by Ev Bishop
Jo laughed, then looked down at her hands.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
Jo shook her head. “I was just thinking about that guy who was here last night—Callum. I forgot to cue him in that he’s not actually your birth dad.”
“So . . . ” A look of understanding spread across Aisha’s face, but didn’t prevent her from taking another large bite of blackberry jam covered sourdough toast. “You mean,” she said, after she swallowed and sipped her milk. “You mean he thinks you had his kid and didn’t tell him.”
Jo shrugged.
“And you guys were together, are together.”
Jo swayed her head side-to-side indecisively. She felt about twelve talking about this with her niece. “Were together when we were about your age. It ended—well, it just ended, but—”
“But after all these years you got back together.”
“We were thinking about it.”
“But he’ll think you lied about . . . well, a pretty big thing, actually.”
Jo lifted her tea mug in a mock cheers. “Yep.”
“You need to go to him right now and explain. If you have the remotest chance to be with someone you love, you need to go for it. Life’s short.”
There was an urgency in Aisha’s simple, almost cliché words that struck Jo. She studied her niece’s face. What was her story anyway? What brought her here, so heavily pregnant, when it sounded, from the bits of the phone call she’d unintentionally overheard, like she had a family who loved and supported her?
“I will—but I can’t right now.”
“Because I’m here?”
“Yeah, but please don’t worry. I just think it would be best for everyone if I’m here when you and Sam meet for the first time.”
Aisha had made a huge dent in the meal, but even she was finally done. She pushed her plate away. “She won’t be happy to see me?”
“I . . . well, I don’t know.” Jo twisted her tea mug in her hands. “Let’s just say . . . Sam doesn’t do things half way. I knew she had you, though not that she pretended to be me. And I knew she decided—a difficult decision for her—to put you up for adoption, but after it was official and you were in your new home, we never spoke about it.”
“Never? As in . . . never, not even once?”
Jo contemplated her tea again, wishing for leaves at the bottom of the cup or something that would tell her how to proceed. “Okay, so perhaps more like, very, very, very rarely—and then only in generalities. I know she has thought of you from time to time, if only because of how adamant she is about not having other children.”
“Because I was such a mistake.” Aisha’s tone was bitter.
Jo wasn’t surprised, but she was quick to correct. “No, maybe the opposite. The one thing she feels she did right. She really liked your parents—always said, ‘Finally, one Kendall girl will get raised right.’”
“What does that mean?”
Jo shook her head, feeling a bit sick, like she’d said too much, given too much away, already. These were Sam’s things to share, if she wanted to, not hers.
Aisha’s eyes—so like Sam’s they made Jo’s breath hitch—held hers for a long time. “I guess that’s for me to learn from her maybe.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, so here’s how it will work.”
Jo raised her eyebrows.
“You will go to Callum. I will do the dishes, shower, watch TV and eat. I will eat a lot, just saying. I will not answer the door or the phone. I’ll give you my cell number though, in case you need me or don’t trust me—”
“I trust you,” Jo said, getting a bigger kick out of Aisha—and feeling her affection for her growing—every time the kid spoke practically.
“You have twenty-four hours. Tomorrow morning at the latest, we’ll—”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to need twenty-four hours.”
“Never say never. You know how it goes, a little of this leads to a little of that.” Aisha waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“You, my dear,” Jo said, getting up from the table, “are going to get along with your birth mom like a house on fire.”
“Or not.”
Damn, the kid had better be careful or Jo would just start calling her Mini-Sam.
Chapter 33
Every light was off in the house, save one: a small lamp or something in what Jo thought she remembered as the study, though really, if she was honest, she hardly had eyes for the house when she’d been there, what, just a few days ago? Crazy. Was it really possible that the emotional roller coaster she’d been on for what seemed like forever was mere days?
Callum must’ve heard her truck roll in because the house and yard lit up suddenly—including tiny sparkling white lights that were woven through a mature grapevine that wound around the beams and trusses of the porch—so pretty. She parked and climbed out, sans Hoover. She’d left him with Aisha who was apparently his new best friend, bacon being the undisputed way to his heart.
As she walked the flagstone path to the porch, she continued to admire the twinkling lights and how they made the home’s cedar shingle-siding glow a warm, welcoming russet color in the foggy morning light. It was like a little fairyland. She paused in front of the cheerful door and took a deep breath for courage.
“It’s going to be okay,” she murmured. “More than okay, in fact. You and Callum love each other and you’ll figure it out. No more misunderstandings. No more unsaid things.”
A circus of happy butterflies pirouetted in her stomach as she recognized the truth of her words deep in her very core—and she grinned like a mad woman as she rang the doorbell.
“Hey,” Callum said softly behind her.
She jumped about a mile high and turned. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
Callum took the rest of the stairs at an easy pace, stopping beside her at the door. “Sorry about that,” he said, but looked like he wanted to laugh.
“Is it a bad time?”
“Not at all. Why?”
“Oh, it’s just the lights came on as I drove up. If you were outside . . . is there someone else here?”
