by Karen Cimms
Antoine, who never could take no for an answer, had begged me to do a photo shoot for him while I was around eight months pregnant. When I kept telling him no, he asked if I would reconsider if Chase would agree to do the shoot with me. Surprisingly, he did, especially when he learned it would give us enough money to spruce up the kitchen and finish the bathroom so we could sell the house without having to dip into our savings.
The photo had been for an article on sexuality during pregnancy for Baby Love magazine. It turned out so well, the image was also used on the cover. Despite our nudity (Chase did opt to wear a modesty pouch to cover his junk), the shoot was tasteful and artistic, and the selected photo had turned out so beautiful, Antoine had gifted us with an enormous framed print that now hung over our bed.
Lorraine’s eyes swept over the portrait and then back to Quinn.
It was time to move on. I turned my daughter around so that she could see Lorraine. When she smiled, Quinn gurgled and began to kick. I wiped a string of drool off her lip before handing her over.
“Quinn, this is your Aunt Lorraine.”
Lorraine lifted Quinn into her arms, and cradled her like a pro. She pressed her nose to Quinn’s head and breathed in that magic baby smell. “Dylan wants a little girl.” Her eyes were soft and she smiled. “I think he’s jealous of Chase. I’m not sure I could manage three kids though. Especially if it’s another boy. Logan and Trevor are a handful. I’m surprised we haven’t heard any crashes yet.”
“No worries. Nothing is irreplaceable.”
Her laugh was more of a nervous titter. She was trying. We’d never be hanging out for girls’ night, but we’d be able to enjoy a holiday dinner, I was certain of it.
The bedroom door pushed open. “Babe?” Chase’s eyebrows creased as he looked from Lorraine to me. “Everything okay?”
I made sure my smile was wide enough for him to see that yes, everything was okay.
“Quinn was just getting to meet her Aunt Lorraine.”
Lorraine looked up at Chase, a soft sheen in her eyes. “She’s beautiful. Congratulations.” Turning back to me, she asked, “Should I take her back to the living room? I think Geraldine wants her back.”
“Sure. I’m just going to wash my hands, and I’ll be right out.”
As soon as Lorraine’s footsteps could be heard echoing down the hall, Chase stepped into the room and closed the door. “You sure you’re okay? If she was starting any of her bullsh—”
I pressed a hand against his chest. “Nope. We’re good. She actually wanted to apologize.”
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “No shit? It’s about time.” He searched my eyes, probably trying to make sure I was telling the truth. I had no doubt that had Lorraine started any trouble, he wouldn’t have hesitated to show her the door. Satisfied, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a kiss with just enough tongue to make me want to wish everyone goodnight.
“I thought you told people not to bring any presents,” he said after pulling away, leaving me aching for more.
“I did. No one listens.”
“Well, there’s a table full of presents out there, and Izzy is pacing around like a caged tiger, wanting us to open them.”
I wiggled my fingers in the air. “I’ll be right out.”
Chase and I opened the gifts, which were mostly gift cards to restaurants and Home Depot, and thankfully, nothing to add to all the packing I’d be doing over the next few weeks. When we were done, there was only one present left. A bright pink and purple gift bag, tied together with shiny ribbon curls and a scalloped handmade gift tag.
Chase picked it up and read the tag. He scanned the room. “This one only has my name on it.”
I glanced over at Diane to make sure she was recording him with her iPhone. “Guess you better open it then.”
He peeked in the bag. “It doesn’t say who it’s from.” When he looked up at me, I shrugged.
“For crissakes, open it!” Diane said.
“You better open it, Chase. My girl’s a little cranky,” Wally said.
She lowered the phone. “Who’s cranky?”
Wally cowered, all six foot four inches and three hundred plus pounds of him. “Here,” he said, snatching the iPhone from her hands. “Let me do that. You rest.”
Diane glared at him and pointed at the watermelon under her dress. “You did this to me.”
