by Katie Cross
He was the last person in the world I should have told about Dad, though no stress accompanied the thought that he knew part of my secret life.
Only part of it.
A flash of a memory skipped through my mind. Mama applying bright-red lipstick while she leaned over the sink, inspecting her pores in the mirror. She wore a skintight black dress and strappy heels, and her hair was still in curlers. She laughed while Ellie played on the floor at her feet.
“Don’t settle, baby girl.” Mama stared me right in the eye. “Hold onto those dreams of a great romance, because they’re real. You give so much away when you love. If you settle like I did, you’re in a world of hurt. Make him romance you, not bed you. There’s a difference. That difference will change your life.”
With a shudder, I snapped out of it.
Where had that come from? Make him romance you. Mama’s voice rang in my head so clearly I couldn’t dispute it. That day had ended in a bruised cheek for her. I’d spent the next day in my room alone.
The memory cleared as I thought back to Tyler. Then JJ.
It was just one date, JJ had said, and he was right. The date didn’t mean anything about love. It simply meant that that wasn’t actually my idea of romance. The alpha-billionaire thing didn’t do much for me.
The plastic of my love binder was cold when I pulled it out from under the bed. I flipped past tabs and graph paper, and recorded the point I’d awarded to JJ. He’d won it. I scribbled a few observations, then shut the binder and shoved it back under the bed.
Time to pick myself up and keep going.
Filled with new resolve, I drew in a breath, pushed my hair out of my eyes, and marched back to the office. An empty room greeted me. JJ must have left, because I couldn’t hear him shuffling around upstairs.
A note on my laptop drew me forward. A piece of paper sat on top of what appeared to be a homemade pastry. I picked up the note with a trembling hand.
Don’t worry, you won’t have to scan and file this paper. I’m sorry about your date and formally reject that point. You still have a lot to prove on behalf of romance, but this experience doesn’t count.
Have a homemade croissant. Carbs always make me happy.
Also, that was his loss. You’re amazing, Lizbeth.
JJ
Later that afternoon, I pulled a few sticky hooks out of a shopping bag and crept over to the single sink. The hottest the water got was warm, and dishes were perennially piled at the bottom. I quickly peeled off the backs of the hooks and hung them in a zigzag pattern on the wall over the sink. Then I rooted through the cupboard and hung the Baileys’ favorite coffee mugs. The tiny reorganization cleared up space and added a splash of much-needed color.
With a contented sigh, I appraised my work and then shuffled into the spare bedroom. Mark wanted to burn all these papers in a bonfire after they were confirmed as recorded, so I needed another box to hold the rest of the processed pages.
JJ hadn’t returned since my outburst, so I’d enjoyed solitude and the music of Andrea and Matteo Bocelli. In the quiet, I’d dusted the fireplace and tucked a few functional pieces of decor from the Antique Barn on top of the mantel. Nothing too obvious. An old, rusted crampon from the early 1900s that reminded me of JJ, and an oil lamp that I used as a bookend for some of JJ’s mountaineering books. Plus a drawer organizer in Mark’s desk and a desktop organizer behind his computer. I’d cleaned out two drawers just by sorting his oddities.
The office door closed, breaking through my thoughts. Someone shuffled inside and set down car keys with a light jangle. Not Mark. He made a lot more noise than that. JJ moved more like a cat.
“Whoa. Who’s reading romance books?”
The astonished female voice carried into the spare bedroom. My hand froze on a box, and I lifted my head. A woman?
I stepped out of the room to find a thin but strong, dark-haired woman in the kitchenette. Crinkles lined her eyes. Kelly, the Bailey boys’ mother. I could see Mark in her face, and JJ in her eyes.
On seeing me, her eyes widened. She tilted her head and held my favorite romance book up a little higher. I must have left it in the kitchen at lunch.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I smiled and carted a box out. “I’m Lizbeth.”
“I recognize you. You work at the coffee shop. Or . . . did.” She grimaced. “Heard about that. So sorry. What a darling place that was.”
“Thanks.”
Her head cocked to the side. “Are JJ and Mark here?”
“Mark is in town closing a real estate deal, and I’m not sure where JJ went. He left hours ago.”
She nodded, studying me. “And you are doing . . .”
“Work for Mark. Trying to get his paperwork under control.” With a little shrug, I gestured to the box in my arms and then at the boxes of papers near the desk.
“Brave girl,” she cried, chuckling. “Need some help?”
“Sure, thanks! I’m just carting these outside. Mark said he wanted all the boxes left by the woodpile so he could burn the paperwork when it’s done.”
She tilted her head back and laughed. “That’s definitely my oldest son. Arsonist to the core. I’d love to help. Just show me which ones to move.”
It took us ten minutes to lug the four boxes to the designated spot. Which left four more to scan and organize. Thankfully, the burn pile wasn’t too far from the main lodge, and Justin had dug a path to it. Atticus trotted up to us, panting in the crisp air. The distant sound of a saw meant Justin was around somewhere.
Movement and sound came from the main kitchen, and I thought I glimpsed JJ inside. After my outburst this morning, I was grateful for some distance.
