The Troublemaker

by Lili Valente

  “No!” Mercy yells, followed by a wicked giggle that makes Rafe and I both laugh.

  He turns to me, tucking Mercy into the crook of one arm, his smile fading as his eyes meet mine. But it dims only a watt or two and, judging from his expression, he’s not unhappy to see me. “Hey, there. Dylan said you two were down here causing trouble.”

  “Lies,” I say solemnly, playing it cool as I try to read his expression. “Mercy was the one trying to eat ice cream off the merry-go-round. I was nobly defending her from germs and stickiness. I’m practically a hero.”

  “No. No. No,” Mercy says, mimicking my haughty tone so perfectly I can’t help but reach for her ribs.

  “Are you making fun of me, little squirrel?” I tickle her, fingers dancing as she bats me away with chubby arms, giggling. “What happened to respecting my authority? I told you to respect my authority!”

  Mercy laughs harder, until her cheeks flush bright red and Rafe is forced to set her on her feet before she squirms free and falls to the ground.

  “Get back here, you!” I pretend to chase after her, fingers clawed, but I give her plenty of time to escape to the safety of her favorite red tunnel. She crawls away, giggling and babbling to herself, while I stand, breath rushing out as I glance back at her delicious uncle.

  “So, what’s up?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone casual. In a pair of faded black jeans and a threadbare green flannel, he shouldn’t be so beautiful that he makes my pulse race and my lungs struggle to pull in a deeper breath. But he is. Even more handsome than he was in the glow of the firelight that night on the coast.

  I’d assumed our friends-with-benefits status had been snuffed out along with that campfire, but now here he is, running a hand through his shaggy hair and studying me with eyes that look more hopeful than fearful.

  But hopeful for what?

  Until I have a better idea, my cards are staying glued to my chest. Keeping my expression as neutral as possible, I turn to check on Mercy, knowing better than to take my eyes off of her for more than a second or two. The girl is a disaster magnet and will put literally anything into her mouth—flowers, rocks, garbage, an old shoe, spiders that are crawling across the carpet, you name it.

  “I got your email.” Rafe shifts to stand behind me, making me powerfully aware of his body heat and how much I want to lean back against him and draw his arms around me. The urge to touch him is so powerful I don’t know how well I’m going to be able to pull off the “just friends” thing. At least in the near future.

  “Yeah?” I peek up at him before glancing back to the playground, where Mercy is very involved in shouting something unintelligible into the plastic speaker near the tic-tac-toe rollers.

  “Yeah. At first, I thought I’d dreamt it,” he says. “I had a fever for a few days while I was camped on the beach near Pismo. Made it hard to tell what was real and what was wishful thinking.”

  “Bummer. That’s not a fun way to spend a vacation,” I say, even as my brain nibbles at the phrase “wishful thinking.”

  So, does that mean he was hoping I would give him the all-clear, no-worries signal? That he’s relieved we’ll never devour each other like a last meal ever again?

  The hope butterfly wafting cautiously through my chest shivers, as if sensing impending frost.

  “No, it wasn’t fun.” He steps off the concrete ledge down into the wood chips, bringing our faces closer to level, making it impossible to keep from staring into his warm eyes. “But it was enlightening. While I was tossing and turning and sweating in my tent, I kept dreaming about you.”

  My brows lift. “Yeah?”

  He nods slowly, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes my heart beat faster. “You were walking by my bed, carrying trays full of drinks. I wanted one of the glasses of water sweating on your tray more than anything in the world. I was dying for it, dying for you to hold it to my mouth so I could suck down every drop, but you never stopped to offer. You didn’t even turn to look at me.”

  “I’m sorry.” My lips turn down at the edges as I huff in laughter. “Dream me sounds like a jerk.”

  “She wasn’t a jerk.” He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, glancing down at the ground before peering up at me through locks of that thick, sexy hair I love to wind around my fingers while he’s kissing me. “I was the jerk. I was lying there waiting for someone to give me something I hadn’t even had the balls to ask for. What kind of entitled piece of shit does that?”

