by Cara Dee
I took a breath, combing forth my hair over one shoulder with my fingers. "Remember yesterday I told you I've never been at the center of anyone's universe?"
He inclined his head. "Which I find hard to believe."
I lifted one shoulder in a light shrug. Truth be told, I had no real complaints. "Gray and Gage's father and I had a tumultuous relationship, and the real love of his life was himself." It'd once made me bitter and angry. Now I didn’t care much. We'd been so young. The only thing that made him a complete tool was the fact that he'd walked away from his children. "He left us when Gray was a toddler, and to be perfectly honest, it was a relief."
There were good memories, too. It had been passionate and crazy, but his need to be the life of never-ending parties had won.
"I presume you didn’t reunite with him?" Aiden asked.
I shook my head slightly. "Gideon and Gabriel's dad is a friend." I snorted quietly and grinned to myself. "David is a character. Not around much—he lives in South Africa. We were best friends and wanted different things. I was at a point in my life where I wanted to build a career, and he wanted us to travel with him. He's a doctor," I explained. "A complete loner. He used to tell me I was the only one he enjoyed being around."
Aiden quirked a smile and squeezed my calf gently. "I can see that."
My cheeks felt warm.
"Regardless," I went on with a rueful smirk, "a pregnancy didn’t fit into either of our plans, and then…one day, there I was." I recalled the careful happiness. We knew better now. We'd been in love with the idea of love, hardly an original concept, and it'd given us a few years of playing house. "It worked until the twins were five or six, but David belongs in remote villages where he can help, as much as he tried to deny it."
Aiden hummed. "And the boys are okay with that?"
"Yes and no." I felt worse about it than Gid and Gabriel did, but of course, there were moments where I could see they wished things were different. "They have called him the Postcard Dad for so long now. They're on good terms but don't talk very often. I imagine it's not unlike families where one parent is military." I knew a thing or two about that. "Sometimes we're selfish, and we get angry. We wonder why we're not enough, why our loved ones have to go away all the time… Then we remind ourselves that some people are meant for other things. David struggles with the same guilt. He resents himself more than I ever could, so I can't really hate him."
Money could never make up for time lost, though he did try. He hadn't deserted us completely. He paid for the boys' hockey gear—including Gray's, and that was a fucking expensive sport—private school, bikes, clothes sometimes… It was something, at least.
There was a lull in conversation, and I realized I had probably rambled too much. Aiden couldn’t possibly be interested in listening to this. The CliffsNotes would've sufficed.
"I'm sorry. I've been rambling." Embarrassed, I fidgeted with my hair and squinted out over the lawn. A distraction—I needed something to do. Maybe I should go pack the picnic for the beach.
"What if I'm interested in hearing about it?" Aiden replied with an easy smile.
I appreciated that, though I couldn’t help but feel a tad too exposed and foolish. What was the point of getting to know Aiden if he was going home in a day or two? I'd only get myself attached.
"You're dangerous." I hid my discomfort behind a wink. "You make me forget where I am." Or the situation we found ourselves in.
The bubble was about to burst. I could feel it, and it was for the best. Better now than later.
"You have the same effect, Chloe."
My eyes flashed to his, and I smashed my lips together. For the love of God, he wasn’t merely dangerous. He was out to kill. I'd be hurt when he left, wouldn’t I? I was going to spend some time fantasizing about what-ifs and painting dream scenarios.
"Your turn, Mr. Roe." I forced a casual expression and finished my coffee. "Is Isla's mom in LA?"
"No." He gave a slow shake of his head. "We lost Sarah ten years ago. Brain tumor."
"Oh, no." My hand flew to my mouth, my gaze softening. "I'm so sorry, Aiden." Fuck, I couldn’t even imagine. Anger was so easy in comparison to grief. With the boys' fathers, I could heal and indulge in moments of rage. Throwing things was very therapeutic for me. Grief, on the other hand, was crippling.
"It's quite all right—now." He grabbed my hand and kissed the top of it. "I had seventeen great years with her. She was my safe port when I spiraled up here." He tapped his temple, eyes lit with mischief that made me grin. "In my head, I was an adrenaline junkie."
