Chapter 19
NINETEEN
That night, family dinner is normal.
Hallie smiles at me.
She jokes with Madden.
She giggles with Wren.
She passes the butter.
She acts like I didn’t make good on my promise the night before and fuck her hoarse.
“I’ve rented a bunch of rooms up at the lodge in Killington next month for my birthday, and I’d love you all to come.
Wren told me you went last year and had a blast, and, well, I know I’m kind of new here, but Jesse and Madden, I know we talked about going snowboarding, so I figured we could make a weekend of it,” Adam says when we’re sitting in the den after dinner, and when I turn to Hallie, she gives me a small, knowing smile, not a hint of the usual shyness on her face that’s usually there when that trip is mentioned.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Madden says, pumping a fist. “I’m in. But I’m not rooming with Jesse.”
“I’ve already told him that is the sure-fire way to have a miserable trip,” Wren says.
“Everyone gets their own room. Hallie, I already talked to Colton, and he’s coming.”
“So is Nat!” Wren says with a wide, excited look, and I realize now she’s probably been planning this for a week at least. It’s another check in Adam’s pros column, because somehow, the man is willing to spend his birthday getting his girlfriend’s favorite people all together and footing the bill.
“We already agreed to watch Emma, so you’re free to go, Jesse,” Mom says. I shrug, eyes locked on Hallie.
“I’m in,” she says, looking at Wren.
“Me too,” I say, continuing to watch her.
It’s as if not only last night didn’t happen, but like none of it happened, as if one night truly did get me out of her system.
I fucking hate it.
By the time Hallie, Emma, and I walk home, I feel like I may have imagined it all. We drop Hallie off first, and she smiles, hugging Emma and then me before telling me she’ll get Emma off the bus like she did every day last week.
It’s all totally fucking normal.
All I can do is think about her. What she sounded like, what she felt like. What she fucking tasted like.
I’m going insane. Absolutely fucking insane.
That night, I tell myself it’s because she’s the first woman I’ve fucked in a long time.
I tell myself it’s because I can still hear her moaning my name if I close my eyes.
I tell myself it’s because there are still scratches on my back from her nails.
I tell myself a lot of things that night, trying to convince myself I’m okay with just one night.
But when I fall asleep in the sheets that smell like her, I still don’t believe it.
Monday, I find myself finishing my work quicker than usual, heading home around four instead of my usual five o’clock.
I tell myself it’s because it’s after the holidays and I have less to do.
Still, I know there’s a list a mile long of things that need doing around the farm, things that need checking, and a dozen things I should be doing to continue preparing for the rough winter that’s predicted to come over the next two months.
But it’s much easier to say that than to admit I want to get home to see Hallie and watch her interact with my kid.
And if I did say that, it would have nothing to do with Hallie. It’s just that I rarely get to see Emma interact with people who aren’t her direct family. Watching Emma and Hallie gives me hope that I’m actually raising a good kid, like Hallie said, instead of a chaotic gremlin who
When I step into the mudroom, I kick the seat of the small bench, undo the laces on my boots, then kick them off and remove my jacket. I toss my hat in a bin along with my gloves and follow the sound of giggles and laughter into the kitchen.
“Hey, girls,” I say, and both sets of eyes pop up to me, surprised smiles over their faces.
And with it, all of the stress of the day fades away because right now, this is all that matters.
After dinner, I walk Hallie home while Emma finishes up some homework she forgot about. We’re silent on the way there, and I mentally take note of a few places I need to salt better. If she insists on wearing those shitty shoes, then I need to make sure it’s safe for her.
“Tomorrow work?” I ask when we get to the door. A blush pinkens her cheeks in a way I don’t understand. At least, not until she speaks.
“It should be. I have that, uh, coffee date at one.” My body stills. “But it should be done by two, and I’ll have plenty of time to get back here and get Emma off the bus.”
“Oh, well, uh,” I start, running a hand through my hair, suddenly unsure of…everything. “If you can’t get her off the bus, it’s really no big deal—“
“No, I can. As I said, it’s just coffee. And it’s probably going to suck.”
I lift a shoulder, somewhat appeased.
“Who knows, it might be good,” I say quickly, and she hesitates, looking over my face and shrugging a shoulder of her own.
“Maybe. Either way, I should be able to get her off the bus.”
