11. Band of merry fucking meddlers
11
BAND OF MERRY FUCKING MEDDLERS
SEBASTIAN
T he sound of a chair scraping along the floor has me lifting my blurry gaze from the conference table we’ve set up in Beck’s home, and I find three sets of eyes staring at me.
Well, two staring and one glaring. I’ve learned that Beck Hayes has two modes, laid-back family man and takes-no-prisoners businessman.
I can’t say I blame him. It’s probably what people say about me. But lately, my mind has been stuck in the infirmary with Rowan last week, and this is not the time for my focus to splinter.
“You’ve taken care of the Nick problem in Boston, at least for now,” Elijah says to the group, wearing a toothy grin that’s a little too happy for my liking.
“And we’re working on the public image issue he’s attempting to create,” Beck grumbles.
“I also have most of the investors recommitted to moving forward once those image issues are resolved,” Alexei says. The shit-eating grin on his face makes me believe he can tell exactly where my mind has gone. “The recording of that douchebag was a nice touch.”
“I haven’t seen any issues with the merger.” Elijah’s face nearly splits in two when his clownish smile takes over his entire face. “But I have seen this sullen, pissed-off expression before. Recently actually. Does it look familiar to you, Beck?”
Beck tosses his pen onto the table. “I don’t play games, so here’s the deal. I’ve been where you are before, so if you’re in love with your nanny, tell us what you did wrong, and we’ll help you fix it before things spiral out of control.”
Affronted, I nearly leap from my chair, and then begin pacing like a caged tiger. “I’m not in love with my nanny, she hasn’t been here that long, and I didn’t do anything. It’s…complicated.”
“It usually is.” Beck sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in what I assume is annoyance. “Tell us what’s going on so we can get back to work.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he points a finger at me and shakes his head.
“I know firsthand how fucked up messy love can make a man. We’re in this together now, Sebastian, because if you go down, we go down. That means if there’s a crisis in your home life, there’s a crisis in ours.”
“I’m not in crisis. Rowan is a temporary nanny?—”
“Who you’ve had feelings for since you were twelve years old.” Alexei chuckles.
“You”—I point my own finger at him—“stay out of this.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but it’s obvious that he has absolutely no intention of staying out of it.
“Come on, Seb. Tell us your story,” Elijah urges, then reclines in his seat and runs his thumbs under the bright yellow suspenders he’s wearing today. Even at the beach, this guy is wearing suspenders. I’m not sure if I should laugh or get him an appointment with a personal stylist.
Since we’re not going to move on from this until I tell them something, a shortened version of how we met as kids is probably the way to go. But once I open my mouth, it all spills out, every memory I have of her right up until the sexually charged night in the infirmary.
When I’ve finished, everyone’s faces have glazed over. They’re not even blinking. Did I bore them to sleep?
Beck is the first to come to. When he clears his throat, the other two blink as though they have sand in their eyes.
“Okay, well that’s…” He shakes his head. “That’s quite the history. And you haven’t seen or heard from her since you were a teenager?”
“No. Well, Pappy always gives me updates, but I’m not a fucking pervert or a stalker. We were kids—friends, and I didn’t feel this way about her then, at least I don’t think I did. She was always fucking sad. It made my stomach hurt to see her that way, even when I was just a kid myself.”
“And how do you feel about her now?” Alexei asks with a serious tone he doesn’t use often.
Tugging on the ends of my hair, I shake my head and fall back into my chair. “I don’t know.”
“You’re not going to get anywhere until you figure out what you fucking want,” Beck says harshly.
“Do you want her?” Elijah asks.
I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, trying to arrange my wild thoughts. “I want my children to be happy. I want them to feel safe. I want to be a great dad and protect them from any more pain.”
“That’s what you want for your kids, and I commend that,” Beck says patiently. “But what do you want?”
“That’s the thing. My children will always come first, and what they need may not align with what I want.”
“Why?” Beck asks. He’s calmer than I expected he’d be at a commandeered business meeting.
“Because my children need security and stability, and what I want, who I want, lives her life in temporary situations. Rowan is always searching for an end date.”
“So, give her one.” Alexei rubs his jaw with his thumb, and I can almost envision the dumb fucking idea taking root in his mind.
