by Fields, MJ
I smiled and squeezed her hand. “So…about the Helephant…”
“I want to meet her.”
“Soph…” I trailed off, needing to organize my thoughts before replying. I pushed off the couch and stood to pace the living room. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. How do you even know the woman you found is really her?”
Sophia grabbed her phone and pulled up a picture before turning it toward me. “This is how.”
My eyes fell to the photo on her screen, and I nearly dropped my wine glass when I got closer.
In the photo was a smiling woman with dark, shoulder-length hair, milk chocolate eyes, a button nose, high cheekbones, and a tiny scar by her left temple. I remember the day Helen got that scar.
I forced myself to study the picture again, but another scan didn’t change the fact that, though I shared her facial structure and shape, she looked exactly how I imagined Sophia would look fifteen or twenty years from now.
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Crazy, right? I don’t know how meeting her would work, but El, I have to see this through. And I know you said you wanted nothing to do with her, but I don’t want this to be something you regret one day. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
She had a point.
But I’d already been burned by Helen too many times.
“Deal. As long as you promise me you won’t get your hopes up. Take things one step at a time with her. Sharing DNA with someone doesn’t make them family. Nor does it merit placing blind faith in them. Trust is earned, not given, Soph. Please don’t lose sight of that.”
“I know, El. I know we don’t know anything about her, but I can’t stop thinking this is our chance to get answers. The other night, I was just overwhelmed and freaked out a little. But I can do this. I need to do this.”
I sighed, knowing by the resolution in her voice that nothing I said would change her mind.
“Then we’ll do it together.”
I’ve been through this before. I can do it again.
Only, this time…it’ll be on my terms.
Thirteen
Elliot
I’d always been a firm believer in the philosophy that if you want someone in your life, you’ll make time for them. Period. No matter what.
And I wanted Bryce in my life.
As a friend, if nothing else.
I shoved aside the concern and reservations I felt about mixing business with pleasure and vowed to fix things with him to get us back on the right track, whatever that might be.
Without giving myself the chance to chicken out, I shot him a quick text between meetings.
ELLIOT:Hey. I feel terrible about the other night. Can we talk? Tonight?
BRYCE:I’d like that. Dinner at my place?
ELLIOT:Perfect. I’ll cook. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll even bring a salad. ;)
BRYCE:It’s not nice to tease a guy about getting lucky, El.
ELLIOT: OMG! So not what I meant, you gutter-minded perv. *Face-palm*
BRYCE:Freudian slip, I’m sure. ;)
BRYCE:And just so you know, I always get lucky.
BRYCE:I mean, “I’m always lucky.”
ELLIOT:Ugh. I rescind my salad offer. No more luck for you.
BRYCE:We’ll see about that.
I loved that things came so naturally with him. That a few teasing words could convey so much.
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face the rest of the morning, and I felt it creep back into place by the time I bolted out of the office for the day.
With an extra pep in my step, I quickly ran into a grocery store to pick up the ingredients for my chicken parmigiana recipe. Other than getting Bryce's address and confirming he had eggs, flour, olive oil, and ground pepper, we hadn’t texted since this morning, and I couldn’t deny how excited I was to see him. I was committed to leaving work and other distractions behind and just spending time with Bryce. I owed him—and myself—that much.
Without even checking the address, I knew Bryce’s house as soon as I turned down his street and saw the bright yellow door and a black Range Rover in the driveway. The front was cute, with gray siding and a garden in front of the small porch. A blue plastic swing hung from the yard’s only tree, and I smiled at how simple, yet homey, it all felt.
Throwing my purse over one shoulder, I hooked a reusable freezer bag over each arm and walked up to the yellow door. It swung open before I could even lift a hand to knock.
“Sorry I’m a little…” Every word in the English language evaded me when my eyes landed on Bryce’s bare, chiseled torso before he quickly finished throwing a t-shirt over his head. The ridges of his abs, the tousled state of his hair, and the intoxicating scent of his shower gel hit me all at once.
Turned on. Hot and bothered. Tongue-tied.
Okay, so not every word evaded me.
How can my timing be both perfect and cruel at the same time?
“Early?” he asked, the corner of his mouth pulling into the slightest smirk.
I nodded and cleared my throat, trying to pretend I wasn’t still picturing the smooth plane of muscle hiding underneath his plain black tee. Good god. The man shouldn’t be allowed to own clothes. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I thought there’d be more traffic.”
He shook his head, dismissing my apology before reaching out to take the bags from my arms. “No worries, Uno. Come on in.” He stepped back, and I followed, eager to see the place Bryce called home. “So…this is my place. Well, the less chaotic version. It usually looks like a tornado came through and left behind an entire toy store. Come by five minutes after Peyton gets home and you’ll see what I mean.”
I smiled at the thought. Somehow, picturing Bryce as a dad just felt right. Like the unknowns and questions I’d had about his life the past couple years now made sense.
“This is nice,” I said, my eyes roaming across the open space.
