Miss Behave (The Anderson Family Series Book 1)

by Traci Highland

  “Are you being serious right now?”

  “Yes, I have an app that lets me watch him at his doggie day care. Wanna see?”

  “You’re bizarre.”

  “Says the girl who gets herself mauled by a hawk.” He wanders out of the room and I hear the clinking of metal and little whips of a tail as they beat against a floor. “I’m happy to see you, too, Jules! Come meet Piper. Come on! She’s high so she’s sure to love you.”

  A large, round, reddish brown blur of slobber and eager little legs bounds towards me. He stops at my feet and wiggles his tail and his massive square jaw. “What kind of dog is he?”

  “He’s a mutt, part lab and maybe part hound, that apparently likes you a lot.”

  “Really?” I reach down and pet his happy little head. “How do you know?”

  “Well, he peed on the floor at your feet.” He grabs a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and wipes up the puddle on the hardwood.

  “I totally have that effect on men.”

  He leaves Jules at my feet and washes his hands before digging through the rest of the cabinets.

  “It seems that all I have to offer is a can of chick peas and some Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

  “I’ll take the cereal.”

  “Great” –he opens the refrigerator and frowns- “I’m not sure this milk is still good.”

  “I eat it dry, but thanks.”

  He smiles and my head spins. Yowzer, that smile should be illegal. “Why the goofy grin, Piper? Or is it just after-effects of the bird-attack?”

  I shake my head, unaware that I had been grinning and shovel a handful of cereal into my mouth. You know, like a lady. Speaking of ladies, “Your girlfriend moved out, right?” I ask as sudden tendrils of ice-like fear spike my chest. What if she’s still here and she-

  “Yes. But it’s not like she really spent all that much time here. Or, well, with me, anyway. Work came first.”

  “You broke up because she took her career seriously? Man, what did your parents do to you?” I do my best to give him a smile, but instead a half-chewed piece of Cinnamon Toast Crunch flies across the kitchen table and lands in front of his placemat.

  A man with placemats.

  I’m going to have to remember that such a thing is possible.

  “No, we broke up because work is all she wanted to do. Once, when we were supposed to take a trip up to Quebec, which we had booked months in advance, I had packed up the car only to get to her apartment and have her tell me that she couldn’t come. Something about work.”

  “That sucks. You should have just gone without her.”

  “And the point of having a romantic weekend with myself is?” He sighs. “She hated it here. Hated this town, hated this house, hated everything that I loved. I’ll make up the guest room.”

  I finish my cereal as he grabs sheets and things to make up the bed. His house is neat, everything tucked into its place, but not at all Spartan. Knick-knacks cram the bookcases along with the metric tons of books. The open concept probably looks pretty killer in the sunlight, since the wall behind me is made of glass. The kitchen, sleek with granite and stainless steel and wood that matches the wood that makes up all the walls, gives the place a sort of chic cabin look, comfortable and homey.

  “Come on, I’ll help you to bed. There’s a bathroom with clean towels right off of the bedroom, so you should be all set.”

  He places a bracing arm around my waist and guides me through to the room, which has a large, wood-framed queen bed and solid wooden dressers. “I’ve put out a few of my favorite books if you want to read before you sleep.”

  Staring at the books, I see 1984 and Cold Mountain. I smile. “Thanks.” I sit on the bed.

  He holds onto me for a minute more, the air between us charged. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I can trust you to not tell my mother about this, right?” I wriggle out of his hold and dig my way under the covers.

  “You can trust me with anything.” He stops and runs his hand over my forehead, pushing an unruly curl out of my eyes and setting my phone beside me on the nightstand. “I’m right down the hall.”

  Chapter 16

  Pancakes Make Mornings Better

  Dear Miss Behave,

  My mother feeds me waffles whenever I’m sad. So now I am living on my own and binging on frozen waffles whenever I get dumped. What do I do to break the habit?

  Sincerely,

  Waffle Lady in search of Cat

  Dear Waffles,

  Eat up, buttercup. Comfort food is a better habit than say, valium, yes? So pour some syrup on those bad boys and chow down, darling.

