by Jamie Beck
Stef remained on the porch, tape measure retracting. “Molly, I haven’t even given you a bid.”
Molly waved. “Honey, I know you’ll be fair.”
Stef felt her brows rise. “Do you mind if I ask what’s the rush?”
Molly remained standing in the open doorway and cast Stef a peculiar look. “Ryan and Emmy are moving in. We’ll need the extra space sooner than later.”
“Ryan’s moving home?” A steady rush of heat rose from Stef’s toes to her head. Why would Ryan be moving in? And why hadn’t Molly mentioned Val?
Before Molly could expound, the front door slammed open, and a young girl’s voice called out, “Memaw, I smell cookies!”
Five seconds later, young Emmy Quinn raced into the kitchen and skidded to a halt.
Ryan tossed his keys on the walnut entry table and kicked off his flip-flops, keeping the damp, sandy beach towels slung over his shoulders. He didn’t relish moving in with his parents but couldn’t deny the comfort of coming home to fresh-baked cookies and his mom’s support. He needed help with Emmy now, and Emmy needed a stable, positive woman in her life.
“We’re home,” he called out, as if Emmy’s dash to the kitchen hadn’t already warned his mom of an oncoming storm. And Emmy was a storm these days—a raging sea of emotion that could turn from frothy giggles to waves of hysterics without notice. Val’s decision to run off with her new lover had done a real job on their daughter, leaving him and his family groping to fill the void.
He glanced at the unpacked boxes, sighed, and kept walking. Those could wait another thirty minutes. Sharing warm cookies with his daughter would be a better use of his time.
The transition from their eclectic suburb outside Boston to this tiny beach community wouldn’t be a cakewalk. Next week he would start his new job, and Emmy a new school, which was sure to bring another round of highs and lows while she struggled to make new friends. Between now and then, he hoped he and his parents could swaddle Emmy in some old-fashioned love and discipline. Something Val had never quite managed to provide.
He rounded the corner and spotted Emmy standing in her flamingo-pink swimsuit, brunette curls springy as ever as she tipped her head from side to side while staring out to the porch.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Ryan swiped a cookie for himself and took a giant bite.
“Who’s that?” Emmy pointed outside, past his mother, to a woman on the patio—to Steffi Lockwood?
He nearly dropped the cookie as his hand fell to his side. Why the hell was Steffi hanging out with his mother? Before he realized what was happening, he ended up standing in the middle of the patio. “What’s going on here?”
Those gruff words erupted, reopening wounds from the scarred part of his soul.
“What kind of greeting is that, Ryan?” his mom admonished, giving him “that look” she gave when she expected him to behave. “Emmy, this is Miss Lockwood, and she builds things. She’s going to turn this porch into a room for you to hang out in with your friends.”
Steffi fiddled with her tool belt, looking like she’d rather be anyplace other than in Ryan’s sight line. “Hi, Emmy. You can call me Stef.”
“Miss Lockwood is fine,” Ryan said without thinking. A quick glance at her ring finger suggested she’d never married. No surprise. Commitment hadn’t been her strong suit, and he didn’t need his daughter getting overly familiar with another woman who didn’t keep her promises.
“Hi.” Emmy gave Steffi a serious once-over, her gaze snagging on the tool belt before lingering on the black-and-turquoise work shoes. Quite a different look from Val and her friends, none of whom would be caught dead sporting overall shorts, a freshly scrubbed face, and a ponytail. Emmy then turned toward his mother. “Can we paint the room pink, Memaw?”
“I don’t think so, Pooh. But maybe your dad will paint your bedroom pink.” She smiled at Emmy, who bounced on her toes.
“Daddy, yes. Yes, yes, yes! The same pink room as my room at home.” Her big hazel eyes pleaded. If he dared say no, the waterworks would start.
Not that he had time to paint a picture, much less a bedroom. “We’ll see, princess.”
“Maybe Mommy will help.” Her hopeful smile shoved his heart through a meat grinder.
He wouldn’t discuss Val in front of Stef, so he said, “Let’s leave these two out here to finish their discussion.”
