by Lili Valente
Angie assures her, “No reason at all, sweet pea. Now hop down and get me the carrots and the celery from the fridge. If we hurry you can chop a few before your daddy gets back and takes the knives away.”
I’m not a fan of Chloe and knives, but I’m so grateful to Angie that I don’t stop to remind Chloe of how she almost hacked off her finger helping chop walnuts last Christmas. I hurry out into the backyard, grateful for the thermal shirt under my sweater. It’s a good twenty degrees colder here than in the city, and they’ve already seen substantial snowfall this season.
Snowfall that thankfully makes it easy to follow the Laura-boot-shaped imprints in the field of white blanketing the ground…
The prints track around the swing set to the back gate, where they disappear. I let myself out of the yard and start down the path leading away from the house, growing increasingly concerned as Laura’s trail continues deeper and deeper into the woods.
I call her name, my voice echoing through the bare trees. “Laura, come back! It’s okay. Chloe’s been distracted, and Angie doesn’t care. Neither do I.”
“Well, I care.” The muffled words come from the ground just ahead.
I round the curve and see Laura sitting on a fallen tree trunk, digging at the earth between her boots with a stick, the mangled diaphragm lying in the snow not far away.
I crouch down, sitting on my heels on the other side of the hole she’s made. “You know they have trashcans back at the house.”
“I’m going to bury it.” She sniffs and swipes the back of her hand across her nose, her attention trained on the soil she’s turning over one stick-stab at a time. “I’m going to bury it, and then I’m going to dig another hole for me.”
I tilt my head, getting my first good view of her pink cheeks and the damp trails leading from her eyes down to the curve of her jaw. “Seriously, Freckles,” I say gently. “There’s no need to cry. I promise. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.” She sniffs harder. “And I’m not crying. Like I said last summer, I don’t cry.”
“And like I said, I don’t think that’s healthy.” I brush her hair over her shoulder as I shift to sit on the log beside her. “It’s okay to cry. But you don’t need to cry about this. Honestly. It’s just one of those things that happen when you have kids or dogs. Or kids and dogs. That’s an especially dangerous combination.”
But she isn’t in the mood to laugh about this yet.
She shakes her head, sending the curtain of silky red slipping back between us. “I should have taken it out of my purse. I don’t know why I left it in. It’s not like I was expecting…”
She trails off, leaving me to fill in the blanks.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, well, best to be prepared, right? Just in case. Things have happened before.”
She goes still, but I can feel her attention shifting my way behind the hair concealing most of her face.
“I brought condoms,” I confess, hoping it will make things better, not worse. It’s hard to know, but surely realizing she’s not the only one who believes in being responsible and prepared will take the edge off of the shame she’s feeling.
After a beat, she turns, staring at me with an inscrutable expression. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I’m attracted to you,” I say, the confession alone enough to make me thicker. “And even though I know we’re just friends…”
Her eyes darken as she echoes, “Even though you know we’re just friends…”
“I still want to do this.” I lean closer, slowly threading my fingers into her hair, giving her ample opportunity to tell me to fuck off.
But she doesn’t. She lets me get closer, closer, until her mouth is warm against mine and hunger dumps into my bloodstream, making my pulse race. Our lips brush softly, once, twice, a boundary-testing kiss that picks up steam as her lips part, offering me an invitation I can’t refuse.
With a groan, I swirl my tongue against hers and into the sweetness of her mouth. She tastes like raspberry pie and whipped cream, but beneath that is sea spray, ocean breeze, and sun-warmed skin, making me wonder if she tastes like summer all year long. It can’t be more than twenty-five or thirty degrees out here, but suddenly I’m back on the beach, burning all over because this woman is in my arms, bringing me into the light with her kiss.
Chapter Nine
Laura
I should stand up. Pull away. Run from this man as fast as my kiss-weakened knees can carry me.
This isn’t what I want.
