by Katie Meyer
* * *
Ryan examined the framed photos that covered almost every horizontal surface in the small living room. Most were of Jessica and her brother, Alex. But some were landscapes, tropical vistas of what he guessed was her mother’s hometown in Puerto Rico. There were several of her mother taken against that lush green backdrop, both on her own and with other people he didn’t recognize. Maybe Jessica’s aunts and uncles, or old family friends. Only one showed the man that must be Jessica’s father. An old, faded wedding picture showing two people looking very much in love. And very young. Younger than he and Jessica were now.
Was that why things between Jessica’s parents hadn’t worked out? Had they just been too immature, too naive to know what they were getting into? Were he and Jessica about to repeat their mistakes?
He watched her sitting with her mom, proudly showing off the ultrasound photo that the doctor at the hospital had given them, her face glowing despite the strain of the day. She might be young, hell they both were, but she was strong. And brave. And neither one of them was a quitter. They would make this work, whatever that meant.
“Well, I think I’ll go grab a few things for tonight. I’ll come back in a day or so to pack up the rest.” Jessica’s voice held a hint of uncertainty so he nodded in reassurance.
“That sounds like a plan. That will give me time to clear out space for your things.” He watched her walk away and then shrugged, hoping he looked more relaxed than he felt. “Guess I should’ve thought of that before. Things just—”
“Happened so fast. So you said.” His new mother-in-law raised an eyebrow and rose from her seat. “While Jessica gathers her things I’m going to make myself a drink. The occasion certainly calls for one, don’t you think?”
“Um, sure, I guess. But I’m going to be driving, and Jessica...”
“Of course. Well then, how about some coffee? I had just made a fresh pot before you came.”
“Coffee sounds good.” He called down the hallway that Jessica had taken, “Jess, your mom wants to know if you’d like some coffee?”
“Tell her no, thank you. My stomach is a bit queasy again.”
Her mother called from the kitchen, “Tell her I’ll make her some ginger tea. That should help.”
Feeling a bit silly to act as a middleman when they could obviously hear each other, he nonetheless repeated the offer, which Jessica accepted. He then found his way to the kitchen where Mrs. Santiago was screwing the lids on two travel mugs.
“I made the drinks to go. My Jessica packs lightly. It won’t take her long and I’m sure you two are eager to be on your way.” She pushed both across the counter to him, and then splashed a healthy dose of whiskey into her own steaming mug. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not driving, I’m certainly not pregnant, and frankly I could use a stiff drink at this point. I’m very happy for you two, of course, but this has all been a bit of a shock. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Of course. And I am sorry—”
She waved off his words with a flick of her wrist. “No need for apologies. What’s done is done. All I need to know now is that you are going to take good care of my little girl. Life hasn’t always been easy for her, and I’ve made my share of mistakes raising her, but she deserves a good life. A good marriage.”
“That’s what I want for her too.” He took a sip of dark sweet coffee, letting the caffeine work its magic. It had been a long day, and he and Jessica still had to work out how living together was going to work. He needed all the boost the drink could give him.
“Good, that’s good. I know my Jessica can be difficult sometimes...”
“The best things in life always are.” At least, he hoped that was true. Because none of this family stuff was looking like it was going to be easy.
“Are you two talking about me behind my back?”
“Just a little.” He handed her the second mug, the one that smelled like pumpkin pie, the spicy scent filling the air.
“Nothing bad, mija.” Her mother gestured to the tea. “Drink.”
“Difficult isn’t bad?” Jessica’s eyes dared them to deny what had been said.
Unruffled, the older woman smiled over the rim of her mug. “No. Difficult is just difficult. But as your husband says, many good things are.”
Husband. He was starting to like the sound of that. Which meant he was in for a world of trouble if he couldn’t convince his new bride that their one-year marriage should have a longer expiration date. Like maybe forever.
Chapter Nine
Jessica leaned her head back against the passenger seat of Ryan’s car and sighed, grateful he’d insisted on driving due to her nausea. “I am so glad that is over.”
Ryan grinned as he backed the car out onto the quiet suburban street. “I bet. You warned me she wouldn’t be happy, but I don’t think I quite realized exactly how unhappy she’d be.”
“That was nothing. Honestly, she took it better than I thought she would. She was more hurt than angry. And I think she toned it down a bit since you were there.”
“Wow. Well, remind me to try to stay on your mother’s good side. If that was toned down I don’t ever want to face the uncensored version.”
Jessica laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “No, you don’t. Trust me.”
“Now I know how you got to be so tough. The Santiago women are a force to be reckoned with.”
“And don’t you forget it! Now, if you don’t want this Santiago turning on you I’m going to need to eat. Soon.” As if to emphasize her point her stomach growled loud enough for both of them to hear.
Ryan winced. “Food. Hell, we never ate lunch. I’m sorry, Jess. I should have realized you needed to eat. Some husband—and dad—I’m turning out to be.” He glanced over contritely. “What do you want? We could go out for a late lunch, to celebrate.”
