The Family You Make

by Jill Shalvis

  “I meant in a good way.”

  She took in the seriousness behind the playful light in his eyes, behind the several-days-old stubble on his jaw, at his slow smile because she was still just staring at him. “Oh,” she said brilliantly.

  “Oh,” he repeated with a small smile, and slid the rest of his cupcake back toward her. He’d taken only two small bites.

  “You’re giving it back?”

  “I like watching you eat.”

  “You’re a strange guy.”

  “No doubt,” he said agreeably.

  Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, she took the half cupcake. Bit. Chewed. Swallowed. And then stilled at the realization. “You want something.”

  “It’s a small thing.”

  Damn. She knew it. She stopped eating. “What?”

  “You disappeared before my parents could meet my . . . girlfriend.”

  Her tummy quivered, and not necessarily in a bad way, which made her need the clarification. “You mean your pretend girlfriend.”

  “My mom wants to meet the woman willing to put up with me. She wants her to come to their fortieth anniversary dinner.”

  “Again, not seeing how this is my problem.” Just thinking about it had licks of panic racing through her, even while being fascinated by this family of his.

  “It’d be just one family dinner.”

  “Oh no,” she said, snorting to hide her rising horror. “No, no, no.”

  “Okay, great. So you’ll think about it.”

  She had to laugh. “So your Male Selective Hearing is intact.”

  “Well, I am a male, so . . .” With a smile, he stood. “Take your time, the dinner’s not for three weeks.” And then he took his sexy ass—yes, it was indeed very sexy—and walked off. He passed the table of gawking nurses and winked at them. “She’s thinking about it,” he said conspiratorially.

  In unison the whole table swiveled their heads and stared at Jane.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

  “Can we then?” Sandra asked.

  Jane thunked her head on the table.

  THE NEXT MORNING when Jane’s alarm went off at four forty-five, she was still doing nothing but thinking about it. She didn’t have to be at work until eight, but she still got up, showered, and hit the Stovetop Diner by five.

  The early bird always gets the worm.

  That’s what her grandpa used to say. Which was why she was really here. Not just the diner, but Lake Tahoe in general.

  Last year she’d been here for the ski season as usual, and she’d caught sight of her grandpa in this very diner. At the time, she’d been too shocked to talk to him. She wasn’t proud of it, but she’d ducked out before he could see her.

  She hadn’t been ready to make contact. Hurt and resentment and her ever-present fear of rejection had ensured that. Complicating things was that her grandpa also inspired some of the best memories of her childhood.

  This year, she still felt the same roller coaster of emotions, so she was no closer to making a decision about talking to him.

  But none of that stopped her from wanting a peek at him. So she parked at the diner, because if she knew one thing about her grandpa, it was that he was a creature of habit.

  The building had been constructed just after the Prohibition era, standing tall as a distillery for decades. In the 1950s, it’d been bought and turned into the first diner on all of the North Shore, complete with black-and-white-checkered floor tiles, red vinyl booths, and jukeboxes. The look had since lost some of its luster, but the food was amazing, ensuring that the place remained a mainstay for the area.

  The alcohol license didn’t hurt.

  She eyed the table across the room, where indeed her grandpa sat with his cronies drinking their morning espresso and telling stories about growing up here in Tahoe before it’d become a popular tourist destination. “Back in the day . . .” one of them was saying, “you could jump off the cliff at Hidden Falls and not get in trouble.”

  Her grandpa chuckled. “Back in the day, Secret Cove was still a nudie beach that no one had ever heard of except for us locals. Watch out for the geese, though—they like to nibble at the frank and beans.”

  Jane watched him, heart torn between love and hurt as she sipped her coffee in disguise; her ski hat pulled low, scarf wrapped around her neck, and coat still on to hide her scrubs. She was in an out-of-the-way booth, not easily seen, sitting with a spare to-go coffee to take to Charlotte at work—unless she ended up drinking both out of sheer nerves.

