CHAPTER 24
Valentina
T he corner lamp spreads a dim light through the room as Ethan strums his guitar and narrates a Bible story, encouraging the kids to repeat the words. While the guys and I sing along, most of the children, sprawled on the soft carpet around me, yawn in their dads’ arms.
I shift Ethan’s five-year-old to balance her weight on my lap while Eden sits beside me. My gaze flicks to Jason, the only one in a chair because of his injury. I catch him looking at me, but he shifts his focus to the mantel behind Ethan, pretending he hasn’t been watching me. The twins are squeezed on either side of his cushy chair, their eyes droopy but turned Ethan’s way. Despite the sofas behind Jason, the kids wanted to sit on the floor.
During dinner, I sat across from Jason, not intentionally, but that’s how it turned out. Every time our eyes met amid the passing of drinks and plates, I sensed a subtle exchange. Our hands brushed when I passed him a bowl of grilled brussels sprouts, and he murmured his thanks with a softness out of character for Grumps.
With Jason off dinner duty due to his injury, Liam took over. However, Liam pranked him by placing Bubble Wrap under the padding of Jason’s chair, which popped when Jason sat, drawing laughter.
“You’re all tired.” Ethan strums the final chord and sets the guitar by the fireplace.
As the dads help their kids to bed—Jason’s two-story beach house has seven bedrooms, enough for all his friends and their families—Eden asks me to read a chapter with her. After bidding the twins and several other kids good night and receiving hugs, I step back into the hallway to await Eden as she bids Jason good night in the boys’ room.
“I’ll come tuck you in,” Jason says.
“Val is going to tuck me in tonight,” Eden replies.
Propped up with ruffly pale-pink pillows on her bed, we write in our journals on her bed, then take turns reading the chapter of her new adventure book. It’s chapter six, and the girl’s on an adventure, slaying dragons along her journey in the woods, yet she’s terrified.
The beach photographs on the wall snag my attention. Although it’s a vacation home, the room is painted hot pink. Very true to Eden. Jason sure is a great dad to ensure that.
She slides under the covers. A yawn slips loose as she discusses the character in the book. “Courageous people are born that way. You can’t just become brave all of a sudden.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Courage and bravery are slightly different, but God can give them to us at the times we need.” I feather my fingers through her wispy hair. “Do you know the story of David and Goliath?”
“I heard it in Sunday school.”
“David wasn’t brave.” I twist her hair around my finger. “But he had faith God would enable him to fight the giant.”
Eden nods.
“No one is born brave. And courage isn’t the lack of fear but rather the choice to act despite it.” I release her hair and rest my palm on her shoulder. My hope is for her to be more confident before her teen years. “My mom always said, to be truly brave, you never let anyone trample over you.”
“You mean like fighting back?”
I cross my legs, my weight sinking into the bed when I shift to look into her curious blue eyes. “If that’s what it takes sometimes to chase off a bully like Goliath, then a fight is necessary.” Not that Eden has any bullies, but just in case, she’d better not go fighting her adversaries. “But God tells us to turn the other cheek. It can be hard to have that kind of self-control, but it’s the best solution.”
I snag one of those ruffled pillows, plant it on my lap, and brace my elbows on it. “My mom once forced me to hit a girl who was always taunting me after school.” I’m not sure why I share the personal story I’ll never forget from my childhood. “I think she was looking for a fight.”
“You got into a fist fight?” Those blue eyes widen.
The ruffles tickle my arms, or maybe something else makes me uncomfortable. I toss the pillow behind me and lean back on it. “It was my first and my last. I won, but I was so rattled.”
She chuckles. “I can’t imagine you fighting.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“At least you had your mom to guide you.” She presses her lips tight.
“And you have your daddy.”
“Sometimes there’s things I can’t tell my dad.” She scoops a stuffed pink elephant close to her. “I wish I had a mom to go shopping with and do things other girls do with their moms.”
“I know I’m not your mom, but if you ever need someone to shop with, I’m your person.”
“Thanks. Are you...” Her forehead creases, and she ducks her head. “Going to stay with us?”
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Even when I’m not your nanny anymore, you’re a part of my life now. I’ll come to visit.”
“That’s what Mom says, but she never comes.”
My throat catches, and my next words come out cracked. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I pat her hair back the way a mother would. “Regardless, just know you are strong, beautiful, and very loved.” She has to know there’s more love to receive than just from her mom. “God, your dad, your brothers... they love you. You are you. God made one Eden—unique, precious, beloved—and no one will ever take that away from you.”
I’d probably better revisit our gratitude theme for today about personal traits. “Remember, ‘You’re fearfully and wonderfully made.’”
“Psalm 139:14.”
“Now that we wrote and reflected on the three personal qualities we appreciate about ourselves, we have to embrace them.”
Tears slide down her cheek, and I trace my thumb over her soft face and wipe them away.
