Chapter 21
[Trinity]
Once Dart and I have chicken dinners in Styrofoam containers and beers in bottles, we make our way to the grassy section along River Street. Dart spreads out a light blanket I had in the basket of the stroller, and we settle on it, each with our own thoughts at first.
When we saw Spencer Reid earlier, I didn’t know how to explain why I went out with him.
Maybe deep down inside, I knew it would hurt Dart if he ever found out.
That it might sting to know I’d gone out with someone Dart disapproved of.
The date was innocent enough. One drink.
Which ended with one kiss that was too wet and tasted like too much whiskey.
Spencer Reid is a horrible kisser, and I instantly regretted my actions.
It’d been a good reminder that I wasn’t over my ex-husband.
I don’t think I’ll ever be over Dart Rivers.
We’ve looked like a couple today. A family, maybe. All the back-touching and forehead-kissing. Dart was putting on quite a show, but I didn’t think it was an act. He was behaving like he would have behaved had we not fallen apart.
He was always physically attentive, until we were not.
And Tate needed to get over himself with the protective attitude.
He’d been a constant tormentor when we were children and not much better as an adult, so it was surprising that he’d been upset once he found out Dart and I had been hooking up.
He’d warned me about Dart’s manwhore ways and tried to steer me away from his friend.
Equally shocking was how upset Tate had been about Dart leaving me.
Seeing Cort and Clint had been even harder. The hurt in Clint’s eyes and the questions in Cort’s. Neither understood Dart’s sudden decision to leave Haven Exteriors. Dart hadn’t only quit our marriage, he’d quit their business even though they considered him family.
Dart was the one who never felt like he was good enough. Then in the next breath, he’d vow to me that he’d spend his entire life trying to be enough.
Love was so complicated. Our current position proves it.
I’m sitting here with my ex-not-ex-husband, who has been gone for three years, but not forgotten by any of us. He’s not a blip in my memory, but someone I’ve felt present every day in one way or another.
Replaced, Dart said about his friendship with Tate.
The heaviness in the word gave me a glimpse of Dart’s perspective. Perhaps he felt he was replaceable. With Tate. Within my brothers’ company. With me. Which was the farthest thing from the truth.
He’d let people down, but they were still family. His family.
“That Ruby James is a cutie,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah, she’s adorable but can be a spitfire.”
Dart arches one brow. “Must run in the family.”
I snort. Dart already knows how hard it was when Clint brought Ruby James home. A daughter he didn’t know he had. A child he hadn’t ever wanted, but instantly loved, like I love Mirabelle. Still, it’d been hard to look at them. Difficult to appreciate he’d gotten all I ever wanted.
I glance at Mirabelle. We’ve taken her out of the stroller and laid her on the blanket. She has baby sunglasses over her eyes and a wide-brimmed hat on her head, and she scoots her head like she hates them both.
“How come you told my brother you were retired from racing?”
Dart’s brows lift. “Well, I guess I am.”
“Are you?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. Curious but not enthusiastic. It’s not like I want Dart to quit something he loves. I just know that it will take him away again. And I shouldn’t risk Mirabelle’s heart or mine if he’s going to leave soon.
“After the accident,” he begins, squinting in the sunshine. “I had a huge fight with my manager, Max.”
Max Larsen. I vaguely remember the name, but I know he’s the one who recruited Dart. Told him he had potential.
“He told me to take a break. Heal. Maybe I could come back next season.”
I chew my lip, holding back that the situation is exactly as I thought. Next season.
“They thought my head wasn’t in the race anymore.” He slowly lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Might have been a nice way of saying I was too old.”
The irony is that Dart convinced me he wasn’t too old when he left.
Starting a racing career at forty-one, who does that?
He’d had examples. He wanted to do it, try it.
He was practically buzzing with excitement, with the possibility, with the change.
It wasn’t about the money, although it would certainly have been a hit to our dual income.
He used the Chevy Camaro he fixed up as collateral.
I’d been resentful. I hadn’t expected to be alone in my grief. But, in hindsight, I realize how alone Dart felt as well. How grief affected him.
