Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Kinsley
“What the heck is going on?” I mutter.
I click out of the scheduling app and then back in, but it still doesn’t work. Scott left early to go visit his parents for the weekend, so we’re booking our own appointments until he gets back. Usually, I have no problem using the scheduling app, but for some reason, it’s not working.
“I don’t know what’s going on with the app, so I can’t schedule your appointment,” I say to Shane, swiping out of the app. “And without getting into it, I can’t see what I have available.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “If you want, I can give you my number, and you can just text me …”
“Not happening.” I shake my head. “Once it’s working, I’ll have Scott reach out to you.”
Texting him—and in turn giving him my number—would be a bad idea. He’s already finding ways to slip through the cracks of the wall I’ve put up. The last thing I need is to open the damn gate and let him walk right in.
Shane chuckles, but doesn’t argue.
“How’d it go?” Dad asks when we get to the front desk so Shane can pay.
“Good,” Shane says with a grin. “Kinsley is magic with a tattoo gun.”
Dad chuckles as Shane pulls his card out from his wallet.
“Any plans tonight?” Shane asks me while my dad runs his card.
Before I can think of a lie, my dad throws me right under the bus. “This was your last appointment, Kins, so you can head out. I have a friend coming in to get some ink done, so I’ll be here awhile, and I can close up.”
I glare his way, but he either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.
“In that case,” Shane says, “want to go grab a drink?”
“I can’t. I’m unavailable,” I blurt out, flinching when I hear how stupid that sounded.
Shane laughs. “There’s that word again,” he says with a smirk. “Yet you’re standing here, looking completely available.”
My dad twists his mouth, obviously trying to hide his smile, but doesn’t say a word.
“What about your daughter?” I ask, trying and failing to think of a reason to say no.
“She’s working and then spending the night at Casey’s.” Shane steps toward me. “C’mon, Sour Patch,” he murmurs, shooting me puppy-dog eyes that tell me exactly where his daughter gets them from. “Just one drink. It’s Friday night, and neither of us has plans.”
I know if I say no and really mean it, Shane won’t argue. As insistent as he is about wanting to spend time with me and get to know me, he always respects my boundaries when I make it clear I don’t want to go out with him—it just doesn’t stop him from trying again next time—but for some reason, I find myself wanting to say yes tonight.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t been out since our girls’ night at Neptune’s or because I’ve spent the past three years isolating myself from everyone … or maybe it’s because, despite Shane scaring the hell out of me with his charm and the way he seems to genuinely care, I enjoy talking to him.
“Okay.” Shane’s face lights up, but before he can get his hopes up, I add, “Just one drink, and it’s not a date or anything like that. It’s just two people who are kind of friends having a drink together.”
His lips curl into a beautiful, boyish grin. “I’ll take it.”
“Have fun,” Dad says with a knowing smile that I want to wipe off his face.
When we get outside, I follow Shane to his truck but then remember …
“If we’re drinking, you can’t drive.”
I know it’s stupid since I wasn’t drinking the night I wrapped the vehicle around the pole, but Brandon’s drinking led to him not being able to drive, which set off the horrible domino effect, and I never want to be in the position where I have to drive for someone who’s been drinking again. Hell, I never want to drive again. So, if we’re drinking, no one is driving.
Shane looks at me, confused for a moment, and then nods. “Okay, then let’s walk.”
He extends his hand for me to take, and without giving it thought, I do, letting him guide me onto the sidewalk.
“Do you work on the weekends?” Shane asks as we walk toward Main Street, where most of the restaurants and bars are located.
“We’re open a half day on Saturdays and off Sundays and Mondays. What about you?” I ask, realizing that while he tends to hold most of the conversation, it’s usually geared toward me.
“I work two shifts per week on different days. My next shift is on Monday.”
“That’s cool. So, you only have to work two days a week?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “But I’m there for twenty-four hours, from eight to eight, for each shift.”
“Have you been a firefighter paramedic for long?”
“My entire adult life,” he says, glancing at me. “I found out Taylor’s mom was pregnant a few months after I graduated from high school. I had already enrolled in college to become an EMT. Thankfully, my parents are amazing and helped out once she was born.”