  Her grandpa tipped back his head and laughed heartily at something one of the men said, and it both hurt and felt good to hear it. She’d spent a lot of years suppressing her emotions, so the waves of nostalgia, heartbreak, and guilt hit hard.

  When someone unexpectedly sat at her table, Jane nearly jumped right out of her skin.

  “Some PI you are,” Charlotte said, stealing Jane’s coffee. She was in her usual scrubs and her ridiculous pink down jacket. “You didn’t even see me coming.”

  “You need a bell around your neck. And hey, the one in the to-go cup is yours.”

  Charlotte took both, looking pleased with herself. “I’m stealth, baby. Ask me how stealth.”

  Jane eyed her warily. “How stealth?”

  “Stealth enough to know that a hot guy brought you a cupcake to work yesterday, and that you had lunch with him.”

  Jane gaped.

  “And that he asked you something and you’re thinking about it.”

  “How in the world . . . ?”

  Charlotte grinned. “Heard it from an intern, who heard it from a lab tech, who heard it from Radiology, who heard it from a nurse who was at the table with Sandra.”

  “Wow.” Jane shook her head. “And you’re missing a whole bunch of details. Your sources are slipping.”

  “Actually, their exact words were that you were caught sharing a postcoital lunch with Sexy Gondola Guy.” She leaned in, hands on the table. “Let’s discuss.”

  “Sure,” Jane said. “We’ll discuss as soon as you discuss our very handsome next-door neighbor—also your coworker—and why you pretended to not like him this whole time when you secretly do.”

  CHARLOTTE CHOKED ON her sip of coffee and nearly snorted it out of her nose. But that wasn’t what had her heart pounding. Pretending she hadn’t just burned her windpipe, she leaned casually back as she studied her best friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then neither do I,” Jane said with a smirk. She saw right through Charlotte.

  She was Charlotte’s own personal miracle. No one saw past her walls. Not at work, where she was practically a dictator. Not with her circle of friends, who were amused but not bothered by her almost OCD need to control . . . well, everything. No one. She was that good at hiding in plain sight.

  But Jane. Jane had seen right through her from the start, to the real Charlotte. Terrifying at first, but now comforting. Even more so was the fact that she gave the same sense of security to Jane.

  They were two peas in a pod, which allowed Charlotte to relax with Jane like she could with no one else.

  But right now, staring at each other, with Jane clearly hiding burgeoning feelings for a man for the first time since Charlotte had known her, and with Charlotte doing almost the exact same thing . . . Well, it would have been funny if it hadn’t been so scary.

  They stared at each other. Charlotte broke first. She always did. She’d never met a silence she could endure, and she knew that about herself. It was irritating as hell so she did what she did best, she went on the defensive. “I also know you sat at Sexy Gondola Guy’s hospital bedside for several hours before coming home.”

  Jane went from smirk to . . . unsure? And Charlotte’s heart kicked for another reason altogether. She was a worrier, always had been, but with Jane, she was also somehow a warrior. She leaned in. “What does he need from you? Do I have to kick his ass?”

  “No!” Jane let out a s
mall laugh. “Ohmigod, we’re both out of our minds. But no ass-kicking necessary! Stand down, Dr. Dixon.”

  “You sure? Because you know I’d do it.” She flexed. “I’m tiny but mighty.”

  This won her another rough laugh, which coming from Jane was the equivalent of a belly laugh. “I never doubt you,” Jane said. “But what Levi wants, it’s, um . . .” She squirmed.

  Fascinating. Jane never squirmed. Jane never gave herself away like that. At least not to anyone except Charlotte, which was a huge source of pride for her. Jane had been a tough nut to crack, but Charlotte didn’t know how to take no for an answer. It’d taken her six years, but she was fairly confident Jane finally considered her family. “It’s what?” she pressed.

  “Personal.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jane said on another low laugh. “But it’s not that. When Levi and I were on that gondola and we thought we were going to die, he called his mother to say goodbye.”

  Charlotte gasped, a hand to her chest. “Oh my God,” she whispered, trying to imagine calling her mom to say goodbye. She couldn’t imagine it, not without her throat tightening and her eyes burning with unshed emotion.

