Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I did something stupid,” Cassie said into the phone, peering through her blinds at Noah’s house next door.
His car wasn’t in the driveway, so it was probably safe to take Taco outside.
It was Thursday morning, and even the alarming number of activities on the docket couldn’t distract her from the absolute shitstorm she’d created for herself.
Taco set next to her on the couch, also trying to look through the blinds.
“Setting Mom straight wasn’t stupid.” There was the sound of dresser drawers closing on the other end of the line. Sammy was in full nesting mode, washing the baby clothes and packing her hospital bag. “It’s been a long time coming, and you could’ve been a lot meaner to her.”
“How badly did she lose her mind?”
“I distracted her mid-breakdown by asking her opinion on strollers. She’s probably forgotten about it by now. But are you serious about going no contact with her?”
“For now, I think this is how it has to be. Maybe she’ll learn to appreciate me when I’m not constantly at her beck and call. Or maybe she’ll just forget that she has a second daughter entirely.”
Cassie was numb to the situation—dwelling on it wasn’t going to be great for her mental health. “But that’s not the dumb thing I did,” she said.
“Oh,” Sammy said with renewed interest. “Now I’m intrigued. You never do dumb stuff. You’re so boring and practical. I say with love,” she said hurriedly. “Tell me.”
“I kissed Noah.”
Sammy screeched, and seconds later, there was the sound of a door crashing open.
“What is it? Is it time?” That was Ethan, Sammy’s husband. “Where are my keys?”
“No,” Sammy said, sounding slightly farther away. “Cassie kissed Noah.”
There were no secrets in Sammy and Ethan’s marriage, familial or otherwise.
“Oh, thank god. I was so not ready. And wait, what? She did?” he asked. “But I thought we hate Noah.”
“We decided to reserve judgment. And now they’ve kissed.”
“We need all the details,” Ethan said. “Where? When? Was he a gentleman, or do I have to add another name to my list of people to punch?”
Cassie laughed. “It was a moment of weakness. I think. I don’t know what’s going to happen. We haven’t spoken since.”
“Have you tried breaking something in your house in order to lure him over?” Ethan asked. “Being labeled as a big, strong man who can fix stuff is very foundational to the success of our relationship.”
“Didn’t you break the Keurig last week?” Sammy asked.
“This isn’t a sitcom,” Cassie said. “I fix my own shit.”
She had hung a new chandelier the night before. Take that, universe.
“Okay, you can go now so she can tell me all the details,” Sammy said to Ethan.
“Do you need anything?” Ethan’s voice was low.
“No, I’m great. Thank you,” Sammy said.
Cassie’s heart lurched. She would give her left kidney to have a relationship like Ethan and Sammy’s.
Supportive, openly communicative, and always mindful of each other’s needs.
Sammy had supported him on her teacher’s salary through law school, and he had bought a ring with his first paycheck after passing the bar.
They had arguments, but they always weathered the storm together.
She shook it off—literally—and stroked Taco’s fur.
She had so much to be thankful for—friends, family (both biological and not), a little home of her very own.
Soon, she would have a fulfilling career that combined the best of both worlds—the income stream and cerebral workout from primary care and the joy of working with the big cats that held her heart.
As long as she didn’t run out of money first. Maybe she had been through hell and back with that dusty, stethoscope-toting narcissist. But the future was brighter… whatever it held.
Cassie told Sammy the story of the night before.
“And then mom ruined it by trying to get me to prescribe drugs for her friend,” she concluded.
“That’s freakin’ crazy,” Sam said. “So how are you feeling? What does this mean?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since. I know it’s an incredibly bad idea to get involved. Our lives are already too enmeshed. But I just…couldn’t stop myself.”
“That’s never happened before. You’re usually so in charge.”
“I blame my hormones,” Cassie said. “I’m probably sprinting toward perimenopause and my ovaries are having a going-out-of-business sale. It’s clouding my judgment.”
“Stop it. You’re allowed to lose control once in a while.”
“Not when it has the potential to affect the trajectory of the rest of my life,” she said.
“Can you just avoid him for the next forty years or so?”
“I could try. But it was superhot. I’m not sure I’ll be able to forget.”
“You’re going to marry that man,” Sammy said in a singsong voice.
“Absolutely not. I’m never getting married again.”
“Sure, kid,” Sammy said, the spitting image of their father. “I have to go hide in the bathroom and pretend to be out. Mom’s threatening to come over again. I desperately need her to start a foundation or something.”
“Maybe look up some depressing statistics about childhood literacy in Arizona or drop some hints about underfunded food banks. Good luck.”
Cassie ended the call and peeked out the window again. Noah still wasn’t home.
What did she even want from this situation? She wanted to kiss him again, that much was clear, even though it wasn’t smart. She had never been good about separating feelings from intimacy, but he was a prickly asshole, so it wasn’t like she would fall in love with him.
