Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds Book 2)

by Claudia Burgoa

  Instead, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better. I told you it was the ziplining and maybe bad sushi.” Her voice is so mellow and relaxed. I like this Nyx. The one who isn’t checking emails, worrying about work, or trying to make sure everyone around her is doing alright.

  “I made you coffee. This time I didn’t add anything to it.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t touch the sushi,” I remind her.

  She glances at me, her eyebrow arched, and I’m judging myself too. Was I paying too much attention that I knew exactly what she ate? She mentioned not liking raw fish. I heard the story about living in Korea and getting sick after eating hoe at a restaurant. There’s so much I want to ask her about her life while growing up, the places where she lived, the different cultures she experienced.

  There’s so much I want to know about her. This is why I don’t leave. I’m around because she’s interesting and not because I am attracted to her beyond her beauty, right?

  “Observant,” she declares and hands me a plate with pancakes and eggs. “What do you want us to do today?”

  Leave you at home. Escape from you.

  “We could go for a hike,” I offer, hoping that she can do it without getting sick. “Unless you’re not up for it. Then we could do something less—”

  “I’m feeling great,” she reassures me, smiling at me tenderly.

  While drenching my pancakes with maple syrup, I ask, “You’re not having breakfast?”

  She sighs and shows me a cup of yogurt. “I’m going for something light. A bowl of blueberries, yogurt, and tea. Mom texted me earlier to remind me that I should eat more often and in small portions.”

  “Is she still thinking that you are…” I trail my voice, taking a bite of pancakes. “Mmm…these are delicious. They are like pieces of clouds. Your mom doesn’t seem like a regular mother.”

  She grins.

  “Everything I bake comes out fluffy, even pancakes,” she states and then adds, “Mom is different. I’m impressed that she hasn’t quit and moved to some remote town in South America.”

  “Would she do it?”

  She nods, eating a spoonful of fresh blueberries.

  “In a heartbeat. I’m sure my parents stay because we’re tight.” She looks at me and shrugs. “It’d be hard to live far away from them. Mom is going nuts because Callie moved—and we don’t know where she’s at.”

  “Say the word and I’ll have that info for you,” I offer again. “What do you usually do on Sundays?”

  She looks at me and twists her lips a couple of times and sighs. “Work?”

  Perhaps I connect with her because we’re not so much different. Maybe I’m here to learn something from her. To teach each other that there’s more to life than making deals. It’s not like I have my shit together, but I can balance my life a lot better than she does.

  “You are a workaholic. I should take you under my wing and teach you how to balance out life with work,” I offer wondering if that’s something we could do.

  “Maybe in a couple of weeks. I’m working on two important cases and closing the third one this Monday,” she informs me. “Once I close them and my boss is off my ass, I can take a weekend off.”

  I want to tell her that weekends are supposed to be always off, but it seems like a waste of energy. She’s too focused, and maybe that’s one of her best qualities.

  “You’re giving me today, right?” I ask, hopeful. “I promise to make it an unforgettable day.”

  She gives me a playful smile. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  “Probably, but I’m making this easy for you. Next year you can make it up to me,” I wink at her, finishing the pancakes. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  While she finishes her food, I head upstairs to take a shower. Once I come back to the kitchen, I find her playing with Brock. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans, her hiking boots and a white T-shirt.

  “I grabbed some clothes from Persy. We can just head out instead of going home.”

  Whatever Nyx had could be a twenty-four hour bug, an ulcer, or maybe, as she insists it was, going on the zipline. Still, I suggest we prepare a picnic instead of taking her to eat at some restaurant. From what her parents said yesterday, she could use a homemade meal. Heating up some of the leftover chicken soup, I pour it into the thermos I have stored in Ford’s house.

  Nyx makes a couple of sandwiches, washes a couple of apples, and fills the water bottles before we put everything into my backpack. As we’re making our way out of the penthouse, I run back for crackers just in case she gets sick.

  “You know why we wouldn’t work out as a couple?” she asks.

  “Please, enlighten me,” I answer as we head toward the elevator.

  “You’re an outdoorsy guy, I’m not,” she concludes. “But I have a few friends who would love to date you. As I said, when you’re ready to let go of your past, you should give me a call.”

  I laugh. “So, you spend time convincing yourself that we’re not possible, huh?”

  “No, it just occurred to me,” she states. “Clearly, you wouldn’t understand my mind. The oddest thoughts come to me without warning.”

  Opening the passenger door for her I whisper close to her ear. “I’m just glad that you think about me.”

  She shivers and jumps into the truck to put some distance between us. I grin at her. I’ll wear her down, even if it takes me years. But do I really want to?

  Thirteen

  Nate

  When I come to Colorado to visit Ford, we usually drive up to the mountains. There are plenty of things to do up there, including hiking. Since I’m still concerned about Nyx’s health, we go to Roxborough Park instead. The place is a forty-five-minute drive south of the city. It reminds me of the Grand Canyon. There are a lot of big red rocks surrounding us. When I make the observation she says, “Duh, why do you think this state is called Colorado?”

