by Sydney Logan
Mom searches my face, desperate for an explanation, unbelieving that I could possibly refuse this beautiful man by my side.
“Jackson,” Mom says sweetly. “Why don’t you join the boys out on the porch? I’d like to talk to my stubborn daughter.”
Fantastic.
Jackson’s immediately apologetic. “Mrs. Stuart, it’s my fault—”
“Please call me Rebecca.”
“Rebecca . . . it’s entirely my fault. My proposal was very spontaneous. I didn’t even have a ring. I was just—”
“Desperate to marry my daughter because you can’t wait to make her happy for the rest of her life?”
“Well . . .”
“That’s what I thought,” she says with a sigh. “I’d like a few moments with my lovely daughter, if you don’t mind.”
With a heavy sigh, Jackson kisses my temple before heading outside to join my dad and Ryder. I can feel Mom’s gaze on me as I try to focus on anything but her disappointed face.
“Olivia Marie Stuart, what was your GPA?”
“What does my GPA have to do with—”
“What was it?”
“It was 4.0, Mom. You know this.”
“I do. So intelligence isn’t the issue here.”
I roll my eyes.
“Olivia, that boy is in love with you.”
“I know. I love him, too.”
“And you love his child. Your child.”
“Very much.”
“And you’re living together.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re looking at houses?”
I nod.
“And you’re . . .” her voice trails off as she wiggles her eyebrows.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. We’re not sleeping together.”
“Why not?”
This is completely mortifying.
“Mom, believe it or not, I’m an adult now. There are some parts of my life that really are none of your business.”
“I disagree. Not when you deny yourself happiness,” she says softly, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. “The man you love proposed to you and you said no. Please make me understand why.”
The boys’ laughter echoes from the back porch, and the sound makes me smile. They’d been so nervous, and now, they’re laughing with my dad and looking at fishing rods.
“Mom, he’s still married.”
She frowns. “I thought Jackson was divorced.”
“He was separated when I started working for him. Natasha—his wife—dragged her fancy designer heels for months. But she finally signed the papers. Their divorce will be final in two weeks.”
“Two weeks.”
“Right.”
“We can plan a wedding in two weeks.”
“Mom!”
She laughs. “Sorry, sorry. But he did propose?”
“Yes. But he proposed before they’d signed the papers.”
“And you said no.”
“I said not right now. Call me crazy, but I’d like the man of my dreams to be single when he asks me to marry him. He also proposed on the very same night that Natasha asked me to raise her son. Everything about that day was complicated and emotional, so forgive me if I needed a minute to comprehend it all.”
Mom starts to say something, but I’m not finished.
“Plus, he hadn’t met you guys. At that point, I’d only met his parents once. We’d only been on one date. Everything was just moving way too fast, and it terrified me.”
Mom smiled patiently, waiting for my rant to end.
“I understand, sweetheart.”
I blink rapidly.
“You do?”
“Of course. Those are solid reasons for saying no.”
“Thank you.”
“But I don’t think those are the only reasons you said no.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were terrified.”
Did I say that?
“You said everything was moving too fast, and you were terrified. What are you afraid of?”
Why did I say that? I hadn’t felt terrified at the time. I’d felt overwhelmed and emotional, but terrified? What could possibly be scary about marrying the man of my dreams?
“Besides the future ex-wife, this has all been a little too easy, hasn’t it?” Mom says softly. “Sure, you’ve had boyfriends in the past, but Jackson’s different. He’s a rich lawyer with a beautiful son . . . and they’re both crazy about you. You’re in love, and you’re happy. But you don’t trust any of it, because who finds their Prince Charming at the top of a high-rise building in a penthouse apartment? Who, instead of having a classroom full of kids, gets one amazing child who loves you completely and unconditionally? This is fairytale stuff, Olivia. In your mind, it’s come too easy. And that’s why you’re terrified.”
Before I can even formulate a response, Mom looks toward the mantle above the fireplace. My eyes follow hers, and I notice a new painting there. It’s a beautiful meadow, full of wildflowers and trees, with a waterfall in the distance.
“Did you paint that?”
She nods.
“Mom, it’s gorgeous.”
Her attention to detail in her paintings has always blown my mind, but this one is particularly stunning. So serene and peaceful.
“Do you think so?” she asks.
“Are you kidding? Of course. The colors are amazing.”
“I don’t know. It only took me a day to paint it.”
“That makes it even more incredible. It usually takes you weeks to finish a piece like that.”
“I know,” she says, gazing thoughtfully at her artwork. “I usually take my time, worrying about every splash of color and each stroke of the brush. But this painting came very easily to me.”
“Well, it’s beautiful. It should be hanging in a gallery somewhere.”
“That’s sweet of you to say. But do you think it’s any less beautiful, just because it came to life so quickly?”
“Of course not. That just makes it even more beaut—”
My eyes flash from her lovely painting to the very smug smile on her face.
She had me, and she knew it.
