Chapter 24
Tuesday
Thanksgiving
“You’re very good at driving,” I say, struggling to keep a straight face. “You haven’t driven outside the lines once.”
Loch chuckles. “Funny girl.”
Making him laugh is one of my favorite things to do. Hearing him laugh is one of my others.
We’re about halfway to Beacon, the town where he grew up. I can’t wait to see where this amazing man came from and to meet the rest of his family. I’ve been giddy all morning.
Since Brady is with his family, Loch drives the Escalade. Sitting in the front seat gives a different perspective.
I thought I’d be content munching on a bag of popcorn and taking in the scenery ever since we stopped for snacks an hour ago, but nope. Something about our close confines has me needing to fill the silence, so I’ve been peppering him with questions and anecdotal observations ever since.
The goat we saw on the roof of a barn.
Pineapple on pizza? Firm no from him. Me, I don’t know. I’d have to try it.
A cloud over a grouping of trees miles from where we were driving that looked like a wolf howling.
Passing a couple in a RX-7 having sex. I don’t know how they managed it, cruising at what appeared to be eighty since they sped past us, but they seemed to be doing just fine.
Resting my heels on the seat, I wrap my arms around my bent legs.
“Tell me about your hometown?” If he wanted to share his whole life since birth, I’d happily listen.
I’ve been captivated by him—his generosity, his kindness, his open arms. God, I could go on about how brilliant he is, and this man’s good looks cannot be discounted.
His answers are quick yet informative, and you can see his lawyer brain working to keep up with my interrogation.
How has he not been snatched up yet?
Maybe the anecdotes were a means to get him to open up. There’s one specific topic I had in mind. We’ve been trapped in this vehicle, and now seems like the perfect time, so I ask, “Can we talk about the sex on the desk?”
“What the . . .” His head jerks to look at me. “You don’t just sideswipe someone like that.”
I laugh. “Sorry, guess it seems out of the blue, but it’s been on my mind.”
“Okay. We can talk about it. What’s on your mind?” His eyes return to the road, his fingers flexing.
I don’t want to upset him, but beating around the bush won’t clear the air.
“Let me preface this by saying it felt amazing. You always feel amazing.” I reach over, tenderly running my fingertips along his arm to temper the words I’m about to say.
“But you weren’t making love to me, Loch. You were taking your anger out on me.”
His knuckles whiten when his grip tightens around the steering wheel. He glances at me. “That wasn’t my intention. Was I too rough?”
“No, you weren’t, but you had something going on in your head, and instead of talking to me, you got your message across another way. I know you would never hurt me. It just worried me a little because I want to be able to communicate.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need an apology. That’s not why I’m bringing it up. I need to know you’re okay.”
His gaze remains focused dead ahead, and that silence I’ve been anxiously filling returns with a vengeance. But then he takes a breath and says, “No one asks me that.”
“I know. You’re used to isolating, and here I came along and invaded your space. If I’ve upset you—”
“No,” he starts, reaching over and rubbing the top of my knee. When his eyes return to the road, he says, “The truth is, I was worried about you. Logically, I shouldn’t have been. You were with Lark. Safe—”
“But we were later than we expected, and that caused you to worry. Am I correct? I was having such a good time with her that I lost track of time. But I should have sent you a text to let you know we decided to go to a few more stores.” I rest my hand on his leg.
His hand covers mine—large, warm, comforting. “You don’t have to check in with me.”
“I know I don’t, but it’s important for you to know I’m safe. I’m sorry for taking so long to realize how this affected you as well.”
“Don’t apologize for having fun, Tues. That’s not what I want, and it’s not what I’m asking of you.
I need to manage the reality that not every moment of your life will include me .
. . and it shouldn’t.” Giving my hand a squeeze, he says, “I’m sorry if you felt anything other than pleasure when we’re together, especially in bed. That will never be my intention.”
“I know, babe. That’s not why I brought it up. I just wanted to make sure that you’re doing okay.”
A slow grin spreads on his face. “I am. Thank you for asking.”
I feel so much better, and I hope he does, too. I just feel it in my core that relationships should have open communication built on a foundation of honesty. I’m glad to have that with him.
“Babe?”
I look at his quirked brow and start laughing again. Shrugging, I say, “It just felt right to call you that.”
“I like it.”
I’m not sure when I dozed off, but Loch rocks me gently awake. “Hey there.”
It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. Loch. Escalade. Beacon. “We’re here?”
“Shortly. My parents live in Beacon Pointe, just outside of town. I thought you might want to see the downtown area.”
I sit straighter, reaching for my water bottle. “This is it?” I take a few sips because I’m feeling dehydrated.
“This is Beacon. It’s about as small as they come, but like the rest of us, it’s starting to grow up.
” He points toward a grouping of buildings up on a hill.
“The university has brought in a lot of new businesses over the years along with a few high-rises. But the high-rises there don’t extend much above a low-rise in Manhattan. ”
“It’s picturesque, like from a movie.”
“It’s actually been used in a few movies.”
Taking the main road through town, we keep going until fences that extend for miles start lining the landscape. When Loch slows down, he pulls up to a gate and stops to punch in a code. The large iron gates swing open, and he pulls through the entrance to the property.
I sit up, taking notice. “This is your parents’ property?”
Reaching over, he takes my hand, our fingers entwining. Is he preparing me, comforting me, or I don’t know, but the house is huge. Beautiful in its classic architecture with a white exterior and green shutters.
“This is where I grew up.”
“Wow.” I’m not sure what else to say since my jaw drops on my lap.
