by J. L. Berg
I was twenty-eight and had no plans of marrying anytime soon—if ever. Holding my godson every so often kept those baby-wanting tendencies down to a minimum. You might make a certain life plan and fully intend on sticking to it, but that didn’t mean your hormones had to get on board with you.
I wasn’t against marriage, nor did I have a horrible back story to defend my reasoning. I just didn’t think I had that specific gene that allowed a person to mate for life.
One guy—forever?
It sounded so permanent.
Choosing just one would be like picking a favorite piece of jewelry.
I had this gorgeous turquoise pendant. I’d picked it up at a farmers’ market from a jeweler who only made one-of-a-kind designs. It’d immediately become my new favorite thing to wear. The intricate silver and dark color of turquoise went perfectly with almost everything in my closet. I’d wear it so much that my friends forgot what I looked like without it. The pendant and I had become one—that was, until I’d found an amethyst and rose quartz necklace that outdid the turquoise one in every way. I would still wear the turquoise, but it wasn’t nearly as special anymore.
Isn’t it the same with men—the one you’re with is like a turquoise pendant until something better comes along?
So, I had just decided a long time ago to have a very large jewelry collection.
I used the same logic on the men I dated—fun and casual while it lasted but nothing permanent. Life was too short to settle.
As I parked my car on the curb in front of my house, I snuck a quick peek into my rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of my new neighbor.
I’d lived next door to Mrs. Reid for as long as I could remember. She was a sweet, grandmotherly-type woman.
She used to bake cookies every Sunday until the nurses had started coming every day, and then the cookies had stopped. She wasn’t much of a fan of my all-natural version. I’d presented my plate of organic chocolate chip cookies and proudly boasted that I’d used applesauce instead of oil. She’d taken one hesitant bite and crinkled her nose.
“Cookies need fat, honey,” she’d told me.
I’d laughed, not feeling the least bit offended.
She had grown vegetables and roses in her backyard up until she couldn’t walk without assistance, and I’d been tending to her gardens ever since. Mrs. Reid was in her late eighties when she’d passed away.
When I finally stepped out of my car, a gasp escaped my lungs as my eyes lowered to the flower beds separating our two houses.
“Who would do such a thing?” I whispered, looking down at the decapitated and ravaged flowers.
The once beautiful display of multicolored perennials was now a churned-up disaster of footprints and soil.
My heated gaze settled on the lights glowing within the house. A shadow passed by an open window upstairs in what used to be Mrs. Reid’s master bedroom.
I took one step forward, ready to march over, meet my new neighbors, and give them a piece of my mind.
A strong gust of wind sent the curtain into a tailspin and suddenly the shadow solidified, and I saw the finest bare back I’d seen in years. It was tanned, broad, and so muscular that the defined muscles could be seen from two floors down. Hard, lean arms reached out toward a box and grabbed a T-shirt as I begged him to turn around—until my eyes found his ass.
Dear Lord.
My new neighbor was hot—or at least the back of him was.
Turn around, turn around, I silently begged.
The weather took that moment to remind me of its mighty power and sent a strong gust of wind whipping through the two houses. The curtain settled back in place, and I was once again left with shadows.
As the first raindrop fell, signaling the impending storm, I looked down at the once perfect garden that I had painstakingly kept alive as a tribute to my longtime friend and neighbor. It had been trampled on and was now ruined, and I felt the rage boiling back up to the surface.
Hot or not, my new neighbor was a plant-trampling jerk, and when I got home from work tomorrow, I’d make sure he knew it.
I’d also take a moment to see if that face of his matched his perfect back and ass.
Shut up, Liv.
~Jackson~
“You’re taking me where?” Noah asked once again, his voice taking on that edgy whine I’d grown to hate.
“She’s just someone you can talk to—besides me,” I offered with a shrug.
“A counselor, Dad? You said counselor before.”
I sighed. “Okay, yes. She’s a counselor, but she’s a very good one. She’s not a shrink or a doctor. She’s just someone other than your dad. Look, between the move and a new school, I know a lot is going on right now. This hasn’t been easy for either of us, especially you. I just thought it might be a good idea for you to have someone neutral.”
“Neutral?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.
“Yeah, you know, someone who won’t cringe if you say you want to keep wearing your hair like that man-child singer…or if you want to talk about girls.”
“This is not a Bieber haircut, Dad!” he huffed.
A hint of a smile escaped him, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s a skater cut,” he added.
I threw my hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. It’s a skater cut. It’s cool.” He gave me a doubtful look, and I grinned. “Promise.”
“What is she like?” he asked as we made our way out the door and toward the car.
“I don’t know exactly. I did a bunch of research last night after you went to bed, and she came highly recommended on several boards. I called this morning, and it usually takes weeks, but I managed to get you in right away because she happened to have a cancellation.”
“Hmm,” was all I got in response. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his phone.
