Small Town King: A Single Dad Romance (Carlisle Cellars Book 3)

by Fabiola Francisco

  “There’s nothing wrong with talking to a professional. I don’t say that just because it’s my job. Your girls adore you. It’s clear to anyone who sees you together or listens to two words that come out of their mouths. Cut yourself some slack, Brett. Perfection doesn’t exist. It’s the imperfect moments that make life beautiful.” I don’t miss the way she uses my first name instead of Mr. Carlisle, like at the office. It makes it feel more personal, more intimate.

  When she moves her hand, I feel a coolness where her skin was touching mine. I can’t explain what’s happening, but her words cause chills. The way she’s staring at me tells me she’s not immune to whatever is passing between us in this moment. Her parted lips and wide eyes are an indication that she feels something.

  After months of seeing her in her office, watching her work with my girls, has this slowly been happening as my appreciation and gratitude for her have grown?

  “Someone bought five bottles.” June’s excited voice breaks through the fog and tension between us, and we both look away as if we were caught in the middle of illegal activity. She doesn’t seem to notice, but I won’t risk it.

  Magnolia excuses herself and turns toward the bar, ordering another glass of wine. I finish mine, avoiding June’s eyes so she won’t see the awkwardness there. I’m not sure what the hell just happened, but Magnolia is stirring up feelings that I buried along with my wife. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

  She’s also Charlie and Chloe’s therapist, which I’m sure is a big no-no in the therapy rulebook. If she needs this job as much as she says she does, I won’t be responsible for ruining that.

  I haven’t felt anything for another woman, no hint of attraction, since Ella passed. Why now? And why her? I blow out a breath and order another glass of wine myself.

  Magnolia avoids making any contact with me the rest of the night, and I have to fight the internal argument that it’s for the best when I want to know more about her, more about where she comes from, and what made her want to choose this career. But above all that, I want to feel her touch again—the comforting and igniting feel of her skin on mine.

  I suddenly feel like I’m wandering in a vast desert where everything looks the same, and no matter which direction I take, I’m lost in a sea of sand that crashes around me, creating a fog that won’t allow me to find the right path to take. Then, it all opens up to a beautiful oasis—except Magnolia shouldn’t be that for me.

  Chapter 17

  Magnolia

  I’ve had Brett on the brain since Friday. I crossed a line, touching him in any way, speaking to him as more than a professional. Something changed that night. I felt it, and I think he did too. It could’ve been a momentary thing, but I’ve caught myself daydreaming about him a few times, and I know I shouldn’t.

  Now, I need to be ready to see him in a couple of hours when he brings Charlie and Chloe to their session. The best approach is to pretend I never saw him on Friday. To make matters worse, the day is dragging big time, and I’m pretty sure it’s the universe taunting me, so it takes longer to see him and get over the awkwardness I’m feeling.

  I bring out my sandwich and chips from my bag and clear space on my desk to eat lunch. While I eat, I think of ways to break through to Charlie and Chloe about the winery. I’ve shown them photos, talked about going there, but they’re still wary.

  I’m hoping that they talk about it with me today. We can do a mental walk-through. It’d be a shame they miss out on Miles and June’s wedding, but I understand that healing doesn’t have a timeline. More than anything, I want them to feel safe to move around the world without feeling anxious that something bad is going to happen.

  Brett recently sent me new photographs that show the space now, cleaned up from the fire and under construction with brick walls starting to go up. I’m hoping seeing the progress instead of the aftermath will switch their perspective. They’d be able to envision a new version instead of the one that caused the scare.

  After jotting some notes, I grab my phone and call my mom to see how she’s feeling. They put in the insulin pump this week, and she was in a bit of pain.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” my mom answers the phone.

  “Hi, Mama, how are you?” I take a bite of my sandwich while I listen to her response.

  “I’m good.” Her voice sounds strained, and my worry kicks up.

  “Are you sure?” I take a deep breath, furrowing my eyebrows.

  “Yeah…” she breathes out. “Still feeling some discomfort, but I’m okay.”

  “You don’t sound okay,” I challenge.

  “I’m fine, Magnolia Leigh.” I roll my eyes.

  That’s not even my middle name, but ever since I was a little girl when my mom tried to get my attention, she’d use it to make herself sound more serious. When I asked her why she didn’t make it my middle name, she always said they didn’t want a middle name for me. It’s confusing as hell, but I’ve learned to love her quirk and laugh at it. And if I ever have an identity crisis, we’ll know where it came from.

  “Mama, if you need anything, let me know. How about I go this weekend and help around the house so you can rest?” I offer.

  “No, your dad’s helpin’ me. Stay and enjoy the weekend.”

  “Mom…” I draw out. A knock on my door interrupts. “Shit,” I mumble. “I need to go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Bye,” her voice is tight with tension, making it clear that she isn’t okay.

  Worried about her, I hang up and open my office door. Another therapist, who works with adults, is standing on the other side. She’s older, probably in her fifties, yet has been kind to me since I started here.

  “Hi, I’m going for a coffee run during my lunch break. I wanted to ask if you wanted anything.”

