by Juliette Poe
“Truly,” I assure him, not liking that his guilt makes me feel bad. “It’s fine.”
Dad shakes his head, giving me a chiding semi-glare as he points a finger my way. “You were always so independent. Always took care of yourself. Made mine and MaryAnne’s job so easy.”
I swallow hard against the ache in my chest. Because it wasn’t my choice to take care of myself. I’d have rather had his care and devotion than not. Would have rather had MaryAnne treat me the way she treated her daughters.
But I can never tell him that. Not now.
I don’t want my discontent to be something that remains rattling around his head as he possibly loses good memories.
So I give him a wan smile. “That’s me. Independent to the core.”
My dad snorts, an amused smile on his face as he goes back to his work. “What about that girl? What’s her name again?”
“Larkin,” I reply, a fond smile tugging at my lips from just that one word.
“You going to settle down with her?” he asks.
I’m so caught off guard by the blunt question that pokes into a very uncertain and wayward future, and I don’t even know how to answer. Instead, I laugh nervously, hemming and hawing. “Oh, I don’t know. You know how I love to travel and—”
“Have her travel with you,” he suggests blandly.
“She’s… um… tied to her community. Her business and all,” I explain.
My dad shrugs as if it’s really quite simple. “So live there with her, then you two just travel for vacation and stuff. If you love her, that is.”
“I haven’t known her all that long,” I say, feeling incredibly hot under the collar that my dad brought up the “L” word.
“So,” he replies with another shrug, locking his eyes with mine. “I only knew MaryAnne just over a month when I proposed. Knew I wanted to spend my life with her before that. Love doesn’t have time frames or set limits. It’s either there or it isn’t. In fact, the people who wait months or even years to figure it all out make me question whether it’s really love they feel. Sounds to me like they need convincing, and love shouldn’t need that.”
I’m not even sure what in the heck he’s trying to say, but my dad had never waxed on about love and the philosophy of it before. We’d never had many man-to-man talks at all.
It makes me curious.
“How do you know if it’s real? Particularly when it’s so new?” I ask.
My dad tips his head, scrunching his face in reflection before finally smiling. “I think it’s just a gut feeling. Do you like the inner human being inside of her? Does she mesh with your own values? No real tell… just go with your gut.”
That’s not overly helpful. While I have a lot of self-confidence and have always trusted my decisions, none of them have ever been as complex as what I face with Larkin. I’ve certainly never had anyone make me feel the way she has. That, in and of itself, is both frightening and complicated.
I think about values.
Do mine mesh with hers?
She’s hardworking, smart, kind, funny, fierce, and an adventurer. We’re more than compatible in the bedroom. No one has ever rocked my world the way she does.
There’s no question… she appeals to everything that is important to me.
My gut is saying if there is ever going to be “the one,” she’s it.
But I consider the source of this advice. My dad is a good man, and he has wisdom. But he fell in love with MaryAnne mostly because he needed her. He was horrible at taking care of me and himself, and she swept in and was our savior of sorts. It was easy to love someone who made life easier.
A voice I attribute to a tiny inner conscience barks at me to stop being such a skeptic. Insists I wouldn’t have recognized true love as a child. Says maybe I misjudged them.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. It’s hard for me to see past the most obvious—that love isn’t all that real, but it’s more of a coming together of people who satisfy each other’s needs.
If that’s the case, then how could I ever really be in love? I don’t have any needs I can’t take care of myself. I don’t have any burdens or problems to lay on a woman’s doorstep. I don’t need to rely on anyone. Never have.
Yeah… I most certainly don’t need it.
The question is—do I want it? That’s an even bigger mystery than how I actually feel about Larkin.
I’m not so much of a skeptic I can’t recognize the wonderful things a relationship with Larkin would bring to my life. We have the best conversations. We laugh. The sex is off the charts.
I care for her greatly, and she feels the same. I knew it the moment she so quickly agreed to come to Idaho with me to visit my family.
But could I live without it?
Probably.
It would suck for sure, but I have to weigh that against what I’d give up.
Mobility.
Freedom.
The open road with no responsibility to anyone but myself.
Of course, there’s no sound answer. And I doubt my dad is the one to truly shine clarity on the situation. To him, love is simple.
To me, it’s a big mess.
CHAPTER 23
Larkin
It’s been almost a week since we left Idaho and returned to Whynot. Deacon and I have settled into what I call “dating life”. Well, maybe it’s more than dating. He stays at my house every night, presumably having officially checked out of Millie’s. I try not to read anything into this fact, but that’s easier said than done.
I resumed my normal work routine at Sweet Cakes, while Deacon worked his temp job in Milner. We’d meet back at my house in the early evening. Sometimes, we’d cook together. Other times, we’d go out. We talked about everything under the sun.
I learned so much about Deacon’s time in the Marine Corps and the lifelong friendships he made there. Those friends account for much of his wandering around the states as he takes the time to go visit them as part of his travels. He even mentioned his upcoming trip to the Keys. It didn’t have any set date, but I knew he was looking forward to visiting a friend he’d served with.
