Chapter 12
twelve
MARILEE
I can barely keep my eyes open.
But since I’m still currently in charge of two small children, sleep is not an option.
Scarlett and Ryder pump their legs as they swing higher and higher over Jordan’s grassy backyard. Scarlett yells out encouragements for Ryder to keep up with her. They’ve been going at it for a full thirty minutes after finishing their dinner at a breakneck speed because, as Scarlett said, “We only have a little more time to play before Mommy comes to get me. Hurry, hurry!”
And sweet little Ryder didn’t mind being bossed one bit. He tossed back that lasagna like it was gourmet and followed April’s daughter out the back door. I cleaned up their plates and set the pasta back in the oven on warm, ready for whenever Jordan gets home from his late-night working. He had to make up time after our meeting with Sam Granger ate into his work time earlier today. Thankfully, the meeting went smoothly, and we all feel pretty prepared for the court date that’s three short weeks from tomorrow.
After cleanup, I join the kids outside, watching them play while plying myself with coffee to try to stay awake. Although honestly, I’m not sure I could sleep with everything going on inside my head.
Like the sight of Amy Montrose and Jordan together earlier today. The woman clearly adores him. She’s cute and sweet, and they made a striking pair standing beside each other. And I didn’t like the way my stomach twisted watching them together.
Or the fact that being married to me is keeping Jordan from being with someone with real potential.
Ugh. Go away, you obnoxious thoughts. Shifting into the cushions of the resin wicker chair on Jordan’s back patio, I soak in the warmth of the mug in my hands and the blanket covering my lower half.
“Knock, knock,” comes a voice from behind.
I glance over my shoulder to find April, dressed not in her standard fare of yoga pants and an oversized shirt but slacks and a smart blue blouse that matches her bright eyes. “Hey—” I start, but am interrupted by a high-pitched squeal of “Mommy!” as a blur races past me and flings herself in April’s arms.
April kisses Scarlett’s head and gives her a hug. “Hi, Scar. Were you good for Ms. Marilee?”
Scarlett tilts her head up and nods emphatically. “Of course I was. She makes the best cookies and I wanted some.”
“Oh yeah?” April’s eyes laugh. Behind her, the porch light flickers on as dusk settles in. “And did she give you some?”
I hold up my mug. “Guilty as charged. Though I probably would have even if she was naughty.”
Scarlett’s face brightens. “Really?”
“Don’t give her ideas, Mare.” April taps Scarlett’s freckled nose. “You ready to go?”
“Oh, can I please please pleeeeeeease have thirty more minutes?” April’s daughter folds her hands in front of her face like she’s pleading for mercy in front of the queen.
April tucks a stray blonde curl behind Scarlett’s ear. “I’m sure Ms. Marilee has lots to do?—”
“Ms. Marilee does not.” I pat the chair next to me. “Feel free to stay. I’ve got some lasagna and garlic bread left if you want to eat dinner and let the kiddos play a little longer.”
“Twist my arm. Anytime I get the chance to eat your food is a no-brainer.”
“And here I thought you enjoyed my company too.” I make a face, sticking out my tongue slightly.
“So we can stay?” Scarlett bounces on her tiptoes.
“For a bit.”
Pumping her hands in the air, Scarlett runs back to tell Ryder the good news.
I pop up from my seat, place my coffee on the small side table between the pair of wicker chairs, and pat the other one. “Sit. I’ll grab you food.”
“I shouldn’t let you, but I’m exhausted from that drive. I forgot how nuts the city is.”
“No problem.” I shuffle inside and serve up some lasagna for April before returning to my seat.
“Thank you,” she says as I hand her the steaming plate. She takes an inhale and closes her eyes. “This smells like heaven. I’ve been going all day on a protein bar.”
“Poor thing.” I settle back into my seat as she digs into her food. “Remind me—why did you go to San Francisco?”
April stops with a forkful of food hanging midair. She shoves it in and says around it, “Nuffin’ important.”
Hmmm. April’s not the sort to hold back. She’s more than willing to tell you all sorts of intimate details about her life—from Scarlett’s birth story to the shocking reality of postpartum laughing and her bladder’s inability to maintain decorum.
