“Me too.” My voice is low, filled with emotion. It almost doesn’t even sound like mine.
“As it turns out, we were both wrong. Every day without you just going through the motions back in my old life drilled it in deeper. The undeniable gap that was there. No one to talk to, to laugh with . . . No one who really got me. Emma, I’ve never felt lonely in my life and, after you, I’ve felt more alone every day for the past six months. And that night . . . that night, you and I in my bed . . . I’m sorry, and yet, I’m not sorry. Because every minute of it, Emma, every second of it – it felt right. For the first time in my life, I don’t know why . . . Every part of it, of being with you, felt completely right.”
“How did you find me?” she asks quietly.
I laugh. “I had just about given up. I’d scoured the internet for you, the phone book, even risked asking a few friends who knew the commander better than I did. But everything turned up nothing. So, expecting nothing to come of it, I hired a private investigator.”
As she gapes at me in disbelief, I laugh again, nod. “That was a few months ago. And, yesterday, he told me where I could find you.”
As I grin at her, her face struggles with a smile she can’t quite allow. She still doesn’t believe what I’m saying. “But . . . why?” she asks.
I shake my head. “You first. Why did you leave?” When she says nothing, I repeat the question: “Why, Emma?”
She keeps her gaze on the tamarins, who are huddled in the corner of their cage in a hug-ball. Then, she gestures at her ballooned-out belly. “You’re looking at why. At first, I just left in a hurry to escape Dad’s rage. I planned to get in touch in a few weeks. But then, my period didn’t come and I took a pregnancy test . . . Well, then this happened. I had seen how you were with the other girls, and so I knew that I was probably just another fun lay that night. I knew you wouldn’t want the responsibility – that it would be better off if I just left you alone. So, I did.”
I nod. “And what do you think now?”
My sidelong glance at her impassive face reveals nothing. “Now, I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. I mean, you went to all this trouble and everything you just said, but―”
Now I turn to her, seize her hand. “But what? I’ve gone through so many girls that by now I’ve lost count? I’ve never had a girlfriend for longer than a few months? I’ve never been in love?”
As she nods dumbly, I continue “All that is true but is missing the point. The point is you, Emma. You are the exception. You. You came into my life unexpected and unwanted – completely unprecedented. I never hoped for this, for these terrifying, overwhelming feelings that haven’t left me alone until now. Until I found you. And you want to know something? I still don’t want them. Yes, I want you, but I don’t want to want you with this desperate inescapable need that makes every new day without you feel empty and hollow. I don’t want Parker to keep asking me nonstop, “When’s Emma coming back?” I don’t want to think about that night we had every time I’m with a new girl . . . To have your delighted, rosy-cheeked face flash in my head every time I spot a cute animal. No, Emma, I don’t want any of this, but I’m stuck with it. I’m stuck with wanting you, with needing you. There’s no choice in any of it, not anymore. Emma, I’m stuck with loving you.”
As she gapes at me, the fear roars up again. Grasping her in my arms, I spill out more words. “So, you’re right if you think I’m not a good prospect, not well-versed in healthy relationships or any real sort of relationship for that matter. You’re right to doubt that I’d be a good father or a good boyfriend or a good anything, really. But I can tell you this” – I put one hand on her belly and the other on her cheek – “I will love you and this baby until the day I die. And I will do anything for you and our child. Anything that it takes for you to be happy.”
Still, she’s speechless, gaping at me with those blue moon eyes, the ones our baby might have too. Taking her hand, I lean in.
“This is when you’re supposed to tell me your answer – to me, my love, this, everything.”
It bursts out of her, in one delighted sort of laugh-cry: “Yes!” She throws her arms around me. “Oh, yes! Luke, of course yes!” She draws back to look at me with teary eyes. “I’ve missed you every day too, spent these last months trying to convince myself that we’d never work, that you’d never cared for me, that there was no point in even hoping, but now . . .” She smiles. “Now I think the least we can do is try.”
