by EMILIE ROSE
The strength left her knees. She sank onto the bed. He’d only worn them the one time. The night Belle had been conceived. She hugged them close. She couldn’t give these away. The scrape of hangers across the rod jarred her. She sprang to her feet and shoved the boxers back into the drawer seconds before Brandon exited the closet with an armload of clothing.
He took one look at her face and stopped. “You okay?”
The smile hurt her cheeks. “Yes.”
His skeptical expression told her he knew better. But he deposited his load and returned to his task.
She let her shoulders relax, then tackled a pile of white undershirts. Then she had nothing left but the T-shirt drawer. She dreaded that. Rick had loved to collect shirts from places they visited or products he used. Each one would have a memory attached. Parting with them would be hard. So she’d do it quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
She grabbed an armload, pivoted and dumped them into the box. One snagged the cardboard. She reached out to pluck it free and froze. Her fingers clenched the worn fabric. She bowed her head and fought the urge to bury her face in it.
“Hannah?”
She hadn’t heard him return. The lump in her throat refused to dislodge. Her lips quivered and tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked furiously, determined not to cry in front of him. “This is the shirt he was wearing when we met.”
Brandon dumped his load on the bed and took her into his arms, tucking her face against his shoulder. He stroked her back. “It’s okay to keep it. No one is asking you to forget him, Hannah.”
“Everyone says I need to move on.”
“Remembering Rick is important. For your sake and for Mason’s and Belle’s.” She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her cheek, and his jaw tense against the top of her head, then for a brief moment, his arms tightened. “For mine.”
The cadence of his strokes along her spine changed, slowing, the pressure lightening. A shiver ripped through her. Ashamed, because she knew he only meant to comfort her, and against her will, her body was interpreting his actions as something else. She stiffened. His scent filled her lungs and his body heat seeped into hers, settling in the pit of her stomach. Her heart and respiratory rates picked up.
She pushed away, putting needed inches between them, and prayed he hadn’t noticed. She tried to brush it off. “You’re very good with crying women.”
“Years of practice.” His words were clipped, his eyes unreadable.
Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick. “Your sisters.”
“I learned to get them past the meltdown. Then I put the fear of God in the jerk who’d hurt them.”
“You’re protective.” He had been of Rick, now he was of her and her family. Whether she liked it or not.
“Comes with the territory.”
She studied his strong face. He was a man who’d go to battle for his loved ones.
Rick had been a good man, a great husband and a fantastic father. But he’d been a peacemaker, not a fighter. He preferred to avoid conflict. She’d always thought that a contradiction to his choice to go into law enforcement.
“I’ll carry all this to my truck then deliver it for you after I finish with the mulch.”
“Thank you.”
Two men with the same job and very different personalities.
She’d loved Rick, everything about him. So why now was her body responding to his polar opposite?
Chapter Ten
HANNAH’S PHONE VIBRATED in her pocket Wednesday evening. Normally, she would disregard it during Belle’s dance class, but since it was her birthday, and ignoring anyone who called with good wishes was rude, she dug out her phone and checked the screen. Brandon. Her pulse blipped.
Sunday had been...unsettling. He’d been too easy to lean on. And then she’d wanted more. And more was impossible.
She debated ignoring his text, but curiosity got the better of her and she swiped the screen and looked at the message.
I know what happened to your mother.
Her heart plunged to her belly then galloped back up her throat. She glanced around the parent waiting area, but all of the other mothers were too engrossed in their cell phones or conversations to notice her. And Lucy was watching the girls.
What? she typed back.
Meet me at Giuseppe’s after dance class. I’ll tell you over garlic knots.
Her fingers flashed over the screen.
Coercion? Seriously?
2 much 2 text.
She glanced at Mason, who was immersed in a book, then Belle, then Lucy. They were supposed to go to the chicken restaurant after dance. The girls wanted to play on the indoor playground.
But he knew.
As badly as she wanted answers, she needed to keep her distance and her promise to the kids. She typed,
Can’t. Have prior plans.
Change them, came the quick reply.
“That was adorab—Hannah!” Lucy stared at her as if she’d grown another head. “You’re missing the girls’ new dance routine. What is wrong with you? You never play on your phone at practice.”
She shoved it back into her pocket. “Sorry.”
He knew.
“Who’s texting you? Did your father remember it’s your birthday?”
“Dad called early this morning, smarty pants. It’s Brandon.”
“Wishing you a happy, happy?”
“He says he knows what happened to my mother, and he’ll tell me if I meet him after practice. I told him we had other plans.”
“Are you kidding me? You could solve the great mystery? Meet him where?”
“Giuseppe’s.”
“Ooh. That yummy Italian bistro? Let’s eat there instead of the chicken place.”
“I love Giuseppe’s,” Mason chimed in. “And Mom, you ate all the garlic knots last time.”
“You had your share before I got mine,” she reminded him. “The girls wanted to play in the ball crawl at Clucky’s.”
