Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  “And I get the black one?” Finn asks, hopping on the other bike.

  “Yours is a Kona Process. One of the best mountain bikes around,” Raoul explains. “Pretty cool, right?”

  “Awesome,” Finn says. He rides the bike in a circle around them. “Thanks, Peyton!”

  “Wait. You have to wear the helmet every time. Got it?” I demand.

  Raoul’s assistant hands a black helmet to Finn, who has no trouble adjusting it and strapping it on before he’s off again and pedaling on a grassy hill next to the store.

  Talia is given a silver helmet. She removes her bun thing, shakes out her hair, and then slips on the new helmet. Raoul adjusts it for her, seeming to take an extra bit of time—so he can enjoy her company, I’m guessing. He even holds the bike for her as she hops up on the seat. Then I take over. Before she can take off pedaling, I put both hands on her waist. It’s instinctive. I want to stop her from her wobbly start and inevitable crash, but I also feel fairly territorial.

  She’s mine.

  Talia regards me with curious eyes. “Aren’t you going to let me zoom away like Finn?”

  “No. He knows what he’s doing. You need a few lessons on the basics, and Raoul here is going to teach you.”

  “Really?” She looks disappointed. “Am I the only adult who has to take bike riding lessons?” she asks Raoul.

  “Not at all. And it’s going to be very easy. You’ll feel more comfortable on the bike, and you’ll be safer,” he replies.

  I walk away and settle back against the side of my truck, watching Raoul give Talia instructions on the gears. Then he has her sit on the bike and walk it along with her feet. As they move farther away toward the hilly grass, I hear her laugh.

  In the meantime, Finn is tearing up the practice area with little jumps and skids on the dirt patches. A mountain bike will be perfect for him in Hera. I can take him up on the trails behind my house and give him a taste of something he can’t get in the suburbs with Harmony.

  A half hour later, Talia is cruising smoothly on both the grass and the gravel parking lot. She gives me a big grin as she pedals toward me. “I’m going to try braking without panicking!” she shouts.

  God help me. The woman is about to plow into me. I don’t want her to know I’m a little alarmed and ready to grab the bike to stop her—again—but thankfully, she veers to the left and circles around for another attempt.

  “It was too soon!” she shouts. “I have to slow down sooner.”

  I smile, trying to look calm. She’s going to crash into either me or the truck if I try to save myself.

  “No rush,” Raoul shouts to her. “You’re doing fine.”

  That’s easy for you to say, because she doesn’t have a massive tire aimed at your dick, Raoul.

  I cross my arms and legs, as if that will give me some added protection should this woman lose control again.

  I have to say that she looks fucking amazing with her golden hair blowing around the helmet with a sort of halo effect.

  “No panicking,” Raoul says as she gets closer. “Calm breaths, stop pedaling, let it coast … and begin braking.”

  She glides around us with perfect control and slows down to a gentle stop in front of me.

  “I did it.” She smiles broadly.

  “You did.” I relax my whole body and reach out to brush her cheek, grazing the soft skin with my knuckles. “Perfect.”

  She blushes and looks down for a moment. “This is a wonderful gift. Thank you. I love this bike.”

  “You’re welcome.” I spend a few extra seconds staring at her, because she stares back. We do it so well—this staring game. Cue sappy, heartfelt sighing.

  We watch Finn do a few more laps around, and then I harness the bikes in the new bike rack I bought for the truck bed.

  “But what about you?” Finn asks. “Don’t you want a bike?”

  “When I was here last week, ordering these two bikes, I bought one for myself. It’s already at home in the garage.”

  “So we can go out riding together?”

  “Definitely. We can take your bike back and forth from your mom’s house to mine so you can always have it with you.”

  “No, I’d rather keep it at your house. I’d like something of mine at your home. And besides, Mom doesn’t ride, and she’ll always worry about me if I bike around the neighborhood.”

  “Whatever you want, buddy.”