“Actually, hand me those dirty towels before you get sand everywhere.” His mother bundled the towels in preparation for her sprint to the laundry room. “I’ve already given Stefanie my thoughts. Why don’t you weigh in? I’m sure you have an opinion about space for a big-screen TV or some such.” She glided past him, patting his cheek on her way. “Emmy, come sit at the table and I’ll pour you some milk for those cookies.”
He thought to turn his back on Steffi, because even unpacking those moving boxes would be preferable to dealing with her. Then he decided he better not give her the satisfaction of seeing him agitated. That’d only give her the misimpression that she held sway over him, which she didn’t. She hadn’t in many years.
If memories of how she’d blown him off still nicked his heart like a razor blade, it was only because he might mourn the fact that the girl he’d cherished had turned into a bitch.
He widened his stance and crossed his arms, reminding himself to play it cool. “I’m shocked to see you here.”
“Yeah, well. I was surprised to get the call.”
“I’m sure you were.” He hated that she was here to witness the failure of his marriage. He tilted his head, the litigator in him coming to the fore. “What made you come? Morbid curiosity?”
“No.” She stood still, unflinching now. “I need the work. Claire and I just got our company off the ground. I can’t afford to say no to anyone.”
“That must be uncomfortable for you, given how much you like your freedom.” Damn. Guess he couldn’t keep his cool. The sarcasm constituted the first blow of an argument they should’ve had years ago. Now it’d be pointless. He should change the subject. “How is Claire?”
“She’s well.” Stef’s expression remained alert and somewhat wary.
“Is she? I’d heard about how Todd dumped her and ran off with Peyton.” He shook his head, disgusted. “So much for the Triple L’s infamous loyalty.”
Steffi, Claire, and Peyton had been inseparable—living up to their “Men Come and Go, but Friends Are Forever” motto—until last fall. He empathized with Claire’s pain from the duplicity, having been in her shoes himself more than once.
“Peyton didn’t set out to seduce Todd, and I know she feels horrible about hurting Claire.”
“Are you actually defending Peyton’s disloyalty?” Actually, that shouldn’t surprise him. He clenched his jaw and released it.
Steffi heaved a sigh. “I’m not happy about what’s happened, but Peyton didn’t get together with Todd until weeks after he left Claire.”
“Left Claire for Peyton,” Ryan reminded her.
“I love Peyton like a sister, so I’ll forgive her even though it’s hard. As for Todd, Claire is better off not to end up with someone who didn’t love her completely. When she realizes that and meets someone new, maybe she’ll forgive Peyton so we can all be friends again.”
“Don’t count on it.”
They stared at each other, their entire history now ringing in their ears at a pitch not audible to any other human. How naive of her to think that moving on erases the pain of lost love. Or perhaps that was what she told herself to erase her own guilt for how she’d treated him.
This pause gave him an opportunity to study her. The ponytail—reminiscent of her soccer days—suggested she still wore her chocolate-brown hair in a simple, long blunt style. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold and framed by heavy, dark brows, flashed her emotions like always.
She couldn’t claim any singularly beautiful feature, but taken all together, she nailed the athletic girl-next-door appeal. Those work shorts proved years of playin
g soccer and doing manual labor had kept her legs toned as ever, too.
She swallowed before clearing her throat. “Your mom wants the finished space to have lots of windows and a French door. That’s as far as we got.”
“Well, it’s her house, so I have no opinions.” He turned to leave before he did or said something even less kind.
“Ryan.”
Hearing her say his name stopped him for a second, but he didn’t turn around.
She sighed. “I think she wants this to be someplace you and your daughter can be comfortable, so if you want a big TV or whatever, I’d like to know so I can plan for it.”
He glanced over his shoulder. How many evenings had he and Steffi hung out here, candles lit, listening to rain on the roof while making out? Every spot in the whole damn house contained a shared memory, some better than others. There’d been a time when he would’ve bet nothing could’ve come between them. He’d considered himself the luckiest in love until she’d humbled him.
Between that and Val’s recent whopper, he’d taken a hard look at his judgment lately. “I won’t be here long enough for that to matter.”
He didn’t know how true that was, but he’d hoped he’d find his own place in six or so months. For now, he needed to conserve money to pay for his divorce. In his mind, Val didn’t deserve one cent of his hard-earned paycheck, especially not after leaving her daughter behind while she moved in with her sugar daddy. The court would probably disagree.