He looks at Elijah, who shrugs and turns to Beck.
Beck shrugs. “It might work.”
“What might work?” They’re making me dizzy.
“Give her an end date that keeps extending.” Elijah is obviously proud of this plan, but I’m even more confused.
“What makes you think that she, the woman who moves across the country yearly, and never takes permanent positions anywhere, is going to accept an extension?”
“We don’t,” they say in unison.
“But if she accepts the first one, she might be more likely to accept the next one. And, if we get the town involved, she’ll be rooted here before she even realizes what’s happened.” Beck actually smiles. “It happened with my wife. Trust me, this town has a way of wrapping their limbs around even the most stubborn people.”
“This all sounds a little…I don’t know, high-handed and disaster-ish?”
“Do you have a better plan?” Alexei asks.
When I don’t answer, he changes tactics. “Is seeing where things can go with Rowan worth it?”
The word “yes” flies from my mouth with absolutely no thought, filter, or planning.
“Then it’s worth a try, right?” Elijah asks.
I lean back in my chair and scan each of their faces.
“This is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous business meeting I’ve ever had. I came to discuss floorplans and building strategy, and instead, I got Prince Charming’s band of merry fucking meddlers.”
Elijah and Alexei high-five each other while Beck drops his head against his chair to stare at the ceiling.
“There are worse things we could be called.” Elijah laughs. “Now that we’ve got a plan, let’s bust out these floorplans so Prince Charming can head back to his castle on the beach.”
My groan vibrates through my veins. I might not survive this shit show.
I wouldn’t say Rowan’s been avoiding me for the last few days, but it does feel as though she’s actively running from me. Which I admit is highly impressive, considering we live in the same house. That’s put to a stop when we’re both called to Leo’s office to meet his new camp director, Maria DeLuca.
“Pappy’s doing arts and crafts with the kids at the pavilion,” she says without looking at me. She’s standing against the wall of the office giving off don’t fuck with me vibes.
“Good afternoon, Rowan. How are you, Rowan? It’s good to see you, Rowan.” Jesus. I’ve reverted to a teenaged asshole, except I wasn’t even this prickly when I was fifteen.
“Good afternoon, Sebastian,” she hisses. “I’m fine, how are you? It’s good to see you as well.” I think she’ll end it there, but I should know to expect the unexpected with her. That fire that sizzles inside of her won’t allow her to back down. “Although I also saw you this morning, and twice yesterday, so it’s not as if it’s been years since we’ve spoken.”
I’m smiling so broadly my lips are dry. My tongue runs along the corner of my mouth, and her gaze follows the motion. I swear her reaction causes my stomach to tighten and desire to swirl through my veins. Leaning in so only she can hear me, I whisper, “This time, Peach. It hasn’t been years, this time.”
She scrunches up her nose and purses her lips into an angry scowl, then uses two fingers to push me back a step.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Pappy, and I can tell you that I’ve never seen him so at peace. He loves being with you every day, Peach.”
Some of the ice leaves her features. “He’s probably the only person I’ve ever missed.”
That one sentence gives me hope in the harebrained scheme the merry fucking meddlers came up with.
“Well, hello.” Lottie drags out the word hello like a Broadway performer. “You two are awfully cozy. Again.”
Rowan shoots eyeball daggers at her friend.
“Anyway,” Leo says, clearing his throat. “This is Tabby, my fiancée, and our son, Ryker.” A small woman with a baby strapped to her chest and flour dusting her cheek steps forward with a wave. Her dress is a patchwork of uncoordinated colors, and she’s wearing a rainbow apron beneath the sleeping baby.
We share greetings, then refocus on Leo. “And this is Maria. She’s our new camp director, and she’ll be taking over all our needs for the next few weeks while she prepares for a full July session. I’ll be in and out, working on refurbishing various parts of the camp and running yoga sessions on the beach. You have my number should anything come up, but Maria will be your point of contact for the nanny mixer.”
