by Mara Wells
Lance’s response was quick. How could I refuse you anything?
Definitely not business. Carrie dropped her phone in her lap and looked across the table at Lance. Sure enough, he was staring at her. His lips quirked in that way that meant he was holding back a smile. Their relationship was like standing on shifting sand, and she was unable to find her balance. She fought the urge to text him to meet her in one of the empty units. Old habits and all that. One more time wouldn’t change anything. They could be a family without being together. Somehow, some way, she’d figure it out.
“Now that’s settled.” Grandpa William stood and pinged his knife against his glass. Since the knife was metal colored but not really metal, not much happened. Grams stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled loud enough to crack an eardrum or two. The lobby crowd hushed, and all eyes turned toward Grandpa William.
“Today is a day for family.” Grandpa William raised his glass of iced tea into the air. “I’m blessed to be here with my three grandsons.” Here he paused and tipped his glass toward Oliver. “And my great-grandson.”
There were some calls of “hear, hear” and raising of glasses, but Grandpa William wasn’t done. “A long time ago, I had a beautiful wife, the beginning of a beautiful family. I betrayed her and lost her.” His eyes sought out Grams.
“What can I say? You were an idiot.” She flashed the crowd a grin and held up a hand to him, limp at the wrist. “A womanizing, short-sighted, unappreciative idiot.”
“You know me so well.” He took her fingers in his and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “It is my greatest regret that I hurt you, Gloria.”
Grams looked at him. “We’ve settled this, Billy. There’s no reason to drag it all up again. Especially not in front of all these fine folks.”
“These fine folks don’t mind a bit!” Eliza called from her seat at the far end of the table. Lady sat at her side, eyes fixed on the plate of turkey in front of her. “In fact, some of us wish you’d speak a little louder, William. I’m not sure I caught that last bit.”
“I was saying—” Grandpa William stopped to clear his throat, running a finger around the collar of his button-down shirt. Sweat popped on his forehead.
“Yes, dear?” Grams projected across the room, loud enough that beachgoers half a mile away could probably hear her. “Do you want to explain more about your bad choices as a young man?”
Grandpa William took a long sip of iced tea and set his glass back on the table. “No, I was trying to move on from that.”
“Louder!” Eliza called, and the guests around her laughed.
Patty, who sat next to Eliza on her walker-turned-seat in a housedress decorated with falling leaves, leaned forward and yelled, “Five bucks says he’s about to—”
“Miss Patty, I’ll thank you to stop right there.” Grandpa William cleared his throat and tried to take another sip of iced tea, but his glass was empty.
“Let her finish. Patty’s usually right, you know.” Grams tugged at her hand, attempting to get it back, but he held firm. “You shouldn’t go around shushing women just because they’re saying things you don’t want to hear. Why, I imagine it would do you some good to—”
“Gloria, please.” Grandpa William squeezed her hand to get her attention, meeting her eyes with his. She must’ve seen something there because she clamped her lips shut and rolled her free hand, signaling Go on.
“Truth is, I’m trying to… Gosh darn it all to hell…” Grandpa William reached into the pocket of his gray slacks. He pulled out a small, black box. “You are the single most difficult woman…” Slowly, painfully, Grandpa William used his cane and the seat of the chair to lower himself to one knee.
Grams inhaled sharply, scooting her chair back so fast she rammed into Riley.
“Gloria.” He opened the box and held it up to her. “I was indeed an idiotic young man, but I hope that I am at least a little bit wiser now. Wise enough to know that I can’t let you get away a second time.”
Grams’ eyes filled with tears, and for once, she didn’t have a witty comeback. She reached for the box. “Billy, it’s too much.”
“Nothing is too much for the love of my life.” He placed both hands on his knee. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”
Grams leaned forward and pulled Grandpa William off his knee. When they were both standing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She kissed him. He kissed her back. For a long time.
