by Erika Kelly
When he opened his mouth to object, she said, “Two minutes out of your schedule.”
With her hair loose and the red Cornell T-shirt draped over her hips to cover her ass, Delilah looked fierce and wild and free.
And he wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting anything.
“I don’t dance.” But even as the said he words, he started moving.
Ruby’s eyes lit up, and she hurled herself at him. He picked her up, and she bounced in his arms, jabbing her fists into the air. This girl was pure, raw, unadulterated happiness.
And he loved it. Loved her joy, loved…
Loved that she’d chosen him. Damn. He couldn’t explain it, but he did.
Something popped in his chest, heat gushing out, and it struck him that he’d been on autopilot for a long time—maybe as long as seventeen years. That structure his dad and Coach imposed had been his lifeline, and he’d latched onto it with both hands.
He’d clung to it all these years because it had paid off. He’d won the World Games seven times.
But…what else had he done?
He’d never once asked himself that question.
Until Ruby and Delilah had entered his life, his highest high had been his love for his family, and his lowest low had been the loss of his dad. Other than that, he didn’t think he’d had much of an emotional life.
These two crazy girls, both laughing with total abandon, kicked him into overdrive. And as much as he knew he should walk away and get on with his training program, his heart couldn’t find a single reason not to dance with them.
Two minutes out of your schedule.
Yeah, he could do that. He reached for Delilah, the three of them connected, touching, dancing in place. Locked together on this wavelength of music, happiness, and deep, unbridled affection.
And then Ruby wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face right in the crook. Her breath hot, her fingers pressing hard into his skin, she held onto him like…well, like a scared little girl who needed a hug pretty desperately.
The hug he’d denied her while trying to teach her some kind of life lesson.
Emotion swept through him, so hard and high he thought it might knock out his knees. He let go of Delilah and wrapped both arms around Ruby’s frail, little back.
Swaying in place, his body heated up. His heart thundered. Damn, this little girl. He wanted to give her the world. Every single thing she could ever need, but that wasn’t the way it was going to work for her.
He should let her go. He visualized handing her off to Delilah and walking out the door. Imagined his feet hitting the trail, his arms pumping…and yet he let his hand sweep across her back. Let his eyes close. Let himself just hold her.
Her whole body relaxed against him, and she let out a sigh so deep her little body shuddered with it.
He had to find a balance, right? Between giving her love and letting her get too attached. Because what would happen if he kept hugging her and holding her and reading to her and snuggling in bed with her…and then he just left? Walked out the door and didn’t see her for months. What would happen when he handed her off to Fin?
What the fuck would happen then?
She’d feel rejected. Ha. Rejected. As if that word came close to describing what it felt like to have the person you count on leave you. Destroyed. That’s how he’d felt when he’d finally figured out that every time the phone rang, every time tires rumbled on the driveway—it just wasn’t going to be his mom wanting to be with him.
He had to find balance, yes. And that meant making sure she didn’t get too attached. “I have to go.” He pulled back, but she only clung more tightly. He’d danced with her, given her a hug. He’d shown her he cared. And now he had to show her he had to go to work.
He gave Delilah a look. Help me.
She stepped in, put her hands on Ruby’s waist, but his sister clung to his T-shirt. And as Delilah got a better hold on her, Ruby started kicking her legs out like she was frantically trying to swim back to the lifeboat that was slowly drifting away.
“Go wif you.”
Pain scraped him raw at the sight of her wild-eyed and hurt, and he turned away from them and hightailed it out the door.
He had no fucking idea what he was doing, but making his sister cry was a total fail.
What the hell did balance mean?
Was he ever going to get this right?
Chapter Thirty-Two
After the incident with Ruby that morning, Delilah had thought for sure Will’s heart had finally cracked open. She’d expected him to be softer, more open.
Nope. Four hours later, he’d come home from training with an intense focus and a clear agenda: read one book to Ruby, take a ten-minute shower, dress, eat, and sort through the stack of nanny applications.
Maybe she should’ve left him alone, but Ruby’d been as giddy as a puppy dog when he’d come in through the mud room door, her little bottom swinging as she’d toddled over to her big, sweaty brother.
Delilah had seen his expression, and she’d known in an instant it wasn’t going to go Ruby’s way, so she’d caught up with the little girl, both of them running toward him with their sticky, chocolate chip cookie dough-covered hands. His stern demeanor had fractured the slightest bit.
To his credit, after he’d gotten some work done, he’d hung out with them and, when she’d asked where he thought she might get figs for the hors d’oeuvre she’d decided to make, he’d offered to take her to this hydroponic farm.
But now, while she followed the owner through the three-story vertical greenhouse, she glanced at Will, hanging back, arms crossed over his powerful chest, and she realized she needed to figure out her own transportation from now on. He not only doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t have the time.
He’s training, for God’s sake.
“In our facility, we produce as much as a five-acre farm.” The owner gestured to the three-story conveyor belts filled with bright green plants, the tomatoes just starting to turn red.