Tabby dances on her toes. “And we’re having a sand dance tonight, so you have to come.” She clasps her hands under her chin, and her happiness bounces off her as she continues brightly. “Bella Moonbeam, she’s my friend. Well, she’s everyone’s friend. She’s the town party planner and the sweetest human on the planet. Anyway, she pulled this one off at the request of Beck and Elijah which is just, gah, it’s so nice of them. They don’t usually get involved in these. So basically, that means you all have to come. Okay? Great. I’ll see you all there.”
She bounces out of the office. Did she even breathe through that entire spiel?
“She’s, ah, excitable,” Leo says affectionately.
“She’s lovely,” Rowan says with her eyes pinned straight ahead.
Just to test her, I step forward so I’m in her peripheral vision and grin. She can’t ignore me, no matter how hard she tries.
“It’s nice to meet you, Maria.” Rowan steps forward and shakes the woman’s hand.
Rowan steps back, and I repeat the greeting, returning to stand a little closer to Rowan.
Lottie and Maria discuss some things about her date-a-nanny event—I mean, her hire -a-nanny event—and I take the opportunity to speak quietly with Rowan.
I don’t necessarily intend to crowd her space, but when she takes a step back, I follow until she’s pressed against the wood paneling.
“Sebastian,” she says through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”
“I’m saying hello to my friend.”
She narrows her eyes and screws up her lips. “I know what you’re doing, but I’m your nanny. Your temporary nanny, not your friend.”
I dramatically clutch my chest. “Rowan Ellis, I’ve known you since you were eight years old. Are you saying you won’t be my friend?”
Her nose twitches, reminding me of a baby bunny, and she twists the pink and black bracelets she’s always wearing around her wrist. Something partially hidden by her bracelet catches my attention, and I pull her hand up high.
A vision of pinning her naked to the wall floods my mind, and I bite back a groan.
When I push down the beads, the air in my lungs turns to cement. A sea of memories washes over me while I gently rub my thumb over the tiny tattoo on her wrist.
“It’s a peach,” I say, dumbfounded. The words are a guttural sound I have no control over.
She shrugs. “It’s just a tattoo.”
“Just a tattoo?” My throat rumbles with the words. “Does anyone else call you Peach?”
“No. It’s a tattoo, nothing more.”
“When did you get it?”
“When I turned eighteen.”
She won’t look at me, but a smile erupts across my face, and the emotions I’ve been holding at bay break free.
She didn’t forget me.
“You see, Peach. I think that this tattoo proves that we are, in fact, friends and always have been.”
“You’re reading too much into this,” she says, attempting to pull her hand away, but her gaze darts around the room as though she’s guilty and needs an escape.
“Are you trying to tell me that this tattoo has nothing to do with me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she hisses, but she can’t hide the truth in her brown eyes.
“You’re a terrible liar, Peach. But I’ll wait for you to tell me about it on your own.” I release her wrist, and she quickly covers the tattoo with her bracelet.
“What do you want?” she whispers.
The thing is, I have no idea what I want, and the revelation of her tattoo has my mind spinning, so I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Dance with me at the sand dance.”
Her jaw comes unhinged, and she begins tapping the black bracelet.
“I like those,” I say, reaching out and pressing my thumb to her wrist again, right above the tattoo. “You wear them a lot.”
Confusion has never looked more beautiful than it does on her pretty face.
“The pink one is a reminder to love yourself and the black one absorbs negative energy,” she mutters.
“You believe in crystals but not Pappy’s ideas on destiny?”
Her hands fall to her hips. My little warrior is coming out to play. “Who do you think gave me these?” she asks, holding her wrist in front of my face.
“Sounds like something he’d do.” I tilt closer to her. “So, will you dance with me?”
“Are you seriously asking me to a dance like we’re in high school?”
Suddenly, it feels imperative that that is exactly what we do. “I am.”
“I’m not going,” she fires back.
“Oh, you’re going,” Lottie calls over her shoulder. How the hell did she even hear us?
Rowan flips her friend off, but Lottie laughs while Rowan grabs me by the sleeve and drags me outside and around the corner of the building.
She faces me with her arms crossed over her chest, fire in her eyes, and her toe tapping aggressively against the dirt.
I tap my middle finger against my thigh in sync with her toe just to have another thread connecting us.
“I. Am. Not. Going. To. The. Sand. Dance.”
“Why not, Rowan? When’s the last time you were properly asked to dance?”
