by Zoe York
“Of a ferry.”
“You know what they say about men with big boats…”
“Go to work.”
Faith snickered and leaned forward, kissing her mother’s cheek before getting up. “I’m happy that you’re happy,” she whispered. “And Dad would be, too.”
— —
Zander was back in jeans and a t-shirt today, because while he kept the pilfered outfit, he couldn’t wear it two days in a row—and really, what kind of douche wore a buttoned-down shirt to a little kids’ soccer game when he wasn’t coming from work?
And he definitely wasn’t that. He’d spent the day researching business registration and background checks using a handy checklist provided by a contact at Brewseters, the firm Dean had mentioned.
It turned out they were always looking for well-qualified affiliates.
Huh. How about that.
He looked at his watch. He had an hour before Faith said to meet them at the soccer fields. He reached for his phone. Dani answered on the first ring.
“So your bodyguard idea may have some merit,” he started.
“I know.” He could hear her smirk through the phone.
“But I can’t use Ryan’s girlfriend like that.”
“I think it’s called networking.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“Fair enough. But I can mention it to her—”
“Nope.”
“Zander!”
“But thank you for the push in the right direction.”
“No kidding I pushed you. I’m surrounded by stubborn men who all need—”
He laughed. “I said thank you.”
“Okay. You’re welcome.” Dani’s radio crackled in the background. She must be out in the ambulance. “I gotta go.”
“Save a life!”
“That’s the plan, big brother.”
Zander rocked back in the computer chair and looked at his phone. His thumb itched to text Faith and tell her the progress he’d made today—but he didn’t have her number. He needed to fix that tonight.
In the distance, he heard the front door open and close. Pushing away from the desk, he headed into the kitchen, where his mother was unloading groceries on the counter.
Anne Minelli, as always, was put together. Her short hair was neatly set in a bob and she wore black dress pants and a blouse—her standard uniform from years of running a cafe and catering business.
“Let me do that for you,” he said, moving past her.
“You don’t know where anything goes,” she fussed. “Sit down and have a cup of coffee. Tell me when you’re going to marry and give me grand babies.”
“Rafe and Dani are doing that.”
She sniffed. Zander fought hard not to roll his eyes. He loved his mother dearly, but she was hard to please. “Olivia took what, seven years to agree to one baby? And Dani is too young still.”
This time his eyes rolled themselves. Olivia and Rafe had a rocky first marriage and there was a two-year break in their relationship where his brother buried his head in the sand. And Dani could very well be knocked up now, the way Jake looked at her.
Zander thought of how Faith had felt in his arms the day before. How much he was looking forward to watching Eric play soccer tonight.
He’d never thought about kids, other than thinking they were fine in theory and messy in practice. But Faith’s kid? He was awesome. Funny and smart, a mighty little man in a small but perfect package.
Someone—a Mr. Right kind of someone—would take one look at Faith and hop right on the Anne Minelli life plan. Marriage, babies, even a minivan.
Faith having babies with someone else?
Jesus, the thought made his stomach flip over.
Of course, the thought of Faith having babies with him did the same thing.
One fucking afternoon of kissing and you’re going to strange places in your head.
There was no way he was telling his mother about that.
Instead he grabbed the box of ziti and opened the cupboard where Anne had always kept pasta. He may have been away for a long time, but some things never changed. “You make the coffee, Ma. I’ve got the groceries.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” She narrowed her eyes and looked right at him.
He sighed. He couldn’t lie to her. So he went with misdirection. “Dean Foster wants to go into business with me.”
“I like him. But he’s another one who needs to marry soon. As soon as you start getting grey hair, women won’t think you can chase after toddlers.”
“Dean runs triathlons.” And Zander didn’t think his friend had any grey hair yet, but he hadn’t looked closely.
She frowned. “That’s not a selling point, dear. Women want men to be present. Equal parents. Not a man with an expensive hobby running around in circles and buying expensive bicycles.”
Or who load up their motorcycle and drive across the country. Go backcountry camping for twenty days.
“Minivans and college educations aren’t cheap, either.”
“Don’t be argumentative, Zander. And providing for our family is the most rewarding thing your father and I have ever done.” She handed him a steaming mug of rich, Italian coffee. Only the best food and drink in the Minelli house, that had always been the rule, even when his parents didn’t have much.
He pressed his teeth into his lower lip to keep from challenging her on that point. She’d always put the kids first. His father…well, his father was a man, and Zander’s first lesson in life had been that sometimes family shit was too much for men. It was entirely possible his mother had no clue that he remembered their brief separation.
Now wasn’t the time to bring it up. He took a sip of coffee. “Well, I’m never going to want a van, but when I move back in the spring, I’m going to need a house.”
She raised her eyebrows, clearly wanting more. Give Ma an inch…
His mouth went dry and he took another sip. Still dry. Man up, Minelli.
“With…bedrooms. Plural.” It was all he could give her.
As if she knew her oldest wasn’t nearly as mature as her youngest, Anne just nodded. “Bedrooms. Plural. That’s a good start.”
