Chapter 8
eight
MARILEE
I’ve been Jordan’s wife for four days.
And other than Monday, when we had the actual ceremony and evening alone together before our friends dogpiled in to “celebrate” with us, I’ve hardly had a moment alone with him. With his busy season coming up at work, he’s spent long days planning at the office. We’ve worked it out so he takes Ryder to school in the mornings and I pick him up after my extra-early shifts at the bakery. Then, I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening taking him to the playground, feeding him cheese crisps and homemade pizza bites, curling up on the couch and reading with him…
Ryder’s adjusted to it all really well, and that’s probably because, other than my change of address, the amount of time we spend together is honestly not that different than before Jordan and I were married.
Not much is different, really…except for this pesky feeling inside of me, the one that says I’ve finally found where I belong. And the warning that goes along with it—that it’s temporary.
When that feeling comes, I snuff out any tendrils of attraction for Jordan and focus on my relationship with Ryder. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. Tried several times over to have babies with Donny.
Tried…and failed.
But now, I have a chance, for one year at least, to be a stepmom to the most precious little boy I can imagine. And I’m going to enjoy every second of that.
“Ryder!” I call down the hall from my place at the stovetop, where I’m making him a grilled cheese sandwich. “Time to eat, bud.” After checking the underside of the bread, I flip it. Blake may be the grilled cheese connoisseur of the family, but Mom also taught me how to cook, so what can I say? The golden-brown crust speaks volumes.
At least in this—the realm of the kitchen—I am not a mess.
“Woohoo!” My charge gallops out of his bedroom on a stick horse, a cowboy hat atop his head. As per a prearranged date, he spent several hours yesterday afternoon with Constance and Larry, the latter of which picked him up directly from school and then brought him home to me with the new toys.
I’ll admit, it’s hard not to see them as bribes. To not see them as the enemies.
No doubt someone has told them about our new relationship status, though Larry didn’t even get out of the car when Ryder got home, so I can’t be sure. Despite not living in our town directly, they come here all the time, and gossip spreads like a fire in Hallmark Beach. When I went into work on Tuesday, I got more pats on the back, hugs, and well wishes for “lots and lots of adorable babies”—and the winks to go along with that statement—than I can count.
The funny thing? Not one person asked me for the story of how Jordan and I got together. Like I hoped, they just assumed they knew it.
Which, I guess, says a lot.
I’m just not sure what exactly it says…
“Grilled cheese? Yes!” Ryder drops the horse with a clatter onto the tiled floor and scrambles up the stool on the other side of the kitchen island. “That’s my favorite.”
“I know.” Removing the sandwich from the skillet, I set it on a plate with a sliced apple, carrot chips, and some rolled lunch meat. Then I slide it in front of him. “Eat up, kid. Lexi will be here to babysit in about fifteen minutes.”
He squints up at me from underneath the brim of his hat. “She’s fun, but I wish you and Daddy didn’t have to go somewhere tonight. I thought we were gonna watch Garfield .”
“We’ll do that tomorrow night, okay?” I tip the hat up enough to lean in and give him a kiss on the forehead. “Tonight Daddy and I have to celebrate Miss Chloe and Mr. Freddy’s engagement.”
“That means they’re getting married, right?”
“Sure does.” I swipe a carrot from his plate and shove it in my mouth.
He chomps on an apple. “How’s come nobody celebrated your engagement to Daddy then?”
A piece of carrot lodges in my throat. I cough, grabbing my drink tumbler to suck down some water. “Well.” How to navigate this? So far, Ryder’s just accepted the facts: that I decided to become Daddy’s roommate, and the best way to do that was to get married. Curious as he normally is, he hasn’t asked more questions—until now. Where’s Jordan when I need him? “Our marriage happened kind of quickly, and it’s different than Chloe and Frederick’s because we were such good friends beforehand.”
