He’d never not loved Chloe Morgan, though she seemed surprised by his quick reciprocation.
“Is this where you say something clichéd,” she murmured, staring out at the same view as he. “About love not being enough? Let me down easy?”
“I’m not sure it is enough. Sure hasn’t been so far.”
Her silence equaled her agreement.
“You saw him today.”
“And every day since last week,” he confirmed.
Her mouth opened, but before she issued the warning, he held up a hand.
“I know, Chloe. I stayed out of sight. I’ll always stay out of his sight.” He’d been trained to evade detection.
He would see his son. But his son wouldn’t see him.
“It bothered me,” she murmured. “That you came back but didn’t ask about him. Where he lives. What his name is. Who he looks like.”
She pressed a hand over her abdomen. “It made my stomach hurt, thinking you didn’t care. It makes sense now.”
“It makes sense because I didn’t know he existed. Now, I do. And I’ll never stop asking.”
She smiled sadly. “I tried to figure out a way, too. To see him every day.” Taking a deep breath, she moved away from his side, dropping down on the daybed.
“I went to his afterschool events. Kept to myself. Stayed in the back. Very covert-like, I thought, but in actuality? Full-on creeper status,” she said, with a laugh.
Completely unaware her stunning beauty made her stand out in a crowd, not any creepiness.
“Until one day, this man comes up to me at the elementary school soccer field in Riverhead. He’d seen me before, watching the kids play. Probably thought I was planning a kidnapping.”
“Were you?”
“None that I could get away with,” she confessed. “He introduced himself as Wyatt Forrester. And by the end of our conversation, he asked me out.”
I don’t want to hear this, Jameson thought. Yet, like a train wreck, he couldn’t look away.
“He was handsome and kind, and I was sad and lonely, so I agreed. We had an easy connection. It was nice. And I tried, Jameson.” She paused, shaking her head. “I really tried to see a future with him.”
“But . . .” he led. Because there must be a purpose to this story beyond ripping his heart out so it could bleed onto the wooden porch floor.
“I couldn’t fall in love with him. Even after he told me why he attended all those events. Why he volunteered as a coach. His sister’s kid played for the team. And her name was Marlene Hennessey.”
Uncle Wyatt.
“Convenient,” he muttered.
“After that, I considered my options. He was good to me, so it wouldn’t be a hardship to fake it. Marry him. Buy a house in the same neighborhood as the Hennesseys. See my son whenever I wanted.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit it. “At Christmas and Halloween. His first day of school. His birthday. He could come over and do his homework at the kitchen counter after school while I baked chocolate chip cookies.” She went quiet then, her mind a million miles away.
Imagining that homey scene, as he was. Minus Wyatt.
“A few kinks in my plan, though,” she said, coming out of her daze. “Wyatt knew I wasn’t in love with him. And he wasn’t keen on me using him to get to Johnny. He belongs to a protective family.”
No, he belongs to me. Us.
“We decided to be friends.”
“He doesn’t wanna be your friend, Chloe. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Wyatt was a man in love. “But thank you anyway.”
“For what?”
“For explaining that relationship. Confirming your level of interest.”
When he made the two-day drive from Florida, he’d prepared himself to find her married to a man who wasn’t him. Mothering children who weren’t his. Living her best life, he and his child a mistake she put behind her.
Call him selfish. Because he was happy to see her as stalled out as he was.
“Interest level zero. I couldn’t spend my life in that suburban neighborhood for two reasons.” She tugged at the stitching on the daybed’s quilt, avoiding his gaze. “Mainly because Marlene would never allow it. The adoption has geographical restrictions. Living on the same street is a definite violation. But also, I am and probably always will be in love with another man. A man I also desperately hate.”
Twilight upon them, the porch was cast in long shadows. Only the full moon slanting through the screen offered any light.
It highlighted her profile, giving her blonde hair an angelic glow. It reflected the moisture in her eyes. The same he felt in his own.
“I’m sorry I left you, Chloe.” His rough whisper was adamant. “Desperately sorry.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t take it.” He stared at her while she stared down at her hands. “The money.”
“I know.”
“My dad took it.” He was ashamed of that. Didn’t understand why.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She stood, her flip-flops snapping as she walked inside the house.
Back out moments later, she held the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. Opening the screened porch door, she gestured for him to follow, then sat on the wooden steps.
“The mosquitos will eat you alive.”
“Nah. I’m like Genevieve. Too bitter to be tasty.”
She was nothing like her mother. And because of that, he followed.
Sat down next to her. Swallowed the shot she poured him, forgoing salt and lime. It was a straight tequila kind of night.
She did one herself before speaking again.
“Jonah intentionally let the house go.” She stretched her long legs out, her white shorts and tank top showing off a golden tan. “He wanted to make sure Johnny could go to college. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the Hennesseys could send him to Harvard out of pocket.” She smiled at Jonah’s sweet but needless gesture.
“It would be a cash gift from his paternal family, he said. Since you didn’t want Maine Lane, he didn’t think your son would either, so he couldn’t offer the house. And stopped paying the mortgage.”
Maine Lane had been in his family, free and clear, for generations.
But cancer didn’t care.
Jonah took out a massive loan to pay for his mother’s experimental treatments, using the house as collateral. Risking his legacy for one more day with Lydia.
In the end, he lost both his loves.
“I sent him money, Chloe. My paycheck every month until I retired, then my pension every month after that. Enough to pay the note, plus some.”
“All redirected into the trust fund. He made enough at the hardware store to pay basic living expenses, keep up the utilities here, and keep up appearances around town. But he let the house go, thinking he’d be the last Maine living here. You had your life elsewhere. Johnny does, too.”
“How long have you known this?”
“He told me once the foreclosure proceedings began. I wanted him to use the money to bring the mortgage current. He refused.”
“So, you bought it instead?”
She nodded slowly. “I had to save it. For Johnny. You didn’t want it, but he might. He’s a Maine.”