“She mentioned her mom the other day,” I say carefully, knowing how hard it is to talk about heavy shit. “It sounded like she’s not around much.”
“She’s not,” he says with a sigh. “When Jamie found out she was pregnant, she wanted to have an abortion.”
His words cause my body to stiffen and my steps to falter, and it’s then I realize we’re still holding hands. Glancing down at our threaded fingers, I can’t help but notice how much bigger his are compared to mine. They’re also rougher and stronger—probably because they’re hands that are used to protect and save people—and I find myself being comforted by our hand-holding rather than being freaked out, like I’d expect to be.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to …”
“No, it’s okay. Sure, it’s hard to think about women not wanting their baby when I wasn’t given a choice when I lost mine, but I believe in women’s rights and wouldn’t judge anyone for making the choice they feel is best for them.”
Shane nods in understanding, then continues, “We were young and not careful, and when she told me she was pregnant, I told her I’d go along with whatever she wanted. But then we went to her doctor’s appointment and heard her heartbeat, and she had a moment of weakness, saying she wanted to keep the baby.”
“Why do I sense a but?”
“Because isn’t there always one?” he says with a humorless chuckle. “Everything was fine until a few months after Taylor was born. Jamie was offered an internship with a huge magazine overseas. She said it was too big of an opportunity to give up, that it would secure her entire future as a journalist, so she took it.”
Shane stops in front of The Black Cat and releases his hold on my hand, and the coldness I feel at the loss of his touch doesn’t go unnoticed.
“She said it would only be for one semester, like a study-abroad type of thing. So, I moved in with my parents so they could help me, and I prepared myself to be a single dad for a few months. Only she never came home.”
“What?” I gasp. “But Taylor seems to know her.”
“She does, as much as a child can know a parent who’s been traveling their entire life. They text and FaceTime, and Jamie occasionally passes through town to visit. Less often since her parents passed away, so she doesn’t have any ties to this town, aside from Taylor.”
Aside from Taylor? That should be reason enough to never leave.
Shane sighs. “It’s one of the reasons I haven’t really dated since Taylor was born. I was so worried that I wouldn’t be enough, that she would resent not having a mom around, that I tried to be twice the parent—for her mom and me.”
Oh, this man. As if he couldn’t get any more perfect.
“I’ve only been around you guys a couple of times, but even I can see that your daughter thinks you hung the moon. If you’re worried about your relationship, don’t be. It’s evident you’ve done a damn good job making sure she’s had a good life.”
“Thanks,” Shane says, hitting me with a warm smile as he opens the door so we can go inside.
It’s busy since it’s Friday night, but we’re able to find a two-person high-top table near the bar. We’ve only just sat down when an older woman comes over and says hello, referring to Shane by his last name.
“This is Trudy,” Shane says. “Her husband, Billy, works at the station with me on the same shift, and Trudy here owns this place.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve never been in here.”
Since it’s a bar, there’s no reason why I would’ve gone before I turned twenty-one, and when I moved here, I wasn’t in any shape to try out different bars. I was too busy mourning from inside my room. And now, if I’m not at Exposed Ink, I’m either with my family or in the pool house.
Jeez, when I put it like that, maybe my therapist and Natalia—hell, my entire family—aren’t far off when they gripe at me about not getting out and living my life.
“Well,” Trudy says, “we have ourselves a Black Cat virgin.” She smirks and glances toward the bartender. “Get this girl a Black Cat, stat.” The bartender nods, and then Trudy looks back at me. “It’s our house drink,” she explains, “and it’ll be the reason you keep coming back.”
“Just make sure it doesn’t contain any fruit,” Shane says before I can. Then, he glances at me. “Anything else you’re allergic to?”
“Carrots,” I tell them both. “Raw fruit and carrots.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Trudy says. “So many good drinks are made with fruit. But you’re good because the Black Cat doesn’t contain any fruit.” She looks at Shane. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please,” he tells her.
