Two to Tangle (Thirsty Hearts Book 6)

by Kris Jayne

  “Does he want kids?” Vivienne asked.

  “He never said he does. I don’t think he’s a kid person,” I said, thinking of how he hadn’t felt compelled to meet his younger siblings.

  “There you go,” Clarissa said with a clap.

  “Men date younger women all the time—fifteen, twenty, thirty years younger—and no one says a damn thing,” Vivienne pointed out.

  It was the same refrain I sang in my head when I had doubts. “Part of it is me. I’m such a mom, you know? I swoop in and diagnose and fix and organize. Swooping in with a younger man feels different,” I admitted.

  “So quit mothering your men. They don’t like it, anyway. Or the ones who do aren’t the ones you want. That much I do remember from my faux hetero days,” Vivienne mused.

  “You are not wrong about that,” I said. “Even this trip to Raleigh has me worried. I’ll have to stop myself from dive bombing this thing with his father. He doesn’t need me running his life.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Maybe record yourself saying that and meditate on it every day,” Clarissa said. “You’re going out there to work on his business launch plans and to get some. That’s it. Don’t complicate it.”

  Get some? I glanced at Vivienne. I’d just met the woman, for God’s sake.

  “Don’t mind me. I’m in favor of everyone getting some whenever possible,” she said and winked at me.

  I giggled. “I see the waitress hovering. We should quit jabbering about my sex life and order. I have an afternoon job.”

  I considered their advice and realized the wisdom of it.

  So what if Griffin was ten years younger and not the sort of guy I typically dated? The handful of dates I’d had since my divorce had been with men from the SoulM8 dating app and a few fix-ups from friends with random men who were “appropriate” but bored me to tears.

  If nothing else, Griffin wasn’t boring.

  Chapter 13

  Delilah

  I clutched at the lapel of my coat, balancing the heavy computer bag on my shoulder. Even though I’d checked the weather in Raleigh before leaving, the frigid late afternoon air still surprised me.

  “Let me take that, so you can button your coat,” Griffin commanded.

  He tugged the shoulder strap, lifting my work bag with one hand while dragging my rollerboard suitcase with the other. I mobilized my chilled fingers to get the buttons of my coat fastened, then reached to retrieve the bag.

  “I’ve got it,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Now, I’m not carrying anything.”

  I’d told Griffin he didn’t have to come into the terminal to get me. Terrence always hated doing that. My ex would wait for the text I’d send immediately after deplaning, which he would take as T-minus ten. Then, he’d circle the terminal and text back the minute he parked at the curb with the precise exit door location. Executing the perfect airport pickup would mean my toes hit the curb at soon as his wheels rolled to a stop.

  “We’re almost to the car,” Griffin said, dragging my bags behind him over the uneven sidewalk while I sauntered bagless behind him.

  “Which one?”

  “The midnight blue Mercedes.”

  The large sedan dwarfed its parking spot. The lights flashed as we approached.

  “Is that a rental?” I asked.

  “It’s a company car. As a visiting board member, I’m able to use one of the fleet vehicles while I’m in town.”

  The sedate color and practical luxury didn’t fit. Back home, Griffin drove a Porsche. “This car doesn’t seem like you.”

  He laughed. “It’s not, but it’s very Gregory Kelso. All the fleet cars are Mercedes E-class—black, silver, or blue. I picked blue.”

  He popped the trunk and placed my luggage inside, save for the computer bag.

  “Is this okay in the trunk?”

  “I’ll take it. My purse is in there. I need to call Kat and let her know I made it.” I grabbed the satchel and walked around to the passenger side where Griffin had opened the door. I dropped into the seat and leaned back, enjoying the shelter from the cold. The car was already warming. Heat radiated from underneath the supple leather. Closing my eyes, the seat felt just like Terrence’s car. He liked a big German sedan. I always thought the seats were too hard. These were too—however warm.

  Griffin climbed in, and we pulled out of the parking garage.