  “Yeah.” Jane let out a breath.

  “I really can’t fathom making that call,” she said softly, reaching for Jane’s hand. “Oh, honey.”

  “The thing was, he couldn’t actually do it. He told her he was happy and in a relationship.”

  “Sweet. But I can’t help but notice I didn’t get a call.”

  Jane shook her head. “I couldn’t do it, not to you.”

  Charlotte took a moment to just breathe past the image of losing her. “Next time I want a call.” She squeezed their fingers together. “But let’s not have a next time, okay?”

  “Agreed.” Jane took a breath. “Anyway, now Levi needs a pretend girlfriend for some big family dinner in three weeks.”

  Charlotte took this in. Jane was . . . blushing a little. And not making eye contact. Fascinating. “You going to do it?”

  “He brought me my locket back.”

  Charlotte felt a smile crease her face. “You’re going to do it.”

  “I don’t know. Wait— How do you know I sat by his bedside? You were in surgery.”

  “Someone told me.”

  Jane stared at her. “Dammit. Now I’m going to have to kill Mateo.”

  Mateo. The only man who could make her feel like she didn’t know what she was doing. At any given moment of any day, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze or climb him like a tree. Not that she would admit either under threat of death. Nope. Her ridiculous little crush on the man who was sexier than the legal limit was going to stay her own personal secret. For a whole bunch of reasons, not that she could name one at the moment.

  “I knew it!” Jane pointed at her. “See, you don’t want him dead.”

  “Well, I never said I wanted him dead, did I? I said I wanted him to stop flirting with me.” A total lie.

  “Admit it,” Jane said. “You have no idea how to deal with a good man trying to get your attention. I mean, you’re not quite as screwed up as I am, but you’re close enough.”

  True story. Charlotte’d had a good childhood, but she’d also had her share of trauma, which had left her just as awkward and uneasy at romantic entanglements as Jane.

  “He wants to go out with you.”

  Charlotte ignored the butterflies in her belly at that thought and shook her head. “He’s a flirt. That’s what he does. He flirts with everyone.”

  “Wrong,” Jane said. “Mateo’s one of the rare good ones. Yeah, he’s nice to everyone on the floor, from surgeons to nurses to the cleaning crews. But there’s only one person he flirts with, stares at, moons over, brings coffee to. And that’s you. And—Ohmigod.”

  “What?”

  Jane squeaked and ducked low, beneath the table.

  Charlotte stuck her head under the table. “You drop something?”

  “Yes, my marbles! I think my grandpa saw me— Oh my God, don’t look!”

  But Charlotte was already looking, feeling her heart harden on the spot. “I want to see the man who deserted you when you were eight.”

  “He didn’t desert me.”

  “Bullshit,” Charlotte said.

  “He wasn’t well.”

  “And you were eight.”

  “Yeah,” Jane muttered. “Hence me being under the table like I’m still eight.”

  Charlotte stuck her head under the table, softening when she saw Jane’s genuine panic. “Honey, what have I always told you?”

  “Um . . . Men suck?”

  “Okay, and what else?”

  “Always make the time for lip gloss because we’re not animals.”

  “Aw! You were listening.” Charlotte felt so proud. “And . . . ?”

  “And . . . family is earned, not inherited.”

  Charlotte nodded. “So you have to decide. Are you ready to go there? Open up some old wounds?”

  The look on Jane’s face said she was undecided.

  Fair, given what she’d been through. “Whatever you decide,” Charlotte said softly, “you know you have people who love and support you.”

  Jane hesitated, then nodded. “I’m still getting used to that. I let you barge in past all my walls.”

  Accurate.

  “And Mateo too,” Jane said. “And now maybe Levi? It feels like too much. It’s like . . . the quintessential nightmare of going to school naked. I’m out there hanging out in the breeze, vulnerable, just waiting for someone to say it’s time for me to move on.”