  I smile gratefully. “That’s really sweet of you. I’m just finishing up my lunch. How about I go with you? I could use some fresh air.” Between my thoughts about Brett and my conversation with my mom, a short walk to The Grind will be nice.

  “Great. Let me grab my purse.” She turns and heads into her office. I finish the last bite of my sandwich and clean up my desk before grabbing my purse from my desk drawer.

  I meet her by the front door and take the much-needed distraction for a coffee run. I need to be grounded and clear-minded in order to help my clients. The last thing I need is a complaint that I’m absent and not providing the service the center clearly states in their mission statement.

  Despite my efforts to be present in my sessions, the more I think about my conversation with my mom, the more worried I become. I don’t care what she says. I’ll make the drive this weekend and make sure she doesn’t need an extra pair of hands while she gets accustomed to the pump. From what I’ve read, she can be sore or in some pain, especially if she taps her stomach with anything.

  “Ms. Magnolia.” I look up when I hear Charlie’s voice.

  “Sorry,” I shake my head. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, drifting off in the middle of a session.

  I get back to it, talking them through the winery, asking them what they loved about it before the fire happened, and holding on to the positive memories they have of it. They seem more responsive today.

  Chloe holds the new picture of the winery in her hand. I scoot closer to her. “What do you feel?”

  Her eyes glance up at me in silence. I see a combination of emotions swimming in them, everything from fear and worry to curiosity.

  “It’s different, right?” I ask her quietly. She nods. “Do you think you’d like the new one better?” She shrugs.

  I look at Charlie. “How about you? Are you curious about what it will look like?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “I wonder if it’ll look the same.”

  “I doubt it. It will probably look different since they’re starting from scratch,” I respond.

  My eyes move between both girls. “Would you feel better if it does look different?”

  A new place will hel
p with the scary memories. Having to see the same place over and over again will trigger the experience. I pray that this will be a point in our favor in the healing process.

  “I think so,” Charlie says with a serious nod.

  “How about you, Chloe?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers.

  “That’s okay. Remember, I’ve told you both that no one heals the same way. This isn’t a competition or feeling like you need to be going at the same pace as someone else. Both of your experiences were different.” They nod slowly.

  I smile, continuing with the session and letting them guide it, opening up and talking about their feelings when they see the photograph. The countdown to the wedding is on, and if I can’t get them to feel comfortable to visit the vineyard in the next couple of weeks, I’ll feel like I’ve failed this family. I also know I can’t force them, so it’s a war within myself that’s tearing me in two.

  I need to be patient and listen to my clients. I need to separate my emotions from this. It’s the key to a good therapist. However, I’m struggling with that. Not just with Charlie and Chloe, but with a few other children I’m working with.

  Once we finish, I walk Charlie and Chloe out to the waiting area where Brett is sitting on the couch, looking down at his phone. I watch him a moment. His hair falls forward, covering part of his face. Although it’s not long, it’s lengthier than the trimmed cut other men have. It only makes him look sexier and more mature.

  When he stands and smiles at his daughters, my heart stops. I blink back tears and take a deep breath. I’m ridiculous. My emotions are running wild today, and I just need to get done with this week, so I can visit my parents and see for myself that they’re doing okay.

  Brett frowns when he sees me and walks my way.

  “Are you okay?” He scans my face with those brilliant green eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I wave my hand in the air and smile. “The girls were good. We’re slowly breaking through with the photos,” I change the subject.

  He doesn’t bite, though. He bends his head, trying to get a read of my face. “You sure? You look worried.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Is this because of your mom? Is she ok?”

  I lift my gaze to his, surprised. He remembered I told him that during my word vomit on Friday. I hold my breath, searching his eyes for… I don’t know for what. When I don’t answer, he keeps talking.

  “Do you need anything? I’ll be happy to help any way I can. You’ve done so much for my daughters.”

  I snap my gaze away. Right. I’ve helped his daughters. That’s all this is. Gratitude. Brett doesn’t feel any attraction the way I do, and it’s stupid to think that he might. I’m his daughters’ therapist. Of course he’s going to be concerned about my well-being. It depends on how I work with his daughters.

  “I’m fine.” I cringe at the harsh tone in my words.

  “Magnolia,” his deep voice drops, the throaty way my name sounds escaping his lips coats me in warmth.

  When he places his hand over my crossed arm, my breath hitches, and my heart picks up speed. We remain silent for longer than the normal beats and stare at each other. His touch is hot against my skin. My body feels it everywhere, tingling at the contact, wanting more of it. I wish we were somewhere private, both on the same page and honest, so I could feel him.

  The seriousness on his face is different than the untrusting man I first met. It’s more… I don’t know what. Confused, maybe. Trying to figure this out?

  I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

  “What do you need? If you need to cancel a session so you can have a few days off, it’s okay.”

  I shake my head.

  “Daddy.” Charlie’s sweet voice breaks the moment.

  I step back instantly. We’re in public, in my workplace. People can see us, and no one would hesitate to notice that our interaction was intimate and a far cry from professional.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles, removing his hand and dragging it through his hair, pushing it back.

