by Kendall Ryan
But beneath that is a more familiar smell, a clean, masculine scent that’s pure Lexington. Because after all, beneath the grown, handsome man in front of me is the same Lexington from high school. The same boy who took my heart and cracked it wide open. And I just can’t go down that road again.
“Well, I don’t.” I sigh, which makes Lexington’s blue eyes widen.
“Oh. I . . . I’m sorry, I must’ve been reading this wrong. I thought . . .” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Do you not feel the connection between us?”
“Of course I do.” I sigh again, my voice dripping with exasperation. “But I’m here to watch Grier. That’s all. I’ve been down that road with you before. And if you remember, it was a dead end for me.”
“I already apologized for that,” he says, his voice husky and sterner now that he’s on the defense. “We were young and dumb. And I’m sorry.”
“You were young and dumb,” I say firmly, correcting him. “I was young and heartbroken because you disappeared on me and gave up on what we had. You gave up on me. I’m the one who was left in the dust.”
His thick, dark brows draw together. “I thought . . . we talked that out. I was hoping you forgave me.”
“Forgiving and forgetting are two different things, Lexington. And I can’t just forget ten years of complete silence from you.”
I set my glassdown on the table before pushing to my feet, which carry me straight back inside without missing a step. If he has anything else to add, I don’t hear it over the blood pounding in my ears.
I’m going home. And this time, I’m the one leaving without saying good-bye.
12
* * *
LEXINGTON
I flip through the massive stack of papers. “Can you go into a little more detail about this part?” I ask the representative, pointing to a firmly worded clause. “I’m not yet as familiar as I’d like to be with this state’s laws.”
I’m currently in a title company office, closing on the first piece of real estate I’ve bought in North Carolina—a beachfront investment property I hope to rent out to tourists. Grier sits on the floor near my feet, munching animal crackers and mashing her fingers against the screen of her tablet. After Corrigan shot me down so thoroughly last week, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to call her, and besides, this bit of business is easy and fast enough to permit splitting my attention.
“Of course,” the closing agent replies. “It just means that you—”
“Look.” Grier tugs at my sleeve. “Daddy, look-it.”
“Hang on, baby girl, Daddy’s working. I’ll only be another ten minutes.” I switch my attention back. “Please continue.”
“Daaaddyyyyy!” Grier hollers.
I shoot an apologetic glance at the closing agent, who smiles and looks down at Grier. “What is it?”
She points proudly at her tablet screen, which displays an array of bouncing shapes in various colors. “Square is red.”
“That’s right! Very good job. But next time, unless it’s an emergency, wait until Daddy says we can talk.” I turn back again. “Sorry.”
The guy chuckles. “I completely understand. I have a nephew about her age. Now, as I was saying . . .”
After I’ve finished signing paperwork and shaken all the congratulatory hands, I load Grier and her stuff back into the car. It’s been a couple of days since we visited Mom, and we make our way there now.
A new, short-haired nurse in blue scrubs opens Mom’s door, one of the three extras I’ve hired since Mom’s accident. “Lexington, right? I’m Dawn. Listen . . .” She lowers her voice to a murmur. “I’m afraid your mom isn’t doing well today. She’ll need to rest soon.”
I nod calmly like the words don’t send a little chill squirming around my gut. “Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll try to keep things short.”
Dawn heads to the corner with a book, and I appreciate the illusion of privacy. As we come in and sit down, Mom does indeed look exhausted and sick.
Grier clambers into Mom’s lap and stares into her eyes, her forehead crinkled with concern. “Gamma need a nap?”
God, even a two-year-old can tell.
“Soon, honey . . . but not quite yet. I can see my two babies for a little while.” Mom kisses Grier on both cheeks, exaggerating the smacking sounds to make Grier giggle. “So, what have you been up to, Lex?” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper.