  “I guess there are a lot of places I haven’t visited yet to come to such a conclusion,” I say mockingly. “You should take me on a road trip around the state.”

  “It’s not like I’ve lived in this place for long,” she says instead. “Just moved here five years ago. Though, when I visited my parents during holidays or breaks, they’d take us to whatever part of the state they had discovered.”

  See, this is what I don’t understand. She’s lived a big adventure all her life and she chose to settle into a life that, even though fits her, doesn’t seem to be what she loves. Is it fear?

  “You’re intriguing,” I say, instead of hashing out her life.

  I’m enthralled not only by her beauty and her personality, but her fascinating past. What I would’ve given to be traveling around the world with a loving family. Her parents might be quirky, but they seem like good people.

  My father is clueless. Everything is black and white for him. Mom just packed and left. She traded us for a better family—or is it that she ran away to create a family she liked better?

  She offers a forced smile and says, “Is that another way of calling me boring?”

  “Stop beating yourself up about it,” I protest. “The next time you call yourself that, you’ll owe me something.”

  She comes to a halt and stares at me for a long beat as if trying to guess but then asks, “What would I possibly owe you?”

  “A kiss,” I joke.

  She throws back her head and laughs. “They are that bad, huh? This is my first. No one has ever threatened me with kisses.”

  Her eyes are on my mouth, and I swear I can see her pulse thrumming in her throat. My heart hammers inside my chest. Something changes between us. A switch flips, or maybe it’s not a change, but the walls that we’ve put up to avoid messy entanglements are disappearing with every minute we spend together.

  “You’ll be the judge,” I pause, focused on her pouty lips. “Not sure if it’s a good idea though.”

  She lets out a small, breathy laugh, and says, “It’s
terrible. Which is why I’ll start calling myself the life of the party.”

  “Now you’re just throwing fibs to miss what might be the best kiss of your life,” I warn her, resuming our walk. “You are scared of me.”

  She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. If she feels a little of what I do, she’s craving more than just a simple kiss. That should be my birthday present. Shouldn’t it?

  We stop at some picnic tables that are outside the visitor center. She eats some soup, drinks water, and munches on a cracker while we talk about the archeological discoveries that have happened in the park.

  “Do your parents keep any of the objects they find?”

  She twists her lips and looks at the visitor center before answering, “No. That’d be illegal. They have plenty of pictures, papers, and have written books about it. I should start getting them better deals with their publishers.”

  “They write?”

  She nods. “Teaching is their second passion, and if they can teach the world through books, they are happy.”

  “But you don’t want to be like them?”

  She squeezes her eyes and lets out some air before speaking. “I adore them, but it was nerve wracking to be their child. Imagine not having a place to call home and having to fit all your belongings in just a suitcase you share with your sister. That’s something I never want to experience again or want my kids to undergo. It’s not fun to live with uncertainty.”

  I reach for her hand and clasp it. Her eyes open and she smiles.

  “It sounds selfish,” she continues. “But the anxiety is still there, lurking underneath the fun experiences, the happy memories, and the adventures.”

  “Your feelings are valid. Parents never think about their actions and how they’ll affect and shape the future of their children,” I voice, wondering if I’m speaking from experience or just trying to validate her.

  I let her hand go because the heat between us is beginning to burn me from the inside out.

  Her brown eyes stare at me widely.

  “Time to continue this hike and shake the past,” she announces, and I want to ask her if it’s worth fighting the attraction.

  We’re right on the edge of the cliff and one push can get us naked and ready to fuck the brains out of each other. It’s easy to talk myself out of it when I receive a text from Ford wishing me a happy birthday. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his happiness.

  For the rest of the way up and back to the car we’re silent, but it’s a peaceful calm that I enjoy just as much as her presence. When I ask her where to, she tells me her parents’. The traffic isn’t bad, but the distances make up for the time I spend on I-5 or around New York fighting the congestion.

  We arrive at her parents’ home around four, and her Dad offers me a handcrafted beer. He gives a ginger seltzer to Nyx.

  “It’s good,” she admits.

  “I made enough to fill up a case. I left it by the door. Take it home,” he instructs and glances at me. “It should help you with your condition.”

  “Thank you, Dad.” Nyx kisses his cheek and hugs him. “But I don’t have a condition.”

  He takes me to the room where he crafts his beer and whatever drinks his daughters request. I haven’t seen them with the rest of his children, but I can see that he adores Nyx. He doesn’t ask her how she feels, but he watches her closely. Before I do anything else, I put the case in the trunk.

  When I come back, Nyx and Brock are on the couch. There’s a book on top of her chest, but she’s fast asleep. I grab the purple throw blanket from the top of the other couch and cover her. I head to the backyard where her father is in front of the grill.

  “What is it that you do?” he asks me while he’s grilling eggplants and other vegetables.

  “Ford and I own a few companies,” I answer.

  “Do you program like him?”

  “No. I manage, sell, and plan, while he produces,” I explain, believing it’s the easiest way to give him a glimpse of what we do.

