by Tawna Fenske
He laughs and turns so my next kiss lands on the other corner of his mouth. “And the dish soap bubble baths.”
Another kiss, this one right in the cleft of his chin. “And your ugly cat,” I tell him. “She really steals the deal.”
That one was on purpose, but he doesn’t correct me. Doesn’t even make a seal joke or offer to make a seal for me out of balloons. Just pulls me tight against him and claims my mouth with his. The kiss is soft at first, but we both lean into it. My breath catches as his tongue grazes mine, and his hands slide down to cup my backside. It’s hot and possessive and everything inside me screams this one.
Forever. This one.
We’re breathless when we draw back, and he looks deep into my eyes. “I love you, Blanka. You’re what makes me happy. The rest is just noise.”
“I love you,” I tell him. “You float my boat. I feel like my ship’s finally come in. We’re in the same boat, right?”
He laughs and kisses me again. “You’re getting good.”
“You’re already good,” I tell him. “The best guy I know.”
“Ty naykrashhyy muzhcyna?”
I stare at him, palm splayed on his chest. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Your mother,” he says. “I even had her write it down for me.” He fishes into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I also learned this one— Ty naykrashhyy zhinka.”
Here come the tears again.
You are the best woman.
You are the best man.
“Maybe we bring out the best versions of each other,” I tell him.
“There’s no maybe about it,” he says. “It’s a fact.”
As he bends to kiss me again, I know it to be true.
Epilogue
Jonathan
“Should I get another blanket?”
Blanka smiles up at me, then snuggles closer. “I’m good. Snug as a bug in a rug. Which, for the record, dates back to a 1772 epitaph penned by Benjamin Franklin for a friend’s dead squirrel.”
I laugh and slip an arm around her. “I’m not going to touch that one.”
I lean us both back against the bow railing so we’re facing backward on the deck of our little pocket cruiser. It’s the sort of sailboat my father would have grudgingly admired, a vintage 26-foot Balboa that’s been completely rebuilt. I replaced the 1969 shag carpet with a high-grade marine carpet Bree helped me find, but the rest of the original features are intact. Even the teak dinette and the world map spanning the laminate tabletop.
It’s the berth my old man would have really admired. New Tempur-Pedic mattress, plus a door that closes for privacy.
Not that we need it now. We’re all alone out here on Cultus Lake, with a giant swath of stars overhead. “I thought it would be colder in November,” Blanka muses.
“I’m plenty warm.” I snuggle her closer, pretty sure I could be naked on an iceberg in the Arctic and still feel toasty with this woman in my arms. “Won’t be long before the snow comes.”
It’s the last weekend before they close the Cascade Lakes Highway for the season, so we’re up here christening the new boat. Among other things.
Blanka picks up her wineglass and takes a small sip before setting it back in the suction-cup holder. “Is the signing still set for Monday?”
“That’s the plan. Josh did all the forms on his end, so as soon as we sign our part, Dreamland Tours officially becomes part of Ponderosa Resort.”
And I become its full-time manager. Crazy to imagine.
“Jonathan Bracelyn, boating entrepreneur.” Blanka grins up at me again, starlight in her eyes. “Who’da thunk it?”
I laugh, imagining her father’s response to this charming slaughter of the English language. “Not me,” I admit. “But it feels right.”
So does this. Being out here with her under the stars, the gentle lap of water rocking us into one another.
“Seriously, though, you’ll do great,” she says.
“I hope so.” I squeeze her tightly, appreciating both her body heat and the fact that she supports my new endeavor. That my whole family does. “I definitely won’t be running Dreamland as a money-making enterprise. We’ll still do all the tourist stuff, but it’s the other trips I’m excited about.”
“I love that the school district approved everything,” she says. “And so quickly.”
“They were motivated.” Not just by the huge donation, though I suppose that helped. Dad’s money comes in handy sometimes.
“There are so many kids who’ve never had a chance to get out on the water,” I continue. “Never paddled a kayak or watched shooting stars on a moonlight canoe trip. I’m happy we’ll be able to give that to them.”
Underprivileged kids will go whitewater rafting in the summer. In the fall, they’ll learn water safety and proper paddling strokes for canoes and kayaks. They’ll see the beauty of aquatic landscapes and learn about wildlife and caring for equipment.
All the things Chuck taught me, with some of my father’s lessons mixed in. It’s the balance I’ve been searching for my whole life.
“I love that you’re still able to chase your dreams from here.”
“Nah, I’ve caught them.” I kiss her temple, pulling her closer to me. “You know what’s funny?”
“Neckties with tiny penises?”
I laugh and kiss her again. “That, too. But I was thinking about my father.” Not his sense of humor, though he did have a good one. “I was thinking how he was kind of an asshole. He cheated on his wives, abandoned his kids—”
“That’s funny?” Blanka’s brow is furrowed, and I can tell I’m not making sense to her.
“Not that part, no,” I admit. “But for all his asshole tendencies, he was a charitable guy. He donated to good causes. He took in my cousin, Brandon, after his mom left. He bailed Bree out of big trouble once. Even though his methods were usually messed up, his heart was in the right place.”
