The Winter We Collided: A Small Town Single Dad Romance (Ocean Pines Series Book 2)

by Victoria Denault

  Then she turns away from the fridge, her arms laden with items for French toast and her head tilted because she’s got her cell pressed between her shoulder and her ear. The expression on her face before she notices me is dark and serious. But when she sees me, she smiles and I walk over to help her so she doesn’t drop anything in her arms.

  As I place milk and eggs on the kitchen island, she puts bacon and butter down on the counter and unhooks a frying pan from the rack above the island. I can’t help but notice the way my shirt lifts when she reaches for it, revealing the perfect curve of her ass, which makes me remember how it felt in my palm, and I have to adjust the front of my jeans.

  “I have to make breakfast before I get started on this new project, so can we discuss this more later, Denny?” She glances at me again and gives me another quick smile that feels a little tight. “Okay. Thanks. Talk soon. Bye.”

  She puts the phone down on the counter.

  “Who’s Denny?”

  “Sorry about that. I had called him yesterday, and he was following up,” she says and pauses. “Denny is, was, my brother-in-law.”

  She’s opened the bacon and is pulling out long strips to lay in the pan, and I wait for more information, but she doesn’t offer it. So I press. “Chloe? I didn’t intend to overhear, but I did. Who is harassing you?”

  She sighs and seems conflicted as her eyes lift to mine. “Jackson’s older brother Paul wants this house. And I won’t give it to him. He harasses me about it a couple times a year, and I tell Denny about it so he can rein him in.”

  “Why does he want your house?”

  “It was Jackson’s grandmother’s house originally, and so he thinks it should still be in the family.”

  I try to put together all the pieces she’s tossing out in a verbal heap.

  She stops me, holding up a hand between us. “Can we change the subject? I mean…I feel like we should keep things light, and my past is heavier than a pregnant elephant.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her analogy. She hugs me, and I gladly accept it, wrapping my arms around her waist and allowing my hands to slide to that perfect ass again.

  “Okay, sure,” I say, but the fact is, I want to know everything about her. I am about to ask for clarification on her term ‘light’ because I’m worried she also means casual and this relationship is already anything but casual for me. Besides, I don’t do casual sex anymore. It wasn’t fulfilling when I did do it, and I doubt that has changed.

  But before I can say anything, she turns back to the stove. “I hope you like crispy bacon.” She uses tongs to lift the bacon from the pan and place them on the paper towel.

  “I love crispy bacon,” I assure her and walk up behind her, kissing the side of her neck again. I decide my clarification can wait until later. I want to enjoy this moment too.

  She smiles. “Can you grab the bread out of the bread box?”

  I glance around her kitchen and spot the bread box by the microwave. I open it and find sourdough and pull it out. For the next several minutes, we form a French toast assembly line in content silence. I cut and dip the bread in the egg mixture, and she fries them up. Although, as she moves around the kitchen in my t-shirt with her slender legs exposed, I’m starting to get hungry for something else again too.

  A few minutes later we’re both biting into delicious French toast slathered in real maple syrup, and it’s incredible. Her tongue darts out to lick some of the syrup from her lip and my dick seems to take notice, jerking a little in my jeans. “Oh! I forgot the OJ,” she says.

  “I’ll get it,” I volunteer because I need a distraction from staring at her as she eats and gives me a hard on. If I’m not careful, I’m going to lay her out on the island and take what’s between her legs for dessert. And as much as I’d love nothing more—and she would likely enjoy the hell out of it—that inner voice I had last night saying to take things slow is back. I hope to have a very long time to explore her body and worship it the way it deserves. And I don’t want to make her late for work when she needs the paycheck so badly.

  I pull the orange juice out of the fridge and notice a bottle of champagne in there. It brings back bitter memories. “Are you celebrating something soon? You have champagne in the fridge.”

  She shakes her head and smiles. “Shoot! I forgot that was in there. My friend Mitch brought a couple bottles over the last time I had him and Aspen over for brunch. He says if there aren’t mimosas, it isn’t really brunch.”