She shook her head. In a town the size of Paradise she was bound to run into someone she knew who’d want to chat, and the last thing she wanted to do was deal with explaining their situation to more people, especially on an empty stomach. She’d told her mom, and sometime soon she’d have to tell her brother, but everyone else could wait. “Could we just pick up some take-out instead? I’m not feeling very social.”
“Of course. Burgers? Pizza? Mexican?”
Ugh. Ginger tea or not, none of that sounded like it had a chance of staying down. “Maybe something...lighter.”
She must have looked as green as she felt, because Ryan took one look at her face and changed lanes before turning into the parking lot of the local grocery store.
“How about I pick up what we need to make soup and toast?”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you.” He really was sweet, when he wasn’t being bossy and overprotective. A dangerous realization. Time to think about something else. Like balancing the need for food with her near constant nausea.
With that on her mind she followed him into the store and was immediately hit by the yeasty smell of baking bread. Her schizophrenic stomach rumbled again, flipping back into hunger mode. “Can we stop at the bakery? They make an amazing sourdough.”
“Of course. We might as well stock up while we’re here. Get whatever you like. I’m not picky.”
Before they left the bakery section she had selected not only the sourdough, but a loaf of Cuban bread, a package of croissants and a box of guava pastries.
Ryan shook his head but wisely kept his mouth shut as he watched her make her selections. “You know what, why don’t we split up. Take the cart and get whatever you want. I’ll pick out a few cans of soup and come find you.”
She shrugged. “Okay, but I’m only going to need a few more things.”
“Sure, whatever,” Ryan replied with obvious skepticism.
She did need only a few more things. However, it turned out the baby needed a lot m
ore. At least that’s how she explained it to herself as she tossed one item after another into the basket. When Ryan found her in the frozen food aisle she had a full cart and was holding a container of ice cream in each hand, trying to decide between them.
His eyes widened, but all he said was, “Get both.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, you are eating for two. So it seems only logical that you would need two cartons of ice cream.” He reached into the refrigerated display and pulled out a third. “But this one is for me.”
She glanced down at the label. “Plain vanilla? Really? Kind of boring, don’t you think?”
“Classic, not boring.”
Vanilla. She never would’ve guessed that would be his favorite—he seemed more the type to go for something more adventurous and exciting. Of course, Ryan was turning out to have lot of hidden surprises. He certainly wasn’t the carefree, jet-setting playboy she had imagined him to be. At least, that wasn’t all he was. Maybe in that context vanilla made sense. It fit with his down-home, working-class roots. Roots he hadn’t actually strayed very far from. Would she be able to give their child that kind of a foundation? Or had her bad judgment ruined any chance at normalcy, for herself and the baby? She glanced at the cart and said a short prayer that the gallon of Rocky Road she’d selected wasn’t going to be a metaphor for the path they were on.
* * *
“Well, this is it. Home sweet home.”
Ryan’s words cut through the worries that had preoccupied her during the ride to his house. Married or not, she couldn’t think of it as their house. It was his, she was just going to be living in it for a while. She needed to remember that, and make sure not to get too comfortable.
Ryan must have mistaken her silence for disapproval. “I know it’s not much...”
“No, it’s fine. I mean, it seems great.” She took in the small bungalow-style house, its stucco walls painted a warm saffron yellow. The yard wasn’t big, but it was perfectly manicured. A row of gardenias separated the lot from the neighbors next door and offered a bit of privacy. It was a typical old-style Florida home and her heart was glad that this was the place her baby would first call home. “Seriously, it’s perfect. Besides, you’re talking to a woman who was living with her mother. This is certainly a step up. Unless you’re going to nag me about eating my vegetables too.”
He chuckled as he shut off the engine. “I might. Remember, I have a vested interest in keeping you healthy.”
That’s right—the baby. She needed to remember that the baby was the reason they were doing this. This wasn’t about his feelings for her, but about his feelings for his child.
But knowing that didn’t keep her heart from pounding when he stopped her at the front door and gently lifted her over the threshold. Taken by surprise, she clutched the front of his shirt.
“Sorry.” His voice was low, echoing through her body where he still held her against him. “It just seemed the thing to do.” She nodded and let go, smoothing the wrinkles she’d made in his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his chest. Muscles that she had explored in depth. She’d been drunk, yes, but no amount of alcohol could have made her forget how good he’d felt.
In some ways that night seemed like it happened to a different person, in a different life. But risking a glance up at his face, their bodies still touching, the memories came rushing back. He was remembering too, she could tell by the way his brown eyes darkened to almost black, the way they had at the first sight of her naked body. Dangerous—that was how they looked, and this time she was going to heed their warning.
“Right. You just surprised me.” As had the sudden rush of heat that had her whole body buzzing with...what? Lust? Attraction? Whatever it was, she needed to get control of herself. “Why don’t you show me where to put my things.”