The front door led right into the living room, which was small, but Bryce had utilized the space efficiently. A brown microfiber couch sat on one side of the room, angled toward the entertainment center, with a small table separating it from a matching recliner. On one side of the entertainment center sat a box overflowing with blocks and books and various toys, and on the other side was a ride-on plastic car and a plastic miniature grill.
Photos of Peyton adorned the walls, some candid, and some from a birthday party. The largest was a photo of them together; Bryce’s arms were outstretched, and Peyton was sailing through the air with a look of pure glee etched into her features. The happiness captured by the photographer was palpable and apparently contagious because I felt my lips tug into a smile and a warmth fill my heart.
“That was her first birthday.”
I jumped at the sound of Bryce’s voice right beside me, unaware that he’d already set down my bags in the kitchen and come back.
“It’s a great shot. She seems like a really happy baby.”
“She is. Mostly. Colic was a special kind of torture for both of us when she was younger, but now she’s sleeping like a champ, and we’ve got a good routine going. I’m not sure that will still be the case when she gets back from Washington, though.”
“I’m sure you’ll both adjust back into your routine once she’s home. How much longer will she be up there?”
“Couple more weeks. That’s the plan, anyway.”
“Having doubts?”
“I’d be lying if I said no, but I know this is good for both of us. I just wasn’t expecting my separation anxiety to be worse than hers. Every time we FaceTime she’s happy, and I know she’s having a good time. David and Louise live on a farm; I really can’t compete with that. Yesterday she ran away from the camera while we were talking because she saw the pig outside. She’s obsessed with him. Never thought I’d be replaced by swine.”
I laughed, peeling my eyes away from the photos to catch Bryce’s smile.
“It could be worse, Bryce. One day she’ll be ditchi
ng you for a boy.”
His eyes went round, like he’d never contemplated that scenario before. “Yeah, but I’ve got, what, like twenty years before that day comes?”
“More like fourteen. Fifteen if you’re lucky.”
Bryce groaned and let out a few muffled curses before following me into the kitchen. “On that note, I think it’s time to bust out the wine. I’ve got sauvignon blanc or a cabernet; I wasn’t sure which would work better with your plans for dinner.”
“Let’s go with the cab.”
Bryce grabbed glasses and uncorked the wine while I started pulling out ingredients and asking where to find the pots and pans I’d need. We fell into an easy groove with Bryce perfectly filling the role of sous chef. He started the sauce while I got the chicken prepped and into the oven.
I plopped myself on the counter and grabbed my wine, taking a sip and watching Bryce as he finished chopping onions and garlic. His movements were rhythmic and methodical, like he was totally in his element.
“Do you cook often?” I asked, willing my brain to stop thinking about how sexy he looked in an apron. It wasn’t one of those lame ‘Kiss the Cook’ aprons, which usually elicited an eye-roll from me; just a plain red one with a few stains that gave it authenticity.
Bryce in glasses? Hot.
Bryce in glasses and an apron? It’s a miracle I wasn’t drooling.
“Not as often as I’d like,” he replied, interrupting my totally-not-sexual-at-all thoughts. I forced my eyes away from his chest to the pureed tomatoes he was pouring into the saucepan. “I enjoy cooking, but it’s not easy to do it alone with a toddler. Occasionally I’ll cook for myself after Peyton goes to sleep though. What about you?”
“I love it. It’s one of the first things I remember doing with Nana and Pops when we were little. I’d get a whiff of whatever Nana was cooking, and, at first, Sophia and I would watch her and Pops from a distance. But when they realized we were curious, Pops found kid-friendly recipes so we could help. Eventually, it became a big deal for us to all cook as a family on Sundays. I could ask if they still have the recipes if you want them. For when Peyton’s older.”
Bryce looked up, and I couldn’t read his expression. A smile slowly spread across his face. “I’d like that. Thanks, El.”
A comfortable silence settled between us while Bryce set the table and I finished the sauce and threw a salad together. (I guess he’s lucky after all.) Soft music drifted into the kitchen from the small dining room, and I smiled as recognition dawned. I’d only mentioned my love for Ed Sheeran’s music in passing the night we played Mario Kart, and I wasn’t even sure Bryce had been listening.
After filling our plates and refilling our glasses, Bryce picked his up and held it out. “To being lucky,” he declared with a smirk that was equal parts smug and sexy.
“To blank slates,” I countered. We both let the words hang in the air for a few seconds. His smirk softened into something apologetic, so I quickly added, “And to getting lucky.”
He laughed, the sound dispelling any remaining tension. “You said it, not me.”
We dug into the food, and as soon as the first bite of crispy, golden deliciousness hit my tongue I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat down to a homemade dinner outside of work with someone other than Milo or my family. These days it was protein bar breakfasts and too-tired-to-bother-with-it microwavable dinners.
But as I looked around and saw a high chair with one of those rubber bibs hooked on the side, I realized Bryce probably only did sit-down dinners. Just one of the ways our lives are so different.
I shook the thought off, determined not to over-analyze things.
