by Elena Aitken
“It’s starting to look pretty good in here.” Gwen took a step back to admire their handiwork and swiped the stray hair off her forehead. “As soon as you get the trim done, it will look like a whole new place.”
“That’s the idea.” Ian came to stand beside her. “Thank you so much for your—”
“What?” He was staring at her with a devilish grin twisting up his lips. “Do I…” she touched her head, trying to sort out whatever it was he was looking at.
“It’s just…” He reached out and touched her forehead with one finger. Gwen closed her eyes involuntary as heat and electricity flowed through her. From one touch. “You have a little paint here.”
She opened her eyes again to see Ian, his grin even wider, the offending paint he’d just wiped away on his finger.
Gwen had to swallow hard to control the feelings crashing through her. Her body felt as if it were on fire. From. One. Touch. She blinked hard and refocused. “You think that’s funny, do you?”
He nodded smugly. “I do.”
“Oh yeah?” She looked past him to where she’d left the paint can with the brush balanced across the top. In a quick dash, she grabbed the brush and turned around, wielding it in front of her.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” She jabbed it toward him. “Try me.”
He lunged for her so quickly, she almost got caught, but she was faster than he was and in a twirl, evaded him. “If you think that’s funny,” she said as she dove toward him, the brush in front of her. “You’re going to love this.” The brush made contact with his cheek, leaving a thick white streak.
The shock on his face made Gwen double over in laughter, totally unable to defend herself against retaliation.
“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he said.
That only made her laugh harder and Ian must have recovered quickly after that, because soon his arms were wrapped around her as he wrestled the brush from her hand. It wasn’t a hard battle for him to win, because the feel of his strong arms around her sent her body into a full meltdown. Something about his touch turned her into complete jelly. She was a strong woman, dammit; she shouldn’t be reduced to mush so quickly.
She released her hold on the brush as he spun her around so she was facing him, but he didn’t let her go the way she thought he might. He also didn’t take the opportunity to mark her with the paint again, either. Instead, he stood, holding her, his eyes focused intently on hers. Gwen dared not blink in case it broke the spell that was being cast between them.
It was crazy to think that after all these years there could really be something between them. Ian. Ian McCormick was attracted to her.
Every single thing she was supposed to be thinking—the plotting, the blogging, the plan—it all went out the window as he leaned toward her.
Ian McCormick was going to kiss her and she couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted more.
When his lips touched hers, Gwen thought her knees might buckle. The fact that she was still supporting herself came as a shock as she processed what was happening. His mouth pressed onto hers. Softly at first, testing. And then a little harder, opening just slightly. A sound that might have been a moan of pleasure, or even surprise, slipped from her mouth and before she had a chance to fully understand what was happening, or the significance of the moment, it was over.
“I’m sorry.” Ian released her and turned to put the paintbrush back on the can.
I’m not! She wanted to scream. But didn’t. Instead, she used the few moments his back was turned to compose herself. He’d caused a reaction inside her unlike any other she’d ever experienced, and she was positive it must show on the outside, too. She needed to pull herself together.
“Gwen?” He said her name in a gentle question when he was done sealing the paint can. “I want you to know that I’m really—”
“It’s fine.” She couldn’t bear it if he told her how sorry he was and how he never should have kissed her. She couldn’t bear it if he rejected her again. Not like this. She had to play a strong offense. “In fact, weren’t you saying something earlier about dinner?”
He tilted his head, taking a moment to evaluate her before a grin spread across his features. “I was, wasn’t I?”
She cocked her hip in a way that she knew looked ridiculously sexy and gave him her biggest smile. “You certainly were,” she said. “And as it happens, I don’t have any plans for this evening.”
“Tonight?” The smile faded a bit. “I’d love to, but I left Chelsea at home and I really do need to make sure she’s doing okay.”
“Of course.” That was an excuse she could get behind. Mostly because she knew it wasn’t really an excuse. “Some other time, then.” She sidestepped away from him and grabbed her hoodie from where she’d left it, hanging over a chair. “I’ll be around all summer.”
He ran his hand through his hair, and the resulting scruffiness was so damned cute that Gwen had to stuff her hand in her pocket to keep from reaching out and smoothing it down. She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“Hey, Gwen?”
She turned slowly.
“There will be another time. Let’s set that date tomorrow.”
She didn’t bother to hide the smile that crossed her face. “Tomorrow.”
Chapter Five
The next morning, Ian was up at five, ready to go into work. Ready to see Gwen. But she wouldn’t be there until at least nine like they’d agreed on, so there was no point. He’d only make himself crazy if he went in that early. Besides, when he’d got home the night before, there was evidence that Chelsea had made something to eat, but there was no sign of her. She didn’t answer his knocking on the door, and even though he sat up reading and writing out business plans until eleven, she hadn’t come out again.
He’d gone over their argument a million times, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t seem to understand why she was so angry toward him. It’s not as if he’d done anything. It’s not as if it was his fault their father had ruined everyone’s lives. He was only trying to help and make things better. Or was he?