I nod, because what else can I do?
“Okay. Sounds good. Just, uh…let me know if something comes up. Mom can get her, or I can, no problem.”
She nods, then opens her door, gives me a wave and a thank you for walking her home, before disappearing inside.
When the door closes behind her, it feels like it’s being slammed in my face.
I tell myself it’s fine.
I tell myself it’s just one date.
I remind myself that I practically insisted she go on it.
And most of all, I tell myself it doesn’t matter, because it could never work between us.
But when I drive past her house at one fifteen the next day and see her car isn’t out front, my stomach drops to my feet, and I still don’t believe it.
On Tuesday, my mind races all day, wondering how her date went. I fight the urge a dozen times not to text her or even drop in at her place to ask, not wanting to give in to the voice in my head. I tell myself I won’t, but the first chance I get, I ask her about the date.
“How’d that date go?” I ask as I load dishes into the dishwasher while Emma gets ready for a shower. Once more, Emma insisted Hallie stay for dinner, and once more, I didn’t argue.
“Oh,” she starts, a blush burning her cheeks, and my chest tightens. “It, uh, it was pretty good, actually. I was surprised. We have a lot in common.”
“That’s good,” I say, suddenly very interested in organizing the dinner dishes in the machine, separating forks and spoons into their own segments. It’ll make unloading easier, of course.
“Yeah, I think we’re going to meet up at The Mill on Friday and get some drinks with Adam and Wren.”
I force my hands to continue their task, with no hesitation that she might notice.
Inside, I’m fighting back an internal crisis as I realize the woman I can’t stop thinking about is going on a second date with some asshole who definitely doesn’t deserve her.
Outside, I’m just Jesse King, organizing silverware. Nothing to see here.
Like the saving grace she is, before I have to say anything else, Emma comes into the kitchen to ask if she can have dessert, and Hallie takes that as her cue to leave.
“I’ll walk you home,” I say, and she shakes her head.
“No, no, it’s all good. I’ve got it.”
“My mom—” I start, attempting the argument that’s worked in the past, but knowing it’s probably no use.
“Like I said the last time you tried that, your mom would understand not leaving an eleven-year-old in a house alone to walk me one hundred yards. I’ll be fine.
” The knife twists at the idea of not being able to steal those extra minutes, but what can I do?
Arguing would look suspicious, and something tells me if I push too hard—if Hallie gets even the tiniest whiff that I might not be okay after our weekend together—this entire thing might implode.
So I nod.
“At least text me when you get inside.” She gives me a mock salute, and despite the dread in my heart, I smile before she wishes Emma and me goodnight and heads out. Minutes later, I get a text from her.
H: Made it home safe and sound.
J: I’m glad. Thanks for humoring me.
H: Always.
That night, I tell myself one successful date doesn’t mean anything.
I tell myself that it was just coffee.
I tell myself that she isn’t making dinner for him and his kid.
But the tiny, cruel voice in my head whispers, yet.
On Thursday, a storm hits Holly Ridge, and Emma has the day off, and Hallie shows up bright and early to watch her.
I barely have time to talk to her before I have to head out, but I get plenty of texts throughout the day from both Emma and Hallie about their shenanigans.
I eat a quick lunch and dinner out on the road and don’t make it home until after eight.
“Surprise!” Emma shouts excitedly when I walk in the door. “Come on! We have to show you!” She grabs my hand and tugs me past a smiling Hallie into the dining room, decorated for a birthday. I’m very confused. My birthday is in July, and Emma’s is next month.
“I…” I stare, looking around, and then see a chocolate cake on the table. Or, half of a chocolate cake.
“Happy half-birthday!” Emma shouts.
“A half birthday?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s your half-birthday today,” Hallie answers low. I stare at her for a moment, trying to pin the date and do math, and I realize she’s right: it is my half-birthday. “Half birthdays are very important to celebrate.”
It’s so incredibly Hallie to celebrate half-birthdays.
“How did you know it was my half-birthday?”
“I know everyone’s half birthday. I usually just grab a cookie or something from the bakery and hand-deliver it, but Emma wanted to celebrate and try her hand at baking. She made it all herself. I just helped with getting it in and out of the oven.”
I look to my daughter, who smiles at me with so much pride it hurts my heart. “Really?”
She nods excitedly.