“Actually, there’s something else we should also toast,” I said after a few minutes of eating in silence. “I talked to Sophia and my grandparents about the idea for adding a venue to the property, and they all loved it. I can’t believe it’s really going to happen!”
He leaned forward and covered my free hand with his, his eyes bright with the same excitement I felt. “El, are you serious? That’s amazing! I told you they’d all be supportive.”
We clinked our glasses, and I waited until he was mid-sip to ask, “Think you can handle being under me a little longer than we originally thought?” Bryce choked on his wine, and I didn’t even try to contain my grin. “Professionally, that is.”
He coughed to clear his throat, and I almost felt guilty for my little game.
But then he said, “I’m prepared to be under you for as long as it takes, El.” He paused to scan my face so slowly that my cheeks flooded with heat. “Professionally, of course.”
I opened my mouth to hit him with a witty comeback, but my brain chose this moment to focus entirely on the image of his abs. Of what they’d look like under me.
“The question is,” he mused, smirking as I finally refocused my attention on his face. “Can you handle me? I mean, longer hours might mean some late nights together. And you know what late nights can lead to…”
My mouth gaped. “Wha…uh, what’s that?”
“Mario Kart showdowns. And definitely a pool rematch.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” he echoed, tilting his head to the left. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“I don’t know. Something…else. Inappropriate. Dirty.” I tried—and failed—to keep the lust out of my voice. I’d never been big on innuendo or dirty talking. But with Bryce…everything was different. I craved it with him. It was like the tiny glimpses he’d given me of that side of him were just enough to make me want more.
“Who’s the gutter-minded perv now?”
“Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
He arched a brow and shook his head before leaning forward to narrow the gap between us. I sucked in a breath and locked my eyes onto his lips. “Nah, El. There will be no guessing about it when I’m rubbing off on you.”
That. That’s what I wanted from Bryce. Is classy dirty-talking a thing? Because I think Bryce is an expert at it.
“Noted. Hey, speaking of things you’re humble about…” I trailed off and jumped up, remembering the surprise I had in my purse for him.
A few seconds later I made it back to the table and handed Bryce a white 8”x11” frame.
His lips parted into a grin that practically encompassed his entire handsome face as he scanned the certificate. “El, you didn’t have to do this.”
“Bryce, I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. I told you, I feel bad about how we left things. Especially since we forgot about your certificate.”
“Well, I love it and appreciate the gesture. Thank you.”
“And, about that night…I want you to know I’m sorry for how I handled things. I—”
“No, El,” he interjected, quickly shaking his head. “Your reaction was entirely justified. I should’ve told you about Peyton sooner, and I’m sorry for implying you wouldn’t have been able to handle the situation. The truth is, the more I think about it, the more I hate that I didn’t call you after I moved back.”
“We both could’ve done things differently. Hindsight’s a tricky thing. But you know I didn’t run because you told me about Peyton, right?”
“I do now. I wasn’t sure what to think at first; my thoughts were all over the place. But I knew something was up by the way you reacted to that call. Everything okay with Soph?”
“Yeah. She just…it’s complicated. But she’s fine.” I stopped myself from explaining the situation with Helen because she was the last person I wanted to talk about right now.
Especially considering the fact that Bryce had been right to try and convince me not to go through with meeting Helen five years ago. “Trust is earned, not granted freely,” he’d said.
Funny how those words held so much more weight now.
“Glad she’s okay.”
I nodded and refilled my wine glass, searching for my next words.
“Stop,” Bryce ordered, though it was more of a plea than
a demand.
“Stop what?”
“Worrying. Overthinking. Stressing. Doing whatever it is that’s causing these lines,” he explained, reaching out to run his fingertips over my forehead.
I hadn’t even realized I’d knitted my brows, but they softened at his touch.
“Sorry. Am I that obvious? I just can’t seem to turn my brain off. A month ago, my life was basically on cruise control. Now it’s more like a game of Mario Kart, and I’m on the damn rainbow road course.”
“What are you most stressed about?”
Figuring out the next steps for the venue.
The potential for failure.
The future in general, and all the variables it held.
Meeting my mother. Being anything like her.
Wait, what?
“Well, the most immediate stress, I suppose, would be the inn and venue and what comes next.”
“That’s an easy one, Uno.”
I arched a brow. “How so?”
“Are you forgetting who your badass architect is? Or that he also has a business degree?”
“Badass, huh? And here I thought you were just a pretty face with a knack for drawing straight lines.”
He tried to look offended, but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Psh. I’m a pretty face who can draw straight lines and come up with a solid business plan. Among other talents.”
I crossed my arms and studied his pretty face. His tone was flirty and teasing, but his eyes were sincere. “You’re serious? You’d really help with the business logistics too?”
“Would that lower your stress level?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Then yes.” He heaved a sigh, like my confusion about his willingness to help confused him. “I’ve got more free time on my hands than I know what to do with while Peyt’s gone. And you’ve got more than enough on your plate. Let me lighten the load, El.”