The Accidental Kiss

by Heatherly Bell

  People meant well, sure, but they weren’t there to pick up the pieces. But not only had Milly gone behind Charley’s back and told the principal, she’d also told Dylan. And Charley had been wrong that time. The bullying stopped almost overnight even if she’d never had many girlfriends even after that.

  Milly thought she didn’t want the baby’s father to know about Bean and take responsibility, but she was probably just scared and too proud. Worried the man would feel trapped and not want anything to do with her except out of obligation. It was easier not to tell him than to risk that kind of rejection. Charley understood. She’d spent a little time searching for her mother, but eventually Charley stopped looking for Maggie Young. She was terrified of being rejected all over again.

  And that fear of rejection was the very reason she had to do this for Milly. Find the father and let him know. This way if he rejected anyone, he’d reject Charley, and not Milly.

  Milly would never even have to know.

  12

  “Pregnancy is the happiest reason ever for feeling like crap.” ~ Meme

  Working on boats docked at the marina was usually one of Dylan’s few happy places. He enjoyed the work on his rotation days off. Kept him busy and near the swell of the ocean waves. Usually the jobs weren’t pressing or on a strict timeline and the owners loved his craftsmanship. The extra money didn’t hurt, either. He’d been putting it aside for years along with the money he made from the occasional house flip.

  But today rather than peaceful at being near the sea, he’d slipped into the dangerous vortex of “dinner texting” with Charley. He should have known better. Not like this was the first time or anything.

  Dylan:

  Dinner tonight?

  Chuck:

  Okay. Where?

  Dylan:

  Wherever you want. Italian?

  Chuck:

  No. You know I’m picky.

  Dylan:

  You decide then.

  Seriously. Sometimes this relationship of theirs was a bit like being married but without all the perks. Five or six messages later, with him suggesting and her knocking down, Charley texted him:

  I’m actually not that hungry.

  At that point he wanted to throw his phone into the cold waters of the bay. Hell. It shouldn’t be this hard for two people to decide on dinner. He considered what she meant by “I’m not hungry.” Was that code for “you jerk” or could she possibly mean she wasn’t hungry? Was she mad he hadn’t talked to her about the kiss? He finally texted:

  What about Juan’s?

  Chuck:

  Fine.

  Dylan wasn’t sure if that was a good fine or you’re an asshole “fine.” Yes, he’d been avoiding her. The reason? He realized he was in trouble here and didn’t know what to do about it. She’d be leaving again before long, and he didn’t see the point in starting anything up. What was he going to do? Have sex with her like he’d been fantasizing, or take the high road? And how painful would this high road be? Would she get that he was trying to prevent a likely disastrous break-up, or would she take it as a rejection and hate him? He was in a no-win scenario and he avoided those like candle-lit dinners.

  At least a decision had been made about dinner. He shoved a hand through his hair, uncomfortable. This was odd. It wasn’t natural to second guess himself with her. He did not want that to change. But he’d done a lot of thinking about what he’d started. It would have been far better to find out that kissing her was like kissing his sister. Or a wall. Or a plasma TV set after the Giants won the pennant. But no, it had to be the most erotic experience of his life. In the back of a hot bakery.

  And then he’d remembered something he’d nearly forgotten.

  A year ago, he’d fallen asleep watching a movie with Charley at home and had a strange dream. In that dream, she had covered him with a blanket, kissed him, rubbed his jawline, and whispered that she loved him. Later that night, when he’d woken to his dark and quiet house, Charley had already gone, leaving him a note:

  I watched several minutes of Scarface before I realized you were asleep. Now you have to watch Letters from Juliet with me, and I don’t want any crap from you. ~ C

  Had she still been there he might have told her about the dream. Whatever. But probably not, because one of the more compelling aspects of the dream was how enticing the fantasy had been. How soft her lips had felt against his, how she’d revved him up without even trying. A dream so real it took weeks to get it out of his head.

  Dylan heard footsteps on the pier coming in his direction and looked up to see Ron Hiroshimo walking toward the yacht Dylan had just finished. He met him halfway down the pier.

  Originally from Seattle, Ron was one of the original investors in a little company called Microsoft. Twenty years ago, he’d retired at forty and bought himself a small fleet of yachts.

  “Hey,” Ron said. “Done with that job?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said. “Got something else for me?”

  “I have a proposition for you,” Ron said. “One of those deals that falls into my lap from time to time. A timely investment.”

  Dylan followed him down several boat slips to a sailboat named Miracle One. How about that. Someone apparently numbered their miracles. Dylan would be happy to stop at one. But if he were in the bargain for miracle wielding, he’d want Joe to settle his ass down. What his younger brother needed was to be in a service-oriented career. Something to give him purpose and direction. Dylan still didn’t know what was going on with Joe, who’d been hanging around the house for days now. It wasn’t like him. When he was at home, he seemed to be spending a great deal of time on his laptop, his brow creased in concentration. Whenever Dylan asked, Joe claimed he was charting the swell of the waves.

  He was lying.

  “My latest fixer-upper.” Ron grinned. “And I see nothing but possibilities.”