  “How’s the wedding planning?”

  I sighed. “Good. My mother is coming. Allegedly.”

  Griffin’s brow shot up. “I thought you didn’t speak to your mother.”

  “I didn’t. But Katerina does. Apparently.” I left the last word dangling again like poop on a stick.

  “Since when?”

  “Several months, I guess.”

  “I take it you didn’t know.”

  “No,” I clipped.

  “You don’t sound happy.”

  “I’m not, but Katerina is so excited about reconnecting with her. She’s even asked her to sing at the wedding. I don’t want my daughter to get her hopes up. My mother is not a dependable person.”

  Zola didn’t understand follow through. She never had. Maybe she intended to, and that’s why her promises always sounded sincere. Or maybe I just always wanted to believe her. Either way, I’d spent a lot of days waiting on my grandparents’ couch for her to no-show. Waiting around for phone calls that never came. Or, worse, having her show up teetering out of the car with wide, glazed eyes and knowing a trip to the mall was out of the question.

  “It’s been a while. Maybe she’s changed. She’s not getting any younger. Recent experience has shown that impending death makes a parent reconsider his or her relationships with their kids,” Griffin said.

  “Hmm. Well, I’ll find out. She lives in Asheville. I promised Kat I’d go see her while I’m out here.”

  “You said you’d love to have the opportunity to work things out with her.”

  “I would if that’s what this was. It’s not. This is emotional extortion from my beloved daughter,” I replied.

  “Have you talked to your mom yet?”

  “No. Email. I told her I’d call her when I got here.”

  “Do you want to call?” Griffin tapped a button on the steering wheel and the soft strains of pop music faded into muffled road noise. I reached over a turned it back up.

  “Not now. I’ll call once we get settled…” I paused. “You found a place to rent, right?”

  “Yes, the house turned stifling.”

  He gripped the steering wheel and slid back into silence.

  “But we’re having dinner at your father’s?”

  “Yes. He can’t wait to meet you.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them. Both of them.”

  “Listen, about my dad and Marisa—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the car chimed loudly, interrupting the music. He glanced at the console and cursed under his breath.

  “Speak of the devil, Dad. What’s up?”

  “My ears are positively burning. Did you get your lady friend from the airport?” he asked.

  “I did. You’re on speakerphone,” Griffin warned.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” the graveled voice suggested.

  “I believe you’ve already met over the phone. She was my admin, remember?”

  “Of course, but we weren’t formally introduced then.”

  “Fine. Delilah, this is my father’s voice. Dad, meet Delilah’s dulcet tones.”

  I chuckled. “Nice to talk to you again, Mr. Kelso.”

  “Gregory, please.”

  I guess no one wanted to that moniker.

  “Gregory. Thank you for the dinner invitation. I’m looking forward to meeting you and Marisa and the kids.”

  “Really?”

  The older man sounded genuinely surprised. Didn’t he know I’d at least be curious?

  “Really,” I said.

  Gregory’s voice relaxed into a higher octave. “Well,
the feeling is mutual. I was just calling to see what time you might be by.”

  “I’d say 7:30 or so,” Griffin answered.

  “Perfect. I look forward to a pleasant evening,” the other man said before saying his goodbyes.

  “That last part sounded like an order. Why wouldn’t it be pleasant? You’ve been here for weeks. Is it still awkward between you two?”

  Griffin’s jaw flexed. “No. He and I are fine—or as fine as we’re likely to be.”

  I focused on the stillness in his profile until a headache sprouted above the bridge of my nose. “It can’t be that bad, Griff.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’ve always hated it,” he snapped. “Sorry. It’s a long day, and I— I wanted to talk to you, but I wanted to wait until you got here and talk face to face.”

  The cold sobriety in his voice made him sound like a different person.

  “Since when are you so serious?” I meant to infuse the question with light humor, but it came out with an accusatory edge.