“Oscar,” she yells to the bartender, “one Berliner Weisse for this one.” She nods toward Shane, and Oscar nods.
“Here’s the menu,” Trudy says. “I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your food order. I recommend the sampler. It’s a little bit of everything delicious.” And with a wink, she saunters off to the next table.
“She’s …”
“A lot,” Shane says with a laugh. “But she and Billy are family.”
“Oh, you’re related?”
Shane shakes his head. “When you work twenty-four-hour shifts with the same people in the same station for years, they become like family. We’ve been through it all together. The ups and downs. I was there when they got into their first fight, when he proposed, when they got married, and when Trudy had the crazy idea to open this place. They’ve been to most of Taylor’s birthday parties and watched her grow up. There are five guys on a shift, and aside from one guy who left last year to move to the city, we’ve all been working together for fifteen years.”
“That’s awesome.” And completely relatable. “While I have my aunts and uncles, my parents have a few other friends that I grew up considering family. I didn’t even know we weren’t related until I got older.”
Shane grins. “That’s exactly how it is with us at the station. Even though I’m a single dad, between my parents and the guys I work with and their families, I’ve never felt like I was raising Taylor alone.”
“That’s how I imagined it would be when I got pregnant,” I admit. “I mean, I had Brandon, but from the moment I found out I was pregnant, my little girl was loved by so many people.”
Shane smiles sadly, and I expect him to ask what happened—sure, he knows the basics, but I didn’t go into specifics—but he doesn’t. I’ve noticed that while he asks questions, they’re never too deep, and he always lets me tell him how much—or little—I want. He might guide the conversation, but he lets me control it.
“I can believe that,” Shane says. “I’ve only met your cousins and dad, but it’s clear you’re loved.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “I am.”
We go over the menu, and when Trudy returns with our drinks, we order the sampler, as she suggested. Once she leaves, I take a sip of my drink, and the perfect mix of sweet and bitter hits my senses.
“What do you think?” Shane asks, taking a sip of his beer.
“It’s really good,” I say, taking another sip.
“Trudy is obsessed with making new drinks. At every party and several nights a week here, she’s testing out new drinks and forcing everyone to try them.”
“I love cooking and baking, but making drinks isn’t my area of expertise,” I admit with a laugh that has Shane grinning. “I swear, no matter what I do, they’re never as good as the ones at the coffee shop.”
“You should ask Taylor to show you,” he says. “She’s been working at the coffee shop for several months now, and she makes all types of frappe mocha latte shit.”
I throw my head back with a laugh at his words, and it hits me how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself with anyone, let alone a man.
Fuck … a man.
Who isn’t Brandon.
My husband.
No, not my husband. My late husband.
Because he’s gone.
And I’m here.
Just as the guilt starts to seep through the cracks that Shane has created, my favorite song comes on. Memories of dancing to it with my mom in our living room while we sang at the top of our lungs hit me, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m standing and extending my hand to Shane.
“I love this song! Dance with me?” I ask, wanting to push the guilt away and just be in the moment with him.
Without argument, Shane gets off the stool, takes my hand, and guides me onto the dance floor.
It’s a fast-paced pop song, and as we dance to the beat, both of us lip-sync the lyrics, making us crack up in laughter and reminding me how good it feels to let loose and have fun.
But then the song morphs into a slower, more sensual tune, and for a second, I’m unsure of what to do.
Then, Shane twirls me around, until my back is flush against his front. The hand that’s linked to mine rests on the curve of my hip, and his other hand slides around to my front, causing butterflies to swarm my belly.
With his body wrapped around mine, I catch a whiff of his masculine scent, the spicy essence sliding through me like a shot of whiskey, filling me with warmth I haven’t felt in too long. Not since …
I swallow thickly and close my eyes, pretending for a moment that Shane is Brandon. I know it’s wrong on so many levels, but I miss this. Being held by a man, feeling safe and wanted and cherished. And if I let myself admit that this is Shane and not Brandon, the guilt is going to take over, and I’m going to be forced to push him away.
And I don’t want to push him away. For just a little while, I want to stay like this, in Shane’s arms, enveloped by his scent and comforted by his touch.
