by Meg Maxwell
Because Dylan and Timmy are here. And that boy is going to need you, you jerk.
Nick glanced at Georgia, who was helping Helen back into Dylan’s beat-up old car. What the hell was Nick going to do about all this? He used to be the man with all the answers.
Now he had none.
* * *
When they arrived back at Nick’s, Georgia quickly packed up her things and put fresh linens on the bed, since Helen would be taking over the room. As she fluffed the pillows, she glanced out the window and saw Nick handing Dylan his iPad on the patio so Dylan could check out available dogs at the animal shelter. Aunt Helen knocked on the guest room door, and Georgia let her in, her heart heavy.
“All ready for you, Helen,” Georgia said, smiling at the kind, elderly woman.
“That bed sure looks comfortable,” Helen said. “I’d love to take a nap. It’s been quite a day.”
Georgia smiled and drew the curtains, then closed the door behind her, her bags like weights in her hands. Nick came in through the sliding glass door to the living room, his gaze on her suitcases. “I guess this is it,” she said to him.
Was that a scowl on his handsome face? “Well, not it.”
Georgia raised an eyebrow. “Timmy’s moving out tomorrow. You have no need for a live-in nanny.”
“Yeah, but...” He paused. “When Dylan starts working at Hurley’s, he’ll need a sitter for Timmy. Aunt Helen can’t take that on.”
Georgia smiled. “I don’t have to live here to babysit Timmy, Nick. Timmy won’t live here anymore, remember?”
Nick frowned. “Can’t we talk about this later?”
Georgia tilted her head. “About what?”
Nick sucked in a breath and let it out. “About what we are going to do.”
“We? I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to keep taking my prenatal vitamins. I’m going to bake every morning for Hurley’s. I’m going to drive over to Baby Center and think about our little one’s nursery. I’ve always liked the idea of a sea-inspired nursery. What will you be doing, Nick?”
She had no idea if pushing him was smart, but the hell with it. It was what had come out of her mouth. Nick Slater needed to be pushed. A little, anyway. Not too hard. But pushed.
Mr. Whiskers padded over and brushed against Nick’s leg; he’d been hiding with all the newcomers.
“I have to make a call,” he said, picking up the cat and giving him a comforting pat before striding out of the room with him.
Her heart clenched. Maybe she’d pushed too far.
* * *
Nick was sitting on the couch in the living room, holding the pillow with the embroidered owl that Georgia had clutched that first day she came here. It was late, past eleven, and the house was quiet. An hour ago he’d passed by Avery’s bedroom and heard Dylan reading a Dr. Seuss book to Timmy. He’d stood outside the door, smiling to himself, happy and relieved for Timmy. Tomorrow he’d call Social Services, both in Houston and the more local office he’d dealt with when he first found Timmy on his desk. He’d get everything squared away in the morning, including helping Aunt Helen find local doctors. He wanted the Patterson family to be comfortable here and settled right away so that Dylan could focus on work and Timmy and not have to worry about much else.
He heard a key slide into the lock and bolted up. Georgia? He headed over to the door, but it was Avery who burst inside, tears streaming down her face.
“Avery? What’s wrong?” He knew it had to have something to do with Quentin Says.
She started crying so hard she couldn’t even get words out. Nick brought her into his bedroom and closed the door, and Avery sank down on the leather love seat under the window.
“Quentin...broke...up...with...meeee,” his sister managed to get out before breaking down into racking sobs. Nick sat down next to her and drew her close. But Avery pulled away, her expression a combination of anger and hurt. “Quentin says he doesn’t think we should go to Nashville because he can see that the lack of your blessing is tearing me up and he’s noticed I haven’t been singing all weekend. He thinks we should postpone our engagement.” She started crying again, and this time she let Nick hold her close, his cheek on the top of her head.