  On the drive back to Hera, Finn tells us that he’s going to research where all the best trails are so we can attempt them all. Talia sits quietly in the back and listens. When I catch her attention in the rearview mirror, she smirks. Oh, yes, the irony—the guy who didn’t want to settle down and have kids. But who says I’m settling down? I can still have the job in Los Angeles.

  We arrive back at Swill around lunchtime. Talia immediately goes to work in the kitchen and shows Finn what she’s cooking and how she organizes all her deliveries. Then Finn and I sit down for a lunch prepared by Bash. We eat alone, where the waitstaff is prepping the tables for dinner and the bar staff is stocking glassware and replacing kegs.

  I’m not really sure how single parents who work nights take care of their kids. Greer has a part-time nanny for the day shifts and a sitter who comes in for the evening shifts, but she always makes sure she spends less than thirty-five hours per week at the restaurant. She can handle a lot of vendor issues from home and still pick up her kids from school. As the guy running the place, I don’t feel comfortable leaving during a night shift, but then I already managed to do that to help Talia at Adam’s party.

  I haven’t figured out the weekend scheduling with Finn yet, but I’m also not going to forfeit the opportunity Harmony has given me. I’ll make it work, even if it means Finn spends some time in my office doing homework and playing computer games before I cut out early so we can have some quality time at my home.

  I picture us getting an early start on Saturday mornings, hitting the bike trails, and then we head into Swill for meals and whatever entertainment I can create for him there before I have to drive him back to his mother’s home on Sunday morning. It’s not much time together, but I hope we become close enough that it turns into daily phone calls and some weeknight and holiday stays.

  As we finish our lunches, Talia delivers two slices of cheesecake she made. She waits for me to try it, so I shove a hefty bite in my mouth. The flavors hit me just right. The thick, sweet creaminess baked in the traditional New York style reminds me of Brooklyn.

  Finn uses a stab-and-maul technique then grunts with approval.

  “Well? Tell me what you think,” she demands.

  “You made it the right way,” I say.

  “I made it yesterday, because they always taste better after they sit in the fridge overnight. I had no idea you were buying me a bike, so this can be my thank-you. A fair trade, give or take a thousand dollars.” She rolls her eyes with a laugh.

  “Amazing cook, right?” I say to Finn, who nods with a mouthful of cheesecake.

  “I think it’s amazing how similar you two are,” she says. “You have the same body moves, and you eat the same way. And your eyebrowns and eyeflashes are exactly the same.”

  “Our what?” Finn asks.

  “Eyebrowns and eyeflashes?” I ask. I wink, and her smile drops.

  “No,” she mumbles and shakes her head. “That is not what I meant … That’s an old …. mistake. Thought I corrected those with my dialect and speech lessons.”

  “It’s all right.” I hope she will laugh with us, but she doesn’t.

  “Your eyebrows and eyelashes are similar. That’s all I meant,” she says, frowning, then walks back to the kitchen.

  “Did I make her mad?” Finn asks.

  My son has both a huge appetite and empathy, and I approve of both.

  “You didn’t. She’s very sensitive about her accent, and sometimes I tease her too much. Let me go talk to her.”

  I find her in a storage room off the kitchen. She’s
looking up at her thermal delivery bags on a high shelf, but she isn’t moving to retrieve them. She’s standing perfectly still with her back to me.

  “Hey.” As she turns around at the sound of my voice, I grasp each shoulder and pull her gently toward me. “You don’t have to be self-conscious around me or Finn—we both like you. And I apologize for teasing you in front of him. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I shouldn’t be making the same mistakes a five-year-old makes. Eyebrowns instead of eyebrows? I sound like an idiot in front of Finn. I don’t blame you for laughing.”

  “It was amusing, but we weren’t laughing at you. Seriously, it was cute.”

  “Stop saying everything I do is cute. I hate that.”

  “Okay, it was sexy, and I’d like to take you right here and now.”

  “In dry storage? No way. You can see me tomorrow night after Finn goes home.” She gives me a brief but exciting kiss, payback for feeling taunted.