When I’d made the decision to move from our hometown of Charleston to Richmond, I had finally caved and bought him a cell phone. I’d known he’d miss his friends back home and need a way to keep in touch. I just hadn’t realized how in touch kids stayed nowadays. I was surprised his fingers hadn’t fallen off from overuse.
I also wanted to slit my own wrists for using a phrase like nowadays.
God, I felt fucking old.
Eleven years of single parenthood had done an amazing job of aging me past my years. At thirty-four, I felt a good ten years older most days, and that was even after running and going to the gym regularly.
Maybe this fresh start in a new city would be exactly what I needed.
As I set the car in park in front of a small office building and killed the engine, I looked up at the sign that read Family and Child Connections and hoped it would be exactly what we both needed.
“This place looks kinda hippieish,” Noah stated in displeasure as we made our way to the front entrance.
“What do you know about hippies?” I asked, taking in the wooden wind chimes and pewter fountain tucked away in a neatly kept small garden. It was the cheeriest office front I’d ever seen. I’d give him that.
“I don’t know, but Jake’s mom always said their next door neighbors were hippies, and they had those weird wooden things on their porch.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re just wind chimes. Stop listening to your friends’ narrow-minded parents.”
“You dated her,” he reminded me as we stepped up to the door.
“Don’t remind me.” I shuddered. “Come on, let’s go in.”
Those two weeks were the worst of my life, and that was saying something.
Jake was a baseball player and a good one, too. His mom, Helen, was one proud Southern mama. There had seemed to be only two subjects Helen understood—well, three maybe—Jake, baseball, and Jake and baseball together.
Like most men, I’d watched my fair share of sports, including baseball. Since those two weeks, I hadn’t been able to see a game without dry-heaving.
It was a damn
shame, too, because she had been mighty good in the sack—once she’d stopped talking. Hearing her scream my name had been the only time I actually enjoyed the sound of that woman’s voice.
After several hellish dates, I’d finally come to the conclusion that no amount of sex was worth that. Her tear-stained eyes, full of disappointment and hurt, had also led me to further realize that I shouldn’t date the mothers of my kid’s friends.
It was too messy.
That had been over two years ago.
Besides the random bar hookups here or there, my dating life had become a little dry. Sahara Desert dry, in fact.
Perhaps here in this new place, I’d finally find someone who wasn’t crazy or heartless, someone who didn’t care about baseball, and someone who would love Noah like I did.
Hell, I’d settle for someone normal right about now.
It was the exact opposite of what I saw when I turned my head and came face to face with Miss Prescott. She was wearing a long flowing dress that looked like an Indian sari, and her dark hair tumbled down her back in a loose braid. Noah’s words from earlier came to me, and I couldn’t help but grin as the word hippie flashed across my mind.
“Hi, you must be—”
“Jackson,” I said as an introduction, holding out my hand.
She stepped forward, her multicolored skirt swishing as she moved. The many bangles around her tiny wrist jingled as her hand met mine. Her chocolate brown eyes looked directly into me, warm and inviting, as she smiled.
She is breathtaking.
“I apologize. My secretary had to leave suddenly—food poisoning. It wasn’t pretty. So, I have absolutely no idea what is going on or who is coming in. I have a friend coming in to help, but it will be a few minutes. Please bear with me through all the confusion.”
Her gaze drifted over to Noah, who had taken a seat on the plush green sofa. His phone was laying on his lap, but his attention was focused on the woman in front of us.
“And who might you be?” she asked, walking forward to sit next to him.
“Noah,” he said.
“I like your haircut, Noah. It’s pretty cool.”
“Thanks,” he replied. His cheeks reddened slightly as a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“So, do you want to hang out for a little bit?” she asked.
“Uh…” His eyes roamed around, and he hesitantly looked at me.
“Don’t worry. We’re just hanging out today. We can do whatever you want—just you and me. I’ve got a sweet Xbox in my office. Wanna see?”
“Really?” His expression shifted to pure adoration.
Hippie girl had all sorts of surprises up her sleeve.
~Liv~
Xbox worked every time.
I looked down at my new young client and smiled. He was cute with sandy-blond hair and light-blue eyes that lit up when he spoke. His dad wasn’t bad-looking either.
“Yep. Why don’t you go in there and set everything up for us? I’ll be along in just a second,” I suggested.
Noah jumped off the couch in search of the video games, relief clearly written all over his boyish face. He’d probably been afraid that I was going to drill him for an hour straight.
That was not my style, especially with kids.
I liked to get down to their level and hang out with them. Once they felt comfortable, really comfortable with the environment I’d created for them, they would open up naturally. Nothing closed people off and clamped down their walls faster than forcing information out of them.
“So, Xbox, huh?” Jackson said, as he rocked back on his heels in front of me.
His accent was thicker than what was considered typical for Virginia. It was full and rich, and the words Southern charm came to mind when I heard him speak.
“Yeah, it seems to help—the boys at least,” I said. “I have half a dozen dolls and other things in there, too, if the Xbox fails, but it’s usually quite the crowd-pleaser.”