He studies me with his big eyes while he chews. The smell of butter and cheese turns my stomach as I wait for his next question. Lying to this little boy is not an option. I may go back and forth about whether it was a good idea to get married in the first place, but this is something that takes no decision-making, because I will not damage him or make him distrust me and Jordan later when we end up with an annulled marriage. Answering his questions just might require some…creativity.
But instead of asking anything more, he just shrugs. “Okay.” Then he takes a big bite of the sandwich, pulling a string of melted cheese away from his teeth and giggling. “Look, Lee-Lee. It’s like lava.”
Man, I love this kid. The joy he finds in the simple things. “Tasty lava, I hope.”
He flashes me a thumbs up. “Oh, yeah. So good!”
The doorbell rings, and I leave him to keep eating. Pulling the door open, I find Marla’s blonde-headed, nineteen-year-old granddaughter standing there, a few board games in her arms. “Hey, Lexi. Thanks for coming.”
“Of course!” Her tall lanky figure steps past me. “I love hanging with Ryder.”
“Ryder, look who’s here.” I shut the door.
He leaps from the stool and practically tackles Lexi, who laughs as she sets the board games on the counter and stoops to give him a full hug. “What’s up, dude? I brought a few new games for us to play tonight.”
“Sweet!” He pumps a fist. “First, I gotta finish my dinner, though.”
“You do that.” She turns to me, and I give her a few instructions for the evening, though clearly she’s got this handled.
“I need to go finish getting ready, and then I’ll take off. Probably be home around ten or eleven if that’s okay?”
“Totally fine.” She pats a messenger bag that looks extra full, probably with textbooks, since Lexi is attending online community college. “I’ve got to study for a test, so I’ll be up late regardless.” She tilts her head. “Is Mr. Carmichael meeting you there? Congrats on your marriage, by the way.”
“Thank you.” And there it is again, that flutter of something in my stomach. Maybe just worry, that I’ll have to lie, have to figure out the right thing to say in front of a whole town full of people I care about. “And yes, he’s been working all day and is meeting me there.”
“Great.” Without asking anything else, she sits on the stool next to Ryder and starts talking to him about his day.
I breathe a sigh of relief and head to the bedroom—the one I still feel a bit strange taking over. Even though the sweet smell of my aloe vera lotion now lingers in the air, my jewelry is spread on top of the dresser, my shoes kicked in the corner, my bra hanging haphazardly over a chair, the room is still thoroughly masculine, with its dark wood furniture, hunter green duvet, and large canvas prints of some of Jordan’s favorite spots in nature, including Firestone Beach and Hallmark Lighthouse.
After tossing on a pair of jeans, a yellow blouse, and a pair of Christmas tree earrings, I brush out my hair and quickly decide the kinks are not worth dealing with tonight, so up into a messy bun it all goes. Then I slip on my favorite brown flats and, with a hug and a kiss to Ryder and a goodbye to Lexi, I’m off to Chloe and Freddy’s engagement party.
Off to make the first real appearance in public as Jordan Carmichael’s wife.
Here’s hoping I don’t blow it—because everything depends on people believing our story.
* * *
Finding parking along Main Street is next to impossible on a Friday night, so I decide to take the short walk down Hillside Drive. By the time I’m at The Green Robin, the sun is setting along the horizon, and I’m a bit chilled. Instead of entering through the front door, I head beachside to the steps leading to the raised patio off the back of the restaurant, which Chloe reserved for the party. Laughter and music greet me as I push through the small gate at the top of the stairs.
And wow, the place has been transformed from a casual dining space to a party wonderland—something I’m not surprised at, with event planner Chloe at the helm. Fairy lights are strung from poles mounted at the corners of the deck, and the lime green tables and chairs have been covered with fancy, white tablecloths and moved to make room for a small dance floor in the center. Stretched along the southern deck is a six-foot table piled with some of the Robin’s signature dishes, along with a circular table with artfully arranged baked goodies, most of which I helped Marla make earlier this week at The Blackberry Muffin.