“I love my family, and I get mad when someone says something bad about them.” Just like her dad, she’s fiercely protective of her loved ones. She fidgets with the stuffed animal’s long trunk, relaying the traits she’d read me earlier.
“Now try to get some rest, okay?”
She nods.
“Good night, sweetheart.” I slide from the bed.
Then she bolts up and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “Thank you for reading with me.”
Something’s lodged in my throat, so I’ll sound like a broken record player if I speak. I squeeze her back.
Her breath warms my neck when she speaks. “I want to be brave and confident like you.”
Ha! I pat her back. “I’m the most cowardly of all, but I act brave.”
“Really?” She blinks at me.
“Really.” I nod, step back, and raise the covers for her to slip under again.
“Good night,” she whispers, then slides into bed.
I sit again and linger to compose myself, my chest heavy as I pick at a thread on her petal-soft pink comforter. I remain until her eyelids flutter shut. Her breathing is still shallow, but it’s time for me to leave. I reach for the night lamp. The click of the switch slices through the hush before I slip out of the room.
The hallway is quiet under the dim lights, but booming laughter reverberates from the guys downstairs in the living room. How nice that Grumps is surrounded by such supportive friends.
My bedroom is upstairs near the ones the children are using, while the guys are sleeping on the main level. It’s going to be a short stay. We arrived at ten today, and we leave tomorrow evening.
“Checkmate,” one of the guys says, but from the stairway, I can only see shadows through the dim lamplight. Instead of retreating to my temporary room, I walk through the kitchen, slide the glass doors closed behind me, and head for the porch railing.
The night has spread a vast starlit sky over the ocean. The serene backdrop calms my thoughts. Distant homes along the beach gleam, their lights twinkling like fallen stars.
I close my eyes and breathe in the sea air. Today’s memories replay before the door glides open behind me. My heart thrums, and I don’t have to open my eyes to know. I feel him step beside me, and I smell his intoxicating scent of a fresh shower. His presence lingers. I hate how I recognize his scent. Subtle, eucalyptus, it binds me like an ever-tightening rope. He’s quiet, and I don’t make the effort to speak either. He’s the one who came out here. Why is my heart so out of sorts, beating wildly now?
“Jason.” My thoughts escape aloud.
“How did you know it’s me?” His voice is a rasp, curious.
“I had a feeling.” A silence settles again, comfortable yet charged.
“You called me Jason.” I’ve called him Jason before. But he was vulnerable that night and must not have noticed. “Does that mean I’ve earned the non-grumpy name now?”
I smile into the darkness, mentally revisiting the night he showed up at my mom’s house. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“I thought you guys were playing chess.”
“Not me.” When I glance at him sideways, he turns his body to cock his hip against the rail, his full attention unnervingly on me. Everything about him is intense, from the sharp angles of his jaw to the smolder in his gaze—okay, it’s only moonlight I’m relying on, but I know how his gaze makes me feel. “Resilience, patience, and reliability,” he says. “Some of the traits I like about you.”
“I thought we—”
“I know today we’re supposed to record our own traits we’re grateful for, but I wanted to focus on you. Regardless of my snarky attitude, you’ve remained strong and patient with me.”
My grip tightens on the railing. I need it to keep my balance here. “Patient would be someone who stayed without grumbling.”
“I’d be skeptical about you if you didn’t complain and took everything I did to heart. Point is you stayed anyway.”
“Maybe because I haven’t found another job yet.”
“I’m sure your mom has lots of families who’d love to take you on.” He then winks. “I’m thankful... you saved me today.”
“You’re too dramatic for someone who majored in business journalism.”
“Someone has been busy looking me up, eh?” His tone light, he shifts his foot, and I remember his injury.
“You shouldn’t be standing on your foot so long.” He’s in his slides, and the white gauze I’d put on after he showered is bright under the moonlight.
“Why did you host the show?” he asks. “Your degree could have led you to more opportunities than working at Starwatch.”
I sigh. This conversation could mean revisiting my failed romance. I keep my gaze fixed on the sea ahead. “You mean the show that tore marriages and families apart?”
“Not unless those marriages were already on their way down a slippery slope.” His voice is tender, soft. “Eden saw your show in a positive light. She was thrilled you encourage women to be confident—”
“Whoa. Wait. You let your daughter watch my show?” No wonder she thinks I’m confident.
He chuckles. “That Saturday after the accident, Eden snagged my phone. I later found her watching segments of your show on it.”
He takes a deep breath. “Last time you asked me what I was afraid of.” He speaks slowly and deliberately, as if he’s been pondering this for some time. “But I never got to ask you what you’re afraid of.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. Does he know I’m not as confident as I appear?
“It’s only fair that you—”
“Letting anyone control my life,” I blurt out before I overthink and hold back.
“Would you consider being in a relationship a form of control?”