He nodded silently before finally opening his mouth again. “I’m here because I want to know why—”
I quickly held up my hands. “Stop,” I advised.
His head tilted to the side, and I watched his left eyebrow arch. It was quite cute, and I had to fight the grin threatening to make an appearance.
Damn it. It wasn’t cute. It was sexy.
Jackson—whatever his last name was—was hot.
I hated when the dads were good-looking. It made it so much harder for me to concentrate.
I quickly glanced down, noticing the lack of a wedding ring on his hand.
Double damn it. I also hated when they were single.
“I don’t want to know anything at this point. I like to go in blind,” I insisted.
“What?”
“I’ll have you complete paperwork while you’re waiting for us. During the first session, I like to have one-on-one time with your child to get to know him and learn about his life from his perspective. If you front-load me with information about him, it will make me biased. Right now, he’s a blank slate to me, and at least for today, I want to keep it that way. After all, isn’t that how everyone meets?”
“Huh. Isn’t that dangerous?” He folded his arms across his broad chest.
The crisp green button-down shirt stretched beautifully, making me wonder exactly what lay beneath all those buttons.
He caught me mid-wander and grinned.
“Dangerous how?” I asked, my eyes jumping up to meet his silvery gaze.
“What if the kid has a single word that makes him go bonkers? Or what if he instantly goes into seizures if he sees a clown on TV?”
I gave him a doubtful look. “Do any of those things happen to Noah?”
“No.” He smiled.
“Well, I think we’ll be just fine then. Besides, most kids and families who come to me aren’t that severe. If you are curling into a ball when you hear the word tiger, you should probably see a doctor.”
I thought he was about to offer up another flirty comeback when the door jingled, and Mia stepped inside.
“Hey,” she whispered, tiptoeing behind the front desk.
“There’s my backup,” I said. “She’ll get your paperwork for you. I’m going to go play a game on the Xbox.”
I felt his eyes on me as I turned away.
“Are you any good?” he asked.
I swiveled back around, smiling. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
~Jackson~
After I finished the unholy amount of paperwork, I shook my sore hand and walked back to the front counter to deposit my completed stack.
“So, you’re the friend, huh?” I said.
The woman took the papers and began sorting them into different baskets.
“Yep, that’s me.” She smiled. “I’m Mia. I sometimes fill in during the summer months when she needs an extra hand. I leave all the major stuff for the professionals, but I can sort papers and answer phones. It gives me an excuse to get out of the house.”
“Stay-at-home mom?” I guessed from her exhausted expression.
“Close.” She laughed. “I’m a teacher during the school year, but yeah, during the summer I become a stay-at-home mom. Who knew taking care of one infant would be ten times more exhausting than a classroom full of little kids?”
I chuckled, resting my arms against the counter. “Well, I’ve never taught, but I have had my fair share of experience with infants, and there were days when I swore I could sleep for a millennium.”
A small giggle escaped her lips, and then she lifted her hand to cover up a yawn. I moved around the room, looking at the art adorning the walls, and then I picked up a magazine.
“So, how long has she been doing this?”
“Who? Liv—I mean, Miss Prescott?” she corrected.
I nodded as I took my place back on the sofa.
“Well, she’s been on her own for about two years I believe.”
I started to flip through the fishing magazine, barel
y paying attention to it as I listened to Mia.
“Before that, she was a family counselor with a large organization downtown.”
“How come she decided to branch off?” I asked, digging for more dirt on the beautiful woman currently playing video games with my son.
“It was always a dream of hers, and she finally saved up enough money to do so.” She shrugged.
The door opened, and Noah and Miss Prescott reappeared.
“Hey, Dad!” he greeted.
“Hey,” I answered, amazed by his enthusiasm.
“Liv has a ton of games—even Grand Theft Auto. She totally beat me the first time around, but I won the second game.”
I was stunned stupid for a second or two before I came back online. “Awesome,” I replied, looking up at Miss Prescott for a reaction.
Her arms were folded across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. She smiled sweetly down at Noah as if she’d just hung out with her own kid rather than a patient she’d been paid to see.
“Why don’t you hang out in there and play another round for a few more minutes? It will give me a little bit of time to meet your father.”
“Okay!” Noah disappeared back into the room behind her.
I watched her step forward, her long lean legs peeking out from a slit in her dress.
“Why don’t we go for a walk.” she suggested. “I have a little garden out back where we can sit.”
I suddenly had a picture of the two of us sitting in a garden, holding hands and chanting.
That’s not what we’re about to do, are we?
I looked at her with a bit of hesitation.
“Just talking.” She laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “It must be the long dresses or the tattoo, but I get a man in here with a Southern accent, and suddenly he’s looking at me like I’m going to sprout wings.”
Wait—did she say tattoo?
How did I miss that?
“We’ll be back in a few, Mia.” She said, briefly tapping the desk with her fingernails as she walked by.
As her flowery scent brushed past me, it was then that I saw it—an Indian floral design full of color and vibrancy running over her left shoulder and disappearing into the fabric of her dress.
