Chapter 7
T he house looked exactly the same as it had years ago, the last time he’d visited. He hadn’t been to the Jorgensons’ as an adult. Maisy had tried to get him here, one of her many attempts to cocoon him in her web. He’d purposely kept his distance while maintaining civility he hadn’t felt.
But here he was now.
Their rambler was comfortable. Familiar, with its twenty-year-old furniture and off-white paint job. He should’ve come to visit before, during, or after the funeral. All the reasons he couldn’t dimmed now that he was here.
Lunch was finished, thank God. The most awkward meal he’d eaten in years. Isaiah had fallen asleep on the way to town and he’d suggested they leave him be. Let Isaiah rest and he’d be more cheerful when it came to holding and playing with him.
He’d regretted his request when talk had turned to Maisy, him and Maisy, and the circumstances around Isaiah’s birth. The discussion had been long overdue, and it had gone better than Justin imagined. He had a newfound respect for Katherine and Martin, and how they’d tried to help their daughter.
The atmosphere was relaxed now as Katherine cradled Isaiah. Martin peered over at least every five seconds, his face vacillating between grief and delight.
“Maisy had colic,” Katherine announced. She jerked her head up like she’d startled herself. She put a hand to her chest and chuckled. “My word, Marty. Do you remember how hard that was?”
Martin developed a faraway look. “We used to joke that colic was the reason we only had one.”
Katherine’s gaze watered, but she recovered. “Right. She was a handful from the very beginning.” Pressing her lips together, she looked away.
“She sucked her thumb, too.”
Justin could high-five Martin for steering them out of deep waters.
For the next few minutes, Katherine and Martin reminisced and compared notes with him. Thumb-sucker? Pacifier? Does Isaiah have one pupil bigger than the other? He’ll grow out of it. Has he found his toes yet?
The lightness of the conversation and the way the two grandparents treasured Isaiah prompted his next question.
“Do you guys want to spend the afternoon with him?”
Katherine’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Then wonder crossed her face. “Would you be okay with that?”
“His diaper bag is fully loaded.” Justin had packed less on international trips. “If he naps again, just cuddle him the entire time. He won’t complain.”
“We…we really appreciate this, Justin.” Martin’s face was close to crumpling. They had been legitimately scared he wouldn’t allow them around Isaiah. He should’ve called earlier.
“Isaiah needs his grandparents.” He needed Isaiah’s grandparents.
After running through all the instructions, not like they’d need much, he shrugged into his coat. This was really happening. He could do…whatever he wanted.
Giving Priya a pass on baby duty with him had made the last few days lonely. Boring. Sipping wine by himself in his living room was not the high point of his day. In fact, watching the nightly news with a full glass and no one to talk to was his new low.
Leaving the house without his kid was like an expedition into the Outback. Other than enduring Isaiah’s well-baby visits, he’d hardly ventured out. Brigit grabbed his groceries and chatted for a few minutes, but she was doing so much on the ranch he couldn’t ask any more of her.
Blowing out a breath and watching it puff in front of his face, he ambled to his pickup.
Freedom.
Now what?
It was close to evening. He could go out and have a real meal—one he didn’t have to cook himself, with food that needed actual preparation.
He wasn’t that hungry, and going out to eat by himself didn’t hold the appeal he thought it would.
As he pulled away from the curb, the phone popped into his hand before he thought too hard. A block later, he pulled over and called Priya. He shouldn’t be calling her for no reason, but he couldn’t bring himself to hang up.
She answered with “Is everything all right?”
He couldn’t help his grin. Was it due to her question or just hearing her voice again? When had he started craving the sound? Probably when she’d quit coming every day. “Guess who’s a free man for a few hours?”
“Free?” Fabric rustled like she was switching ears. “Like, no baby? Are your parents in town?”
“Nope. He’s with Katherine and Martin.”
“It went well then? How are they?”
He didn’t miss how earnest she sounded. “They don’t blame you, Pri.” How could they?
“Everyone else does,” she muttered and rushed on. “So what are you going to do?”
He mulled over her words. Should he ask her about it? Who blamed her? Why would she think that? Maisy’s death had even been in the newspaper. Justin’s parents had saved a copy for Isaiah when he was older, to help him know there was nothing that could’ve been done.