As we stare into each other’s eyes, suddenly, her smile falls.
“But what about the base and my dad?”
My smile grows.
“You haven’t heard? Last week he was transferred to another division. Apparently that crazy bitch wife of his exploded on another commander’s wife. So now we can do what we like.”
She nods as if she’s unsure exactly what I said, so I make it clear for her: “We can start packing when we get back to your place tonight.”
A devious look creeps onto her face. “Oh really? And what if I like where I’m staying now?”
I pat her face. “You can have a sheet partition in the attic too.”
Laughing, she rises.
“And for the baby . . . What if I’d already named him Damien?” I grin, pat her belly.
“If Damien’s ok with it then I’m ok with it.”
Now we’re both grinning stupidly at each other, so I ask her “What do you say?”
Her gaze flutters down, then back to mine. Her smile grows. “Ok, I’m in.”
I rise to whisper in her ear: “No, I’m the one who’s going to be in . . . you.”
Her eyes dancing with an aroused fire, she pushes me back a bit. “Luke!”
I step forward, kiss her, whisper in her ear “I can’t help it. I love you.”
We kiss again and, when we break apart once more, she says “I love you.”
*****
THE END
Daddy's Wild Friend
Description
He’s always been trouble, with his wild ways and string of girlfriends.
But he’s dad’s best friend and I can’t avoid him.
And do I really want to?
He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
I can see that he wants me. That he wants to show me how it’s done.
And I’ve grown up.
I want to kiss him under the Mistletoe.
I want to be his date to the Navy Ball.
I want to…
Stop! What am I thinking?
He’s way too hot. And waaay too close to daddy.
There’s no way I’m ending up in his bed.
Except I already have…
And I want more…
Chapter One - Charlotte
The patient in room 217b keeps shifting onto their call bell.
I’ve checked on him several times tonight and attempted to move the bell to a more secure place, but somehow, no matter where it ends up in his bed, he manages to shift it back under him several minutes later. It’s been an otherwise quiet night—almost too quiet for my liking, with the usual pace of things around here—so the constant ringing of a bell for no reason feels fitting, somehow.
“Gotta keep you on your toes on your last night,” my fellow nurse, Sydney, says, laughing as I get up to answer the light. I laugh too and shake my head. I wonder just how many times I’ve walked down these halls now, how many times I’ve run down them, exactly how many steps I’ve taken on these floors. I’ve grown up making these rounds, going from a nervous nursing student to a seasoned and confident nurse. I’ve spent more time in this hospital than in any apartment I’ve lived in, seen more of my co-workers than anyone I’ve dated.
This place has been my life—maybe too much of it, if I’m being honest.
The patient is fast asleep with his knee wedged into the bell when I get there. I shake my head and move the bell, trying to leave it within reach for any actual needs but far enough away that it won’t be rolled on aga
in. I have a feeling it’s a futile attempt, but I try anyway. I start the rest of my rounds while I’m up, thinking again about just how much of my life I’ve spent here over the past decade. I’ve made some wonderful friends and wonderful memories here, but honestly, I’m glad to be leaving. Between the long shifts, the overnights, and the constant stress that can come from a busy city hospital like this one, I think I may be on the edge of burning out. I’ve known so many people who were fantastic nurses who quietly crumpled under the stress and left medicine altogether. I don’t want to lose my passion for nursing, so I hope a transition away from a hospital setting will be just what I need.
I can’t wait to start my new hospice job—the slower pace and more regular hours are just what I need. Still, I can’t help but think it will feel strange to not come to this place anymore, to not hear these call bells in my sleep, to not leave exhausted after a 16-hour shift knowing I was due back in eight hours. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, honestly, with the steady daytime hours my new job allows. I’m planning to use my evenings to help out in my father’s restaurant. It’s part of the reason I’m moving home, to help Dad and keep an eye on him.