  I look around, gathering my wits and making sure none of my co-workers were watching us. It seems like the coast is clear. When I look at Charlie, she’s smiling softly.

  “Yeah?” Brett squats in front of her. I can’t help but notice the way his tailored pants tighten around his thighs and butt. He reaches out to her, his dress shirt stretching across his broad back and the muscles on his arms. Goodness gracious, he’s beautiful and fit.

  I scrub a hand down my face, taking a deep breath and looking away from the man who’s been fueling my fantasies.

  “I’ll see y’all next week,” I tell them and head back into my office before I put myself in a compromising position.

  I lean against the door in my office once I’m inside and blow out a breath. Going home for the weekend will be good for more than one reason. I need a break and to gather my thoughts. I can’t pursue anything with Brett—if that’s what’s even happening here—if I want to continue helping Charlie and Chloe.

  The lines are blurring, and I do not see how they’ll clear up unless I distance myself. But Brett lures me in. Something about him makes me want to be around him, talk to him, learn more about his life. He’s a widower, though, and that’s not easy. Everything about this is complicated with a capital C, and I could be reading into this way more than what it really is. I have to choose my career. I need this job. My parents need me to have this job. Too much is riding on it.

  Brett Carlisle is a client, not a love interest. If I tell myself that enough times, I’ll start to believe it. Not likely, but it’s worth a shot.

  Chapter 18

  Magnolia

  I take a sip of wine while my friend, Grace, looks at me expectantly. She’s waiting for me to speak, but I can’t find the right words. I arrived at Cedar Springs last night after work. My parents weren’t surprised to see me. It feels good being home for a bit. I missed my family. I missed home. I’ve gotten well-adjusted to living in Willow Creek, but there’s something about being in your safe place, and Cedar Springs is that for me.

  “Are you finally going to talk?” Grace can’t stay quiet any longer.

  After making sure everything at home was settled, I called her and asked if she wanted to meet at the local watering hole for a glass of wine. We’ve caught up on life, but I haven’t touched on my dilemma. I need another person’s perspective, and Grace isn’t from Willow Creek, related to Brett, or familiar with him.

  I sigh and lean back on the stool at the bar. “I don’t know where to start,” I admit.

  “How about in the beginning?” She gives me a comforting smile. That’s the thing with Grace; she’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She’s got a heart of gold, and I know she won’t judge me.

  “I like my job. You know I’ve always wanted to work with kids.”

  She nods, prompting me to continue.

  “I want to be someone who helps them heal, make a change, save them from the darkness in the world, but I’ve noticed that I don’t separate my emotions from the professional mask. I don’t know.” I shake my head, taking another sip of wine that is no competition to the Carlisle blend I recently tried.

  “In a way, working as a counselor is different than I imagined. I feel like I’m doing it wrong. I can’t be that indifferent, distance myself from a client so there’s no attachment while digging deep into their pain and making them look at it.” I frown, feeling all sorts of confusion I never imagined I’d feel when it comes to my career choice. All I’ve wanted to do is help children.

  I continue, “I can’t be a robot. I’m human. I’m gonna feel things, especially working with children. They’re vulnerable. They don’t understand distance as a professional measure, especially if they already feel unloved or lonely. They need care and nurturing, but that’s not really my job either, I guess. If I turn Ice Queen on them, then I’m not really helping them feel safe and seen. It’s a total controversy in my heart and
mind.”

  A small smile appears on Grace’s face. She tilts her head, her blonde hair falling to a side, and looks at me carefully. I trap my lower lip with my teeth.

  “You’ve always cared about people and been empathetic. You’re all heart first and mind later. You’ve been like that since we were kids.” Grace shifts in her stool so that she’s facing more my way. I’m so glad this is one friendship that has lasted.

  “Remember when we were kids, and Blake Daniels pushed Sophie Myer? You stood up for her and then spent the rest of the week checking in on her to make sure she wouldn’t let that bully take away her security and happiness.”

  “And now they’re married,” I lift my brows.

  Grace shrugs. “Small towns. Besides, boys have a weird way of showing girls they like them. Blake probably had a crush on her, and Sophie wouldn’t pay attention to him.”

  “Are you the therapist, or am I?” I tease.

  “I mean, I’ve been your friend long enough to learn a few pointers,” she winks, teasing me back. “The thing is that it’s in your nature to help others, but you do it with your heart on your sleeve. It’s who you are and what makes you amazing. I understand it’s different working as a therapist than offering help to friends. Is there a way to not be so…cold? That’s not the right word.”

  I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole Brett situation, but this past week it’s been blatantly obvious that I’m not the type of person to separate my emotions from my practice. I’m going to care. My clients aren’t numbers; they’re people. They’re families suffering, children confused and finding a place in the world.

  This career has been my dream for so long, but I keep second-guessing how I’m doing that job.

  “It’s not cold. My colleagues aren’t cold, but I’m sure they go home and don’t stress about their clients.”

  “Do you?”