She took it all in. “This is amazing.” The motor purred quietly, and the humid warehouse-size room smelled like herbs. “I learned about hydroponic farms in culinary school, but I’ve never seen one.”
“You haven’t lived at sixty-three hundred feet above sea level before,” the owner said. “As Will can tell you, our winters are brutal and can last all the way into May. Once a big storm hits, there goes our truck deliveries. With this facility alone, we can produce one hundred thousand pounds of fresh produce annually, using ninety-percent less water with no need for soil, and we take up way less land space.”
As he led them further down the way, she smiled at Will. “Doesn’t it smell good in here?” The basil grew alongside the tomato, making her mouth water for caprese.
“Plus,” the owner continued. “The growth rate’s thirty to fifty percent faster than a soil plant, and the yields are much greater.”
“I can’t believe you’re growing figs.” Of all things!
“Well, that’s a funny story. I certainly hadn’t planned on growing them, but they’re my wife’s favorite. She grew up with a fig tree in her backyard, so she’s been on me to give it a try here. It’s working, and we’re getting a surprisingly good response to them, so we’re growing even more.” They’d reached the end of the warehouse. “How about we head into the tasting kitchen so you can sample some? I’ve got some other produce for you, too.”
“I’d love it.”
“Great. Let me get a head start. You look around, and I’ll see you there in a few minutes.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” As soon as he left, she turned to Will. “I can’t believe this. Thank you so much for taking me here.”
His expression remained shuttered.
“I didn’t think I stood a chance of pulling off this dish.”
He nodded. “Glad it worked out.”
Okay, he was obviously pissed that she’d wasted half his day. “We can skip the tasting room.
I know you have a meeting with your coach and want to get back to Ruby. I don’t need to taste the figs before I buy them.”
“Ruby’s at the park with my uncle, and I’m not meeting my coach until four. Besides, I’m pretty sure you do want to try them before you buy them.”
Busted. She wouldn’t serve them without sampling them, so buying dozens only to find out they were tasteless would be a waste of time and money. “Well, I’ll make it quick. I know you don’t want to be here.”
He shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not pissed?”
“Not at all.” It was the confusion in his tone that convinced her.
“Okay…” She exhaled. “I’m just…I’m used to very expressive people. I know what everyone in my family’s thinking all the time. With you…I don’t know.”
The owner stood in a doorway, smiling at them. “Looks like my wife got it all set up, so we’re ready when you are.”
“Awesome. We’ll be right there.”
He ducked back out, leaving them alone again. “I feel like I’m always pissing you off.” They made their way to the end of the row of conveyor belts. “I made you dance this morning, and now this farm…”
“I offered to bring you here.”
“Because I don’t drive. I just hate not knowing what you’re thinking.”
He reached around her to hold the door open, and then they started down a long hallway. “I’m thinking that I don’t have time to drive you around town.”
“You just said—”
He stopped, bracing his hands against the wall, caging her in. “I’m thinking about Freefest, and how fucking important it is that I get my head on right, that I focus and visualize and do all the things I need to do so I don’t die on that mountain.”
God, that look. So intense. Electrifying. “I don’t want to be a burden. I can get around by myself.”
But he didn’t look at her like he was pissed or annoyed. No, with his nostrils flaring like that, he looked like he wanted to use both hands to rip her dress wide open and drop his face in her cleavage. And she wasn’t entirely sure she’d stop him.
Her pulse fluttered out of control, and desire streamed through her.
He lowered his mouth to her ear, his voice deep and husky. “But it doesn’t seem to matter what I’m thinking, because it doesn’t stop my heart from feeling funny when I watch you talking about produce with a dude wearing toe shoes. It doesn’t keep me from realizing that I’ve known a lot of women in my life but none of them—until you—has ever surprised me. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m really good—and I mean expert level—at blocking out distractions and staying focused because, somehow, you’ve tangled up my wiring. I’m supposed to be thinking about my thrust or my amplitude or page thirty-six in How to Raise Your Orphan Sister, but I can’t concentrate because you keep getting under my skin, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
His chest was right there—close, but not touching. His mouth, a whisper away, and her body yearned for him to close the last inch of distance between them.
“I can’t stop from breaking into a run every damn afternoon, so I can get home to you. I hold my breath because I want to open the door and find you in the kitchen and when you’re not there I hate it. I could easily hire some high school or college kid to drive you around this summer. Maybe get you a scooter—anything so that I don’t have to do it, but I will be goddamned if I let someone else be the one to take you places. That’s for me. That’s my gift.”
Every cell in her body opened up and started singing and clapping to a gospel tune. But she was in a hallway, and the farm owner was waiting for her. “Well, that must be very inconvenient for a man like you.”
He smiled, and it was like a bright yellow dandelion pushing up through a crack in the cement. It floored her. “You have no idea.”
“If it helps, you’re not my type.”
He stepped close enough that his body brushed hers, and she could smell the sun in his cotton T-shirt and the fresh mountain air scent of him that drove her wild. “No?”
“Not at all. You’re too disciplined. Too…tidy.”