My head, of its own accord, tilts back against his muscular chest, and his chin rests on my shoulder as we sway to the music. And even though I want to pretend it’s Brandon, I can’t because Shane is taller, more rugged. His body fits around mine differently. When I glance down, his hands are ink-free. His skin is smooth, tanned. His scent is intoxicating and addictive in a different way than Brandon’s was.
The song morphs into another and then another, and it isn’t until my stomach rumbles that I realize we’ve been dancing just like this for a while, and I’ve been enjoying it.
When I twist around to face him, with our bodies so close, our mouths are only inches apart. His brown eyes, filled with desire, meet mine, and I wonder what he sees in mine.
Fear?
Guilt?
Sadness?
Then, Shane’s gaze slides down to my mouth, and for a split second, I wish for him to kiss me so I can feel his lips on mine because above any emotion I’m feeling, lust is the strongest.
Without thinking about anything other than right now, I reach up and press my lips to his. They’re hard yet soft, and I can smell the beer he was drinking on his breath.
At first, he doesn’t make any move to kiss me back, and I’m about to retreat, cursing myself for getting lost in the moment, for letting myself feel, when Shane’s arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me into him so our bodies are flush against one another.
His lips curve around mine, and the hand not holding me comes up and cups the side of my face. We stay like this for several seconds—our bodies and lips connected—and then I sigh into his mouth, silently pleading for more.
Shane takes that as his cue to deepen the kiss, and his tongue slides past my parted lips and into my mouth. As our tongues move frantically against one another, I find myself trying to get closer to him, craving more of him. It’s like the dam that was holding back my need for stimulation has burst, and I’m craving to be touched, to be kissed.
As if Shane can hear my inner thoughts, he effortlessly reaches around and lifts me off my feet. Instinctually, my legs wrap around his torso, and my fingers delve into his soft hair.
With his mouth never leaving mine, he walks us over to a darkened area and gently pushes me against the wall. Our kiss heats up, both of our mouths ravenous for the other.
But then his arousal pushes against my center, and I gasp into his mouth as what we’re doing hits me.
“Stop,” I breathe out, reaching between us and shoving my hand against Shane’s chest.
His eyes snap open, and he immediately releases me, setting me on my feet and taking a step back.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I didn’t mean to …”
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to touch me. “It’s?—”
I flinch, moving back slightly, and his brows furrow in confusion.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper, bringing my fingers to my swollen lips.
Shane’s features morph into understanding, mixed with sadness, and I hate myself for leading him on.
“I meant it when I said I couldn’t give you anything more,” I murmur. “I shouldn’t have kissed you and?—”
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I know. We just got caught up in the moment.”
“I need to go,” I tell him, only my words are muffled by the embarrassing sound of my stomach growling.
“Stay and eat. The food should be at our table by now.”
I stare at him, at his pleading eyes, his lips, puffy from our kiss, and I war with myself. I want to stay, but I also want to go because as much as I enjoy Shane’s company, he scares the hell out of me. He has me talking and laughing and feeling things I never thought I’d feel again.
“Don’t run, please,” he adds, as if he can hear my thoughts. “I promise I won’t do that again.”
“You didn’t do anything,” I point out. “I did this. I asked you to dance. I kissed you. I got lost in the moment.”
“Yeah, and it was a damn good moment,” he says with a soft smile that causes those pesky butterflies to reappear, this time in my chest. “But it’s okay if that’s all it was … a moment,” he adds. “Come back to the table with me and eat. We can pretend it never happened.”
I want to tell him that I don’t want to pretend it never happened. If anything, I want to do it again and again. Now that I’ve been reminded of what it’s like to feel, I don’t want to stop. But that can’t happen. Because as I look into Shane’s compassionate, patient eyes, I know he deserves better than anything I’m capable of giving him.
I’m broken. Damaged. I had my chance at a family, but I ruined it, and the last thing Shane needs is to be weighed down by my guilt.
“Okay,” I choke out. “Let’s go eat.”
And pretend it never happened.