Chapter 11 #2
“Look at you!” Maren says, holding Lark at arm’s length. “That outfit is stunning. Seriously, you look like the star you are.”
“Thanks,” Lark says, smiling. “And look at you! You’re absolutely glowing. Tell me everything about the honeymoon. I want to see all the pictures.”
“I have like three hundred to show you,” Maren grins. “Greece was incredible.”
Calvin appears from the kitchen. “Hey, you two made it,” he says warmly, pulling me into a quick hug and clapping me on the back before turning to Lark. “Good to see you, Lark.”
“You too,” Lark says with a smile. “So you loved Greece?”
“It was life-altering,” Calvin says. “Absolutely incredible. Best two weeks of my life.” He nods toward Maren. “Mostly because of her.”
“I’m so happy for you guys,” Lark says.
We follow them through the house, and I watch Lark take it all in with obvious appreciation.
Theo’s place really is something special—open and airy with huge windows that look out over the Sound.
It’s the kind of home that feels lived-in and comfortable despite being beautifully decorated. Very Theo.
Dominic and Alex are in the middle of some heated debate by the windows overlooking the water.
“Hey, look what the cat dragged in,” Alex says, breaking away from Dominic to clap me on the shoulder. “About damn time you showed up. We’ve only hung out twice since you’ve been home, which is a crime against brotherhood. I can’t believe you’re spending more time at the gym with Dom than with me.”
“That’s on you,” I laugh, giving Alex a light shove. “You’re too busy being a psycho perfectionist chef to spend time fucking around Dark River with your baby brother.”
“Artist, I prefer the term artist,” Alex corrects dramatically. “Cooking is my canvas. Food is my medium.”
“Your canvas is pretentious as hell,” I reply, punching his arm lightly, making him laugh.
Dominic comes over, giving me one of his characteristically firm handshakes that could probably crush steel. “Jack. Good to see you. Lark’s been kicking serious ass at the gym lately, by the way. Her form on the heavy bag is really good.”
“So I hear,” I say, glancing over at Lark, who’s now talking animatedly with Maren about something on her phone, both of them laughing.
“Uncle Jack!”
I turn just in time to see Chloe racing toward me at full speed, markers and paper clutched in her little hands. I catch her easily as she launches herself at me, swinging her up onto my hip.
“Hey, monster,” I say, tapping her nose gently. “What are you drawing?”
“A race car,” she says proudly, shoving the paper directly toward my face. “It’s for you! See the flames? It’s super fast. The fastest car ever.”
“My favorite kind of car!” I examine the blue scribble with orange flames shooting out the back with complete seriousness, like I’m studying technical blueprints.
“You know, monster, you’re so good at art, you might have to be both a Formula One driver and an artist. You’re just too talented for one career. ”
She nods seriously. “Yes, it’s very stressful to be so good at too many things.”
I throw my head back laughing, caught completely off guard by her deadpan delivery. “That’s a tough cross to bear, kiddo.”
Chloe wiggles to be put down and returns immediately to her artwork, tongue sticking out in concentration. Lark returns from what must have been a quick tour of the house with Maren and our eyes meet across the room. Something electric passes between us that makes my breath catch.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Theo announces. “Everyone to the table.”
The dining room is a large, solid table Theo built himself, positioned perfectly to capture the stunning view of the Sound through floor-to-ceiling windows.
“This is beautiful,” Lark says, taking it all in. “You guys really know how to do family dinner right.”
“Alex is the culinary mastermind,” Calvin says, pulling out Maren’s chair. “Theo the front of the house genius. The rest of us just show up and eat whatever they put in front of us.”
“That’s not true,” Dominic protests. “I brought wine.”
“Buying a box on the way over doesn’t count as contributing,” Calvin teases.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Dominic insists, and everyone laughs.
Theo and Alex bring out platters of food—arugula salad with roasted beets and creamy goat cheese, perfectly cooked halibut with some kind of herb crust, and roasted root vegetables that remind me that fall is on its way.
Alex insists we open his special wine instead of drinking “Dominic’s corner store selection” with his carefully prepared halibut.
As soon as the first piece of fish is served, Theo’s gray-and-white cat, Nala, makes her entrance like she owns the place, tail high, circling the table with slow, deliberate steps.
She pauses at each chair, taking stock of the guests, the laughter, but mostly the scent of halibut drifting through the air.
When she reaches the spot closest to the platter, she glances up at it—just once—then looks away as if she couldn’t care less.
Theo always said she acts like a queen above mortal things, and now I see why.
As Nala settles onto the couch, dinner flows easily, conversation bouncing around the table—stories about the honeymoon, Chloe’s upcoming first day of school, Dominic’s plans to expand the gym, Alex’s new restaurant menu.
Lark fits in seamlessly, laughing at inside jokes, asking questions, charming every person at the table without even trying.
After dinner, we move out to the back deck. The sun has set, but the sky still holds a faint glow, turning everything a soft, hazy blue. String lights crisscross overhead, creating a warm, intimate atmosphere. From here, the view of the Sound is impressive, but I know there’s an even better spot.
“Want to see something cool?” I ask Lark as the others settle into comfortable conversation around the deck.
She nods, and I gesture toward a winding stone path that leads down toward the water’s edge, disappearing into the trees that line the property. “Theo built a gazebo down by the water. It’s got the best view.”
“Lead the way,” she says, stepping away from the railing.
We head down the path, out of sight from the deck above.
The stepping stones wind through Theo’s immaculate landscaping, each one lit by small solar lights guiding our way down the gentle slope toward the shoreline.