  “Looking for a buyer?”

  “Not exactly. Help me clean and polish her up, and I’ll split the profits with you on Sunset Kiss.”

  There were usually dozens of sailboats doting the bay for three days. So much so that interested parties had to book a sailboat months in advance.

  “You know I don’t like to indulge in that stupid legend.”

  “What’s the harm? We could make a killing. All the boats are already booked with a wait list. We’ll get twice the going rate and split it.”

  True, he wasn’t one to walk away from an opportunity. Even though mom and abuelita were able to support themselves by renting out rooms, he more than most people understood they were one more major medical catastrophe away from bankruptcy.

  Sunset had broken over the bay, a splash of orange and muted yellow. The salty air stung his nose and the sounds of the seagulls squawking echoed. He hunched his shoulders against a cool Pacific Ocean breeze and shoved hands in the pockets of his jacket.

  “Just some sweat equity?”

  “Exactly.”

  It might take him a few of his free days to clean her up, but the return on investment was nothing but his time. Ron was being more than generous.

  “Deal.”

  “Rack ‘em up,” Smitty called out. “I’m going to kick your ass, Dylan.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  As usual the guys had congregated at the pool table near the back of Juan’s. Joe had joined them, and even if Dylan had his suspicions Joe wasn’t being perfectly honest with him about his reason for being back home, it was good to have his younger brother around for a change.

  Charley waltzed in a few minutes after he’d arrived, dressed in her usual jeans and a long-sleeved black tee that read, “My kitchen. My rules.” in neon pink. She wore her pink Chuck Taylors tonight. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail and as usual she looked like she put zero effort into her appearance. He appreciated being able to count on her being practical and that had made it easier not to fantasize about her. But tonight, she looked…radiant was the only word that came to mind. Was that shirt tighter t
han normal? Did she always wear jeans that hugged her butt, or was he only now noticing this?

  Marco picked her up and swung her in the air like she was a rag doll. “Hey, look who it is!”

  “Put me down!” she squeaked and pounded his chest.

  He set her down, but because he apparently had a death wish he only handed her over to Joe. But once Joe set Charley down, he was summarily distracted away by a blonde crooking her finger at him.

  “BRB.”

  “Look at that,” Marco said. “One pretty blonde and suddenly he’s an only child. Whatever happened to the brotherhood?”

  “We’re about to rack ‘em up again in a minute because Dylan is going to miss a shot at some point,” Smitty said, holding his cue stick.

  “The hell I am.” Dylan leaned over the table, easing his hip against the edge.

  “Dylan never misses,” Charley said.

  He met her eyes. “Black ball, corner pocket.”

  Made the shot handily if he did say so himself.

  “Damn! She’s always been his lucky charm,” Smitty said. “Did you have to show up right now?”

  Charley whistled. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

  “Next round it’s me and Marco against Dylan and Charley,” Smitty said.

  “Are you new here?” Marco slapped Smitty’s shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you? Put those two together and nobody wins against them. No, no. It’s me and Charley against you and Dylan.”

  “I’ll take it!” Smitty racked them up.

  “I want in on some of that action,” Johnny said, tipping his beer bottle.

  They proceeded to play, with Dylan and Smitty ahead at first until Charley, with little help from Marco, easily caught up with them. Dylan kicked back when his chicken wings arrived. The waitress, who obviously hadn’t heard of his fake engagement, brushed her breasts against his arm. She was pretty and smelled good but didn’t do a thing for him. While Smitty was taking his shot, Dylan pulled out his wallet, paid, and then nodded to Charley. Pointed at the wings.

  Have some, he mouthed.

  No thanks, I’m about to beat your ass, she answered.

  He rolled his eyes and took a bite out of a wing. She looked pissed, as if she had any right to be. He was the one supposedly engaged thanks to her.

  “How long you going to be around?” Marco asked, lining up his shot.

  “Until Milly has her baby or until I find the baby’s father.” She hit the ball with her usual finesse and easily made the shot. “Whichever comes first. She has to be on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy.”

  Dylan thought Charley would be headed off to New Orleans. “What’s wrong? Is she dilated?”

  She glanced at Dylan. “Yeah. How bad is that?”

  “It can mean a premature baby, so she should follow doctor’s orders.”

  Personally, Dylan understood why Charley would never be able to leave Milly with a newborn baby. Which is the reason why, he assumed, she’d become a little irrational in her attempts to find the father. She was like a hamster in a cage, dying to get out, ready to move on to her next adventure. Someday she’d get to Paris like she’d dreamed, and Paris was a long way from San Francisco.

  On Charley’s turn at the table, she lined up and quietly made the shot. Dylan made his too. Before long, they were tied.

  Donna walked in the room and rubbed against Marco, causing him to lose his shot. “Damn it, babe.”

  “Outta my way.” Charley hip checked Johnny, made her shot and then the next, recovering Marco’s loss.

  This made him smile. She didn’t like to lose. Ever. But a few more shots back and forth later and oh, look at that. Dylan and Smitty handily won the game.