I glance at Mirabelle.
I hadn’t expected to be alone in my happiness either. I always pictured Dart beside me in either scenario.
“Are you too old?” I ask because I am curious. Does his age matter?
He squints toward the river. “I don’t think so. I think they just wanted me to take time to figure out what I wanted.”
I don’t dare ask him what that is. Racing? Or me? It wasn’t an ultimatum.
Dart and I weren’t on shaky ground, but I wouldn’t say we were solid either.
“How long do you have?” I ask, picking at my dress. “Before you need to make a decision.”
He chuckles without humor. “I guess I have until the next season. Or at least November, when this one ends.”
November is months from now. We’d just graduated into summer. Could I handle getting close to him and then have to watch him leave again? I didn’t know.
Dart clears his throat and opens a dinner container, stuffed with barbecue chicken, coleslaw, and a roll.
“So, tell me about this book your mom gave you,” he says, changing the subject.
My mom. Bless her.
“You know my mom. She’s always handing out books.
” Like advice. “She’s part of her own club now.
They call themselves The Blooming Garden.
People think it’s a garden club, but it’s really a group of older women, most of them widowed, who talk about romance and sex.
They got the idea from watching Bridgerton. ”
“Ah, Bridgerton,” Dart says, giving me a knowing glance. His cheeks are pink, and I don’t think it’s from the sunshine. He’s recalling when I nearly attacked him on the couch weeks ago.
“So, the book is about being DTF, huh?” His mouth curls, his eyes brightening.
I snort. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t have to happen.” I take a swig of beer. It’s so hot out here all of a sudden. And our eyes connect.
Dart arches a brow. Doesn’t it?
My face heats as my mind flits back to our position on the couch. Me over him. Him beneath me. So hard. So eager.
Maybe I just need to get Dart out of my system. Maybe I need one final farewell fuck, and then I can let him go.
Mirabelle fusses on the blanket. The glasses have slid off-kilter. Her hat nearly covers her face.
Dart chuckles and picks her up, tucking her to his chest so she faces me. “You eat first.” He nods toward the container he opened.
Then he lifts Mirabelle higher, blowing raspberries on her belly and making her smile at him. I witness pure joy in his eyes. The way they lighten when he looks at her. The way they soften. He loves her. And she loves him.
And it’s all so dangerous.
Because I’m pretty certain I can never let Dart go again.
Blossoming summer evenings take longer to shift from day to dusk, but eventually Mirabelle needs to go home. She’s had a long afternoon. She needs a bath, and I need a cold shower.
Dart’s attention on me and with Mirabelle has just been too much. Or maybe it was the second beer I had that made me all hot and bothered.
It’s still earlyish, but I want to maintain the bedtime routine I have established for Mirabelle, so we collect our things and head toward The Babbling Bean’s booth. I want to say goodnight to Mom before we leave.
As we’re standing by her booth, giving her a minute to finalize a sale, a voice I haven’t heard in a long time comes through the speakers in the gazebo.
“Hello, all you gorgeous Rogue River people.”
Heads turn. Cheers erupt. Another prodigal son has returned. Jon Pettington. Petty.
Dart told me Petty was back, but I haven’t seen the phenom drummer-turned-superstar since his return. Even as he’s aging, he still looks like Adonis with a goofy grin and laughter in his throat. He sits on a low stool, casually holding a guitar on his lap while speaking into the microphone.
“It’s good to be back in Rogue River,” he continues. “And a very persuasive town council member asked me to play a set.”
He pauses as people clap their approval.
“I’d like to start the night with a request. Something special for a special couple.” He plucks at his guitar.
The initial chords are unfamiliar. I was not aware that Petty could play the guitar or that he could sing. Makes sense because he was in a famous band, but I’ve only ever known him to play drums.
As he sings the first line, his sultry, deep voice waves over the crowd.
Dart turns towards me, a mischievous smile on his face. “Dance with me.”
I’m holding Mirabelle, so I say, “I don’t know.”
