Single Mom’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #2)

8. Maeve

8

maeve

I’m not one to waste hours in the day. The second my alarm goes off, I’m up and my day is starting. No rest for the wicked. Or Maeve Banks.

But this morning I decided to take my time. I had no faith that the lunchtime meeting with Katherine Smith’s boss was actually going to happen, so I was in no rush. I took Jayce to school in a pair of stylish pajamas. I treated myself to coffee and a breakfast wrap. I even took the time to throw in a load of laundry before settling in for my workday, which I was going to do from home. But even then it was just checking emails and making sure nothing was pressing. I put on a comfy lounge set, made myself some tea, and sat back waiting for the email to come that was going to inevitably say “we need to cancel.”

And I kept waiting.

And waiting.

I’d still be waiting if I didn’t look at a clock. And because I tried to be a go-with-the-flow woman today, everything that happened between realizing I had to get ready and now has been working against me.

It started with the shower I tried to take being ice cold. Then my hair straightener sparked mid flat iron, nearly causing a fire, which is why my hair is pulled back into a tight bun. Because I’ve been gone, my outfit options were limited, so I’m wearing a pantsuit that makes me feel old. And of course, today was the day that I forgot how to put on eyeliner and poked myself in the eye, making me need to dig into the luggage I haven’t unpacked to find my glasses. Then of course I realized how late I was running, which is why I’m now hauling ass on I-65 and putting on lipstick while steering with my knee.

This is my punishment for taking my time.

As I signal around to head into the left lane because everyone is going too slow for me today, my Bluetooth rings.

I take what I just said back, this is my punishment.

“Hello, Josh.”

My ex-husband doesn’t call me a lot. Usually things we need to discuss are easily done over text messages. Which, funny enough, is how our relationship used to go. So when I am blessed with a phone call, I know I need to buckle in.

“Don’t sound so excited to talk to me.”

“I’m on my way to a meeting. What do you need?”

“Why do you assume I need something?”

I let out a sigh. “I don’t have time for this today.”

“Story of our lives.”

I don’t know if he said that to get a rise out of me, but even if he didn’t, he’s not wrong. It was one of the reasons why our marriage barely lasted a calendar year. I was building my business and working a ton. At the time, he was a bartender who barely worked full-time hours.

“I have ten minutes, Josh. Talk fast.”

“Fine. I was checking to see if we could adjust the Thanksgiving schedule. I have him for Thanksgiving this year and was wondering if he could just stay with me through the weekend? Then he’d come back Sunday night.”

“What? Absolutely not. You have him on Thanksgiving Day. I have him on Friday for my family’s dinner. We’re having Thanksgiving a day late so he can be included.”

“Really? That’s it? You’re not going to even consider it?”

“Not just based on you asking,” I say. “You’re bombarding me with this.”

“Welcome to my life, when you suddenly need me to take him for another day because of your work and travel schedule.”

“That’s different.”

“How so Maeve?”

“Because mine is work.”

“Well, mine is a trip with my son. You know, maybe showing him you can have fun in your life.”

That dig stings, and he knows it. Josh has never been a malicious guy, but in the times over our lives we’ve argued, he’s always known what daggers to throw at me.

His go-to? That I used to know how to have fun and have a work-life balance. And if I keep this up, our son will think a good time is hanging curtains.

I didn’t used to think that. In fact, part of the reason Josh and I first hit it off is because I worked hard and played harder. I didn’t want a commitment, so a friends-with-benefits situation with the hot bartender who wasn’t looking to settle down was perfect for me.

Everything changed, though, the day I found out I was pregnant. We had always been safe, but things happen.

At that point, I was thirty and starting to get the itch to settle down. I chalked it up to the universe telling me it was time. And I was ready to be a single mom, because there was nothing in the two years I’d been sleeping with Josh that made me think he was ready to be a dad.

Needless to say I was shocked when he mentioned that we should get married for the baby. I tried to find a reason to say no, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Two people raising a baby together had to be easier than one, right?

Wrong.

I was constantly working because we needed a stable income, and Josh hadn’t figured out yet that he didn’t have to spend all of his tips the second he earned them. I quickly realized I was going to be the one to support this family, so my entire focus became my business and Jayce.

Goodbye to the Maeve Banks who used to dance on bar tops and pour liquor into guys’ mouths. Enter the woman who was designing houses while breastfeeding.