She spoke again before he did, her tone teasing. “It’s a Saturday night even. The options are wide-open.” Metal clanged in the background. Was she cooking?
Lunch hadn’t been that long ago, but the memory of the magic Priya had worked with his crockpot roast was emblazoned onto his taste buds. “I only have a couple of hours. I was thinking of grabbing a meal that doesn’t come with heating instructions for a half a bag or a whole bag.”
Her laughter tinkled over the line. He liked that, making her laugh. “Where are you going?”
“I dunno. What are you cooking?” Look at that. He was hungry after all.
A squeak resonated from her end. He’d caught her off guard. Good. He liked doing that, too. The flare of her eyes and the hitch in her voice when he said something funny or that she wasn’t expecting. She was serious. The stable one. He couldn’t help but unsettle her—only in a good way. He hoped.
“Justin Walker, are you inviting yourself over to eat my risotto?”
While it sounded good, he could eat all her risotto and be left wanting. He dropped his voice, wondering why he was going all seductive over food. “Is that all you’re making?”
More laughter. “I can throw some pork chops in.”
“I never pegged you for a rebel.”
“Well, Mom said love wasn’t enough to make a butcher’s daughter give up meat. She has a stash in the freezer for when Dad works an evening walk-in clinic shift.”
“Will they be around?” He hardly knew her parents, but he felt like he did after Priya’s stories. Stories that just happened to be from when they were kids, not recent events.
Her sigh was heavy. “They took a whirlwind vacation to Mexico.”
They had her house to themselves? That… He swallowed past his thick throat at the gathering of desire the information started in him.
He shifted in his seat like the temperature had spiked from the mid-forties to triple digits.
He tried to use humor to diffuse the tension coiling in his gut.
“I’ll invite my closest twenty friends. We’ll have a rager like in high school. ”
“Don’t you dare. Besides, they’d probably get overly excited and think Devya was home.”
He blinked at the unexpected bitterness from her. Or was that jealousy? Combined with her cryptic comment earlier, he wanted nothing more than to corner her and talk.
Maybe not nothing more. His mind conjured so many things for the two of them to do alone. But no. This was just talking. She was a friend. She’d never indicated she wanted more.
“Just me and you.” He enjoyed the sound of that too much. “No need to get anyone in trouble.”
“Do you know where I live?”
It was Moore. Of course he knew where she lived. “Yeah, you’re in Lakewood. The big house.”
All the houses in Lakewood bordered on mansions. She giggled and gave him directions anyway.
He couldn’t recall her house. Hadn’t he ever been there?
Thinking back, no, and as an adult he knew why.
Maisy wouldn’t have allowed him to go to another girl’s house—with her or not, and especially not Priya’s.
The daughter of a doctor and nurse, and not just any doctor or nurse.
The Patels were well-off. Grandfather Patel had been a doctor, and Priya’s other grandparents owned a successful business.
Her parents hadn’t been stupid with money either.
Justin doubted either of them had graduated with a penny in student loans.
Lakewood was the high class of their little town. He’d hardly driven through it, except maybe with his parents to look at Christmas lights.
The trip was short, but he slowed down in Lakewood.
Around him, the homes reminded him of Denver, those mountain “lodges” that were really luxurious living.
Priya’s house rivaled their size and except for being noticeably older, it was as opulent.
Stone veneer, dual-level porch, and he’d bet there was a Juliet deck in the back.
The place was right off the water. Did they have their own dock?
Did Priya swim in the summer? Lay out in the sun, wearing nothing but a cherry red—
Where the fuck had his mind gone?
Just friends.
He parked behind the closest garage door to the house, next to her car. Wasn’t there room in this monolith for her ride?
Sliding out, he studied the yard. Mature cottonwoods and evergreens lined the property. The landscaping was mostly dormant for the winter but still obviously professionally maintained. In June, this lawn was probably lusher than carpet.
He knocked on the door.
Her “come in” resonated from deep within the structure. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and stared.
He was in a foyer as large as his bedroom, and the arched ceiling soared over his head. A small window let in sunlight during the day and he could see all the way to the back of the house, where wall-to-wall windows framed a lake view.
“You don’t want to walk naked through here, do you?” He toed off his boots.