  “Yeah, I used to think it wasn’t breakfast if there wasn’t booze, so I get that,” I say, trying to sound flippant, but the serious look settling across her face says it sounded bitter.

  “Does it bother you? Make it harder for you, when you see alcohol?” Chloe asks, her voice gentle. “Because I’m not actually a drinker. I might have one when Mitch is around but that’s it. I don’t have a personal problem with drinking, but it’s never brought any good to my life.”

  There’s a heaviness to her statement and stare that makes me think she’s been hurt by an alcoholic. I think of all the people who look like that because of me. Every single member of my family, including Bethany, has had that same heaviness in their gaze. Thank God River was too young to look like that because of me. It would ruin me if he ever looked at me like that.

  I put the OJ and glasses down on the table as I shake my head. “I can be around booze. I promise. When I first got back from rehab, my parents closed the bar in the restaurant and my entire family pulled the booze out of their houses. It didn’t help. It made me feel weak and like I was still ruining their lives. I appreciate the gesture now, but I don’t need the people I love to abstain. I have enough of a handle on it that I can watch someone else drink. And I am not afraid to tell someone when I’m feeling weak.”

  “When did you become an alcoholic, if you don’t mind me asking?” Chloe says softly. “I mean, I can not ask, too. Shut up and fill my nosy mouth with French toast.”

  “Nosy, sexy mouth,” I remind her as I fill the glasses with orange juice. “I think I’ve just always been predisposed to being one. When all the other guys would sneak a beer or two in high school, I would drain my dad’s long neglected liquor cabinet and refill the bottles with iced tea or water. I didn’t drink morning, noon, and night. I hid my alcohol abuse around parties and events and guys’ trips and nights out. There was always a reason to drink, and because I stayed in school and even got into med school, my parents and family just thought I was living the college boy life to the fullest and would eventually grow out of it and calm down. No need to worry. I was the textbook definition of the functioning alcoholic.”

  She finishes her French toast and rests her elbows on the counter between us. “But you needed help.”

  “Oh yeah. And…” I can’t tell her. I can’t. I want to but I can’t. My family sacrificed everything to create this secret. They did it for me, and I need to keep it. “And luckily my family was there for me and put me in rehab when I finally asked for it and supported me when I came back. And I have worked every day since to make sure I don’t let them down.”

  “Oh…” She sips some orange juice as she takes in my words. “I think that’s incredible that you were self-aware enough to see your problem, strong enough to do something about it before you hurt anyone.”

  “Oh, I hurt plenty of people,” I say and try to keep the guilt bubbling up in my gut from tainting the expression on my face. “I had to reach rock bottom before I gave it up, so not really all that strong, just not stupid enough to start digging.”

  “Yeah, but a lot of people do start digging when they hit rock bottom and end up destroying way more than just their own lives,” she says quietly, and the last bite of French toast feels like cardboard suddenly in my mouth. She stands up and takes both our empty plates. “So I stand by my praise.”

  Her praise makes me uncomfortable, like I’m wearing an itchy sweater or something. Because I was involved in something that did cost people way more than
it cost me. I was involved in ruining people’s lives. She heads to the sink so she doesn’t notice the guilty look I’m sure is on my face. I try to push away the thoughts of waking up in that hospital bed and finding out people were dead and try to remember Terra’s words—I wasn’t driving. Even the police don’t blame me. Giving my head a shake, I walk up behind her and let my fingers skim the hem of the shirt, ghosting the curve of her ass while I do it. She lets out a little gasp and then takes a tiny step back, into me. My arms wrap around her waist.

  After I press a kiss to the shell of her ear I whisper, “You don’t have to worry about me. I could work at a distillery bottling Jack Daniels all day and I would still never drink again.”

  “I believe you.” The words are so simple and honest it takes my breath away like it did the night I was caring for her. It feels intimate to me now when someone says they believe me and trust me because I know how breaking that can destroy someone.