Eliza started the cheering, and Patty started taking bets on when the wedding bells would ring. Soon everyone at the long table was whooping it up, wolf whistles and all. The dogs got all riled up, and LouLou started a game of chase around the buffet table that even Grandpa William’s elderly greyhound joined. Still, the kiss went on. And on.
It was, um, awkward. Carrie worried what Oliver would think, but he was tucked into his mashed potatoes, downing them in large gulps. Carrie checked on her mother. Sherry watched the now-engaged couple with damp eyes. Carrie guessed it was kind of romantic. A bit too public for her taste, but then, it wasn’t about her. Grams clearly adored the attention.
When the kiss finally ended, both Grams and Grandpa William were short of breath. Grams turned to Riley and grabbed both her hands. “Riley, we can have a double wedding!”
“I am so happy for you. For both of you.” Riley stood and hugged her grandmother. “But no. Absolutely not.”
Grams’ face cycled through expressions quickly—shock, hurt, outrage, amusement.
Riley squeezed Grams’ hands. “You deserve your own special day. I would never dream of stealing any bit of your spotlight.”
Grams’ face settled on pleased. “You’re right, darling.”
Caleb raised his glass of tea. “Congratulations!” The sentiment echoed around the table, and the engaged couple was toasted. Not that they noticed. They were too busy looking at each other.
Carrie looked at Lance, and Lance looked back. There was no denying the romance of the moment, a divorced couple reuniting after years apart. Grams and Grandpa William made it seem possible that two people could move on from their past, break the old habits that drove them apart, hope for a new future together. Carrie couldn’t deny that a part of her—okay, a large part of her—wanted that with Lance.
But the smaller, more practical part of her thanked God she had another date with Adam this weekend. It might feel more like a chore than a chance at romance, but she’d had to try something after the awkward coffee meeting with Lance. And she’d been right. Look at her mooning after Lance with their family members crammed in all around them.
She’d remember forever the look in his eyes when he said he’d always loved her, but she couldn’t let herself forget how fast he was to freeze her out. He might think he loved her, and maybe he still did, but he’d never truly forgive her for keeping Oliver from him. He might’ve mastered the art of groveling, but if she knew one thing about Lance, it was that he held on tight to his grudges. Look how he’d cut his father out of his life. She didn’t think she could survive it if he did the same to her. It was better for everyone if she moved on.
“Sorry I’m late.” A petite woman approached the table, a large cake plate balanced on one hand. She placed the other hand on Lance’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Mom?” Caleb’s mouth dropped open, showing that at least he was enjoying Carrie’s garlic mashed potatoes. “What’re you doing here?”
Lance stood and pulled a chair over for the woman. “I invited Christine.”
“Why would you do that?” Caleb clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. “She doesn’t do potlucks.”
Christine pushed the cake plate toward Caleb. “Now I do. Doesn’t it look delicious? It’s your favorite, Caleb, a red velvet from Chez Bon Bon.”
&nbs
p; “How sweet of you.” Riley placed her hand over Caleb’s on the table. “Thank you for bringing it, Christine. Why don’t I help you get it set up on the dessert table?” Riley rose and guided Christine away.
“What the hell, Lance?” Caleb pointed an accusatory fork in Lance’s direction.
“I didn’t think she’d actually come.” Lance leaned back, stretching his long legs under the table until his foot tapped Carrie’s. She tapped him back, and they stayed that way under the table, the pointed toe of her high heel resting on top of his cowboy boot.
“Why would you invite her at all?” Caleb jabbed the fork at Lance again. “This is just like the dog park, making decisions without consulting me. You’re out of line, Lance. Again.”
“Somebody had to do it.” Lance glared across the table at his brother. “Both times. If that makes me the bad guy, well, isn’t that who I am in the family? The black sheep?”
“Here we go again.” Caleb rolled his eyes. “For the last time, you weren’t forced out of the family. You left, as I recall, as soon and as fast as you could.”
“Louder!” Eliza shouted down the table. “Are you boys arguing?”