I bit my lip, wondering if Gypsy Girl had played a part in his love of adventure.
It was difficult to believe. After all, she was a product of his imagination, and I was nothing like that. I didn’t go on adventures or dye my hair purple.
I wanted to, though. I yearned for wild journeys.
"Mom!"
I sucked in a breath as the bubble burst. Aiden pressed a kiss to my fingertips, then released me to sit back, and I focused on Gabriel who stumbled out of the house with two beach chairs, a pair of flip-flops, and a plastic bag in his hands.
"The freezer's empty," he told me. "You didn't bake while we were in Vancouver?"
"Um, no? I've been busy working," I said. "We can pick something up on the way." Removing my legs from Aiden's lap, I gave his thigh a brief squeeze. "I don't wanna assume. Are you coming with us to the beach?"
"Ah—" He smiled politely at Gabriel, then offered me a warmer version. "No, I think I'm going to find a quiet place to write. I might need emotional support once Isla's screamed bloody murder at me tonight, though."
I chuckled, admittedly half relieved. My mind was fuzzy and clouded; I needed a break to sort through my thoughts. Right now, they were all about him. It couldn’t be healthy.
"I'm sure emotional support can be arranged." I stifled my laugh and patted his leg again. Poor, poor man. "I'll make sure you won't have to seek out the competition for a hotel room tonight, too."
Considering my total lack of willpower, I'd probably end up begging him to spend another night with me.
23.
Aiden Roe
I used to be a dreamer.
Six words in as many hours.
I scrubbed tiredly at my face and leaned back in my seat. Most of the other patrons in the coffee shop were tapping away on their own laptops, but it looked like it wasn’t my day. It wasn’t writer's block, either. I stood before a change, and somehow, it was keeping me from adding the next sentence.
"Would you like a refill, sir?"
"No, this isn't good—I mean, yes. Thank you." I blew out a breath and rubbed my jaw. "Apologies, stuck in my head." And this, what I was working on, wasn’t good.
The barista refilled my coffee before I was left alone in my little corner again.
I used to be a dreamer.
Why had I even written that? The only book I'd based on myself and my experiences was Gypsy Girl. I had no intention of going there again, and I much preferred to write in third person. Yet, here I was with I used to be a dreamer. Gypsy Girl and the unnamed boy were rattling around in the back of my head, and it was different now. My first evening here, I'd poured out all my curiosities and questions about two characters who'd been put to rest years ago. Their adventures were over.
My published works since then were darker, suspenseful, and not always so satisfying in the way they ended. I enjoyed the thrill, the puzzle, and the chase; I liked digging deep into the minds of readers and making them question things. Therein was my happy ending, opening a part of the mind of a reader that'd been previously locked. I didn’t write adventure. Gypsy Girl was the one exception.
I deleted the sentence.
I furrowed my brow and peered out the window. The cobblestone street was fairly quiet. People hadn't gotten off work yet, and the weather was nice. Those with children who were on summer break had better things to do, like going to the beach.
For heaven's sake
, could I go ten fucking minutes without thinking of Chloe? It was entirely because of her I struggled now. She was to blame for this sudden craving for adventure. She'd sparked something in me.
Maybe I'm not supposed to write it.
I touched my mouth, thinking of last night when she'd had that wicked glint in her eyes. "Sometimes we just have to say fuck it. Let's get positively drenched." No…perhaps it was an adventure I was supposed to live, not imagine. And I used to be a dreamer. An impulsive one who dove straight into the deep sea of fiction I created myself. What if I'd been waiting?
It was true what I'd told Chloe; Sarah had been my constant, the safe port, the one who reined me in. For many years, it suited me. Maybe it didn’t anymore. Maybe I'd been waiting for fiction to become reality. God fucking knew what my impulsive side wanted. Explore, stay and explore, get lost in her world, join it, don’t miss out on your second chance. But I wasn’t the rational thinker. Isla had taken after her mother…
"Except, she wasn’t rational when she decided to shack up with Jack." I made a face and took a sip of my coffee. Nevertheless…
I had to talk to my daughter.
