Breathless With Her

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  “Jenn with three kids. That’s crazy.”

  “No kids for you?” she asked, deftly changing the subject from why she didn’t have anyone to call. Maybe I’d ask again later. Or I’d just leave it be. After all, it wasn’t my business.

  “No kids, no wife. Been busy with work and family. But there’s a lot of Carr siblings, so I’m never really alone.” I winced. Yeah, I sucked at conversation.

  “Nicholas and I got married right after college. No kids, though. We wanted to work on our businesses. Our careers. And I was never in a huge hurry to be a mom. Of course, I hadn’t thought Jenn was in a hurry to be a mom either, and now she has three babies.”

  “I bet you’re one kick-ass aunt, Erin.”

  “I hope so. I mean, the kids do adore me. And I try to spoil them, much to Jenn’s chagrin.”

  “Sounds like she’s happy.”

  “She is. Are you okay with that?”

  I chuckled, turning down the street. “I’m just fine. We dated for like a minute if I remember right.”

  “Oh, but she was so in love with you.”

  “Yeah, teenage love, where it isn’t really love.”

  “I used to think teenagers could really love. After all, I thought I loved Nicholas.”

  Once again, I wanted to curse, but I held myself back. “I’m not saying all teenage love isn’t real. And you can still have those feelings. Just because he’s an asshole who deserves to be beaten doesn’t mean you didn’t or don’t love him.”

  “Yeah, what does that say about me? That I could love someone who can do that to someone else. Am I a doormat?”

  I shook my head, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing doormat about you, at least from what I can tell.”

  “You’ve known me for like an hour now.”

  “I knew you when you were a little kid, just like I knew Nicky. You’re a strong one. You’re going to be just fine, okay?”

  “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe I need to forget, just for a minute.”

  I studied her face, wanting to know what she was thinking. “I’ve got beer at the house.”

  “Maybe I’ll be good. Maybe.” By the time I got her to the house, she was already sleeping. Probably exhausted from everything that had gone on and the fact that she was a complete lightweight.

  So, I tucked her in on the couch so she could easily see the door and maybe remember where she was when she woke. I didn’t want to carry her upstairs to the guest room and possibly scare her. Plus, the idea of holding her close as I had when I carried her into the house probably wasn’t such a good idea. Because she had felt warm and soft in my arms. But she wasn’t mine. It would be good to remember that.

  I took off her shoes. I thought about helping her out of the dress, but I wasn’t that much of an asshole. So, I just tucked her in and hoped she was comfortable. But she was passed out, so maybe that was something.

  I went to sleep with the bedroom door open, hoping I’d be able to hear her if she moved. I knew she could call a ride share service if she wanted or needed to, but I never heard her leave. I didn’t know exactly what that meant.

  I woke up the next morning feeling like somebody was looking at me. I blinked open my eyes and held back a laugh—and a scream since Amelia and Caleb were both staring at me.

  The two looked so much alike with their dark hair and wide eyes, but they were both holding back shit-eating grins. I had to wonder what the hell they were thinking.

  And then I remembered.

  Erin. On my couch. In a dress. Passed out.

  Fuck.

  “So, big bro, you want to tell us what’s going on?” Amelia asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

  “Shut up. How did you get in here?”

  “You gave us keys,” Caleb said, sitting at the end of the bed.

  “Get the fuck off my bed.”

  “I don’t think so. What the hell is Erin Taborn doing here?” Caleb asked, folding his arms over his big, broad chest.

  “You know Erin?”

  “Yeah, in passing.”

  “She’s really nice, but I thought she was married. I can’t believe you, Devin. Do I need to call Dimitri? Because he’s going to kick your ass.”

  “I could kick his ass,” Caleb muttered.

  “Of course, you could, but you’re the baby brother.”

  “I’m still your older brother,” he growled out.

  “Okay, that’s enough. You don’t need to call Dimitri. Erin had a bad night last night, and I ran into her at the bar. So, I let her crash on my couch. Nothing happened. But the reason she had a bad night is her business. You can get the story from her if you want.”

  Amelia turned, and I sat up quickly, pulling at her hair.

  “Hey. Watch the hair. I just had a blow-out.”

  “I don’t even want to know what that means,” I growled, sliding out of bed. Thankfully, I had put on pajamas, mostly because Erin was in the house. I was grateful that I had done that now, considering that my siblings were in the room with me.

  “It just means I had a coupon and had someone else blow-dry my hair so I don’t have to wash it for a few days.”

  “Gross,” Caleb said, his eyes dancing.

  “Gross? When do you shower, you ass?”

  “I shower and wash my ass every day, thank you very much.”

  “And I shower every day, too. I just don’t wash my hair every time.”

  “Are we done with this conversation? I really don’t need to know about your cleaning habits. Now, get out.”

  “No, we want breakfast.”

  “You can make your own breakfast. I could actually use your help, though. Can you go get Erin’s car? It’s at the bar.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

  “It’s a long story. I swear everyone’s innocent. Well, except for her husband.”

  “Oh, God. Okay, we won’t pry,” Amelia said, holding up her hands and glaring at Caleb.