“We’re not arguing,” Caleb muttered through clenched teeth. “We’re discussing Lance’s habit of making decisions he has no business making.”
“Like you were ever going to sign off on moving the dog park.” Lance shoved back his chair, the metal squeaking in protest. “But if we didn’t move it, we’d lose the permits, and who knows what else one of those corrupt commissioners would cook up to stall our project? I had to do what was best for our business.”
“You don’t think I can make sound business decisions?” Caleb’s hands clenched in fists in front of him. The plastic fork snapped under the pressure.
Lance sucked in a long breath. Carrie admired his restraint. In the past, Lance would’ve given as good as he got, if not more. He loved to win a fight. Now, though, he gathered his composure before speaking. “The point is, Caleb, it would’ve been difficult for you, given your history with Riley. I made the call so you wouldn’t have to.”
Lance’s words visibly deflated Caleb. He picked up one half of the broken fork, toying with it between his fingers. “It was the right call. I just wish I’d been consulted first.”
“Noted.” Lance watched Caleb carefully, like he was afraid of being stabbed with the plastic fork. “I should’ve asked about your mom, too. It’s just that I felt sorry for her.” Lance raised his eyebrows, one cocking higher than the other. “She doesn’t have anyone else.”
“You’re right.” Caleb slumped in his chair. “I’m sorry. She’s always on me to visit our father.”
Lance drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Would that be so bad? He doesn’t have anyone else, either.”
“Absolutely not.” Caleb glared across the table. “Knox, back me up here.”
“I’m not getting in the middle.” Knox stood. “Think I’ll get myself some cake. Haven’t had Chez Bon Bon in over a decade.” He limped away as Christine and Riley returned.
Riley took in the tense situation with a quick glance at the mangled fork. “What’d I miss?”
“The boys made up!” Eliza crowed from her end of the table. “It was touch and go for a minute, but they’ve decided to share the business decisions from now on.”
Riley looked to Caleb, who looked to Lance.
Lance raised a shoulder. “What she said.”
“That’s all good then.” Christine held up her crystal-encrusted phone case. “Anyone mind if I take a few photos to share with my husband?”
Lance stared at Caleb, hard.
“Fine.” Caleb shoved more mashed potatoes in his mouth. “But I’m not smiling.”
“Is she another Gamma?” Oli asked loudly. The whole table laughed, but no one answered him. “Well, is she?”
“We’ll talk later,” Carrie whispered to her son. “For now, let’s eat.”
Oli had no trouble shifting gears, shoveling turkey into his mouth with apparent pleasure. Carrie took a bite of her own potatoes. Not bad. She watched Christine make the rounds, taking photos and short videos, her face nervous but pleased.
Carrie tapped Lance’s foot with hers and sent him a quick text. You did a good thing.
He read the message and smiled. Carrie knew it was dangerous, but she left her foot on top of his. If Lance could forgive his father, maybe there was hope for her after all.
Chapter 32
It wasn’t spying, not in the technical sense. Just because he knew Adam planned to take Carrie down to South Pointe and just because he’d packed Oliver and Beckham into his truck—a surprisingly involved process what with the special seats and bags of accessories—to head down to South Pointe Park didn’t mean they’d run into each other. If he didn’t see them, it wasn’t spying. If he did? Maybe, technically, one could argue stalking. What was the likelihood that Carrie would see them? Slim, he assured himself. Slim to none.
He was lucky to pull into the small public parking lot right as someone else pulled out. He snagged the spot and paid on his phone app for parking before unloading boy, dog, and enough equipment for a short camping trip. It hadn’t surprised him that Carrie’s closet was filled with bags labeled for various excursions—park, beach, shopping, Gamma’s. It did surprise him how heavy the park bags were. Knowing Carrie, though, he’d be glad of something in the bag before the evening ended.
“Hold on, guys.” Lance clipped on Beckham’s leash before the bundle of pure energy launched himself out of the truck. Then he set himself to Oliver’s safety-seat hooks and buttons, a job that would’ve been much easier if Oliver hadn’t helped, tangling his chubby fingers in the straps and laughing at Lance’s muttered curses.