  My body reacts, and I reach for more, but she pushes me away.

  “Nope. Not today.”

  “You’re cruel. You get me wound up and leave me hanging.”

  “That’s one of many reasons why we are not made for one another,” she says as she turns away and reaches for her delivery bags.

  “What do you mean, one of many?”

  “Peyton.” She drops the bags on the floor and looks at me for a moment. “You and I have a lot of stuff. Luggage.”

  “You mean baggage,” I say tersely.

  “Yes, baggage. We both have other responsibilities. You have Finn. You’re a father now, and I have to take care of my mother. We said from the beginning that this is for fun. We’re already starting to go off in other directions, away from each other. So it’s good we’re keeping it simple.”

  “Great … other directions. Uh-huh. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night for something fun and simple. Hopefully, you’ll remember the directions to my house.”

  Talia

  I USE SUNDAY MORNING to get to know my new bike. I find some bike-friendly roads that run along the outskirts of Hera. It’s an exhausting endeavor. I’m still not in the best condition for this type of cardio, but I feel highly motivated to keep going.

  The Pickwick house is the last stop before heading home. I struggle to pedal the bike up the long, dirt driveway. The house looms ahead as though it’s been waiting for me.

  Peyton and everyone else see a battered old estate where I see something majestic, a sanctuary that could use a good caretaker and some loving renovations. But it’s there, in those good, solid bones—a fine Victorian that I would love to own and turn into my own restaurant and inn. The ideas constantly churn through my head. The farm, outfitting the kitchen, decorating a dining room, and restoring a few grand bedrooms for guests.

  I take one last, longing look before I head back down the hill to my mother’s home.

  My mood begins to sink considerably. First, I didn’t like how Peyton and I left it yesterday. I recognize his moods now, when he’s pretending not to be annoyed with me or aggravated by our unconventional circumstances. We entered into this uncommitted relationship willingly with the idea of having fun, except other people are involved now and we can’t carry on as we have without consequences. It’s really about Finn, but I also know I’m afraid about being on the receiving end of another broken heart. I’ve had more than my share of physical and emotional heartbreaks, and the more time I spend with Peyton, the more I let him in. And the more I enjoy our physical intimacy, the more I fall for him. I can’t fall for him.

  I have to stop falling.

  My mother is running on the treadmill when I arrive home. The grinding sound of the motor and feet pounding on the rubber mat have become the soundtrack for this household. It helped me recover, but I can’t look at the treadmill without the imagery of surgery and home imprisonment filling my head. For my mother, it’s a virtual escape from her boxed-in world, running nowhere.

  As her shoes slap against the tread, my dread grows. The urge to walk out the door and find someplace else to live and breathe is powerful.

  As soon as I enter the kitchen, my mother’s eyes lock on me. She smiles, and I nod in return as I walk to the kitchen tap and fill a glass with tepid water. I gulp it, not realizing how dehydrated I am from biking.

  “I was hoping we could spend this evening together,” my mother shouts over the loud hum of the treadmill motor. “I haven’t seen The Crown, and I’d prefer to watch it with you. And Aleska, if she’s home.”

  I planned on spending the evening with Peyton, my escape from this maudlin world with my mother, and because I crave him.

  “If you have plans with Peyton, I understand,” she says, reducing her sprinting to a jog so she can talk. “But we haven’t spent any time together.”

  This is where I want to scream at her for throwing the guilt my way, as though she’s a child who needs more of her parents’ attention. But she’s also my mother, and she never left me, and she nursed me through a broken relationship and a broken heart. And because I love her, and daughters are not supposed to abandon their mothers.

  “We can watch the show. Aleska and I have been out too much lately anyway. We could use a quiet night at home.”

  “Good.” She smiles and keeps running. She’s genuinely happy. I’m filling the void so she doesn’t have another long, lonely night.

