Keaton puts an arm around my shoulder. “He’d be happy for you.”
Forrest’s hand laces in mine, an identical ring on his left hand. And if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“A low-key wedding for my high-maintenance wife. I’m assuming you want a diamond to go with that?” He points to my finger.
Hell, he really does know me. “Nothing too showy … maybe a carat or three.”
Bowen chokes on a sip of beer. “You two are a nightmare.”
“In the best possible way!” Lily recovers for her husband. “Let us watch the kids for a few days, so you can at least go out of town on a honeymoon.”
“I’ll have their arms ready for the Little League World Series by the time you get back.” Bowen looks all too happy to take my kids off my hands, and I know that Lily is going to cave and give him a baby soon.
“That sounds pretty great, actually,” I say, leaning into Forrest.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks, rubbing my back.
How fucking crazy is life? Forrest and I hadn’t even talked about marriage before … hell, we’d barely had enough time to profess our love before he was whisking me down the aisle of a courtroom. The town would be ablaze with gossip and opinions about this. Let them talk because it will never make any sense to naysayers anyway.
It makes sense to us. What we have is passionate, illogical, fiery, and altogether confusing at times. But, it works. I know, moving forward, he will keep my head on straight when I am about to lose it. He has a firm but gentle way with the boys and is exactly the kind of friend and father they need.
And me? I need him more than I need my next breath. How had that come to be? What started as a dirty little secret has grown to be one of the most important relationships in my life. Even now, days after Corey’s death, I can’t wrap my brain around the lengths that Forrest went to protect me. It will take years, probably … and I’ll spend them with him.
“Well, before that, I’d like a first dance.”
Forrest grins and hops up to walk over to the jukebox at the front of the restaurant.
“I can’t believe you’re having your wedding reception at the Goat. Who are you?” Presley laughs.
“A woman in love, apparently.” I sigh, watching as Forrest flips through the pages of song selections.
Arms come up to hug me around my waist, and I look over to see Lily. “I’m so glad you’re finally my sister. Welcome to being a Nash.”
“It’s about time.” Fletcher nods.
The opening chords of Luke Combs’ “Beautiful Crazy” hum to life from the jukebox, and Forrest crosses the dusty, sticky hardwood with his hand extended.
“Mrs. Nash, may I have this dance?”
My heart melts at the endearment, and I let him sweep me off my barstool.
He begins to sway me, right there in the middle of the Goat, in the middle of the morning.
“You picked a pretty decent first song,” I compliment him, our cheeks pressing together.
His lips tickle my ear. “Only the most fitting for my bride.”
“When do we get to hightail it out of here and consummate this thing?” My body is already hyperaware of his closeness.
Forrest’s hand on the small of my back squeezes lightly and pulls me more firmly to him. “Did someone miss me?”
“Not you. Only your cock.” I shrug, smiling into his strong jawline.
“I think it’s only appropriate we go out back to my car then. For old time’s sake.”
The idea has me wanting to dash out the back door right now. “Does this mean our sex life will get boring and sparse?”
“Never.” Forrest tilts his head back so he can look me in the eyes. “Race you to the car?”
There is a challenge in those denim blues that signals he isn’t joking.
“Lily? You’re in charge of the kids, starting now. We’ll be back in a few days. Boys, be good for Aunt Lily and Uncle Bowen!”
Our family looks bewildered, but as Forrest and I sprint for the exit, we’re followed by whoops and hollers.
“And you think we’ll become predictable.”
My husband chuckles, taking my hand and pulling me in the back seat of the car.
Epilogue
Forrest
Two Years Later
“Stir that sauce, don’t let it chunk up or you’ll never be able to pour it,”
I instruct Travis, standing over him as he swirls the ladle into a huge pot of steaming, bubbling caramel.
“It’s so hot in here, Dad. When will this be over?” Matthew complains, sweat trickling down his flushed face.
Squatting down next to where he mans the cash box, I clap my stepson on the back. “I’ve been at this for almost three decades, and Mimi E still hasn’t let me stop. So, when you figure out how to sweet talk your way out of this one, let me know.”
My mom chuckles from the other end of the tent where she’s helping Ames scoop golden puffs of popcorn into the traditional carnival serving boxes. The fact that she obtained not one, but three grandsons when I married Penelope … well, she’s been over the moon about it since the day we signed the license at city hall. The boys call her Mimi E, since they had already dubbed Marion as Nana and Penelope’s mother was given the honorary title of Grandma.
How astonishing is it that life can change so drastically in two years? It feels like only a moment ago that I was living as a bachelor, alone in my own house, with no qualms about never wanting to have a wife or kids. I lived a life online, never daring to get close to someone in a real personal way. My relationship with my brothers was all surface level, I was bitter at the world, and I really thought I was happy at the time.
Shit, I’d known close to nothing. And with all of my IQ points, too. Shame.
Now, I’m married to a woman who both fights and fucks just as passionately as I do. I love her with all of my being, and sometimes when I wake up in our bed next to her, I wonder what the hell finally opened her eyes so she saw me?