  “Promise. So, you go make sure she’s awake or something because we tiptoed past. And get her keys. Let her know what’s going on. And then we’ll bring her car here. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I trust the two of you. At least, as far as I can throw you.”

  “With those weak-ass arms, I don’t think you could throw me far,” Caleb said with a grin and then ducked as I shot out my fist.

  “No fighting. We don’t want Erin to think we’re heathens.”

  “We are heathens,” my brother and I said at the same time, and then I snorted.

  “Anyway, let’s go see if she’s up and get her keys. And then she’ll figure out the next step.”

  “She will?” Amelia asked.

  “I helped her for one night, but I’m not fixing her problems. Don’t know if she’d want me to. I don’t fix everybody’s problems,” I said, shaking my head.

  “So you say,” Amelia said with a grin. “But we’ll help. I promise.”

  We all walked down the hall just as Erin was folding the blanket on top of the couch. Her face reddened as she looked over at us. “Oh, there’s a lot of you here. Hi.”

  “Hi, Erin,”

  “Amelia, right? I think we’ve worked together on a couple of projects in the past.”

  “Yeah, with my friend Zoey. But, anyway, give me your keys. Caleb and I will go get your car.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I was just going to use a ride share service to get there.”

  “Nope, we’ve got you,” Caleb said, reaching for Erin’s purse. Amelia slapped his arm, and Erin reached for the bag at the same time. I just watched the three of them, not knowing exactly what to say. I hadn’t expected the whole family to be here the morning after a woman slept at my house—when there was actually sleeping going on. Hell, what a weird night.

  “We’ve got it. Really. You just sit here and make sure that my big brother makes you some breakfast, and then you can do what you need to do. And you can talk with us if you want. But he di
dn’t tell us anything. I promise.” Amelia was talking quickly, and Erin’s eyes just kept widening. But, somehow, maybe through the magic of Amelia’s smile, Erin handed over the keys and mentioned what type of car she drove. My siblings were out the door quickly afterward.

  I had no idea how it had happened, but once again, I was alone with Erin. Still, there was no heat. Yeah, there was a weird connection, but it was probably just who we had been in the past and the fact that I had been there when she was at her lowest. At least I hoped that was her lowest. She just smiled up at me and shrugged.

  “Really, I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “He didn’t call,” she whispered. “He hasn’t called all night. Not even to wonder why I wasn’t home. Maybe he didn’t go home.”

  I didn’t say anything, just slid my hands into the pockets of my sweats.

  “Maybe I could use some breakfast. And then I’ll figure out what to do next. That’s what I’m good at. Figuring out the next.”

  “Breakfast I can do. I’m sorry, Erin. Really damn sorry.”

  “Me, too.” When she looked at me with those light green eyes, I wished there was something I could do to make her feel better. But I knew there was nothing I could do. Not just from my own experience, but from everything I had learned over the years. I walked past her and went to the kitchen. I’d make her breakfast, and then she’d walk out of my life—probably forever.

  But that was good. Because she had her own problems. And I didn’t need to be one of them.

  Chapter 3

  Erin

  In the six months since walking in on my husband banging the former head cheerleader, I was pretty sure I’d been living an out of body experience.

  Okay, maybe not an out of body experience because I was bone-deep tired, even though I was still a little invigorated at the same time. I could feel every single scrape, every sore joint, and each broken piece of my heart.

  And that was because, though it seemed as if I hadn’t actually been a part of it, as if I had been looking on from a distance, I had also been there.

  I had gone through a divorce. Made it through splitting up everything we’d shared for so many years, and, somehow, I made it out on top.

  If on top meant that I was exhausted, working too many hours, and felt a little lost, then…yes, totally on top.

  But it could have been worse. Way worse.

  And that was what I kept telling myself, over and over again. I didn’t know what that exactly said about me, but since it wasn’t worse, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “So, what are you doing today?” Zoey asked as she walked into the back of my kitchen, her hair pulled back from her face as she looked around. Zoey usually kept her hair flowing freely when she wasn’t working—or standing in my kitchen.

  I grinned and just shook my head. “Cake.” I winked. “But I’m pretty sure you figured that out.”

  I had started Lace & Cakes soon after college. My dream had always been to become a cake decorator, even if Nicholas hadn’t thought it would lead to anything.

  I’d shown him.

  But I wasn’t going to succeed out of pettiness. I wasn’t going to excel just to show my ex-husband that I could.

  No, I would do it because I absolutely could.

  If I could just get Nicholas’s voice out of my head, that would help.

  “You’re thinking about him again,” Zoey said, tapping the tip of my nose with her finger.

  I scrunched my face and shook her hand away.

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. But that’s fine. You’re allowed to think about him. Like cutting off certain parts of him. That would totally be okay.”

  I shivered.

  “You really need to stop watching the ID channel before bed.”

  “I wasn’t, I was just listening to a murder podcast.”

  “Okay, don’t do that before bed.”

  “You like doing it, too.”

  “That might be true, but not when it’s dark out. I only listen to murder when it’s light out.” I looked over my shoulder, making sure that a guest hadn’t dropped by.