Well, for once, Quentin Says said it right! Not that Nick was enjoying Avery’s pain. Not one damned second of it. But she didn’t have his blessing. He wanted her back at school where she belonged. Not married at eighteen. Not running around Nashville, singing at clubs when she should be in the library, studying and making new friends.
Avery sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “Quentin says that sometimes if you love someone, you have to let them go. But I don’t want him to let me go. I want to go to Nashville. I want to be a singer. I want to marry Quentin.”
“Avery, why do you want to marry Quentin? You’re so young. You have your entire life ahead of you.” He thought of Dylan, also just eighteen, raising a baby on his own, his future plotted out. Father. Responsibilities. Avery had a beautiful opportunity to explore being herself—not being a wife. Not being a this or that. Learning, growing, changing. Not making heavy, adult decisions.
“I want to marry Quentin because I know he’s the one. I want to marry Quentin because he makes me feel like I can do and be anything. I want to marry Quentin because I love him so much my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. When I’m with Quentin, I feel more me than I’ve ever felt. He gets me. And I trust him, you know? For a very long time it was just me and Mama. And then just you. Quentin feels like family, Nick. Like you. Like Mama did. He’s my family.” She broke down and this time instead of feeling slightly victorious, tears stung Nick’s eyes. Dammit.
Dammit! He sat there for a while, just holding his kid sister, all she’d said sinking into his thick skull. She was wiser than he’d given her credit for, more mature than he wanted to believe. He still didn’t like the idea of her marrying so young and chasing a dream, but she loved Quentin for the right reasons. For good reasons.
“Tell you what,” he said. “How about if I go talk to Quentin?”
She nodded. He also didn’t like the idea of his kid sister staying at a boyfriend’s—fiancé’s—apartment, especially when this was her home. But he’d been the one to send her running out the other day. And she was eighteen. Dammit.
He explained to her about Dylan and Timmy and Aunt Helen, then headed to the kitchen to leave a note for Dylan in case he woke up. His life sure had changed in a week.
* * *
Nick jogged the quarter mile to the bookstore and headed down the short cobblestone alley with the entrance to Quentin’s apartment. He found Quentin sitting on the front steps, looking miserable, the glow from a streetlamp barely illuminating his face.
When Nick sat down next to Quentin, the boy practically jumped.
“Avery’s very upset,” Nick prompted.
Quentin crossed his arms over his chest. “All she talks about is how she can’t convince you to give your blessing and that she can’t see leaving without it. I just know if we did leave tomorrow, when we got to Nashville, she’d be a wreck about it. You’re her family, her big brother who raised her when her mother died. What you think means everything to her.”
There was so much pain in Quentin’s expression. Nick dragged a hand through his hair and looked up at the stars for a moment, wishing life weren’t so damned complicated when sometimes it should be easy. Quentin loved Avery. Avery loved Quentin. And here was Nick, in the middle of it. But it was complicated.
“All I really care about is that Avery is happy,” Quentin said. “And I just know that not having your blessing will eat away at her and she won’t put her all into singing or auditioning. So I think if this is something she really wants, she can either do it on her own and not piss you off or stay in school like you want and go on auditions in Dallas.” Quentin
squeezed his eyes shut and Nick could see he was willing himself not to cry, especially not in front of the big bad ogre known as Avery’s Older Brother.
“You really care about her, don’t you?” Nick said.
“Like I told Avery, sometimes when you love someone, you have to let them go.” Quentin stood up. “I’ll come by the house to say goodbye to Avery in the morning.” With that, he turned to go inside.
“Quentin,” Nick said.
The young man turned around, tears in his eyes.
“That you’re willing to sacrifice your own happiness for Avery’s future—that says quite a lot.”
Quentin just looked at his feet, clearly unable to speak, his Adam’s apple moving. Then he went inside.
What the hell had Nick done? The two of them miserable was better for Avery than the two of them together? Not chasing a dream when you were young and fearless enough to go for it was better than chasing it?
If you love someone, sometimes you have to let them go.