  Love and Kittens,

  -Miss Behave

  I call thirteen more people in Dad’s book, leaving messages for four, and decide that if I haven’t gotten the hebbie-jeebies yet, then I think it’s safe to say that at least in his working life he’s legit. The internet searches turned up only photographs and few news articles, including one about the fate of some sort of endangered burrow turtle in Florida.

  After spending the night in his guest room, Hunter demanded that I take the next few days off, and apparently called Abigail to inform her.

  Something about the act of him calling her bothered me. Well, everything about it bothered me. It’s not that I don’t like having a few days for all the scratches to heal so I don’t have to go into work with a massive bandage on my head, I do, but there’s something else.

  I sit at home on the couch, with the latest Kristan Higgins’ novel and RotoWorld open on my laptop.

  I want a partner, a romantic, super-hot partner, sure, but a partner, not an employer.

  Mom found a partner, eventually, but I wonder what it is that Dad is looking for and if he’s found it in Hunter’s mom. Why did mom say that Dad’s not nice? He’s capable of being nice to Bunny and to me and to Gen-

  But what if nice is not enough?

  I sigh and put the romance novel over my head, hoping its words of relationship wisdom somehow seep into my brain.

  Groaning, I pull the book down so I can actually read it and just as I’m getting lost in the story, Gen stumbles out of her room.

  She stops at the base of the stairs, eyeing me as I sit in the overstuffed armchair by the window. “What happened to your head?”

  “Mauled by a hawk. Long story. Want to go out to breakfast?”

  “Hell yeah. I need some pancakes.”

  A good breakfast in our town means we head on over to Frank’s by the lake. The all-American shack diner where the food is cheap, simple and delicious. Sure, I get a few funny looks because of the bandages on my head, but the waitress pours me a cup of coffee and calls me honey all the same.

  The breakfast spot is full of giddy conversations and maple syrup highs. Granted, the Fall Festival starts Friday, so the excitement in the air is so thick you can almost smell the kettle corn.

  "So, we're still on for the fair?" I ask as I stir some cream into my coffee.

  "God, yes." Gen says as she pulls over the warmth from her coffee cup. Spiky fronds of her hair move as she closes her eyes and smells her beverage, face blooming into a smile. “Like I would miss the funnel cake.”

  I glance at the menu and decide on the maple pecan pancakes special. We chat for a while, going over her latest ideas for how to structure her latest freelance piece.

  The waitress brings our food and holy wow ooh does that smell fantastic.

  Never underestimate the curative powers of maple pecan pancakes.

  “Kiddo, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, just don’t take it the wrong way, alright?”

  “I’ll try.” I stuff my mouth full of pancake. Oh my gosh, it’s like heaven.

  She takes a deep breath and then asks, “Do you like your job? The only positive thing I’ve hear you say was that you really liked covering the sports and sometimes the advice column.”

  I jump back in my seat, denial on my lips.

  But I’m
not sure I can deny it.

  Do I like being a journalist?

  I’ve never really stopped to think about it before, it’s just always sort of been a part of me.

  After a long silence, I say, “I’m sure I’ll love it if I get the job in Chicago.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Then I’ll apply someplace else, and keep applying, until one day I arrive.

  We spend the rest of the meal in silence.

  As we're about to check out, a group of men come sauntering in. They look sort of out of place in their business suits but they wear these unstoppable sort of smiles.

  "Who are those guys?" I ask our waitress as I stand to pull on my coat.

  She does one of those million-mile grins and answers, "Oh, those are the guys from the Mud Dogs. They’re going to open a new stadium in Middleburg."

  My heart leaps. "Wait, the Mud Dogs? Like the minor league Mud Dogs? That would be awesome! Why haven’t I heard about this?"

  Gen and the waitress give me a sideways glance, but I bounce over to the table of guys as Gen gives the waitress our cash. The men are well-dressed and encompass a wide range of ages, all four exhibiting a face of what I can only imagine true joy must look like. "Is it true? You guys are building a stadium for the Mud Dogs around here?"

