12. Colton
twelve
Colton
“I need to pick your brains on something,” I say to break the silence after an hour of driving. We’re almost on the other side of New Hampshire. Weather is treating us right, traffic is scarce, and our coffee refills from Easy Monday are finished.
Kiara glances up from the book she snatched on our way out of Millie’s. “Sure.” This is something I’ve been mulling over for a while, and I don’t know why I’m not able to make a decision one way or another. “Cassandra asked me to join the Select Board. And Owen.”
She purses her mouth appreciatively. “Okay. What’s the question?”
I frown. That’s the question. “What do you think? Should I join?”
“Yeah! You’d be great at it.” Funny how she has no reservations whatsoever. “What’s the holdup?” She frowns and adds, “Who would you be running against?”
I shrug. “No one. Stan Monroe had to resign because they moved away. The board is looking to appoint an interim until the next election. I mean, other people might apply, but there wouldn’t be an election. They just hold a meeting to select the replacement.”
Kiara tucks her foot under her and turns to me. “You gonna be butt-hurt if they choose someone else over you? Huh. I didn’t think you’d care.”
“Hell no. That’s the best that can happen. Give me my nights back. ”Members of the Select Board do a lot of work on their own in the evenings. Even if the meetings are spaced out, the workload is nothing to look down on. “Nah, the thing is, I think Cassandra wants me there because I wouldn’t make waves. She said they need a peacemaker like me.” I really don’t know what to make of this, and I need Kiara’s input. She’s guaranteed to give it to me straight.
A smile spreads on her lips. “She’s right. You are a peacemaker. That doesn’t mean you’re a pushover.”
I grunt. “Owen’s on the board. Not sure how long I can stand him and still remain a peacemaker .”
“What if that’s the point? The town needs someone like you, Colt, to tip the scales back and make them even.”
That’s what I can’t put my finger on. “What can I do that Cass and Noah can’t?” Lynn, Mom’s best friend who owns the King farm, is also on the board, but with her gentle nature, I can see her get totally overcome by someone like Owen.
“Maybe they need more support,” Kiara answers. “Maybe they need someone who’s not involved in anything else and can’t be accused of conflict of interest. Cassandra runs the events, and Noah chairs the chamber, owns the general store, and god knows what else his family is involved in. Him also being on the board has to be dicey sometimes.”
She’s right. “Yeah, knowing Owen, he’s probably holding the tip of a knife to their back, threatening to push the blade in at any time.”
“Is he really that bad?”
He used to be worse. “I guess I’ll find out if he’s changed any.”
She sits up taller. “So you’ll say yes? You’ll join?”
To make you this happy, yes. A thousand times yes. “I’ll give it a go. What’s the worst that can happen?”
She laughs. “You get into a fistfight with Owen?”
“That could be fun.” I chuckle. “Although I don’t believe that’s how these things are run.”
“Bummer,” she says, flipping her book back open.
The deep rumble of the engine takes over, my thoughts drifting to Kiara.
“You never really told me about your father.” I want to get to the bottom of her rift with her family. I feel there’s an important piece I’m missing here, and since I’m set on making her mine in all the right ways, I need to know which wounds she needs mending.
Though we’re not touching, I feel her stiffen at my question. “There’s not much to say,” she mumbles, her gaze still on her book.
“My dad was an alcoholic,” I volunteer, to get her started. “I told you, right?” I did tell her—several times.
“Mine was a cheat,” she answers. Then, with a sigh, she shuts her book, picks up the empty mug on her side of the middle console, then tips it over to drink the last drops. If she were a smoker, this would be the part where she’d light a cigarette.
“I didn’t mean to bring up the past.” I glance at her. “I mean I meant to, but…”
Her gaze is locked ahead of her, but it’s clear her mind isn’t on the white expanse glimmering under the cold sun. It’s lost somewhere in the past, or maybe way inside of her.
Her fists are bunched on her lap, and I bet if I looked right now I’d see her nails digging in her palms.
I wish I could hug her. “We’re not responsible for our parents’ mistakes.”
She lets out a chuckle, then a sigh.
“What?” That was boilerplate comfort speak. Not sure who could argue with that. Well, except Kiara. I glance at her, expecting to see sarcasm painted all over her features. Instead, there’s a tear spilling over her eye. Easing my foot off the gas, I reach to wipe it with my thumb, and her hand bumps into mine. I fold my fingers around hers and give her a squeeze.
I expect her to shy away. Instead, she leans onto my shoulder. “You’re a good friend,” she whispers, so softly I barely hear her over the roar of the engine. “The best. That’s why I can’t ever lose you.”
“You’re not gonna lose me,” I say, wrapping my arm around her to give her a side hug. I want to be the shoulder she can lean on, metaphorically or for real.
After about thirty too-short seconds of her scooped under my arm, she sits up and takes a short breath. “My father had a double life. Another family. When…” She hesitates, then continues, “when it came out, he disappeared from our lives.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Sweets,” is all I can think to say. I always knew something wasn’t right where her family was concerned; I didn’t realize how bad it was.
‘Yeah,” she says, and fiddles with the playlist on her phone. “Now you know.”
There’s still a lot I don’t know. Like, why she isn’t speaking to her mom and sister? Why do they treat her so poorly?
“Life is shitty,” she mumbles. “You have to fight for every little thing you want and you never, ever, get anywhere close to what you dreamed of having.”