Was he supposed to let Georgia go, to be able to find a man who could love her and be a good father to their baby?
Seemed kind of ridiculous when he was right there, the father of the baby. Unable to do the job.
Unable or unwilling?
Hell if he knew. So he was willing to lose her? Had he given up on himself, as she’d said before they went to Houston?
Soul searching sure was the pits.
When he got back to the house, Avery wasn’t in his room. She wasn’t in the kitchen or outside in the backyard. She wasn’t anywhere. And she wasn’t answering her phone.
His heart racing, he texted Quentin. Avery’s not here. Is she with you?
I wish, Quentin said. But no.
Dammit! Where had she gone? He thought of her friends, but her two best girlfriends were away at school.
He was pacing and frantic that Avery was out walking alone at midnight when he got another text from Quentin.
First place I’d look is under the weeping willow at the edge of your old house—where she grew up. She likes to go there.
The hairs on Nick’s neck stood up. The old house? Avery liked to go there? What?
He got in his car and drove the few miles out to the old house. The white clapboard farmhouse sat on three acres. The front door was now painted red and there were window boxes everywhere, flowers trailing, something he kept up—well, paid someone to keep up—in honor of his mother. The weeping willow his mother had loved so much was right at the edge of the property in the front yard, at a good distance from the house.
He was getting good at spotting feet under trees. He could make out Avery’s red flip-flops. She sat huddled. “Hey,” he said.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” she asked, wiping tears from under her eyes.
“Quentin said you’d probably be here. I didn’t even think of it. Guess he knows you pretty well, huh?” If anyone had told Nick an hour ago he’d ever start a sentence with Quentin said, he’d have laughed.
She nodded and sniffled, sucking in a deep breath. “How can I accept that it’s over between us? I want to move to Nashville, but I don’t want to do it alone. Quentin is my rock, you know? He’s my support.”
I thought I was, he wanted to say, but he realized he wasn’t—not solely, anyway. He was her family. He was her father figure. He was her older brother who’d do anything for her except, it seemed, what would make her happy.
“I guess I’m heading back to school in the morning,” she said, tears pooling in her eyes. “Maybe you’re right—when I graduate I’ll be older and more mature and maybe I’ll be ready to move to Nashville on my own.”
“Actually, Avery, I don’t think I’m right at all.”
She turned and stared at him. “About what?”
“If you want to marry Quentin and move to Nashville and become the next Carrie Underwood, you have my blessing. The both of you do.”
She burst into tears and threw her arms around him. “What made you change your mind?”
“You did. And Quentin did. You love him. He loves you. You two have a sound plan. I might not love the idea of what you’re doing, but I support your right—and your courage—to do it.” He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like something a politician would say.”
She laughed. “Your blessing means everything to me.”
“I’m glad it does, Avery. That means everything to me.”
“You hate this house, huh?” she said, looking up at the farmhouse.
“Mama raised us here,” he said. “So no, I don’t hate it. But I do have bad memories of living here. You know all about that.”
“I don’t have bad memories,” she said. “I wish you hadn’t sold it, Nick. But maybe one day I can buy it back.”
“I didn’t sell it,” he said softly. “This house belongs to you. I put the deed in your name when you turned eighteen. I’ve been renting it out to tenants since we left here, but the house is yours. I wouldn’t have sold your childhood home, Avery.”
Surprise lit her expression. “I should have known that. I’ll always have a home, my home, to come back to. If things don’t work out in Nashville.”
“You’ll always have a home to come back to no matter what,” he said, hugging her close. “Why don’t I drop you off at Quentin’s? You can go put your fiancé out of his misery.”
She smiled and bolted up, brushing off her shorts, and Nick realized that he hadn’t thought of him as Quentin Says. Just Quentin.
“You won’t be sad that I’ll be taking Mr. Whiskers with me?”
He smiled “Well, I’ll admit that the cat and I did finally bond. But he belongs with you.”
