by Ash, Nikki
“I’ll let you know if Richard can take the kids next weekend,” I say, standing.
“If he can’t, we can take them,” Simon says. “We don’t mind.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know.”
Me: Where are you?
Me: Richard? Ella’s gymnastics meet is about to start! You better be finding a parking spot.
Me: Damn it, Richard! It’s started.
As I watch my little girl show off her gymnastics skills on the bars, I keep glancing down at my cell phone, hoping Richard will either reply or show up. Several times Ella has glanced around looking for her dad, who promised he would be here.
“He’s not coming,” Hunter says, nodding toward my phone. “He never shows up when we need him to. You can stop texting him. It’s pointless.”
My heart constricts at my son’s words, and for a long moment, I stare at my little boy, who is no longer little. At the end of the summer, he’s going to be turning thirteen years old. He’ll be a teenager. And he’s seeing everything his father is doing. He understands what’s going on, and there’s no more making excuses or hiding it. He gets it.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, unsure of what else to say. It may not be me who’s bailing on our kids, but I’m their mom. I brought them into this world and it’s my job to make sure they’re loved and taken care of. To shield them from anyone who can hurt them.
“It’s not your fault,” Hunter says. “We’d rather be with you anyway.” He shrugs and goes back to typing on his phone. My heart stills and then speeds up. These are my babies, and I need to do something. We can’t continue this way for the next however many years. Ella is only nine years old. I can’t let Richard string her along, breaking her heart for the next nine plus years.
Me: You failed the kids AGAIN. I’m not going to continue to let you do this to them. If I have to take you to court and get custody of them I will. Starting Monday, if you don’t take them on your scheduled days, I’m going to document it and then hire an attorney to fight you. And since you pay me so much child support and alimony, I can afford it!
Next, I send a text to Simon to let him know I have to cancel the blind date. Tonight, the kids need me. We’re going to go to dinner to celebrate how amazing Ella did and then go see a movie. I send my mom a text, asking if she’d like to join us. Providence is only an hour drive from Boston, but since she met her new husband, David, who treats her like his queen, she’s always traveling.
She texts back they left on a last minute trip to Washington D.C. and promises to come visit soon. I’m too happy that she’s happy to be disappointed. After my dad left her broke, and then a few years later, died of liver failure, I didn’t think I would ever see her happy again. But then she met David and he made it his mission to love her like she deserves.
There’s a knock on the door and I yell to the kids their dad is here. It’s Wednesday night, and he’s actually on time to get them, just like he was on Monday. I guess my text got through to him. Hopefully it lasts. As I’m turning the doorknob to open the door, my toe gets stuck under the rug and I fly forward. The door swings open, and I fall right into Richard. Luckily, he’s quick and catches me, but we both topple to the ground.
“Oh, shit, sorry.” I climb off him. “I tripped.”
“Jesus, Harper.” He stands and runs his hands along the front of his shirt to get any wrinkles out. “You could’ve fucked up my hands. You’re like a walking train wreck.”
I roll my eyes, used to his putdowns. Only Richard’s worry would be messing up his precious hands. Never mind the fact I could’ve fallen and busted my face open.
“Hey, Dad!” Ella exclaims, running into Richard’s arms.
Hunter follows behind, not half as enthused as his sister. “Ella and I have camp at eight,” he says. “You need to make sure we’re on time.”
Richard frowns. “I already said I was sorry about yesterday.”
“Well, maybe instead of having your fiancée of the month take us, you should take us yourself.”
“Hunter,” I warn. I understand his frustrations, but he’s still a child, and he still needs to be respectful toward his father.
“What? It’s the truth. Dad left us with her to go to work early and she took forever to get ready and made us both late.”
“I get that, but you don’t get to speak to your father that way.” Sometimes creating a united front really sucks.
“Are you taking us or is she?” Hunter asks.
“I’ll make sure she gets you there on time,” Richard says.
“I think I’ll just stay with Mom,” Hunter challenges.
“Like hell—” Richard begins, but I quickly cut him off, needing to defuse this situation.
“You’re going with your dad,” I tell Hunter. Then to both of the kids, I say, “Please go wait in your dad’s car so I can talk to him for a second.”
Ella hugs me goodbye then skips off, while Hunter grumbles something under his breath, kisses my cheek, then stalks to the car. Yep, he’s no longer a baby.
“So, what, you’re teaming up with our kids against me?” Richard accuses. Not wanting this to turn into a shouting match, I take a calming breath before I speak.
“No, I would never talk badly about you to our kids. He’s about to be thirteen and he sees what you’re doing. You know baseball is his life, and he was late. He’s mad. Can you please make sure he’s on time?”
“Sure,” Richard says, sarcasm dripping from every letter. “Let me cancel my surgeries, which pay for that camp so I can make sure our spoiled son is there on time.”
I laugh dryly. “One, that camp was free. It’s funded by donations made from Major League players. And two, a child who is craving his father’s time and attention isn’t spoiled. What would make him spoiled is the brand-new cell phone you bought him when you missed his seventh grade graduation, or the new PlayStation you got him when you promised to be at his playoff game and missed it.”