  I wonder if Ford explained his job as just being a programmer. My brother doesn’t talk much about what he does and keeps his identity as the famous Langford Chadwick private. So private, that Persy had no idea who he was until a week ago.

  “You seem more relaxed than him,” he speaks then looks at me. “You’re not. You just know how to fake it better. You don’t trust easily either. I understand that it is hard to let your guard down when you have so much money and you don’t know who to trust. But I’m guessing there’s more to that. Probably, one of your parents left when you were younger. Just know that here you’re in a safe place.”

  “My mom,” I answer. “How did you know?”

  He shrugs, flipping some veggies and setting the ones that are done on a plate.

  “I’ve been studying the past, trying to understand the present. Human behavior is…interesting,” he explains. “I’m just not understanding why you are here, yet. Is it for Ford’s benefit or Nyx’s?”

  His question makes me take a step back and not only physically. Am I here to check if these people are good enough for my brother?

  “I’m Eros’ business partner. I’m here—”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t bullshit me, son. I’ve been on this planet longer than you. If you feel alone, you’re welcome to be a part of us. Just don’t use my daughter, okay?”

  What is it about Nyx that makes them so protective? She’s strong enough to stand up for herself. However, I noticed yesterday when I spoke to Ford that Persy is no different from her father or her brother. Is it because she’s always taking care of them and this is the way they reciprocate?

  Maybe this is how a family works. They look after each other. Ford and I have been doing it, but not because we learned from our parents, but because we are all we have. Now he has this, and I…I hope he doesn’t leave me hanging.

  Having dinner with the Brassards is pleasant. Their conversation goes from the oddly cold weather expected for tomorrow, to trying the last position in the Sixtysutra book that Eros gave them for Christmas.

  “That book is a godsend,” Octavio states.

  Edna explains to me that it’s a Kama Sutra book where the poses are modified for couples over sixty. I almost choke on my beer.

  “I’m sure you can skip that information. We don’t need to hear about your sex life, Dad,” Nyx protests as we clean up the table.

  “Not many men my age are as lucky as I am,” Octavio says. “Even with my hip replacement, I can still—”

  “Oh God, please make them stop,” Nyx complains covering her ears.

  I want to hug her, tease her, and whisper that maybe we can be like that in thirty years. Thank fuck, I don’t do anything stupid. I owe it to Edna who carries in a cake and begins to sing “Happy Birthday” to me.

  “Make a wish,” Edna prompts, and I’m not sure what to wish for.

  I thought I had everything, and this weekend with Nyx and her parents is showing me the holes in my life. I’m not sure if I want to fill them and search for what I’m missing.

  Is what I have enough? Looking around the room, I see more than three people smiling as they wait for me to blow out the candles. I see love, company, and support.

  So, I think to myself, to have this next year. After I blow out the candles, I’m not sure what exactly it is that I want to have, and partly regret it. Then again, wishes are just childish desires that never come true.

  “Thank you for everything,” I say on our way out, because this day was even better than I thought it would be.

  “It’s our pleasure,” Edna says and takes my hand, giving me a motherly look and hugging me once again. “This is your home. Don’t wait for an invitation. Come and visit us soon, okay?”

  “Your mom is a hugger,” I say when we are driving back home.

  “You could say that.” Nyx’s voice has a hint of annoyance and then she adds, “Actually she’s a very affectionate person. That’s one thing we love about her. Compla
ints aside, I adore my parents. Will I have to defend her in court for over hugging someone…maybe?”

  I laugh and take her hand as I drive along the highway until I arrive at her house. Silence isn’t something I enjoy but the serene atmosphere between us feels nice.

  “Thank you for this weekend,” she says as I walk her to the door. “Sorry about yesterday.”

  “Hey, I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

  I stare at her beautiful eyes. Unthinkingly, I lift my hand and caress her cheek with the back of my hand before I cup her chin.

  “Happy birthday,” she whispers.

  “Thank you again for today,” I mumble, my face closing up to hers slowly. “You still owe me my present.”

  “This is a bad idea,” she mutters. Her uneven breath caresses my lips.

  “Terrible,” I agree, melting by the heat increasing as our bodies get closer together.

  I bend my head and kiss her. Her lips freeze at first, but when I put my other arm around her, they soften. Her fingers push through my hair and entwine behind my head. For all the bad decisions I’ve made in my life, and I’ve made a lot of them since I could walk, this might be the most dangerous, lethal, and delicious one I’ve made.

  She tastes of lavender, honey, and vanilla. Just like the cake we ate earlier. But there’s also a sweetness that I’m sure is all Nyx. Placing a hand on her neck, I pull her closer to me and the slow, tantalizing kiss becomes eager, hungry. I want to devour her.

  But this isn’t just lips pressed together, tongues dancing, and hands exploring. It’s like we’re connecting, exchanging secrets, opening a door that should remain closed. Her hands push me, but her lips don’t let go. It’s as if she’s willing to be consumed by the fire we’ve ignited but also wants to run far away from this situation.

  “This is wrong,” she mumbles against my lips. “I…I’m not in a good place, and you…”