Their heads swiveled in my direction at the sound of my snapping fingers. “Guys. You mind?”
Diane gave Wally one more narrowed glance. “Sorry,” she said. “Continue.”
With Wally now filming and Diane settling back into Chase’s recliner, Chase went back to the gift bag in his lap. He tugged on the ribbon and pulled out two envelopes numbered one and two.
He held up envelope number one. “I guess I open this one first.” Everyone laughed, although no one but me and Izzy had a clue what was in the bag. The only thing Diane knew was that I’d asked her to get all of it on camera. Considering how emotional she was lately, I was glad she’d passed the task on to Wally.
Chase opened the first envelope, and I watched his face as he read the words silently to himself. His eyes were shining when he looked up at Izzy, who was standing beside me, her arm wrapped around my waist and her head tucked under my arm.
“Thank you, baby.”
“You gotta read it out loud,” she said.
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I’ll be blubbering like a fool.”
“C’mon, Dad.”
A chorus of groans and pleas filled the room, the loudest of which was Diane.
“For crissakes. Read the damn note.”
It got silent for a second, and when everyone’s eyes landed on her, Diane pointed a finger at Wally. “It’s his fault. He did this to me.”
The second round of laughter was even louder.
“All right, I’ll read it aloud, but I’m not standing.”
He cleared his throat several times, and I knew he was trying to steady his voice.
When I was only six years old, you got down on bended knee
And asked if I’d accept your hand and give thought to your plea
You promised to become my dad, and said you’d always be there.
You didn’t lie. You showed me then for me you’d always care.
When I was eight you married Mom, and a family we became
You and Mom and Zac and me, and you loved me just the same.
When I was eleven, life fell apart and we lived in different homes,
And even though I was not your girl, you loved me as your own.
But life is funny, as we can see, and here we are again
I love you Chase, but I need more and not just as a friend.
The room was silent when he finished, except for a few sniffles. Chase lifted the cuff of his sleeve and dragged it under his eyes. “Damn, Iz. C’mere.” Izzy rushed into his arms, and he bent and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, man.” He wiped his eyes again as Izzy returned to my side.
Chase held up the envelope, which was larger than the first one. “Is this going to make me cry too?”
At that Quinn let out a yowl.
“That’s what she said,” Dylan responded. Chase laughed and wiped his eyes.
Zac, who was hanging onto the side of Chase’s chair, leaned in to see the second envelope. “Is this one from you, buddy? You going to make me cry now?”
Zac threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know what it is.” Chase pressed a kiss to his head, then tore open the envelope, and pulled out several pages that had been stapled together. On the front was an almost blank cover sheet. He read aloud the words neatly printed on the first page.
It’s time we make this official.
For the briefest moment, confusion flooded his face, but what replaced it, looked a lot like raw hope. Through the blur of tears, his eyes sought out mine, and I knew what he was asking me. I gave him a slight nod, unable to contain my smile. He flipped the cover s
heet and stared at the large print on the next page.
“How?” he asked after a few moments. It was one word. One syllable. But his voice was thick and nearly broke. He stood and as he opened his arms, Izzy flew into them. The papers floated to the floor, landing face up, their meaning clear to everyone: Petition for Adoption.
The silent room filled with voices. A few gasps. A sob or two. I was crying. Diane was gulping back tears, but what touched me most was the smile on the tear-stained face of Chase’s mother. Even Lorraine’s eyes were unusually bright.
Chase cupped Izzy’s wet cheeks in his big hands and tilted her face up to his. “I’ve always felt like your father, sweetheart, but I’d be honored to make it official.” He was crying too, but didn’t seem to care in the least. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she sobbed into the front of his shirt, leaving dark wet blotches.
“How?” he asked me again, over her head.
Since my daughter was currently incapable of answering, I did it for her.
“Jeff has agreed to give up his parental rights. Izzy called him herself and explained that she wanted you to adopt her. She promised she would keep in touch with him and his parents, but let him know that other than biologically and legally, you were her father. He agreed.”