Other than not letting anyone read the books burning a hole in her computer—something I don’t entirely blame her for, given she’s still honing her craft—there’s only one subject not fit for public consumption, or even her friends’ consumption.
Scarlett’s dad.
I’m not sure even Kelsey, her best friend, knows who he is. We only know that April came home from her freshman year of college pregnant and that she and the dad weren’t together.
End of story.
I’ve never pried, but maybe here, in this small setting, she might open up if she knows I care. I pick up my coffee mug again and drum my fingers along the ceramic red surface. “Did your trip have anything to do with Scarlett’s dad?”
Her head swivels toward me quick. “What?” April blinks like she’s surprised. Then, “No.”
The kids’ laughter and an airplane flying overhead fill in the cracks of silence between us.
There I go, overstepping again. Seems to be my lot in life lately. “I’m sorry, April. I shouldn’t have asked.”
She sighs and puts her plate on the table, turning to face me. “It’s okay. I just…I don’t really talk about him.”
“I shouldn’t have been nosy.” I press my lips together. “But I know how hard it is to suffer in silence, and I want you to know…I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
“Thanks, Mare.” Her slacks expose her ankles as she pulls her legs up and hugs them to her chest. “I haven’t spoken to him since before Scarlett was born. So no, my trip had nothing to do with him.”
“Was he a jerk when he found out about Scarlett?” My blood runs hot at the idea that someone wouldn’t want to know the precious, spunky girl playing in the yard in front of me.
“No,” she says, biting her lower lip. “He just…wasn’t in a place to be a dad.” There’s something in the way she says it that tells me I’m not getting the whole story. That she’s holding back some very crucial information. But that’s okay. I feel honored she’s sharing even this much.
“I’m sorry.” I wait a beat before asking, “Do you still love him?” Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen her so much as look at a guy with more than appreciation for his outward appearance.
“I didn’t say that.” April straightens, sets her legs back on the ground. “Let’s just say that fiction is better than reality sometimes.”
I reach out, waiting until she grabs my hand. I squeeze before releasing her hold. “Sometimes, I’d say you’re right.”
She eyes me. “But sometimes…maybe it’s the same. Or even better than fiction.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your case might be the exception.”
My nose scrunches. “I’d hardly call my life a fairy tale.”
“Maybe not your life with Donny. But you and Jordan…”
“Are just friends.” I say it with finality—determined to believe every word.
“Girl, I’m not blind. I saw that kiss.”
“You and the whole town,” I mutter under my breath, taking a sip of the coffee. I blanch at its bitterness. Did I forget to add sugar? “We did it for Constance’s sake. You should have heard what she was saying to him.”
“Mmm hmm. I know that’s what you’re telling yourself. I’m on that text thread with the girls, remember? I’ve heard your protests loud and clear.” April waggles her eyebrows, which lift up under her wispy bangs. “But sometimes I wonder if you are lying to yourself. Let me ask you this—what did you feel when you kissed him?”
“Nothing.”
“I say this with all the love in my heart, dear, sweet, Marilee. That’s a bald-faced lie.”
“No, it’s not.” My breath leaves my lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “It can’t be. Because that would mean…”
“That you might have feelings for your best friend? Yep.”
My eyes pop open as my heart pounds out an erratic rhythm. “I can’t, though.”
“And just why not?” April studies me. “You deserve happiness.”
“I…I know.” But do I? “But so does he.” And with me, he wouldn’t have it. Not long-term.
“I don’t understand, Mare. You are one of the best people I know. He would be so lucky to end up with you.”
My lips tremble, and my eyes burn. “It wouldn’t last.”
Stars make their appearance, dancing diamonds clustered like heavenly necklaces strung in the sky. Sometimes I wonder if Mom and Dad can look down from heaven. If Mom’s cheering me on. If Dad’s still disappointed in me. If they see the mess I’ve made and wonder—or know—if things will ever change in my life.
“Mare, I’m going to tell you something I wish I’d thought more about eight years ago.”
I can only assume she means when she was pregnant with Scarlett. “Okay.”
“Back then, I made a decision based on what-ifs. I can’t go back and change that decision now. But sometimes…I wonder if I should have done more to be sure.” She glances out at the yard, at her daughter, who is crowing at the top of the play structure, arms raised in the air, triumphant and full of joy. “To be honest, it haunts me sometimes. And I’d hate for the same thing to happen to you.”