I love the idea of happily ever after. Deep down, I’d love someone to sweep me off my feet. But the looming reminder from my past shadows such gleaming daydreams. Men can be unreliable, controlling. “Even if I sidestep the other factors, my family history doesn’t include happy couples.”
“You talked about control.” He’s looking at me sideways through the moonlit night as if penetrating my defenses. “Were any of your exes controlling?”
“Just dated one person.”
“Really?” He sounds shocked, then nods. “Is he why you chose the route for the specific show?”
He seems to have figured it out. “Revenge, I guess, and to prove to him I could handle a show on my own. I also intended to help other women never feel inferior or trapped.” Like I felt in that toxic relationship.
“What did he do to you?” His protective concern leaves me vulnerable.
“I went to school to be a counselor. I wanted to help keep marriages and families from falling apart.”
He squeezes my shoulder.
“But then I met Austin.” I flutter a hand. “He was helpful early on in my freshman year. He was working part-time at Sheer TV and studying for his master’s. I was majoring in psychology journalism, and he recommended I add feature journalism while at it.” Which wasn’t a bad idea to expand my opportunities.
I grip the railing with both hands again, the metal cold and hard against my palms—cold and hard like the memories, like my heart after Austin got through with it. “He might have been planting seeds of manipulation even when we started dating. I followed him to L.A. when he contracted a high-paying photojournalist job. I took a data entry job so I could be close to him. He seemed worth the sacrifice—until we worked together at Sheer TV where he helped me get the job.”
I shiver over the toxic work environment. How many times did Austin bash my research when we worked together as reporters for the show—only to take credit for that research, claiming he was a far better presenter than I was? I can still hear him now insisting, “We both benefit when the show’s numbers skyrocket.” And all those Q-and-A sessions we did together, he jumped in and answered on my behalf when the questions were posed to me.
“The worst part was when he cheated on me with our boss... the gossip in the hallways, and I just...” I cover my eyes at the image of walking in on them in the producer’s office with Austin’s tongue stuck in her mouth. I swallow the lump that threatens to block my throat. “He wasn’t even sorry about it... made it my fault for making rules about intimacy only when we were married.”
“I’m sorry.” His hand on my shoulder is comforting. “May God help me never come face to face with this guy....” I can sense his defensiveness kicking in when he asks for details about my ex—last name, work history, and his current place of employment and whereabouts.
“Look at you all being protective.” I shake a finger at him to keep things lighter than I feel. “At least he taught me videography.”
And gave me confidence when I ventured out on my own. I bounced around until I got my show at Starwatch.
“You wouldn’t be the person you are today if you were still with him.” He uses my earlier remark against me, then shakes his head, exhaling. “You’re my family now. You’ve made my kids happy. You saved me from figuring out nail painting and hairstyling with Eden, and she’s been happier and more open with me.”
When he traces a loose strand of my hair, goose bumps scatter over my arms. I shift my foot, not sure why I turn to face him.
“You made me see things differently too.” His hand trails down my cheek. “Made me realize... maybe I’m not so immune to falling...” He leans in, and his breath fans warmth against my face, my mouth. “From now on, anyone who messes with you...”
My breathing escalates. My lips can easily touch his should I choose to raise my face. “You don’t even like me.”
“You think I don’t like you?” The low rumble of his voice vibrates through my body.
One minute, he’s brooding. The next, he’s sweet. Breathless, I can hardly get out the words I need. “Hard to know what you’re thinking, Grumps.”
“Want to know what I think every time I look at you? Every time you pop into my mind when I close my eyes?”
Do I want to know? Unable to speak through my now ragged breathing, I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
He curls a hand around my waist, and my entire body ignites like I’m seated on coals.
“I was on the phone with my mother when you walked into the Family Sphere building, all confident and beautiful, and I was more bothered and confused when I couldn’t tear my gaze away from you. The attraction was instant for the first time in a long time, and then—forget it.”
His lips touch mine, and everything blurs but the man sliding his hand to my nape, his mouth warm and insistent against mine. He tastes of mint and chocolate from the ice cream we had for dessert, and he smells of an appealing combination of eucalyptus, cedarwood, and spice. I’ve been kissed before, but this feels different as I greedily devour his mouth, grappling his shirt, the tiny prickles on his jaw rasping my fingers as I move my hand over his face.
We’re panting and breathless when I pull away, needing some air, but still gripping his shirt.
His hands cup my face. We take each other in before I ask myself how we came to this point.
“Aren’t we supposed to dislike each other?”
“I haven’t kissed a woman in almost six years. Let’s try it again. Then I might have an answer.” He kisses me again, hooking his arm around my waist, and I melt into him. His fingers trace along my back and into my hair, electrifying every nerve in my body, leaving me floating in a forbidden kiss I’ve waited a long time for. When I close my eyes, I see stars. Now how can I go back to a professional relationship?