by Jessica Kate
“Good luck. It’s unbeatable.” They chuckled, and the silence stretched to awkwardness. Natalie unchained her bike. “Were you after something?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Look, I wouldn’t normally do this, but, well, Steph tells me you’re open to the possibility. Would you like to have dinner with me this week?”
Natalie’s breath caught. She’d gotten a slight ego boost from Steph’s teasing, and the memes today had been fun, but she hadn’t actually expected him to ask.
She glanced up to the second-story window that glowed with a homey light.
Time to move on.
“Sounds great. I’m free Thursday.”
* * *
“I want to go home and sleep for a year. Instead I have to have dinner with a scary police captain.”
Natalie stood three feet in the air on a ladder on Friday afternoon, hands full of canvas. Limp hair stuck to her forehead, the ends tickling her ear. She swiped her head on her shoulder to shift it.
As if her weighted eyelids and the thought of dinner with John Walters wasn’t bad enough, her watch had now ticked five minutes past when she was supposed to leave.
Sam, stripped down to his undershirt on the opposite side of the ladder, hefted the canvas into place on the metal frame they’d just built. Charlottesville High had allowed them the use of their football field for the festival tomorrow, and they’d been working for hours to prepare for it. They still had another tent to go. Three barbecues to unload. Dozens of last-minute jobs.
Worst of all, her cherry cordial M&M’s had run out.
Sam tied the canvas down, and she couldn’t help but notice how well defined his biceps were. How chirpy he’d been all day despite the draining workload. How fun their date last night had been at a restaurant that specialized in chocolate fondue.
Why, oh, why had she agreed to leave this attractive man and go spend the evening with her ex and his cranky father?
Natalie stole another glance at her watch. Jem would soon be wondering where she was—if he noticed she wasn’t there. He’d been so distracted with Chloe this week he’d barely said two words to her. Though she had made sure to mention her date with Sam on Wednesday. Jem had done a decent job of masking his reaction, but she’d still been able to tell it bothered him.
Not that she cared.
She opened her mouth to beg early leave from Sam. She hated to go while Kimberly was still working—the woman was unstacking chairs on the north side of the field—but it couldn’t be helped. Natalie could return to finish these jobs early tomorrow morning. The festival didn’t start till lunchtime.
But Sam spoke first.
“I have a request that might seem a bit odd.”
“Okay.” Her tone made the word more of a question.
“I want you to come speak at a Christian leader’s network breakfast . . . in Washington.”
She gaped at him. The ladder wobbled. “Are you serious?”
He grinned. “You’re surprised? You’ve done an incredible job with this.” He indicated the rest of the field.
Her fatigue evaporated like morning mist before a sunrise. “Really?”
“I’d love for you to tell the leaders in Washington about the festival idea.”
She was late. She should say that she needed to leave. But . . . “You’re sure they wouldn’t rather hear about it from you?”
He shook his head. “It’d be good to have a fresh perspective in a guest speaker. I think you’ll be a natural. And your work really has been amazing. You’ve kicked things up a notch around here. Everyone’s noticed.”
She beamed even as her arms turned to limp spinach trying to hold up the canvas. She had kicked things up a notch this week—and it was killing her. She’d almost fallen asleep over her cheese sandwich at lunchtime.
But now—totally worth it.
“Steph was a bit concerned when that soccer ball mishap happened, but I told her she had nothing to worry about.” Sam shot her a smile that had probably weakened the knees of many a church choir girl. “I knew you’d pull through.”
Heat filled her cheeks. “Thanks.”
He gave the knot a final tug, and Natalie released the canvas. It held.
She scooted down the ladder. “When is it?”
“Not for another eight weeks. I just wanted to flag it with you early. Will you be able to get the time off from Jem?”
“I’ll work something out with him.” Maybe Mom could babysit Olly?
“How is Jem?” Sam descended his ladder and coiled a leftover rope.
“Grumpy and worried.” She grimaced. Chloe wasn’t common knowledge at the moment. “This dinner thing with his dad has him freaked out,” she covered. “Plus the baby’s been a bit sick and his niece is going through . . . a phase, I guess. He worries.”
