When You Knew

by Jamie Beck

  Chapter Seventeen

  Juggle

  According to Merriam-Webster: to handle or deal with usually several things (such as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements

  According to me: an evening with Ian and Smith

  At six in the morning, Gentry sat on the living room floor, finishing a collage she’d worked on the previous night for Smith. The evening had gone as well as she could have hoped, allowing her worry to fade like a dream at dawn.

  Smith might’ve stayed into the night to give them a chance to learn more about each other and discuss parenting, but she’d sent him to the B&B after putting Colt to sleep. Had she known Ian would not return, she might not have shooed Smith away so early.

  Ian’s absence nettled, like a pebble in a shoe. His cryptic late-night text—Don’t wait up—hadn’t helped, either. She’d distracted herself by working on the ChariTea campaign and printing out a bunch of photos of Colt to make the collage for Smith.

  By midnight she’d given up her vigil.

  She needs me, he’d said of Farrah. Lying awake for most of the wee hours, Gentry had concocted forty-three potential explanations for why he never returned.

  She certainly didn’t hope for one involving an Uber accident. She preferred options that involved his mother, or happening upon another emergency and offering help, or Farrah tying him up and stealing his phone so he couldn’t leave. But regardless of the varied and strained explanations she’d dreamed up, deep down she couldn’t escape the most obvious one—he’d spent the night with his ex.

  Total dick move, but also not wholly unexpected. Those two had been engaged until recently. Maybe old feelings resurfaced.

  She’d wanted to believe that what had happened between Ian and her last weekend had meant something. Everything. Or, at least, a lot. He’d said so, and she’d thought him sincere. It’d been a long, long time since she’d been taken for a fool, and she didn’t like the feeling.

  She lumbered into the kitchen, dragging a week’s worth of sleeplessness with her. Although not particularly hungry, she scanned the refrigerator’s contents. Almond milk, pineapple yogurt, strawberries—all Ian’s favorites. She opted for the yogurt, collapsed onto a kitchen stool, and stabbed her spoon into the cupful of lumpy protein.

  While licking the spoon after her third bite, she heard the front door open and click shut. Ian’s soft shuffle into the condo made her stomach flip.

  She slid off the stool and stormed into the living area, catching him by surprise. “Look who decided to come back.”

  He stood there—hair matted on the left side of his head, rumpled shorts and shirt—staring at her. The deep lines around his mouth and between his brows revealed his exhaustion and no small amount of resignation. Contrition hovered around him like mist on the lake.

  Her own emotions—rage, rejection, betrayal—pulsed through her in alternating bursts. Pressure continued to build inside, and if she wasn’t careful, pain would explode out of her.

  From the age of ten, she’d committed herself to never feeling this way. Obsessed. Possessive. Rejected. Hurt. It surely said something about her—something not at all good—that she’d broken her rule for the man least willing or likely to return her feelings.

  “Good morning.” He approached her, but she retreated.

  She swallowed hard, tempted to pretend Smith was asleep in her room. Not long ago, that was exactly what she would’ve done right before sending Ian packing. “For some, maybe.”

  “Don’t say that. I didn’t sleep with Farrah. Not the way you think.”

  Whatever that meant. “Even if that’s true, you bailed on me.”

  “I had to see her.” He pulled an engagement ring out of his pocket, held it up as some kind of exculpatory evidence, and set it on the entry table.

  Gentry pulled her thumbnail away from her mouth. “Why now?”

  “Until several weeks ago, we were planning a life together, Gentry. It ended abruptly. There were things to say and sort out. She’s hurting.”

  “She wants you back?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze went to the engagement ring on the entry table. “And you said no?”

  “I did. I felt like shit, with her sobbing all over my shirt, and me knowing I’ve moved on without much heartache at all.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I couldn’t leave her alone like that, so I stayed. When she finally fell asleep, I spent the rest of the night in self-reflection, most of which made me feel worse.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Because of me.” Ian closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Because I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes, or hurt anyone else.” He glanced at the collage project on the floor. “You and Smith hit it off.”

