by Meg Maxwell
Unless he just didn’t return her feelings. Maybe she was giving herself too much credit, thinking he loved her deep down when he didn’t.
But she knew he loved her. She felt it every time he looked at her. It was in how he spoke to her, his expression, the way he brought her coffee just the way she liked it, how he’d helped her aunt, driving all the way to Houston and back. The man loved her!
Right?
She’d moped for a good five minutes, then had gone into her mother’s fortune-telling parlor, hoping to soak up some truths in the air, but all she felt was her own truth—that she loved Carson.
She was almost at the food truck when her cell phone rang.
Carson. “I spoke to Jake Morrow this morning. He said he changed his mind about making contact with his birth mother or twin brother and hung up.”
She stopped in her tracks. Oh, no. “Carson, now what? That’ll break Aunt Sarah’s heart.”
“Let’s talk it through. Can you stop by this morning? I’ve got Danny with me.”
So she could break her own heart even more? “I’ll be right there.”
She headed back home and got in her car and drove over to Carson’s. He and Danny were waiting for her on the porch, Danny holding his yellow monkey in one hand and a cheese stick in the other.
“Hi, Liva!” Danny said.
She tapped his nose. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Come on in,” Carson said. “Danny, want to build Olivia a tower of blocks?”
“Yes!” Danny said and went running for his play area in the family room.
Olivia followed Carson into the kitchen, sending Danny a smile as he worked on his tower. He handed her a mug of coffee—just the way she liked it, of course.
He sipped his own coffee as they headed into the family room and sat down on the plush sofa. “I think your aunt should write Jake Morrow a letter and send it to his home. Explain herself, in her own words, anything she’d like to say. At least she’ll be a real person rather than an idea in Jake’s mind. What do think?”
“It’s a good idea. Plus, it’ll give her something proactive to do. It’s been five years since Jake sent that letter—with no contact from his birth mother. I think Sarah will understand that he might have been put off by that. I’ll talk to her.”
Carson’s cell phone rang. “Maybe Jake Morrow calling back? Changed his mind, perhaps.”
Hope blossomed in Olivia’s chest. “You answer your calls. I’ll play with Danny.”
Carson headed into his office to answer the phone, and Olivia went to Danny’s play area.
Danny stood in front of his tower of big blocks, almost as high as he was. “Meatball,” he said, giggling and pointing at the top block.
“To put on top? All covered with cheese?” Olivia said, ticking the little goofball.
Danny laughed. “Top ’getti,” he sang, then doubled over in laughter.
Olivia scooped up Danny into a hug, smelling his baby shampoo–scented head. She never wanted to let him go.
She loved this little boy. And she loved the man down the hall.
And she was going to fight for them.
“Danny, I’m going to put you in your playpen for a few minutes with your talking panda while I talk to your daddy, okay?”
He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “’Kay.”
She picked up the sleepyhead and set him down in the playpen, giving him a kiss on the head, then marched into Carson’s office and shut the door.
“Was that Jake?” she asked.
“No. It was actually Joey Johnson letting me know his dad came to his Little League practice this morning and then took him out for breakfast and he had a great time.”
“Aww,” Olivia said. “I’m very glad.” She cleared her throat. “Danny’s in his playpen. I’m going to head home to talk to Sarah about writing that letter to Jacob. But before I go, I want to tell you something.”
He stared at her. “Okay,” he said, as though bracing himself. He stood up from his desk chair and leaned against the window.
“I want to speak my mind, Carson, because if I don’t, I’ll always wonder if telling you would have made a difference.”
“Tell me what?” he asked.
Do it. Tell him. She sucked in a deep breath. “That I love you. That I’m in love with you. I love you and I love Danny and I want us all to have a future.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Olivia. I...trusted in love once and it blew up on me. I can’t do this again. I’m very sorry.”
Not good enough, buster, sorry. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “And if you’d gone to see Madam Miranda and she told you I was your second great love? Then what?”
“Olivia. I never would have gone to see your mother for a reading of my fortune, so it’s a moot point.”
“But if you had. If she’d told you.”
“That we were destined for each other?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I don’t believe in that, Olivia. Reality is Jake Morrow hanging up in my ear. That’s life. There’s no guarantees about anything.”
“Carson,” she said.
“I think your aunt should write that letter,” he said, his tone making clear he was done with the conversation.
No. He was not dismissing her again. She knew this man loved her. She knew it in her heart, mind and soul. “Carson—”
He moved away from the window and came around the desk until he was standing just inches from her. “I wouldn’t need a crystal ball to tell me that we belong together, Olivia. I already know it. I feel it in every cell of my body. I feel it running through my veins. I feel it here all the time,” he said, pressing his hand over his heart.
She gasped. “But—”
“But I’m fighting it. I’ve been fighting it and I’ll keep fighting it. So that Danny and I never have to go through that kind of pain again. Weren’t you the one who said, Olivia, that people do all kinds of things even when they know the truth? You could be madly in love with me and destined to be with me and—”
He stopped and turned away.