When Stef had left him, he’d cried and prayed and secretly hoped for a reconciliation. When Val bailed, he’d shed no tears. Instead, he put their house on the market the next day rather than waste emotional energy on a woman who didn’t want him. He’d found a new assistant public defender job in Hartford, and was moving in here to live rent-free until he had a better idea of what to expect. In the meantime, his mom wasn’t just the cheapest after-school day care around but also the most reliable.
“I’m sorry about your marriage . . . ,” Steffi sputtered.
She should be sorry. He wouldn’t have met Val if he hadn’t been on the rebound from Steffi’s head games. Granted, Val’s unplanned pregnancy at the end of senior year had pushed that relationship someplace it probably shouldn’t have gone, although he couldn’t regret having Emmy. His daughter gave him purpose and filled his life with immeasurable love. “My marriage is off-limits. I advise you to let it lie.”
“Noted, Counselor.” The sharp edge in her voice surprised him, so he faced her fully for another stare-down. Being a lawyer who regularly contended with criminals and cops made these kinds of contests too easy. She dropped her gaze, then looked up again. “Listen, it looks like I’ll be here working for a couple of months, so it’d be nice if we could get off on a better foot. Maybe we could even be friends.”
He snorted. “No, thanks. Friendship requires trust, and I don’t trust you. So you can go back to treating me exactly like you did in college. Pretend I don’t even exist. It gutted me back then, but now it suits me fine.”
Bam! For three seconds, the overdue release of pent-up anger made him feel ten feet tall. Her slumped shoulders and red cheeks reversed his high, sinking him as low as a man could go.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, especially since it seems to have changed you into someone I might not like.” She unwound her tape measure and started walking along the far edge of the patio. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
He’d changed, no doubt. She’d started that ball rolling; then his wife and his job had exposed him to even more injustice, making him cynical and, sometimes, bitter.
Steffi had been just shy of twenty when she’d blown him off. A decade ago. They’d both been different people then, and maybe she’d changed, too. Maybe she even regretted how she’d handled things. But he certainly had more important things to worry about than her or any lingering hurt feelings. He couldn’t quite apologize for snapping at her now, so he pointed to the right corner of the room. “Might be nice to have my fifty-five-inch screen mounted over there.”
She paused and glanced at him. “I’ll be sure to factor that in.”
“Thanks.” He needed a shower. The damp, sandy suit had started to make him itch. “See you around.”
He walked into the kitchen to find Emmy fingers-deep in a mug of milk and soggy cookie crumbles. Little sugar puddles lay scattered on the table all around her.
“You’d better wipe all that up before Memaw comes back. She won’t stand for that kind of mess.” Unlike Val, who never cared much about the messes Emmy left. In fairness, he hadn’t trained his daughter to be tidy, either.
“Okay,” Emmy said, dunking another cookie.
“That’s enough, princess.” Ryan removed the platter, although he was probably too late to prevent a tummy ache. “You’re going to get sick. When you finish here, come up and help me unpack some of our boxes, okay? Then I need to work for a while. But maybe we can go to town and get pizza.”
“Yay!”
“I’ll take you to my old favorite, Campiti’s. You’ll love it.”
Emmy kicked her feet beneath the table. “Memaw says Miss Lockwood used to hang out here a lot.”
“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “She grew up here in town, like me.”
“Memaw says she was a special friend.”
“Did she?” Ryan now suspected his mother had an ulterior motive with this remodeling plan. She’d always loved Steffi. Back when Steffi’d blown him off, his mom had made excuses, claiming she just needed to grow up a little. “Give her time and space,” she’d said.
If his mom thought Ryan had any interest in women right now, she’d lost her mind. He’d have to be extra careful to make sure Emmy didn’t make room in her heart for Steffi, because being disappointed by Steffi Lockwood was as certain as the sugar high those snickerdoodles were about to give his daughter.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Lorah Haskins
National bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than one million copies. She’s a 2017 Booksellers’ Best Award finalist, and critics at Kirkus Reviews, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing, she enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking, and hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family.
Fans can learn more about her on her website: www.jamiebeck.com, which includes a fun “Extras” page with photos, videos, and playlists. She also loves interacting with everyone at www.facebook.com/JamieBeckBooks.