None of this changed the fact that getting involved wouldn’t end well. It was simply a misstep brought on by the heat of the day…and all those tattoos.
A box on the end table caught her eye. Inside were her bio mother’s journals. She had been too out of sorts to open them last night, but suddenly they seemed like the perfect distraction. She gathered them up and took them into her bedroom.
She ran a finger over one warped red cover.
Did the secret to her father’s identity lie somewhere between these pages?
Did she even want to know who he was? If he was left off the birth certificate, there was a high chance that meant he was a douche.
At the very least, the relationship hadn’t ended amicably.
And what if she read them only to find out that her biological mother resented her? That wouldn’t be great for her self-esteem.
While holding her breath, she cracked the cover open on the top book. She traced a finger over the handwriting. The letters were large, loopy, and slanted to the right.
The story of Elizabeth’s life spilled out before her. It was what you would expect from any teenage girl—fights with friends, homework frustrations, and butting heads with her parents.
Cassie thumbed over descriptions of bitchy trigonometry teachers, unfair punishments, and finally, a mystery man.
10/1/1991
I met a man during my shift at the diner last night. He was so handsome and mature and charming. Not like these high school idiots. He was a little older than me, but not in a gross way.
I swear I refilled his coffee every time he took a sip.
He said he was passing through town on the way to some conference in Ocean City and left the biggest tip ever—twenty whole dollars.
He must be really important. He even asked me how old I was, but when I said seventeen, he said that was too bad and asked me when my birthday was.
Maybe I should have lied. June is a long ways away.
I wish he would’ve asked me out. Not that I’d know what to do on a date, having never been on one. What would I even wear, my muck boots? Everything I own is secondhand at best or covered in cow shit. A fancy guy like him doesn’t want a country bumpkin. I’ll probably never see him again.
Was this mystery man her father?
Maybe she should cheat and take one of those DNA tests. She had balked at the idea of her genetic makeup just sitting in a database somewhere, but surely someone on her father’s side had already submitted their DNA.
She filed the idea away for consideration and closed the journal with a sigh. As much as she desperately wanted to keep perusing and connecting with her birth mother in the only way she had left, she really needed to get the employee handbook written up.
With a steaming cup of coffee at her side, she frowned her way through the document. Her mind wandered as she typed up the attendance policy, heavily adapted from her last employer. Jesse had sent a copy over—it was the least they could do after firing her.
Her phone beeped, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Oh, shit. It was Noah. Was the universe determined to punish her today? What next, would a tree full of murder hornets fall through her roof?
Noah: I have a favor to ask.
She briefly admired the way he worded the text—straight to the point, no buttering up and apologizing for even thinking of asking, like she would have felt compelled to do.
“Don’t overthink it,” she sternly instructed herself. There was nothing to suggest it was going to be a sexual favor. Maybe he was going on a trip and needed someone to water his plants or keep frogs out of the pool.
With shaking hands, she responded.
Cassie: What’s up?
A few tense minutes passed while she stared aimlessly at her computer, eyes darting to her phone every few seconds. He knew how to keep a girl in suspense.
Finally, it vibrated again.
Noah: I’m admitting defeat. I could use your help with some fundraising ideas for the shelter. Could I make you dinner tomorrow night so I can pick your brain?
See? It was business-related. Nothing to get in a tizzy about.
Cassie: No problem! But I’ll make dinner. I wanted to thank you for setting up those tables.
Noah: That’s probably better. I can only make eggs and protein shakes.
She was unsurprised.
Cassie: How’s eight?
He sent a thumbs-up, and she laid her phone down. Her mind spiraled through her usual repertoire of recipes. What was the most impressive?
When they had gone out to dinner with his coworkers, Dave’s tastes erred on the luxurious side—high-end bottles of wine, the biggest steak on the menu.
But behind closed doors, he had been extremely Spartan and punishingly low-carb.
Baked chicken breast or fish with a side of steamed vegetables, every single day.
And he expected Cassie to fall in line and prepare it.
For Dave, there was no joy in food, only utility. Unless there was an audience.
For a while she had maintained the same eating patterns out of routine.
But after a particularly brutal day at her new clinic, she had stopped in the middle of the grocery store and grabbed a sleeve of peanut butter cups.
She had loved them as a child, but Dave’s idea of a dessert was an apple.
Maybe a piece of dark chocolate on holidays.
But Dave was gone, and she didn’t have to be that way anymore.
She could eat the freakin’ peanut butter cups, paint her house pink, and dress however she damn well pleased.
She had experimented some and recaptured the joy she once had in cooking, but her busy schedule hadn’t left her with a lot of time.
Maybe she could make a practice dinner tonight.
Everyone always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Not that she was trying to capture it. It would just be a simple thank you.
They didn’t even need to talk about the kiss. It would never happen again.