by Lexi Ryan
“Daddy!” Lilly calls again, and Nic bites back a grin.
“F-O-R-E-V-E-R,” I call back slowly, eyes still on Nic.
“Thank you!” Lilly says, exasperated.
“And what about this thing between us?” I ask Nic quietly. “Do we just pretend we don’t feel it?”
She turns back to the counter. “That’s what I’m trying to do right now,” she murmurs.
“Is it working?” My heart is racing. As if we’re standing here doing more than talking. As if I touched more than just her jaw and neck.
“Not with you standing that close,” she whispers, her eyes on the ingredients in front of her. “If you could go back to being a cold jerk now, it would be very helpful.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I walk away, and every step is like pulling against a magnetic force.
Nicole
Teagan: How’s everything at Casa Jackson?
Me: Great. Except there’s all this sexual tension in the air and I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT.
Teagan: Does this mean that Dr. McBroody Pants is getting you all hot and bothered?
Me: Kind of. I don’t know what to think about him. One second, he’s pushing me away as hard and fast as he can, and the next, he’s telling me that he can’t stop thinking inappropriate thoughts about me.
Teagan: I mean, you could fuck him? *shrug emoji*
Me: I can’t even with you.
Teagan: If fucking is off the table, there’s always masturbation.
Me: You have no boundaries.
Teagan: You brought it up.
Me: Fine. True confession time? I can’t get myself off without a vibrator.
Teagan: For real? Have you even tried? It’s not rocket science.
Me: For real.
Teagan: Need me to draw you a picture and label the parts?
Me: Shut up! It’s not like I don’t know where things are. It’s too hard to stop thinking about what I’m doing, so I can’t disconnect and just fantasize. Know what I mean?
Teagan: I guess. But still, I think you could figure it out if you had to.
Me: I’d rather have a battery-powered friend help.
Teagan: Oh. Damn. I know! Why don’t you tell HIM about your little problem? I bet he’d help a girl out. If you recall, he’s quite capable even without fucking.
Me: You’re crazy. He’s my boss.
Teagan: And that’s not hotter, how?
Me: I’ve made terrible decisions regarding men my whole life.
Teagan: You really, really have. What was the name of the guy you dropped out of school for?
Me: The first or second time?
Teagan: Point made. I just remember the one who looked at my tits every time I talked. I started to think they did choreography to my words.
Me: See? Terrible decisions. NO MORE ASSHOLES. Even assholes who are sometimes not assholes at all. Even assholes who keep forgetting to be assholes and who look at me like I’m melted chocolate he wants to lick up.
Teagan: Maybe just a one-time exception for Ethan. JUST FOR SEX. (It’s the other shit that always screwed with your life anyway.)
Me: No. More. Assholes.
Teagan: Okay, okay. I get you. The shop I use is on Pine and Twenty-Fifth. Great selection, discreet staff.
Me: I can’t bring a vibrator into a house where I’m looking after a kid!
Teagan: So lock it up.
Me: I feel like a creep. No. I’m just going to have to suffer.
Teagan: Or . . . you know, figure out how to deal with it the old-fashioned way. Desperate times, desperate measures.
I made myself a promise that I’d use at least one day this week to explore Jackson Harbor.
Last week’s unpleasant encounter at the Walmart made me afraid to venture out any more than necessary. Yesterday morning, when Lilly and Ethan went to brunch with the rest of the Jacksons, I thought about exploring town, but I was too afraid of running into the bitchy doctor again, so I stayed in and finished the book I started on Friday. But my fear of Jackson Harbor ends now.
After I finish my errands, I head downtown.
I park on the street before heading into Jackson Brews. First things first: lunch. I’ve been fantasizing about those little balls of goat cheese since I tried them my first night here. I want to replicate them, but since I was a bit intoxicated when I sampled them, I need to try them again first.
“Look who’s here,” Jake says when I walk in the door. He’s behind the counter in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt that shows off his broad chest and tattooed arms. Maybe Ethan’s father was actually a divine force who came down to give Kathleen perfect children. It doesn’t seem reasonable that two mortals could produce such gorgeous offspring.
Jake is good-looking in a more obvious way than Ethan, but he doesn’t make my insides do that shimmy-shake-and-melt thing that Ethan does. Thank God.
“It’s always good to see you.” He throws his towel over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”
“I had something the last time I was here. I think it was fried goat cheese.”
Jake grins. “Everybody’s after my goat balls.”
I snort. “That’s a lovely description. Why haven’t they written up the recipe in Epicurean Magazine yet?”
“They wish,” he says with a wink. “But it’s a secret. What else can I get you?”
“I think a plate of fried cheese will suffice.”
“And to drink? I just tapped an amazing ivory stout—not a Jackson brew, but local. From a place I like in Grand Rapids.”
“Just water. I have to pick Lilly up from school in a couple of hours.”
“So how is it, working for my sullen brother?” he asks.
My cheeks heat, because it would probably be fine if I hadn’t hooked up with said sullen brother. I was starting to get over that before our little—so hot—conversation in the kitchen on Saturday. “It’s fine.”