Ian poured himself another coffee and sat at the table. The view out the kitchen window never failed to relax him. First thing in the morning, the lake was always so calm that the mountains were a perfect reflection. When he was a kid, he used to stare at the perfect reflection and imagine that there were mountains underwater that mirrored the ones on land. Like a secret world. It seemed silly now, but at the same time, reassuring that his childhood memories could still very much be a reality. He took the moment of peace and quiet and sipped his coffee. He’d thought about calling Declan again and asking for some advice with Chelsea. But he needed to be able to handle it himself. After all, it’s not as though he could run to his little brother all the time.
The thought made him laugh. He was the oldest—Dec should be coming to him for help and advice.
And he did, a lot of the time. At least he used to. Things had definitely changed over the years.
A noise came from the direction of Chelsea’s room and he took another sip.
Maybe there was still at least one of his siblings who needed his help. Maybe that’s why Declan had suggested the summer arrangement.
He didn’t have time to ruminate over it any longer, because Chelsea’s door opened. “Good morning.” She walked across the room and poured herself a cup of coffee as if she hadn’t just spent the last eighteen hours ignoring him.
“Morning.” He nodded with his head to the chair across from him at the table. Without a word of protest, she sat and stirred a splash of milk into her drink.
“I trust you’re feeling better this morning?”
“I am.” She took a sip of her coffee and turned to stare out the window, her coffee in both hands.
Ian waited her out and after a moment, without turning to him, she said, “It looks like there are mountains in the lake.”
“What did you say?”
Chelsea turned and looked at him. “Look at it,” she said. “The reflection is so perfect it looks like the mountains are actually in the water. I mean, I know they aren’t actually in the lake. But, it just looks…never mind. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Ian stared at his little sister in wonder. “That’s exactly how I look at it.”
She looked at him, eyes wide. “You do?”
Ian nodded. His heart opened a little. “Ever since I was a little kid. I used to get up earlier than everyone else, sit on the deck and watch the lake wrapped up in a blanket.”
“You did? Even as a kid? Like a little kid?”
He laughed. “As long as I can remember. When I was really young, about five or six, when Dad was still coming out here with us. I guess it was…” He drifted off, aware that Chelsea had stiffened in her seat across from him.
“Before us, you mean?”
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he realized there was nothing he could say.
“Before Dad met my mom and your life went all to hell, right? Isn’t that what you mean?”
“Chelsea. That’s not…okay…it is kinda…”
“It’s okay.” She took another sip of her coffee. “I know that’s what you meant—you just didn’t want to say it. It’s okay.” She turned her attention back to her coffee and after a moment, she added, “But it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, my mom and…well, me and Amber, we kind of ruined everything for you, right?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Chelsea. It wasn’t you who ruined everything. And it wasn’t Amber either.” He realized as he said her name, he’d never met his other sister. He swallowed hard. “It’s not even your mother’s fault.” As he spoke the words, he realized it was true. “It’s not. It’s Dad’s fault.”
“And maybe my mother’s.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“She was a grown woman who knew what she was doing. She didn’t have to make the choices she did.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Either way,” Ian said. “It’s not your fault.” He made a move to reach for her hand but pulled away. “And it’s not Amber’s fault either. You’re just kids. I mean, you were just kids. Either way, it wasn’t your fault. It was his. And maybe…”
“Hers.”
She wouldn’t look at him, but she wasn’t getting up from the table and it was the most they’d said to each other since they’d met, so he didn’t force it.
“It was her fault, too, Ian. I’m sorry.”
“Chelsea.”
She shook her head and continued to stare out the window.
“Look at me.” And then added, “Please.”
She turned to face him, her cup held up to her face, unshed tears in her eyes.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t, Chelsea. You really don’t. This was all about your mom and my…I mean, our dad. We were all victims in their selfishness. They turned us into victims and they didn’t care.”
“You hate me.”
“You hate me.”
The two statements hung in the air. Neither of them spoke as they finished their coffee in silence and stared at the lake.
*
“Gwen? Did you hear me? Do you want pancakes? I’m making pancakes.”
She looked up from her computer screen to stare at the bedroom door of Deanna’s guest room.
Pancakes? Gwen couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten pancakes. Fluffy, golden pancakes drizzled with syrup, slathered with warm, fresh butter…pancakes…thousands of calories that would go straight to her stomach and ruin all her hard work in one sitting.
Pancakes. As if she could eat pancakes. She couldn’t eat pancakes. She’d worked too hard to lose seventy-five pounds and change her life. One pancake was one too many. Definitely one too many.
One delicious, golden, fluffy pancake could derail everything. It could be the gateway to an all-you-can-eat buffet. It could be the end of everything. Her career, her website, her book deal…
“Deanna?”
“Yeessss?”
“I’d love one of those pancakes.” She slammed the lid of her laptop down. She’d read all the comments and feedback on her last post that she could handle anyway. “Actually,” she called out. “I’ll have two.”