“All right, Harper, I gotta go,” Richard says. “By the way, I’m not going to be able to take the kids this weekend. Samantha is complaining I work too much and wants a romantic weekend away.”
I stifle my laugh. Good luck, sweetheart. His job comes first, and one romantic weekend away isn’t going to change that.
“This is your weekend with the kids,” I point out. “And didn’t you just go away with her for that medical conference?”
“I know, but I can’t do it all,” he says, raising his voice. “She booked the hotel and didn’t realize it’s my weekend. And that weekend away was business.”
“I warned you what would happen if you didn’t take them.” I cross my arms over my chest defensively.
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Richard hisses. “I’ll take them next weekend.”
“No, I have plans this weekend.”
Richard scoffs. “Doing what? Painting?”
“No, I have a date,” I blurt out. Simon had texted me back that my blind date could do Friday night. As much as I’d like to cancel, it’s not going to be because of my ex-husband.
His eyes widen in shock, and I mentally give myself a high five. “With who?”
“Not your concern,” I say, realizing I don’t know the guy’s name. “But it is your weekend, and you will be taking them.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but before he can, I step inside the house and close the door in his face. Damn, that felt good.
Fifteen
Landon
I’m sitting at a small table in the back of Selma’s. When I told Brian I had agreed to go on this blind date, I asked him if he could recommend a restaurant since I’m not familiar with this area. He said Selma’s was the perfect choice. I trusted him. I should’ve known when I had to make a reservation, this place was expensive. It’s not that I’m cheap, but taking a woman to a place like this on a first date can either be construed as being douche-y, like I’m trying to flaunt my money, or if she’s a gold-digger, taking her here will set the c
aliber high. And the last thing I want is for… What the hell is her name? Shit! I never got her fucking name. Or if I did, I forgot it.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I type out a quick message to Simon to ask him what her name is. Luckily, after she canceled last week, we exchanged numbers. I’m just hitting send when I hear my name being called.
“Landon?” That voice—even though I haven’t heard it in years—I would recognize it anywhere. Dropping my phone onto the table, I glance up and find the girl who stole my heart and never gave it back standing right in front of me. Only she’s no longer a girl, but a woman. Her brown hair is filled with honey-colored highlights, and her green eyes are wide with shock. Her body, no longer lanky and girly, is curvy in all the right places. A simple black dress hugs her hips and shows off her perky tits and toned, tanned legs.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I should tell her I’m waiting for my date, but I’m too mesmerized by the sight of her to think properly. I glance around, waiting for her husband to appear, when she asks, “Are you my date?”
Her date? No fucking way. That would be crazy. But is it possible?
“Maybe… Did Simon set you up?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers. What are the odds of being set up on a date with her of all people?
“He did.” Her lips curl into a gorgeous fucking smile, and my heart takes off on a sprint. Harper’s the only girl to ever have the ability to affect me like this.
“What happened with you and Richie?” I ask, confused as hell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy as fuck for Harper to be my blind date, but the last I heard, she was engaged to marry Richie. After she destroyed my heart, and I damn near destroyed my future, I cut all ties with her. She had already blocked me on social media and on her phone, so it made it easy for me to walk away and let her go. Well, not easy, but it left me no choice…
“Good evening, I’m Bree and I’ll be your waitress this evening.” The waitress looks from me to Harper, who’s still standing, as she places two glasses of water in front of us.
“Please, sit.” I stand and walk around the table so I can pull Harper’s chair out for her. She thanks me and steps in front of the chair. As I push it in, I catch a whiff of her scent. I can’t help but inhale deeper, taking it in. All these years later and she still smells the same. Both my heart and dick approve.
“Landon?” she asks, glancing back.
I clear my throat so I can speak. “Sorry, it’s just… you smell the same.”
Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “What do I smell like?”
Perfection. “Strawberries and vanilla.”
“I still use the same shampoo and lotion,” she admits with a shy smile. “They’re my favorites.”
“Mine too,” I agree as I have a seat across from her.
The waitress smirks at me, telling me she heard our little conversation, but I don’t give a shit. Harper is here. In the same restaurant as me. I have no idea what the hell to think or feel right now.
“What can I get you to drink?” Bree asks, handing us each a cocktail menu. “The watermelon martini is our seasonal drink.”
“I’m okay with water,” I tell her.
“A glass of white wine would be great,” Harper says. “Whatever you have in-house.” She grabs her napkin from atop the table, shakes it out, and places it into her lap. But as she’s situating herself, she must accidently grab a piece of the tablecloth, because it pulls toward her and everything on the table topples over, including our waters. Hers goes sideways, but mine tumbles into my lap. I jump up as the freezing cold liquid drenches the front of my slacks.
“Whoa, cold.” As I try to shake it off, I laugh, remembering how clumsy Harper was when we were in high school. Apparently she hasn’t changed in that aspect either.
Harper jumps up, and with the napkin from her lap, starts dabbing where the water landed… right on my crotch, which should be experiencing major shrinkage from the cold as fuck water, but is quickly forming a bulge in my pants from her touch.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, frantically patting along my front.