  The oldest one says, “Guilty as charged. Still supposed to be a secret, though, since the ink isn’t dry on the deal yet. You a sports fan?"

  “Oh yes.” We then spend a good 10 minutes discussing the team, the lineup, and plans for the new stadium, which sounds amazing. The minor league has always been one of my favorite things about the sports world. The big mascots dancing around, the liveliness of the crowd, it’s the best. “I don't think that there's anything that I don't like about the minor league.” I say, eliciting wide grins and agreements all round.

  Genn does her impatiently waiting growly dance and I ignore her. “Hey, I work for the Pendleton Falls Herald, I’d love to do a piece about the Mud Dogs and their move. Do you guys have some cards?”

  They each hand me a business card and introduce themselves, and I slide into the booth as we talk team. When I get up to leave, I feel maybe a thousand pounds lighter.

  Nothing lifts the spirits quite like talking baseball.

  Genn shuffles alongside me as we leave. I can feel her question lodge itself in my chest anyway. Why? Why is it that I get my happy on over the Mud Dogs but chasing down Ponzi schemes just doesn’t excite me in the same way?

  An ache seizes my chest and I miss my Pop Warner days as a kicker. I would give anything to feel nothing but the cold air and the bright flood lights and the movement of my body as my foot met the ball, to lose every thought in my head but the silent prayer in those seconds to see if the kick was good.

  I’ve put so much on, so many expectations and ambitions and visions of the future that if I drop them all away, shed them the way I used to when I would go for that kick, I wonder who would be left.

  Ann

  She can’t sleep. Staring at the ceiling in the dark room, she worries. Worries that she’s introducing her daughter to some pantie-stealing pervert. What if Piper carries around extra pairs of underwear in her purse? What if Derek tries to take them? Piper is her daughter. She has to protect her daughter. She groans and rolls over in bed.

  Of course, worrying about some man she hasn’t seen since she was fifteen is infinitely easier than facing reality. She has to tell Piper the truth.

  And for once in her life, Elise isn’t going to be there to hold her up afterward.

  Chapter 17

  Incontinence is not your Friend

  Dear Miss Behave,

  My best friend recently dropped a bombshell on me. When we were best friends in high school, she slept with my older sister. Neither of them told me at the time and now she and my sister have started dating officially. It’s been many years since high school, and I honestly don’t care about the lesbian thing, but I am upset that they didn’t tell me for so long. How do I deal with this?

  Sincerely,

  Shocked and Awed

  Dear Shocked,

  Oh cupcake, talk to them both. They may have kept it from you initially, but they both clearly want you to be a part of their lives going forward. There was probably a good reason they didn’t tell you back in high school, the best thing to do is ask them what it was and assure them that you are here for them now. Forgiveness is in short supply in this world, give them a second chance and pour yourself a glass of the good stuff for being such a good friend.

  Kisses,

  -Miss Behave

  How do I make a bandaged head look professional?

  It’s cold and Mom said it’s a lunch thing, so maybe I’ll just go with the sweater and pencil skirt. Throwing on some makeup, I do my best to cover the bandage with my hair and hope it’s not too noticeable. Hopefully this Derek guy won’t be so judgy about it.

  The drive, as should have been expected, takes forever, and of course I end up being late. Throwing the ticket from the parking garage into my wallet, I race the half block to the restaurant.

  Wait, did I lock the car? I could swear that I did but-

  Too late now! I can see Mom through the window of the place and I yank open the door, the heat hitting me the face.

  Holy swank city, Batman. Like linen tablecloths and a thousand-different forks kind of swanky. Crystal vases sit as works of art in the center of each table and trendy piano music floats up into the tinkling chandeliers. Sounds of laughter and smells of rich, briny food fills the air as I pull off my gloves and slide them into my pockets. A hostess in a short black dress and too much eyeliner greets me and takes me to the table.