  “He makes it easy, but I sent him home early so you and I could talk. Little did I know I’d be waiting in vain.”

  He reached for her hands, searching her gaze. “You don’t like waiting.”

  His touch settled her for the first time in ten hours. “Patience isn’t one of my virtues . . . if I have any at all.”

  He squeezed her hands. “I did a lot of thinking last night. As much as I care for you and Colt, I also care about my plans with Archer. Any relationship with me will require a lot of waiting around.”

  “Not if I give you incentive to return often.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. He responded like fire, but she could feel his fatigue, and hers. Ian cupped her face with his hands and touched his forehead to hers. She released a sigh. “I’m spending the afternoon with Smith and Colt. My family’s joining us all for dinner here.”

  He eased away. “Oh.”

  “Would you like to join us?”

  “I don’t know if that’s best.” He yawned again.

  “You might feel differently once you’ve slept.” She motioned toward the stairs and watched him lumber up to his room. When she heard his bedroom door click shut, she turned. Sunlight sparkled off the small diamond ring he’d abandoned on the entry table.

  She crossed to it, sneaking a peek over her shoulder before lifting it up for inspection. A half carat or so. Classic round cut in a white-gold setting.

  Without thinking, she slipped it on her finger and held out her hand, imagining how it might feel to have someone—have him—make her that promise. Her ring finger tingled with warmth as she pictured Ian sliding something similar on her hand. She got so lost in her daydream that she didn’t hear him come back down the steps until he cleared his throat.

  “Oh!” She jumped, clutching her hand to her chest. “I thought you went to lie down.”

  “I did, but then I remembered the ring. I want to put it someplace safe until I can sell it.” He stared at her finger. “Not exactly the place I had in mind, although it looks pretty on your hand.”

  She guessed her face must look like a maraschino cherry. Grimacing, she tugged at the ring, but it wouldn’t clear her knuckle. “Sorry!”

  He clasped her wrist and laid her hand on his, looking at the ring, then looking at her. His green eyes looked translucent in the light coming through the windows. “Let me.”

  He drew her hand up to his mouth and sucked the length of her ring finger to wet it, then twisted the ring loose and tucked it in his pocket.

  “I’ll miss you.” The words fell from her lips.

  “And I you.” He stared at her. She couldn’t tell if the intensity of his gaze was because he had too many or too few things to say.

  “I wish . . .” What? That they’d met under different circumstances, sure. But she didn’t wish away Smith and Colt, because Colt gave her life more meaning and purpose than anything or anyone.

  He kissed her again. “We’ll talk later, when my head’s clearer.”

  She watched him go upstairs, and then wandered into the living room. She studied the collage, staring at father and son. Smith would be part of Colt’s life no matter what Gentry decided. Would pursuing Ian make her a bad mother? Or did she
owe Colt a chance at having the stability of two parents under one roof?

  When Smith entered Gentry’s condo that evening, all conversation stopped, with the exception of Ty’s “vrooming” his truck along the floor and Colt’s whimpering. Those two didn’t know who Smith was and, at this point, didn’t much care. Ian wished he could say the same. He came to this awkward affair hopeful he’d learn something to help him make the right decision.

  The only person—besides the children—who didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable was Smith.

  “Welcome.” Gentry kissed Smith on the cheek.

  He handed her a bottle of wine. “Didn’t want to arrive empty-handed.”

  Ian didn’t know much about wine, but given Smith’s profession and the rich look of the gold-and-maroon label, it had to be expensive.

  “2007 Valentini Trebbiano d’Abruzzo.” Gentry grinned at Smith. “I hope this goes with pizza.”

  Smith laughed as if she’d been joking. When she didn’t smile, his brows rose. “Oh, you’re serious.”

  “Hell yeah, I’m serious. My cooking skills are limited to reheats and cereal. If you want fine food with this wine, we’ll need to order from Alec.”

  Jenna groaned quietly, but Smith didn’t appear to have heard her.

  “Pizza’s fine.” Smith surveyed the room. “Is Alec coming?”