“My sweet girl,” Mom says, taking my hand in hers. “Sometimes, things are so perfect . . . so right . . . that you don’t have to take your time. You don’t have to make sure that every little piece fits perfectly. Sometimes, the colors and shapes perfectly blend and flow with ease. Sometimes, you don’t have to struggle to make things beautiful.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until she gently wipes away the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Sometimes,” she says tenderly, “the most beautiful things in life are effortless. Don’t be afraid of it. Consider yourself lucky that you found it, and never, ever take it for granted.”
Mom hugs me tight just as the door bursts open. Ryder races into the living room with my dad and Jackson in tow. The men stop laughing when they see my tears.
“Why are you crying, ‘Livia?” Ryder asks, jumping into my lap. His tiny fingers slide along my cheek. “Are you sad?”
I give him a teary smile.
“No. I’m crying because I’m happy.”
“I’m happy, too! Know why?”
“Why?”
“We’re going fishing!”
I glance at my father who’s positively beaming. I’m still not sure how successful this fishing trip will be considering it’s late November, but Dad said not to worry, so I won’t.
“Well, then, you’re going to need a tacklebox,” Mom says. “Come help me look, Ryder. I think we have an extra one in the upstairs closet.”
Ryder kisses my cheek before leaping out of my arms and following my parents up the stairs.
“Everything okay?” Jackson asks.
I stand up from the couch and wrap my arms around his waist.
“Everything’s fine.”
“But you were crying,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. �
�I’m sorry, Olivia. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jackson. I promise.”
He leans down and kisses me softly.
“Are you coming to the pond with us?” he asks.
“Nah. Go have fun with the boys.”
He smiles softly. “Your dad’s great.”
“I know.”
“Found it!” Mom yells from the top of the stairs. Jackson and I follow them into the kitchen, where fishing rods and tackleboxes rest on the table.
“I get to bait the hook!” Ryder blurts excitedly as he looks up at Dad. “Right? Umm, Mister . . . I forget your name.”
Everyone laughs.
“You can call me Grandpa, if you want to,” Dad says softly.
Tears fill my eyes again. Am I going to cry all weekend?
“Grandpa,” Ryder says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I can bait the hook, right?”
Dad grins, but I can see tears glistening in his eyes, too. Who knew my old man was such a softie?
“You bet, buddy. Let’s go.”
The guys grab their gear, and Mom and I follow them out to the porch. Jackson kisses me softly before taking Ryder by the hand and heading toward the pond with my father.
Correction.
Not my father.
Ryder’s Grandpa.
“See what I mean,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around me. “Effortless.”
“May I borrow your green bucket?”
The afternoon is beautiful, so I decide to take Ryder to his favorite park right after school. He heads straight to the sandbox and immediately finds a friend from class—a little boy named Sawyer with bright blond hair and Harry Potter glasses. They’re sharing buckets and shovels in their attempt to make a sandcastle.
Selfishly, I’m grateful Ryder has a friend to play with today. Because that means I can sit on this bench and nervously watch my phone, as I wait impatiently for Jackson’s call.
This afternoon, his divorce will become final.
“I like the sandbox,” Sawyer says. “We’re not at the ocean, so the waves can’t wash it away.”
“Where’s the ocean?” Ryder asks, and I make a mental note to take my boy to the beach next summer.
As the boys play, I keep glancing at my phone, sighing heavily with each passing moment of zero information. Sawyer’s mom, who’s sitting at the end of the bench, obviously notices.
“Everything okay?” she asks. “You seem anxious.”
She probably thinks I’m a bad mom—paying more attention to my phone than to my kid.
“Sorry. Just waiting for some news.”
“Good news?”
“Very good news.”
She smiles. “I’m Autumn, by the way.”
“Olivia. Nice to meet you.”
The beautiful skies begin to darken, and Autumn tells her son it’s time to head home. Once they’re gone, I slip my phone into my jeans pocket and join my kid in the sandbox.
“It’s gonna rain,” Ryder says.
“I think so.”
“Why doesn’t it snow? It’s almost Christmas.”
I grin. The kid has had Christmas on the brain ever since we put up the tree last week.
“It’s just not cold enough yet. Maybe we’ll get a white Christmas.” I glance up at the sky as thunder rolls in the distance. “We’d better go, buddy.”
“It’s almost done,” he says, carefully lifting the bucket. “Just one more tower then you can take a picture.”
“Okay, one more tower. May I help?”
Ryder’s smile is bright as he hands me the green bucket. I dutifully fill it with sand before passing it back to him. I watch as he tips the bucket on the ground and slowly pulls it away, forming the perfect tower. He grins as I take a picture of him with his masterpiece.
“That looks great! Best sandcastle ever.”
Ryder smiles proudly before leaning his head against my shoulder.
“Best mom ever,” he says softly.
Tears fill my eyes. It’s the first time he’s ever called me mom.
“Is that okay, ‘Livia?” he asks. “Can I call you that?”
