What she’d gone through, alone, was unthinkable.
My family was nothing but supportive—borderline overbearing, but only because they cared. Not in a million years would Mom and Dad treat their daughters the way Memphis had been treated. Not in a million years would they not have held their grandchild.
Fuck, but she was strong. I respected the hell out of her for walking away. From the money. From the legacy. From the control. I admired her for putting her son’s life first.
Risky as it was, I had to see her. And hopefully I’d manage to keep from kissing her.
Because damn, did I want to kiss her. Like I’d almost kissed her the other night.
Six eleven. Why didn’t I know her schedule? What if she needed help? Who would she call? Did she even have my number?
The tap of my fingers on the granite counters filled the quiet house. I’d thought I’d miss this. The quiet. The solitude. But I’d had this anxious knot in my gut all day, the place too still. Too empty. Where was she?
Housework hadn’t helped settle the nerves. Neither had cleaning out the garage. All three stalls were now clean, giving both Memphis and me plenty of space to park once the snow arrived. I hadn’t planned on cooking today. I had plenty of leftovers to pick at.
But I needed an outlet, anything to get my mind off the empty driveway, so I stalked to the pantry and took out a bag of semolina flour.
It shouldn’t have taken long to make pasta dough and roll it out. Except every thirty seconds I glanced down the lane, hoping to see a gray Volvo heading my direction. The only thing beyond the glass was a chilly fall day.
The grasses in the meadows had faded from green to gold. The ponderosa pines were dusted with frost. The mountains in the distance were capped white.
Fall was my favorite season, and other than a small influx of hunters to the area, there were more familiar faces than not on Main these days. We’d be slow at the hotel until the holidays. This was the time to catch up on some rest.
But today had been anything but relaxing, and if I was going to feel this way on a day off, well . . . I’d mother Skip until Christmas.
With the pasta cut and ready, I found a pot and set it to boil. Then I pulled a bundle of baby spinach and mushrooms from the fridge. I was digging for cream to make a simple sauce when, outside, gravel crunched beneath tires.
The smart thing to do would be stay right here, my face buried in my refrigerator, but I slammed it shut and strode for the front door.
Memphis was unlocking Drake’s car seat when I stepped outside. She stood tall, hefting his carrier over an arm, and when she glanced over the Volvo’s roof, my heart dropped. Her face was splotchy. Her eyes were rimmed in red like she’d cried the entire drive here. And Drake was screaming.
It reminded me of her first day in Quincy. I hadn’t liked seeing it then. I sure as fuck didn’t like seeing it now.
“What’s wrong?” I crossed the driveway, moving right into her space and taking the handle of the car seat.
“Nothing.” She waved it off and sniffled. “Just a Monday.”
“Memphis,” I warned.
“I’m fine.” She reached into the car and pulled out Drake’s diaper bag before shutting the door and moving to the trunk, lifting it open. Another tear, one that she hadn’t been able to dry, dripped down her cheek.
I didn’t like to see Drake cry. But Memphis? It was like getting the wind knocked out of me.
“Hey.” I went to her side and fit my hand to her elbow. “What happened, honey?”
“I just . . .” Her shoulders sagged. “I had a bad day.”
Had something happened at the hotel? Was it about her family? Or Drake’s father? There were a hundred unanswered questions when it came to Memphis and her past, but Drake was crying and now wasn’t the time to dig.
So I reached past her for the package of diapers in the trunk, then strode for the door.
“Where are you going?” she called to my back as I walked toward my place, not hers.
“Taking these inside.”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“Come on.” I kept walking straight for my house, where the scent of floor cleaner and laundry soap clung to the air.
As I made my way to the kitchen with the baby, the door closed behind me. I set the diapers on the island along with Drake’s seat, unbuckling him as Memphis’s footsteps sounded over my shoulder.
“This bad day. Did it rank in your top five?”
She came up beside me, watching as I lifted Drake from his seat. “No.”
“Good.”
Before I could settle Drake on my shoulder, she stole her son from my hands, cradling him in her arms. Then she breathed, a breath so deep and long it was like she’d been underwater for five minutes and was finally breaking through the surface.
She closed her eyes and peppered Drake’s forehead with kisses. His fussing stopped almost immediately.
How could she not see how much she settled him? Yeah, maybe they struggled at one in the morning. But that kid needed her like she needed him. Those two were destined to be together.
Watching them was like intruding on a ritual, a moment that they had each day, coming home and finding peace together.
I gave them a minute, heading to the fridge to uncork a bottle of pinot grigio and pour two glasses.
“You’re busy,” she said. “We won’t interrupt your night.”
I carried over her glass of wine. “Stay for dinner.”
“What are you making?” She hovered at the corner of the island, surveying the pasta and vegetables on the cutting board.
“Dinner.” I smirked. “You’ll find out if you stay.”
She rolled her eyes, a smile toying at the corner of her pretty mouth. But she took the wine and her shoulders began their slow creep away from her ears. “Thank you.”
“Make yourself at home.”
With Drake on her hip, she glanced around the space. “You weren’t at the restaurant today.”
“You noticed?”
She shrugged. “I usually park beside your truck.”
That, or she looked for me. Maybe as often as I looked for her.
I went to the cutting board and began chopping the spinach while she rifled through the diaper bag and took out a bottle with powdered formula in the bottom.
She eased past me for the sink, filling the bottle with water before shaking it up. Then she walked to the living room, taking a seat on the couch to feed Drake.
I dropped the pasta into the boiling water, then picked up her wineglass, taking it to her in the living room.
“You have a beautiful home.” There was a sadness in her expression as she spoke.
“What’s that look for?” I perched on the edge of the coffee table, my knees just inches from hers.
It was too close.
It wasn’t close enough.
Whatever lines I’d intended to keep between us were melting away.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” She looked down at Drake. “He’s almost four months old. How did that happen? How did he grow so fast?”
“I’ve been told that’s what kids do.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Do you think he loves me?”
“Look at him and you’ll get your answer.”
Because that little boy was staring at his mother like she’d hung the moon and stars. He chugged his bottle, resting in her arms without a care in the world.