  “No, he and Colby are working tonight,” Gentry said. “Don’t worry, though. My sister won’t wait too long to meet you.”

  She then turned to face her family, all of whom literally sat on the edge of their seats, awaiting an introduction. Hunter’s laser-sharp focus blazed from behind his glasses. Sara smiled warmly. Jed cleared his throat, and Jenna maintained a polite smile. The awkward scene would be perfect for another Meet the Parents sequel.

  “Everyone, this is Smith. Peter Smith. Smith, this is my dad, Jed; my mom, Jenna; my brother, Hunter; and his wife, Sara. That’s their son, Ty. And you’ve met Ian.” Gentry’s dad stood to shake hands with the man who’d screwed his daughter without even knowing her name. Ian doubted he could be so cool in either man’s shoes. “While you all say hello, I’ll go open this bottle. I’m sure everyone could use a hearty glass of wine.”

  Gentry ducked into the kitchen, leaving Smith to fend for himself. Jenna took advantage of Gentry’s absence and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit here, Smith. Tell me what you think of our little Colt.”

  Jenna certainly treated Smith with more interest than she ever had Ian. He had to hand it to her, though. She wasted no time setting up the chessboard on which she planned to strategize her plan for Gentry to secure full custody. Would Smith be a pawn or a player?

  Smith picked Colt up out of the playpen and then complied with Jenna’s request. “I’m blown away by my son.”

  Those last two words landed like a punch to Ian’s gut. After weeks of being responsible for Colt’s well-being, Ian disliked his diminished role.

  Gentry returned to the living room, balancing a tray with seven glasses and a full decanter. She set it on the ottoman and flashed a pretty smile at Smith. “This smells amazing.”

  “Good nose. That’s a blend of lemon curd, Bosc pear, and hints of smoke. And the texture is fantastic.” Smith poured glasses for everyone, swirled his own, dipped his nose inside the rim, and inhaled deeply.

  Ian struggled not to roll his eyes.

  Gentry downed a good chug. “Nice.”

  Smith laughed, which surprised Ian. He supposed he should be glad that Colt’s father wasn’t completely pompous, but Gentry’s responding smile made it hard not to hate Smith. Jenna, on the other hand, splayed her hand on her chest, eyes wide with horror at her daughter’s behavior.

  Jenna turned to Smith. “I’ve done a little reading up on your profession. Master Sommelier. That takes a lot of discipline.”

  “It’s pretty intense,” Smith replied.

  Kidnappings, cholera, earthquakes . . . those things were intense. Studying wine seemed easy in comparison. Ian’s expression must’ve shouted his thoughts, because Gentry muttered, “McJ.”

  “You must be passionate about it.” Jenna smiled as if she was his proud mother. Ian had never seen her treat Gentry so respectfully, and that made him scowl.

  “Can’t imagine enjoying any other job as well.” Smith bounced Colt on his lap.

  “Even with the long, late hours?” Jenna sipped her wine, acting like she gave two figs about Smith’s job.

  “Mm-hm,” he replied.

  “I imagine there’s a lot of travel, too.” Jenna tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned in, utterly fascinated by him and his career. Ian could’ve barfed in his mouth.

  Smith lapped up the attention. “That’s the best part, especially the trips to Europe.”

  “Must be exciting.” Jenna lightly touched his arm, giddy.

  “And fun.”

  “Sounds almost perfect.” Jenna’s head then tipped left, over a slight shrug of that shoulder. “Of course, all those hours and travel will make it difficult to keep Colt for any stretch of time, won’t it?”

  Boom! Ian hadn’t seen that one coming, and he felt the corners of his mouth pull upward in response. Well played, Mrs. Cabot. Well played. The room seemed to brighten.

  But Smith was neither naive nor an idiot. If anything, he appeared to enjoy this game. “Gentry and I will work those things out. Maybe they’ll join me on a trip or two. Nothing like travel to educate a child. We can go anywhere and show our boy his roots.”

  Smith had done the impossible—he’d flabbergasted Jenna into silence. He winked at Gentry, who laughed. Ian, however, didn’t laugh. If Gentry wanted Colt to see the world, he’d rather they travel with him so Colt would see the realities, not the resorts.

