by Jean Oram
He looked up at her, his eyes sleepy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was worried—”
“That I wouldn’t understand?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Knowing that the other option was to have this place liquidated may have swayed me into saying yes to buying it, you know.” She sat beside him and leaned over the bar, snagging two glasses and the soda sprayer. She hit the button to pour water, filling the glasses, sliding one to Moe.
He reached over the counter’s edge and fished around for the sliced lemons kept in a bowl.
“Already in the fridge for tomorrow,” she said.
“Sorry I fell asleep.”
“It’s fine.”
“I was going to tell you about wanting to buy the pub after I talked to Wini about a loan tomorrow. Or is it the day after?” He was bleary-eyed and adorable, his short hair sticking up. “I’ve lost track of what day it is.”
She sipped her water, then said, “I hate that I had to learn the details from Kimi and Spencer first. That you didn’t feel you could tell me.”
Her stomach ached whenever she thought about how he hadn’t been able to trust her with everything going on in his life.
“I’m sorry. It just feels like everything I thought I had under control, isn’t.” Moe shuffled the stack of papers back into a pile and stood up. “I spent hours inputting stuff, but where is it all?” He held handfuls of paper in the air and sighed. “I know some of this input stuff is new to me, but I learned the old stuff easily enough.”
“I’m sure it’s in there somewhere. You’re a details man. Just working really hard. I have faith this’ll all work out and that Wini will give you the loan.”
“I’m hopeful, but I don’t have a down payment. Just the promised equity if she says yes.”
“She’ll say yes. But if she says no we’ll round up some investors. Burke and Jill maybe? No, they’re just getting going with things. Luke and Emma? Even Mandy’s flush these days. We’ll sort this out, Moe. Blueberry Springs is a good town. We’ll hold a fundraiser if we need to.”
“Why are you so awesome?” he asked, his tired smile crooked and genuine.
She pushed off her stool, collecting her purse and ignoring the warm feeling she’d gotten in her gut from the way he’d looked at her. “I asked Scott to run the serial number on the jukebox, by the way.”
Moe’s head snapped up. “What? Why?”
“Just a feeling.” She couldn’t put her finger on it, just that something with the jukebox felt off. “Come on. I think I hear your pillow calling you home.”
She needed him to get some sleep. She also needed to decide how she was going to help him save the pub while still continuing to be the man she adored. The real Moe. Not the manager who was tired all the time, not an owner who was stressed out over everything. The man who was her best friend and told her everything. The man behind the bar without a worry or care, and a special smile reserved just for her.
It had been a busy week getting the pub’s annual statements, as well as a copy of Cesar’s will, to Wini so he could make his plea for a loan. As well, since dumping the vat of beer, Kimi had been extra vigilant with the latest brew, coming in almost daily to check on things despite having her own pub to run. Today he’d told her to go home, get some rest. She wouldn’t be much good to either of them or either place if she was worn-out. She had hired someone to help manage events in her pub, though, special ones such as open mic nights and poker games like those held at Brew Babies. It was tempting to find someone to take over that aspect of things here in town, too, so Moe could concentrate on other higher-level management issues.
The two of them had been working hard as a team, both of them learning a ton. Things had to get better soon. They had to.
Moe wandered the house, looking for Amy, finding her in her room even though they had yet to track down her missing bed. She was sitting on the floor, nose-deep in a book about the women of the Klondike.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She looked up, went back to her book.
He sat beside her, imitating her cross-legged pose. They hadn’t had a chance to marathon their way through her ovulation cycle, thanks to him. He’d been messing up with her left, right and center lately.
“When can you take a pregnancy test?” he asked.
“Hoping you need to do the deed with me again?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
He shrugged. He was exhausted, as well as racked with guilt over not keeping his end of their marathon agreement. “I promised you two kids.”
“Is sex all men ever think about?”
He leaned back on his hands, still cross-legged. “We think about boobs, too. And sports. Beer. Sometimes cars.”
Amy gave him an exaggerated eye roll.
“We’re very deep.”
Amy leaned left, picking up a crumpled white pharmacy bag from a pile of laundry. She pulled out a rectangular box that looked a little battered, as though it had been dragged around town all week. He lifted his eyebrows in question. “Pregnancy test?”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
The guilt hit him hard. He’d been a horrible husband, horrible friend and partner lately. He’d been keeping her in the dark about things, working constantly and taking her for granted. He hoped once he had the pub securely in his name that things would change, that the pressures would let up.
“Lucky for you, I have to pee.” She got up and went to the bathroom, calling through the door, “Set a timer.”
He fished out his phone as he waited in the hall. “How long?”
“Two minutes.” She came out of the bathroom, trying to bite back a smile.
“So? Any predictions?” he asked. He felt nervous. Uncertain. And not completely ready.
She shook her head. “I don’t dare. What if I jinx it?”
“There’s not a lot you can do to change the reading on that test at this point.”
