Chapter 10
ten
MARILEE
Parenting is an excellent distraction from the rest of life. It can be all consuming if you let it. And in this moment, I’m riding that train all the way to the sunset, baby.
First, because Ryder and Scarlett are absolute dolls, and I adore them with all that I am. And second, because I baked my fingers to the bone yesterday, and so today, baking can no longer serve to divert my attention from Friday night’s Kiss-Gate—as my friends have taken to calling it in our group text thread.
So, kicking around a soccer ball and building sandcastles and picnicking on the beach?
Yep. Today, parenting is winning.
We’ve been here for hours—me and Ryder and Scarlett and Jordan—and the kids still have energy to burn. After stuffing them full of turkey sandwiches, chips, fruit, and peanut butter bars, they’re ready to ramp up and go again, so Jordan’s out there near the water, chasing them around in a rousing game of tag while I clean up.
My whole body sinks into the blanket as I finally close the lid on the wicker picnic basket. The sand and grass are soft where I sit on the bluff overlooking the ocean, which gently undulates against the shore. I think that’s one reason I like this spot so well—instead of rocking waves that crash and toss, the rounded shoreline allows for a slower pace. The water still laps, the tide still comes, but it’s calmer. It allows the perfect opportunity for thinking.
For talking too.
Jordan and I still haven’t discussed Kiss-Gate ourselves, but despite doing my best to put it off, I know it has to happen. We need to be adults and face this head on. I can sense he gave me space yesterday, and I did appreciate it. But now that I’ve got my emotions sorted—now that I’ve reminded myself of my priorities, of what I really want—it’s time to talk.
So I suggested we come here, where other than the kitchen, I feel most like myself.
Because the rest of the world—and their voices, beloved as they might be—doesn’t exist here.
Pulling my knees into my chest, I watch Jordan toss Ryder over his shoulder, growling like a bear as he chases Scarlett too. The little blondie screeches out a delighted scream and dashes away, her pigtails blowing in the wind behind her as she runs right through the sandcastle we built earlier.
Finally, Jordan sets Ryder down and pretends to get a cramp, collapsing on the ground. Both kids pile on top to tickle him. He giggles with a high-pitched laugh that is completely exaggerated, and my heart expands at what a good dad he is.
At how much he loves his son.
He’s sacrificed more than most guys would, that’s for sure. With his brilliant mind, he could have worked at a Fortune 500 company, but instead, he chose to come back to Hallmark Beach. Of course, that was before he had Ryder, so something else drew him back here—probably his parents, given his mom’s diagnosis and his dad’s inability to care for her. But still. He stayed.
He’s the kind of guy who stays.
And maybe it shouldn’t, but that’s what terrifies me.
I sit that way, watching them for a bit, until Jordan glances up. Our gazes connect, and he says something to the kids, who clamber off of him and run back toward the soccer ball.
He brushes his gym shorts and walks up the small hill, plopping down beside me. “Couldn’t have given me a little assist, there?”
“It looked like you had it handled.”
“I could have used my wingwoman.” A flash of sunlight peeks through the afternoon clouds, and he pulls the brim of his ball cap down a bit. “But who am I kidding? You would have been on their side.”
“I’m glad you recognize the reality of the situation.”
We both laugh, then settle into the silence that’s been dogging us far too often the last forty-eight hours. Really, the last six days since we said “I do.” If we are ever going to survive the next fifty-one weeks, this just can’t continue.
I exhale. “Jay.”
“Yeah, Lee?” He spreads his legs out in front of him, his muscular calves resting in the fine sand. I remember the first time I saw him in high school, how tall and spindly he was. The exact opposite of Donny, built like a juiced-up truck. Of course, for a while after Donny was injured at the end of his senior year, he stopped lifting. He grew weaker, while Jordan started lifting weights and grew stronger.
Donny never did forgive Jordan for that, I think.
Funny how their outward appearances finally came to match their insides.
I shake myself from the thought. Jordan may be Donny’s exact opposite, but I am still me—and my faults are plenty. “I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“Kiss-Gate.”
He snorts. “Kiss what?”
I dig my toes into the sand at the edge of the blanket. “That’s what Elisse took to calling it.” Waving my hand in the air, I laugh with a dismissiveness I don’t really feel. “Not important. The point is, I’m sorry.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “What exactly are you sorry about?”
Oh, he’s not going to make this easy for me, is he?
A breeze wends its way up, carrying with it the sounds of Ryder and Scarlett’s laughter as they retrieve the soccer ball from a hole in the sand.
I zip up my red hoodie, which is covered in flour that just didn’t want to come off after yesterday’s baking sesh. “That I made things awkward between us.”
“You never have to feel awkward around me.” He waits a beat. “Anything else?”
“I guess I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you if it was okay before I sort of attacked you with that kiss.”
His mouth tilts into a small smile. “Attacked me, huh?”
“Like a tiger.” I wince. That particular analogy probably isn’t the best, given how often people refer to being tigers in, um, well, certain places in their homes. Moving on… “I just got so riled at the smug look on Constance’s face and wanted to do something to shut her up.”
“Marilee Moffitt,” Jordan says in a teasing tone. “Are you actually speaking ill of someone?” He clicks his tongue. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“She messed with someone I care about.”
His eyes flick toward me briefly before finding the horizon again. “Aw, come on, Lee. You don’t have anything to apologize for. If anyone should say they’re sorry, it’s me. I, um…” His toes flex in front of him. “I shouldn’t have gotten so into that kiss. You probably just meant to give me a peck and I…I took things too far.”
The acknowledgement of the passion behind his kiss brings heat to my face. The memory of it turns my insides to boiling water.
Whew.