Needing her to stop touching me before my bulge turns into a full-on hard-on, I grab her wrist. “I got it,” I say with a laugh.
She groans and shakes her head. “I’m such a klutz,” she says, which gets my attention because her tone isn’t filled with laughter like it should be. She’s actually putting herself down.
“Hey.” I take her chin between my fingers and look into her eyes, which are filled with unshed tears. Why the fuck does she look like she’s about to cry over some water being spilled? “It’s okay. It’s been unseasonably hot this time of year. I could use a good cooling down.” I wink playfully, earning me a half-smile.
The waitress, not even bothering to deal with the spilled drinks, offers to sit us at a new table, and since Harper is too upset to say anything, I thank her. This table is tucked into a corner, so we sit diagonal from each other. We’re close enough that I could reach over and touch her, but I don’t. I stare at Harper for a long moment, still shocked that after all these years I’m on a fucking date with her.
“Excuse me,” a mousy voice says, forcing me to look away from Harper. When I glance over, I find two women, in skimpy dresses, standing at our table. “Oh my God! It is you. You’re Landon Maxwell. My ex-boyfriend used to make me watch baseball with him and you were the only reason I made it through it. I follow you on Instagram. Would you mind taking a selfie with me?” She pulls her phone out from her bra where she was storing it. “He would die if he saw I got to meet you.”
Usually when a fan approaches me, no matter how inappropriate they are, I do my best to be polite, but when I glance over at Harper and see her brows furrowed and a frown marring her beautiful face, my stomach sinks and I no longer give a shit about being polite.
“Actually, I do mind,” I say, my gaze swinging back over to Harper, whose eyes widen slightly. “I’m on a date with a beautiful woman right now and my entire attention needs to be on her.”
The girl looks at me dumbfounded, but before she can say anything, the waitress walks over. “Ma’am, there’s no solicitation allowed in our restaurant. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Harper snorts loudly, and I chuckle under my breath. The two women huff and stomp away.
“Thank you,” I say to Bree. It’s a good thing when I called and asked for a table in a hidden spot, I told them who I was. I don’t often throw my name around, but sometimes it’s the only way to ensure privacy at restaurants.
“No problem,” Bree says, setting two new waters on the table, along with Harper’s glass of wine.
“Does that happen a lot?” Harper asks.
I could lie to her, try to downplay it, especially after seeing the way she frowned, but I’ve never lied to Harper and I’m not about to start now. “Yeah, especially the last few years. We made it to the World Series twice and won last year.”
“Yeah, I watched,” she says with a small smile, shocking the hell out of me. Her eyes are on mine as she reaches for her glass of wine, and in the corner of my eye, I see her knuckles brush across the side of the candle. Before she realizes what’s happening, the candle—with a real flame—knocks over.
“Oh my God.” She gasps, as I right it before it can catch anything on fire. “First, I drench you and then I almost set you on fire.”
“While I appreciate you trying to warm me up, I think I’ll just let my pants air dry,” I say with a playful smirk.
“This must be the worst blind date you’ve ever been on,” she says, dropping her face into her hands.
I can’t help but laugh at how worked up she is. She might be older and more woman, but she’s still the same fucking Harper I fell in love with all those years ago, which reminds me…
“Hey, Harp.”
She lifts her head.
“What happened?” I’ve already pieced it together she’s a divorced, single mom—thanks to Simon gi
ving me that info—but I need more specifics from her.
She takes a deep breath then reaches for her wine glass, downing half of it in one gulp. For a second, I wonder if she’s going to answer me or just get drunk. But then she sets her glass down carefully and speaks. “Richard and I got married shortly after I found out I was pregnant. We tried to make it work, but it was never right. We were never right. Eventually things between us got so bad I just couldn’t do it anymore, and I asked for a divorce. Richard tried to fight me on it, but eventually gave in. We have shared custody of our two kids: Hunter and Ella.”
I nod slowly, trying to take it all in. “Richard?” I ask, raising a brow at the formal use of his name.
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s a surgeon in Providence… Chief of Surgery. Richie was too childish, so he goes by Richard.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes. The guy always was a douche. Good to see nothing has changed.
“I can’t believe you live here.” All the years I’ve thought about her, searched for her on social media, I never imagined I would ever see her again. We had agreed we would stay friends if we ever broke up, so when she told me she was pregnant and had to cut all ties with me, I was hurt as hell. I not only lost my girlfriend, the girl I loved more than anything in the world—including baseball—but I also lost my best friend.
“We moved here three years after we had Hunter,” she says. “Richard got into medical school in Providence, so we had to move. When he took a job at Providence General, his parents bought us a house here.”
“I live here as well,” I tell her. “My brother and his family live here. He teaches at the public high school and coaches baseball there.”
“Your brother is Brian. I knew it was him!” She laughs. She only met him once, but she heard me talk about him often. “He’s running the baseball camp Hunter is going to. I haven’t seen him, but when I heard his name, deep down I knew it was him.”