“That doesn’t sound like the makings of a fun evening.”
“It’s not.”
“Well . . .” Sam picked up the ladders and walked with her toward their pile of supplies under the main tent. “If you need a cheer-up afterward, I could be persuaded to drop by Bloop. Frozen yogurt fixes everything.”
“You’ve got a serious sugar addiction.” She laughed the words—it wasn’t like she could judge. In fact, they’d bonded last night over their mutual love of all things sweet.
Sam grinned back. “Fifteen cavities and counting. The yogurt is my attempt to get healthy.”
“You’re a guy after my own heart.”
He checked his watch. “You should probably go if you want to make it to Jem’s on time. Text me if you want that yogurt.”
She gestured to the piles of gear that surrounded them. “Are you sure? I could stay a few more minutes or come early tomorrow.”
He gave her a poke toward her newly repaired car. “Go. And say hi to Captain Walters for me. He’s offered to help run security at the festival.”
She shuddered for any teen planning to misbehave and grabbed her duffel bag. “Thanks, Sam.”
He waved her off, and she headed for the women’s bathroom. A fresh pair of jeans, soft coral sweater, and a few swipes of mascara transformed her from a mess of sweat to a semirespectable human being.
Her hand trembled as she shoved her makeup back into her duffel. It’d been a crazy week, between extra visits to Mom and Dad—Dad’d had some bad days lately—and the festival prep work. Though not even her ridiculous workload the past few days had stopped her from checking her phone for a text from Jem. She’d received three. One to confirm Chloe would visit Olly every evening, one asking why the clock was in the fridge, and a third that said R we OK?
She’d started typing a response no less than seven times. And seven times she’d backspaced it and shoved her phone into her pocket.
Every molecule in her body screamed for home and bed before she could even contemplate sorting through her emotions. But she’d promised Jem she’d be there. She kept her promises.
She eyed herself in the mirror, noting the bags beneath her eyes and the dull flop of her hair. “One more night. I just need to survive one more night.”
Then Chloe would be gone and she could focus on Sam and Wildfire and staying entirely professional with Jem.
22
Tonight had to be perfect.
Steam rose around Jem in the shower as he mentally ticked off the tasks to be done before his dad arrived. The roast was ready, vegetables in the oven, thanks to Chloe.
He’d been forced to work late, and while Lili could handle Olly, she barely knew a bread knife from a butter knife. So he’d asked Chloe a favor—a small favor, considering the gray hair she was giving him.
So far, nothing disastrous had happened. Nat wasn’t due to arrive for another half hour. And when he’d left them five minutes ago, both kids had been alive and in clean clothes.
He shut off the faucet after a record-breaking short shower and flicked water from his hair dog-style. What was he missing?
This was ridiculous. He was having dinner with his father,
not the president. He exited the shower and reached for his towel.
Peas! He’d forgotten a green vegetable, and Dad’s favorite was peas. Jem was writing the word on the steamed mirror when a voice sounded through the wall.
“Chloe. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
Jem pulled the towel from his wet head. Was that Natalie? He glanced at his watch, sitting on the bathroom cabinet. Oh boy. He’d misjudged the time. He couldn’t have a catfight fifteen minutes before Dad was due to arrive. Even without Chloe here now, he was already in hot water with Natalie. Hearing her talk about going on a date with Sam had been about as much fun as twelve rounds in the ring with Dad. And now this.
Chloe had to go, ASAP.
He jumped into his jeans. Natalie’s footsteps—more delicate than Chloe’s high-heeled elephant feet—tapped from the direction of the kitchen. She should cross in front of the doorway in three, two, one.
He pulled the door open, shirt still on the edge of the bathtub. “Hey, Nat.”
She jolted, arms full of a stack of his novels she’d borrowed. “Hi.” Her frown smoothed out into a more neutral expression.
