“Yes, she can.” I give in, but only for my daughter. Not for Yardley. And not because I’m turning all soft because she had the audacity to show up at my door demanding I accept her help.
“You sure?” she asks, one brow lifted.
Rolling my eyes, I nod. Maybe I need to spell it out or screen print it on a shirt? A second later, I look her dead in the eyes and say, “Yes, Yardley. I’m sure.”
“I just don’t want to infringe,” she says.
A little late for that.
Lennon takes a seat at the table and Yardley strolls toward the casserole dish sitting warm on the counter. A second later, she’s opening and closing cupboards in search of plates and forks and cups, and within five minutes the table is set and my picky eater is devouring whatever mixed vegetable and pasta concoction Yardley placed in front of her.
“Here.” Yardley hands me a warm wash cloth for Essie’s face. Before I have a chance to thank her, she’s on the other side of the kitchen, filling the sink with warm, soapy water and preparing to wash the stack of dishes my sister left for me.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
She ignores me.
“This is so yummy, Daddy,” Lennon tells me, chewing a bite way too big for her little mouth. “You should try yours.”
Lennon points, and I realize Yardley had placed a bowl of casserole in front of me along with a fork and a napkin and a glass of milk.
I chuckle. This is too much.
A few bites later, and I’m in agreement with my daughter.
“Never knew you could cook,” I tell Yardley.
“Is that your way of saying you’re glad I made you this delicious casserole?” she asks, elbow deep in dishwater, her back toward me.
“Something like that.”
When she’s finished, she pulls the drain stop and dries her hands on a nearby rag. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“Yeah.” I turn to her. “How about you sit down and eat with us?”
Her expression dies of shock, as if my invitation is outlandish in every way.
“Oh, okay. Yeah. Sure,” she says, making her way toward the island and fixing herself a bowl.
A few seconds later, she’s seated between Lennon and myself, and in an odd way it feels like a family dinner.
By eight o’clock, Yardley has finished reading Lennon a bedtime story and both girls are out.
“I guess that’s it?” she asks. “Unless you want me to tuck you in too?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
We walk toward the door, her in front of me, and before she leaves, she faces me.
“What time should I come back tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yardley …”
“Please,” she says. “I want to do this for you. For the girls.”
“What about your job?”
“I’ll bring my laptop and work while the girls nap,” she says. “You have to admit it was nice having me here tonight.”
“I do appreciate the help, as unsolicited as it was.”
She rolls her eyes. “All right, well, I suppose …”
My gaze falls to her full mouth, remembering the heat of her lips the other night, the softness of her skin beneath my palms.
I may have made a mistake that evening, but I fucking loved kissing her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, moving closer to the door.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re ten seconds from devouring me again,” she says.
“You’d be so lucky.” I smirk.
“No. I’d be a fool. There’s nothing more dangerous than a man who doesn’t know what he wants. Goodnight, Nevada.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
You Act Like We’re Strangers
Yardley
“I need my lamb.” Lennon yawns as I put her down for a nap. “It’s in Daddy’s room.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Tiptoeing out of her room, I trek down the hall and show myself into Nev’s master suite. This morning he was working on the basement and he’d mentioned visiting his mom in the afternoon, but I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t even know if he left yet.
Glancing around the massive bedroom, I don’t see anything that remotely looks like a fuzzy white animal. Dropping to my hands and knees, I check under his massive four-poster bed, reaching my arm into the darkness and feeling around until my hand grazes something soft.
Yanking it out, I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize I’m holding Lennon’s naptime lamb, only my victorious moment is replaced with something else entirely the second I rise up and find myself face to face with an extremely naked Nevada.
“Oh, God.” I shield my eyes, glancing away. “I was just … I came in here to find this.”
I hold up the lamb.
He chuckles, and from the corner of my eye, I watch him wrap a towel around his waist. “Maybe try knocking next time. And why are you looking away? It’s not like you’ve never seen this before.”
Lowering my hand, I slowly direct my gaze to him, visually tracing what manhood and a career in the NBA has done to this man’s body. The other night it was so dark and everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to appreciate the work of art his body has become, but now … now I can’t stop staring.
Cherry heat warms my cheeks and my heart flutters.
“You act like we’re strangers,” he says, hands resting at the chiseled “V” pointing down below.
“We kind of are, aren’t we?” I ask. “We didn’t exist in each other’s lives for ten years.”
Nevada steps closer to me, so near I can feel his radiant body heat and inhale the spicy soap emanating off his smooth skin.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and if I weren’t so turned on by the sight of his Greek Adonis body and the way he’s looking at me right now, I might have more willpower to walk away from this moment.
But instead I stand before him, feet locked on the ground, and I let him kiss me so hard it hurts, physically, emotionally.
“What are you doing?” I ask, though I fully expect him to tell me he doesn’t know.