  “Hey, baby doll.” A man who looked three sheets to the wind sidled up to Charley. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  A white-hot streak of anger shot through Dylan, which he couldn’t explain if he were given a million years to do so. Charley could take care of herself. She’d told him so, countless of times. Still, he moved to her side.

  “Go home, sober up, and I’ll reconsider,” Charley said.

  “You don’t want this badger cat, man,” Smitty put his arm around Charley’s shoulders. “She’s too hot to handle.”

  The guy backed up slowly, palms out. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  Dylan smiled, unreasonably happy the man gave up. Because if she found someone else, someone worthy, of course, that would certainly make this whole ordeal easier for him. But damn if he didn’t want that, either. Which meant he didn’t want easy. Someone order him a brain scan because that didn’t sound like him at all.

  The others had left to congregate at the bar and he was following when Charley’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her back pocket and casually glanced at it. Her eyes widened, and she chewed her lower lip.

  “Bad news?” he asked.

  She held up her phone, a panicked gaze in her eyes, and showed Dylan the text message from Milly:

  What did you do????? Peter Adair called me today. We need to talk! Now!

  He did not say, “I told you so” but it took nearly biting his tongue in half. Dylan pulled on his jacket. “C’mon. I’ll walk over with you.”

  Dylan called out a goodbye, then steered a jumpy Charley out of Juan’s, his hand on the small of her back. Had he ever had his hand on the small of her back? Given by the surge of desire that pulsed through him, he’d have to say no. He hadn’t. Because he would have remembered this. The kind of heat he usually felt when he’d done a whole lot more with a woman than simply have his hand on her back. At the door he held it open for her, and when he closed it behind him, all of the loud sounds from inside were hollowed out. The sounds of the big screen TV set to the baseball game, the sound of the balls racked up in the pool room, were all muffled and distant.

  Outside, a perfect July night surrounded them. The fog had descended, giving everything from the streetlights to the older Victorian homes lining the street a filmy glow. And all he could think about was another bone-melting kiss. This was fairly self-centered of him, he understood, because Charley was about to be skewered over fiery hot coals by Milly. His only job was to be her support system.

  They reached the bakery, the doorbell outside still covered with taped piece of faded paper in Coral’s precise cursive handwriting: Bell for upstairs residence only. Please do not ring during business hours.

  “Want me to run interference for you?” He’d done so for the sisters in the past, though it had never gone over well with Milly.

  “No,” she said on a sigh. “This is on me. I’ll explain. I’m pretty sure she’ll understand.”

  He highly doubted that. Charley’s optimism was inspiring if a little misguided. Peter Adair had wound up in the hospital. That wasn’t easy for anyone to forget, no matter how great and forgiving the dude.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, Dylan. It’s okay. She’ll just get madder if you’re with me.”

  “I’m coming anyway.” His tone left no room for disagreement. No way was he letting Charley upstairs without some moral support.

  She pushed on his chest. “Fine! But you wait next door. This is between Milly and me.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  13

  “Count the memories, not the calories.” ~ meme

  Charley stood just outside Milly’s apartment door, alternating between pants and deep breaths. Somewhere she’d read that deep breathing helped with anxiety. But it didn’t help Charley much now as she pictured having to explain what she’d done. Explain how she’d lied. Why. All the DNA stuff. Would she really have to go there, too? Oh, God. She’d need to explain how she’d sent poor Peter to the ER with a massive anxiety attack.

  Charley was about to have one now as she clutched her chest.

  Big deal, though, you know? How bad could it be? Milly was her sister. If not by blood, then in every other way. They were compadres. Buddies. Yeah, Milly would forgive Charley. But it might tak
e her a few minutes. She opened the door to find Milly covered by a blanket, an episode of Dateline playing on the TV screen. Rufus lay on a chair nearby, looking bored. He lifted his head as if to ask: you again?

  “If you’re going to watch that show, at least listen to their warning. You’re not supposed to watch alone.” Charley picked up the remote control and flicked the TV set off.

  “Stop trying to control my life!” Milly shrieked. Rufus jumped off the chair at a near run, and Charley jumped back, too. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Charley knew very well what she meant, but she stalled. “That s-show. It always scares you.”

  She stood up, hands on hips. “What about poor Peter? Do you care that you nearly gave him a heart attack? I heard he was taken to the hospital!”

  “In my defense, because of what happened, he’s now back together with the love of his life. He thanked me. So, yeah, that happened.”

  “He would thank you. Peter Adair is a prince!”

  And probably the reason for all those hearts next to his name. Charley couldn’t argue there. The guy really was wonderful. “Again, in my defense—”

  “You have no defense, Charlotte Rae Young! You’re a menace. You can’t keep out of things that don’t concern you. I asked you to stay out of it, and you didn’t.”

  “But…but you’re my sister and what happens to you does concern me.”

  “I’ve kept your secrets. I covered for you with Mama so many times I lost count. You got to have a life, and I didn’t. Did I ever tell Dylan about your stolen kiss? Did I? Why can’t you ever be happy or satisfied with what you have?”

  Charley resisted the urge to shush her. These walls were thin. “Now wait a minute. I—”