“I…I don’t know how to be sure.” Because I thought I was sure with Donny, and look how that turned out.
“Okay, maybe not sure . But open yourself to the possibility that you could be wrong. And ask yourself how that might change things between you and Jordan…and whether you want it to.”
* * *
April’s words haven’t left me all week.
Through a meeting at the bank. Amid flour sifting and decorating a cake to look like a Minion. When playing with Ryder in the evenings.
And in the middle of the night, when I wake suddenly from a nightmare and glance over at the world’s most uncomfortable wooden chair, where Jordan has taken to sleeping.
It’s got to be even worse than the couch. But I haven’t said a word about it, and neither has he. I’m not sure of his reasons for the silence, but as for me?
I’m scared of what will happen if I invite him in.
Not just into the bed—but into my life as more than a friend.
And yet, April’s words swirl… “I wonder if I should have done more to be sure.”
Now it’s Friday night and I’ve just finished tucking sweet Ryder into bed, reading to him from his Avengers storybook for what feels like the hundredth time—and I’m sick of hearing myself think. More than that, I miss my best friend. Because I can feel it. We’re both in our heads about all of this. The last week, since that kiss, has felt like walking a tightrope, neither of us willing to advance or meet in the middle. We’ve just stood on either end, staring at each other, constantly trying to stay balanced and not fall splat to the ground.
Snicking Ryder’s door closed behind me, I inhale deeply, willing myself the courage to walk back into the living room to face Jordan instead of retreating to the bedroom and tucking in for another night of loneliness. Finally, I wipe my sweaty palms on my black lounge pants and pad in my slouchy socks toward the kitchen.
Jordan’s back is to me as he cleans up from dinner, a black dish towel slung over one shoulder, hat sitting backwards on his head. He’s got some Taylor Swift playing from his phone and is singing along softly, shaking it off lyrically and with his hips.
My chest loosens. Because this is my best friend as I’m used to seeing him.
I giggle, and he turns, eyebrows lifted as he continues to sing. He grabs the towel from his shoulder and dries off his soapy hands, flinging it dramatically back to the counter as he busts out moves Justin Timberlake would be proud of. Then, at a pause in the music, he tilts his head. “Dance battle?”
“Dance battle,” I confirm.
Grinning, he flicks up the volume on his phone—Ryder’s white noise machine will ensure our shenanigans don’t wake him—and he flourishes his hands at me.
Guess I’m going first.
And look, I’m no Taylor or Shakira or Beyoncé. And I can’t sing worth a flip. But I do at least have the gift of rhythm. I’m fairly certain I look ridiculous as I shake my hips and shimmy around Jordan, whose eyes laugh at me while he cups his mouth and whoops.
I take a break, arms folded back as I lean against the counter. “Top that.”
He taps the tip of my nose. “Easy.” Then he walks it back like he’s Michael Jackson and adds a little robot action in there.
I pretend to be chill, but on the inside, I’m lighting up like the Christmas tree that’s still in the living room. There’s nothing like this feeling, laughing and being ridiculous with someone who just gets you.
When he’s done, swiping off his shoulders like his moves were “no big deal,” I jump back in, and so does he, until we’re three songs deep and both belly laughing at how we’ve devolved into utterly ridiculous moves like the shopping cart, the sprinkler, and my personal fave, the chicken dance.
Finally, Jordan flips off the music and removes his hat, fanning himself. “Okay, I needed that.”
“Me too.” I pull my hair from my bun. It’s sweaty at the base of my neck, and I comb it out with my fingers before tossing it back up.
I feel his eyes on me the whole time, burning in their intensity.
And suddenly, the levity’s gone.
I swallow hard. “Rough week?” I shouldn’t have to ask. Normally, I’d know, because we’d have eaten every lunch together, hung out more than once. But other than our drive to San Luis Obispo on Monday, we haven’t spent more than ten minutes alone together. Not unless you count sleeping in the same room.
But since we’re not both awake for most of that, I don’t.
He runs a hand through his hair before setting his hat on the kitchen counter. “Just busy.”
