that’s all it was. The last man to touch her in an intimate way had been Cole. She’d already made enough mistakes with one man for a lifetime. No reason to do so again just because her flesh was weak.
“I suppose I deserve that. Mollie’s evidence of my ways.”
Violet sipped from her glass, unsure what to say. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said at last.
“It might be.” He spoke in hushed tones.
“She wasn’t a child. You didn’t coerce her.”
The barest flicker of humor sparkled in his eyes. “I’ve never had to coerce anyone into my bed.”
Desire shot through her. “I’m sure.”
“Most women aren’t cold to my charms.”
“You mean like me?”
“I could be referring to you, yes.”
“My convictions are stronger than my attractions,” she said.
“So, you were attracted to me.” His eyes twinkled at her, teasing. He lifted Mollie to his shoul
der.
She flushed, remembering the first night they met. She’d been at The Oar with Honor for a much-needed break from motherhood and real life. He’d come in, all muscular and sexy with a gaze that combed her body and destroyed all reason. But then, he’d ruined it. “Until you opened your mouth.”
“You were the one who attacked me,” he said.
“Is that how you remember it?” she asked.
His voice lowered, seductive and husky. “As I recall, we were having a nice cozy dance and I was admiring your beautiful face and the feel of your silky skin against my fingertips.”
She resisted the urge to lean closer.
“You shivered when I placed my hand on the small of your back,” he said.
“And that told you what exactly?”
“I was quite certain I’d be taking you home with me later that night. That is, until we returned to the table and you learned of my connection to the lodge. Presto, you transformed into a raving lunatic.”
“Could you be more arrogant? I wouldn’t have gone to bed with you even if I hadn’t discovered your nefarious plans for this town.” She laughed, despite her best intention to the contrary.
“Nefarious?” He grinned. “I’m hardly nefarious.”
“Seriously, stop talking.” How could a man be so utterly charming and infuriating at the same time?
“You know I speak the truth. We had major sparks that first night.” He tossed a throw pillow at her. “You felt it too. Admit it.”
He did speak the truth. That dance had been imprinted on her consciousness. With his thighs pressed against her and one strong arm around her waist, she’d wanted to put her hands in his thick hair and pull his mouth to hers. Being in his arms had seemed like a revisit to a long-lost love, familiar and exciting. Truth is, had she not discovered his connection to the lodge that night, she might have gone to bed with him. She’d been drunk with desire. But that was then. Now she could barely stand to be in the same room with the guy. Right? Wasn’t that her story? Was she sticking to it?
“It was different for me than you.” She flicked a piece of lint from her jeans. “I was actually excited to meet someone smart and funny.” And gorgeous.
“How is that different from me?” he asked.
“Because you take a different woman home every night. I don’t get excited about someone easily.” Why had she just admitted that? Kyle Hicks was a player, a serial womanizer. She must not show weakness. God help her, right now he looked like a sexy dad.
“You were excited about me?” He kissed the top of Mollie’s head. “I knew it, Mollie.”
“Mollie couldn’t care less,” she said, laughing.
“So, do we hire Mel or not?” he asked.
“She has experience and good references.” Now that she knew he wasn’t fooled by Mel’s act, she could rest easy.
“As long as you’re sure.” Kyle carried Mollie over to the crib. Violet watched as he swaddled her with surprising swiftness.
After he had Mollie settled in her crib, he wandered back to the couch and picked up his glass of scotch. “Would you like me to order dinner?”
“Not yet.” She went to the window, pretending to be interested in the view, holding her breath as she heard his footsteps cross the room.
He stood behind her, his reflection a shadow in the window. “Regarding our earlier conversation, I’ve been with a lot of women.” Dropping his head close to hers, he spoke softly into her ear. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize a special one when I meet her.” She caught the pleasant smell of scotch on his breath.
Her body was betraying her. Goosebumps spread up her arms. A throbbing warmth between her legs told her what her mind didn’t want to accept. She wanted this man—all of him—his long fingers stroking her skin, his mouth on hers, his thighs pressing her into the window. If she merely leaned backward, their bodies would mesh into one form. Two days, Violet Ellis. Two days and you’ve lost all reason.
Without looking at him, she added a nonchalant shrug as if it all meant nothing to her. “You didn’t think I was special. You were just doing your thing.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you were…you are…beautiful.”
She might burst into flames. Outside the window, the lights of town seemed to dance like fireflies before her eyes.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
She tilted her face toward him, unable to resist the pull of his gaze.
“I heard you.”
“You should show yourself more often.”
“Show myself?”