  My laugh is anxious this time. I cast a glance around the small park, checking on Mercy—still yelling into the speaker—while I make sure no one is close enough to hear us. “Language, Hunter. There are small folk about.”

  “Shit,” he mutters, color creeping into his cheeks, which is pretty damned adorable. “Shoot, I mean. Sorry. I haven’t done this in a long time. Ever, really. I’m pretty fu—” He bites off the word with a shake of his head. “Pretty nervous.”

  “Why are you nervous?” The hope butterfly flutters its wings faster. “Because you want to ask me for a glass of water?”

  He steps closer. “The glass of water was symbolic.”

  “I figured,” I murmur, lips curving.

  “Yeah, so… I think I was wrong about relationships.”

  I blink, my heart lurching. “Yeah?”

  He nods. “Yeah. What about you? Think there might be room in your life for something more than a fling? Assuming the guy was a great piece of ass, committed to making you laugh, and generally a decent person who swears he won’t ever treat you badly or tell anyone that you snore when you’re really tired?”

  My smile crashes across my face. “I don’t snore. But…yeah, I could be open to that.”

  “So, you want to go on a date?” he asks softly, his lips curving until his grin is as wide as mine. “A real date, no hiding. And another date after that. And maybe we just…see where things go from there, while also not seeing other people.”

  I laugh. “You mean date exclusively?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” His shoulders relax away from his ears as his hands come to rest on my hips, sending a rush of heat and relief through me. “I don’t know if I’ll be very good at this at first. But I want to be. Think you can put up with me until I figure out how to be a decent boyfriend?”

  “Aw, an official boyfriend,” I tease, my arms going around his neck. “I haven’t had one of those in a long time. Not since college, in fact.”

  His brow furrows. “Is that not what people call it anymore? Am I old and lame?”

  “No. You’re not old or lame. You’re young and awesome and I definitely want you to be my sexy boyfriend. Though, I think we should keep it on the down low as far as the family is concerned. Just for a little while.”

  “Before we have the talk, make sure I’m not going to screw things up?”

  “No. Make sure it’s really what we both want. I don’t have the greatest track record, either, you know,” I confess. “And I’m causing my family enough stress right now. Jordan sicced his lawyer on me yesterday. He’s claiming he helped me plot the book I’m writing now and deserves half the royalties.”

  Rafe’s expression goes stormy. “What the hell is up with this guy?”

  “I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “Maybe he’s crazy. Maybe he’s just vindictive. I don’t know anymore, I just want it all to go away. But at this point, it looks like we’re headed to court, one way or another.”

  Rafe’s lips part, but before he can speak, a sharp, high-pitched wail sounds from the playground, followed by a familiar howl. Rafe and I break apart, turning to see Mercy at the base of the slide, tears streaming down her cheeks. I break into a run with Rafe close behind, and scoop Mercy up seconds before the next toddler emerges from the slide tunnel.

  “What happened Mercy?” I ask, smoothing her blond curls from her forehead as I scan her face. “Did you get an owie?”

  “Owie,” she echoes in a pitiful wail, holding up her hand. Her palm is red
and there are scratch marks, but she didn’t break the skin. I’m guessing her distress is more about the shock of discomfort rather than the intensity of the pain, which means there’s only one medicine that will do.

  “Oh, poor baby.” I take her hand, bringing it to my lips. “There. Three kisses. Mwuah, mwuah, mwuah. Does that feel better? You need more?”

  She nods as she shifts in my arms, holding her boo-boo out to Rafe, who immediately bends low, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s hand and making my ovaries explode. The last thing on my mind right now is making babies, and wondering what kind of dad Rafe would be has been so far off my radar that the words “Rafe” and “Father” might as well exist in different hemispheres.