I’m not in the market for stolen kisses on the rare occasions when Brendan forgets how poorly he believes I would fit into his “complicated life.” I’m not up for being fuck buddies or friends with benefits. I don’t want to get off and pretend it doesn’t mean more than that. That he doesn’t mean more. That he doesn’t make me ache for reasons that have nothing to do with how much I enjoy being in bed with him.
But as Brendan threads his fingers into my hair, fusing our mouths tight, every stroke of his tongue sending longing burning across my skin to pool hot and heavy between my thighs, I can’t seem to force my hands to push him away.
Instead, when he lifts me, guiding my knees to either side of his hips until I’m straddling him on the fallen tree, all I do is gasp and press closer. Press my mouth closer to his lips and my breasts closer to his chest, while my hips roll forward, rocking against the thick ridge of his cock through our jeans.
“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his hand finding its way up the front of my sweater. His fingers are cold against my tight nipple, but my skin is so warm I barely notice.
I left my coat inside, but I’m not the least bit chilly. I’m burning with the need to get closer to Brendan, to feel him heavy on top of me and thick between my thighs, driving me so out of my mind with pleasure that I forget what a stupid idea it is to touch him like this again.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. I want you so much.” He rolls my nipple back and forth between his calloused fingertips until it feels like electricity is shooting directly from his fingers to sizzle between my legs. “I really wish we had an un-mangled diaphragm with us right now.”
The words help slam on the brakes, bringing me back from the brink of insanity before it’s too late.
“We’re not having sex in your in-laws’ backyard,” I say, pushing his hand from my breast.
His fingers mold to my ribs, clearly not ready to beat a full retreat just yet. “Technically we’re in the woods behind my in-laws’ backyard.”
“Or there, either.” I tap his forearm, but his hand doesn’t move. “Or anywhere else. We’re friends, Brendan.”
“I know. And I like being your friend.” His eyes darken as he adds in a huskier voice, “But I also like making you feel good. The entire drive up here, all I could think about was how sweet you taste, and how much I love making you come on my mouth.”
I shake my head, keeping my gaze fixed on his sweater, hoping he can’t see the pain I’m sure is filling my eyes as he makes it crystal clear that all he wants from me is friendship with sex on the side. “No.” I stand, detangling myself from him as gracefully as possible as I straddle-walk backward in the snow until I’ve cleared his knees. “That’s not what I want.”
“All right,” he says, sounding disappointed. But then, men often experience disappointment when they’ve worked up a hard-on that isn’t going to be put to use. It doesn’t mean he’s emotionally invested. “Friends, then?”
I nod. “I think that’s for the best. For everyone.”
He sighs. “That’s what Steve said when we were walking into the house. That bringing you here was the best decision for everyone, no matter how strange it might feel.” He runs a clawed hand through his hair with a bitter laugh. “Must be nice to be so sure about things. I can’t remember the last time I made a decision without second-guessing myself five or six fucking times.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s h
arder for you.” I cross my arms below my still aching breasts, which aren’t any happier about being away from Brendan than the rest of me. “You’ve got two people’s lives and futures to consider.”
He glances up, pain flashing in his eyes. “You cut me too much slack, Freckles.”
“No, I don’t. I cut you just enough,” I say, before adding in a firmer voice, “But I don’t want to go here again, okay? This is the last time we blur the lines.”
Because I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to tell you no next time.
And I can’t let myself make love to a man who only wants to get off, or I’ll regret it every night I cry myself to sleep wondering why you don’t feel for me the things I feel for you.
I keep my weak thoughts to myself, forcing my expression to remain calmly neutral as Brendan tucks his chin to his chest. “Got it. I’m sorry I made things more awkward than they have to be. I didn’t mean to. I just… I guess I don’t know how to do this anymore. With anyone.”
I nod, his words offering comfort. At least a little bit. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. But thank you. For everything. I appreciate what you’re doing for Chloe and me, and I promise I won’t forget where we stand again.”