“Real convincing,” he says, sliding a glass of ice water across the bar. I stiffen, but he chuckles and shakes his head as he walks away, and I realize he’s not going to push me on it.
A few minutes later, he brings me my plate of fried cheese.
I take a bite and whimper, holding my hand to my mouth. “Oh. My. Gosh. Even better than I remember.”
Jake smirks. “If I had a nickel for every time a woman told me that . . .”
I ignore his innuendo and finish my goat ball, taking careful mental notes. I’m determined to replicate these little bites of heaven. There’s something in the batter that gives it a subtle crunch.
“What are you up to today?” he asks.
“I kind of want to get a feel for Jackson Harbor. I’ve been here over a week and don’t know much about it. Where should I go?”
“Well, you’ve already found the most important place.”
“Obviously,” I say around a bite.
He folds his arms. “Though you haven’t really experienced Jackson Brews until you have a draft beer.”
“I’ll add it to my list for a day I’m not driving around a small child.”
“Fair enough.” He taps his finger to the side of his jaw. “Hmm. Do you mind walking?”
“I’ve got a coat,” I say proudly. “It has a fleece lining and everything.”
“If you don’t mind the cold, keep your car parked and walk a block north to Lakeshore Drive. Most of the shops along the boardwalk are closed for the season, but it’s a beautiful view of the beach if you can handle the wind off the water. And there’s a lighthouse.”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
“You know, I’d be happy to babysit my niece if you want Ethan to show you around. There are a bunch of nice restaurants around here, and the walk out to the lighthouse is really romantic at sunset.”
“I think you have the wrong idea about my relationship with Ethan.”
He arches a brow. “Do I?”
“He’s my boss. I’m his employee. That’s it.”
H
e stares at me for a long beat before nodding. “You made him smile when you barely knew him. And when you two are in the same room, he can’t take his eyes off you.”
“You’ve hardly seen us together,” I say, but I feel warm from his words. I like the idea of Ethan watching me, of being special because I can make him smile. I don’t want to like it, but I do.
He shrugs. “I guess I just liked the idea of him finding someone who could make him happy again.”
“No one can make someone happy. That’s something we can only do for ourselves.” I frown the second the words leave my lips. I’ve often repeated the advice a social worker gave me when I was sixteen, but I’ve never been good at believing it. I’ve been looking for someone who could give me the happiness I’ve found so elusive, from one bad relationship to the next. Happiness is like sand. It’s easy to grab a handful, but it slips away before you want it to, and the only times you can hold on for long are when it’s rocky and a little painful.
“Where were you with that wisdom three years ago?” Jake asks. He stares into space as he shakes his head.
“You mean when Elena died?”
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and swings his gaze back to me. “And before, I guess.” The sadness in his dark eyes is at odds with the goofy personality he’s always presented to me. It seems like Elena’s death took a toll of the whole family.
“Jake . . .” I should hold my tongue, mind my place in this family. But it feels important, so I ask, “What happened to her?”
“Heart attack?” Jake says, and the way his voice cracks makes it sound almost like a question.
I press my hand to my mouth. I’m not sure what a woman who’s likely to have a heart attack at her age should look like, but I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that answer from Elena’s pictures. “She was so young.”
He wipes at an imaginary spot on the bar, his brows knitted together. “Yeah. She was.”
“Ethan must have been madly in love with her. She left a hole.”
He squeezes the back of his neck. “They were high school sweethearts. She was the love of his life, and he would have done anything for her.”
I think of the contradictory notes I saw in the book by his bed, then about the note I found inside the novel. I push the thoughts away. Their marriage isn’t for me to analyze or understand. Relationships are complicated. I, of all people, know that. “I imagine she felt the same about him.”
“Maybe once.” He says the words so softly that I’m not sure he intended to let them out. He shakes his head, then his whole body—as if ghosts are holding him in the past and he has to break free. “Don’t tell Ethan we had this conversation, okay? He doesn’t like anyone talking about her unless it’s the good memories.” He forces a smile. “You know, for Lilly.”
“Right. Of course. I’m sorry if I overstepped by asking. I just . . .” Sometimes it’s like she never existed, and other times it’s as if he expects her back at any moment. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t,” Jake says. “Anyone in your position would be curious. He just doesn’t want to let himself move on.”
I nod, my heart twisting for Ethan. It aches for Lilly too, but she speaks about her mother in such vague terms that I don’t think she remembers her much anymore. Although I’m sure those first months without her mother were tough, Ethan’s the one who’s still grieving. Lilly’s grief will come later, in the moments when a girl is supposed to have a mother and she finds herself without. When she has questions about her body or is getting ready for prom. When she’s choosing a major or thinks she might be pregnant. When she’s planning a wedding . . .
Those were the tough moments for me, and my mom’s still alive. Or at least I think she is. I give myself a little shake, much like Jake just did. Everyone has ghosts that pull them down sometimes. “Thanks for telling me. I promise I won’t say anything.”