“Did you ever hear back from Mitchell McGraff?”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to go check out the tents and stay overnight the weekend after next if that’s okay.” He pauses, his brow furrowed like he wants to say more. But then he shakes his head. “How about you? Seemed like you and Ryder had a good afternoon? Something about a scooter race?”
I laugh. “Yeah, he thought he could beat me around the block.” I make a face. “He was right. How’d you know about that?”
“He told me while you were making dinner.”
“Right.” I nearly burnt the chicken earlier, too distracted by watching him push Ryder on the swings out back through the window over the kitchen table. The sight had my heart doing all sorts of naughty things like squeezing and thumping and tap dancing. “Well, Ryder is a doll, as always. But fair warning—he said he’s over the scooter and wants you to teach him how to ride a bike now. So watch out. The request is coming.”
“Oh, it already came. He’ll be a tyrant on wheels, that one.” Jordan chuckles, then tilts his head, studying me. “And the bakery? How’s that going?”
“Fine. Marla hasn’t really had time to walk me through the business plan or anything.”
“Gotcha. Oh hey, I’ve got some free time Monday if you want to go sign the loan documents at the bank.”
“That might work. Pete was still drawing them up, I think.” But I’m not in a rush. Because ever since I said yes to Marla, I’ve had an unexplainable pit in my stomach. Probably just nerves. Change is hard. Nerves would make sense.
“Just say the word when you need me.” Jordan rounds the couch and plops down, reaching for the remote. Maybe he wants his privacy. I should go… But no. That will only make things more awkward.
And how am I supposed to follow April’s advice—to explore the possibility of more —if I’m constantly retreating from what’s uncomfortable?
So, I sit down beside Jordan.
He wiggles the remote. “You wanna pick?”
“Sure.” Our fingers brush—I shiver—as he hands it over. I navigate to a movie I didn’t get a chance to watch over Christmas this year. Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman’s faces smile at each other on the screen. “This okay?”
“You kidding?” He stands, grabs a few blankets, and offers me one. “I’m always in a While You Were Sleeping mood.”
“Ha ha. And thanks,” I say as I take a fuzzy red blanket. Tucking it around my legs, I shift and lean back against the pillow on the opposite side of the couch from him, stretching out my legs so my feet sit against his thigh. “Me too.”
“Hey, I’m serious. It’s a good movie. Your mom’s favorite, right?”
“Mmm hmm.” He’s so good at remembering those kinds of details. Pressing my lips together, I tap the side of the remote and lower it to my lap without starting the movie. “Other than baking, watching movies with her was my favorite thing to do. She knew every line by heart, and soon, I did too. We’d take turns saying things in silly voices. Sigh at the swoony parts. It was the best.”
“She was really great.”
“She was.” I sigh, the ache of missing her coming swift and strong.
Jordan sets his hand absently on the top of my right foot, which is buried under the blanket and my sock.
And yet, I feel the electric pulse of his touch through all of the material.
How did this happen? He’s touched me so many times, just like this, right here on this very couch. So how did I never feel this before?
“You’re so much like her, Lee.” His soothing palm moves back and forth over my foot. “So sweet, so caring. So maternal, taking care of everyone around you. Ryder has been so lucky to have you as a mom, even if it’s only temporary.”
A tear slips unbidden down my cheek. Then another.
His hand stills. “Oh no, what did I say to make you cry?”
I backhand away the moisture. “Nothing. No, it’s not you.”
“What then?”
And this is the moment—the one where I make a decision of my own. Not necessarily to know anything for sure, but to open up. To tell Jordan just how broken I am. To see what he does with that information.
My insides quake.
“It’s just that…” I blow out a breath.
“Hey,” he says, looking at me with a concerned ripple in his brow. “Come here.”
Jordan opens his arms and, weak woman that I am, I go. I sit right beside this man, my legs tucked to one side while I snuggle into him on the other. He’s solid and warm, and he holds me while tucking his blanket over us both. Then oh so gently, he tilts my chin up and watches me with his tender blue gaze. “What’s wrong, Lee? Talk to me.”
I am so touched by the absolute love radiating from this man that I can’t speak for several long moments. But finally, the words come as I set my head into the crook of his arm. “I’ve wanted nothing more my whole life than to be a mom. To be to someone else what my mom was to me—a safe space to nurture and grow them, to help them reach their potential. To pour out my love into a love that will never die, even when I do.” Tears fall onto Jordan’s T-shirt. I press my fingertips into them, feel the beating heart beneath his chest. “And Ryder… Well, he’s the most special little boy. I’m so grateful you’ve let me be in his life.”