I sold my house and moved into hers, adding my shoes to the piles on the stairs and learning how to cook her favorite spaghetti sauce. Together, we tackle the boy’s schedules. I’m a glorified carpool chauffeur, and I fucking love it. Shortly after our wedding, Penelope confessed that she wasn’t able to have more children and that she would hate herself if she’d trapped me in a marriage where I couldn’t have everything I wanted.
I’d taken her face in my hands and told her that our life was chaotic enough with three boys, and I loved them enough for twelve children. It’s true, I adore the boys. And while Penelope had changed her last name, we’d given them the option to keep their fathers. They’d wanted to remain Briggs’, but I was in the process of legally adopting them. They were my children, and if anything happened, I want them to be protected.
“Aunt Lily, come see what I made!” Ames yells as he spots Lily walking up to our tent.
Bowen moves out from behind the table to greet his wife, dropping to his knees in front of the entire town to rub her very swollen belly.
“How’s my little girl? Only a couple more days until we get to meet you. Your mom is a trooper, you know.” He talks directly at her pregnant form as if the baby inside can actually hear him.
Meanwhile, Lily dreamily smiles down at him, as if my broody, sullen brother hangs the moon. They’re due with my first niece in a matter of days, and the two of them are so happy, it’s almost like looking at the sun. Honestly, it kind of hurts, but it’s also pretty sweet.
“How you feeling, sis?” I ask, grabbing a folding chair from our booth for her to sit on.
“Like a balloon and loving every second of it.” Lily smiles, thanking Penelope as my wife hands her a cup of cold water.
“I’m going to be there, letting you crush the bones in my hand the whole time.” P smiles down at her best friend.
Lily asked if she’d be in the delivery room along with Bowen, since Lily had been there for the birth of all the b
oys.
“Have you heard from Presley and Keaton?” My mom walks over.
“They landed in Seattle about an hour ago.” Fletcher holds up his phone, signaling he’s been texting with them.
The two are at a business conference specialized to owners of yoga studios, and how they escaped caramel corn duty, I’ll never know. Not that I mind since I largely took over the responsibility with my family a year ago.
For a while, we all thought that Keaton, Mr. Fawn Hill, would take it over from Mom. But the boys seemed interested, and I wanted traditions I could start with them. So, Penelope and I had taken the reins, and along with Friday night family movie and the Halloween parade we’d started on our street, the caramel corn tent was one of our solid traditions.
“How you feeling, beautiful?” I snag P in a quiet moment, as our family converges on Lily to ask questions about the baby’s nursery.
“Perfect.” She smiles, her permanent glow giving off its usual sparkle and charm. “And you?”
“Well, I burned my hand and having children for helpers makes double the work in the tent … but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I give her a sly smirk, because I was the one who asked for this in the first place.
She grins. “I suppose I could tend to your wounds when we get home.”
Wrapping my arms around her waist, I sway us a little, haughty in my flirting. “Is that right?”
My wife begins to lower her mouth to mine, and my lips tingle with anticipation. The heat between us mixes with the warm summer air, and just as her tongue slips into my mouth …
“Ew! Get a room!”
Matthew cackles wildly, finding our PDA both embarrassing and hilarious.
I release Penelope until I’m just holding her hand and talk back to my stepson. “We have one. It’s right next to yours!”
“Gross.” He pretends to fake gag, and all the adults crack up.
And it is, right next to his. In the house that we’ve all made a home. With the incredible woman who, most days, argues with me until I’m inside her.
But, like I said to my wife, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Falter
Book Four
1
Ryan
Dust settles as the propellers of the small plane die down, forcing me to cover my mouth with my free hand.
The “airport” is anything but the traditional sense of the word. I’m used to international hubs of travel, teeming with people speaking different languages and jostling for a prime spot in the security line. When I think of runways, I think of intricate loops of lighted flight paths, the whole design like a mini-city in itself.
But, just like everything else in this small town, the airport is a teaspoon of what I consider normal.
The last time I stepped foot in Fawn Hill, Pennsylvania was two years ago when I’d been helping Forrest Nash solve a case. It feels strange to be back now, having just exited a puddle jumper on the dirt runway outside the solitary building I assume houses the sparsely manned air traffic control and baggage claim teams.
I’m a little older, not really any wiser, and am sporting a broken heart for the ages. When Presley suggested I come out for a visit after my last relationship flamed out in spectacular fashion, I was wary.
Something about this little town ingrains itself in you. Makes you want to be kinder, more intimate with the humans that surround you day-to-day, to not take life so seriously, or live it as fast as the people whose circles I run in do.
That scares the bejesus out of me. I’ve never had a proper family or let anyone in as thoroughly as the residents of this town do. You could know someone here for mere minutes, and they were inviting you in for a meal. It took me almost a year to trust Presley back when I first met her, and we were living together for some of that time.
For someone like me, with what I’ve been through, trust and loyalty never came easy.
It was mindboggling, then, how I kept ending up in the crappiest of relationships. I’m sure some therapist out there would cite some study that said I had daddy, and mommy, issues. That I craved a partner who could take care of me, that even in the wrong situation, I’d stayed a prolonged period of time before throwing in the towel.