Sometimes. Mostly it was in his pants, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
“I guess what I’m saying is that there were good things about my father, too,” I tell her. “And maybe I’m finally tapping into those. Not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak.”
“That expression I know,” she says. “And you’re right—bathwater’s a good place to find special things.”
I laugh and kiss her again. “Way to carry that metaphor. Which reminds me—we’re due for another self-care bath.”
“I’ll add it to the calendar.” She settles back against my chest, the lupine scent of her filling my lungs. “I’m glad they’re getting to travel,” she says, shifting the conversation easily. “Your mom and Chuck, I mean.”
“I can’t believe it worked out like it did.”
Except I can. It’s so obvious Chuck was the best choice to head up the new medical mission in Dovlano. His skill and wisdom, not to mention decades of experience in the Coast Guard, are the perfect complement to my mother’s nursing background. They’re a great team. Always have been.
And with the two of them working together, they’ll still have time to see and explore and enjoy retirement.
“They seem so happy,” she says. “If their emails are any indication.”
“They are.” If anything, their post-retirement communication blip has made their marriage stronger. “Guess we’re all getting your romance novel happily ever after.”
Blanka’s brow furrows. “Not everyone. There’s still Izzy. And Gretchen. And—”
“And let’s just focus on our happy ending for now.” Preferably on that new mattress. I shift to stand up, helping Blanka to her feet. “Ready to head in?”
“Let’s check the kittens,” she says. “It’s their maiden voyage, too.”
“Good point.” I pry the hatch open carefully, not wanting anyone to escape. As we move down the ladder, I spot Raisin and Sinbad curled in the fuzzy donut bed we brought for them. Eloise is perched on a kitchen cabinet, while
Zinnia—always the mama’s boy—is snuggled up to Jessica on a towel we left puddled on the table.
“Brrrrow,” Jessica says, and narrows her eyes at me.
“I love you, too.” I scratch behind her ragged ears, earning myself a rusty purr.
“They’re so cute,” Blanka says. “I’m so glad we decided to keep them all.”
“Me, too.” They’re all spayed and neutered, and perfectly happy with their massive cattery Mark helped build off the side of the cabin. The jury’s still out on whether they like sailing, but right now, they seem content.
“These paws are built for boating,” I tell Jessica, touching one of her massive polydactyl mitts. “And you’ve definitely earned a vacation.”
“Brrrow,” she says again, then swats at Sinbad for playing with her tail. The kitten scampers off, making little chirping sounds.
I laugh and stroke a hand down Jessica’s back. “You done good.”
“Your English is atrocious,” Blanka says in the perfect impression of her father’s voice. “What kind of slang is that?”
Still grinning, I grab her hand and tug her toward the berth. “My English might need work, but my French skills are on point. Want me to show you?”
Blanka giggles, surging ahead to leap onto the bed. “Ooh-la-la.”
She falls back against the pillows, blonde hair making a curtain around her face. Eyes sparking with mischief, she pats the bed beside her. “Jetez vos pantalons!”
“What does that mean?”
She smacks the bed again, grinning. “Discard your pantaloons!”
“Oui.” That’s pretty much it for my French vocabulary. In words, anyway. I ease onto the bed beside her, anticipating the taste of her on my tongue.
“Ja,” I add, throwing a little German into the mix. “Evet.”
“Turkish?”
I nod, pushing her back onto the bed as my mouth finds the spot. That perfect, sensitive spot that works like magic every time.
“Sí,” I breathe against her throat.
“Sim,” she gasps, digging her fingers into my shoulder blades. “Tak. Ya.”
I can’t identify the languages, but I know the sentiment.
Yes.
A thousand languages, a million times over, yes.
Again and again for the rest of my life.
* * *
***
Itching to get your hands on more Ponderosa Resort rom-coms? Izzy and Bradley are heading your way in 2020 with Dr. Hot Stuff, but first comes a sexy novella starting Jon’s sister, Gretchen. Snowbound Squeeze is already up for pre-order and releasing January 17, 2020. Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek…
Your exclusive peek at Snowbound Squeeze
Gable
The instant James drops the key into my palm, I curl my fist around the metal lifeline and hold tight.
“Stay as long as you need to.” My old friend’s voice is pitched low, his expression soft with compassion.
Compassion and whatever it’s called when someone’s got three sparkly red lipstick marks on his face.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat, trying not to stare at the kiss print just above his jaw. Did Lily miss his mouth on purpose? “And—uh—no one else knows about this? Me being in Oregon.”
James leans against the cedar-planked wall of his cabin’s foyer. I’m grateful we’re doing this here. That he’s not luring me in for wine and friendly conversation.
I’m not feeling friendly. Just tired. Tired and really fucking raw.
Also confused about the lipstick. Seriously, does he not know it’s there?
“Lily knows,” James says, and it takes me a second to remember what we’re talking about. “I told her you were headed this way. She’s been worried since we saw everything on the news.”
“I’m fine.” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or me.
“The rest of resort management doesn’t know you’re here,” he assures me. “And they definitely don’t know about that.”
He nods at the key in my hand, and I clutch it tighter. “Thanks.”