“I just came here from closing on a beach house. It’s a beautiful Victorian style. Great view of the water, not too hard to access from the highway, bay windows, and four bedrooms. It has great potential. I just have to hire a couple of contractors for some repairs and renovations, and it’ll be ready to rent out. I think tourists will love it.”
“Wonderful. I’m sure it’ll be a great investment. You always did have a nose for business. And how is Corrigan working out?”
“Uh . . .” As always, my mom zeroes right in on the thing I most don’t want to talk about. “Well, we had a little disagreement a few days ago, so I’ve been—”
She gives me a troubled frown. “That’s too bad. What about?”
The idea of telling Mom I tried to ask Corrigan out, let alone the reason she rejected me, ranks somewhere between eating needles and catching on fire. “Just a . . . personality conflict type of thing. I was being stupid.” That part isn’t inaccurate.
Now Mom’s frown is one that tells me she knows I’m lying, but she’s letting it go. For now, anyway. It’s highly likely I’ll be grilled again when I least expect it.
“Do you think she’ll still look after Grier for you?”
Oh hell, that possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. What if Corrigan never wants to see me again after I made her comfortable?
“I really hope so,” I say truthfully. Even if there’s zero chance of us dating again, I still want her in my life. I’ll take being “just friends” any day. I have very few of those in this town after being gone for so many years.
Mom presses her lips together. “I’ve been turning it over and over in my mind, Lex, and I think Grier needs a mother, not a nanny.”
I heave out a sigh and glance over to where Grier’s now playing with the lace doilies on the coffee table. “Mom, we’ve talked about this. I don’t have the time and energy to devote to a girlfriend right now, and I definitely don’t want to use one as free childcare. That’s just where my life is now.”
And after everything Corrigan has told me about how my dumbass behavior has made her feel, on top of how things went with Grier’s mother, I’m starting to doubt whether I’m even cut out for long-term romantic relationships at all. The evidence would point to no.
Fuck.
“Lexington.” Despite the fatigue in her voice, Mom’s voice sounds the sharpest I’ve heard from her in years. She rests her hand on my arm, locking eyes with me. “Get your act together. Take your time, do things right, but remember you have a daughter to think about.”
I stiffen. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. She always comes first. That’s why I—”
Mom yawns hugely. “Oh dear, pardon me. I’d love to talk more, but I’m afraid I’m fading . . . naptime really sneaked up on me.”
I nod, my jaw muscles tight. “That’s fine, Mom. Rest. We’ll see you again soon. Tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it.”
She nods once.
I pick up Grier and head to the door, glancing at Dawn, who is putting on a very convincing show of being totally absorbed in her book. I feel angry all over again at airing our dirty laundry in front of a stranger.
At the last moment before I go, I turn back to say, “Feel better soon, Mom.”
She nods and raises her hand in an attempt at a wave. “Thank you, sugar.”
My mind buzzes with somber thoughts as I drive home, too many things crashing over and over one another and making my blood pressure rise. I don’t know what to think anymore. Trying to figure my life out by myself isn’t working. I need someone to talk to. I’m not
sure if what I need is a distraction or a serious hashing-out session or what, but I need something.
Shit—I realize I’ve hardly talked to Dak since I came here. I completely forgot to follow up with him, let alone hang out. And if anyone can give me an insider’s perspective on Corrigan, it’s her brother.
When we get home, I get Grier set up with her favorite toys and call Dak. It only rings a few times before he picks up.
“What’s up, Lex?”
“Hey, man, sorry I took so long to get back to you. I was wondering if you wanted to come over for a beer.”
“Sure, I’m not doing anything right now. Or if you want, we can have a few rounds on the house at Dak’s Place—I know the owner pretty well.”
I snort. “I have to watch Grier. I can’t take a toddler to a bar, even if it is yours.”
“That’s cool. I wanted to see your new place anyway. You free now?”
“Yeah.”
“Be there in twenty.”
“Cool. See you soon.” I hang up.
