Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors) Page 23

by Violet Duke

  God, she missed them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AT 7 P.M. ON THE DOT, Tessa walked into the small Italian eatery and found Brian leaning against the wall near the entrance, looking like Johnny Lumberjack with his sexy, golden brown hair and scruffy five o’clock shadow. When he spotted her, he smiled—the first smile he’d ever directed her way, she realized…and she nearly swallowed her tongue.

  Didn’t help that those deep, teal blue eyes of his stayed locked on hers, instead of doing that scan-her-body-to-check-out-the-goods thing she was used to from the few blind dates she’d been on.

  This wasn’t a date!

  Right. She had to remember that.

  “Hey, Tessa. You look great. Your wounds healing up okay?”

  Oh dammit. Date or not, she was toast.

  “They’re fine. Thanks. Just a few bumps and scrapes.”

  His hand just barely ghosted over the middle of her back as he stepped to the side and pulled open the door for her. “Thanks for letting me pick the restaurant tonight. I don’t get out to actual restaurants all that much but this is one I’ve always wanted to try. Have you eaten here before?”

  “A few times.” After they made their way to the first open table and at least three workers said hello to her, she admitted quietly, “Okay, that’s a lie. Most of the workers who answer the takeout line know me by voice.”

  That earned her a low, deep chuckle from him and she felt the air in her lungs getting lost on its way to her brain. Quickly, she flicked her menu up to avoid the possibility of conversation while her brain gasped for the return of oxygen for its malfunctioning neurons.

  When the waiter came and addressed her by name, she avoided making direct eye contact with the smile begging to be let loose at the corner of Brian’s mouth.

  “I’m still looking,” she fibbed quietly. “You can get his order first.”

  After he requested the pollo carciofi pasta, she finally put down the menu she’d only been pretending to read. “Could I just get a slice of Nonna’s ricotta pie and a slice of the Tuscan spinach pie?”

  When she saw Brian curiously reach for the menu again with a puzzled look, she stopped him and pointed at the chalkboard by the cash register. “Those are the dessert specials this week. I, errr, already ate dinner.”

  A mild look of exasperation overtook his features.

  Thank goodness, they were back to their status quo.

  “You told Skylar you weren’t going to be hungry until seven.”

  “I’m usually not,” she defended, picking up her water glass to take a parched sip. “But I seem to be able to eat hotdogs at any time of the day.”

  She crunched down on some ice during the awkward pause that followed.

  “Do you always give responses that only make sense to you?”

  She thought about that for a moment and replied in all seriousness, “More than I intend to, probably. But I also think you bring it out of me more than most for some reason.”

  His smile was back again. “Fair enough. Okay, so if I ask you to answer in the form of a complete short essay so I’ll fully understand you, could you tell me what’s with the whole eating a hotdog before meeting me for dinner thing?”

  Now she was smiling along with him. He was so darn easy to like, and surprisingly patient considering how easily she seemed to bug the crap out of him.

  “Sometimes I hang out at the lumberyard where my dad used to work so I can watch the sunset from the top of the lumber stacks. And when I do, I always drop off a hotdog for my dad’s old boss, Frank. He doesn’t know that it’s actually a low-cal, healthy mostly-veggie dog, which is why he always lights up like a kid on Halloween when I bring it over. Which is why I try and go pretty regularly. And I dunno, I just always automatically bring one for myself too. To keep the tradition alive, I guess.”

  She’d noticed Brian’s eyes darken with sympathy when she first mentioned her dad in the past tense, and she mentally prepared herself for the question.

  “So did your sister inherit her HD gene from your dad?”

  “Yes. His was adult-onset obviously, but Willow’s JHD symptoms started when she was in middle school. Maybe that’s why I’m especially meddlesome in Skylar’s case. Sorry.” And she was, really.

  Since the concession seemed to earn her some respect points from him, she opted for full disclosure. “To be clear though, I’m just sorry you’re upset, not sorry that I’m answering all her questions.”

  He frowned. “Just when we were starting to get along.”

  They quieted as their food arrived, both leaving their plates untouched in an unspoken agreement that they’d get this hammered out first.

  The moment the waiter left, Tessa had no problem starting them off. “Abby mentioned you were thinking of doing the testing last year. Why’d you change your mind?”

  “Skylar had been showing some symptoms that we thought could be JHD then. Symptomatic genetic testing, the doctors and I were on board with. But now that she’s been symptom-free for months, we’ve decided against it.”

  “Exactly. She didn’t decide. You all did.”

  “She’s not old enough to make this decision. I’ve read the studies; the youngest age they typically allow a minor to make this decision is fifteen, if that. She’s just barely thirteen, way too young, too emotionally ill-equipped.”

  “Brian, Skylar has questions that need to get answered.”

  “By me, or her doctors. Not by you—no offense—or some random websites.”

  “At least the websites I directed her to were reliable, accurate, and just as importantly, non-persuasive. You’re fooling yourself if you think she hasn’t been reading up on every single thing about HD and JHD she’s been able to find on the internet.”