Zander rolled that conversation around in his head as he made his excuses and headed over to the soccer field. He’d told his mother the truth—he was going to watch a friend play an evening pick-up game.
He didn’t tell her the friend was four years old.
Or that his friend’s mother had the sexiest mouth Zander had ever kissed, and he’d jerked off the night before imagining her kissing him…on her knees.
He shook his head at himself. Thinking about buying a family home scared him shitless, but he had no problem with a dirty fantasy about Faith. He really was an overgrown teenager.
At the park, he found them easily. Eric was on the edge of his team huddle, extra little compared to some of the bruisers he played with. Faith stood nearby, a plaid blanket hanging over her arm.
“Hey,” he greeted her as he drew alongside.
She grinned back. He was glad to see she’d returned to her regular uniform of denim and cotton tees as well.
“No lawn chair?” All the other parents had coolers and chairs and veritable camps set up. Faith just had the blanket and two bottles of water.
“I always mean to bring one…” She shrugged. “And then I forget. When I get here, I tell myself to put one in the trunk when I get home. And then I forget.”
He laughed and reached for the blanket. “May I?”
“Please.”
He walked further down the field, away from the other parents, but still central to the action. He wouldn’t interfere with her watching her son play…he just wanted some privacy while they did it.
He set down the small brown paper bag of treats his mother had sent along—chocolate chip cookies, because apparently she thought grown men had the appetites of children.
She wasn’t wrong.
He sat down and stre
tched out, watching Faith hover near the players until the coach sent the first batch of kids—including Eric—onto the field.
Then she came and sat next to him, and started talking.
She didn’t stop for twelve minutes. It was adorable.
She told him about the pick-up games, how they’d evolved from the more formal league that finished earlier in the summer. It was more than a little nice to stretch out in the late sun, wiggle his fingers in the grass, and just chat with Faith.
“How’d work go today?” she asked him, stealing his own line.
“Good. I actually thought about calling or texting you but…”
She bumped her shoulder against his, keeping her eyes on the field. “You asking for something?”
“I don’t know. Do you give your friends your number?”
“Usually.” She grinned. He loved the way it transformed her profile—she was beautiful when she concentrated on something, when she got flying on a subject she was passionate about, but when she smiled, her eyes crinkled up and her cheeks turned into two shiny pink apples. She was always gorgeous, but when she smiled? She was prettiest girl for miles.
Zander wanted to make her smile more often.
He turned just enough to make sure his words were for her ears only, but not so much that he wasn’t still watching the field. “But not if they kiss you senseless behind a bakery?”
She tilted her head to the side, thinking. He breathed in the scent of her. No perfume today. Just shampoo and sweet woman. His mouth watered to taste her neck and find out just how soft she would be if he held her in his lap. If she was ticklish when he explored under her t-shirt and just what kind of bra she was wearing that made her breasts look that round and inviting.
Right on cue, the ref blew her whistle for half-time. Faith held up Eric’s water bottle. He scanned the line of parents, looking for her, and when he saw them sitting together, his little face lit up.
“Zander!” he yelled, and Zander’s chest constricted. Had anyone ever been that excited to see him before?
“Hey, bud!”
“Did you see me play?” Eric stopped in front of them and Faith slid the water bottle into his hand. He kept going. “I was a forward. And after half-time, I’m going in goal! Did you see?”
“I did. You’re fast out there. You make a great forward.” That was a bit of an exaggeration—but only because few of the kids maintained any position. But Eric had been fast, and kept control of the ball. Zander was legitimately impressed with the kid’s speed.
“Thanks!” He turned to his mother, finally, who just laughed. “I’m hungry. Did you bring snacks?”
“We’re going out for burgers after the game,” Faith said, clearly a reminder of a previously explained plan.
“But I’m hungry now!”
Zander cleared his throat, but the second he did, he thought better of just offering the treats without checking first. He looked at Faith, hoping she spoke Pig Latin. “Ocolate-chay ip-chay ookies-cay?”
Eric giggled and Faith blinked. “What?”
“I-bay ought-bray ookies-cay.” Zander stretched out the words more this time and she watched his mouth. She got it on the third word, her eyes lighting up.
“Oh! Yes. That would be fine.” Another smile, and this time the pink blush traced down her neck and disappeared into the v-neck of her t-shirt.
Pig Latin.
It was going on the list with apple pie.
He reached for the brown paper bag and pulled out the smallest cookie and offered it to Eric, who also gave him a wide-eyed look.
Did nobody ever make these two people feel special?
He’d have to make more of an effort.
When? Out of nowhere, a black cloud appeared over his happiness. He was leaving in two days.
But he was coming back.
He just needed to make a case for why Faith should wait for him.
He’d start with hamburgers and asking her more about her books. It was all he had on short notice.
“Are you sharing those with anyone else?” she asked, breaking into his deep thoughts.
Oh, and cookies. He gave her a promising grin. “All my cookies are yours if you want them.”
She just laughed.
For the second half, Eric started in goal, just as he’d said. It wasn’t the easiest position for him, because he couldn’t jump high enough to get the balls that sailed in near the top of the net, but he only let in two goals and he stopped twice as many more.