Lucy shook her head. “They’re getting all the exercise they need here. And that ball pit is smelly and nasty. I always wonder what kind of germs are in it. I’d rather have pizza than chicken bites. How about you, Mason?”
“Absolutely,” her traitorous son affirmed. “Their pizza’s the best! You could get garlic knots and that Caesar salad thing you like, Mom. Please, please?”
Hannah’s heart pounded. She wanted the information. But she didn’t want to see Brandon. Dreams about his touch had given her a couple of restless nights. Nonetheless, she pulled out her phone and texted.
We have Lucy and the girls, too.
I’ll get a big table, he replied.
She couldn’t believe she was even considering giving in to his ridiculous request. Excitement and trepidation warred in her chest. Where was her mother now? And why hadn’t she contacted her in fifteen years? She could finally get answers. But what if she didn’t like them?
Be there in 20.
It seemed to take forever for the class to finish, to get the girls changed out of their leotards and load the tribe into their respective vehicles. And though the restaurant was only five minutes away, the drive felt like five hours. They caught every red light and had to stop at every crosswalk.
He knew. And soon, she would, too. That was the only reason she was excited. Her rapid pulse had nothing to do with Brandon.
By the time the bistro came into view Hannah was a rat’s nest of nerves. She saw Brandon’s truck in the parking lot immediately, but the place was packed. She had to drive around a few times to find a spot for herself. If it was this crowded inside, they’d never get a table for seven.
A pretty college-age hostess greeted them. Hannah scanned the dining room. The place hadn’t changed since she and Rick had eaten here. Nostalgia squeezed her throat.
Lucy pushed
forward. “We’re meeting a good-looking dark-haired cop for dinner. Brandon Martin?”
The hostess smiled. “I put him in the back room. He said you’d have kids to corral, so I thought that would work best.”
“That’ll be great,” Lucy answered.
“Mom, I gotta pee,” Mason volunteered with embarrassing frankness and volume.
“I’ll take the girls back, Hannah. You wait for him,” Lucy volunteered.
“Okay.”
Mason headed to the restrooms nearby, and the girls followed the hostess to the back. Hannah suddenly felt every one of her thirty-one years. It seemed like only yesterday that she’d taken her son into the ladies’ room with her instead of standing guard outside the men’s room door.
She surveyed the other diners. From the number of cars in the lot, she would have expected every red-and-white-checkered table to be full, but several were empty. Then she checked her watch. Mason seemed to be taking longer than usual. She vacillated between worry that he was having problems and impatience for answers. Then finally, the bathroom door opened and Mason exited, holding up his hands. “Yes, I washed them.”
“Good.” They walked side by side to the back room then Mason jumped in front of her and opened the wooden door. Pleased by the show of manners—something he must have picked up from Brandon—Hannah stepped forward.
“Surprise!” a group of thirty or so party-hat-wearing people shouted, startling her backward.
Lucy and the girls stood front and center, surrounded by Hannah’s coworkers, friends from church and a few of the other dance moms and kids. Brandon stood by the back table. His cocky grin numbed her knees, and he somehow managed to look sexy even with the pointy hat on his head. Wait, no. Not sexy.
Who was she kidding? Definitely sexy.
The group launched into the birthday song. Emotion choked her up. She blinked and diverted her attention to the flowers and confetti on every table, the pink and purple balloons and streamers bunched in each corner and the “Happy thirty-first birthday, Hannah” banner stretched across the back wall. Someone had expended a lot of time and effort.
Hannah laughed when the song ended and addressed the group. “Thank you. This is...overwhelming. I had no idea.”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Mason said beside her.
“I...yes. Very cool. Were you in on this?”
He beamed. “Yep.”
“And you kept it secret?”
“Yep.”
“Did Belle know?”
Mason snorted. “Are you kidding me? She’d have blabbed everything.”
Belle skipped forward carrying an elaborate tiara. “You have to wear your birthday crown, Mommy.”
Hannah knelt for Belle to put it on her head then she straightened. Lucy draped a sash over Hannah’s head. “Birthday Queen,” it read. Then Belle and Celia took her hands and led her to a balloon-decorated chair at the back table and seated her behind a three-tier pink and white cake with a smaller tiara on top.
“Isn’t the cake bootiful, Mommy? Uncle Brandon let me pick it out,” Belle gushed. “He said I can keep the crown so I can be a princess, too.”
So Brandon was the culprit behind the party. She’d suspected as much. Him or Lucy, but her friend had never done anything this extravagant, and Lucy was on a tight budget, too.
Birthdays had never been a big deal in her family. Before her mom left it had usually just been the two of them having a special dinner, then...
Her mother! Brandon wouldn’t be able to tell her what he’d learned with all these people around. She sought him out and found his hazel gaze locked on her. He lifted his water glass in a silent toast and mouthed, “Happy birthday.”
Warmth filled her chest then doubt doused it. Did he really have information about her mother or had the text been a ruse to get her here?
Before she could go and ask him, guests surrounded her, offering hugs and felicitations. Then the servers paraded in with platters of food.