I didn’t add how proud I was of my daughter, or I’d be blubbering as well. I’d done that weeks ago when I sat beside her and held her hand while she talked to Jeff. And when he got on the phone with me, and told me that Chase and I had done an amazing job raising her, I couldn’t help puffing up. Izzy was a terrific kid, and she had a heart big enough to encompass everyone. The fact that she held no resentment toward Jeff and his absence in her life was proof that she had everything she needed. I thought ahead to her wedding day and pictured her walking down the aisle, maybe with both of them by her side.
Nothing would surprise me when it came to my girl.
After everyone had gone home, and Chase had tucked our kids into bed for the night and then fallen asleep himself, I sat in the living room, nursing Quinn and reflecting on my life as the multicolored lights reflected on the glass of the large picture window.
It would be our last Christmas in this house, which held so many memories. Some bad, but mostly good. In an odd way, I’d grown up here. And so had Chase.
A floorboard in the hall creaked under a heavy footstep, followed by a yawn.
“You almost done?”
I looked at the sleeping angel in my arms. “Yes. She drank herself into a milk coma.”
Chuckling, he planted a soft kiss on her tiny head, and then another on my lips. “Go put her down, and meet me back here.”
I settled Quinn into her bassinet, and returned to the living room to find Chase wearing a coat and shoes.
“Hurry up and grab your coat. It’s almost midnight. We still have a few minutes left to our anniversary.”
He had to be kidding. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Right, so put on your coat. Let’s go.” He nudged me toward the door.
I tugged my parka from the closet and put it on, then added a hat and gloves. Chase opened the patio door and led me out into the back yard where I saw a blanket spread out on the dead winter grass, the bottle of champagne he’d tucked into the refrigerator earlier, and two coffee mugs.
He pulled me down onto the blanket next to him and handed me a mug. “I couldn’t find any champagne glasses.”
“They’re already packed.”
I was shivering, but his sweet slow grin warmed me on the inside. “Then this will have to do.”
He popped the cork on the champagne and poured until he’d practically filled each mug.
“Here’s to us, Rain. To life. To new beginnings every day. To happily ever after.”
Our glasses clinked and in the distance, over his head, a star shot across the sky. The Geminids, of course, but in my heart, it was my dad careening across the heavens. Chase hadn’t forgotten.
I rose up to my knees and kissed him until his warmth flooded through my veins. I pressed my nose to his.
“To happily ever after.”
The End
This part of the book should be called “Counting My Blessings,” because that’s what I’m doing here. A simple “thank you” isn’t enough; each and every one of you are truly blessings.
I dedicated this book to two special women: Whitney Barbetti and Jenn Holter. Whitney is one of the best writers I know and has become a treasured friend. She’s helped me in so many ways. If it weren’t for her, I’m not sure many of you would even know my name. Thank you, Whitney, for always being there to answer a question, tweak an ad, sprint with me, or be my sounding board.
Jenn Holter, I’d be lost without you. But then, you already know that. You are crazy talented and organized (I mean it!), and you leave me in awe. You not only make my writing life much smoother, you’ve become a treasured friend. You are the very best, and I love you to pieces.
Lori Ryser, again you come through in the clinch and make sure every last word is perfect. One of these days, hopefully soon, I’m going to hug you so hard! Remind me to send Diana Gabaldon and Lisa Clark O’Neil a thank-you note.
As always, thank you to my line editor, Lisa Poisso. You made me dig much deeper with Miss February and Mrs. February, and I’m so glad you did. I truly understand the value of a good editor, and I’m so lucky I found one. Onward!
Garrett Cimms, thanks for being the best cover designer and son a mother could wish for. You’re a regular two-for-one deal, and I love you.
To my dear friend Kerry Palumbo, I’m so glad I sent Garrett to Marian where you and I met. Thank you for your friendship, your love, and your support. And once again, thank you for tweaking my back cover copy.