I adjust a patient’s IV tubing carefully and let my mind drift to the topic of my parents’ divorce. It had been a long time coming—even when I was a teenager there were serious cracks and strains—but still, I know it’s hit Dad hard. He hasn’t been on his own since he was practically a teenager himself, and I know he’s lonely in the house by himself. Mom’s moved down south to a condo with an ocean view she sends me pictures of at least twice a day. I’m happy for her. I am. But I do worry about Dad. It’s just felt like the right time to go back home, at least for a little while.
Despite the teasing I’ve gotten from my coworkers, though, my hometown is not a small town by any means. It’s a large town on the bay—quaint, historic, and charming, but always filled with tourists, sailors, and activity. Even with the variety of stores and restaurants available here in the city, I’ve missed the bustling main street so much – its unique stores, fun boutiques, and award-winning restaurants, including my Dad’s newest venture. It’s only been open for three years, but he’s gotten rave reviews and won a handful of awards. I’m so proud of him and so excited to finally be able to be a part of it myself.
Now that I’ve got that IV sorted out, all my patients are resting comfortably, and I don’t have any treatments or medications to give for an hour, so I sit down to do some charting, still thinking. I haven’t actually seen Dad’s restaurant yet. I haven’t been home at all in years. With my hectic schedule and with my parents wanting to avoid spending time with each other, it’s been easier for them to come see me than for me to go home. Even over the holidays, there haven't been many families celebrating lately. It’s something I hope to change for Dad this year, even if it’s just the two of us. I know he hasn’t had a real Christmas in a long time, and I think we could both use it. The restaurant is hosting the local Naval Academy’s Christmas Ball this year, too, which will make things even more special. It’s a huge honor to be selected as the venue, and it’s definitely something I’m glad I won’t be missing.
I spin myself around in my favorite office chair, feeling a bit of sadness at realizing that it’s one of the last times I’ll ever sit in it. By this time next week, I’ll be sleeping in my new apartment, back in the cozy embrace of my hometown. It’s a strange thought, but an exciting one. Dad’s promised me a huge meal with several of their best dishes the first night I’m back, and I’m hungry just thinking about it. All the reviews I’ve read have praised the food, and praised Dad’s head chef, Danny, even more, calling him one of the most promising chefs in the entire state.
Now that I have some trouble imagining. Promising is the last word I’d use to describe Danny, from what I remember of him. Danny has been Dad’s best friend since I was a little girl, back when Dad was the shift manager at a local pizza place that’s been closed for years. Danny had been a line cook, a high school dropout with no plans for where to go from there. He and Dad had bonded back then and have remained friends for all this time – over two decades now. Apparently, Danny’s cleaned up his act a lot lately.
But back when I was a kid? He’d been nothing but trouble. Mom had never liked him—in fact, he was one of the things she and Dad used to fight about, and often. She hated his womanizing habits, his sleazy demeanor, and his complete lack of ambition. She never understood what potential Dad saw in him. And I might have only been a kid at the time, but I was inclined to agree with her from what I’d seen. I can remember one night when I was twelve, sitting in one of the restaurants Dad had managed before opening his own, doing homework at a back booth and watching Danny, cigarette behind his ear and hair all greasy, kissing a woman in a low-cut shirt and high heels. There’d been another woman in to see him a few nights later, and then the first was back again, yelling at Danny until Dad made her leave. Then it was yet another woman, and Danny had just seemed unaffected, even bored, by the whole scene.
He’d joined the Navy while I was in high school after getting his GED. I know some personal things happened to make him go, but it’s not anything I was ever told details of. And sure, I know people grow up, that they change and mature, but I still see Danny as that sleazy, greasy guy with a new girl on his arm every week. So, I can’t work out how he’s become a master chef who co-owns a hugely successful restaurant. The idea that someone could change that much is fascinating, if hard to believe.