Callum shook his head. “I was out in the shed, playing with a timer—long story. I’ll tell you about it later, maybe.” He opened the door and Jo followed after him, swallowing against the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. The only reason she could see for a timer system for lights was if you were planning to go away for an extended time.
“So,” Callum said once they were both inside and had slipped their shoes off. “What’s up?”
Jo hoped against hope that his casual tone meant all was good between them. He took her coat and his smile faded a bit. So then again, maybe all wasn’t good? Nervous snakes warred with her happy butterflies—but she didn’t let them win.
“Let’s sit soft,” Jo said. “And can we have wine?”
Callum gave her a long searing look, and his brow furrowed. “Wine? Yeah, sure—but you do know it’s like nine in the morning?”
She laughed. “Yeah, but we might want it.”
“Okay, but then I have another question. . . .” His smile was tentative, but at least it was there. “Cheese?”
She grinned and her heart raced. “Please.” She started in the direction of the living room.
Callum nodded, but didn’t move toward the kitchen. Instead he reached out and caught her arm.
The house was utterly quiet. Under different circumstances the stillness might have felt peaceful but right now it was unnerving.
“C’mon, Jo. Out with whatever it is. I’m not angry. I was sad, hurt maybe, shocked definitely, but I think I understand—”
He was right. They should tackle it right now. “Actually, Callum, I don’t know if you do—”
He reached out and touched her face. “You’re right, maybe I don’t. But I want to. And I want to be in your life. No matter what. Months ago, when you said we were just stupi
d kids, I took it as you dismissing what we had, saying it wasn’t as intense, as deep, as true as I always felt our relationship was . . . but now I get it. You were just saying we needed to let each other off the hook for the ways we hurt each other and let each other—and ourselves—down. We were really young and pretty banged up by our childhoods. It makes sense we were gun shy. But I’m not a kid anymore and I won’t run. And I’m sorry I was the kind of guy that made you feel like you had to bear everything yourself and go through everything alone—”
“Callum.” Jo put her arms around his neck, and he lowered his forehead to hers.
“What?” His voice was so was quiet it was little more than breath. “Please don’t tell me we’re done—and please, if there’s another secret you haven’t told me, you can tell me. It won’t chase me off.”
Jo’s heart wrenched. “See, that’s the thing. Your words are so sweet I can hardly stand it, but—”
“But what?”
“Aisha isn’t yours.”
Callum inhaled sharply. Surprised again. Maybe hurt. “Okay—” he started to say.
“No, no,” Jo hurried on. “I mean, she’s not mine either. She’s not ours.”
“What?” Callum stepped back, an I-don’t-get-the-joke smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “What do you mean? How’s that possible?”
“Well, if I’ve never been pregnant, ever, yet the young adult in question looks a freakish amount like me. . . .”
Callum continued to stare at her blankly.
“So much like me in fact, she could be a younger me, or my sister, or—”
“Sam! She’s Sam’s.” Callum laughed out loud.
“Ding, ding, we have a winner. Finally.”
Callum laughed again. “That explains it,” he said.
“Explains what?”
“She seems identical to you, except for her voice. It was familiar but not you. She has Sam’s voice.”
“And her eyes,” Jo agreed.
Callum caught her hand, pressed it to his mouth and kissed it.
Jo looked up at him. “Is it really this easy, Callum? Are we good?”
“We’re so good,” he said seriously.
All Jo wanted was to pull him down to the couch and start up where they’d left off the night before, but she, they, needed everything out on the table. “And if Aisha had been yours and mine, and I hadn’t told her about you? Would we still be having this conversation, still be okay?”
“Yeah. I made up my mind last night—no, way before that, even. I trust you, Jo. Always have. I just didn’t trust that I was worthy—or lucky enough—to have you in my life. Even when you left all those years ago, I thought it was me, something I did. I didn’t know what, but I knew you had a reason.”
She cleared her throat softly. He hadn’t let go of her hand and was tracing lazy circles back and forth over her palm. The soft but persistent pressure of his thumb was doing crazy things to her insides and making it hard to think. “I’ve loved you my whole life, Callum—and it’s made me feel bad.”
His thumb stopped moving, but he didn’t break contact. “What?”
“It wasn’t fair to other people—well, to Devin specifically. He was a douche, yes, but at the same time, right from day one he was competing for something I no longer had to give.”
“Your heart?” Callum asked.
She nodded.
“You’re so corny,” he teased, then sobered almost the same instant. “I feel exactly the same way, Jo. And I put a lot of stuff on Nina that really wasn’t about her at all. It was about me, and/or my screwed up relationship with my dad. Some day I’d like to apologize to her for that.”
“Callum—”
“No, wait—before you say another word, I have to get something.”
He was back seconds later with a bottle of bubbly and two fluted glasses.
He set the wine and glasses down, but kept his eyes—those ever-intense eyes—focused on her.
“It’s funny that you came by this morning,” he said.
Funny? She could think of a hundred adjectives that she’d prefer. She eased into the deep, plush couch and tried not to purr aloud with pleasure when he sat down beside her and pulled her close.