  I slip into my room to call Peyton. It doesn’t seem fair that I have to cancel my evening with him, since our time is finite and where I really want is to be with him. But maybe this is a good way to wean myself off him. We didn’t spend the previous evening together because it was a Finn night, and now tonight is a Mila night. These are the responsibilities, and they don’t mix.

  If I had any dreamy thoughts that Peyton and I could have something beyond sex, it was under the assumption that his commitment to Finn would require him to turn down that business opportunity in Los Angeles. Maybe he wouldn’t stay in Hera, but even if he moved back to the city or closer to Finn, Peyton wouldn’t be far from me. I let myself consider that when I thought there was something growing between us. Then Mom and her ever-present neediness and care brought me back to reality. Peyton and Finn can’t be saddled with my problems. No one can.

  Peyton picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, sunflower. Why don’t you come over to the restaurant and keep me company?” His baritone sends sweet chills through my body.

  “I can’t.” I wilt. “My mother asked me if I’d spend the evening with her. I really wanted to say no. I want to be with you, but my mother …”

  “I know.” He pauses for a beat. “I understand what you’re going through. Mila is lonely, and you and Aleska are barely home. Your mom is afraid of losing you both.”

  “You seem to know a lot about my mother,” I whisper. For some reason, I want to cry. My mother’s fragility and my non-boyfriend’s sincerity.

  “She’s a good mom. I know you’ve had your differences and it’s tough dealing with her condition. We’ve talked about this—getting her friends to come in and confront her to get some type of intervention going—and I’m sorry I haven’t been more help. I’m not sorry I take up your time and drag you to my bed every chance we get, but I promise to be more helpful where your mom is concerned.”

  He has no responsibility in this, yet his thoughtfulness to help is perhaps the sweetest offer I’ve ever received from any man.

  “You don’t have to do anything, Peyton. She’s my problem.”

  “She’s your mom, not your problem. Stop acting like you can fix this on your own. I’m going to reach out to Lois and a few others. We’ll organize a friendly intervention. I don’t want you stressing about this. I want you taking care of yourself, your health, your heart.”

  “My heart.” I think about the word but realize I’ve said it out loud. My physical heart is near perfect, but my emotional heart is always on the verge of either bursting with feelings for Peyton or developing fissures, those tiny, hairlin
e cracks I think will appear when my time with Peyton ends. “It’s fine,” I say. “It’s excellent.”

  Does he read into the double meanings as well, or am I the only one who thinks we’re digging ourselves in deeper with new layers of friendship?

  “It is,” he says, and I can picture him smiling. “Take care of your mother. Spend tonight with her but think about me.”

  “I will. I’m sorry that I won’t get to stay at your house.”

  “I am, too.”

  “You’d be proud of me, though. I rode my bike around the hills and didn’t fall or crash once. And I visited Pickwick, and I swear I could hear it calling out to me. Talia, Talia. Seriously, I belong to that place.”

  He laughs. “I like your ambition, sunflower. Don’t ever lose that. But next time, bike over to my house and get naked in my bed so I have something to look forward to when I come home at night.”

  “Hmm, nice fantasy, but we both have real-world situations, don’t we?”

  “We do. And having you around makes it easier for me to figure out how to do real-world things. It does.”

  “It’s nice of you to say that.” I don’t necessarily believe you.

  “You have a good night with your mom. As for tomorrow, get some rest because I’m planning on you spending the night, and we’re going to be busy. Bring a suitcase.”

  I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. “I think your brain can only handle two things. It’s either work or sex.”

  “Actually, you and Finn are giving me a different perspective. See you tomorrow, sunflower.”

  His last statement leaves me surprised. Not about Finn; but that I was included. The sentiment was more than generous and could lead any woman to believe she has Peyton’s full attention. Flora must have struggled with his charm every day, thinking that maybe he could be the settle-down type.

  • • •

  Movie night with my mother involves pajamas, a lot of cheesy, hot appetizers, and watching five episodes of The Crown. We go to bed at two in the morning, bleary-eyed and bloated.