“Well, on the bright side, it took my mind off wrestling the dog for my diaphragm in front of Angie and Chloe.” With the tip of my boot I toe the mangled rubber cup into the hole I dug and scuff earth on top of it. “Guess we should head back in and face the music.”
He stands. “There’s no music to face. Angie is one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. By the time we go in, she’ll have distracted Chloe and it will be like it never happened.”
I grimace as I back toward the trail. “I seriously doubt that.”
“Just wait and see.” He moves around me, taking care not to brush any part of me with any part of him, making every hormone in my body sob in despair.
Because hormones don’t care about what’s best for your heart or your head. Hormones just want to throw themselves on the sex fire and roll around in the coals until you’ve got third-degree burns.
I trail Brendan down the path and through the gate leading into the backyard, careful to keep a safe distance. By the time we slip back through the sliding door into the kitchen, Chloe is standing on a stepladder chopping carrots on a cutting board, while piano music plays from speakers arranged on top of the cabinets.
As we cross to the stools we vacated earlier, she looks up, dropping the knife and lifting her hands into the air, fingers spread wide in surrender. “Gammy told me I could keep cutting while she went to get something in her room. I promise, she did. You can ask her when she gets back.”
“I did indeed.” Angie, a paper bag in hand, breezes back into the room before Brendan can respond. “Chloe is doing a great job and being very careful. I think she might be a chef when she grows up.”
“Or maybe when I’m ten.” Chloe beams as she reclaims her knife. “They have cooking shows for kids now, Gammy. And they do all the cutting and put things in the oven by themselves and everything.”
“I don’t think you’re quite ready to put things in the oven, but this looks good.” Brendan circles around the island to survey Chloe’s work as Angie puts a gentle arm around my shoulder, drawing me to the far corner of the room.
Inwardly, I’m cringing, but I plaster a smile on my face, determined to apologize and put the GDD—Great Diaphragm Debacle—behind us as quickly as possible. But before I can speak, Angie shakes her head and wags a warning finger.
“Don’t worry about a thing.” Her voice is pitched low, making it clear this moment is between us girls. “I just wanted to give you this, and we won’t say another word about it. Though, I would like to apologize for my naughty dog. Fluffster has a knack for finding things he shouldn’t.” She presses the bag into my hand with a wink, before turning with a clap of her hands. “Okay, celery next, Chef Chloe. I want to see how skinny you can get the slices.”
The doorbell rings, and Brendan heads for the front of the house. “I’ll get that. It’s probably Diana. She said she would be here around eleven.”
He disappears through the doorway leading into the living room as I open the bag and peek inside to discover strips of…condoms. Strips and strips, enough for Brendan and me to get it on in every room in this house and still have a few dozen left over. My jaw drops and my cheeks flush what I’m certain is a shocking shade of red.
I’m still standing in the corner, wondering how I’m ever going to make eye contact with Angie again, when a petite woman with dark blond curls appears in front of me.
“Hi, I’m Diana, Brendan’s sister. You must be Laura. It’s so great to meet you.” She lunges forward, pulling me into a one-armed hug as she adds in a softer voice, “Sounds like you need an escape. Stay close. I’ll have us out on a long, head-clearing walk before you can say ‘Fluffster is an asshole.’”
My breath rushes out in a relieved laugh. “Sounds good.”
She pulls back with a wink. “No problem. I’ve got your back, sister.” She holds up a canvas bag filled with wine bottles. “And I’ve got goodies for later. Soon we will be drunk, full of good food, and feeling no pain.”
I give her a thumbs-up, scurry upstairs to hide my lunch bag full of condoms deep in the bowels of my suitcase, grab my coat, and return to the kitchen in time for Chloe to grab my hand on her way to the garage. “Come on, Laura. Come watch me ride my bike with Aunt Dee!”
“Can’t wait.” With one last glance into the kitchen—where Brendan is helping Angie fetch oversize platters from the uppermost cabinet shelves—I make my escape.
