Chapter 25
Spencer
I’ve started dinner by the time Riles emerges from Ivy’s room. There’s been banging and grunting in the room, so I figure she was finishing the crib. Still, I’ve been second-guessing this afternoon since the moment I realized she didn’t follow me once she recovered.
My gut flips as Riley pads to the counter and drops into the seat by the high chair. She picks up Ivy’s food to feed her, a habit that I guess is hard to break. Ives eats with her fingers these days.
Ivy grabs for the food and shoves a handful of steamed veggies into her mouth, and Riley relinquishes the bowl and sits back in her seat.
“She doesn’t even need me,” she breathes.
I still over the food I’m prepping for us.
“Yeah, she does. She’s got this annoying independent streak that won’t let her let people in. No idea where she got that from.”
I don’t let my gaze stray from hers. Not until she gets it.
She is one part of a three-part dynamic here. Without any one of us, this thing we’ve created falls apart.
I’m convinced of it.
“Need a hand?” Riley says, her focus snapping to the food on the chopping board under my hands.
“Sure. You want to chop these potatoes, and I’ll start the steaks?”
Without a word, she rounds the counter and starts dicing the potatoes, tossing them into the pot.
Ivy is having the time of her life, babbling away, smooshing carrot into the tray of the high chair. Some is even making it into her mouth.
“Ives, eat, baby girl,” I say with a smile.
Riley pauses, the knife hovering mid-chop.
I salt the steaks and leave them to rest. My body is wrapped around Riley’s from behind before her knife pushes through the next potato.
“Do we need another nickname for you, Riles?” My lips are brushing the shell of her ear. I breathe her in. My body reacts to hers instantly.
She looks up at me, her dark eyes studying my expression.
“No, Spence.” Her eyes are reading my face like they would travel over a page, and I can hear her unsaid, “I won’t be here soon, so you won’t have to.”
The words never pass by her lips, but it’s like the both of us heard them, regardless.
I dot a kiss to the crown of her hair, reluctantly unwrapping her from my hold. Moving to the end of the counter, I say, “I’ll grill these out back.”
I pluck up the tray of steaks and head down the hallway for the back door. The small grill that Brades found in the storage corner of the barn cleaned up good. I fire it up and let it heat before tossing the slabs of meat on.
The night chirps and hisses around me with its insects and the cool breeze whistling through the weeping willows that give us their shade all day, only to frame the stars in the most spectacular way every night.
We need some back porch going on out here.
I make a mental note to ask Brades if I can do some upgrades.
The back door snaps shut, and I turn back to find Riley holding Ives. She’s fussing, chewing on her rubber toy with vengeance.
“Show Daddy what we found, sweet girl,” Riley gushes.
“Hey, Ives. What is it?” I leave the grill and bend down to her eye level as she sits in Riley’s arms.
“Somebody cut a tooth. Didn’t you, clever girl?” Riley plants a kiss to Ivy’s temple, slipping the chewy toy from Ivy’s grabby hands.
“Ah, open up and show Daddy, baby.”
Ivy rolls, turning into Riley’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’ll see it when you’re ready, kiddo.” I dust up her blonde hair with my hand.
She swings back around.
Her little words tumble from her mouth. I’m sure she’s telling me off; I know she hates when I mess up her hair.
I can’t help the smile that stretches my face when I spot the sharp-looking tiny tooth on her bottom gum. I lift my gaze to meet Riley’s. “That looks like it would have hurt.”
“Yeah, teething isn’t pleasant. But our Ivy is a brave girl. Aren’t you, honey?”
She holds her above her head, and Ivy giggles, wriggling in Riley’s hold.
We stay outside, Riley showing Ivy the stars and me finishing the meat. Every minute that ticks over while we’re out here is one I etch into my memory.
Just in case.
“Inside, my girls. Before the mosquitoes find you.”
Riley makes a beeline for the back door. I follow them both in and plate up. The potato is mashed, a pat of butter melted in the center of the bowl. A salad is tossed and set in another bowl beside it.
Riley puts Ives on her play mat, handing her the fluffy bunny. Its paw immediately ends up in her mouth. Anyone who has to endure getting chewed and drooled on deserves a name. Mr. Fluffy suits. With a sigh, Riley pads to the counter and plops beside me.
“How does time fly past so quickly?” she says softly.
I glance back at Ivy, now crawling with Mr. Fluffy in one hand toward the coffee table laden with more toys and stuffies.
“It never seems to slow down when you want it to.” I turn back to find her attention set on her plate, silverware in her hands remaining stationery in her grip.
Forgetting my food, I turn on the stool. With one hand, I rotate her stool so she has to face me. “What if it didn’t have to pass by, Riles?”
Her brows fall.
“I know. I know. You have to go home to your family. But people do long distance, right?”
Since when has Spencer Lockwood ever done relationships, let alone a long distance one? Apparently, desperately in love with Riley O’Malley Spencer does. Because that’s what I am. Obsessed. Head over goddamn heels.