He’d said to me one night, “You should come with me, Larkin. Just for a little vacation.”
I tried not to read anything into that, either.
Deacon has continued to remain open and transparent with me about his family. Since visiting them, I’ve had a whole new appreciation for the type of man he’s become despite having a less-than-secure family dynamic growing up. It hurt my heart every time he got a little “slight” while we were visiting. No one seemed overly interested in him, preferring to focus their curiosity on me and ask me tons of questions. It was all so darn nice and polite, but when they showed no true interest in the wonderful man sitting at their table, I found it almost toxically destructive.
We talked about those things openly, as well as the fact Deacon is incredibly worried about his father. He’s committed to staying in closer contact, and he has called his dad three times since we returned. It’s more than he would normally call in a month.
Deacon had asked me one night, “Do you think it’s enough?”
I assured him I thought it was… but the mere fact he asked me such an important question? Well, once again, I tried not to read too much into that.
Every night, Deacon made love to me. I had never moved into such an intimate relationship with a man so quickly before. Usually, I move with trepidation, understanding from experience how tricky matters of the heart are when sex becomes entwined.
But I have never for a moment doubted what I’m doing with Deacon. I’m willing to risk a broken heart with him, and my hope holds strong that it will never happen. Because yeah… I’m fairly sure he’s the one.
I also try not to read anything into that.
Tonight is another proverbial “notch” in our burgeoning relationship. We’re out at Chesty’s, celebrating the end of the workweek. While we’ve gone out to dinner in town, this is the first t
ime we’ve “acted” as a couple.
By that, I mean there’s physical affection that is not withheld or tempered. At first, it was a little weird, mostly because Pap was hanging out at his usual place at the end of the bar where he sits perpendicular to everyone else. Deacon wasn’t intimidated by his presence, often putting his hand on my lower back as we stood and talked. When we played pool, he would walk up to me after a shot, only to bend down to steal a kiss from my waiting lips. Once, as I was standing by Pap’s stool and talking to him, Deacon came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and just joined into our conversation while he held me.
And now?
Now he stands with his arm around my waist as we watch the center pool table. We’re playing doubles against Trixie and Ryland, who just came in a bit ago. It’s Ryland’s turn, but he’s the weakest player out of the group. Trixie and I, by mere virtue of practically being raised in this bar, are really damn good. So is Deacon, who has spent his fair share of time in the military and out frequenting establishments such as this. Poor Ryland, with his years back in Boston working at a prestigious white-collar law firm, just doesn’t have the same experiences. I bet his pool playing was learned at civilized parties with brandy and cigars.
The thought makes me snort as we watch him take a shot and come nowhere near making it.
“What’s so funny?” Deacon asks as he pulls his arm away and grabs his cue, giving me only a brief glance.
I shake my head hard, not able to get rid of the smirk on my face. “I’ll tell you later.”
Deacon’s eyes glint with amusement. His lips curving in response, he saunters around the pool table looking way too sexy in my opinion. It’s not lost on me that all the women in the bar tonight are watching him like a hawk.
It feels mighty darn good he doesn’t ever look back and only has eyes for me.
Until… the door to Chesty’s opens and two women walk in. They look almost identical with layers upon layers of golden-blond hair, skimpy outfits—tight jeans and halter tops despite the winter chill—and knowing expressions on their faces that they’re going to garner some attention inside Chesty’s.
One woman, though… I recognize her.
The bartender, Linda, from Wolf’s place in Milner.
Deacon’s eyes shift to the women for just a moment as they walk in, then back to the pool table before snapping back to the sexy duo. His eyes harden and his jaw locks tight as he takes in Linda, and I try not to read too much into that.
His attention then goes back to the pool table, and he doesn’t look at them again.
Linda’s attention, however, locks on Deacon. She stares at him a good, long moment as he bends over the pool table. Finally, she takes her friend’s arm and they strut to the bar where they order beers while preening on the attention of every red-blooded male in Chesty’s.
Deacon doesn’t give the newcomers any attention and because of this, I decide to do the same. I keep my back to them, and Deacon and I manage to whip Trixie and Ryland’s butts. We play one more game, and I’m fully relaxed when we win the second. However, I notice another set of quarters on the edge of the table, indicating someone else wants to play. We give the table up, then move toward where Pap has been sitting and watching us.
Deacon takes my hand and we make it no more than two steps before Linda steps in our path to stop us. She doesn’t spare me a glance, but instead, she smiles up at my man with a flirtatious quirk to her lips.
“Well, hey stud,” she says with a distinctively Southern twang. My blood boils when she puts her hand on the center of his chest and bats her eyelashes. “We’ve missed you over at Wolf’s.”
Deacon gives a curt nod. “Having a great time here at Chesty’s and I don’t have to worry about drinking and driving.”
“I’d be glad to give you a ride back any time,” she purrs in response, leaning into him despite the fact Deacon has my hand and we’re clearly together.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” His tone is clipped but still polite. He tugs at me slightly, preparing to walk around Linda. I have to admit his response doesn’t quite satisfy me. Why can’t he turn her down with a little more force, preferably with reference to the fact he’s seeing someone already?