There are people everywhere, some sitting, some standing, and only a few dancing. My first instinct is to stick to the edges as I scan the crowd for my people. Not that everyone in town isn’t “my people” to some degree—even seventy-something Alberta Jenkins, the owner of Al’s Grocery and possessor of one of the sharpest tongues in Hallmark Beach, who is currently circled up near the baked goods table with her twin sister (and town librarian) Anita Draper and gossip queen Collette Flanagan. Alberta’s eyes catch mine over Anita’s head, and she looks like she might push through the crowd to talk with me. Probably because I haven’t been by the grocery to tell her the news about me and Jordan myself.
“Mare!” A familiar voice rises over the crowd, and my head swivels to locate its owner.
Lucy’s weaving her way toward me, her cousin April in tow, and I’ve never been happier to see them, because suddenly it feels like I’m in a wind tunnel and the blast of everyone’s attention is focused solely on me. The music seems to fade into oblivion, and I can even hear April’s dad Burt guffaw and say, “Still can’t believe them two finally got hitched after all these years!” Murmurs overrun the deck like ants on a dropped piece of cake.
Thankfully, when Lucy and April reach me and smother me with hugs, a whoosh sends people’s conversations rolling again. “We wondered if you were coming,” Lucy says, looking behind me. “Where’s your hubby?” Her eyebrows dance playfully. She looks less pale than she has for a while. Maybe the morning sickness has subsided. I’ve been so caught up with life this week that we have hardly talked since the completely unnecessary celebration she and the others threw us on Monday.
“Working. He’ll be here soon.”
“Oh good. Chloe has someone she wants him to meet.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder, where Chloe, Freddy, and a good-looking guy in his thirties or forties stands in a blazer and jeans chatting with them, a dark-bottled drink in hand. “He’s a new business associate who owns a glamping site with these really amazing stargazing tents. Chloe’s planning a wedding up there this summer, but she thought maybe he and Jordan could hook up to offer some overnight experiences together.”
A member of the Robin’s staff comes by with a tray of waters, and I snag one with a smile. “That sounds right up his alley.” I take a sip, and the cool liquid washes away my earlier dread at being the center of attention. “When he gets here, I’ll be sure to let him know.” I turn to April. “Who’s watching Scarlett tonight?”
A single mom to the most precocious seven-year-old (who is sassy just like her mama), April just moved back to Hallmark Beach from San Francisco last summer. She lives with her parents and works at the Bluestocking Bookshop, and she doesn’t talk a lot about herself, but I know things have been tough for her. Still, I don’t think she regrets her decision to move back here, at the very least for Scar’s sake. It gives her more time to work on her novel writing too. I just know someday she’s going to be a best-selling author. Not that she’s let anyone read her stuff yet. But I can just tell, because she’s the determined sort.
“Mom’s arthritis was bugging her, and she claimed she’d rather stay home and have a movie night with her granddaughter than come out, but we all know she never passes up an opportunity to be among her friends.” April frowns as Michael Bublé’s version of “Quando, Quando, Quando” lilts through the night air. “I feel bad asking her for so much help.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your parents want to help.” I reach out and squeeze her hand.
“I know. It’s why I moved home. But I have to run up to San Francisco for a thing tomorrow and won’t be home until Monday evening. I’m worried Scar’s energy is going to be too much for them all.”
“Blake and I can take her tomorrow if you want,” Lucy says. “But I’m driving down to meet Mom and Kevin in L.A. on Sunday and won’t be home till Tuesday.”
“Really? Even just one day would give Mom a break. Thanks, cuz.” April’s eyes get a little misty.
“If you want to give them the whole weekend off, I’m not working Sunday.” I tilt my head. “I’m sure Ryder would love to have a playmate for the day. We can go do something fun. She can stay overnight, and I can grab her from school Monday until you’re back.”
“Seriously? You guys are the best. Thank you.”
“Being a single parent is hard work.” I shrug. “I know Jordan’s struggled a lot too.”
“Except he’s not a single dad anymore, now is he?” A wry grin overtakes the shadows on April’s face. “Maybe I need to find someone to conveniently marry me .”
