by Loraine, Kim
I can't read any more. My stomach turns and I feel like I'm going to be sick. There in the picture is Easton holding a little baby with a blue cap. He's smiling brightly with a hospital bracelet on his wrist. They don't give those to visitors. That's the kind of thing you get when you're staying for the long haul. When you're the kid's dad.
I toss the unused pancake batter in the sink and head back to my room. Easton catches me up in his arms in the middle of the hall, a lazy smile on his face.
"Hey, baby, where's the fire?"
"Get your hands off me. I'm going home."
His eyes widen with alarm before his brows furrow. "What's going on?"
"This isn't going to work. Take me home or I'm calling a car."
"Ireland. Tell me what this is about?" He holds my upper arms in his big hands, a slight note of panic in his voice.
"This is about you being so much worse than what I feared you'd be."
I wiggle out of his grasp and he runs a hand through his still damp hair. "I don't understand. How did I fuck this up between this morning and the shower?"
I want to give him the chance to explain, to tell me the truth. "Is there anything about your life you haven't told me? Anything important?"
He stares at me, his expression going hard. "No. Nothing."
That's it. I'm done. "I really believed you when you said you'd never lie. God, I was an idiot."
I slam my door and fight the sob building in my chest. Without a second thought, I text Summer my location and get started packing. I pull on some clothes and get everything squared away in record time, seeing Easton's shadow under my door the whole time. He knocks on the door, calls my name, begs me to talk, but I'm not falling for it. I'm not falling for him. Instead of taking the front, I leave through my sliding glass door. Easily opening the gate and walking away before he can even realize I'm gone.
Maybe it's an overreaction, but I've been lied to and screwed over before. I won't let it happen again.
It takes me close to ten minutes to get to the outer gates of this community and the whole time I'm worried Easton will come find me. He doesn't, not until I see Summer's car pull up. Then Easton speeds toward me, determined and desperate.
"Ireland, please."
"Save it, Easton. Keep your money, I hope you write your album."
He frowns and steps out of his car, but I'm already in Summer's car, heading back to my real life. Chest tight with tears, I hold it in, not wanting to cry in front of my cousin. But when she turns her gaze on me, I lose it. Fat teardrops run down my cheeks as the loss hits me full force.
"I'm sorry, hon," she says.
"I was stupid. I shouldn't have let myself start feeling things for him."
"You started feeling things the moment you saw him."
I sniff and take a shuddering breath. "I did."
"Do you love him?"
Love him? God, do I? "I don't know. How can I love someone who would say his kid wasn't important?"
"Maybe there's more to the story."
"The picture was clear, Summer. He was there, in the delivery room, bracelet on his wrist, holding that kid. I normally wouldn't believe a story like that, but it was obvious."
"God, I'm just... I wish this turned out different for you."
"Me too."
* * *
9
Easton
I don't know what the fuck I did, but Ireland won't talk to me. I've spent the last two days parked on the stool in the bar, waiting for her. She's avoiding me. I'm not writing, I'm not rehearsing. I'm just waiting.
"Can't you take a hint?" Summer, the blonde I've seen working with Ireland, stands in front of me. Pity mixed with anger on her face. "She's done with you."
"I need to see her."
"Why? Because she's your muse?"
"Because I'm fucking in love with her."
Her expression changes to pure pity. "Does she know that?"
"I haven't had a chance to tell her. She won't talk to me."
"Listen, Easton, Ireland's not one to trust people easily. Maybe you should start with being honest."
"I have been."
"Then why didn't you tell her about your son? She had to find out in an article online."
My heart stops beating for a moment, I can't catch my breath as Ireland's question, Is there anything about your life you haven't told me, replays in my mind. "I don't have a son."
She grabs her phone and scrolls until her eyes light up. "Not according to this. That photo looks an awful lot like a new dad in the delivery room."
I stare at the photo and I want to scream in frustration. "That is me. And yeah, I was in the delivery room because my sister's husband had just died and I was the only one there with her when she went into labor. Goddamn asshole tabloids."
"Oh, no. Really?" she asks.
"Yeah, really. That's my nephew, Noel. And you know what, he is like a son to me. I'm all he has and it kills me that I can't see him as much as I'd like."
Her expression softens and she puts a hand on my arm. "You're really in love with Ireland?"
"Yes, I really am. If I had the chance, I'd take her to the nearest chapel and marry her right now."
Her smile is so wide I could probably count her teeth if I wanted. "I'm suddenly not feeling very well. Gosh, I think I need to call someone to take over for me." She gives a dramatic fake cough. "Do you care if your bride is wearing black?"
My heart flips. "She could be wearing flip-flops and yoga pants for all I care. I just want her to be mine."
"Wait here." She flounces off to the back room and I sit up a little straighter.
Fifteen minutes later I see her. Ireland stands in the Employees Only door staring at me. She's heartbreakingly beautiful with her dark hair pinned back, away from her face but still cascading in long waves. Her lips are deep red, eyes shining and haunted. She tries to turn on her heels and I catch sight of the back of her dress. It's the same dress she'd been wearing when we met. The woman is fucking gorgeous.