This hypothetical therapist might be right, but it didn’t mean I’d stopped getting myself into these dead-on-arrival romances. Well, until now.
No boyfriends, no lovers, no men of any kind barking up my tree for a year. That was the deal I made with myself, and I was sticking to it.
“Oh my God, you’re here!”
Presley runs at me at full speed, throwing her arms around me and almost lifting me off the ground even though I have four inches on her.
“Jeez, Pres, you’re going to make me even more nauseous than that plane ride did.” I laugh, but hug her back, resting my chin on the top of her head while my feet dangle just above the ground.
I met Presley almost a decade ago when we were both practically infants struggling to live in New York City. Most weeks, we’d have to choose between eating and running the air-conditioning unit shoved into one of our apartment windows. And when I say apartment, I mean shoebox you could walk across in two seconds flat. But that struggle made us closer, and she’s the person I trust most in life.
When her grandmother could no longer look after the bookstore in Fawn Hill that had been in their family for generations, Presley moved here to help. Not long after that, my red-headed gypsy met Keaton Nash and his merry band of brothers. She and the town sweetheart slash hot veterinarian fell in love, got married, and are now Mr. and Mrs. Fawn Hill, basically.
Over the years, I’ve visited on and off. I’ve gotten to befriend Presley’s sisters-in-law, Lily and Penelope, and their husbands, Bowen and Forrest. Eliza their mother, is always kind when I come to town, as is Hattie, Presley’s grandmother.
My best friend sets me down and holds my arms out to the sides to inspect me. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you. A whole year, you Grecian, you. Have you lost weight? You were living in Santorini for a year and didn’t put on one pound from all that baklava?”
Her words are teasing, but I can see the concern in her eyes. I duck my head. “Believe me, I ate enough for a small army. But the past month has been … trying …”
What I’m trying to say is that it’s hard to eat when your relationship is disintegrating in front of your eyes.
“Well, no matter. Eliza cooked about a billion trays of casseroles and lasagnas for Lily and Bowen after the baby arrived, so we’ll steal some of those.”
She loops my arm in hers and begins escorting me toward the doorless Jeep waiting on the side of the building.
“Oh, I can’t wait to see Lily and that rugrat! She’s probably the cutest thing in the world. Hey, is this a new car?” I ask, throwing my bags into the open-air trunk and then grabbing the roll bar to lift myself into the passenger seat.
Presley’s red ponytail glints in the summer sun, and I’m surprised to find that I miss the muggy hotness of the East Coast.
“I bought it for myself after I hit my financial goals at the studio.” She grins shyly, announcing her success but not boasting about it.
My hand comes up to punch her shoulder gently. “Pres! How awesome, I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks.” She smiles, starting the engine.
I’m glad our conversation is ended with the noise of the wind and bounce of the Jeep as we drive over the country dirt roads. It gives me a minute to bask in the sunshine, to breathe in the air of an America in July, to relish the complete, untethered freedom I have right now. The crushing sadness that has sat heavy on my heart for the past couple of weeks begins to ease. It’s incredible how wholly one can lose themselves when trying to love another person with everything they have. It’s even more terrifically awful how much more they’ll give when the effort being returned is less than zero.
I’ve never thought of myself as that girl, but as an adult, all I’ve done is abandon my ide
ntity when a new man comes along.
Presley turns the Jeep onto a paved road, the car slowing as I spot houses in the distance. Her typical uniform of yoga pants and a tank top looks much more comfortable than my jeans and short-sleeved sweater, which are now sticking to me in sweaty, hot patches. I don’t know what I was thinking, traveling in such an outfit. Maybe I’d yearned for the cool wardrobe of a Manhattanite, when in all reality, I was going to be in the sticks for the foreseeable future.
“You needed to get off the grid,” Presley says, almost as if she’s reading my thoughts.
I nod, staring out the front windshield. “I’m not sure you even know how much.”
“I’m here when you’re ready.” My best friend knows me too well.
Shrugging, my small smile is directed at her. “Thanks, but you already know the gist. Same old when it comes to my love life. Can’t seem to get it right. Hey, maybe Keaton has a brother.”
My joke sends a grin turning up Presley’s lips. Because he has three … two of which are taken. All the Nash men are equally strapping, smart, and reliable in their own way.
And the only one left just happens to be the one who makes my lungs stop working whenever I see him.
Just then, as if I’ve conjured him by imagination, a figure running in the direction of our car appears over the horizon line on the road.
Pure male adrenaline jogging toward us at a steady pace. A body well over six feet … I know this because tiny chills have run down my spine when we’ve stood next to each other and I’ve been forced to look up. Tanned skin slicked with sweat stretched over taut, wiry muscle, with thick, athletic thighs pumping rhythmically as he pounds the pavement.
Fletcher Nash, in the flesh. Of course, the second person I run into in Fawn Hill is the one man I should be actively staying away from.
One year, I’d promised myself.
So why, in the first two seconds of spotting him in the zone during a workout, do I want to throw every new principle I’ve adopted right out the window?
Nash Brothers Box Set Page 56