She held the white plastic stick, staring at the little window where he assumed lines or words would magically appear like they did in commercials. He looked over Amy’s head, gently resting his hands on her shoulders as they stood in the hall, waiting. “What will it say if you’re knocked up?”
“I think it’ll say, ‘Congratulations, your life is over’.”
“And if you’re not?”
“‘Sorry. Try again.’”
He chuckled, the vision of what that would entail coming to mind way too readily. He wanted to snuggle closer to Amy, but stepped back instead. One little snuggle could break so many rules. He’d already woken more than once this week with his body curled around hers, or their foreheads touching, hands clasped. He’d found himself doing whatever possible to head to bed after her, wake up before her so he wouldn’t let himself go too far. But sleeping with her had led to some of his best nights of sleep. No tossing, no turning. Just restful sleep, like all was well in his world.
“Something’s coming,” she said, her body practically vibrating.
“What does it say?” The excitement built within him. He needed to own that pub. He needed to be there for Amy. They needed a crib. A stroller. A high chair. There was so much. He pushed his hands through his hair and stepped away to pace, but caught himself. There’d be time for pacing later. Right now Amy needed him present, not jumping ahead.
He glanced at her, and suddenly, staying still wasn’t difficult. She was wearing the saddest frown he’d ever seen.
Instinctively, he stepped closer, resting a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? What does it say?” He glanced down at the device, not sure what the little lines meant, whether she was spooked at the prospect of being a mom-to-be, or saddened by their failure.
“Not pregnant.” Her voice was choked despite her attempt at being cheery.
He tenderly pulled her into his arms. “The good news is we can share a drink to drown our sorrows.”
She shoved him away. “Not funny.”
“It’s okay. We’ll try again next month.”
<
br /> “I always fail at what I truly want. This is why I never try.” She threw the plastic stick down the hall. It tumbled and slid, coming to a rest under the living room couch.
Moe froze for a second, processing her outburst.
“What have you ever failed at? And babies don’t just happen the first time,” he stated. She was one of the most accomplished people he knew, unafraid to try something new, to go all out.
“I know,” she said, her voice as irregular as a car with a clogged fuel filter. “I had to marry my best friend so I could have a family. That has failure stamped all over it.”
“That’s not because of failure. That’s a creative solution to a very common problem. You didn’t settle for someone you didn’t love, like most people would due to a fear of being alone. You found someone you enjoy being with, and are making it happen. I think that’s admirable.”
She sucked in a big breath, her body wavering. Moe had a feeling she might be talking about something deeper, something bigger.
“Just… Never mind.”
“No, tell me. We tell each other everything, don’t we?”
She met his gaze with eyes filled with such pain it felt as though the narrow hallway was closing in on them as she said, “I used to think so.”
He sucked in a breath, her meaning all too clear.
She moved to her room, and he caught the door before she closed it. “I’m sorry I haven’t been telling you everything, regarding the will and the pub.”
“We’re just friends. They don’t always tell each other everything,” she said coolly. But the hurt in her eyes hit him in the gut. It was like watching a child deal with rejection from a loved one.
“Because sometimes friends named Moe have stupid fears,” he muttered.
“I’m tired of people not trusting me. I’m not a flake. I’m responsible and you can tell me stuff.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me Cesar bequeathed half the pub to you and that we’ll be out of jobs if you fail to make a profit. I could have been helping you manage the pub for over a month.”
“I know.”
“I wouldn’t have run away, Moe. I wouldn’t have asked for a wedding and I would have had us hold off on the house so you could make this happen.”
“I didn’t want to let you down or make this your problem. I made a promise to you,” he insisted.
“My mom thinks this is all a mistake,” she whispered. “That I’m selfish and going to hurt you.”
“She’s said that?”
“She doesn’t have to. It’s right there in her words and looks and…everything.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
“I know.” Amy’s bottom lip began to tremble. “I’m just tired of having to live up to Jillian’s life. I’m not her.”
He gently pushed the door open and took Amy in his arms. “I chose you because you’re you and nobody else.”
She shuddered, clinging tightly to him.
“And because of who you are, I know that you’ll cherish, honor and celebrate our children’s passions and interests without telling them who to be. Because of that, I know you’re going to be the best mother I could ever choose for my kids, Amy. We’re going to make this happen. We’re a team.”
Amy cried into Moe’s pillow, unsure why she felt so broken up over the negative test and Moe’s sweet words. He always knew what to say, how to be there for her.
What if she couldn’t get pregnant? What if it was one more thing she reached for and failed to fully secure? Everyone thought she was amazing because she’d learned all sort of things, like photography and scuba diving, as well as earning a nursing degree and then adding on to it. But she wasn’t a nurse. She was a waitress who’d married her best friend because she couldn’t find anyone to love her and she was swiftly exiting her baby-making years.
Moe’s bedroom door creaked open and she groaned.
“Let me wallow in my sorrows,” she said into the pillow, her words muffled.
“I brought you something.”