My broken, confused Nevada Kane.
The lamb falls from my hand, resting at our feet.
Lennon.
His hand trails up the side of my arm, leaving a path of pin-pricked skin and sending a catch to my breath.
“I have to go,” I say, stepping out of his space and swooping down to grab the stuffed animal.
I stir the mac and cheese as Essie chews on an ice-cold teether on a blanket on the floor, surrounded by toys and a doting big sister who has no problems retrieving new ones every five seconds. But with the exception of the miniature toy store happening across the room, the house is spotless and we’ve had a peaceful afternoon.
“How’s your mother?” I ask Nevada when he gets home. He peeks over my shoulder, eyeing the pot of pasta boiling on the stovetop.
“Better,” he says. “Making progress.”
Lennon runs into his arms, wrapping her long legs around his sides, and he bends to pick up Essie, kissing both of their little foreheads.
I spend the evening cleaning the kitchen and then I help bathe the girls and wait until Nev puts them to bed before gathering my things. Slipping my laptop bag over my shoulder, I glance around for my purse and keys.
“Thanks,” Nev says, hands in his pockets. “And sorry about … earlier.”
“About trying to kiss me?” I ask.
His teeth rake across his lower lip. “Yeah.”
“You should be.” I exhale. “I’m here to help you. I’m here because of your girls. I’m not here because of you. It’s dangerous to blur those lines, Nev. And I’ve accepted that you’re not in a position to be with me and you probably never will be. And that’s okay.”
“I wish I could let it go, Yardley,” he says, slumping against the front door. “I’ve tried. So many damn times. I can only shove it out of my mind for so long and then it’s right back wher
e it started.”
“Are you ever going to let me tell you what happened?” I ask.
“No,” he says without pause. “I don’t want details. I just want to know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you love him?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose, taking a step back. “That’s a strange question.”
“Just answer it. Did you love him? Yes or no?”
“There are all different kinds of love, Nev, and it’s complicated because—”
“No explanation.” His jaw tenses and his eyes burn onto mine.
I release a steady breath and gather my thoughts, head cocked. “You’re not making this fair. Why can we only play by your rules? This isn’t some game, Nevada. This is us.”
“There is no us, not anymore, not after what you did,” he says. “Did you love him? I need to know.”
“If I say no, will that change anything?” I ask.
He’s quiet for far too long.
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I want to think that it will, but I won’t know until I hear you say it.”
My lips part. I can’t lie. It wouldn’t be fair to Nevada. To me. Or to the memory of Griffin. “I loved him. Yes.”
Nevada gets the door, his back to me. “Goodnight, Yardley.”
His voice is chilled.
He doesn’t so much as attempt to look at me, and I don’t so much as attempt to explain the difference between the love I had for Griffin and the love I had for him.
There’s no point.
It’s all the same in his eyes.
Chapter Fifty-Three
I Don’t Blame Her
Nevada
“This house is way too damn big, Nev.” My sister is breathless as she hands Essie over.
I’ve spent the better part of the day at the rehabilitation unit with Mom, and so far she’s making great progress. They think she’s got a decent chance at making a full recovery, but it’s going to take time.
“What happened to Yardley?” she asks. “I thought she was coming over to help out with the girls?”
“Yeah, well. It didn’t work out.”
Eden blows a breath past her lips. “How’d you screw up a good thing like that? She was like a chef and a nanny and a housekeeper all in one, and she did it all out of the kindness of her heart. You’re an idiot for letting her go. Whatever issue you had, it better’ve been worth it.” She pushes past me, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Kids, time to go.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “I know it was short notice.”
“Yeah, well, I love you, Nev, but this can’t be a regular thing. I can hardly take care of my own four, and this house is way too big to keep track of six little ones,” she says. “You need to hire someone. And good luck with that.”
She chuckles, heading down the hall toward the front door. A moment later, she’s crouched down, helping her youngest tie her shoes.
“Whatever you’re upset with her for … just let it go,” she says. “You’ve always been a bit of a stubborn you-know-what, and that’s always been your biggest downfall. It’s basically the only bad thing about you, but it almost cancels out a lot of the good sometimes.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll take that into consideration.”
Eden huffs. “I’m being serious, Nev. Make amends. Forgive her for whatever grudge you’re holding against her this time, and you just might have a shot at being happy again.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
She rises, lifting her youngest onto her hip. “Make fun of me all you want, but I speak from experience. Life’s a helluva lot easier when you don’t let everything get to you all the time.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Her little ones shuffle out the front door, a row of dark-haired ducklings, and she follows.
Locking the front door, I head into the sun room where the girls are playing, and I scoop them into my arms before settling into the rocking chair.
“Where’s Yardley?” Lennon asks, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger. “I thought she was coming today?”