  I adjust my hair one more time-

  “My God! What happened?” Mom leaps from the table, sending her silver utensils into a state of kinetic disarray as she inspects the bandages.

  “Mauled by a hawk mom, I’m fine-“

  “I can’t believe you drove all the way here alone, if I knew I would’ve-“

  “It’s okay, mom, stop-“

  “Ahem.” A man, a tall, dark, rather good-looking man, stands up from the table and places his hands on my mother’s shoulders. “I’m sure she’s fine. My God, she’s almost as beautiful as you! Hi there, young lady, I’m Derek.”

  I look at his handsome face and snooty gray and black hair. Then at his hands on her shoulders. Then back at the face.

  “Piper, sweetie, this is my friend that works at the Sentinel. Derek, you can see by her injury here that she’s excessively devoted to her craft.”

  Mom straightens her shoulders and smiles in that queen-like, charming way. Mom has the posture of Audrey Hepburn and the keen eyes of Barbara Stanwick, no wonder salt-and-pepper hair boy over here digs her.

  Derek pulls mom’s chair out for her as she sits and his eyes follow her ass into the chair.

  My mom’s ass.

  Is it wrong that I think I hate him?

  Just a little.

  Derek steps around the table to take my hand, but his foot catches on the tablecloth and he trips, stumbling into my purse. I yank the purse up, pulling him up as well, and he grabs my wrist. “It’s a pleasure, Piper.”

  Mom’s eyes narrow, her gaze fixed on my now unzipped purse as Derek moves back around the table and sits next to mom. Oh gosh, he must have ripped the zipper when he fell into it. Stupid cheap purses. I tug it closed and shrug at my mom, her face a bit too stony cold for comfort.

  My hands grip the back of my chair as I pull it out and sit down. Ouch. I bang my toe into the leg of the table and bite back a yelp, doing my very best to turn my bitchface upside-down and into a just-hire-me-so-I-can-get-out-here face. So, you know, however that would look.

  My hands shake as I grab a crystal goblet of water and swallow it down.

  So what if this klutzy guy fancies my mom? It’s just a lunch, then he goes back to-“I’m thinking about staying in town for a few more days. It’s been so long since I’ve visited our
old stomping grounds. What would you lovely young ladies suggest I do first?”

  Lovely young ladies? My God, more water, quick! I drain the rest of my glass before I choke.

  “Oh, the walking tour is great.” I spit out. It’s the first thing I recommend to anyone visiting Boston, you get to hit all of the major sites and-

  “Isn’t it going to rain for the rest of the week? How about the aquarium?” Mom says, eyeing me oddly as I place my purse in the empty seat between myself and Derek. Of course she’s eyeing me oddly. My head’s wrapped up creeping dead style and I couldn’t even introduce myself to the guy properly. I have to pull things together.

  The waiter comes around and Derek asks for the oysters to share as an appetizer. I look over at mom, who is allergic to shellfish, and then back to Derek. Huh, he doesn’t know. So maybe they’re not that close.

  I put in my order for a main meal and listen as Derek and mom chat about a ton of people I don’t know and a camp I didn’t attend. Derek’s eyes don’t leave my mother, who inexplicably keeps staring at my purse on the empty chair.

  Eventually, Derek turns and asks me about myself, and the lunch turns into more of an unofficial interview as we get our salads and the oysters.

  Derek laughs out an apology when Mom informs him of her allergy. She smiles her million-dollar smile and I draw in a breath as I realize how beautiful she is—strong and confident and absolutely radiant in her white blazer and black blouse and pants. Then Derek says, “Geez, well, I guess I’ll have to brush my teeth before kissing you goodbye.”

  Mom pales and my arugula turns rancid in my mouth. Sweet Jesus, I’m going to punch this man in the face.

  Derek stands, “Well, ladies, I have to go wee, it seems. Excuse me.”

  He did not just say wee! The second he’s out of earshot I hiss, “Who the hell is this guy that he thinks he’s going to ki-“

  “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s just an old friend. Kind of. Now, do you have any panties in your bag?”