Karla Sorensen, thank you too for help with my back cover copy. Between you and Kerry, I’m pretty lucky.
Jade Eby, thank you as always for your beautiful formatting and interior design of my books. You have the magic touch.
Dennis Massone, thank you again for your expertise on modified stock cars and mechanics.
Stephanie Harris and Stacy Mendoza, thank you also for your help with choosing a fast car for Preston to drive. I asked, and you two delivered.
Diane Lane Stone, thank you for inspiring Rain’s best friend, and also for supporting me with Miss February and Mrs. February from the very beginning. I love you.
To one of my BFFs, Toni. Thanks again for chauffeuring me around our old stomping grounds. I can’t wait to see you!
To my beautiful daughter-in-law, Olka, thank you again for translating Irena’s words into Polish. Maybe I’ll learn to say more than “Happy Birthday” one of these days.
Thank you Ann Travis and Lydia Fasteland. You are the best beta readers a writer can have. I need to thank Diana and Lisa for the both of you as well, and also for Tyra Hattersley and Rhonda Donaldson, for tough, honest feedback.
Sandy Barg, thanks for being my number one fan! I’m so glad you found me. You swooped into my life and have done everything from beta read to keep my VIP Room entertained. I hope I get to hug you in Salem this year.
Speaking of my fan group, the VIP Room, I really love you guys. Thank you for all of your support. I’m so lucky we found each other.
And of course, a very special thank you to all of the bloggers for sharing my work and reviewing my books. I would be nowhere without your support.
Lastly, my husband, Jim. Thank you for a lifetime of love, happiness, and music. I’m a lucky girl.
Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek of BROADWAY BEANS, a romantic comedy by Karen Cimms, due for release this fall.
Broadway Beans
Franky
I didn’t know it was possible to feel this stupid. I’d made coffee before. Hell, I’d even made espresso. Who’d have guessed attempting to become a barista would make me feel as if I were trying to perform brain surgery with nothing more than a high school diploma and a butter knife.
So fa
r that morning I’d made only two drinks correctly—both of them coffee, black. It was humiliating. It didn’t help that my manager, Dee-Jon, was a real dick. (“Like the mustard?” I’d asked when he’d told me his name. He’d given me an irritated sigh and pointed to his name tag. “No. Dee-Jon,” he repeated. Seriously. It sounded exactly like the mustard.) If I hadn’t been desperate, I would have handed Dee-Jon my misspelled name tag and my godawful orange apron and then told him where to shove his frothing thermometer. But I didn’t, because I needed this job and I had to prove to my parents and myself, that I could make it on my own in Manhattan. Not including living rent free with Erika of course, but taking care of Clarence was a second job. He had to be walked several times a day—apparently his bladder was the size of a pea—and when he did finally find the right spot to take a shit, I had the pleasure of scooping it up and carrying it around in a bright blue bag until I could find a trash can. His diet consisted of some specialty food that was fifteen subway stops away from Erika’s place. Fortunately, the gourmet water he drank—because he couldn’t drink water from the tap, even though it’s a well-known fact New York City water is some of the best drinking water in the country—was ordered from an online pet store and shipped directly to us. Let the UPS man lug it up the stairs. All I had to do was pull the case inside the front hall.
For as much as I disliked getting up at six o’clock in the morning and pulling sweats on over my pajamas and heading outside to walk Clarence, at least I was good at it.
Making coffee? Not so much.
The morning rush was over and Dee-Jon had me empty the trash, then he tossed me a rag and had me wipe down tables. I hadn’t screwed up either.
I was straightening up the pastry display case when I heard fingers snapping in my direction. Dee-Jon gave me an exaggerated face and pointed to the man standing at the counter, reading over the menu board. This wasn’t Starbucks, but unless he was a regular customer, it might take a while for him to get through all the different varieties of freaking coffee. I stepped behind the counter and washed my hands, then turned to face him.