“You’ll see him again,” she said. “In about five months. Since I’ll be back when my nephew is born.”
He stared at her. “You knew?”
She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Nick. Come on. And I really hope with all my heart you put yourself out of your misery and propose to that woman.”
“Let’s go,” he said.
Propose to Georgia. He would if he thought marriage to a man like him would be what she needed or wanted. But Georgia wouldn’t want to marry him just because he was the father of her child. She wanted a man who could love, who could be the kind of father their child deserved.
And Nick was...he wasn’t even sure how to classify himself. Better than he used to be but no one’s bargain.
Chapter Fourteen
“Did you talk to Logan?” Georgia asked Clementine, not sure if she should pry, since Clementine hadn’t brought it up.
The sisters had been in the kitchen since 6:00 a.m., Georgia making piecrust and thinking about what kinds of pie would go best with today’s specials. A cherry pie, for sure. A chocolate peanut butter. Classic apple. And maybe a pumpkin pie just because Georgia loved pumpkin pie.
It had been strange waking up at five-thirty with no one to take care of but herself. No sweet baby to diaper and powder and feed and burp and rock. She’d taken a shower in utter peace, had a moment’s panic while rinsing the shampoo from her hair that she’d left Timmy unattended, then remembered. Timmy was at Nick’s. With his father. And great-great-aunt. And Nick.
And Georgia had gotten dressed and gone to work—a commute of a staircase, her sister already up and a pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen. If she had to give up her job at Nick’s, being at Hurley’s sure was a nice place to be instead.
“I tried,” Clementine said, sitting at the table and filling all the little ceramic cactus salt and pepper shakers. She sipped her coffee. “I texted and got back ‘It’s for the best.’ That’s it. So I called and he said he had some emergency with a calf and couldn’t talk, sorry. And then I just drove out to the ranch at a time I knew he’d be there—he’s always there at six for dinnertime with th
e boys, no matter what—and he froze me out, said, ‘We’re sitting down to dinner. Goodbye, Clementine.’ He kind of emphasized the goodbye in a very final way.”
“What happened between you two? What is he so closed off about?” Georgia didn’t know much about Logan Grainger, but Nick seemed to hold him in high regard. Word was that since Henry had slipped away a few days ago, Logan hadn’t let either boy out of his sight.
Tears pooled in Clementine’s eyes. “I don’t know. I was a good babysitter to the twins. I know they like me. We had one kiss. One kiss. I guess it caught him by surprise. But so what? Why shut me out?”
“I wish I knew. I wish I had a crystal ball that could explain everything about two certain men.”
“Me too,” Clementine said, plugging the last of the shakers and setting them on her tray. “You doing all right? I know you moved in here last night.”
Georgia nodded, her resolve to be grateful for Hurley’s, for her sisters and Gram, and her job as baker firm in her mind. “I knew it was temporary. I just wish it could have been forever. Not that I didn’t want Timmy to be reunited with his family. I just wanted to stay at Nick’s forever, our little family together.” Her heart clenched and she handled the dough too roughly and knew she’d have to start over. The last thing she wanted was complaints about her pie just when she needed rallying most.
“I don’t know Nick well,” Clementine said. “At all, really. But I have this feeling, even without a crystal ball, that you two are meant to be. I look at you together and everything feels right in the world. Do you know what I mean? It’s how it seems when Annabel and West are together.”
Georgia felt tears prick her eyes at her sister’s kindness and compassion. “I sure hope so, Clem. But like the song goes, I can’t make him love me if he doesn’t.”
“I’d bet my life that Nick Slater loves you, Georgia.” Before Georgia could even process that, Clementine glanced out the window and flinched. “Oh no.”
“What?” Georgia asked, following Clementine’s gaze. Her birth mother stood across the street by Clyde’s Burgertopia, sipping a cup of coffee and looking toward the Victorian.