“Are you coming to Thanksgiving?” He surveys my empty plate. Grinning Jake is back now, as if the specter of his sister-in-law was swept from the room. “Because I’m doing a lot of the cooking, and it’s fun cooking for people who enjoy it.”
“I don’t know.” I sigh heavily. “Lilly really wants me to, but I think I’d feel like I was intruding.”
“It’s our family cabin,” Jake explains. “We stay there every holiday—well, as many of us as we can manage. Ethan is on call a lot of holidays, but he got Thanksgiving off so he’ll be there all weekend, and I think everyone else will be too.”
“Maybe I’ll just drive up for dinner and then back to Ethan’s Thursday night.” I finish my water and reach for my wallet. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Family members eat free.”
I laugh. “I’m not family, Jake.”
“You take care of my Lilly. That’s family enough for me.”
I thank him—I’ve probably given Veronica’s credit card enough of a workout this week anyway—and then head out in the direction he indicated.
This town is adorable. Jackson Brews is in the middle of an area filled with bars and restaurants, including the coffee shop and chocolatier, Ooh La La!, where I first met Kathleen.
I head toward the beach, admiring the finely trimmed houses and imagining what they’ll look like decorated for Christmas. When I turn onto Lakeshore Drive, the wind off the water nips at my skin, and I have to loop my scarf around my neck. There’s a pier and a lighthouse in the distance. Another day, when I have more time, I’ll walk out there and investigate. I’ve always loved lighthouses. They’re beautiful, but I’m also drawn to the idea of them—the metaphor of a constant light in the darkness helping you find your way home.
I’m standing there, staring at the lighthouse, when—like a visit from some magical fairy—it starts to snow.
My fingers are frozen and my cheeks go numb, but I close my eyes and let the magic of snowfall wash over me. This little town is stealing my heart with every detail.
The problem is, so is Ethan.
Ethan
My Thursday started with a patient in pre-term labor at three a.m., and I didn’t get a chance to slow down all day. My rounds at the hospital were followed by a day of office visits and my twice-weekly volunteer shift at the local clinic for expectant moms who can’t afford prenatal care.
I’m exhausted and anxious for this time next week, when Dr. Henderson will take calls and I’ll enjoy a short vacation. When I first finished my residency after medical school, I couldn’t wait to have my own practice, but Elena and I quickly found that constantly being on call with only the very rare day off was too hard on our marriage. So, I joined a bigger practice. There are definitely downsides, but I think I’d be burned out if I hadn’t made that change. I definitely get more time with Lilly this way.
When I walk out of the clinic at seven, it’s dark, and the lights in the parking lot reflect off the freshly fallen snow. I look around and guess we got about six inches—a lot for this early in the season. Lilly will be thrilled. The first snow of the year is always the most exciting.
When I pull into the drive, there’s only a fine sheen on the driveway and the rest has been shoveled to the side. My lawn service guys plow my drive during the winter; they must have been here already. Looks like some good came of my word with the owner about their negligence last year.
When I get into the house, there’s Christmas music playing. I freeze. I haven’t heard Christmas music in my house in years. I don’t ever put it on, and the holidays themselves are spent at the family cabin, where there’s always someone else to play DJ. Surrounded by family, I can handle the songs that make my heart ache.
It’s good to hear it in my home again, and that surprises me. I associate Christmas and everything that goes with it so closely with Elena’s death, and though I’ve tried to overcome that for Lilly’s sake, it hasn’t been easy.
I find Lilly and Nic in the kitchen cutting shapes into rolled-out dough.
“Daddy!” Lilly says. “You’re home!” She runs to m
e, unconcerned about the flour coating her hands, and throws her arms around my waist, getting little handprints all over my dress pants.
“Hi, baby.” I kiss the top of her head and breathe in the smell of her strawberry shampoo. This is the way it should be—Lilly getting excited about Christmas and dancing around the kitchen to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” I can’t let my own holiday demons destroy the day for my daughter.
“Did you have a good day, Daddy?”
I smile. Sometimes she sounds so grown-up. “I did. I delivered two babies and helped one baby stay in her mama’s belly.”
She frowns. “Why would you do that?”
“She wasn’t ready yet. It’s safer for her in her mommy’s tummy for now.”
“Any girl babies?”
I have to grin. As far as Lilly is concerned, the only babies that count are the girls. “One girl, one boy. How was your day?”
“It was perfect! Nicky picked me up from school and then we drove to the lighthouse. Did you know Nic loves lighthouses?” I didn’t, but Lilly doesn’t slow down to let me respond. “She said ours is the prettiest she’s ever seen, and I told her my great-great-grandpa built it. That’s right, isn’t it?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
Lilly prattles on. “When we got home, we did homework and had hot chocolate, then built a snowman, and Nic let me make snow angels while she shoveled the driveway.”
I look to Nic, curious to see what she thinks of Lilly calling her Nicky, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. “You shoveled that whole driveway by yourself?”
“Lilly and I sang Christmas carols the whole time, so it went fast,” Nic says.
“I hire a company to do it, and I have a four-wheel drive, so I can always make it in and out of the garage even if they don’t get here in a timely manner.” Which happens too often.