  I didn’t actually sell cakes at my place of business. Not in the way a bakery would. There were many bakeries in Denver, most a lot more productive and successful than I was. But mine was unique. I had a front area with a glass case that showed off a cake or two, but those were either ones ready to be taken to their new owners, or practice cakes that looked good enough to be out front but were actually ones that I would donate to a local shelter or something. Or, ones I would eat out of desperation. Not that I needed to eat any more cake, considering I’d gained fifteen pounds after my divorce. I liked the way I looked and didn’t mind, but I would make sure I didn’t throw myself into sugar. Even yummy sugar that beckoned me.

  “You’re thinking again,” Zoey sing-songed, looking into the bowls of frosting.

  “I’m not. And if you touch any of that frosting with your finger, that’s a health code violation, and I will murder you.”

  “And murder isn’t a health code violation? Of course, then you would be your own ID channel special, and that would be interesting.”

  “You need help. A lot of help.”

  “Perhaps. Anyway, what are we working on today?”

  “Today, I’m working on a retirement cake for someone who likes to golf. So, we’re going with a very large golf ball that reminds me of Epcot for some reason,” I said, laughing, pointing at the very white ball of frosted cake. “And then the base is going to be a four-hole golf course.”

  “Four holes?” Zoey asked, frowning.

  “We cut it down since we didn’t want the cake to be the size of the building.”

  Zoey tilted her head, studying me. “Aren’t they usually nine? Or like eighteen? I really should know more about golf outside of the jokes you hear at a bar.”

  “There are golf jokes you’d hear at a bar?” I asked with a laugh. “No, I really don’t want to know what type of jokes you hear. Probably have to do with a lot of balls and rods.”

  “You got it in one. Hey, hole in one. Look at me, making all the jokes.”

  “In order for it to be a joke, I think it actually has to be funny.” I ducked as she tried to punch me, even though I knew it wouldn’t have been too hard. Zoey was my friend and also someone that I worked with when our jobs overlapped. She was a florist who worked with weddings, and since I was a cake decorator, I tended to work with weddings, too. So, we joined forces when we could, and made sure our clients knew that we worked well together. Having wedding planners know that we could be a team, even if we weren’t under the same business umbrella, was very helpful when it came to getting referrals and making our businesses work.

  “Anyway, they also want a bunch of little cupcakes that they want toppers for. So, I think I’m going to go for the miniature golf look because they have grandchildren that love playing that. And the cupcakes are for them.”

  “They didn’t give you an idea of what they wanted?” Zoey asked, frowning again.

  I blew some stray hair from my face, annoyed that it was starting to come out of its tie. “Nope. They just said they wanted golf and would be fine with anything I did.”

  “I hate that. Because if you don’t get it a hundred percent right, then they’ll be sad. Or they’ll complain. A bad Yelp review can ruin everything.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, going over to the sink to wash my hands again before moving to the corner to fix my hair, then back to the sink to rewash my hands. I had been working all day, knew I was covered in flour, probably some frosting, and a little egg yolk, but that was fine. I had two people that worked for me part-time but were off today because of their kids’ school functions. So, I was alone and a little behind. But it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle on my own.

  “Anyway, we’ll make it work. And if they don’t like it, then I just won’t think about it.”

&nbs
p; “They’re going to love it. You really get the heart and soul of what people want. Even when it comes to cupcakes with little windmills on them.”

  I rolled my eyes and went back to mixing the frosting. “I cannot put an actual windmill on top of a cupcake.”

  “Well, that’s the thing I think of when I think of miniature golf. Of course, now I’m picturing like the Moulin Rouge windmill. That would be great. A whole Moulin Rouge cake with red icing, and Ewan McGregor just lying prostrate, readying himself for me.”

  “I really want nothing to do with that imagination of yours. And never again will you say the word prostrate or the phrase readying himself. Ever.”

  “What? You know you’ve thought about it.”

  “Not in this bakery. This is a penis-free zone.”

  Zoey snorted and took a step back when I glared.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just the idea that you think this could be a penis-free zone.”

  “It can be a penis-free zone. And stop making me say the word penis.”

  “Do you like dick better? Or schlong. Or cock. Or meaty magic rod. Or pogo stick.”

  “What the hell have you been reading?”

  “Hey, a lot of those were from songs. And most books these days use the good words. Like cock. Dick. And length.”

  “Please stop talking about that appendage.” I closed my eyes, holding back a smile.

  “Dick dick dick dick dick dick dick.” Zoey danced and sang the word over and over again. I couldn’t help but laugh with her while shaking my head.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I am. But back to work.”

  “Yay.”

  “So, I take it you’re not going to make a dick cake for the next bachelorette party that comes in?” she asked, waggling her brows.

  “If we weren’t at my place of business, I would throw this frosting at you. You’re very lucky I don’t kick you out of here.”

  “What? I’m making you laugh. I like making you laugh. You haven’t done much of it these days.”

  “I’ve been doing much better, thank you very much.”

  “I know. And I’m happy for you. Proud of you, in fact. But we will talk about work. I promise.”