“Would it help if I…” He brought both hands to his head and messed up his hair.
She laughed because it was short enough that it couldn’t really get messed up. “A little.”
“How about if I got some ink. Like maybe a sunburst right here.” He brought her hand to his chest, just slightly off-center.
“And ruin that perfect skin?” She shook her head. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter what you did. I like a man who can surprise me. Not someone so regimented that I can predict—”
His strong arm wrapped around her back, and he hauled her to him, pressing his warm, soft mouth on top of hers. And then he kissed her.
It was so good, so unexpected, that she practically soared right out of her body. Her pulse quickened, and she had to squeeze her hands into fists to keep from scraping them through his hair.
I could fall so hard for this man.
He parted his lips, and the way he licked across her bottom one had her drawing in a sharp breath as pleasure bloomed across her skin. He took advantage of her surprise by sweeping his tongue into her mouth, tilting his head, and kissing her like the clock was ticking, and he’d never get this chance again.
Sensation flooded her, making her nerves hum and her knees go weak.
“Excuse me.”
The voice tore them apart, and they pulled back to find a young woman with a colorful scarf wrapped around her head slip past them in the narrow hallway, arms laden with two platters.
Delilah brought her fingertips to her mouth. “We should…” She cleared her throat and pushed past him, the cool air washing over her, drawing her back to reality.
And the reality was, if she thought she’d had a type, she’d been kissing the wrong guys all along.
The train pulled into the station, and Ruby pumped her arm. “Choo choo.” Giggling, she tucked her elbows to her sides and lowered her face into Squawk’s furry head.
“You liked that train ride?” Will descended the stairs onto the platform, holding her tight against him.
Actors in period costumes—well-to-do couples, gun slingers, an ironsmith, a banker—roamed the dirt streets and boardwalks, and the town was filled with friends, family, and town employees, ready to launch Owl Hoot.
She pointed over his shoulder to the train. “Go ‘gain.”
“We’ll take the train home, but right now let’s go check on Wally. It’s her big night.” The other chefs had been in town long enough to hire help and get their dishes together. Being so far behind the curve had made Delilah nervous, so he wanted to give her support.
“See Wally?”
She seemed as excited as he was. “Yeah.” As he climbed the boardwalk steps and made his way to the saloon, his phone vibrated. When he saw Gray’s name, he stepped aside to take the call. “Hey.”
“Heard you kicked Mom out.”
Great. He could just imagine how she’d spin it. “I don’t know what she told you, but—”
“Hey, man,” Gray said. “No grief from me. You did the right thing. She’s got no business in our house.”
Even though he didn’t regret his decision, it still relieved him to get his brother’s support.
“Besides,” Gray said in his deep, rumbly voice. “That’s Dad’s kid. Mom’s got no relationship to her.”
Ruby bounced Squawk on his shoulder, murmuring to herself.
“Little girl.” He watched her, lost in her own little world, and it made him smile.
“What’s that?”
“She’s not a kid. She’s a little girl.”
Gray went quiet. And then, “She’s cool?”
“She’s amazing.” He was starting to sound sappy. “How’d your heat go?”
“Did okay.”
Gray. His brother downplayed everything. Swore he didn’t care about winning—it was the thrill of the ride.
“You make the finals?”
“Yeah.”
A rustling sound let him know someone had snatched the phone out of his brother’s hand. “Dude, he’s like the wave whisperer.” Sounded like Amelia, one of the surfer’s in Gray’s posse. “He caught a fuckin’ ten, and he was legit shredding those barrels.”
“Cool.” Will never understood why his brother didn’t take surfing and boarding seriously. He could be a champion. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Can you put Gray back on?”
After a brief hand-off, his brother came back on the line. “Yeah, man. I’m here.”
“When you coming home?”
“You need me now? I can fly out tomorrow.”
He knew without a doubt Gray would give up his tournament if Will was in a bind. “Nah, it’s all good. Thanks, though. Good luck tomorrow.” Disconnecting, he transferred Ruby to his other arm and pushed open the doors of the restaurant.
A crowd gathered around the bar to watch the bartenders in action. Each contestant had a different style of mixing drinks and interacting. The judges—travel writers and food critics—wore lanyards and carried clipboards, as they took notes.
The winner of the best signature cocktail for the Owl Hoot Spa restaurant would get twenty-five grand, but it’d be the board members who’d decide which bartender they’d hire.
Already waiters had started circulating with the chefs’ hors d’oeuvres, though the dishes would remain anonymous until the winner was announced.
“Hey, cutie.” A waitress carrying a platter rubbed a finger on Ruby’s plump cheek. “You want something to eat?”
His sister scrunched her nose and shook her head, making Will laugh. He grabbed a toast point and an extra napkin. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” The waitress gave him a wink and moved on.
Will dumped the smoked salmon and dill into the napkin and handed off the plain bread to his sister.
“Fank you.”
As he headed into the kitchen, she ripped a big bite off and chewed like it was a turkey leg. “Dis good, Wheel. ‘Nudder?”