  “I just…I need…”

  “Maybe let’s talk when you’re not driving,” I suggested. I turned my eyes to a focal point on the road to quell the nervous flutter in my gut. The queasiness made me wish I snatched an airsick bag from the plane.

  “You’re right. We’ll talk later.”

  “Tell me about your brother and sister,” I said.

  A smile cracked his stony demeanor, and he regaled me with stories of his trip to the park with Grace and Gregory Jr. His half-brother had stayed clinging to the nanny’s coat, but Grace had climbed to the top of the jungle gym and done a flip off the landing before anyone could stop her. Jacinda had gone apoplectic.

  “I almost called Dad’s cardiologist to meet us at the house. She was screaming half in English, half in Swedish. Grace bounded over, grinning like she’d won a gold medal. That girl has no fear,” Griffin said, beaming with fraternal pride.

  “She was trying to impress you. You might want to have a talk with her. I’m kind of with the nanny about the flip. I would have freaked.”

  “She’s in gymnastics. I think she does more dangerous things at practice.” He darted his eyes at me and then back to the road. “You’re very much a mom.”

  I lay my temple on the headrest. The fading sun dipped into the driver’s window, blinding me unless I kept Griffin’s shadowed head in line with the glowing orb.

  “You’re getting used to having kids around.” I laughed.

  “I like them, and they’re easier to manage than I thought. I feel terrible that I stayed away this long.”

  “Do you think you’d change your mind and want kids of your own?” My nausea returned, so I looked forward again. I didn’t usually get car sick.

  “Children seem like such a complication. I like being solely in charge of my time. I never wanted kids, but I might have thought about it a handful of times in the past few weeks. Do you want any more kids?”

  “I’m forty-four,” I answered as if the number itself were a powerful form of birth control.

  “That’s not necessarily an answer. There are women in their forties who have babies.”

  “Those women don’t have daughters ready to graduate from college and get married. Or the other way around as Katerina has decided. I couldn’t start over.” I tried to say it as gently, firmly, and casually as I could. Griffin fell silent, so I had no idea if I was successful.

  “Why didn’t you and Terrence have more kids?”

  “It was never the right time. Katerina wasn’t planned. We told ourselves that the next baby would be, and the plans never came together. His career was taking off. I was working full time. We started living this life, and the time got away.”

  “You sound like you regret it,” he said.

  “I do and I don’t. There’s no sense pining away about it now.”

  “You could still do it.”

  “Staying up all night with a screaming baby? Wiping dried spit up off my clothes? Chasing a toddler when I’m fifty?” My dry laugh crackled in the car. “No. I’ve done my time, but you could do it. You’re still…young.”

  The ten years felt like ten miles between us. I blinked against the shifting orange light streaming into my eyes. Griffin squeezed my knee. “I’m almost forty myself.”

  I snickered. “You’re thirty-four.”

  “I’ll be thirty-five in a couple of months.”

  “You’re also a man. You can have kids until you’re ninety if you want them. You just have to find a younger woman.” I pulled my forearms across my stomach and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want a younger woman, and maybe I’m thinking about what it would be like to have kids, but I’ve never had a strong pull to have them. I’d rather have love than kids.”

  I knew not to take his theoretical statement as a declaration of anything, but it was a sweet thing to say—and probably naïve. Sometimes, it was easy to believe the age difference between us didn’t matter. If he were the one who was older, it probably wouldn’t. That rankled. But if he wanted kids, it did matter. He wouldn’t have them with me.

  “I might be on a spoon-fed Jell-O diet in a few years,” I said.

  “My dad is sixty-four and hasn’t hit his Jell-O years yet. You’re good.”

  Even though Gregory sounded much stronger and sharp as ever, Marisa had to be thinking about what life was going to be like married to a man with heart problems while trying to raise young kids. Thirty years was a massive age difference. The only issue with me and Griffin was children, and maybe he meant it when he said he’d rather have love. Maybe that love would be with me. Even without kids, being with Griffin was enough of a whiplash to my life already. Who knew if I could do that either?