“We’re both grateful you’re willing to be here. More grateful than you know.”
I nod. “But like you said. It’s temporary.”
“Our marriage contract, maybe. But not your place in his life.”
“Jay, eventually you’re going to get married for real.” Maybe to someone like Amy… “And then I’ll have to step aside, to just be a fun auntie. And I will happily do that, for both of your sakes. Because your happiness means the world to me.”
“Lee…”
My breath shakes as I exhale. I run my finger along the soft cotton of Jordan’s shirt. “The fact is, Jay, that Ryder is probably the only kid I’ll ever be a mom to. And I’m just determined to enjoy every moment that I get in that role.”
There. I said it. Admitted the truth in a roundabout way. Though, if I know Jordan, he will dig deeper until he knows the whole truth.
I brace, waiting.
Finally, the questions come. “You’re going to find someone else, Lee. Someone who you can love fully, who will love you the way that jerk never could. Just because one man disparaged his marriage vow to cherish you doesn’t mean all men would do the same.”
Is that what he thinks? My hand flattens against his chest, and I push up until I can look him in the eyes. “I know that, Jordan. You’re proof that there are honorable men out there.”
He blinks at me. “Then why do you say you’ll never be a mom again?”
Here we go. “I…I don’t know that I can actually have kids, Jay. I’ve already had three miscarriages.” The words hurt leaving my mouth, just the way they did each time I had to speak them to Donny, then again to Lucy, the only other person who knows about my hidden horror.
“Lee.” He breathes out the word like a prayer as his hand rises to cup my face, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone as his eyes melt into sympathy. No, it’s more than that. It’s empathy, like he’s feeling the pain right along with me. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” More words get stuck in my throat, but I don’t need them. I think Jordan just knows. “Donny…” Tears come again, hot and fast. Ugh. I hate wasting even more tears on that jerk. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to cry.”
“Hey. It’s okay, Lee.” He holds me again. “You have a right to cry. You lost something precious, and I’m sure Donny didn’t make it easier on you.”
“He said…” My heart wrenches with the memories. “That it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t know why I couldn’t just get back up and act like things were fine. Why I couldn’t be fun anymore. Why I couldn’t be intimate—” Oh sheesh, why did I say that?
I can feel Jordan’s hand curl into a fist against my arm. “I never understood why…” He trails off, leaving me to wonder what he was going to say.
But honestly, I’m so tired of the wondering. I’m tired of everything right now except how it feels to be right here, in his arms. To feel understood and loved, whether as a friend or…maybe more. My brain decides now is the time to shut off. After the week I’ve had, I allow myself the luxury of sinking into Jordan, shutting my eyes, and falling into oblivion.
I wake up again—maybe it’s been minutes, maybe hours—tucked against Jordan’s chest as he carries me down the darkened hallway, nudging open the bedroom door with his foot and shutting it again behind us before depositing me gently on the soft mattress of his queen-sized bed. I can’t see his face, but I feel the covers going over me, hear the warm intake of his breath as he smooths my hair out of my face and whispers, “You deserved better, Lee.”
Then he places the gentlest of kisses against my forehead before starting to retreat.
And I’m not thinking fully—the edges of my mind still groggy with sleep—but I do know one thing.
I don’t want to be alone right now.
So before he can leave, I catch him by the hand. “Stay.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve drifted back to sleep. But then comes his soft reply: “I’ll be right over there.”
I assume he’s pointing to the sorry excuse for a chair in the corner.
“No.” My voice is thick with sleep, but I force determination into my tone and give his hand a tug. “Here. With me.”
He squats beside me and a hint of moonlight through the window shows his eyes glittering back in the dark. “You sure?”
I answer him with a squeeze and another tug before rolling over to make space for him.
It takes a full minute, but then the mattress sinks behind me and it’s warm and toasty under these covers, like bread out of the oven. Reaching behind me, I pull his arm around my waist. Then I finally drift off again, not knowing anything for sure except how Jordan Carmichael makes me feel.
Safe.