“Shh.” Lucy hip bumps her cousin. “Someone is going to hear you.”
“Please.” Rolling her eyes, April gestures toward the crowd, where nobody seems to be paying us any mind. “Even if they did, they wouldn’t think anything about it. We all know Jordan’s been making eyes at Mare for years.”
“Ha ha.” I down the rest of my water and place the empty cup on a nearby table. Overhead, stars have popped through the gauzy fabric of the night. “Not you too, April.” That funny feeling wends its way through me again, chasing the question of “what if?”
The what if doesn’t matter, though. Not when I know that Jordan deserves a lot better than someone like me. Donny used up everything good I had to give. That’s why I’m never getting married again.
Well, never getting married for real again.
It just wouldn’t be fair to the other person. I come with too much baggage, and I’d never want to pile that on someone else.
“Just gotta speak as I find.” April laughs. “You know my favorite Abigail Fox story is the one about a marriage of convenience between a hockey player and a single mom. And remember how that one turned out?”
My cheeks heat at the thought. That book had some excellent kisses…
“Troublemaker.” Lucy grins as she says the word, her eyes scanning the crowd. “Oh, hey, there’s Jordan.” She points toward the restaurant. “Uh oh.”
“What? What’s wrong?” I stand on my tiptoes, but the deck’s only gotten more crowded, and my view is filled with shoulders and necks and arms. I see Freddy tipping Chloe back on the dance floor and one of Elisse and Kelsey’s brothers flirting with Gemma Stone near the dessert table. I see both of Chloe’s female bodyguards dressed in black suits, scanning the crowd for threats.
But I don’t see Jordan.
I sure could use a few of Lucy’s extra inches right about now. “What’s wrong?” I repeat.
“Constance just pulled him away from talking to Landon and Blake. And she looks upset.”
“What?” Everything in me prickles. I feel like a cat with an arched back, my claws at the ready. “Where exactly?”
She takes my shoulders and points me southeast. “Straight that way.”
Before she can say anything else, I’m off, bobbing and weaving through the crowd like it’s an Olympic sport and I’m a gold medalist.
I hear Constance before I see her. Her voice is tense, low. Nasty mean, like a cobra spitting poison. “I just find the whole thing very convenient, especially after claiming for years to be just friends.”
“The good thing is, Constance, that you don’t have to find it any particular way.” Jordan’s being very diplomatic, his voice calm and soothing, but tension rides the currents underneath. “You just need to accept it.”
I pop through the crowd and find them standing along the deck railing near the door that leads between the patio and the inside of the restaurant. Constance is short and thin in a wraithlike way, but nothing about this woman is meek—from her large hands to her loud voice, hissing at my best friend. Even the graying hair pulled away from her tan, weathered face adds to the severity of her features.
Constance’s husband is sitting at a table just inside, his face red as he strokes his bushy white mustache, watching the exchange. Once again, he’s standing (or rather, sitting) by while his wife runs roughshod over the dad of their grandchild. Unbelievable. They must have been dining when she saw Jordan out here. Ironic. Constance said she didn’t want Jordan to contact her about the court petition, but she’s allowed to approach him in public?
Not cool. Not fair.
“I don’t accept it either,” she continues. “All I’m saying is, the judge might find it interesting to know the timeline.”
“And all I’m saying is, my attorney doesn’t agree with you. The timeline doesn’t matter—not with the love we have for each other.”
His words… They sound so convincing .
But this is what we said, that we’d refer to our mutual love. Which we have. It just so happens to be platonic love.
At least…I think so.
“And you expect me to believe you just recently discovered this love?” Snorting scornfully, Constance wags a meaty finger at Jordan, who is dressed in a green T-shirt, black Adidas track jacket, and jeans. He faces Constance, arms crossed over his chest, casual and effortless—except for the way his hands are white-knuckling his biceps. It’s the only indication that this interaction bothers him. That and the way his Adam’s apple bobs at her question.