Over the next hour she interacted with each guest—except Brandon, who somehow managed to always be on the opposite side of the room from her. Someone had set up a game of pin the tutu on the ballerina on one wall and a rubber-tip dartboard on the other. After the meal the children took turns between one and the other. Mason, she noted, seemed quite proficient at darts. That set up another worry that maybe he hadn’t been as afraid of embarrassing himself at dinner with Brandon’s friends as he’d claimed. She pushed that aside. Of course a child would fear competing against adults.
As wonderful as the party was, it seemed to last forever. When people began to leave, she rose, determined to corner Brandon.
Lucy intercepted her, grabbing her by both shoulders and looking her in the eye. “If you don’t nab him you’re an idiot. Love you. Happy birthday.” She hugged Hannah and hustled her girls out the door.
Finally, only Brandon, Mason and Belle remained. “Brandon, do you really know what happened to my mother or was your text a trick to get me here?”
“I know. Take the kids home. Get them to bed. I’ll deal with this then stop by.”
Her heart tripped faster. Had he been the only party organizer? She eyed the bedraggled room. “We should help clean up.”
“It’s a school night. Go. Good night, kids. Thanks for your help.”
Belle rushed forward and threw her arms around his hips in a big hug. “I love you, Uncle Brandon.”
Horrified, Hannah watched him hug her back. Belle didn’t seem to notice Brandon’s silence, but Hannah did. As soon as Belle released him Mason sidled over and gave Brandon a fist-bump. The almost hero-worship on her son’s face filled her with even more concern. Letting Brandon into their lives had been a mistake. Her children would pay the price.
Lucy had put the remnants of the cake into a box. Brandon shoved it into Hannah’s hands. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”
She nodded and urged the kids out the door, knowing that for her children’s sakes and hers she had to cut ties with Brandon tonight.
* * *
HANNAH PACED THE FOYER. After the excitement of the party, the children had been difficult to settle. Her anxiety over Brandon’s pending visit probably hadn’t helped.
Mason had chattered like the sweet boy he’d been before the trouble had started. And Belle... Belle had asked again why Brandon couldn’t be her daddy. Hannah didn’t know how to explain to them that Brandon was the reason their father hadn’t been here tonight. And even if Brandon wasn’t responsible, he was still a cop—which was a very high-risk job. She couldn’t afford for any of them to depend on him and then have him ripped away.
Finally, headlights cut through the darkness of her front yard. Her heart rose to her throat. She opened the door, letting in the warm, humid night air even before Brandon parked his truck. The full moon hung over her head. A lover’s moon. She’d spent many a night like this by the fire pit with Rick, planning their future projects for this big, old house.
She tucked the memory back into its safe place and focused on the man retrieving something from his back seat. Impatience made her dance in place. Then Brandon turned toward the house. His arms were overloaded with two pizza boxes, a sack holding something and dozens of balloons. She vaulted into action, meeting him halfway down the sidewalk.
“I brought the leftovers. Mason can have pizza for his lunch for a few days, and you’ll have garlic knots. And there was no point in leaving the flowers behind. The restaurant would throw them out.” He offered the balloons and the bag containing the flower arrangements. Their fingers brushed as she took the strings. The sparks of awareness dancing up her arm almost shocked her into releasing the balloons. Her involuntary reaction only reinforced her decision to tell Brandon goodbye tonight—once he shared what he’d learned about her mother.
“Did you plan all this?” she blurted, trying to derail her wayward
reaction.
He shrugged. “It was a group effort.”
The master interrogator was a master deflector.
“Instigated by you?” she pressed as she retraced her path to the house with him by her side.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Actually, it was Belle’s idea. She wanted you to have a princess cake. She drew a picture of it and Mason scanned it and emailed it to me. I promised her I’d get it. We didn’t tell her we were expanding on her idea. Mason and Lucy helped pull it together.”
Rick had never thrown her a party. Continuing her mother’s tradition, they’d usually had a quiet dinner for two somewhere. Splurging on a sitter had been a big deal budget-wise. “Well, thank you. It was a wonderful surprise and the children enjoyed it.”
“Did you?”
“I...yes.”
“Then you’re welcome.”
“But Brandon, you have to quit spending money on me, on us.”
“Hannah, I’m not keeping a tab. What I give, I give freely with no strings or expectations of recompense. I’ll put the pizza in the fridge while you figure out what to do with the flowers and balloons.” He headed for the kitchen.
She hated being beholden to anyone. With fingers that didn’t want to cooperate, she tied the ribbons to the banister then joined him in the kitchen and extracted the vases from the bag. The heady fragrance of stargazer lilies filled the air, but it was nervousness, anticipation and dread that clogged her throat.
“What did you find out about my mom?”
He pointed to a chair. She sat at the table, mainly because her knees were shaking. The guarded look in his eyes increased her anxiety. Then she bounced back up again. “Do you need a drink or anything?”
“No. Are you sure you want to know? Sometimes truth is hard—”
“Tell me!”
He studied her for interminable seconds, as if judging whether she could handle what he knew. “Your mother was killed in a car crash three days after leaving you and your father.”