“Show the softer side of you. The side I’ve gotten to see the past few days. Your huge heart. Your sense of humor...” He trailed off as if he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure he should.
“I show that to people all the time,” she said.
He turned so they faced each other and raised one eyebrow. “Just not to me.”
“Maybe,” she said, looking into her glass.
“Maybe I want you to like me just a little. I’m more than I appear.”
“Are you?”
“I want to be.”
She peeked up at him.
“What are you, Kyle Hicks, if not what you appear on the outside?” Impulsively, she touched the sleeve of his t-shirt for a split second. Don’t touch him or it’s all over.
His mouth stretched into a smile that made no difference to his mournful eyes. “I’m broken, Violet Ellis. Like millions of pieces of ice. Like Humpty Dumpty.”
“What happened to you?”
Dark blue eyes watched her. The physical heat between them evaporated, replaced by an intangible familiarity. In those blue windows to his soul she recognized a sadness so deep, it chilled her bones.
“Life. That’s all. Like everyone.” He smoothed a section of her hair away from her face. “Sometimes I think the person we all started out to be gets chipped away and chipped away until we’re left with nothing but the hard kernel—the place where we’re merely surviving on the fumes of our former glorious selves. All that’s left is the survivor who exists without redemption or grace. We must get through, we think. Just one more day. One more deal. One more deposit into the bank account. One more conquest. I’ve lived like that for all my adult life. It’s been a constant trudge up the hill to prove to myself that I’m not Sisyphus after all.”
Her eyes filled. She nodded, unable to speak, knowing exactly what he meant. She imagined him as a little boy just then, hurt and scared. All her beliefs about the man in front of her crumbled. She saw him now for what he truly was: vulnerable, unsure, terribly alone. Like her.
“I don’t want to live like that any longer,” he said. “I want to be different. For Mollie. I want her to remain glorious. I don’t want to be the one who chips away at her, who makes her nothing but a hard center. I’m afraid. I’m afraid I can’t do it. Am I too broken? Is it too late for redemption?”
She placed her hand around his wrist and looked into his eyes as far she could. “It’s never too late. Not when it’s love you’re fighting for.”
After she left Kyle and went to bed, she lay awake for some time. Their discussion had stirred up memories of her parents and their reaction to her pregnancy.
She’d flown home that morning from Boston. Twelve weeks pregnant by then, she’d resigned from her position at the church, and like an injured dog wanted nothing more than to lick her wounds in the comfort of family. The problem? Her family wasn’t comfortable.
The scene played before her eyes.
She folded her napkin in her lap and willed herself to get it over with. “I have something to tell you.”
They looked at her expectantly. “What is it?”
“It might come as a shock,” Violet said.
Her mother placed her fork carefully onto the plate and tugged on the diamond earring that hung on her left earlobe. She made this gesture often. Violet sometimes wondered if she realized how many times a day she played with that diamond. Her
mother had gained weight over the years and her hair had turned white, but besides that, she remained virtually the same year after year. From her peach lipstick and Chanel No. 5 to her insistence that pantyhose never went out of style, her mother remained stubbornly in 1992.
“Does it have something to do with your abrupt decision to come for a visit?” Her father watched her from across the table, his eyebrows scrunched together like a pair of furry caterpillars. Terry Ellis was tall with thick white hair and stooped shoulders. Slumped shoulders indicate a man who talks to God, he often said.
Violet wished he’d take her advice and practice yoga. She figured a straight back could not affect his relationship with God.
“We barely hear from you for months and then you suddenly announce a visit home. I figured you’d screwed something up and needed money.”
“It was rather abrupt.” Like always, her mother piled onto his last statement with a fervor of agreement.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve lost your work at the church.” Her father’s hands trembled as he reached for his water glass.
“I’ve taken out a small business loan to open a shop here in town.”
“A shop? What qualifies you to run a shop?” Her father leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his ample belly.
She ignored his question and told them about her idea for the shop and the small business loan she’d taken out. “I’ve rented the empty space next to the bookstore.”
“You’ve never made any of your hippie schemes work in the past, why should this one?” Her father leaned back over his plate and proceeded with the detailed chopping of his steak.
“My hippie schemes?”
“He’s referring to your change of major to environmental sciences,” her mother said.
“Which I wasn’t able to finish when you cut me off.”
He stabbed piece of steak and waved his fork at her. A glob of fat flew across the table and landed in her mother’s water glass. “Your choice. You always choose failure, that’s what you do.”
Violet breathed deeply, willing herself to stay calm. “I’m not asking for your permission.”
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