Finally, they were ready to go. He slung the flowered backpack over one shoulder and the dog-paw-covered shoulder bag over the other. Joggers swerved around them as they slowly ambled toward the playground, passing by the popular steakhouse, Smith & Wollensky. The outdoor seating sprawled toward the channel that connected the Port of Miami to the Atlantic Ocean, breaking for the width of the paved walkway, then picking up with more tables and chairs on the grassy shoulder that bordered the rocky seawall.
It was perfectly normal to scan the restaurant patrons. It was called people watching, definitely not spying. People watching was a favorite pastime in Miami Beach. Why, at this moment, a young teen posed in a puffy yellow dress near a low sea-grape shrub. Probably a quinceañera photo shoot, judging by the tiara on her head and the assorted light reflectors a few feet from her. Sure enough, a photographer shouted directions to her, telling her to turn to the left, to lift her chin, to take a step sideways, then back, then forward. A black cat, one of the many strays in the area, watched haughtily from its perch on a rock that jutted out over the grass.
Swiveling his head side to side, trying to appear like a normal people-watching guy with a kid and a dog out for an evening stroll, Lance spotted her. Or rather, them. Carrie and Adam were seated on the outdoor porch, a space elevated one step above the outdoor seating. Carrie leaned across the table, covering Adam’s hand with her own, and they smiled at each other. Adam was such a serious guy usually; it was weird to see him throw back his head with laughter. Lance jerked his gaze away, worried that the longer he watched, the more likely they were to see him. He took longer strides, leaving the restaurant behind in a few paces. Beckham wagged his tail at the change in pace, charging ahead. Lance steered them left, toward the playground.
Oliver picked up speed when he saw the slide, Beckham leaping along beside him, one hop for every three of Oliver’s steps. The playground was crowded with kids ranging in age from younger than Oli to preteen, their screams filling the air. Why did children scream so much? Lance scowled in their general direction. Maybe his crankiness came from wanting to scream himself. Yes, spending time with Oli was the highlight of his da
y. Knowing that Carrie was on the hunt for a stepdaddy for Oliver, though, sucked some of the joy out of their outing.
Yesterday’s Thanksgiving celebration weighed on his mind. It’d been right to have her and Oli there, even Sherry. Hadn’t she felt the same sense of family? He’d thought so, the way she wanted to play footsie under the table, but as soon as the meal was over, she’d made the rounds of goodbyes, stopping at Christine’s place to admire some of the pictures she’d taken, and taken off. He’d only heard from her when Addison fell through as a babysitter. Which was fine. He’d asked for opportunities to spend more time with his son. He simply wished that time also included his son’s mother.
Lance helped Oli into a swing, the kind that was a small plastic seat with holes for the legs to pop through, and gave him a push. Of course Adam and Carrie would work out. Both were obsessed with design, and in complementary ways. Much like when he and Carrie had started out, they’d be assets to each other’s businesses. Perhaps they’d merge their professional as well as personal lives. Of course they would. He pushed Oli higher and higher. Beckham leaped at Oli’s feet every time they swung by him.
“Higher!” Oliver called after his next push sent him skyward. He kicked his legs. “Higher, higher!”
“Excuse me?” A woman’s voice caused Lance to miss a push.
“Yes?” He turned to the young mother. She held a baby, maybe six months old, on her hip, and a toddler clung to her hand. “Can I help you?”
“My daughter is afraid of dogs.” She took a step that put her little girl slightly behind her leg.
“Beckham loves kids.” Lance tugged on Beckham’s leash, encouraging him closer. “She’s welcome to pet him.”
“Dogs aren’t allowed on the playground. You need to remove him.” Her voice was frosty, and the baby fussed in her hold.
“He’s not doing anything wrong.” No Dogs Allowed signs were common on the Beach, but most people ignored them. As long as your dog was well behaved and leashed, no one much cared.