  He steered the car off the highway and into a neighborhood of elegant, multi-story townhomes hidden away behind gates and towering trees. A few more turns, and we turned into the driveway of a dark brick townhome with white trim and plantation shutters.

  “This is home. For now.” He laughed, jumped out, and started unloading the car.

  Chapter 14

  Griffin

  I should have told her in the car. Or last week. I shouldn’t have let having conversations over the phone stop me from telling Delilah that Marisa and I had dated in college. I should have told her the entire story—including the parts even my father didn’t know.

  Instead, through cocktails and dinner, I navigated the awkwardness of our foursome and marveled at Marisa who was in the throes of some kind of Martha-Stewart-meets-June-Cleaver psychotic break. Smiling, laughing, and friendly, she doted on Grace and Gregory Jr. like I hadn’t seen in the six weeks I’d been here. Then, she’d dismissed the usual household staff for the evening and served the meal they’d prepared herself.

  Even my father noticed.

  “You’re in high spirits tonight, Marisa.” Dad sipped the half glass of wine he was allowed slowly, tipping his nose into the broad bowl of his burgundy between each taste.

  Jacinda had taken the kids to bed as soon as we sat for dinner shortly after eight. The remaining adults moved to the dining room to sit at the round table with the lazy Susan in the middle, one of the many the vestiges of Mom and Dad’s trip to Hong Kong in the 1980s lingering in the formal areas of the house. The lowered outer leaves of the table reduced it from seating for eight to seating for four.

  We made it through dinner with breezy conversation broken only by Dad grilling Delilah on her new business. Finally satisfied that she didn’t need his expertise, he relaxed into his fastidious wine sipping as soon we polished off our strawberry tarts.

  Marisa downed her wine and leaned to her left to offer more to Delilah who covered her glass with her palm.

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  Marisa shrugged and topped hers off before addressing my father’s comment. “I’m just so glad to have Griffin and his…Delilah here.”

  Sitting across from my father’s wife, I had an excellent view of the tamped down emotions vying for
expression on her face.

  Dad slapped my shoulder, gripping and holding on for a moment. “Having you visit has been wonderful. Now, if I could convince you to stay—”

  “Dad—”

  “I know. I know.” He raised his hands. “I’m not going to push my luck. You have your own life to live, and I see it’s a good one. I’m learning to let go. You’ll be doing the same, I hear, Delilah. Griffin mentioned your daughter is getting married.”

  Marisa’s eyebrow tilted with another gulp of wine. “Really? How old is your daughter?”

  “She’s twenty-one. She’ll be a senior at USC this fall.”

  “Oh.” The single word of surprise indicated Marisa had more questions, but they weren’t mine to answer.

  Delilah didn’t miss a beat. “I’m forty-four.”

  “Oh,” Marisa exclaimed again hiding a small smile behind her hand as she leaned an elbow on the edge of the table.

  Delilah’s gaze snapped back across to Dad. “Katerina plans to go to business school after graduation.”

  “She’s even applying at some schools back east,” I added.

  “Is her young man going to go with her?” Dad asked.

  “They’re applying together,” Delilah replied. “I’m not sure they’re going to leave California, though. My daughter loves it out there. She’s got her eyes on Stanford, I think.”

  “Ambitious.” My father grinned. He loved ambition.

  I gestured to Delilah to pass me the bottle of burgundy and emptied the remnants into my glass.

  Dad got a pitch in for our alma mater. “Well, if they’re interested in Duke, we do have connections.”

  “Griffin went to undergrad and graduate school there.” Marisa eyed me over the tart platter in the center of the table, empty except for some crumbs of graham cracker and custard. “I’d planned to go to grad school but had to work instead.”

  That was the only job Marisa had ever had. She majored in journalism and briefly worked for the Raleigh paper while I got my MBA. She’d had loans to start paying off. If I’d asked her to get married then, she would have. She’d hinted enough at the time. I wasn’t ready.