Josh couldn’t figure out why I was a different person. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t see it. Which is why eleven months and three days after we got married in a courthouse, we signed divorce papers.

Luckily, we didn’t have many assets to split. And because Josh wasn’t in the financial situation or had any real desire to have more than partial custody, he didn’t bat an eye at every other Sunday and Monday. It worked for him. It worked for me. Even now that he’s gone from part-time bartender to owner of a very successful bar in downtown Nashville, it’s the schedule that has worked for us.

He’s never asked for extra days. Hell, any time I ask him to pitch in when I’m out of town is pulling teeth. So the question is, why now?

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” he answers. “Can’t a dad want more time with his son?”

“He can. But you never have. So something’s up.”

The sigh he lets out means I hit the nail on the head. “Vivian and I want to take him away with us for the weekend.”

And there it is. This is Vivian’s idea. I should’ve known.

Vivian is Josh’s girlfriend of about a year, which is eleven months longer than I thought it would last. I figured she was just another one of his bar hookups that would fizzle out.

And as a former bar hookup, I felt I had a keen sense of insight on how that plays out. The ones who usually last the longest are the ones like me—can party hard but are also people he could take home to his mom when she wonders why he hasn’t settled down and he wants to appease her. But the ones like Vivian? The ones whose jobs are “influencers,” even though they couldn’t convince a cat to chase a mouse and their real jobs are working part-time at the tanning salons? Those are the ones who fizzle.

Vivian, though, has been the needle in the haystack. I don’t know what she does for work these days. She made her name by finishing fifth place in a failed country music reality singing show, but caught some attention on social media because she was the one who caused all of the drama between the contestants. After the show ended, she started getting booked at bars downtown because her name carried a slight bit of weight. This is how she and Josh met. I hoped it wouldn’t last long.

I’m still hoping.

I don’t know what it is about her, but something rubs me the wrong way. I get the sense that she thinks she should be famous because she’s pretty and has a decent voice. She doesn’t seem to have a lot of ambition—or know how to spell it—so I’m not sure what her next move is. Though I do have a suspicion she’s not rushing to make any kind of decision since Josh has now come into some money because of the success of the bar.

The one good thing—at least until now—is that she never seemed to be around when Josh had Jayce. Jayce never talks about her. He never tells her goodnight during story time. So, if she’s just fucking my ex, let her have him. And if he wants to spend money on her, then that’s his choice.

“Where is this trip? And why are you just telling me about it and trying to schedule it? You can’t just spring this on me.”

“It was last minute for us, too, but all the schedules lined up. And we’ve never taken Jayce anywhere before, just the three of us. Vivian loves Dollywood. We were hoping to take him there and stay in the mountains for the weekend.”

Christ…now this woman is going to ruin Dolly for me.

I take a breath and try to think about this rationally. He’s right that he’s never asked for anything. I don’t love the idea of a trip with Vivian, but despite my distaste for her, Josh will be there. He might not be an all-the-time dad, but when it’s his turn, he’s more than capable. And maybe, just maybe, when I need him in the future for an extra day, I’ll remind him of this.

“Okay, compromise,” I say. “I’ll bring him over Thursday. You have your day and he spends the night. He comes back to me Friday morning for my family’s dinner that I scheduled specifically because you had him on Thursday. But, I’ll bring him back on Friday night so you can either get on the road late or first thing in the morning.”

He releases a sigh. “You’re the best, Maeve,” he says. “Thank you. This trip…it’s big for us.”

“I’m glad it can happen.”

We hang up and I let my head fall back against the seat. I didn’t expect any of that to happen today.

I bet it’s because I got the breakfast wrap. I girl-bossed too close to the sun.

Josh’s unexpected call has me so out of sorts that I nearly miss the turn to my destination. And that’s the only reason I almost miss it, because if I was of sound mind, no way I could’ve failed to notice this place.

For one, it’s huge. No doubt the biggest piece of property I’ve ever seen in my life—and I designed a home that literally had the word “manor” in it in Philadelphia.

I nearly crash into the iron gate as I pull up because I can’t stop staring at the structure in the distance.

“Hello, can I help you?”

I nearly jump at the sound of the female voice coming from a call box. “I’m Maeve Banks. I have an appointment with?—”

“Come in.”