I need both of these girls like I need fucking oxygen.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Riley says, her throat bobbing.
“You’re not asking, O’Malley. I am.”
Her eyes study my face.
“Drop it, Spence. We can’t change the way things are. Doing anything else will make this harder.”
I cross my arms as she turns back to her food.
“Damn it, woman. You are one stubborn ass, you know that?”
Her cutlery clatters to the countertop.
Fuck yes. Fight, Riles. Come on.
She pivots on her stool, face twisted with a mix between hopelessness and anger.
“My responsibility is to my family, not you. Not yours.”
She stalks from the kitchen, her dinner forgotten.
Ivy squeals behind me, tossing Mr. Fluffy and stomping on him.
Fucking hell, Ives.
Even if Riley leaves and never comes back, we’ll always have a part of her here. The personality of our favorite Irish woman has become ingrained into both our souls.
Ives is feisty.
Me . . . I care more now for other people than I ever thought I’d ever be capable of.
I finish my meal and clean up. By the time I’ve washed up, Ivy has worn her little self out. She sits in the center of the living room among her toys, fussing and rubbing her eyes. I make up her bottle and scoop her off the floor with Mr. Fluffy.
“Come on, baby girl. Bedtime. Mama made—” Fuck. No. “Riles made your big girl crib up.”
Where did that come from?
I know exactly where . . . wishful thinking.
When we walk into Ivy’s room, the crib is set up.
The furniture is rearranged. A mobile hangs over the crib.
Her dresser holds a photo of her and me next to something that looks suspiciously like a music box and a vase of dried flowers.
The new curtains that have sat in boxes for a week are hung and tied back to let the summer breeze in.
My throat bobs.
Riley’s made us a family.
She’s made this little old cottage a home for Ivy and me.
And what have I given her?
Complications.
Less time to study and take care of herself . . .
Fuck. FUCK.
I settle Ives down and leave her with her bottle and Mr. Fluffy for the night. I find a small bunny night-light on a side table by the door and turn it on. Leaving Ivy to fall asleep, I run my hands through my hair as a yawn finds me.
This old man is tired.
Shower first.
The shower is on when I make it down the hall. Steam billows from the open door, the mirror steamed up and Riley’s clothes from today folded neatly on top of the laundry basket.
I tug my shirt off the best I can, losing my jeans and underwear next.
I know she’s mad at me.
I know she thinks this is too hard.
But the only thing I don’t know right now is how to not be close to her. She can be mad at me—no, livid—while I’m wrapped around her.
I step into the shower and pull the glass door shut.
She can beat my chest while she—
“Spencer,” Riley hisses, turning back, the long, sleek mass of her hair over her shoulder, covering one breast.
I figure I have two options.
One, she takes at least thirty seconds to gather her senses and stalks out of this shower space. That buys me twenty to give her my pitch.
Two, she caves and gives in to this thing between us that’s been tearing at my self-control for months.
I know which one I’d prefer.
She doesn’t move, her expression not softening, and I guess she’s going with the first.
Fuck.
She really has to fight me on everything, this little woman of mine.
I mean, I have always liked a challenge, but I really don’t want my chances of screwing this up to exist at all.
“Only one shower, baby, and this old man is tired.”
The yawn that pulls at my face is perfectly timed but has absolutely no impact on the feisty woman who’s naked, wet, and now looking like there’s a war going on in her head.
Good, Riles, mull this shit over. God knows I’ve been doing just that for as long as we’ve known each other.
“I see how it is,” she finally says. “Give me the best orgasm of my life, then make me desperate for more by showing off all this.” She releases her grip on her hair and waves a hand up and down my body. Which is relaxing more with every second of hot water and naked Riley in my orbit.
Fuck, see how easy this could be, Riles?
She sees it, alright.
“Taking a shower here, O’Malley. Keep your greedy eyes to yourself.”
I turn my back to her for good measure.
The half gasp from her that rattles to a halt sees a smile kick up my lips.
Hook, line, and sinker, baby.
I pluck the bar of soap from the caddy and start washing my arms. Turning a little to the side, I run the soap over my chest and then down my washboard abs.
I’m hard. Of course I am. Is there any other option in this woman’s presence?
Washing everything I can, as slow as I can, I make a point to not let my gaze track to her, despite being desperate to see her face.
When I lose the soap bar and squirt shampoo into my hair, she’s leaning against the tile.
My glance slips up and I find her wide-eyed, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth.
Checkmate, O’Malley.
The second our gazes meet, her cheeks flush and her back leaves the tile.
“Goddamn eejit,” she mutters, shoving the shower door open.
She disappears into the steam before I have time to respond.
But maybe this is the best course of action.
Pleading and trying to talk her into what we both know is already bursting at the seams to be let out hasn’t worked.
The tension that hums between us has a life of its own.
Only, Riley is intent on keeping it in captivity.
Huh, just you wait, Riles.
A man doesn’t end up with the label Cowboy Ken for no reason.
And this ain’t my first rodeo, darlin’.