  That made him pause with what looked like a flash of pained panic before he maintained, “You still had no right to be advising her about genetic testing behind my back, Tessa.”

  Okay, she’d give him that. “You’re right. While I think it’s important for Skylar to have someone to talk to and ask questions of beyond her current bubble, it was irresponsible of me not to have checked to be sure that you were at least aware of the situation. I know you’re going through this as much as she is.”

  “Now that’s just unfair,” he sighed, leaning back and breaking into one of the dinner rolls at the table. “If you’re going to be logical and respectful for a shocking first, I don’t know how I can keep arguing with you.”

  She chuckled. “I have my moments.” Seeing the worry still hiding behind his banter, she reassured him, “I swear, I’m just listening and answering questions. I’m not advising her in any way. I would never steer her in a direction that would be harmful to her, and I think you know that.”

  The stubborn man offered no more than an acquiescent half-nod.

  “Are you going to fight me on this the entire time?” she asked, trying to hide the smile in her voice. Usually, confrontation was not her thing, but for some reason, the prospect of continuing to face off with Brian sounded fun.

  “Are you going to continue to be a pain in my ass by answering her questions, regardless of what I say?” he returned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes, I hereby reserve the right to be an obnoxiously overprotective dad about all of this whenever the mood strikes me.”

  “So, just to get this recorded on the minutes, basically, we’ve just agreed to keep doing things exactly as we’ve been doing them?”

  Breaking out into an amused grin, he conceded, “Yes. Now let’s eat before my food gets cold, and yours gets warm.”

>   She grinned. Smartass.

  Enjoying herself more than she’d intended to, more than it was probably advisable to, she grabbed her knife to cut each pie in half lengthwise before taking a bite of first the creamy ricotta pie, and then the spongy, almondy spinach pie.

  “So tell me more about your dad,” said Brian, between bites of his chicken and artichokes. “You mentioned a lumberyard. Was he in construction?”

  “Yep. Right out of high school, all the way up until he first started showing signs of chorea spasms in his hands. That’s when Frank hired him as the security guard for the lumber yard. The hours were perfect since he and I used to switch off taking care of Willow. And it was a way for him to stay close to the trade.” She smiled softly. “Since Frank rents out construction equipment as well—mostly small excavators, tractors, and things—sometimes, dad would get to work the equipment to check them before and after rentals, or during maintenance. I saw him at it a few times when I went to drop off food for him. I used to love just watching him. It used to make him so happy. He didn’t have a whole lot left to be happy for, so I will always be eternally grateful to Frank for that.”

  “Hence the hotdogs,” editorialized Brian.

  “That’s right,” she grinned in surprise, “I do believe the hotdog tradition started soon after that. But the lumber stacks at sunset was actually my dad’s tradition. My dad used to take his break around sunset and go sit up on the tallest stack to just watch the view. Once, Willow and I went up there with him. Frank and the guys rigged one of the forklifts so my dad could help Willow up. I still remember how tickled she was to ride the forklift, and how much the three of us had laughed up there. The guys had to bring out the flood lamps to help us down since we’d stayed up there until well after dusk.”

  Blinking herself back to the present, she felt the pain come as it always did at the memories. “Not long after she died, it was my dad who got the ride up the forklift to sit beside me.” With a silent breath, she held back the tears she never ever allowed herself to shed. “And now it’s just me up there. No forklift.”

  HE’D NEVER BEEN on this side before.

  It was a startling revelation, really.

  All these years, he’d always been on the receiving end of the ‘I’m so sorrys.’ Oh, he’d said his fair share before, meant every one. But not like this. Not for a pain right before his eyes that rivaled, if not eclipsed his own.

  For the first time, he heard the ‘I’m sorry’ for the actual apology that it was. He wanted to apologize to her for not being able to ease her grief, apologize for not having the perfect thing to say that could make it all better again, apologize for the universe being the cruel and unyielding bastard it could be.

  Brian couldn’t imagine losing two loved ones that close together. By Connor’s estimation, Tessa had been just twenty years old when her sister died, and a brand new adult with a lifetime of hurt already when her father died shortly after. Honestly, if he’d lost Beth at that age, it probably would’ve broken him. Losing a second loved one soon after would’ve been inconceivable.

  “I’m so sorry, Tessa.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “Me too.”

  It wasn’t the standard response. Or even a logical one. In fact, it was one of those answers they’d talked about earlier, the ones that seemed to only make sense to her.

  Except this one, he actually got.

  They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, finishing their meals. By the time he was done, he saw that she’d only managed to finish half her pies. Lightweight, he chuckled to himself. Skylar and Abby would each be on their second helpings by now if given half the chance—sugar junkies that they were.

  “What are you smiling at?” she asked, eyes dancing in amusement. “No fair hoarding all the happy thoughts.”

  “I was just thinking that you need to train with Skylar and Abby. A few days with the sugar twins and you’ll be able to whack those two pies and then some.”

  A surprised laugh tinkled out of her then. “You think I can’t finish these pies?”