“Never.” Poison laces every syllable. “I never went to a dance. I wasn’t allowed, and when you run away and become homeless, by choice, at sixteen, there’s not too many people asking you to dance.”
Shock and fear show in her eyes while she rolls her lips in to keep herself from saying any more.
“You were homeless? At sixteen?” That knowledge slices my throat wide open, making speech painful.
“Just drop it, okay? And don’t you dare talk to Pappy about it. Not a word.”
Involuntarily, my hand rises. I watch it as if I have no control over its movements until it cups her cheek. My body releases tension that’s been there since the last time I touched her.
She is perfection, and when she melts into my touch, even for the briefest second, nothing else seems to matter but her and this connection.
“I’m so sorry.” I take a step closer, and she tries to lower her face, to break the thread tying us together, but I shake my head. “I’m sorry that so much of your childhood died with your father.”
“Sebastian, don’t.” Her voice is whisper-soft. The words barely touch the air. “Please don’t.”
The pain that etches each word solidifies a decision that’s out of my control. It’s the only option—I want to erase all the heartache that makes this woman run from every good thing life has to offer. I want to show her that even when things break, it doesn’t mean they’re broken forever. And I need to show her that not all families hurt—that not all families turn their backs when you’re suffering—to show her what it means to be loved, truly loved.
“There’s a very good chance I’m going to get hurt here, Peach. But I’m okay with it if it means a little bit of happiness.”
She shakes her head free, but her chin trembles.
“I’m sorry that life has shown you the worst sides of humanity. I’m sorry that you’ve never had someone to trust. And I’m really fucking sorry I didn’t kick your stepfather’s ass when I had the chance.”
At least that makes her choke on a giggle.
“What do you want, Seb? Don’t you see it’s not your place to apologize? Nothing in my life has anything to do with you.” It’s a plea that calls to the injured pieces of my soul.
She’s wringing her hand around those beads at her wrist, and I reach out, pulling it to me, holding it hostage while my thumb runs light circles over her tiny tattoo. Her pulse thrums rapidly beneath my finger.
This simple touch rocks the foundation of my world.
“My life has always had something to do with yours,” I say gently. “I knew it the first time I met you, but I felt it that day you sang that fucking lullaby that’s haunted me for years. That’s when I recognized what the ache in my chest was. I was just too young and stupid to do anything about it. I didn’t know what it meant before, but I do now. So I want you to keep an open mind and come to the dance with me tonight.”
“I can’t.”
Leaning away from her, I hook her chin with my pointer finger and lift her face to mine. “You can’t or you won’t?”
“Does it matter?” she whispers.
“More than I can explain. Tell me why.”
Her eyes close and she steps back, tugging her wrist free in the process, and I swear the earth moves with her.
“Because.” She dips her chin and kicks at a rock on the ground. “I don’t know how to be part of a group, okay? Getting through camp with fourteen fathers, twenty-four kids, and thirty-six other nannies is going to be hard enough, but I’ll be working. My role will be clearly defined, and I understand what I’m supposed to do and what I’m supposed to say. The sand dance is a free-for-all, and I just can’t. It’s too much, okay?”
I nod, unsure how to respond to that. She’s isolated herself more than I realized.
“Then promise me two things,” I plead.
Her weight shifts from foot to foot. “I can’t promise anything.”
I chuckle, and it’s a sad sound—the lone trombone that’s out of key in an orchestra of perfect harmony. “Then try to do two things. One, answer your door when I knock tonight, and two, remember it’s only one father you have to worry about next week. The rest of it’s on Lottie, and I have no doubt she can handle it. Your job, for the next few weeks, is me.”
“You mean your kids,” she clarifies.
“Sure.” I smirk. “My kids.” Stuffing my hands in my pockets so I don’t reach for her again, it still takes all my willpower to turn my back and walk away. “Oh, and Peach?” I ask over my shoulder, turning enough to catch her expression. “How’s your ass?”
Frustration bursts free, and she stomps her foot while shaking out her hands. “It’s just fine, no thanks to you.”
Well, fuck me. She turned those tables quickly.
“I’ll have to see what I can do about that next time.” I walk away with a newfound purpose, one that leaves me feeling lighter and happier than ever before.