  But now, watching him kiss his niece’s tiny fingers while murmuring sweetly to her that he’s sorry she got hurt, I’m struck by the certainty that this man would be an incredible dad. The kind of dad who would never let you down or make you feel like you were a pain in his ass he wished wasn’t hanging around his neck demanding time, money, and attention for eighteen years. Rafe would love his children the way he loves the little girl diving into his arms for “scratchy kisses.”

  I watch Rafe brush his stubbly cheek gently against Mercy’s before he kisses the plump, pink skin, making her giggle, and a tidal wave of emotion swells inside me.

  I could fall in love with this man, I realize, the truth crystallizing in the cool evening air. I could fall in love with him and want a life and a future and babies with him.

  His eyes suddenly cut my way, his gaze capturing mine before I can rearrange the sappy expression on my face.

  But thankfully, I’m saved by a mom with a Band-Aid.

  “Does she need one of these?” the brunette from the bench asks, holding out a box of Dora the Explorer Band-Aids. “I always carry some in my diaper bag. Caley manages to get hurt at least twice a day.”

  “She doesn’t really need one,” I say with a smile. “But I’m sure she’d love to put one on, anyway, if you’ve got one to spare. Band-Aids are one of her favorite things.”

  Mercy agrees in a stream of baby babble, making the grown-ups laugh as I take a Band-Aid and affix it to her tiny hand. “Thanks so much,” I tell Brunette Mom, who waves away my thanks.

  “No worries,” she says. “She looks exactly like you two, by the way. So cute. A perfect mix of Mommy and Daddy.”

  “Thanks.” Rafe bounces Mercy in his arms as he winks at me.

  “What?” he asks in a softer voice as Brunette moves away and we release Mercy back into the wild. “She does look like you. And she has the Hunter chin. And eyebrows. Lucky for her, since you and Emma are eyebrow deficient.”

  “I am not eyebrow deficient,” I huff, propping my fists on my hips.

  Rafe makes a judgmental face. “They’re so blond you can hardly see them, Caroline. Seriously, you’re lucky the rest of you is so smoking hot or those wimpy brows would be a deal breaker.”

  “Oh, they would, huh?” I shake my head as he pulls me into his arms, grinning down at me.

  “I’m kidding. You’re perfect. So perfect I want to have you for dessert after I take you to dinner. Seven okay? Pick you up by the Murphy bed place?”

  “Seven is perfect,” I say. “And I’ll bring an overnight bag.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” The delight in his smile assures me that he means it. And the kiss he presses to my cheek is a mixture of sexy and sweet unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time.

  It’s terrifying. And exciting. And by the time he waves goodbye and I push Mercy’s stroller back onto the sidewalk, the hope butterflies in my chest have multiplied.

  It’s a damned butterfly parade in there.

  A festival.

  And it feels completely, fucking amazing.

  Chapter 20

  Rafe

  Getting older is more satisfying than I thought it would be. In my twenties, I dreaded thirty. It sounded so much closer to the grave than twenty-nine.

  But at thirty-two, I realize that age has its benefits. When I was younger, I barreled through life, charging into each new adventure without stopping to soak up the experience. To pause, to observe, or to lock memories away for safekeeping.

  At twenty-something I didn’t have the sense to realize how precious memories are, let alone recognize a life-changing moment from a pedestrian one.

  But now, as I savor the last bite of a shared crème brulée while the most beautiful woman I’ve met beams at me across the table, I do my best to wrap this memory up in protective paper. I want to remember the way the candlelight makes Carrie’s eyes dance, the way she licks whipped cream from her fingertip, the way she watches me over the rim of her wine glass, hunger and happiness mixing in her expression.

  Most of all, I want to remember this new softer, easier smile of hers. The one that means she trusts me enough to drop the drawbridge and to let me within shouting distance of her heart. I can’t see it yet—let alone touch it or lay claim to it—but at least I’ve got a shot.

  A chance.

  An invitation…

  “Want to come to a party with me next weekend?” I ask, taking her hand. “A friend of mine is opening a whiskey bar in Marin. We could drink too much whiskey, get a hotel room, see how much damage we can inflict on each other’s bodies.”