I swallow down the emotion that bubbles in my throat. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but that doesn’t stop tears from trickling down my cheeks. I’d filled the role of his mother for months now, and according to the paperwork signed by Natasha, Ryder has every right to call me by that name if he wants.
I just never expected the sweet, innocent word to turn me into such an emotional mess.
I gather my little boy—my son—into my arms and cradle him close to my chest.
“You can call me anything you want, Ryder.”
“Okay. But why are you crying?”
Kids don’t always understand happy tears. And these are definitely happy tears.
“People sometimes cry when they’re happy.”
“Are you happy right now?”
“I am.”
“Because of our sandcastle?”
I grin and hug him tight.
“Yes. But not just because of our sandcastle.”
“Then why?” he asks, turning around in my lap so that he can see my tear-stained face. “Is something on your heart?”
With a smile, I gaze into my son’s eyes. My heart just isn’t big enough to hold this much happiness.
“You’re on my heart, Ryder. You and your daddy. All the time.”
“And that makes you happy?”
“That makes me very happy.”
Ryder slides his little arms around my neck and hugs me tight.
“Best mom ever,” he whispers.
When we arrive at the penthouse, I’m disappointed to find that Jackson’s not home. Hazel greets us in the foyer and immediately helps Ryder out of his jacket.
“He’s stuck in court,” she says, reading my mind.
As we follow her into the living room, I want to ask which court? Is he stuck in regular court with a client? Or stuck in divorce court with Natasha’s lawyer? We hadn’t heard a word from her since she moved to Florida, but I wouldn’t put it past her to do something to mess this up now that the divorce was about to become final.
Maybe she wants Jackson back. Maybe she wants Ryder back. Maybe . . .
“Ryder,” Hazel says softly. “Why don’t you go practice on your piano. I need to talk to Olivia.”
The little boy skips toward the baby grand. Within moments, a soft, sweet melody flows from the keys. Hazel takes me by the hand and leads me over to the couch.
“Breathe, Olivia. Everything’s fine.”
“Then why hasn’t he called?”
“Because he’s stuck in court.”
“He could text, at least.”
She smiles.
“Nervous, are we?”
“Jackson said that today is just a formality. That there’s no reason to worry.”
“Jackson’s a very smart man and a fine attorney. If he says don’t worry, then don’t worry.”
Sighing heavily, I close my eyes and try to focus on the music that echoes in the air. The song is lovely and relaxing, although I don’t recognize it at all.
“Better?” Hazel asks, patting my hand affectionately. “I need to go check on dinner. Be right back. Oh, and you got some mail. It’s in your room.”
“Thanks, Hazel.”
Needing something to distract my anxious mind, and with Ryder content at the piano, I head to my room, where I find a small stack of mail on the desk. It’s mostly junk, along with a card from Mom and my monthly bank statement.
How long has it been since I actually checked my bank account?
It’s funny. When I was a poor college student living in my studio apartment, I checked my bank app religiously, budgeting down to the penny. Then I was hired as Ryder’s nanny, and suddenly, my rent was free and my paychecks were ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that I’d stopped depositing them months ago.
For the first time in my life, I didn�
��t need the money.
I open the top desk drawer and find the pile of uncashed checks. I’m too afraid to add them up, knowing the total would probably make me sick, but I just can’t cash them. Things are different now. Jackson and I are in love, and I’m no longer the nanny.
We’re a family, and you don’t pay family.
Still, I’m curious—and a little afraid that I’m overdrawn and don’t know it—so I grab my phone and log on to my bank app to check my balance.
I blink, unbelieving, when I see the amount.
Scrolling through my transactions, I see several deposits that I didn’t make—$500 a week for the past three months. Which is right around the time I stopped depositing my paychecks.
Someone has access to my bank account.
Someone is in trouble.
“Olivia?”
The sweet sound of Jackson’s voice echoing from the hallway momentarily thrills me, making me forget my rage. I dig through the drawer until I find a pen and my checkbook—another thing I haven’t used in months—before stuffing the uncashed paychecks back into the desk.
“There you are,” he says, standing in the doorway.
With a smile, Jackson leans against the door and loosens his tie. The sight of him makes me sigh happily. Then I remember I’m mad.
“Jackson Healey, we need to talk.”
His smile turns into a frown as he slowly sits down on my bed.
“Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
I walk over to the bed and sit down beside him. Angrily, I click the pen, write him a check, and rip it out before handing it to him.
Jackson sighs heavily. “Olivia, look—”
“No, you look. First of all, I did not give you permission to deposit money into my account. How did you even do that?”
“I called the bank and told them to transfer it.”
“You have my account number?”
“No, but I have the name of your bank. It’s on your financial form . . . the one you filled out when you applied for the nanny position, remember?”
Oh, yeah. I didn’t see the harm then . . . back when I only had fifty bucks to my name. What was he gonna do, steal it?
“Why didn’t you cash the checks, Olivia?”
“I cashed some of them.”
“Why not the rest?”
“Because this stopped being a job a long time ago. Our lives are completely different now. This is my life. Our life.”