The sounds of conversation fade gradually behind us, replaced by the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the distant hum of boat engines on the Sound.
The gazebo sits at the edge of the property, through the trees, giving way to the natural rocky shoreline.
“Wow,” Lark breathes, stepping inside the gazebo and moving to the railing. “This view…”
“Yeah, Theo built this thing a few years back,” I say, joining her at the rail, close enough to smell her perfume. “After his divorce, actually. I think he needed something else to focus on after his marriage fell apart.”
We stand there quietly, both looking out at the water. She shifts slightly closer and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything. The minimal space between us. The soft curve of her lips that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
Before I can think better of it, before I can stop myself, I reach out and touch her face, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. But instead of pulling back like I should, my hand lingers, tracing the line of her jaw slowly, feeling her pulse quicken under my touch.
She looks up at me, those big brown eyes dark with something that makes my cock stir behind my zipper. I should stop. I should step back. This isn’t part of our deal, our arrangement.
Instead, I slide my hand to the nape of her neck, feeling the silky strands of her hair between my fingers as I grip her firmly. She doesn’t pull away. She leans into my touch, swaying toward me like gravity’s pulling her in, like she can’t help herself any more than I can.
“Jack…” she whispers, and my name on her lips is like a spark catching dry tinder.
I pull her closer, my other hand finding her waist, and her hands immediately fist in my shirt.
I dip my head, drawn to her by something I can’t fight anymore and don’t want to.
Our lips are so close I can feel her warm breath, can smell that perfume she wears that’s been driving me insane all night.
I want to pin her against this railing and hike that skirt up around her waist, fake relationship be damned.
My grip tightens in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to make her gasp. Her lips part, inviting me in, and I’m a heartbeat away from claiming her mouth with mine. I can see her pupils dilate, feel the way her body arches toward me, desperate for contact. Desperate for me.
“Uncle Jack! Lark! Daddy says it’s dessert time!”
Chloe’s voice shatters the moment completely. We spring apart so fast that Lark stumbles backward and I have to grab her arm to steady her. My heart’s pounding like I just finished a race, and Lark’s breathing fast, her cheeks flushed.
“Coming!” Lark calls back, but her voice cracks slightly. She clears her throat, tries again. “Be right there!”
We stand there as Chloe’s footsteps retreat back up the path, the sound of her shoes on stone fading. Neither of us says anything about what just almost happened. We both just start walking back to the house with at least three feet of careful distance between us.
Dessert is Alex’s chocolate mousse, which is one of my favorites, but I barely taste it.
Lark and I are trying so hard to act normal that we’re borderline being weird about it.
We contribute to conversation when directly spoken to, laugh at Chloe’s silly jokes, but that almost-kiss sits between us like a third person at the table that only we can see.
Finally, people start leaving. Dom has an early client at the gym tomorrow morning. Maren and Calvin need to get home to let their dog Laila out. Everyone’s hugging goodbye, making plans for next week, and then it’s just Lark and me walking to where I parked the bike.
The night air has cooled considerably, the crickets chirping loudly in Theo’s perfectly manicured lawn. Lark hugs her arms around herself as we walk down the driveway. Neither of us mentions what happened at the gazebo.
She climbs on the bike behind me, settling onto the seat with a careful distance that doesn’t last once the engine roars to life. Her arms slide around my waist, tentative at first, then tightening as we pull away from the curb. Every inch of her pressed against my back feels like fire.
As we wind through the roads back into Dark River, her thighs bracket mine, her chest against my back, hands splayed across my stomach. I try desperately to focus on the road, on the cool night air whipping past, on anything but the woman holding onto me.
She’s been through enough already. That asshole ex-husband of hers did a real number on her confidence, made her second-guess her music, her talent, herself. The last thing she needs is me complicating her life when she’s finally getting her shot at her dreams.
And what could I offer her anyway? I’m just passing through Dark River temporarily, waiting to get back to Europe.
Back to racing full time after fucking up my own contract.
I’ve never stayed anywhere long, with anyone.
She deserves better than a guy who ruins everything he touches, who can’t maintain a relationship longer than it takes to change a tire.
When I pull up to her building, the yellow security light casting harsh shadows across the parking lot, she climbs off the bike, smoothing her skirt. I kill the engine, and the silence feels heavy between us. She pulls off the helmet, shaking out her hair, and hands it back to me.
“Thanks for bringing me to dinner. Your family is great. Really great.” She shifts her weight, eyes darting around, looking everywhere but directly at me.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
She bites her lip, and I hold my breath, not sure if I want her to bring up what happened or not. Part of me hopes she will, just to clear the air and acknowledge it. A bigger part hopes she won’t, because I don’t trust myself to do the right thing if we actually talk about it.
“So, uh, goodnight. I’ll talk to you later,” she says instead, clearly deciding to pretend nothing happened.
“Goodnight,” I say, feeling both relieved and disappointed. Then she’s gone, disappearing inside before I can say something stupid that I can’t take back.
I sit on the bike for another long minute, engine off, trying to get my body under control. The almost-kiss keeps replaying on loop in my head. Her lips parting. My hand in her hair. How close we came to crossing a line we can’t uncross.
I drive home too fast, taking the corners aggressively, trying to burn off this energy coursing through me. The wind whips at my face, but it does nothing to cool the heat under my skin. The arrangement was supposed to be simple but nothing about this feels simple anymore.
September can’t come fast enough. Or maybe it’s coming too fast. I don’t know. All I know is I’m fucked. Because whatever this is—it sure as hell isn’t fake anymore.