  Her father interjected, “It’s good to love your work. Jenna, Hunter, and I certainly do.” As an afterthought, he added, “And Gentry, too.”

  Ian watched Gentry suppress the sting of that lag, although, in truth, Gentry didn’t love CTC. She loved her family. Did they get that yet?

  Smith nodded. “It’s nice that your whole family works together.”

  “Not the whole family,” Hunter added. “Colby’s on her own, with minimal input from us. I understand you know Alec.”

  “Not well. He was a couple of years ahead of me and really focused. Obviously, he went on to do great things. I hope to get to know him better now.”

  “You’ll have to stop by A CertainTea and say hello.” Jenna sipped her wine. “Perhaps one day you could work for them so you can be closer to Colt.”

  “I suppose anything’s possible, Jenna.” Smith shot Gentry an inscrutable look.

  Ian had never seen her at a loss for words, but her father stepped up to rescue her from the awkward moment. “How did your folks take the news? Must’ve been a shock.”

  “Yes.” Smith’s wide smile dimmed. “My mom died years ago, but my dad and sister had a lot of questions. Can’t say they were thrilled by the circumstances—I suspect neither were you—but they’re eager to meet my son.”

  “The situation’s not exactly conventional.” Hunter’s tone had a bit more bite than the wine.

  “The best things in life rarely are.” Smith smiled.

  Gentry’s eyes lit with appreciation for that sentiment, proving a certain compatibility with her son’s father. She also seemed to admire the fact that her family didn’t intimidate him.

  Meanwhile, Ian stood on the fringe of the group, arms crossed, fingers nearly white from their death grip on his elbows. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Before anyone else spoke, the doorbell rang.

  “Must be the pizza.” Gentry slid off the arm of the sofa and trotted to the door, returning with a stack of pizza boxes.

  Hunter gave her the thumbs-up. “I love Il Migliore’s pizza. What are our options?”

  “I got you sausage, cherry peppers, and mushroom.” Gentry set the boxes on the edge of the table.

  “My favorite!” He seemed both delighted and surprised that she
knew him so well. Ian didn’t understand why none of them seemed to notice how she always paid attention to those details.

  Sara helped Gentry spread out the boxes down the center of the dining table, where she’d already set out plates and flatware. Ian, however, couldn’t imagine shoving greasy pizza into his already-upset stomach.

  “I’ll get Colt settled to sleep.” Ian reached out for Colt. “Start without me.”

  “Let me.” Smith stood, still clutching his son.

  Gentry held her breath, her gaze silently asking Ian to concede.

  “Of course.” Ian dropped his arms to his sides.

  Smith rose from the sofa and started across the living room.

  “I’ll teach you the routine.” Gentry excused herself from the group and led Smith toward her room.

  Ian took a seat at the far end of the table, pretending to listen to her family’s whispered conversation—a general rubber stamp of approval. Meanwhile, Smith’s deep chuckle, big as the man himself, buzzed in Ian’s ear like a gnat. Gentry’s gentle laughter followed. Those two were like pigs in a blanket already.

  Ian should be glad for her and Colt. It should also make his decision easier.

  It didn’t.

  When the proud parents returned from Gentry’s room, Smith’s face glowed. The man wasn’t bitter or trapped or angry. He seemed excited, or at least bemused, by the idea of being Colt’s dad. And by getting closer to Gentry. Ian had never been a jealous man, but whenever he thought about how Colt came to be, it burned deep inside.

  “Ian, Gentry tells me you’re a do-gooder.” Smith chomped a bite of pizza, grease from the cheese dribbling down his chin. “Must have a lot of stories.”

  “Most don’t make for pleasant dinner conversation.” Ian reached for his water, remembering a little too late to smile politely.

  “When are you leaving?” Jenna asked.

  He stifled a snort at the transparent remark. “Not sure.”

  “But soon, right? Now that Colt is well, you must be eager to get on with your plans.” Jenna ate her pizza with a knife and fork. That bugged him, even though it was of no consequence.