He did a mental fist pump and scooped his shirt from the bathtub. She didn’t look too mad. “Sorry I’m late—”
“Jeremy, can you taste test this for me?” Chloe breezed past Natalie and entered the bathroom, ladle in hand. “I’m not sure if this gravy tastes right.”
He yanked his arms through his shirt sleeves. Natalie shook her head and turned away.
“Excuse me.” He brushed past Chloe and followed Natalie to his room, buttoning his blue plaid shirt as he went. She dumped the books on his bed and kept her profile to him, wisps of dark hair curling around her face. Her pinky-orange sweater accentuated her slim curves, and the scent of flowers and vanilla hung in the air. But tension rolled from her in waves.
He took a tentative step closer. “Chloe’s here, and I know I promised she wouldn’t be. But she’s leaving right now, and I needed her help.”
“What does it matter to me?” She tried to walk past him.
He blocked her path with a hand to the wall. “Work kept me late, and she offered to help get dinner going. If she wasn’t here, everything would’ve been late.” And Natalie, of all people, knew he needed tonight to go well.
But instead of an understanding smile, all he got was an eye roll.
“There’s always something.” She ducked under his arm and escaped.
He whirled to face her retreating back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out, Mr. Journalist.”
“Are you kidding me?” Frustration laced his tone. What did she want from him? He couldn’t make Chloe disappear, as convenient as that would be. And this whole cold-shoulder thing smacked a little too much of John Walters for his taste. She couldn’t change him—or his past—no matter how much she wanted to. “Stop being ticked off and just talk to me.” He took two steps after her.
She spun and nearly bumped into his chest. “You want to talk?” Her voice rose, then bit off. She glanced in Chloe’s direction and shifted her tone to a furious whisper. “I had better places to be than here. And you know that her being here is—” She bit off whatever she was going to say. Inhaled and exhaled. “You promised.” She speared him with a look, half frustration, half disappointment. “Guess I of all people should’ve known better than to trust your promises.”
The words landed like a heavyweight’s punch to the gut. Jem lost whatever it was he’d been going to say.
He should’ve known. Despite all the history, the attraction, even kissing—he’d never be able to make up for what he’d done. Not for her, and not likely for Dad either.
Though he’d lost Dad’s good opinion long before he ever left Charlottesville.
A knock sounded at the door. He tamped down the urge to punch something. “We’re not finished here.” He stalked over to the door, wrenched it open. “Hi, Dad.”
Movement at the dining table caught his eye.
Oh no.
Chloe was still here.
* * *
“Who haven’t you introduced me to, Jem?”
Dad strode into Jem’s kitchen, his pressed cream shirt and suit pants somehow more terrifying than his gun and taser.
Jem sweated as Dad plucked a fussy Oliver from his high chair and nodded in Chloe’s direction. “That’s, um—”
“Chloe Kingston.” Chloe stepped forward with a glowing smile.
Jem relaxed. At least she hadn’t said—
“Oliver’s mother. I thought it’d be nice to get to know Olly’s family at dinner.”
Jem clenched his jaw. Of all the manipulative, low-down . . .
Dad’s polite expression dropped. “Oliver’s—” The baby launched a day’s worth of food onto Dad’s shirt. Chloe jumped backward.
“Olly!” Jem pulled the baby from Dad’s hands. Oliver screamed.
Jem rushed him to the kitchen sink in case there was more, but Olly seemed to have emptied the entire contents of his stomach onto Dad. Perfect. What a great start to their first dinner in years. “Sorry. The doctor gave him antibiotics on Tuesday, but they’re not doing much.”
Dad held his shirt away from his body. “No wonder he’s sick. He smells like all he’s had today is sweet juice.”
“He had a tiny bit of watered-down juice at lunch, that’s all.”
Dad glanced at the mess dripping from his front, brows raised.
Jem’s hackles rose.
Natalie rushed forward, towel in hand. “Come to the bathroom, John. I’ll see if Jem has any shirts that might fit you.”
She tossed another towel to Jem, and he caught it one-handed. Spreading it on the counter, he stripped off Oliver’s miniature button-down shirt and jeans, doing his best not to smear the mess everywhere. Not much success. He picked Olly up, wearing only his diaper, and held the bundle of towel and clothes in front of him in case he spewed again.