“And what, Carson?” she asked gently.
“And I could lose you anyway. Destiny gives, destiny takes.”
“Carson, the only thing I can guarantee you is that I love you and your little boy with all my heart. But, yeah, life can pull some fast ones. I’d like you to be by my side when they happen.”
“Liva? Daddy?” a little voice said through the closed door.
“Danny’s calling,” he said, heading to the door. He seemed very relieved by the interruption. “I’m sorry, Olivia,” he added, turning to face her for a moment. He tilted his head. “I really am sorry. Let me know when your aunt sends the letter.”
Dammit, he was frustrating. How the hell was she going to get through to this man?
Chapter Fourteen
An entire week had passed since Carson had seen Olivia. He’d taken on two new cases, a complicated one for the Oak Creek police department involving a potential burglary suspect who’d skipped town, and the other for a middle-aged high school English teacher convinced that her husband was cheating on her, but wanted some kind of proof before she “did anything reckless.” Carson had always avoided the spying-on-spouses jobs, but he was in a bad mood this week and the client had caught him on his worst day, so he’d taken the case.
Yesterday he’d trailed the husband to an Italian restaurant in Tuckerville, where the fiftysomething man met a young woman who spent the next forty-five minutes giving him Italian lessons. Then he followed the man to a bookstore, where he purchased two travel guides to Rome and a birthday card with a cover that read “For my beautiful wife.” When the man took the card over to the little café area, Carson ordered a coffee and sat at the table b
eside him, glancing over as the man wrote inside the card—“My beloved Carla” and a bunch of romantic stuff—then put in what looked like boarding passes for an airline flight. Considering that Carson’s client’s name was Carla, Carson had figured he could call it a day. He’d called his client right away to inform her that he was one hundred percent sure her husband was not cheating. That night, the client texted him that Carson was right; her husband had just surprised her with a trip to Italy and even knew how to say a bunch of Italian phrases.
The whole thing had given Carson a headache. He hadn’t been expecting the case to turn out that way. Score one for love and marriage. Carson: zero.
His doorbell rang and for a moment his heart sped up when he thought it might be Olivia, but he’d done such a great job of pushing her away that he was sure it wasn’t her. Dammit, he missed her. The sight of her pretty face and crazy skirts and the sound of her voice and how soft her lips always looked, and the way she turned his head around, made him want to join the world instead of staying behind lock and key. But a week later, he’d stayed where he was, working, stewing, taking care of Danny and watching his father fall more and more deeply in love with Sarah Mack.
Though Sarah still insisted she wasn’t looking to get involved in a romance, she and Edmund had gotten together every day since the return from the adoption agency. Edmund had seen her through the first couple of days of heartache when Olivia had let her aunt know that Jake Morrow had changed his mind about contact. And Edmund had been there when she was ready to start writing the letter to Jake. According to his father, Sarah had spent days working on the letter, thinking about it, deleting it, rewriting it; and she and Edmund had taken long walks into the woods, Edmund silent by her side so she could think, his father simply a source of support, of friendship.
Last night, his father had called him at midnight to report that he’d asked Sarah if he could kiss her good-night after their date, and she’d finally said yes, and all the fireworks and clanging cymbals had made their noise. Edmund Ford was deeply in love.
Even if she breaks my heart, it was worth just feeling the way I do right now, his dad had said.
The fortune had come true. His father had found his predicted second great love and destiny had taken its course. How else could Carson look at it? Yesterday, he’d tried falling back on his preferred power-of-suggestion explanation. His dad had been told he’d feel a certain way about a certain someone, Sarah had made it all the more stakes worthy by being truly “hard to get,” and his dad had fallen hard.
Except that didn’t sound or feel right to Carson, either. What had happened between Edmund and Sarah was very real. And, yes, Carson had to admit, beautiful.
He still didn’t believe in the whole fortune thing, well, not completely, but it was staring him in the face every time he looked at his father, every time his father talked about Sarah. All Carson really knew for sure was that he was happy for his dad. Edmund Ford deserved all the love and happiness in the world.
Carson opened the door to find the man himself standing on the porch, holding an envelope.
“Sarah finally wrote the letter to Jake,” Edmund said. “She thought you might like to read it.”
Carson raised an eyebrow. “That’s all right. I’m sure it’s deeply personal.”
“Sarah wants to make sure you think she handled it just right,” his dad said. “You’ve been there with her throughout and have experience with hitting the right notes so that someone you’re seeking doesn’t run away. Drop it off at the post office when you’re done, will you?”
Edmund held out the letter, and Carson finally took it. “Give Danny a hug for me,” his father added as he headed to his car. “Remind him that Sarah and I are taking him to the town carnival at four.”