Amy rolled over, her tears stopping as Moe placed a massive sundae on the bedside table. Leave it to him to serve up bananas, three kinds of ice cream, syrup, cherries, crushed toasted peanuts and whipped cream to cheer her up. She didn’t even know they’d had all those ingredients.
She sat up to take a better look, her mood lifting. “Are those chocolate chip cookie crumbles on the top?”
He handed her a spoon. He’d brought one for himself, as well, and she realized that he might be feeling a bit broken up, too. Because she’d let him down. She hadn’t been someone he could trust with the information about the pub, and she wasn’t someone who could give him the family he so rightly deserved on the first try. Yes, she knew these things took time, but she hated to feel as though she’d let him down.
“I’m sorry,” she said around a spoonful of ice cream, whipped cream and syrup, her sorrows welling up again.
He’d settled onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, the sundae nestled into the bedding that was crumpled between them.
“For what? Talking with your mouth full?” He made a face and she laughed, a spurt of melted ice cream dribbling down her chin. She wiped it with her hand, then ran her fingers across her wet lashes.
“For not getting pregnant.” She shoved another spoonful into her mouth, keeping her focus on snagging the last of the three cherries he’d set on the mounds of whipped cream. The first time they’d shared a sundae had been about a decade ago, after he’d broken up with someone from the city. They were just becoming friends and she’d made him one similar to this.
“I hope when you get pregnant that you have really weird cravings so I can bug you about them for the rest of your life. Like wanting dill pickles and whipped cream together.”
“Actually, that sounds really good.” She made fake gagging sounds. “No matter what happens, promise we’ll always be friends?”
He held out his hand, offering his pinkie. She hooked her own in his, giving a small shake in a pinkie swear.
“Friends,” he said.
She smiled even though she didn’t feel it.
They went back to eating the sundae, a comfortable silence settling over them.
“So? When do we try again?” he asked.
She reached over and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.
“Seriously, Moe.”
“What? I’m a planner.”
“Is sex really all men ever think about?” She gave an exasperated shake of her head, then shoveled more than her fair share of whipped cream into her mouth.
“Yes. We’re also problem solvers.” He battled her spoon for the last piece of banana. “The current problem is that you’re not in the family way even though you’d like to be. It’s a problem I would like to solve for you.”
“You would, would you?”
“I would.”
“In a platonic, manly, problem-solving kind of way?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe my calendar is wrong.” They’d finished the sundae and she set the dish on her bedside table, rolling up onto her knees. “Or maybe we weren’t warmed up enough after our mutual dry spells, and we were a bit rusty.”
“It didn’t feel rusty.”
True. It hadn’t. It had felt natural and as though it had brought them closer.
She placed her cold fingers on his warm cheeks, pulling his face closer so she could give him a slow, sweet kiss that tasted like maraschino cherries and whipped cream.
“Are you seducing your husband?” he murmured against her lips. “I think that might be against the rules.”
“I’m making sure you don’t have chocolate sauce on your lips.”
“That’s something only a best friend would do.”
“And I intend to always be your very…” she gave him another deep kiss “…very best friend.”
He made a sound of agreement and she gave him one more soulful kiss before pulling back, resting her
hands on his broad, strong chest, wishing she could take things a little further, a little deeper.
But when he gently caressed her cheek, kissing the trail her earlier tears had taken, she let herself go, savoring the way he felt, the way he cared, the way he let her lean on him when she didn’t feel strong enough on her own. And when he took them across the line, she welcomed him, enveloping the intimacy and strength she drew from the man who’d always have her heart.
9
It had been a few days since Moe had watched helplessly as Amy broke apart when she’d discovered she wasn’t pregnant. Several days since he’d put her back together, then proceeded to step across their friendship line. He’d like to convince himself that he’d only been acting as a friend, caressing her, kissing her. Taking things into the sweet zone where he wanted to stay, never returning to their status of just-friends.
Amy had welcomed him, given her wounded, emotional state. But he feared he should have been a better man and pulled back. Instead, they’d come together in his bed with no prospect of making a baby, and the whole thing had simply felt right. It had felt like the very thing he’d always wanted in his life. It had been like coming home, like an easy laugh with a friend who knew you and your backstory, like a favorite home-cooked meal after being away at war.
Being with Amy had quieted everything inside him down to the things that truly mattered. To happiness and contentment. To having that someone in your life who made everything make sense, made everything better. That someone who had found her way into your life so deeply, who had intertwined themselves into your every fiber, that you could no longer imagine life without her in it.
As Amy walked past him, an onion ring double burger held high on a tray in her right hand, she gently let her left glide across the waistband at his spine, as though letting him know where she was so he wouldn’t back into her. Except she’d gone out of her way to move through his space, to deliver the intimate caress.
He watched her go, his heart pounding. It had been a natural, casual check-in lovers made.
Had the other night meant a lot to her, too? Even in her fragile state, had it been what she wanted, what she craved?