I’m in the middle of charting about the patient in 217b when his light goes off again, getting me up, shaking mine out of my own thoughts with a laugh.
“How many is that now?” Sydney asks with a wink, looking up from her own charting.
“Fourteen,” I laugh, shaking my head and looking at my watch. I’ve only got three hours left on shift. “Bet you a coffee it’s twenty before I leave.”
“You’re on,” Sydney says, smirking. “But only because I was planning on buying you a going-away-coffee anyway.”
“It’s a bet, then,” I say, headed for 217b, smiling to myself.
The bell is under his hip this time, and he’s asleep so soundly he doesn’t even stir when I pull it out. I clip it to his pillow and think to myself that in the morning, I might just thank him for keeping my last night shift here so interesting.
Chapter Two - Danny
I consult my notes carefully as I fill out the food orders for the week, making adjustments and calculations. We can halve the turkey order since it’s not in any of the specials for the upcoming week, but it looks like we’re going to need more than three times our standard potato order for the soups I have lined up. I reread every recipe for every special and promotion this week, wanting to make sure everything is in perfect order. I hate having to make midweek orders, and running out of a dish halfway through a dinner rush once was more than enough to teach me I never want to do it again.
I push the ledger aside on my desk, reaching for my laptop instead. I normally write things out longhand, sketching out recipe and menu ideas in ink and filling notebook after notebook. Planning for the Naval Christmas Ball feels too big, too important for that, though. So instead, I’ve got twenty-five different tabs open, trying to sort it all out. I never thought I’d have an opportunity like this. I could never have dreamed, almost five years ago now, when my closest friend, Hank, suggested we go in together on a restaurant that we’d end up so successful we’d be hosting events like this.
I know it makes sense that we’d get this kind of attention, though. We’ve won the City Paper’s Best in Town award two years running, the Gazette’s Toast of the Bay award, the Restaurant Association’s Standout Newcomer award, and numerous other local accolades. We were recently featured on the news in Washington, D.C. as a Meal Worth A Road Trip, and we have one of the most beautifully restored spaces in downtown, with a huge, open dining room and views of the harbor. Plus, since I’m the executive chef and co-owner, we’re a Naval-veteran-ow
ned business. We’re a logical choice for the event in a lot of ways, but still, it blows me away when I think about it.
The event is going to get the most press and national coverage we’ve ever had, so I need it to be perfect. I’ve been planning and replanning my menus ever since we were awarded the event. Normally, the Ball serves traditional holiday foods, comforting classics. I don’t want to totally do away with that, but I want to find a way to put my own spin on things, too. I just haven’t figured out what that spin is yet.
“This ready to go out?” Hank says, walking over to the corner of the kitchen that serves as my office, even if it’s just a desk pushed against a wall and a wooden shelf I’d refinished myself holding my notebooks and old menus. He picks up the food order ledger, scanning it quickly. Generally, Hank leaves food to me, and I leave operations to him.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding and turning my eyes back to the Naval Ball planning.
“Have you given more thought to us announcing a second location at the Navy event?” Hank asks. I frown, looking up at him.
“I’m still not on board with that idea,” I say. Lately, Hank has been pushing us to open a second location in a nearby major city. I don’t hate the idea, but I’m concerned pursuing it now is entirely the wrong time. In addition to all the extra time preparing for the Naval Ball requires, we’ve been having some financial issues – some numbers not adding up in a way I can’t help but worry means someone might be changing them.
“But think of all the press,” Hank says, pressing on. Hank has always been prone to big ideas and idealistic thinking. It’s normally a good thing—the restaurant probably wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.
“No, we need to figure out our money leak before we start looking into anything,” I say. Hank shakes his head.
“It’s nothing, Danny, probably just a mistake,” Hank says. “I probably just wrote something down wrong, or someone might have miscounted cash at the bar one night, or had to destroy some wasted food and not marked it down.”
Hot Boss: An Office Romance Page 20