Nope. Can’t think about that anymore.
I force a laugh. “Guess it’s been too long since either of us has been good and kissed, right?” I honestly can’t remember the last girl Jordan even dated. Someone in college, maybe. And then obviously there was Georgia, but they were never a couple.
Jordan doesn’t laugh back. He’s quiet, and I don’t know exactly what his silence means.
But I have a suspicion. I hope I’m wrong, but I can no longer ignore that it’s extremely likely my best friend has very real feelings for me.
Feelings I can’t reciprocate.
I don’t want to hurt him. But I also can’t let him think of me like that. Because the worst thing in the world would be for him to fall for me—for me to fall for him. For him to eventually realize that I’m not actually what he wants. That I’m too broken to be the kind of partner I’d want to be to him.
And…he will realize it. It might take a while, but it’s inevitable.
If Donny taught me anything, it was that.
But because Jordan is the opposite of Donny—who left when he finally tired of me—he would feel obligated to stay with me, stuck with my mess. He might even grow to resent me.
And I can’t even fathom a world in which Jordan Carmichael resents me.
As his friend, I can give him his space—space to find someone else to fill that role he may or may not imagine me in right now. Someone who is whole and beautiful and untarnished by the scars brought on by her baggage—some of her own making, some tossed upon her.
He deserves that. I want that for him, because Jordan Carmichael is the best man I know.
And I fear, in this moment, given his continued silence, that maybe I’ve confused him. That kiss… It was confusing. But we can’t lose sight of the goal, of the reason for all of this.
His custody battle.
And unfortunately, the other thing I need to discuss will probably also be confusing. But just like kissing him in public to prove our supposed “love,” I think it’s probably necessary. “So, there’s something else we need to address.”
He lifts his head. “Yeah? You ready to go sign papers at the bank?”
Oh. How do I admit to him that I haven’t given the loan or the bakery purchase a second thought since our conversation about it nearly a week ago when we last discussed it? That I’ve instead been leaning into step-motherhood and baking in our joint kitchen, where I know I belong for now— even though it’s just for now?
“Yes. Well, no, I mean. I’m still not sure.” I wave my hand, flustered. “I’ll let you know when I’ve made plans with Pete. If I do.”
He studies me. “Okay. And if you decide you don’t want to buy the bakery, that’s totally all right too. But please, take advantage of me.”
I spurt out a laugh, because my, did that sound…um, probably not how he meant it. “I’m sorry, what?”
He nudges me with his elbow. “I just mean, don’t forget that I’m not the only one who’s supposed to be benefiting from this situation. If you decide you don’t want me to cosign a loan for you, then tell me what exactly you need from me to support you in your future career endeavors.”
“Endeavors, huh? Well, that sounds official,” I tease.
“I mean it, Lee.”
“I know.” I soften my tone. “And I appreciate it. Really, I do. I feel close to making a decision, though.” I think. Maybe. Argh. “At the very least, Marla deserves some sort of answer soon.”
“Don’t rush your decision simply for her sake.”
“Sure.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, back on topic…”
“Right. Okay, so what else do we need to discuss?”
Whew. I shake out my suddenly sweaty hands. “What I was going to say is…we need to address the fact that Constance and Larry have a little spy living under our roof.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah. That.” The whole reason for Constance’s line of questioning the other night came because Ryder had reported our sleeping arrangements to his grandparents—of course not realizing that he was making our position more precarious. “I’ve been thinking… Dangerous, I know.”
“Whatever, Brainiac.”
I smile at the very misplaced compliment. Then sober at what I’m about to suggest. “Um, but yeah. I think-maybe-we-need-to-share-a-room.”
He turns his entire upper body toward me. “What? We’ve talked about this. No.”
“I knew you’d say that, but the whole reason you’re saying no is because you don’t want me to be uncomfortable, right?”
“Well…”
Seagulls caw in the distance.
“And I can assure you, sharing a room wouldn’t be uncomfortable for me. In fact, I’d feel better knowing you weren’t sleeping on that couch every night. I’ve seen you rub your lower back when you think I’m not looking.”
“Nothing I can’t handle. Really, Lee, it’s fine.”
“But it’s not.” I throw my hands in the air. “Ryder will continue to tell his grandparents we aren’t sharing a room, and then this whole marriage is pointless!”
He winces, and I instantly regret my wording choice. It sounds brutal, but it’s kind of true, right?
Before I can say more, he shakes his head. “I get it, but I can’t in good faith…” Jordan presses his lips together. “I mean, that room isn’t big enough for me to sleep on the ground, Lee.” He hooks my gaze into his, and I feel the weight of his unspoken words.
We wouldn’t just be sharing a room.
We’d be sharing a bed.
And if he really does care about me as more than a friend, then that might make things harder for him. Honestly, for me too. I haven’t shared a bed with any man but Donny. Ever. And toward the end, he wasn’t even in it half the time. I’d lie awake, just waiting…
So yeah. Sharing a bed with a guy holds some traumatic memories for me. But this would be different. Totally different. It wouldn’t be a marriage bed… Not in the traditional sense.
I’m not sure what you’d call it—a best-friends-who-are-pretending-to-be-together-and-are-married-but-not-really bed?—but we’re just going to have to figure it out for Ryder’s sake.
“We can both be adults about this. I’ve known you half of our lives. I trust you, Jordan.”
And I mean every word.
I feel like the sun sinks a whole mile before Jordan speaks again. “Fine.”
“What’s that?” I lean in, afraid I’ve misheard him. My glasses slide down my nose at the movement.
He pushes them back up for me, gives me a soft smile. “We can share a room.” A pause. “But only if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
And that may be the first lie I’ve ever told Jordan Carmichael.