I’m about to ask her what her dreams are now, but I think better of it. She’s not in a good place. I just need to get her through this weekend with minimal damage. Then we can talk about her dreams.
I’d like to help her make them come true.
For the rest of the trip, her playlists fill my truck. And it turns out, all the hype about Taylor Swift is totally deserved. Add to that Kiara’s off-key singing, and her sweet scent, and her bouncing up and down in her seat to the beat of the music when she forgets to check herself.
Driving to Maine isn’t the drag I thought it would be.
Quite the opposite.
“All good?” Kiara asks me once we’re in the room, as she checks her reflection in the mirror. It gives me a little pang of want, the way she asks. Like she’s insecure. I’ve rarely seen this side of her. I suppose being surrounded by her family brings it out. I do like that she’s leaning on me for comfort, even if it’s only metaphorical.
“Yup,” I answer between clenched jaws.
The way she looks in that dress? Holy fuck. I thought I remembered from that make-shift prom they threw us way back then. I was wrong. My memory obliterated all the good parts, leaving only a general impression that was hot enough to fuel many late-night fantasies.
My fingers are still tingling from helping her zip it up a few minutes ago, my dick still straining hard against my own pant zipper. I’m going to have to spend the evening with her by my side.
And the night.
I’m so fucked.
Now she’s sifting through her carry-on, then looking around the room. “Shit,” she says under her breath.
“What?”
She shrugs. “Nothing,” she says, stepping to the door.
I set my hand on the doorknob, keeping us inside. “Kiara. What is it?”
“I forgot my phone charger.” She shrugs again. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
I open the door, liking the way her body brushes against mine as she steps into the hallway. “You had it in the car. You probably left it plugged in.”
“Oh, right. Taylor Swift,” she says with a smile. “Thanks for putting up with me,” she adds as we exit to join the dinner party.
I stop in my tracks, keeping us right outside the room. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t in a great mood.”
“Understandable.”
“We only listened to my music.”
“Nothin’ wrong with Taylor Swift.”
She sighs and gives me a half smile. “When are you going to stop being perfect?”
I like the sound of that. She takes a quick inhale that usually precedes some kind of tirade, so I turn her to me with one hand on her hip and shush her with a finger on her lips. Then I lower my mouth to her ear, and whisper, “Just being a good boyfriend,” right as someone walks by.
She clears her throat, then takes my hand as we make our way downstairs.
The inn overlooks the ocean, which at this time of day is a dark mass outside the bay windows lining one side of the dining room and two living rooms. Inside, it’s comfy and simple. Wooden floors, thick carpets showing some wear, comfortable furniture. A roaring fireplace in each room. Books and paintings of ships. Small lamps on side tables.
“How do you like this place?” Eloise asks as I’m considering whether to line up for the dessert buffet. Kiara went to the bathroom, so I walked away from the table with her. I don’t want to offend the hosts, but nothing here looks even remotely enticing compared to Kiara’s pastries.
“It’s really nice. Your friend really came through. How long has she owned it?”
Eloise leans closer to me as if to tell me a secret. “She doesn’t actually own it. Her daughter manages it. And she had the idea for this little shindig, to keep her staff busy during slow season.”
She nudges me toward the dessert table, cackling. “You can’t go wrong with their wild blueberry pie. It’s really good, but not Kiara levels of good. Take your girlfriend a slice too, so she has something else to bitch about than her family.”
I try to shake myself out of my thoughts about Kiara’s complicated relationship with her family when she joins us back at the table. It isn’t hard. Kiara’s dress cups her curves just the right way and the glass or two of wine she’s had put a tint in her cheeks and a spark in her eye. She even smiles when I stand to pull her chair out and leans into my hand when I let it trail on her shoulders.
She’s good at faking this stuff. She could fool even me, if I didn’t know better. This playing pretend is both highly entertaining and downright infuriating, when I consider the fact that we’ll be sharing a room tonight.
I see a very cold shower in my near future.
Conversation at the table we share with Bill, Eloise, and two other cool couples turns to pastries right as Kiara’s mother decides to join us. Bill refills the glass of champagne she brought along.
“So what is it that you do, Colton,” Kiara’s mother asks, in fact terminating the pastry discussion.
It’d be insulting to tell her that Kiara was explaining something about pie dough that half the table seemed interested in hearing, so I simply answer her, “I’m a mechanic.”
She pouts. “Oh,” she says, taking a quick drink from her bubbly.
“Colton specializes in classic American cars and rally cars. Old rally cars. From the seventies. In addition to all the normal stuff garages do,” Kiara says, and is it just my imagination or is that pride in her voice?
Her mom narrows her eyes on her, something cruel glinting in her gaze.
“Racing cars are fun to work on, but I take more pride in being there for my regular, hard-working, local clients. The work on the race cars helps us stay afloat and keep our prices down for the rest of the business,” I say, partly to change the topic.
“What type of rally cars?” her mom asks.
I open my mouth to answer, but Kiara beats me to it. “He’s done a bunch of Mini Coops.”
The Mini Coop . That would be a cool car for Kiara. And since she’s noticed them, that probably means she likes them. I make a mental note to be on the lookout for a good secondhand Mini I could entirely refurbish for her. In addition to something appropriate for her business.
“That’s interesting,” her mother is saying. “Kiara’s father was a big fan of the Lancia Stratos. He used to be a racer too. Might still be.”
Kiara stiffens. “Goes to prove, not all racers are dickheads.”