By the time I’ve cleaned up the kitchen and picked up the mess of books Grier’s dumped into the middle of the living room floor, there’s a knock on the front door. Grier toddles over with Flapflap in tow, but when I open the door to Dak, she glues herself to my leg.
He sets down his six-pack and squats, smiling at her. “Hey there, sweetie. You must be Grier. My name is Dak.”
“Hi,” she says in a tiny voice, then immediately hides her face.
“It’s all right, love bug. Dak is Daddy’s oldest friend.” I stroke her hair soothingly. “Do you want to watch Totoro?”
That does the trick. She detaches with a yell of “Monsters!” and runs to the couch, scrambling up onto it, then grins expectantly at me.
Dak laughs. “Funny kid.”
“Yeah, she likes just about any weird creature or flying thing. That bat she’s dragging around is her all-time favorite toy.” I start the movie and put Dak’s beer in the fridge. “Let me show you around.”
I try to make the tour quick to get my eyes back on Grier sooner, though I can’t keep myself from expounding on the features that originally made me want to buy the house, like its large, sunny bedrooms.
Dak gives me a knowing grin. “You sound like you’re trying to sell me this place.”
“Yeah, it’s a habit.” I take him back to the breakfast nook, then snag a couple of his beers from the fridge. “By the way, you didn’t have to buy beer. Not that I’m complaining, but I already had some here.”
“I figured, since you didn’t ask me to bring anything, but I wanted you to try this. It’s local, small-batch . . . we just started serving it at the bar, and I’ve been pretty excited about it.”
I raise my eyebrows and smirk as I hand him a bottle opener. “Wow, you’ve turned into a connoisseur. I remember a time you’d drink any slop you could get your hands on.”
“You were right there drinking it with me,” Dak says, cracking his beer open. “And it was high school. Of course we weren’t gonna be picky. We didn’t know any better.”
“Speak for yourself. I knew it was horrible, I just wanted to get drunk more than I wanted to save my poor taste buds.” I open mine and take a drink. “You were right, this is good. Hey, you know what talking about bad beer reminds me of? Playing basketball with the guys in the parking lot on Sycamore.”
“Oh man, I haven’t thought about that in years. Yeah, we’d go there with Kyle and . . . Chet or Chad or whatever his name was, and all their brothers, and play until we got too sunburned and hungry to keep going. But we didn’t drink there.”
“We drank with them at the summer bonfires. Like the time a certain person crashed us all into the side of a building.”
He lets out an uneasy chuckle. “Don’t remind me. I was sweating like a pig when I bought that building from Mr. Gibbs, hoping he didn’t recognize me.”
“No sh—stuff? That’s where your bar is?” I laugh. “Okay, now I really do need to fit a visit into my schedule. See if I can find the dent in the wall.”
“Dick. Maybe I should rethink those free rounds.” He takes another drink. “Why’re you talking like it’ll be hard to find the time? Just ask Corrigan over here for a few hours.”
“That’s . . . true.” I can’t get into how complicated things have become, and all the doubts Mom inspired in me, without revealing too many secrets that he might murder me over. “So, she’s mentioned that she’s been nannying Grier?”
“Oh yeah. Corrigan really seems to like her.”
“Grier likes her too. It’s been going really well.”
Except for the last time when I fucked it all up.
Dak smiles, obviously pleased. “Great to hear. I knew she’d be the perfect fit for the job.”
“By the way,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible, “what’s she been up to since I left? We haven’t gotten much chance to shoot the breeze while she’s busy with Grier.”
He shrugs. “Not much. Working, hanging out with Sarah Jo, helping me out at the bar sometimes. Her job demands a lot of her time, but she loves it.”
“That’s good. She always wanted to teach, and I’m glad it panned out for her. Lots of people, they dream about a job and then it turns out nothing like they expected.” I drink while deciding whether I dare to push further. “Does she . . . have a boyfriend or anything?”
“You’re asking if my sister is single?” Dak shoots me a confused look.
My heart rate picks up. “Just making conversation.”