The gates open, and I slowly start driving up the extensive driveway, which has to be a quarter-mile long. Spanish moss hovers over the curved concrete, and I’m in awe of the greened tunnel I’m driving through. Also I clearly don’t know enough about horticulture, because I didn’t know you could grow Spanish moss in middle Tennessee, let alone keep it alive in November.

My jaw continues to drop the closer I get to this house. Holy shit, it’s huge. I’m guessing it’s new construction because my quick search on Google Maps and Earth showed this as just a lot.

It’s definitely a lot more than a lot. It’s a mansion. No. This is a freaking estate and should have its own zip code.

I pull my SUV in front of the house and flip down the visor mirror. Before any meeting, I like to give myself a pep talk. Make sure I’m in the right headspace. And that’s on a normal job for fifteen-hundred-square-foot bachelor pads.

Today is different. Between everything going wrong this morning, Josh’s phone call, and looking at a property that could be a career-changing job, I need to make sure I’m focused.

“You can design anything,” I whisper to myself. “Be smart. Be confident. Be a fucking badass.”

With one last crack of my neck, I grab my tote bag, cell phone, and make my way to the front door. I don’t even have to knock before the door is pulled open and I’m greeted by a woman who looks to be around my age.

“Hi, you must be Maeve. Please come in. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

“Thank you,” I say as I step inside. “Are you Katherine Smith?”

“The one and only,” she says, showing me in. “Thank you so much for coming today. I’m sorry about all the confusion.”

I start to reply with a generic “I’m glad we finally could make it work” or something, but I can’t talk. I’m too busy looking at every inch of the house I can see.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Katherine says.

I don’t respond, because I don’t have the words. It’s that gorgeous. A true blank canvas. High ceilings with more natural light than I thought possible. White walls for me to have a field day with. A staircase with a black iron railing that winds when it gets to the bottom. A marble floor that I’m pretty sure that I can…yup…there’s my reflection.

And this is just the entryway. I can’t wait to see the rest.

“You can follow me,” Katherine says, and as if she has me in a trance, I blindly follow her down the hallway and into a room that I’m guessing is going to be a formal living room.

“He’ll just be a few minutes,” Katherine says as she gestures to a seat that looks out of place in this massive space. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee? Diet Coke?”

I start to say water when I realize she offered me my favorite beverage. “Diet Coke, please.”

She gives me a friendly smile as she turns to leave the room. I put my bag down but don’t sit in the offered chair. I can’t. This room has me under a spell. All I can do is walk around and imagine everything I could do and design with a space like this.

I slowly walk in a circle, memorizing every detail of the room before closing my eyes, trying to visualize what I want the end result to be. Because I’m likely competing against other designers, and this is a newly built home, I’m guessing I’ll have to pitch something modern to the point of edgy. A lot of metals. Sneak in pops of color sporadically.

But if I had my way…oh, the things I could do…

The first thing I noticed in this room is the fireplace with the accent wall that seemed to go on forever. Immediately I felt a rustic vibe. I’d want the wall to be brick, with a custom wood mantle that would sit between the high arched windows. I’d want cream furniture to go with the hardwood floors. Normally I’m not a fan of the brown base color palette, but that’s what I’m envisioning. It would be finished with a custom-made wood coffee table that would be long enough to cover the length of the two extended couches I’d get. Top it off with the perfect lighting setup to make the room bright without feeling clinical or needing an ornate piece of overhead lighting. Chandeliers have their purpose, but not in this space.

But this isn’t my dream world. I keep my eyes closed as I slowly come back to the present, where I’m Maeve Banks: Designer for the Rich and Douchey.

If I was called, that means there’s no wife or girlfriend, which means these beautiful white walls are about to become a dark gray. Maybe I’ll get to keep the white crown molding. I might as well make the call to my favorite furniture guy, who can make me a hell of a leather sectional. Oh! And while I’m at it, I should probably start tracking down an original Spud McKenzie portrait. And a pool table. Which I don’t have anything against the game of pool, but in a man cave it’s so cliché.

But cliché is what keeps the bills paid.

I’m glad my eyes are closed as I feel myself smile at my internal use of that word. Will I ever think of that word the same way again? Maybe one day. But not today. Not when I can still feel his touch. When I could still pick his cologne out of a lineup. And maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, but I swear I can smell it now.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Love?”