I’ve met most of James’s siblings and love them like mad, but right now I’m grateful for discretion. “Privacy’s sort of key at the moment.”
“You’ll have that in spades at the cabin,” he says. “To be honest, I think everyone forgot it exists. It was part of our inheritance, but it’s so far in the middle of nowhere that no one ever uses it.”
Perfect.
James rubs a hand over his chin, narrowly missing a smear of lipstick. I debate mentioning it but decide not to. I won’t be here long, and there’s no sense embarrassing him. I’m sure he’s eager to get back to whatever produced the lip prints in the first place.
A gust of wind hurls ice chips at the door behind me, and I glance out the window to my left. Trees sway in the darkness, their needles flickering with moonlight.
“The snow’s not supposed to hit until tomorrow,” James says. “You should be fine.”
“I will be.”
I’m not sure we’re talking about snow.
He studies my face for a moment. “I wasn’t sure you were still coming.”
“It took me a while to get out of town. LA traffic, you know?”
He nods, making the lipstick on his left temple flash in the light from the sconce beside the door. “Right. Still, I was worried.”
James isn’t the only one. It’s my agent who finally persuaded me to get out of town. “Perhaps you should find someplace to lay low,” he suggested on the phone last week. “Just stay out of the public eye until things quiet down.”
My brother, Dean, was more direct. “Get the fuck out of Hollywood,” he growled. “Hide out until we tell you to come back. Or fuck it, don’t come back. God knows I’d love to get out of here.”
So that’s what I’m doing. Getting lost, at least for a little while.
The key feels warm in my palm, its metal ridges biting into the fleshy undersides of my fingers. I should get going.
“Thanks again,” I say, taking a step back. “I’ll get out of your—”
“Gable!” James’s fiancée swoops in wearing a silky red kimono belted at the waist. Lily pulls me into a soft, fragrant hug, reminding again that my college pal is one lucky son of a bitch. “We weren’t sure you’d make it. How’s your family?”
“Great.” I channel as much enthusiasm as possible into that syllable, adding a smile for good measure. “Lana and Lauren say hi. They keep asking when you’re coming back to visit.”
“We’re hoping they’ll come see us this time.” She smiles and glances at James. I see her register the lipstick on his face the same instant he pushes off the wall and launches into CEO mode.
“I really think you’d be better off staying here.” He’s pacing like a courtroom lawyer, which he was once upon a time. “We’ve got a full-time security team at Ponderosa Resort.”
Lily nods, choosing to ignore the lipstick in favor of ganging up on me. “He’s right. The resort’s full for Valentine’s weekend, so we’d have lots of eyes and ears watching out for you.”
This sounds as appealing as smashing my testicles in the cutlery drawer. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m really looking for some alone time.”
The two exchange a look I can’t read. That’s possibly because the red smear beside James’s mouth transforms his polished façade into something more clownlike.
Lily lifts a hand to wipe it at the same moment James turns and sweeps a hand toward their living room. “We have a guest suite that’s very private,” he insists. “You could have meals brought in and would never have to interact with anyone.”
Dropping her hand, Lily gives an infinitesimal shrug and regards me with a bemused smile. “We’re very discreet.”
The kindness in her eyes is almost enough to change my mind.
Almost. “This cabin will be perfect.” I shove the key in my pocket before they can snatch it back. “No phones, no internet, no television.”
No angry fans, no hate mail, no televised reminders of my great fuckup.
James sighs and yanks at his tie. Tries to anyway, but there isn’t one. Whatever they were doing when I got here jettisoned his ever-present neckwear.
Lily sticks her hands in the pockets of her kimono and regards me with concern. “We sent someone out to the cabin to get it ready for you,” she says. “It’s clean, but it’s really rustic. You know how to chop firewood and all that?”
“I’ve got some dynamite left over from that last action flick,” I deadpan. “Figure I can use it to fell a couple trees.”
Lily laughs and whips a tissue out of her pocket, raising it in triumph. She edges toward James, poised to swipe.
And misses, because now he’s pacing again. “Look, we’re just worried about you.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, smearing the lip print at his right temple. “Maybe if you talk to someone about—”
“I’m fine,” I insist, more urgently this time. “Really, I promise. I just need to go somewhere no one recognizes me and no one’s reminding me of what happened.”
There’s that look again, that silent exchange between two people who know each other well enough to have a full conversation with no words. I’d envy them if I weren’t a jaded asshole intent on being alone.
Lily looks back at me and sighs. “At least promise you’ll be careful. And that you’ll go into town at least once to call and let us know you’re okay.”
“Promise.” I put a hand on my heart the way James and I used to do when reciting the school pledge, and my heart twists at the memory. How did life get so messed up?
“Fine,” James says. “Can we at least feed you dinner?”
“Not hungry.” My stomach chooses that moment to rumble like a gravel crusher.
Lily arches one eyebrow. “Really?”
I reach behind me for the doorknob, determined to flee before they tie me to a dining room chair and force coq au vin down my throat. I wrench the door open, walking backwards in case they try to tackle me. “Fine, I’m starving. I’ll eat on the way. I just want to get—”