  She grins, trouble sparking to life in her eyes. “Sounds good. As long as you go in with an understanding that whiskey makes me wild.”

  “As long as it makes your clothes come off at the same time, I’m game.” I squeeze her cool fingers. “I like you wild.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She leans closer, only to stop halfway to my lips as she curses and ducks her head, covering her face with her hand. “Oh God, no.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “My mother is here,” she hisses, curling closer to the table. “Across the room. By the bear holding the menus.”

  I glance casually over my shoulder, spying the older blonde at a table with an older man with long gray hair, who’s channeling some serious Willie Nelson energy, but making it work. Renee is laughing brightly at something he’s said, seeming oblivious to her daughter’s presence.

  “She didn’t see you, did she?” I ask, turning back to Carrie.

  “No, not yet, but she’s a bloodhound. She’ll sniff me out.” She slides lower in her chair, until her chin is inches from her dessert plate. “We have to get out of here or there’s no way anything’s staying quiet. She’ll give Emma an earful the second she gets to a phone. And she won’t make it look good. She disapproves of every decision I’ve ever made, and banging my brother-in-law’s brother is not going to be an exception to the rule.”

  I motion for the check. “Why?”

  “Because we’re complicated, obviously. For the rest of the family,” she says, giving me a “what are you smoking” look. “You know that. We’ve talked about it.”

  “No, I mean why does she disapprove of all your decisions? Seems to me you’ve made some pretty good ones. You’re a successful writer, beloved by children and girls I’m too dumb to realize are still children.”

  This gets a smile out of her, but only for a second. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t?” I tug my wallet out of my jeans, dropping my credit card on the tray before the waitress can set it on the table. She thanks me and goes to run the card as I turn my attention back to Carrie. “You really don’t know?”

  “Well, sure…I guess I do,” she says in a timid voice I barely recognize. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”

  I start to apologize, but our server has already returned with our check. As I sign, I nod toward the door. “Why don’t you sneak out first? I’ll follow at a respectable distance, meet you at the bike.”

  “Thanks.” Carrie scoots out of her chair and is out the door so fast I have only a few seconds to admire how incredible she looks in just jeans and a purple-and-white striped T-shirt.

  Frustrated w
ith Renee for marring the memories Carrie and I were making tonight, I tuck my wallet back into my jeans and amble out into the cool summer evening. Monte Rio is closer to the river, and there’s a chill in the air to prove it. When I reach my bike, I pull my emergency fleece from my saddlebag, intending to offer it to Carrie for the ride home. But when I turn to scan the parking lot outside the Big Bear Steakhouse, and the people milling around in front of the old movie theater across the street, she’s nowhere to be seen.

  Finally, I spot a flash of purple and blond down by the river, barely visible above the slope of the rocky beach.

  I cross the street and head toward the water, finding Carrie sitting on a picnic table with her arms wrapped around her torso, watching the river roll by in the dim light from the porches of the shops and restaurants behind us.

  “There you are.” I climb up to sit beside her, holding out the fleece. “Thought you might want this.”

  “Thank you, that’s thoughtful.” She takes the fleece, pulling it on and rolling up the sleeves. It’s enormous, but the soft gray material looks good on her. She looks cozy, snuggle-able, which goes to show how off book I am at this point. I lust after women, I don’t crave a good, long snuggle session. But the fact remains that all I want to do right now is hold her.

  So I do, pulling her close, throat going tight as she wraps her arms around me and rests her head on my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to push or pry. For a guy who likes his privacy, I can be a nosey bastard sometimes.”

  “It’s okay. Me, too. Being nosey is a good way to get people talking about themselves, leaving them less time and energy to talk about me.”

  I grunt. “We’re a pair, huh?”

  “We are.” She lifts her head, looking up into my eyes. “But you were game that night by the beach, and I really liked learning more about your past. So…” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. “For a long time after my parents split up, my mom dated a bunch of jerks who treated her like shit.”