  She turns in my arms and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is soft but I can’t keep it that way. I deepen it. I want her that badly, and it’s almost scary because she makes me feel like I did when I was drunk—happy, confidently reckless, and invincible.

  “You make me crazy,” I say and she smiles into the kiss. I lift her up, drop her ass on the island counter, and push myself between her legs. She hooks her ankles behind me, holding me to her, and moves her lips to my ear.

  And then my goddamn phone rings. I hate myself for it, but I pull it out of my back pocket. I swear I will silence it if it’s anyone other than Bethany because she’d be calling about River. I glance at the screen.

  Or Manuel at child social services.

  “I have to take this,” I say. “It’s about River.”

  Chloe unhooks her ankles behind me and drops her arms from my neck instantly. I step away, lean against the sink, and say hello into the phone. Manuel says he is very happy to report that I’ve been approved for overnight visits with River up to forty-eight hours at a time. I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

  “Thank you so much, Manuel,” I say. “I’m…there are no words.”

  “Don’t thank me. You have earned this one hundred percent, Mr. Hawkins,” he says. “We’ve informed Ms. Bard, and you can have River this weekend.”

  I hang up the phone and turn to Chloe with a smile so wide it hurts. “River’s allowed to stay over at my place for entire weekends.”

  “Logan, that’s amazing!” She bounds off the counter and wraps me in a bear hug. I can feel her joy for me radiating through the embrace.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet him!” I gush without even thinking about it and my brain freezes. Is that too much too soon? I mean, hell, I have no idea if she even likes kids. But when I pull back and look at her again, she’s wearing her perfect, easy smile.

  “I’d love to meet him. I bet he’s adorable,” she says.

  “You want to do something with us Friday night?” I ask spontaneously. “I was thinking I’d take him for pizza and to the arcade in Old Orchard Beach.”

  “You’ll always get a yes from me when it comes to pizza,” she replies, and I kiss her.

  The kiss creates a chemical reaction, turning all the giddy excitement we’re both emoting into desire. Before long, my fingers are pulling down the blush underwear she has on, and I’m having her for my dessert.

  As I make her come undone, this time with just my fingers and tongue, and she leans against the counter, I realize how easy it is to forgive myself when I’m with her. I wonder if she’s going to do the unthinkable and rewrite the ending to this tragedy I thought I was destined to live forever. Because right now, as I kneel on her kitchen floor with my face between her bare legs, I truly think I’ll let her if she dares.

  19

  Chloe

  “So explain to me again why you’re out with us and not at home playing naked Twister with your tenant-slash-boyfriend?” Mitch asks as he wraps his lips around the straw in his mojito, and his eyebrows wiggle so much they look like they’re having a seizure.

  “He’s off saving lives,” I say and try not to laugh at Mitch’s antics because it will just encourage him.

  “Boo,” Mitch says and then smiles. “Oh well, his loss is my gain. Tell me more details about the sex, please.”

  “No,” I say flatly and stir my own passion fruit daiquiri. “I’m not a kiss-and-tell girl, Mitch.”

  “I don’t care about the kissing, tell me about the orgasms. Did they happen with his tongue or his dick or both?” Mitch asks in a normal voice, like he’s inquiring about one of the ads I design at work. I shush him and he laughs. “I thought sex would loosen you up. Apparently you need more of it.”

  “Mitchell, we can’t all be Samanthas,” Aspen says and gives me a little side hug in support from her position on the stool beside me. “Some of us have to be Charlottes or the universe would be off kilter. I’m mean, obviously not me, being that I’m knocked up by a fling. I guess that makes me Miranda. Damnit I always wanted to be a Carrie.”

  “Thanks for that…I think,” I reply to Aspen for her defense. I pat her balloon of a belly. “And Miranda is the best character. She grew the most in the series, if you ask me.”

  Aspen smiles at me in a way that says she doesn’t find that comforting and sips her flavored seltzer water.