“Gotcha,” he says slowly, but he still sounds thrown off. “I’m kinda glad. You and Corrigan together is a pretty bizarre mental picture.” He laughs as if the idea is totally ridiculous.
I can’t help being offended. “Why? What’s so weird about it?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We’re like brothers, dude—that’d make her your sister.” He grins at me. “What’s all this about? Has playing house together made you catch domestic feelings?”
He clearly thinks he’s just messing around.
I take the plunge and, straight-faced, shatter my shield of plausible deniability. “Would that be a problem if I did?”
Dak blinks at me for a second, then chuckles again, but it sounds uneasy this time. “Your sense of humor sucks, man.”
I level my gaze at him, keeping a neutral expression. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not making any jokes.”
Another stare, much longer and more frowning this time. “You’re serious.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” I say testily.
“Why the hell are you asking me about Corrigan?”
“It’s just a question, Dak. We’re all adults here.” I shrug, trying to act casual, but my heart is pounding.
“No offense, Lex, but I’m not sure how much faith to put in that. You don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to women.”
It’s a low blow. Yes, I spent my twenties fucking around and ended up with a kid I never planned on, but fuck.
“I like to think I’ve done right by Grier.” My voice is low, dangerous, challenging.
“You have. But caring for a two-year-old isn’t the same thing as having a successful relationship. I think you know that and you’re playing dumb on purpose just to—” Dak abruptly gets up and sets his still half-full bottle on the table. “Sorry, I should probably go. My shift starts soon.”
“Thanks for the beer,” I reply flatly.
When he’s gone, I lock the door behind him and pour out his beer into the sink, feeling more agitated than ever.
Well, that little chat didn’t fucking help.
13
* * *
CORRIGAN
At eight a.m. on the dot, my alarm clock blares with its familiar deafening cry. And for the first time in years, I slap my hand onto the snooze.
It’s not like me to be sleeping in, but it’s also not like me to stay up half the night thinking about a guy. But that’s exactly what I di
d last night. Lexington Dane has been occupying my thoughts almost one hundred percent of the time since the night I turned him down. Also known as the last time I spoke to him.
And the silence between us has had two major effects on me.
The first is that it has me brainstorming an unending list of questions. Is Lex mad at me? Hurt? Am I still Grier’s nanny? Am I ever going to stop obsessively checking my phone, hoping to hear from him?
And as if that wasn’t enough, see exhibit B, the second, more dangerous effect.
You know that old saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, my heart is growing fond, all right. A little too fond. As in at least one sex dream about him a night fond. And while I know that saying no to a date with him was the responsible thing to do, it seems like my sex drive isn’t feeling particularly responsible lately. Yay for me.
Eight minutes pass in the blink of an eye, and there goes my alarm again, screaming that it’s time to get up. With a sigh, I shove off the covers and turn my alarm off, then immediately reach for my phone, hoping to see a notification from Lexington.
But no, just a few news notifications and a text from Sarah Jo, double-checking that we’re on for lunch tomorrow.
I fire back a quick response to her, then hold down the side button until the screen goes black. My phone needs a time-out. Or rather, I need a time-out from my phone. I need to unplug and stop wondering about Mr. You-Know-Who. And I’ll never get out of my head if I don’t get out of the house. Luckily, I know just the way to do it. It’s too beautiful out to worry the day away, and in my experience, there isn’t a problem in this world that a little sunshine and ocean air can’t wash away.
I do a load of laundry, and then hop into the shower with my hair up in a messy bun so I can shave my legs. As I finish the few remaining chores around my apartment, I hatch a plan about how I can spend my day.
With my chores done, I march over to my closet, change into my go-to baby blue bikini, and slip on a gauzy white cover-up. It takes me a few minutes to dig up last summer’s beach bag from the back of my closet. There’s still a tube of suntan lotion in there, along with a very expired bag of trail mix. Shame on Last Year Corrigan for not properly cleaning this thing out.