Chapter Ten
Laura
Outside in the cool air—which is much more pleasant now that I’ve rescued my coat from my luggage and added a matching scarf to go with my hat—I cup my hands around my mouth and shout down the mostly deserted street, “Don’t get too far ahead, Chloe!”
Chloe waves a hand in response and veers into a cul-de-sac, where she seems content to guide her bike in circles until Diana and I catch up.
“She’ll be fine,” Diana says. “Chloe’s solid on her bike, and most of the people in the neighborhood go to visit family for the holidays. It’s always weirdly deserted around here at American Thanksgiving.”
“American Thanksgiving? As opposed to…” I smile down at my petite savior. It’s hard to believe Diana and Brendan are related by blood. She’s as delicate as he is tall and broad, with soft brown eyes in contrast to his piercing blue. The only thing they have in common is their dark blond curls, which Diana has twisted up into an artistic knot atop her head, secured by a number two pencil.
“As opposed to Canadian Thanksgiving,” she says. “The true and original Thanksgiving, first celebrated in Newfoundland by Sir Martin Frobisher and his crew in 1578, a good forty-something years before the Pilgrims.” She grins as she lifts the camera dangling around her neck and snaps a picture of me, moving so quickly I don’t have time to smile. “Don’t worry; you look gorgeous in this light. It’s going to be a great shot. I’ll send it to Brendan when I get the film developed. I know no one does film anymore, but I get sentimental around the holidays. Even American holidays. Brendan did mention that he’s Canadian, didn’t he?”
I nod, wishing I’d had another cup of coffee. Diana’s an even faster talker than I am. “Yeah. I knew he grew up on Vancouver Island, but he never mentioned Canadian Thanksgiving. Maybe he assumed I knew. I should have, I guess. I’ve lived one state away from the border my entire life.”
“It’s okay. You know Canadians; we don’t like to brag about our superior holiday celebrations.” She grins. “And it’s not a huge deal in our family. Our parents usually host something low key at their place in October, and then Brendan and I come here for the gluttonous American version in November. The Gibbons were nice enough to adopt me along with Brendan when he and Maryanne got married, so I’m a regular by this point.”
“They do seem very nice,” I say, my cheeks heating all over again.
Diana laughs. “They really are. And seriously, the embarrassing stuff will be old news by the time we sit down for dinner. Angie always underestimates how long it’s going to take for the turkey to cook. We’ll be lucky to be eating before five. By then everyone will be so starved they won’t care about anything except shoveling food into their mouths as quickly as humanly possible.”
“Good to know.” I cross my arms at my chest with a sigh. “Though, I doubt I’ll be able to look Angie in the eye without blushing for quite some time. It’s going to be a long weekend.”
Diana rests a hand on my arm, pulling me to a gentle stop beside her, her expression sobering. “Hey, before we get close enough for Chloe to hear, I want you to know that I know. Brendan told me about the favor you’re doing for him. He really appreciates it, and so do I. The Gibbons are amazing people, but they’re also kind of crazy when it comes to Chloe’s happiness. I don’t think they would try to fight Brendan for custody—at least not as long as he keeps holding it together as well as he has been—but it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility, and I know it’s been freaking him out. Having you here will go a long way to getting them off his back.”
She shrugs, her eyes narrowing as her smile widens, making her resemble a cat preparing to pounce a mouse stuffed with catnip. “And who knows? It might be the kick in the ass you guys need to realize reality is more fun than pretend. Because let’s get real—you have a thing for my brother, don’t you?”
“Um…” I press my lips together, casting a furtive glance Chloe’s way. But Chloe is still peddling in happy circles, singing a song from one of her favorite cartoons, oblivious that I’m being questioned by a master of interrogation disguised as a cute blond woman.
“It’s cool,” Diana hurries on. “If he hasn’t caught on yet, I won’t say anything. But so you know, my brother is one of the good ones. I’m of the opinion that men, as a whole, aren’t worth the trouble, but he’s an exception. He’s a solid, generous, decent guy. And he can be fun, too, if you can get him to relax.”