I dropped the last box and kicked it the final few feet through the snow. Supposedly, Justin would come burn it when Mark returned. Something about a bonfire and s’mores and an offering to the snow gods.
Kelly turned toward the kitchen, then beckoned me with a wave. “My nose detects something in there. Let’s go check it out.”
I had to admit I was hungry. I’d fended for myself for lunch, and I’d really only been able to find Froot Loops in the bachelor pad kitchenette.
I followed behind her, both eager and a little nervous. Curiosity pushed me forward. JJ’s culinary creations seemed to just appear. What did it look like when he made them happen? Did he frown when he concentrated? Jabber nervously, like Mark? Somehow, I pictured him utterly quiet and focused.
Kelly knocked on a side door, but let us inside before JJ could respond. Warmth rushed out of the kitchen and over my skin. In the fading afternoon light, I welcomed it. A fierce chill had settled as the sun sank behind the mountain.
JJ looked up as we stepped inside. With his hair pulled away from his face and his shoulders broad beneath a long-sleeved T-shirt, he reminded me of a Nordic god. A Nordic god wearing a flour-covered apron. I almost swore under my breath. Sometimes it hurt to look at him.
Half a breath seemed to pass before he grinned at his mom. In that span, I saw hesitation. Maybe a flash of anger. It disappeared so quickly that I couldn’t be sure.
Odd.
Kelly didn’t seem to notice. She wrapped her arms around her son and squeezed him tight. Was it weird to feel jealous of a mom?
“Please tell me you’re fixing something delicious,” she said as she released him.
“Brioche.”
He leaned against a counter, shoulders drawn tight against his shirt, and I almost swallowed my tongue. Instead, I focused on the mess of dough in the mixer. Only JJ could break hearts while wearing flour.
“Fancy,” she sang. “What’s the occasion?”
“Love a challenge.”
He didn’t quite meet her eyes as he said it. Instead, he gave me a smile that spoke worlds of reassurance. Did I imagine extra warmth in there?
Was I losing my mind?
“Hey, Liz.”
My insides melted. “Hey.”
He kept his gaze on me for a breath longer. It threw m
e off orbit, like he had his own gravity.
“Any chance we can try some?” Kelly asked as she clapped her hands together. He looked away from me and motioned to a counter behind him with a tilt of his head. A perfectly browned loaf of bread sitting there made my mouth water.
“Just finishing this final mix for this batch,” he said. “Then we can try that one out while this one rises.”
Minutes later, JJ finished his prep and set the lump of dough in the fridge to rise overnight. A ringing silence filled the kitchen. We sat on the floor with our backs to the counter while JJ split the loaf into three chunks and passed them around. The still-warm, buttery bread melted on my tongue. I fought a groan. Kelly didn’t.
“You are my favorite son.”
He laughed, but I heard an edge in it. “Thanks.”
Snow fluttered past the window. I watched it, enjoying the delicious bread. Like everything with JJ, even the quiet felt easy and calm. He broke my concentration with a most unexpected question.
“Mom, do you read romance?”
My head snapped up. A twinkle filled JJ’s eyes as he winked at me.
Kelly licked her thumb as she finished her bread. “Sure. It’s been a few years, but I remember diving into it while you were in high school.”
“What’s your favorite kind?”
She frowned. “Are there different kinds?”
So. Many. I wanted to blurt out. In fear of listing every subcategory of romantic fiction out there, I shoved another bite of brioche into my mouth.
JJ’s smile twitched. “Apparently there is,” he said. “I’m partial to contemporary romance so far, myself.”
I almost choked. Kelly reached over and slapped me on the back as I coughed. JJ rolled his lips together.
“Sorry,” I wheezed. “I’m good.”
“You’re reading romance?” Kelly asked JJ.
“Had a friend suggest it as a life-changing experience. Thought I’d give it a try.”
Kelly brushed a few crumbs off her legs. “I’m surprised.”
“Why?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Wasn’t Stacey big into the romance scene? Thought she turned you off from it.”
He stiffened as flat as a board. I pretended there was a string on my knee to avoid staring as he floundered for a response.
Who was Stacey?
Kelly, seeming to realize she’d overstepped, said, “Well? What do you think of these romance books?”
Yes, I added silently. What do you think, JJ?
JJ acted like he didn’t notice my intense interest as he recovered from his mom’s question.
Had he actually been reading romance novels, or was he kidding? That would have required him to go into town and buy some. Or borrow from the library. I pictured him in the fiction aisle, perusing cheap romance novels, and almost choked again.
This time from laughter.
In the back of my mind, I silently congratulated him. Well played. He was likely reading them to get ammunition against me—but it might have the opposite effect.
Romance novels had pulled me through the hardest time of my life. I could turn my brain off and journey somewhere else. Could forget just how miserable reality had become. They were the reason I didn’t give up. The idea of romance coming to even the most normal women made me hang on.
Stick it out.
Mama hadn’t had a lick of romance in her life, and neither had Dad. But Maverick and Bethany? Spades of it. Every day I saw it in their weird glances, their poor attempts at hiding their affection, the constant excuses they invented to touch each other.
Romance for the win.
Maybe JJ would see that.