*
Now, if only she weren't busy. I got a two-minute conversation, during which I managed to finagle some information from her about Jack's homecoming. Eight o'clock, he was due to be back. Then, before I could get into hypothetical scenarios of impulses and pros and cons about spontaneity, she excused herself and said she was late for "coffee with a friend."
She was befriending people up here.
I gave up on writing, so after stowing away my laptop, I chugged the last of my coffee, paid, and shouldered my messenger bag. It was warm and sunny enough for me to push up the sleeves on my pullover.
"Have a lovely day," the barista hollered.
I looked over my shoulder as I pushed open the door. "Oh—oh, okay. I forgot small-town folk are nicer. You have a good day, too." I smiled and headed outside, patting my pockets to locate my shades.
I hoped I'd tipped well enough.
Since it was, in fact, a small town, I returned to my rental and drove to a nearby tourist center I'd passed earlier. I knew Camassia Cove was divided into five smaller districts, and I didn’t want to run into Isla somewhere, but luckily there were brochures in the smallest tourist shop known to man. They directed me to Downtown, the old town center that was supposedly idyllic, had the best ice cream and antique shops, and was the home to the town's public marina.
Leaving Cedar Valley behind, I drove north through a forest and past a district called Camas. Another wooded area followed, the trees thick and tall, setting the perfect scene for someone waking up and having no clue where he was or what year it was. Or maybe two tourists found an old artifact on a hike there that paralyzed the town, no one willing to tell the couple what it was… Would the townsfolk chase them away…or would they possibly not let them leave?
I shook my head, smiling slightly.
Perhaps sinking my teeth into my next novel here wouldn’t be a terrible idea.
I arrived at the marina, my mind pretty made up already. There was a lot to explore here. Finding a parking spot, I stepped outside and breathed in the fresh sea air. The parking lot was full, and I spotted plenty of people on the pier and the small boardwalk. Ice cream shops, hot dog stands, boat rentals, and tour guides for whale watching and fishing shared the marina with countless boats of all sizes.
"How fitting." I cast a wry expression at a shop window for vacation homes. Short-term leases from two weeks, how about that? Passing a couple cafés and a fish market, I reached the beginning of the pier.
"I know where we are," a woman said.
A man was walking behind her, hands covering her eyes. "The fuck you do. I've been stealthy and shit."
She laughed. "Jackass, I can hear the seagulls!"
"Oh." The man scowled up at the sky. "Whatever. We're here, anyway."
I sat down on the nearest bench and people watched, wondering idly how long it'd take for me to check out the vacation homes for rent. Fifteen minutes? Half an hour?
"Thea! Not too close to the water." A father hurried over and tossed a giggling little girl over his shoulder. "You'll be the death of me one day, princess." He walked back to a young woman holding two ice cream cones. "Thanks again for coming on such short notice, Willow. Dominic or I will pick her up before dinner—" He was cut off by a female yell to my right, and I was fairly certain most of us nearby looked over.
"You're fucking crazy!" The woman who'd had her eyes covered seemed to notice her volume and instantly covered her face. "Oh my God."
Her husband or boyfriend found it funny. "What's with the shouting?"
That earned him a whack on his chest. "Are you seriously asking me that? You bought a freaking yacht, Lincoln! You did this on purpose to piss me off, didn’t you?" Judging by his grin, the answer was yes. "Do you even know how to drive it?"
I quirked a brow at the fancy boat in the water below them. Surely expensive as hell, "Tiny Dancer" was written in cursive on the back, and it stood out against the pristine white.
"Eh, how hard can it be?" The man ushered her toward their new boat. "Come on, it'll be fun for the kids, too." He seemed to take immense pleasure in her anger, and when she sort of melted at the yacht's name, it was time for me to look away.
The marina was full of glimpses into other people's lives. I could lose hours and hours here.
It was inspiring, too.
Twisting my body, I glanced behind me toward the rental place again.
I'd already decided, hadn't I?
*
"Where are you, you cradle-robbing bastard?" I drummed my fingers along the wheel and checked the time. 8:05 PM. Jack was late, which I made sure to tell Chloe in a text.