  “I’ll never say that,” Charlotte said fiercely. “And you know that no matter what happens with your grandpa—or doesn’t happen—you’re going to be okay because . . . why?”

  Jane gave a reluctant smile. “Because I’ve got you at my back.”

  “Aw. You’ve grown up so fast—” Charlotte caught a glimpse of the tall man in scrubs who strode into the diner. She gave an unladylike squeak and slid all the way out of her chair and under the table too.

  Jane stared at her. “What the—”

  “Mateo’s here,” Charlotte hissed.

  Jane blinked. “And?”

  “And this is not a drill! Congratulations, you’ve taught me how to be ridiculous. Hope you’re proud. Now scoot the hell over and make some room!”

  Jane snorted, but scooted, just as Mateo spoke from above them. “Morning, ladies. Did you drop something?”

  Jane smirked at Charlotte.

  “Don’t you dare leave—” But she was talking to air because Jane was gone as if she had the hounds of hell on her heels.

  Not Charlotte. It wasn’t the hounds of hell chasing her. It was her past.

  Which felt just as scary.

  Chapter 8

  Levi woke up to the unmistakable sound of paws scrambling in his direction, but he didn’t move or open his eyes, hoping he was invisible. Not likely though, as he was on the pullout couch in the Cutler family den slash office.

  Which was how a very hot, wet tongue was able to lick him from chin to forehead.

  “Thanks, Jasper,” he murmured.

  Apparently encouraged by the greeting, his mom’s goldendoodle slash Wookiee leapt on top of him, wiggling all ninety pounds with the grace of a bull in a china shop, breathing his doggy breath all over him.

  Levi managed to hug the silly, lovable dog while protecting his favorite body parts, not an easy task with Jasper’s four massive paws. “Good boy, but time to get down.”

  Jasper lay down—on top of Levi.

  He had to laugh. Who’d have thought he’d actually miss his childhood bedroom? But after Tess and Peyton had moved back in for the duration of her ugly divorce, his room had been turned into a proud princess palace. They’d offered to move out for his stay, but he’d refused, saying the couch was fine.

  Not that it mattered where he slept in this house,
because he’d always felt just a little misplaced in it. The square peg shoved in a round hole. For one thing, he’d been an oops baby to his parents, who’d thought they were done after having Tess nearly ten years earlier.

  The three of them had been a tight unit by the time he’d come around. Levi had done his best to fit in. He’d been a good skier and probably could’ve gone somewhere with it, but even though he’d gone to the University of Colorado, where he could have skied competitively, he’d concentrated on getting his data science degree instead. Which of course had baffled his parents beyond belief. As far as they were concerned, he’d taken his athletic talent and walked.

  Looking back, Levi understood their point of view, but he also knew they’d never understood his. He’d worked at the family store growing up, putting in his time, even if he’d always had his nose in a book or been on the computer creating software and apps, and then later working in tech before, during, and after college to support himself.

  More than Levi being good, he’d been lucky, making the right connections, and now his start-up, Cutler Analytics, was thriving. Yes, he missed the mountain. Actually he missed the mountain a whole bunch, but hadn’t missed feeling like that square peg again.

  He’d done well on his own and had learned how to be okay exactly as he was. Sometimes he was even more than okay. Sometimes there was actual joy and excitement—like five minutes ago when he’d still been sleeping, his dream starring one sexy, smartass nurse named Jane. Unfortunately, his reality was as far from that erotic dream as humanly possible.

  That was when his niece, Peyton, bounced into the room like the Energizer Bunny in a tutu and tiara, waving a sparkling staff.

  Jasper jumped down—finally—and ran to his favorite person.

  “Down,” the six-year-old commanded, the one who weighed less than the dog.

  Jasper lay down like a perfectly behaved dog. Probably because Peyton was also carrying a bowl of cereal, and Jasper knew only good boys got bites of cereal.

  Peyton leaned over Levi, her warm little girl breath scented like the Froot Loops she’d carried in. When she saw his eyes were open, she grinned her toothless grin. “Uncle Levi! Uncle Levi! Uncle Levi!”