Carson nodded and watched his father walk away, the old skip in his step. The man exuded happiness. Honestly, he didn’t know how his dad could take it, handle it, deal with such a tentative relationship when he felt so strongly about Sarah. The woman was a bit fragile and could bolt at any time. She’d basically said as much from the get-go and, according to Edmund, reiterated that every day. And still, his father acted like all was well. Carson could never deal with that kind of uncertainty.
Uncertainty. Huh. It struck him how ironic that was. If only he could be sure that Olivia wouldn’t pull a fast one on him and Danny... Despite a complete lack of evidence that she ever would. Despite her telling him that she loved him. Was in love with him. Loved Danny. He still couldn’t...let go enough to let her in.
He closed the door and walked upstairs to Danny’s nursery to check on him. His son was sound asleep in his crib, clutching his yellow monkey. Carson went back downstairs to his office and sat behind his desk, wanting to read Sarah’s letter in an official capacity instead of a personal one. He was her PI, after all. This was business. Even if she was his father’s great love. And the aunt of the woman he refused to allow himself to love.
He slid the letter from the unsealed envelope. It was handwritten in black ink.
Dear Jake,
My name is Sarah Mack. When I was sixteen years old, I gave birth to fraternal twin boys on February 15, thirty-two years ago. I never saw you or your twin, I never had the opportunity to hold you. And although I tried very hard not to think of you both over the years in order to protect my heart, I thought about the two of you every day.
If you would like to meet, to ask questions, for closure, for anything I may able to tell you so that you can locate your twin, I would be happy to do that. I apologize for not availing myself to the registry five years ago when you first sought me out. I wasn’t ready then. But I am ready now.
One thing I’ve learned lately is that holding yourself back from your own happiness and well-being, especially because of fear or anger, hurts others just as much as it hurts ourselves.
Your birth mother, Sarah Mack.
It was a good letter, just right, Carson thought. But instead of putting it in the envelope and sealing it up to mail, he kept staring at that last line. Hurts others just as much as it hurts ourselves...
He hadn’t wanted to hurt Olivia.
And not only had he hurt her, but he’d also hurt Danny, who asked for “Liva” and the spaghetti song every day.
Joey Johnson’s tear-streaked face came to mind, the boy sitting in his car, scared to death over confronting his dad, with no idea if his father would reject him. Then Carson’s own dad’s words floated through his head. Even if she breaks my heart, it was worth just feeling the way I do right now.
But Carson didn’t want to feel the way he did right now: alone, heavyhearted, with one sixteenth of the bravery of his nine-year-old client. Even Sarah had come around by saying yes to a good-night kiss—choosing love over fear.
Carson sealed the envelope and when Danny’s sitter arrived, he headed out. He had a very important letter to mail. And then a very important errand to run. And finally, a very important woman to see.
* * *
Olivia handed her teary-eyed customer the tuna-melt po’boy with extra cucumbers that she’d ordered, and watched the woman sit down at a table. She took a bite. Then another. The another. She lifted her chin. Then ate another bite. She bit her lip, pulled out her phone and pressed in a number, then had a conversation Olivia couldn’t hear.
Suddenly, a guy came running down the street toward the food truck. The young woman stood and went running toward him like in a slow-motion TV commercial. The two embraced and walked off, hand in hand.
Ah, Olivia thought with a smile. A rueful smile, though, these days. If only my own ability worked on me. Or Carson. She wouldn’t want Carson to come into her life via any kind of magic other than the natural kind, but a little head start? She’d take it. A head start for Carson would come in the form of a tiny pickax to knock away at the armor.
As Olivia prepared to
day’s special po’boy, a good old-fashioned Italian, she noticed the three Hurley sisters coming up to the window. With them was a pretty brunette she didn’t recognize.
“Hi, Olivia!” Georgia called out, flipping her shiny brown hair behind her shoulders. Georgia was the eldest and baked for Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen.
“Got a second?” Annabel, the middle sister, asked. “We’d like to introduce you to our cousin and new part-time cook, Emma Hurley.”
Emma smiled and held up a hand at Olivia.
“Emma here is not only a whiz in the kitchen, but she’s proving herself to be a great baker, too,” Clementine, the youngest and a waitress, said.
Georgia nodded. “Yesterday Emma helped me make six apple pies—I was told they had the best crust ever.” Since Georgia was the baker for the restaurant, that was high praise. Olivia always loved how warm and welcoming and kind the Hurley sisters were; they never looked at people as competition, worrying that Olivia would start her own food truck and leave them in the lurch, or that great baker Emma would steal thunder from Georgia. Olivia owed the Hurleys a lot. She’d never forget how they’d given her a fresh start when she’d needed one. Olivia had come to really love the Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen food truck.
She came outside, the warm, breezy March air refreshing.
Emma extended her hand toward Olivia. “I really appreciate the job at Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. I’m new in town.”
Olivia shook the woman’s hand. Emma looked to be in her midtwenties with big blue eyes and soft, wavy golden-brown hair to her shoulders...and a secret, Olivia sensed. She had a good feeling about Emma, though.