My attention landed on a stack of at least ten books tucked near the massive fridge. The spines were pointed toward me, and I skimmed the titles. Every single one was a romance. And I’d read all of them.
“Medieval is interesting,” he said conversationally, as if the awkward moment hadn’t happened. “Did romance exist back then?”
“Was there a God in the Middle Ages?” I quipped right back, unable to help myself.
Kelly’s brow furrowed. “Does God have something to do with romance?”
JJ grinned so wide, and with such real delight, I almost couldn’t be upset. “I don’t think God would like being compared to romance,” he said. “And yes, God definitely existed in the belief structure of the Middle Ages.”
“To some it’s the highest compliment,” I said imperiously. Then I turned to Kelly. “He’s teasing me, that’s all. I’m the one who suggested he try reading romance.”
“It’s not teasing,” he countered. “It’s a debate on the benefits of romance. She made a few arguments I hadn’t heard before. I countered. It’s . . . an ongoing discussion.”
“You’re not trying to talk me out of it?” I asked.
“That’s not my intent.”
“Then what is?”
He spread his hands. “Discussion. If romance serves you, great. I’m happy for you. I’m just fascinated by your belief in it.”
Kelly’s eyes widened. She glanced between us and chewed slowly, nodding. Her eyes moved like a machine—I wished I knew what she was thinking.
“So, what is romantic about the medieval time period?” JJ asked. He pulled a muscular leg up and rested his arm on it. “They never married for love. They married out of necessity back then.”
“Never is a strong word,” I countered. “Can you prove that?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I can prove that they married for practical reasons.”
“Can you prove there was no romance or love between them?”
“Ah . . . no.”
Smug, I folded my arms across my chest.
But he leaned forward, not ready to concede. “Can you prove it did exist as you understand it today?”
I scowled. He laughed. Kelly watched.
“You never answered my question,” he pointed out. “How can the Middle Ages be romantic? That time period was notoriously dark and brutal. I imagine most people spent their time eking out a life and trying to get enough to eat.”
Like a dog with a bone, he’d never let this go. Better to just get it out and over with. Then I could just appreciate the delicious picture of him reading one of my favorite romances. My curious, traitorous mind begged me to ask him for a real summary of them.
I drew in a deep breath and said, “It’s the dresses and the castles, thank you very much.”
If possible, his expression grew more amused.
“What?”
“Castles! It’s fun to read about a girl living in a stone castle and wearing . . . fun dresses we don’t wear anymore. Plus, everything was more dangerous then.” I paused, then mumbled, “Women needed to be saved.”
Kelly, my modern saving grace, nodded. “I second that.” She raised a hand. “It’s fun to imagine the dresses and castles.”
JJ held up two hands, as if conceding a point. “Fair enough. So it’s really just about escapism. You want to picture yourself as someone else, doing something else.”
“Yes.”
His eyes met mine. “I get that. It’s what climbing does for me.”
With that, he stood. The intensity of his expression wouldn’t leave me anytime soon. Nor would the fact that he didn’t challenge me. He didn’t use my heartbreak to prove his own point.
He really did just want to discuss it.
After I finished my pillowy, buttery brioche, I said a quick goodbye to give JJ and Kelly family time. But I felt a little empty as I left the warmth of the kitchen, and I desperately wished JJ was at my side.
It really was kind of fun talking romance with him.
20
JJ
Darkness coated the world in shadows by the time Mom stopped talking about her new position at work. It would have felt cozy if my mind wasn’t spinning so much.
Why was Mom here?
“Enough about me.” She jumped onto the counter and plucked
off another thin sliver of brioche. “You’ve got something new going on, don’t you?”
I lifted one eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
She gestured around us. “Brioche bread. There was a tart in the fridge when I pulled it open. Half of a croissant left on Lizbeth’s plate in the house. I happen to know none of that was purchased. So, what’s going on?”
My plan wasn’t really mine to reveal. I was a small cog in a greater machine, just the way I liked it.
“Baking is a fun challenge. I’m trying it out.”
“You’re a very intelligent man, JJ. You’re calculated. You only take a risk if it’s one you know you can tackle. It’s why you’re so good at climbing, and also why you keep Mark in check. So, what is it?”
I blew out a long breath. “I do have something in the works. I can’t give details yet, but it would satisfy my . . . need to move on to something new without actually leaving.”
Her expression softened. “You’re trying to stay, aren’t you?”
Stability wasn’t a forte of Mark and me. We’d spent so many years bumming around because it felt good. The freedom of that life was exhilarating. But it was also wearying. Made it difficult to stay stable. I missed the mountains, Meg, and my parents deeply at times. At thirty years old, it was time to try something new.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
Her smile seemed at once mysterious and wise. “It’s hard, but there are some amazing advantages to staying in the same place for more than ten seconds. Well, I trust you to tell me in your time. But if not that, at least tell me what’s going on with you and Lizbeth.”
The explanation I’d rehearsed while Mom had been speaking turned to mere letters in my brain. I couldn’t put them into sentences that made sense anymore. She’s working for Mark as a friend was true but misleading. It was more than that, and I wanted to be wholly honest with her.
The way they hadn’t been with me.
“I don’t know.”