  Christ, he loved that laugh.

  “I could give the sugar twins a run for their money, thank you very much. Especially when it comes to pies. Seriously, give me a pie over cake and ice cream any day.” Still chuckling to herself, she leaned over and slid the plates forward. “I was just saving the rest for you to try.”

  He wasn’t at all prepared for the warm thump he felt in his chest.

  “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he told her, shaking his head. “You’re always surprising me.”

  “Let me guess, you hate surprises,” she teased.

  He picked up his fork to take a chunk of the odd, green pie and then slid the rest back to her to finish. “Not so much anymore.”

  The brief moment they seemed to be having was pierced like a bubble at the sudden sound of a familiar musical medley he couldn’t quite place.

  “That’s me.” Tessa grabbed her phone, with its classic Rosie the Riveter ‘We Can Do It!’ decal proudly displayed on its back. She furrowed her brow in non-recognition at the screen and then answered it anyway.

  Her sad frown soon after, followed by a firm, “I’ll be right there,” instantly had him on alert.

  Why he felt so overwhelmingly protective of a woman he barely knew, he had no idea. “Everything okay?”

  “It will be. I’m afraid I have to cut our dinner short. Normally I wouldn’t ask, but do you think you can follow me back to my place and then drive me over to Cactus Creek?”

  “Now?” Brian checked his watch. Damn, they’d been talking for hours. “Most everything there will be closing by midnight.”

  “I know but a friend of mine is sloshed drunk at a bar and I need to drive him home.” She headed quickly out to the parking lot. “If you can’t, it’s no big deal. I can call a cab to meet me at my apartment.” She was already pulling out her cell phone.

  And that bugged him to no end.

  “No, it’s alright. I’ll take you. Skylar is at a sleepover so I’m free. Let me help.” His eyebrows shot up when he saw her climb into an old grandpa Rambler wagon…which had what sounded like a hemi engine.

  Honestly, the woman just didn’t have a normal bone in her body.

  “Thanks, Brian. Okay, just follow me.”

  A frighteningly quick minute later—speed limits were apparently a laughable suggestion and yellow lights a dare for Tessa—she was parked and climbing into Brian’s SUV. “Do you know the way to One-Eyed Snake?”

  “The biker bar?” Geez, never a dull moment.

  “Yup. My friend Isaac does this sometimes, and since I programmed my number into his cell phone under the name ‘If I’m Drunk Off My Ass,’ if he’s ever too drunk to drive, I occasionally get a call from a bartender to come get him.”

  “Is your friend an alcoholic?”

  She shook her head sadly. “No, nothing like that. Not even close. He’s just a good guy in a world of pain.”

  So a fellow kindred soul, then.

  Brian took the highway exit towards Cactus Creek in silence. He was accustomed to the larger than life, bubbly Tessa. This quiet, sad side of her tugged at his heart. While also captivating him all the more.

  “Isaac and I met in a grief group,” she revealed in the silence. “He lost his younger brother around when I lost Willow. We became friends right off the bat. We’re not the talk-all-the-time sort of friends like you and Abby are, but if ever I get a call from a bartender, I always go running.”

  Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.

  They pulled into the parking lot of the rustic bar and she hopped ou
t before he even shifted into park. “I got it from here, Brian. Thanks for driving me. I’ll call you sometime this week so we can talk about the whole HD testing thing some more. Sorry we didn’t get to—” She frowned and backed up when he got out of the car. “What are you doing? You can head home. I promise, I’ve got it from here.”

  Yeah, like he was really going to let her go into a biker bar alone. The fact that she looked so damned surprised that he wasn’t leaving her there shot another dart into his chest. “Come on, let’s go get your friend.”

  With a resigned shrug, she turned and just headed on in. As if her serene smile, Smurfs t-shirt, and frayed denim skirt over backless sneakers weren’t the most misplaced thing in the joint.

  She was driving him nuts.

  As she headed for the bar, the tatted-up bartender looked up, one eyebrow raised. “I take it you’re ‘If I’m Drunk Off My Ass?’” His glance swept over her up and down, and Brian felt his hackles rise.

  “Damn, you are as sweet and delicate as you sounded on the phone. I was hoping, but at the same time not. You do know that Isaac rode his Harley down here, right?”

  “The V-Rod is his usual bar-going ride of choice,” she replied matter-of-factly, scanning the room for her friend and finding him in the corner, all but passed out.

  “Alright,” said the bartender, shaking his head and handing her Isaac’s phone, but holding onto his keys. “I don’t normally allow this but I can lock his bike up in the back for you until tomorrow afternoon.”

  She gave him a surprised smile—damn near lighting up the whole room in the process—and scooped Isaac’s keys from his hands. “Thank you but I got this. I can ride. Plus, that’s Isaac’s brother’s bike. I can’t let it out of my sight.”

  A measured pause, and then, “Is that the brother he’s been talking about all night?”

  She nodded.

  The bartender gave a quiet look of sympathy. “Okay then. You sure you can handle it? That’s a lot of bike.”

 

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