Three seconds later, she sat at Deanna’s kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a warm, fluffy pancake hovering on a spatula, directly over her plate.
Gwen inhaled deeply. “That smells fantastic, Dee. Don’t tell me you made that from scratch.”
“Then I won’t.” Her best friend grinned and dropped the pancake on her plate with a wink. “But I did.”
“And there’s butter and syrup, too?”
“Silly girl.” Deanna waved her hand toward the plate with just the condiments she desired. “Fresh pancakes are nothing without the fixin’s.”
“You are a goddess.”
“This I know.” Deanna sat across the table from her with her own pancake. “I also know that pancakes are good for the soul.” She sliced into the cake. “Not every day, of course.”
“No,” Gwen agreed. “Not every day.” Or any day.
“I see the way you’re staring at that thing.” Deanna took a bite. “It’s just a pancake. I swear, it won’t kill you. I promise.”
“It’s not death I’m afraid of.” Gwen eyed the hotcake. “It’s fat. I’m so afraid of—”
“Eat it!”
Gwen stared at her friend.
“It’s a pancake,” Deanna said simply. “It’s not the kiss of death. It will not make you three hundred pounds. It will not undo all the hard work you’ve done. Not if you eat and enjoy one pancake.”
“But it could. It could open the—”
“It won’t. I’m a doctor and I’m telling you that it’s perfectly okay to enjoy a freshly made pancake every once in a while. It is my medical opinion that if you follow a healthy diet and exercise regularly, one pancake will not kill you.”
Gwen stared at her friend, who had resumed eating her own pancake. She looked down at her plate and then back at Deanna. She was a doctor. And even if she wasn’t, Gwen wasn’t an idiot. She knew one pancake wouldn’t undo all her hard work. But she also knew that too many steps in the wrong direction would lead her down a slippery slope that would be hard to come back from.
“Seriously, Gwen,” Dee said when Gwen still hadn’t taken a bite. “What would you tell your readers?”
That was all it took to put it in perspective for Gwen. It seemed so silly, and she knew that most people wouldn’t understand, but to Gwen, her readers were part of her experience. Part of her life, really. She treated them like family, and they looked up to her, and to her for advice on the topic that Gwen was an expert at…weight loss. Dee was right; she would never advise anyone to do what she was doing: staring at a pancake as if it was the devil himself.
“You’re right.” Gwen picked up her fork.
“I know.” Deanna smirked. “I’m always right. That’s why we’re friends.”
Gwen shook her head with a laugh and used the side of her fork to slice into her pancake. Before she could think about it too much, she speared it with the fork and popped it in her mouth.
Heaven.
She didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes to enjoy the morsel until she opened them again to find her friend staring at her with expectation on her face. “Good, wasn’t it?”
“So good. So, so, so good.”
“But it doesn’t feel like you’re going to instantly gain one hundred pounds, does it?”
Gwen shook her head.
“I told you so. Moderation is key. I know you’re an expert in the area of weight loss, Gwen,” Deanna said. “And you should be. You’ve done an awesome job at getting your health back and you look amazing. I just don’t want you to forget to live, too. Life isn’t all about calori
es in versus calories out. You have to find a balance.”
Gwen took another bite of pancake and thought about what her friend said. She did have balance. She worked, she exercised, she had a successful blog that she loved. Okay, that was work. But still…she was balanced. Mostly. She didn’t obsess all the time about what was going into her mouth. There were a lot of other fulfilling things in her life. Like what? Her own inner voice, the one that always spoke up when she didn’t want it to, challenged her.
To silence it, she took another bite of pancake. But the question wouldn’t go away. Like what?
“Hey, you okay?”
Gwen blinked hard twice and focused on her friend. “I’m fine.”
“I hope I didn’t say anything to upset you. I was only trying to be—”
“I know,” Gwen interrupted her quickly. “And it’s fine. I know you weren’t trying to say anything hurtful. But I do have balance, you know?”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I do.”
Deanna stood to fetch more coffee.
“Like this whole thing with Ian—that’s balance.”
Deanna twirled around with the coffee pot so quickly, Gwen almost took cover for fear of flying hot liquid. “The thing with Ian? You mean the way you’re using him for your blog? That thing?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?”
She couldn’t answer that, at least not right away. Gwen held out her mug for more coffee before she answered. “I can’t really explain it,” she said, which she realized wasn’t much of an answer at all. “I know it’s supposed to be about the blog….and it is. But it’s more than that, too. It’s kinda…well, I like him.” She smiled and didn’t bother hiding it. “He’s fun to be around.”
Deanna returned to her seat and took a big gulp of coffee. “What does that mean, Gwen? Do you like him like him? Or just like him?”
Even if Gwen did have an answer for that, she wasn’t about to share it. Last time she like liked Ian McCormick, he’d shattered her heart, and there was no way she was going to let that happen again. No. She’d play her cards close to her chest. At least for now. “It doesn’t really matter,” she said after a moment. “I still need to get the story and judging by the comments my readers have been leaving for the last twenty-four hours, they definitely want more story. And fast.”