He parks on the side. I’m quick to swipe on some lipstick before we hop out. Instead of taking me to the front door, he grabs my hand again and leads me to the back. “Don’t be nervous.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Chuckling lightly, he brings our joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine. “I get it, but really, they’re going to love you. Not only because of how amazing you are but also because I do.”
He’s so free with expressing his love to me that my anxiety begins to wane. Opening the door, he says, “We’re here.” I step into the kitchen with him behind me and stop in the middle of a bustling family.
They stop, too, and stare.
His mom takes off her apron and tosses it on the island as she comes toward us. “Loch,” she says, seeming to break the ice for the others who follow her lead. Embracing him, she says, “Welcome home, love.”
He releases me to hug her. I can’t stop my heart from swelling seeing them together.
She’s stylishly put together in a flattering evergreen sweater and fitted blue jeans that hit above the ankle.
Shorter wedge shoes give her a tad of height, but she doesn’t need them.
She’s beautiful—blond hair but darker than mine hitting above her shoulders, vibrant blue eyes that hold her joy of seeing him inside.
I expected nothing less from Loch’s family.
She angles toward me with a smile. “You must be Tuesday. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
“Thank you.” I shake her hand, but something about her offers such comfort that I lean in, and we hug. “It’s so nice to meet you as well.”
I’m tempted to apologize for hugging her like she’s my mother, but her kind smile tells me I don’t need to. She angles toward the living room, and says, “This is my daughter Marina, Loch’s younger sister.”
“Hello,” I say. We shake hands as she moves in closer. She’s a pretty girl with the same matching hair as her brother’s, though her lighter strands add a goldenness to it. Her eyes match her mom’s as if a decision was made the boys follow their father’s genes and the daughter her mother’s.
The kitchen door opens behind us, and we step out of the way. “Hello and Happy Thanksgiving,” Lark says, entering with a pie in her hands. Harbor follows her in with several bags on his arms. Loch mentioned her dad joining us, so I assume he’s the last to enter.
After dinner, the guys make their way outside for what Loch’s youngest brother called “a pickup game,” so I settle in on the couch, mindlessly watching the football game on the big screen.
“How are you doing?” Delta comes from the kitchen to sit in a nearby chair. It’s been bustling here, so we haven’t had a chance to chat except for a moment here or there over a few appetizers on the island.
“Starting to feel stuffed from all the food. Everything is so delicious I’ve had a hard time saving room for dinner.”
She laughs. “I’d love to throw the formality of the meal out the window and just graze on appetizers all day.
” She leans in as if she’s sharing a secret, and says, “My husband loves turkey. Loch loves the mashed potatoes. Harbor the green bean casserole. Noah the stuffing, and Marina adores cranberry sauce. Lark loves deviled eggs, and her dad, John, always requests my queso no matter the event. So here we are with an island of appetizers to tide them over until dinner is served.”
“I don’t know how you keep up with all that. What’s your favorite?”
“Pumpkin pie.” Her smile holds a hint of mischievousness. “How are you feeling?” The concern in her tone that reaches her eyes is noted and appreciated.
“I’m good.” Now sharing my own secret, I add, “As good as can be, considering I don’t know who I am.”
Reaching over, she takes my hand and covers it with her other. “The circumstances are awful, but I’m so glad you and Loch have each other through this.”
My first thought jumps back to Loch on the drive here and what he went through, checking on him after no one had, including me. “I wouldn’t have made it without him. I’m so grateful, but I don’t know how I’ll ever return his generosity.”
“There’s no favor to return. Even though Port had mentioned how close you two had become, I can see how much he cares about you just by how he looks at you. My son is not a frivolous man, so call me sentimental, but it means everything to me to see him this happy. Thank you.”
There’s no hiding the tears in my eyes. She’s thanking me for what I’ve done for her son when I owe everything to him for what he’s done for me. “I’m so grateful for him . . .” The words clog in my throat when my emotions get the better of me. I refuse to cry, to be this silly with his mother.
“I understand.” She gives my hand a little squeeze, then pulls her top hand back. “That’s a beautiful ring you’re wearing. I love rose gold.”
I smile, happiness overtaking the rest and leaving the tears to fall another time. I didn’t want to mess up my makeup either, so I appreciate the detour in topics.
She studies the ring wrapped around my finger, admiring it. “Thank you. I bought it when I was shopping with Lark.”
“Tiffany’s?” she asks. I nod as she continues, “They have such delicate and feminine designs. The leaves are lovely and how it wraps around your finger, but the branches don’t meet, is such a beautiful detail.”
“I heard you studied art.”
“I did. I didn’t end up using it in a professional capacity, but I still appreciate the exposure it gave me to the world of art.”
“What are we talking about?” Loch’s voice draws our attention toward the back door when he walks in.
I touch the ring, turning it slightly and admiring it.
“Your mom’s degree in art and . . .” Holding up my hand, I waggle my fingers.
“And the new ring I bought when shopping with Lark.” He comes around, slides down next to me on the couch, and touches it.
“It’s an olive branch and just spoke to me. ”
“It’s pretty, like you.” He kisses me.
“I think that’s my cue to check on the turkey.”
We laugh, but I turn enough to say, “It was nice talking to you, Delta.”
“You, too.” Tying her apron around her waist, she asks, “You never told me your favorite part of Thanksgiving. I want to make sure we have it.”
I want to say this family. How can I not? They’ve opened their hearts and home and treated me like one of their own. I stuff those emotions down because it’s too soon to wish I was a part of this family, to wish it were my own. Instead, I say, “I love warm rolls with lots of butter.”
She smiles. “A woman after my own heart. Warm rolls are coming right up.”