But Mom comes out of nowhere, slipping her arms between me and Mirabelle, and taking her from me.
“Sounds like fun,” she mutters before peppering Mirabelle with kisses while she steals her away.
I glance at Dart, who holds out his hand.
“Everyone will be watching us,” I state. No one else is dancing right now.
“And see what?” Dart chuckles. “Me dancing with my wife? Let them look.” He steps closer to me. “They’re all jealous that you’re with me.”
I laugh, hesitation tickling my throat. “You’re so ridiculous.”
“And that’s what you love about me.”
We both freeze. His eyes wide. Mine mirroring his.
“I mean . . .” Dart swipes the hand he extended to me through his hair.
“I know what you meant,” I tease, sticking out my hand. “I haven’t danced in a long time. I might be rusty.”
He takes my hand and tugs me closer. “We can be rusty together.”
“Thought race car drivers didn’t like rust,” I tease again, the joke coming out shaky because I’m suddenly nervous to be in Dart’s arms. It isn’t that we are in public. It’s that I’ll be so close to him.
Hand in his. Chest to chest. Hips to hips.
He slides one hand around my back, pressing me even closer. My breasts brush against his warm T-shirt. He bends a knee, forcing me to follow his lead. And our hips move in tandem. The rhythm is familiar. His hold . . . like he’ll never let me go.
I’m a little stiff, so Dart takes my hand and sets it around his neck. He slips his now free hand to my hip. We feel even closer. His heart races beneath my other hand. The back of his neck is damp. His forehead is almost against mine.
“Hold onto me, Forever,” he whispers, his breath brushing my lips.
“I don’t want people to think I’m clinging to you.” The words come out in a rush. A river of panic. Not that I care what people think, but I don’t want to look like I’m clinging to the man who broke my heart.
Dart stills. He lifts my chin and meets my eyes. “Then let me cling to you.”
He scoops his hand around my back again while the other one slips around my nape. We look like we’re embracing more than dancing. Dart picks up that subtle sway again and hums in my ear, emphasizing certain words in the tune.
Home. Never leaving. Love.
“Dart,” I whisper, finding I’ve melted against him, becoming one with him.
The bounce of our hips. The jut of our knees. The heat of our chests.
His fingers dig into my short hair, and my nose runs along the collar of his T-shirt.
I lower one hand for a belt loop on his hip. His hand spans my back.
We cling to one another.
Before I know it, the song ends. People whistle and cheer for Petty’s performance, but Dart and I are in our own little bubble. The one we used to find even in a bar full of people or among our closest friends.
Just him and me.
It’s all I ever wanted.
He tips his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes, breathing in his familiar pine scent mingled with the heat of the day.
The hand on my back runs up my spine. A shiver reverses down it. My flesh pebbles. My limbs feel loose and heavy, relaxed.
Dart cups the sides of my neck, tipping back my head with his thumbs beneath my chin.
My mouth waters, anticipating a kiss like I did the other night against the fridge. My heart is beating so fast, it eclipses the next song Petty sings.
Then a throat clears next to me.
Turning my head, I gasp, “Mom.” I pull back from Dart, like we’ve been caught kissing on the sofa in a dark room after curfew. Only Dart doesn’t let me go. His hand still cups the back of my neck.
“Why don’t you let me take Mirabelle tonight?” She presses a kiss to Mirabelle’s head. “Give yourselves a break.”
I blink, the mist of Dart’s nearness clearing. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
I don’t dare look at Dart for some reason and continue my argument. “You’ve worked all day, and you still need to take down your booth.”
“Oh, I have help for that. Plus, I need some Mirabelle and Mimi time.” She peppers Mirabelle’s cheek with more kisses.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. Of course I trust Mom. She has an extra infant seat in her SUV and a portable crib at her house, plus a stock of diapers and a change of clothes.
Dart makes the decision for me, for us. He steps toward Mom and stamps a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Mary.”
Mom winks. “Go. Have fun. And breakfast tomorrow.” Then she rushes off with Mirabelle in hand, leaving me in a position I don’t trust.
Being alone with Dart.