“Of course. I’ll give you the ten-cent tour and then grab the groceries. Maybe five cents—it’s a pretty small house.”
“Sounds good,” she agreed, hefting the small overnight bag she’d refused to let him carry. She couldn’t allow herself to become too dependent on him—it would just make things that much harder when she left.
“First, the living room,” he said, stepping from the foyer to the right, into the front room of the house. Three square windows faced the street, with a low row of overstuffed bookshelves below them. She spotted a few recent bestsellers and their police academy textbooks, but most of the space was crowded with the largest collection of true crime books she’d ever seen. And there, under the far window... “Are those law school textbooks?”
Ryan shrugged, as if it was totally normal to have half a dozen legal treatises lying around. “I find them interesting. And helpful to the job.”
“A basic knowledge of the law comes in handy, yes. But these...” She squatted down and read the title of the thickest one. “Advanced Constitutional and Civil Rights, that’s not exactly light reading.” She looked again at the horde of crime novels. “In fact, I’d say anyone who has this kind of fascination with legal issues should go to law school.”
“Now you sound like my stepfather.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead as if trying to physically erase the thought. “Next you’ll be telling me I’m wasting my intellect by settling for a career as a cop. As if police officers are somehow less intelligent than lawyers.”
“Whoa, back it up a step. Do you really think you need to tell me that cops aren’t dumb? I was commenting on your interests, not your abilities. I just figured if you were that into the legal stuff—”
“I’d be a good cop,” he finished for her.
Not what she was going to say, but fine. It was obviously a touchy subject and she’d had enough drama for the day. No need to start a whole new round of it. Ryan obviously felt the same way, choosing to move back across the foyer and down the hall without waiting to see if she was following.
“The kitchen is where I spend most of my time,” he said, stopping in the next room and letting her catch up.
“Let me guess, because that’s where the food is?”
He grinned, the earlier tension gone. “You know it.”
“I certainly do. I have an older brother, remember? Growing up, if he was home, he was either eating or sleeping. I’m not one hundred percent certain he didn’t do both at the same time now and then.”
They both laughed, and it felt comfortable. Like they really were a couple, making jokes and hanging out.
“Speaking of sleeping, let me show you where the bedrooms are.” Ryan gestured for her to go first, and she continued down the hall to where it dead-ended in a door, with two more doors on either side of the hallway. “There’s only one bathroom, I’m afraid. These old houses weren’t built with a master bedroom either—both rooms are the same size and both open onto the bathroom.”
“Jack and Jill—that’s what they call a setup like that.” Where she’d picked up that tidbit of knowledge she wasn’t sure.
“Huh, didn’t know that. Anyway, I’ve been using the room on the left.” He opened the door and moved forward, leaving her no choice but to step into the room. Not just any room, but his bedroom. With his big wrought iron bed right there, just a few feet away. Part of her brain noted absently that he was tidy; there were no clothes strewn around and the bed was neatly made up with a lightweight blue quilt. The rest of her was thinking about how good he’d look lying on it. “Like I said, both rooms are pretty much the same, but if you want this one—”
“I’m not kicking you out of your room. I’ll take the other one.” The one just on the other side of the bathroom, with just a flimsy pocket door for privacy. She’d be steps away when he showered. Not much more when they slept. Damn, but her body liked that idea way too much.
Hoping he hadn’t noticed her sudden flush, or that she was starting to sweat despite the more-than-adequate central air, she practically fled back the way she had
come. At the door across the hall she fumbled with the doorknob into what was, for the time being, her only private space.
“Is everything okay?”
“Um, yeah.” Calling herself three kinds of a fool, she finally succeeded in opening the door. “I’m just tired. Would you mind if I lay down for a bit before we eat?”
“Not at all. I’ll just heat up the soup while you rest. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
“Thanks.”
“And, Jessica?”
She turned back slowly, afraid he’d see her emotions on her face.
A decidedly wicked smile played on his lips. “Make sure you let me know if there’s anything you need.” He winked. “Anything at all.”
Slam.
* * *
Ryan felt his grin widening. He’d been worried about Jessica, but anyone who could slam a door that hard couldn’t be feeling too poorly. Maybe he shouldn’t have provoked her, but he’d noticed the flash of heat in her eyes at the sight of his bed. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking—not when he was thinking the same damn thing.
Him. Her. Naked and tangled in the sheets.
So yeah, he’d poked at the idea a bit. He wanted her to know he felt it too, that heat that seemed to flash between them. Seeing her in his bedroom, he hadn’t been able to resist. It was impossible not to think of how things had been, and how they could be.
And really, if they did follow up on the chemistry, what would be the harm? He pondered that as he brought in the bags from the car, and then dumped condensed soup and water into a pan. They were already married. She was already pregnant. What purpose was served by denying themselves?