"Ireland, wait," I call and Summer stops her from retreating.
She gives Summer a glare that might wither a weaker person, but her cousin knows how to handle her. "Give him a chance," Summer says.
The love of my life stalks toward me, arms crossed over her chest, eyes blazing. "What do you want?"
My hands are shaking as I force the words to my mouth. "I want to marry you."
"What?" she laughs. "You can't be serious. I can't marry someone who won't tell me the truth about who he is."
"You know everything. That baby you saw in the article, it's my nephew.”
She gives me a dubious glance. “You were in the delivery room? I saw the hospital bracelet. They don’t give those out to visitors.”
Swallowing hard, I wait a beat before launching into my story. “Paisley’s husband died not long before she went into labor. She didn’t have anyone for support. Just me. So, yeah, I was in the delivery room. I cut the cord, held him while she got some rest, and I’ll always fucking be there for him.”
Her blue eyes widen before her expression softens. “What’s his name?”
“Noel and he's seven. I love him like a son.” When she steps closer I know she believes me and the tightness in my chest eases a fraction. “You can meet him at the concert if you want. In fact, I'd love it."
"Really?" Her voice is soft and filled with hope.
"I love you, Ireland. And if you love me, which I think you do, say the word and I'll take you and make you my wife right now."
This woman who was fire and sass when we first met is staring at me in utter disbelief. "You love me?"
"I do. I should've told you the other night when I realized it, but I was scared. I know you've been hurt before, but I'll do everything in my power to protect your beautiful heart."
"I...I love you too, Easton," she whispers and my heart nearly explodes.
I wrap her in my arms and pull her close, kissing her deeply in front of all the patrons at th
e bar. Camera shutters click and I know this will be splashed all over social media before my manager can put out a press release, but I don't give a damn. I've got the woman I love right here with me and she's going to be mine... forever.
* * *
Epilogue
Ireland
I'm standing backstage, watching Easton Harrison, my new husband, perform his last song of the night. The guys in his band have already left the stage, leaving only Easton with his guitar. Paisley, his sister, and her son Noel stand next to me, both of them smiling on adoringly at Easton. He's been fantastic, taking an audience of thousands and making it feel like an intimate group. I'm in awe of him.
"I know you've probably already seen her on social media, the woman who stole my heart when she stole my drink, but I wanted you to be the first to meet her." His voice floats over me and it takes a second for his words to register. When he looks at me in the wings, my stomach flutters. "Come on out here, baby."
Shit, he's talking to me. I run my fingers through my hair and walk onto the stage, the bright spotlight blinding me momentarily. "What are you doing?" I whisper in his ear when he leans in to kiss me.
A stagehand brings out a stool and Easton motions for me to sit. "I'd like to introduce you to Ireland, my wife."
The crowd goes insane, cheering and yelling so loud my ears hurt.
Then Easton starts playing his guitar, his fingers creating a delicate and intricate melody on the strings. "This is for you, baby. I love you." Then he turns his focus to the crowd and says, "Anyone want to hear a new song?"
Again they scream for him, and pride wells in my chest. This man is so much more than I gave him credit for. His dark eyes find mine and he winks, he never stops looking at me as he says, "This one's called, ‘Whiskey Sour.’"
Then he starts singing.
Fire in her eyes, candy on her lips.
She's a whiskey sour,
And I'm ready for a sip...
God, I love this man. I can't wait for our honeymoon to start tonight. He sings to me and I forget we're on a stage, that the world is watching. All I see is him. He's my forever, the one I never thought I'd find.
I used to think I couldn't get over my past, that I was done with men. I was ashamed that I ran away to Vegas. But now I know I wouldn't do it different because I met the love of my life at The Little Black Dress and I'm never letting him go.
<<<<>>>>
10
The Best Laid Plans
Fallen leaves crunch under my feet where they’ve created a carpet of gold and red. October is in full swing, leaving the air crisp.
“You know what we need, Tillie?” my best friend Kit asks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we walk from the dean’s office. He pops the collar on his jacket and dons a pair of designer sunglasses as the setting sun shines in our eyes.
“A new major?”
He laughs. “Not me. I’m graduating this year because I’m not the one who was stubborn and refused to take humanities classes for the last three years.”
“I did. I took lots.”
“Just not enough.”
My shoulders slump. “And now I have to switch out of my extra math so I can take the only humanities class left.”
His blue eyes twinkle as he erupts into giggles. “Mythology and Occultism. You.”
I look up at the crisp blue sky with a heavy sigh. “It’s the worst class possible. It doesn’t benefit my degree at all.”
“I don’t know. A molecular biologist might need to know about the history of witches.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. I just hope I can stay awake long enough to pass the class and move on. Not to mention catch up. I’m six weeks behind.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Maybe the professor will be a hottie as compensation?”