Linda doesn’t miss his move. She’s well aware we’re here together because she’s been here long enough to watch us play through two games of pool. Deacon had kept his arm around me when we weren’t shooting.
But now she just turns to me, her eyes widening in surprise as if she’s just now seeing me. Her eyes glitter with something akin to malice, and I brace for what I know is going to be a mean-girl moment. “Oh, hey… I remember you.”
“Hey,” I say quietly, not knowing what else to say.
Linda’s eyes roam over my face for a moment before she asks, “Did you cut your hair since I last saw you?”
My fingers go up to nervously play at the fringes on my neck. “Um… no. It’s been like this a while.”
“Oh, well, I really like it.” The fake, saccharine tone tells me this is far from the truth. “I mean… pudgy girls can’t normally pull off such a short haircut, but it’s really cute on you.”
My face flushes with heat and embarrassment. She’s called me out on one of my insecurities, and I can’t even think of one thing to defend myself. My eyes go to Deacon, who isn’t looking at either one of us, his intent on us returning to Pap’s side. He pulls me again to move past Linda, and I let him.
But then Linda moves, positioning herself in front of Deacon, who is forced to stop. His eyes are impatient when they come to her, and there’s a tiny muscle ticking at the corner of his jaw.
“What?” he snaps.
“I was just hoping to convince you to come back to work for me.”
“Not interested,” he mutters.
“Well, the offer is always there if you change your mind,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes.
“I won’t,” he replies firmly, staring at her for a moment so the words sink in.
Linda shrugs before turning away.
Deacon starts to pull me again, but my legs lock hard and my hand slips from his. My body feels slightly numb, my ears still ringing with Linda’s incredibly cruel taunt about my hair and my weight.
What has me slightly dizzy is Deacon’s distinct lack of chivalry in coming to my defense. He didn’t say a word to call out her rudeness, nor did he defend his attraction to me.
I can only take that to mean he agrees with her to some extent. He has a chubby girlfriend who has a cute haircut.
So precious.
Deacon turns to face me, his eyebrows raised in question as to why I’m not following him.
“I’m leaving,” I mutter, pivoting quickly on my heel. I wind my way through the crowd, knowing Trixie is probably going to be concerned, but I’ll call her on the way home to reassure her.
I make it out the door, feel the crisp air hit my face, then head straight for the street so I can cross over to the courthouse square. It’s the most direct route to the street I live on.
Except I’m pulled to a dead stop with a hand on my shoulder, then Deacon crowds me when he maneuvers me to face him.
Glaring.
“What the hell, Larkin?” he growls. “Why would you just walk out like that?”
“Because I wasn’t having a very good time,” I snap and move to the left, intending to walk past him.
He shifts, blocking my path. “Need a bit more than that.”
I give a wave in the general direction of Chesty’s, letting my bruised ego run at the mouth. “Why don’t you just go back in? I’m sure Linda is in there just waiting to have a good time with you.”
Internally, I cringe so hard my stomach hurts. I hate the words that came unbidden out of my mouth.
Deacon’s teeth are clenched—a sure sign he’s pissed—when he replies, “Why would I do something like that when I came with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I shout, tears stinging at my eyes from the hurt
Linda’s words caused me. “Maybe because I have short hair and I’m pudgy.”
“You’re really pissing me off, Larkin,” Deacon warns in a low snarl, his eyes flashing with heat.
Blinking the wetness away, I hurl my accusation, the true source of my current pain. “You didn’t even look offended when she said that about me. You didn’t even defend me.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he says, and I’m confused by the blank look on his face.
“I can’t decide if you’re lying to me right now or you’re just incredibly clueless.”
Deacon shakes his head, opening his arms outward in supplication. “You’re going to have to accept I’m clueless as I wouldn’t lie to you. Now what the hell are you talking about?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly in an effort to calm the anger brewing inside of me. Pivoting, I point at the bar. “Linda. In there. Right in front of you. She called me fat.”
That’s not exactly what she said, but I’m simplifying it into the clear intention she had.
Deacon blinks stupidly, shifting to look at the bar before focusing on me. His tone is ice cold. “She said what?”
Okay, it’s clear he didn’t hear her, but I’m not sure how. “You really didn’t hear what she said to me?”
Deacon shakes his head. “I can’t stand the woman. I tuned her out. Just wanted to get you away from her.”
“Oh,” I say thoughtfully, my anger ebbing away.
But it seems to have just caught hold of Deacon. His expression morphs from confusion to fury as he takes in what I just said. “She called you fat?” he exclaims with outrage. He starts to move past me to return to the bar, but I’m past that.
I grab his arm, forcing him to stay “You’re not working at her place anymore?”
I’ve got a million questions in my head, all focused on why he wouldn’t have told me this and what in the hell happened to have caused this? This whole week, I assumed he’d spent his time at her house doing whatever drywall work she needed. I never asked him about it because, well… I didn’t want to talk about her. Didn’t want to be jealous at all.