She and her sons had returned from the beach a couple hours ago, and we'd texted back and forth since then. I wanted her on my side about this whole Jack and Isla debacle.
Parked across the street from Jack's three-story home, I could see straight into his living room. Through the two high windows, I saw wall-to-wall bookshelves, a spiral staircase, and the top of what I assumed was a couch. No sight of my daughter, though I was sure she was there. Maybe she was up on the second floor. A window was lit up there, too.
The next thing that lit up was my phone. Chloe had replied.
Five minutes is nothing, you stubborn man. Why don’t you let them have their evening, and you come over? There's pizza. xo
"Tempting," I admitted. The pizza part and being with Chloe, anyway. It felt sincerely wrong to leave Jack and Isla be, though. I'd been honest with Chloe—after she pointed out Isla was adult—and I conceded she was right. Isla was a bright young woman; she wouldn’t let just anyone get close to her, and I did trust her judgment. But what the fuck happened to respect?
Couldn’t Jack have the common courtesy and tell me what was going on?
The age difference bothered me, too.
I need to see them, I think.
I sent my response as a sleek car drove past. I sank lower in my seat, watching while the driver found parking farther down the street. There we go. It was Jack. Time to see—oh, for crying out loud. Other than a black roll-aboard suitcase, he carried a bouquet of flowers.
That put a queasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe…maybe if they were clichéd red roses I had nothing to worry about. Hopefully, Isla would unwrap them where I could get a glimpse.
He adjusted his tie and ducked into the alley between two brownstones. It was dark out, clouds were rolling in too, so I left the car, confident they wouldn’t see me.
I leaned back against the closed door and folded my arms over my chest. It was too strange, this situation. The anger was gone momentarily. Right now, I was mostly resigned, disappointed, and wary.
We went to school together, for fuck's sake. Undergrad, grad school… He had dinner with us at our house when Isla wasn’t more than…what, six or seven?
The door opened inside the hou
se, and Jack entered. Though I couldn’t hear anything, I could tell he called her name. A beat later, the light was switched off on the second floor. Jack unwrapped the flowers, revealing a mixed arrangement of greens, whites, and purples, causing me to sigh heavily. He knew her colors, goddammit.
Then Isla was hurrying down the stairs. Dressed for comfort in PJ shorts and a T-shirt that looked like it belonged to him, she smiled widely and jumped into his arms.
"Fuck," I whispered. I rubbed a hand over my mouth and jaw. She looked so…damn happy. More than that, his smile matched hers. Having known the man well over two decades, I knew he was reserved by nature.
He didn’t look reserved now.
Fuck, fuck.
24.
Chloe Nolan
Aiden showed up around nine and aimed straight for the couch, collapsing next to me with a frown and deep sigh.
I muted the TV and slipped an arm under his. "What's with the sullen expression, Mr. Roe?" I reached up and brushed away a piece of hair from his forehead. "Did you make a mortal enemy of Isla?"
"I did not, no." He lifted his arm to rest it around me instead. "I think I just watched my daughter grow up before my eyes. I don’t recommend it."
"Ouch. Are you okay?"
He nodded slowly, thinking. "I will be. I'm—" He paused and looked toward the stairs. "Where're the boys?"
"Oh. Gage is spending the night at Gray's, and the twins are out with friends."
I never had to worry about Gage and Gray. The latter was taking classes all summer, so he would be on his best behavior. Gage was an adult and didn’t depend much on me. Gabriel and Gid, on the other hand… Their school year ended late because of extracurricular activities and camps with their various sports teams, so their break had only recently begun. Which meant I had to let them roam free a while because they worked so hard. Still, I fretted sometimes about letting them stay out late. Nine was nothing, but their curfew was set at two. I'd be up until then.
"What's the plan, then?" I wondered. "Are you going home to wait for Isla to call?"
I was ready. I'd prepared myself mentally all day. Aiden was going home, and I belonged here. It was only a fling, no matter how real it felt. From the night we'd shared to just now, how he so casually walked in and slumped down beside me. He fit here.