Part of me wants to hang back, wants to hear what he has to say. The other part doesn’t, because…it’s irrelevant.
Either way, right now, he needs me.
“There you are.” I smile like nothing’s wrong as I walk straight toward him and slip my arm around his torso so we can face Constance together.
Our gazes connect as I blink up at him, hoping he feels my support—literally and figuratively.
He squeezes my waist, his hand momentarily splaying across my hip.
I suck in a sharp taste of salty air before moving my attention back to Constance, forcing a smile. “Good evening, Constance.” I’d say nice to see you , but did I mention I really hate lying?
The woman—who I’d never have described as snake-like before now—stares at me with dark eyes that look like they want to devour me. Despite my long sleeves, a shiver courses up my spine, and Jordan moves his hand to my arm, rubbing it up and down, keeping me warm.
If only he knew that was making the shivering worse.
“Tell me.” She seems to be studying me the way a scientist picks apart an experiment. “If the two of you love each other so much, why does Ryder tell me that you’re sleeping on the couch, Jordan?”
He stiffens. “That’s really not your business, Constance. And I don’t appreciate you using my son to learn details about my life.”
“The welfare of my grandchild is most definitely my business, and if the two of you are lying to a child?—”
“Who says we’re lying?” Jordan asks.
“I do,” the woman says through clenched teeth. She steps forward, her voice hissing. I swear I see a forked tongue dart out as she speaks. “Either way, it’s a bad look. You’re sleeping separately, and it doesn’t matter to me if the reason is because you’re fighting—which, let’s face it, less than a week in does not bode well—or because you’re faking the whole thing to make Jordan appear to be a better dad by creating the appearance of a stable environment for Ryder.”
Fudgesicles.
I want nothing more than to smack the obnoxious, gleeful look off her face. I mean, Constance Comer is not a bad person—I know this logically. She just misses her daughter and wants to feel closer to her by gaining some sort of custody over her daughter’s son.
But to do all of that at the expense of Jordan?
I want to scream at her that this is not the way.
Instead, it looks like I’ll need to show her. And there’s no other option in my brain at the moment than to prove to her that her assumptions—while actually true—are false.
“Constance,” I say sweetly, taking a step forward and out of Jordan’s hold.
She tilts her chin upward. “What?”
Appropriately, Katy Perry’s Roar plays in the background, each beat pumping me up to do something I never in a million years thought I would do.
“Does this look fake to you?”
Then I spin toward Jordan and snatch the front of his shirt. I see his wide eyes flicker down at me for a split second before lifting on my tiptoes, wrapping one arm around his neck, tugging him toward me—and aiming my mouth for his.
It’s a moment of suspension in air, of my brain wondering what in the ding-dong donuts I’m doing, hoping that Jordan sees this as necessary, just like I do—praying that I’m not overstepping.
Then, that moment’s over, and it’s clear Jordan agrees when his hands find my waist and he yanks me against him. Our mouths fuse together like they’ve done it a million times, and I can’t help but melt against him like butter on a hot, delicious blueberry muffin.
His fingers flex against my hipbones, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. His lips are impossibly soft, moving against mine with a tenderness I never expected. This is Jordan—my best friend, my fake husband—but there’s nothing pretend about the way he’s holding me, like I’m something precious, or how my knees have gone weak as I drown in the taste of him, in the warmth of his embrace, in the way his fingers trail up my spine to cradle the back of my head.
I’ve never been kissed like this, never felt so completely consumed by a single moment.
Then a loud whistle pierces the air, followed by whoops and a chorus of “Get a room!” Reality crashes in, and I stumble backward, my lips tingling, to find our entire group of friends and the rest of the town staring at us with knowing grins.
At least it seems like Constance believes us, given that she looks as if she just touched a burning hot stove.
I can relate to that feeling. My show for Constance has led to this—a heart thundering against my ribs, my entire body feeling like it’s been lit from within.
And then, there’s the realization that I didn’t want it to stop.
What have I done?