Chapter 5
The numbers on the legal pad in front of me blur and swirl, making it difficult to focus. One thing I’ve become painfully aware of is how hard it is to come up with a reliable budget when so much of my income depends on tips. Which depends on how busy the casino is. It doesn’t help that Christmas is around the corner, so money is tighter than usual, which stresses me out even more.
My only saving grace has been the support system I’ve built over the years in Parker and Grandma Estelle, who isn’t a grandmother at all. Still, she’s well-known here in Sycamore Falls and loved by so many people, especially me.
Ever since I moved here after giving birth to Maggie, she’s been more than willing to watch my little girl whenever I’ve needed her to, allowing me to pick up extra shifts at the casino.
But even with extra shifts, I’m not sure it will be enough.
Since I live so close to Lake Tahoe, everyone has been raising rent prices to take advantage of the seasonal tourists who flock here for skiing in the winter and lake activities in the summer. A single mom who works as a cocktail waitress probably isn’t their ideal tenant.
But the more time that passes and the more rejections I get from potential rentals, the more I fear I may have no option but to move to a larger city with more affordable housing. That or start sleeping with men for money.
Maybe I should take a page out of Parker’s book. She’s always been a strong believer in manifestation and the law of attraction. Maybe that’s what I should do. Manifest a solution in the hopes the universe is listening and will give me what I need.
Closing my eyes, I push out a long breath, doing my best to eliminate any negative thoughts from my mind.
“I will have a place to live,” I announce.
While the skeptic in me struggles to believe any of this will work, I’m willing to try anything at this point. Like make bold statements to the universe.
“It’ll have an enormous yard, with lots of grass and trees. But also lots of good hiding places so we can play hide and seek.” My heart warms as the image of the dream home where I can raise my daughter takes shape in my mind. “The inside will be spacious but not impersonal. There will be a few stains on the rug, some chips in the paint. But that’s okay, because it’s a kid’s home. And no one will yell at Maggie for spilling her juice by mistake.”
The more I speak, the more excited I get about the picture in my head. The more real it feels.
I open my eyes and scribble down notes on the pad. “She’ll have her very own bedroom, painted a combination of pink and teal, since those are her current favorite colors. And it will have a loft bed with a slide and a secret clubhouse underneath, like the one I’d love to be able to buy her.” My heart warms with excitement as I imagine the look on her face when she sees it.
“Our home will be filled with love and laughter and everything I wished for when I was her age. That’s what she deserves. What we both?—”
A sudden loud knock interrupts my train of thought, and I dart my eyes to the door, wondering who it could be after ten on a Tuesday.
The only person I can think of is Parker. It’s not completely unusual for her to stop by when she needs to talk, since she knows I can’t leave Maggie.
Standing, I walk the short distance toward the door and pull it open. “Is everything?—”
I snap my mouth shut when I see the person standing outside isn’t a tall blonde, but a muscular grump with a permanent scowl etched on his face.
At least when he looks at me.
I don’t fault him for it. He has every reason to hate me.
Even so, I can’t deny how attractive he is in his winter jacket and beanie, a bit of scruff dotting his jawline.
“You’re not Parker,” I blurt out, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Looks like your eyesight is still good.”
“Sorry. I just… She’s the only person who stops by.”
Beckham stares at me for several more seconds, the tension becoming increasingly awkward.
It always does whenever we’re forced to interact with each other.
Maybe because I still don’t know what to do or say around him.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” I ask when I can’t take the tension any longer.
He pinches his lips together, seeming to contemplate my question. His expression is so serious, so pensive.
“Can I come in for a minute?” he sighs. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about and I’d rather not do it on your stoop.”
My curiosity piqued, I step back, pulling the door wide for him to enter, even though I hate the idea of Beckham Lawrence seeing where I live.
It’s not a bad place. Belinda’s husband built this addition years ago when his mother was older and couldn’t live on her own anymore. There’s a bedroom, as well as a tiny kitchenette and living area, not to mention my own private entrance so we don’t have to bother Belinda. But it’s definitely cramped.
In the beginning, I didn’t need a lot of room. It was just me and a baby. But now that Maggie’s older, she requires more space. Most nights, I sleep on the couch and let her have the bedroom.
“Keep your voice low. Maggie’s sleeping.” I gesture at the slightly ajar door just off the cluttered living area.
“Of course,” he whispers as he takes off his beanie and shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs by the tiny bistro table.
I can’t help but admire his rugged good looks, especially now that he’s more mature than he was all those years ago. And just like all those years ago, my heart rate picks up in his presence, particularly as my eyes focus on his lips.
“Can I get you anything?” I quickly look away. “Whiskey? Beer? I have some wine, too, although I’m not sure it’s any good.” Smirking, I nod at the bottle boasting the familiar label of his vineyard.
“Believe me, Haley. That’s a good one. Would put any of those Napa wines to shame. But no. Nothing for me. I won’t stay long. I...” He trails off, his eyes focused on the notepad I left on the table.
Panic shoots through me and I move quickly toward it, but before I can snatch it away, he picks it up.
Great. This is exactly what I need. Beckham Lawrence learning how much I’m struggling financially. He’ll probably tell me this is what I deserve.
He’s probably right.
“Is this what you make in a month?” His eyes lock on mine, something akin to pity within.
Which irritates me even more.
“I’m only able to work part time. Plus, this may come as a surprise, but a lot of employers don’t like hiring a single mom because they’re worried about me having to miss work whenever Maggie gets sick. And she’s a kid. She’s going to get sick. So?—”
“I know. I just…” He shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Why are you here, Beckham? Other than to make me feel like a shitty mother?”
I cross my arms over my stomach, doing everything I can to hold it together. It’s getting more and more difficult with every passing day. But I refuse to cry in front of him.
It’s bad enough I asked to rent his townhouse and he turned me down.
“You’re not a shitty mother, Haley,” he soothes, a break in his normally aloof demeanor. “I see how happy Maggie is.”
“Yeah. Well, we’ll see how happy she is when we’re living out of my car.”
He steps toward me, dropping his voice. “Is it that bad?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I throw my hands up in frustration. “I’ll figure it out. I always do. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“A solution, actually.”
I tilt my head. “A solution?”
“Yes.” He gestures to the chair with a brow raised, wordlessly asking if he can sit.
I nod, and he sits down as I assume the chair across from him.
My eyes remain locked on him as he draws in a deep breath. Which only increases my unease about whatever this solution may be.
“You need a place to live. I have a place for you to live.”
“Did your renters cancel?” Hope builds inside my chest.
“No. It’s still fully booked. In fact, there’s a waiting list.”
“But—”
“On the vineyard. With me.”
My breath catches. “With…you? Why would you do that?”
He taps his fingers nervously against the table. “Because I need something, too.”
“What’s that?”
He slowly lifts his eyes to mine, several protracted seconds passing as I wait for his response.
Then he finally says, “A wife.”