“Not likely.”
“Okay, well, back to the matter at hand. We need a distraction. It’s Friday night, let’s get out of here and blow off some steam.”
It’s an appealing offer. I’d much rather do that than what I have planned for this evening. Stacy is forcing a mandatory sorority house meeting to take care of last minute details for our charity haunted house. “When you say, get out of here, do you mean out of here, or to the bar around the corner?”
“I mean out of town. Somewhere that isn’t swarming with students. I need to find myself a real man, not a college fuck-boy.”
I’m liking this idea more and more. “Yes. God, yes.”
He glances at me, taking in my vintage pencil skirt and fitted sweater. “God, you look like a pin-up.”
“Do I need to change?” Self-consciousness takes hold. I’d been going for serious professional rather than sorority girl.
Kit runs his finger over the cowl neck of my sweater and grins. “No way. You’re one of the only women I know who can pull off this color.”
“It’s goldenrod,” I say, frowning. “You’ve always said you loved it.”
“It’s mustard and I love it on you. Your dark hair and pale complexion are perfect.”
I laugh and my cheeks heat at the compliment. Hooking my arm in his, I tug him toward the parking lot. “Are you driving?”
“Absolutely. What’s the point of having a classic car if you’re not going to drive it?”
We walk to his powder blue T Bird and I can’t help my giggle when he opens my door with a flourish. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch teams and be with me forever? I swear, no guy has ever treated me as well as you.”
“Sorry, sweets. I’m officially uninterested in what you’ve got under that skirt.” He slides into his seat and takes my hand. “But you should never settle for less than what you’re worth.”
Kit and I have been friends since rush week of our freshman year. He was the first guy to attempt to rush a sorority and I knew I’d be his friend immediately. In the end, he didn’t get in, but I love him for his tenacity.
“You’re going to make me cry.”
“Stop it.” He wipes his own eyes and smiles at me. “Do you want to touch up your makeup or anything, or can we head out?”
I shake my head and offer him a wide smile. “Let’s get the heck out of here.”
“As you wish, sweets.”
We pull out of the parking lot and head in the direction of the city, far enough from Oak Ridge University to avoid running into frat boys and the awkward run-in with a professor. My phone buzzes in my purse, prompting me to pull it free and sigh when I see a text from Stacy. She’s the head of Mi Alpha Alpha and as much as I love her, she’s type-A to the max, and sometimes that can be a little hard to handle. Particularly on a day like today.
“Important?” Kit cocks an eyebrow.
I turn my phone to do-not-disturb mode and put it back into my purse. “Nope.” I can miss the meeting. I’m sure Stacy will have an entire set of meeting minutes for all of us by tomorrow morning. I’ll read them while I nurse my hangover.
We grab some dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall taco joint before strolling through downtown in search of a nice place to hang out and decompress. I stop us in front of a place called Cock’s Crow Whiskey Bar.
“Whiskey?” Kit says. “I like it. Whiskey leads to bad decisions and a hell of a good time.”
I laugh and walk in after he pulls open the door. I’m immediately enveloped in the atmosphere of the place. Warm wood walls, copper fixtures, and a fireplace in the back. The scent of whiskey mixes with the food they’re serving and even though I just ate, my mouth waters.
“We should’ve come here first,” I say.
Kit’s gaze is locked on a burly, bearded mountain of a man in the corner. “Yes…oh, yes we should’ve.” The man raises a glass and, I swear to God, he winks at Kit.
“How do you do that?”
He laughs. “Magnetism, baby.” Then he leans in and whispers, “I met him on a dating app last week.”
I give him a playful shove. “Go talk to him then. I’ll just sit at the bar and get a dr
ink.”
“You sure? I don’t want to leave you alone. Did you see the way the guys looked at you when you walked in?”
That stops me. No, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. “Really?”
“Yeah. You’re a piece.” He drops a kiss to my cheek and glances at his bearded man before he says, “Just flag me down if you need me?”
“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
He responds with an exaggerated imitation of a tiger and I turn away laughing. There are two empty seats at the end of the bar, so I snag the one closest to the edge, not wanting to sit next to a stranger if I can help it.
“Whit kin ah git ye, sweetheart?” the bartender asks, his strong Scottish brogue making it hard for me to understand. All I really got was, sweetheart.
I stare blankly trying to puzzle out what he’s said, and by the time I do figure it out, he’s rolling his eyes and sliding a glass of water my way. “I’ll have a—”
He walks away before I finish, having not heard me, or just ignoring me out of spite.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I huff. “Ass.”
“David, stop being a twat. The lady will have…” The man one chair away calls the bartender back and David stands in front of me.
“Whiskey sour,” I mutter.
“Good choice, a little sweet, a little sour, but a lot of alcohol,” my neighbor says without looking at me. His voice is smooth and warm and that British accent of his is very nice to listen to. Honestly, I could listen to him carry on a conversation with anyone and enjoy it.