“Before you called me last night, I’d spent the week going over everything you said the day you came here, the day I asked you to marry me and you said no. I thought I’d go insane with it—and then I made a decision.”
Here it comes, she thought and the knowledge of what her answer was and would always be made her dizzy.
“I hate to look foolish, to reveal how weak I am . . . ”
Jo started to protest, but he shushed her. “But I am foolish and weak when it comes to you. Always have been. Always will be.”
Jo’s breath caught in her throat.
“So I figured, what the hell? Before you called yesterday, I’d already decided to see if you could meet me for coffee and ask you to consider me one more time.”
Heat and joy coursed through Jo. She tried not to bounce in her seat.
“And if you said no again, I’d honor it, leave town for a while to lick my wounds and decide what to do.”
Jo smacked him. “Come on, fellah. Hurry up. You’re killing me here.”
Callum grinned and rummaged for something in his pocket. “And then, you called. I was sure I was arriving at your place to receive a final crushing blow—news that you were leaving, but couldn’t go without making one more thing absolutely clear.”
“You were kind of right,” she said in a stuffed up voice.
“And then last night turned to out to be everything I hoped for—or was gearing up to be until the brat showed up anyway.”
Jo laughed, but her mirth was cut short when Callum revealed what he’d pulled out of his pocket.
The ring—without its pretty velvet box this time—winked up at Jo. And even though she’d been expecting it, her eyes misted.
“Last night, when you said if I offered you baking this time, you wouldn’t refuse me. Did you mean it, or were you just being cruel?”
“Um? I don’t get it.”
“I was hoping you were speaking symbolically.”
“I hope I was too—if that would’ve been a good thing?”
Callum looked shy. “If I ask you to marry me one more time, will you say yes?”
“Well, they say three times is the charm. Try it and see.”
He laughed. “C’mon, Jo. Don’t torture me. Marry me, please. For better or worse, the whole shebang.”
“Yes.” Jo nodded. “Yes, I will marry you—and yes, I would love to be your partner in every way you can think of.”
“Mmm, in every way, eh?”
Jo winked. “And then some.”
Callum’s eyebrow rose and his mouth quirked. He looked her up and down, not bothering—and no longer needing—to hide his desire. “I like the sounds of that.” His voice was so low it was almost a growl. Then he leaned in and kissed her—her collarbone, her neck, her jaw—and as her back arched toward him, her mouth again. . . .
She was breathless when he took her hand and slipped the warm gold band onto her finger. It fit snugly and felt just right. Jo got a little light-headed looking at it.
“I wish I had something. . . . Oh, wait!” She dug into her jeans’ pocket. “I don’t think it’ll fit your finger—but have it until I can get you something better.”
Callum took the rhinestone-studded wedding band she’d cut off her hook earlier. “Is this a wedding band for catching trout?”
Jo sniffed. “You shouldn’t mock. In fact, you should be flattered. That’s from my favorite lure.”
Callum slid his fingers through the belt loop of her jeans and pulled her against him. “And you’re my favorite lure,” he whispered.
“Oh, pretty talk—” but whatever she was going to say next was cut off by Callum’s warm mouth on hers.
Chapter 34
Jo sat in the car outside her apartment, cursing herself for her
mistake. Buzzing with happiness and ideas and dreams for the future—so many ideas and dreams!—she, like a ninny, hadn’t thought things through. Earlier she’d known full well she needed to break the news about Aisha in person. Now, distracted and wishing with every fiber of her being that she and Callum hadn’t had to separate after a lovely kiss or two, she’d not only answered the phone when Samantha called just now—she’d naively caved to Sam’s pressure to “spill it already.” Now listening to her sister, having heard her shocked silence and then an odd, sharp gasp, she realized too late she definitely, one hundred percent, should have relayed the news in person.
“I don’t care if she’s the nicest kid in the whole world—and why wouldn’t she be with my genetics?” Jo didn’t smile at Sam’s usual attempt to joke, just waited for her to rave on. “I’m not interested in meeting her. Just tell her . . .” Sam’s voice softened to a volume that was difficult to hear. “I can’t.”
Jo rubbed the steering wheel back and forth under her hand. “I didn’t say she was the ‘nicest,’ just nice. And I don’t think it’s as simple as just deciding not to meet her. I think she needs to meet you. Has questions only you can answer. She’s pregnant and—”
“She’s what? Oh, great. How on earth did that happen?”
“Well, I suspect the usual way, but if you need some education, I’d be happy to buy you a how babies are made book.”
“Hilarious, Jo—but I’m the one who attempts to diffuse awkward situations with lame jokes.”
“True.”
“Look, just tell the kid, tell Aisha—such a beautiful name, hey?—that I’m sorry if things haven’t worked out for her. I’m a screw up and that’s really all she needs to know. I did the best for her I could—and the best I could was giving her a chance by giving her away.”
“I don’t think she’s looking for an apology or a reason or anything. She seems to like her family, and you’re not a screw up. Just talk to her.”
“What part of can’t, can’t you get, Jo?”
“Sam, I don’t ask a lot from you.”
“Yeah, right.”