I let my sister’s words marinate, as much as I hate to be wrong, and I press my lips against the top of Lennon’s head, dragging in the sweet, soft scent of her shampoo into my lungs.
“Why don’t I try to call her?” I ask, maneuvering enough to slide my phone from my pocket.
A moment later, the line rings.
She doesn’t answer.
I don’t blame her.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Just Some Guy
Yardley
He called me four days ago.
And when I didn’t answer, he texted me.
I miss the girls. I miss Lennon’s sweet giggle and Essie’s sparkly, golden eyes and gummy smile. I miss watching cartoons with them and tucking them into bed. And I miss how, for a small moment of time, it felt like I was peeking behind a curtain at a future that might have been if only …
But Nevada’s an ass.
And he’s impulsive and stubborn and I can’t keep going rounds with him until he finally figures out what he wants from me.
Locking up my office, I head out for lunch, walking a couple blocks to the little deli by the square. Ten minutes later, I’m enjoying a turkey on rye at my own little table-for-two by the window when the shadow of a person fills the space beside me.
“Mind if I join you?”
Glancing up, I spot the familiar face of Brendan Moffitt. Dressed in faded jeans and a tee shirt with the Harmeyer Electric logo on the front, he flashes a white smile.
“Please,” I say, motioning toward the empty chair across from me.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, eyes glued on me. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Everything’s good. Just working,” I say. “You?”
“Same.” He pops a salted chip into his mouth, his strong jaw flexing as he chews. “Was kind of hoping I’d run into you at The Leaderboard the last couple of weekends. Guess it’s not your scene, huh?”
I smile. “Yeah, not really. Not really a small-town bar kind of girl.”
“Kind of figured that by the drinks you were sipping on all night,” he says with a wink. “You’d fit right in at some fancy cocktail bar in some big city.”
“I hope that’s a good thing?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “You’ve got the kind of class and beauty that’s got no business hanging out in a place like The Leaderboard.”
He’s flattering me. I’d hardly call myself classy and beautiful. I wore jeans and heels and a blouse that night with earrings and a coat of bold pink lipstick for a pop of color. It’s not like I wandered in there with a Chanel bag and a fur stole.
I think back to what Nevada said that night—that Brendan was only wanting to hook up, and I must admit even now, the fawning is a bit over the top.
Brendan rambles on about the weather for a bit before segueing into some spiel about how he does demolition derbies in the summertime and how I should come watch him sometime. He tucks his sandy hair behind one ear, face lit as he gives me all his attention and lets his sandwich sit, barely touched.
Maybe he doesn’t have nefarious intentions, but sitting here with him … I don’t feel a thing. It’s like we’re just a couple of acquaintances having lunch—which is exactly what we are.
A minute later, my sandwich is almost finished and I check my watch.
“You in a rush?” Brendan asks, mouth frowning.
“I’m sorry.” I slide out of my seat. “I am. Have to let my dog out before I head back to work.”
“What kind of dog do you have?” He’s stalling.
“Golden retriever.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and gather my wrappers and deli basket and little paper cup of water.
“I’ve got a Great Dane. We should do a play date sometime.” He chuckles when he says that, and I think he’s half joking, half serious.
“Yeah, maybe?” I smile out of politeness
before searching for the nearest trash can.
“You still have my number?” he asks.
“I do.”
“Perfect. Call me sometime, all right?” he asks.
A rush of guilt saturates my conscience for a moment. I have no intention of calling Brendan Moffitt. I don’t get an adrenaline rush when I picture him. My heart doesn’t flutter in his presence. I don’t feel nervous around him, like I want him to like me.
He’s just some guy.
Waving goodbye, I head back out to the sidewalk and stride back to the office to grab my car and head home.
By the time I pull into my driveway five minutes later, I spot a large golden envelope sticking out of my mailbox. The mailman must’ve been here earlier than usual today. Hopping out of my car, I grab the mail before showing myself in.
Dex trots up to me, tail wagging, and I grab his leash, dropping the mail on the counter, only I freeze when I see that one of the letters is from Grandwoods.
“Hang on, buddy.” I sit the leash aside and rip into the envelope.
It’s an acceptance letter. I’ll be starting classes next month.
Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me it’s finally time to move on—for real this time?
I place the letter on the fridge and use a magnet to hold it in place, smiling as I read the words over and over again.
Dex paces by the back door, waiting for me to take him out, but as I grab his leash again, my phone begins to ring, the caller ID reading, “Park Woods Administration.”
My heart plummets.
Greta.
Chapter Fifty-Five
I Said It
Nev
It’s been three days since I texted her. She’s clearly ignoring me, but I can’t force her to talk to me, so I’m trying not to stew too much. Besides, my time and energy are being pulled in three different directions lately. When I’m not working on the basement, I’m with the girls. When I’m not with the girls, I’m with Mom.
The Rebound Page 17