  Mitch orders another round. I want to argue. I don’t have the cash for another drink, but knowing Mitch, he’ll just pick up the tab anyway. He expenses everything when we’re out together because I’ve done some freelance design projects for him in the past. He’s creative with his business credit card. Besides, Aspen drove, not me, so I decide to forget my self-imposed one drink limit. Mitch jumps off his stool. “I have to piddle. And I saw a hot guy over by the restrooms I need to cruise.”

  “He’s a riot,” I laugh as Mitch walks away.

  “Always has been,” Aspen replies. “I met him years ago when he was in the same dorm as my brother Abbott at college. They had rooms beside each other, and when Jake and I hit a rocky patch, which was every other week, I would escape up to Boston and hang out with Abbott. Eventually, it turned into hanging out with Mitch. Jake didn’t know he was gay, and it used to make him all jealous and possessive, and I fucking loved that.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a healthy relationship.”

  Aspen nods vigorously. “Oh, it was toxic as all hell. Hard to be healthy when the whole thing starts because you want what your best friend can’t have.”

  I shake my head and play with the straw in my drink. Aspen is so candid about everything, especially her mistakes. I watch as she pats her belly. “Anyway if this one’s a girl, I am not going to let her be the drama queen I was. She’s going to be kind and soft-hearted and appreciate her friends, not let the green-eyed monster control her actions.”

  I smile. Aspen is truly a work in progress, the key word being progress. Knowing the woman in front of me, I have such a hard time believing she was this bratty nightmare she describes. She smiles back at me now, and it’s not her usual bold, mischievous one. This smile is softer and more reflective, like a parent watching his kid drive off for college. “What?” I ask.

  “I’m just happy for you, Chloe,” she says quietly. “I can say now that I was a little worried about you when we first met.”

  “I was worried about me too,” I say, and she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

  “You deserved to find a hot, nice guy who is so crazy good at sex you can’t even talk about it.” Her voice is brimming with heartfelt sincerity even though, in typical Aspen fashion, her words are a little nutty. “Maybe that’s what I need. A boy so perfect I can’t talk about it.”

  She pauses as the server brings our new round, and I finish my first daiquiri so she can take the empty glass. When she’s gone, Aspen sighs. “I don’t know, I guess I like talking about sex so much because I haven’t had any in forever and likely won’t for decades after I pop this one out.”

  “Single mother
hood is not a chastity belt, Aspy,” I tell her firmly. “Logan has a kid and he’s getting laid.”

  She smiles approvingly, knowing that was a bold statement for me. “I don’t see it happening for me anytime soon, so humor me a wee bit and tell me something. Anything. A smidge of a detail about how good it was. Please?”

  “Oh my God, you are relentless,” I say, but I’m grinning through the exasperation. And I don’t know if it’s the wee bit of alcohol in my system or what, but I find myself giving her a tidbit. “He made me…you know…with just his…” I point to my pants. “No mouth, no fingers, just his not so little…eggplant. That’s nearly impossible for me. I usually need additional stimulation, but with him it was effortless.”

  “What position?” Aspen asks.

  “Missionary.”

  “Sweet Jesus, never let him go,” Aspen announces and raises her glass of seltzer in the air like she’s making a toast. She takes a quick sip, licks her lips, and leans forward. “Also it’s adorable how you’re over thirty and can’t say come and cock. Work on it though, because at forty, it’s just sad.”

  “I can say it. I just don’t think this is an appropriate place to throw out those words,” I reply, my eyes darting around to make sure no one heard her. Aspen shakes her head. “You’re hopeless in an adorable way.”

  “Okay now I have to piddle,” Aspen slips off her stool. “This kid is doing a headstand on my bladder or something. Be right back.”

  I watch her waddle away and notice Mitch walking back toward the table. When he drops down on his stool again, my heart jumps because he looks positively furious. “What’s wrong?”

  “Fucking hell,” he mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket and punching at the screen. “I have to admit, when you first told me about this hot tenant who was a paramedic, I google stalked the shit out of him.”

  “Mitch!” I am stunned and a little annoyed.