At the end, after the players all exchanged handshakes and Eric came sprinting back to them, his hair plastered to his face with sweat, it was Zander that he high-fived first. Then he slid his hand into Faith’s while Zander folded up the blanket and they all walked together to Faith’s tiny car.
“Will you follow us to Mac’s?” she asked, tilting her face up to his.
“Yep. See you there.”
He beat them, in fact, because he’d parked closer to the entrance of the park, and could manoeuvre his bike around the slow moving parade of exiting vehicles.
Arriving at the diner first was a good thing, because Rafe and Olivia were there as well, waiting for takeout.
“A craving for meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” Olivia admitted, patting her now prominent pregnant belly. Prominent but cute—pregnancy suited his sister-in-law.
Zander thumped his brother on the shoulder. “Cook your wife a good dinner.”
Rafe scowled. “I tried. She prefers Frank’s potatoes.”
“Fair enough, so do I.” He glanced out the window. “Listen, I’m here for dinner with friends and I don’t want you to make a big deal about it.”
Rafe’s frown turned into a gleeful grin. “But because you’re telling me about it, I know it is a big deal. Is this Faith?”
“Jesus. Don’t you old ladies have anything else to talk about? When she and her son come in, pretend you don’t know me.”
“But I’ve known you my entire life. The day I was born you poked me in the eye. This is going to be hard to pull off.” Rafe groaned as Olivia covered his mouth with her hand.
“We’ll get our food and leave without making any eye contact,” she said sweetly. Too sweetly, because she continued with a level threat. “Provided that tomorrow we get the skinny. Got it? You’ve been holding out on everyone except Dean, and that’s not fair.”
Zander knew the bastard wouldn’t keep that secret.
He didn’t say yes but he didn’t say no. Honestly, he didn’t have anything to share with his nosy but well-meaning family.
This was why he’d left Pine Harbour twenty years ago. Everyone else thought life was a joint exercise when Zander barely had a handle on doing a solo run at it.
Frank, the cook and owner of Mac’s, dinged the bell and Deena the waitress bagged up Olivia’s requested dinner. Zander stepped out of the way, breathing a sigh of relief that they were leaving before Faith and Eric arrived—and not a minute too soon, because the little hatchback pulled into a spot just as Rafe and Olivia headed outside.
He held his breath, watching as his brother not-so-subtly gave Faith the once-over. And Eric. There was that tightness in his chest again. He wanted to run outside and wrap them up in his arms.
But he didn’t need to, because Eric was running inside, straight to him. The little guy reached way up high and pulled the door open, then flew into Zander’s arms.
“I want a cheeseburger,” the kid pronounced. “They make everything better.”
Up until this moment, Zander would have agreed. Now he was pretty sure that it was hugs from a four-year-old that held that trump card.
— NINE —
THURSDAY dawned grey and rainy, which matched Faith’s mood. Zander was leaving the next day and she hated how much that upset her.
She distracted herself by having Vera kill a nasty group of vampires.
Faith hated vampires.
She took a break when Eric got up and they read some books after breakfast, but when
she kept trailing off mid-story, he finally sighed and asked if he could play on his tablet for a bit. She ignored the guilty pang in her gut and agreed. She left her office door open so she could hear him playing in his room—first on the tablet, and then when his timer went off, with his Lego and blocks as he recreated the video he’d just watched.
Twice she pulled out her ponytail by accident. Three times she stabbed herself in the scalp as she shoved pencils into the elastic, then yanked them out again as she made notes to remember. Her monitor was growing quite the multi-coloured post-it fringe—it was alarming.
A quiet knock at the door dragged her back to reality.
“I’m heading to Owen Sound to do some grocery shopping,” Miriam said. “I’ll drop Eric at the library on my way.”
“Thank you! And remember that we’ve got that picnic for dinner tonight, so you don’t need to rush back.” Faith tried hard not to turn red. She’d told her mother about it in the loosest of terms over breakfast, and Miriam had assumed it was with a friend of Eric’s.
“I won’t—I might go see a movie.”
“Okay, have fun.”
She listened to her family get ready as she turned her attention back to the post-it notes. God, she had a lot more to layer in. She rubbed her eyes. Maybe she should plot them all out into future scenes, get them off her monitor.
She preferred to write in a linear fashion, but some characters—Deacon—would get in her head, and as she wrote one thing, it felt like an echo of something that should happen later on.
She needed to get the man out of her head. He didn’t need to be in this book.
Except that she felt very much, deep down, that he did.
Vera needed him.
She rubbed her eyes again, and scribbled why Deacon? on another post-it note. It was there, niggling at the back of her mind, but it wasn’t enough to trust that the character had a reason for showing up in the book—she needed to understand why, in her kick-ass heroine’s series, on book four a hot guy shows up and takes over and it’s a good thing.
It didn’t sound like a good thing.
It sounded dangerous and distracting and unhelpful.
It also messed with her plan for this to be the last book in the series, the grand finale. Because she was rounding the corner into the third act and while the monster of the week was being conquered, new plot lines were popping up.