By the time he reached the bathroom, Dad was shrugging on Jem’s biggest flannel shirt.
Nat took the baby from Jem’s arms. “I’ll bathe him. You take care of dinner.” Water already rushed into the tub.
He let Dad pass him out the door, then spoke to Natalie. “We’ll wait for you.” Mad or not, he wouldn’t be rude.
She laid Olly on the bath mat and stripped off his diaper. “Don’t be silly. I’ll heat up a plate.” The corners of her mouth pulled down as she looked at the diaper in her hand. Her lips pursed.
Jem fought the urge to snap at her. “What?”
“When did you last change him? This feels like he’s worn it all day.”
He closed his eyes and prayed for strength. She was trying to pick a fight. He’d changed it less than an hour ago. Still, he had to be the bigger person. “I can change him. You go get some food.”
She set the diaper aside. “No way am I letting you hide in here while I sit out there with Chloe and your father.”
Hide in here? Jem bit back his response and left the room without a word.
As he reached the kitchen, Chloe pulled a pan of vegetables from the oven. The piercing wail of a smoke alarm cut the air. Oliver’s cries turned to shrieks.
Jem reached up to the ceiling and yanked the alarm free. A flick of the finger and the battery disconnected. He wrinkled his nose against the smell of burnt parsnip.
Chloe grimaced. “Sorry, Jeremy. I thought now Natalie was back she was in charge of the cooking.”
A low mutter sounded from the bathroom.
Jem pulled a hand down his face, stretching his cheeks. What else could go wrong? “Let me see what we can salvage.”
In ten minutes he had Chloe, Lili, and Dad seated at the table, dinners before them.
Dad poked at a scorched carrot and cleared his throat. “So, Chloe, what brings you to town?”
Jem tensed at his guarded tone.
“My business brought me to Charlottesville for a few days, and I wanted to check on Oliver.” C
hloe’s tone didn’t give away whether she was pleased or dismayed with what she’d found.
Jem stabbed a potato. He just had to survive until she flew back to Chicago tomorrow morning. Hopefully with an agreement to sign over full custody.
“And what business are you in?” Dad forked a piece of potato into his mouth with a grimace.
“Event management, with a little marketing thrown in. We ran some promotional events for Victoria’s Secret last month.” She sent a too sweet smile toward Jem. “That’s how Jeremy and I met.”
Jem choked on a mouthful of roast. And prayed to never hear the words “Victoria’s Secret” in front of his father again.
Chloe continued, oblivious. “He was reporting on a promotion the company held for a children’s charity, and we reconnected. I’d known him from college. He was the bartender at our favorite hangout.”
Dad glowered. “Bartender?”
Jem swallowed. “Only for a few months. Had to pay tuition somehow.”
“That wouldn’t have been a problem had you stayed here and gone to UVA.”
“I know.” Jem kept his tone pleasant. Alcohol had always been a sensitive issue, ever since Dad first found a beer can beneath eighteen-year-old Mike’s bed. The verbal explosion had made such an impression on then six-year-old Jem that teenage Jem had made sure to never get caught.
Until he’d decided he didn’t care anymore.
Dad hacked at his meat like it was Jack Daniel himself.
Natalie returned to the table, a freshly scrubbed Olly on her lap. The only seat left was next to Chloe. She took it with a stony glance at Jem.
Chloe eyed Oliver’s mouth and edged away.
Jem clenched his fork and left the table. Could no one in this room act with a little maturity?
He fetched Natalie’s plate and slid it before her. Everyone ate in silence for several moments, tension thicker than Chloe’s floury gravy.
Dad weighed his heavy stare on Jem, then snapped at his granddaughter. “Lili, don’t just push food around your plate.”
She jolted.
“Don’t take it out on Lili when you’re mad at me, Dad.” Jem couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice this time. He looked over at his niece. Maybe she had Olly’s bug? “You feeling okay, Lil?”
