Falling For Them Volume 2: Reverse Harem Collection

by Nikki Bolvair

  “What?” he barks into the device.

  “Jameson?” Hughe’s voice crackles from the other end, barely coherent through the static.

  With a frustrated growl, Jameson pushes from the wall and walks toward the street, away from the buildings. The static clears a little. “I’m here. What do you need?”

  Pulse slowing back to normal, I tug my jacket back into place, face warm with the sudden realization we just made out on Main Street where anyone who walked past could see us. I rub my cheeks and glance around to make sure no one stands gawking nearby. The last thing I need is for the ladies at the retirement home to get wind of this.

  Jameson paces up and down the sidewalk, Hughe’s voice coming in fits of clarity overlaid with more static. He pauses under a streetlight and glances back, his expression conflicted for a moment before his jaw hardens.

  I walk over to join him as he says, “Yeah, I understand, I’ll be home soon.”

  He clicks off the walkie-talkie and shoves it back into his bag as I stop at his side. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck in frustration. “I need to go back home. One of the Lapton Main Gallery owners would like to see an additional floor plan for the new apartment they want built.”

  “I understand.” Disappointment ripples through me, and I push it away. Jameson and his brothers need this job. I can’t get in the way of them finding their foothold within the town. With a smile, I link our fingers together and pull him forward. “Walk me to the next cross street?”

  “I’ll walk you all the way to your door.” He glances down at me. “Raincheck on the tea?”

  I duck my head, my fingers squeezing his. “Of course.”

  Walkers & Canes

  I put my bookmark under an especially steamy scene in Trapped by the Traveler and make a note about the importance of the main character’s surrender in the overall theme of overcoming self-consciousness. This book makes digging deep hard, and that’s not a reference to the heroes rocking body. I really need to screen the books better for next month’s reading list if I’m going to have anything to discuss on Thursdays.

  Setting my pen down, I pick up a slice of apple from my lunch plate, which I brought to the front to nibble on while I read. The quiet presses in on me, and I glance around the front area. Without Mrs. Flanagan’s television droning in the background, the silence becomes deafening. Who knew I would miss the cranky old lady?

  I should bring a stereo in to play music. It will at least help alleviate my loneliness.

  Restless, I grab a dust cloth from beneath the counter and go to the display cabinet. A smear of fingerprints mark the lower half. Eilis Burk had arrived early this morning to deliver one of Darcy’s infamous casseroles. Davin had been right in his warning I could expect one soon.

  I stuffed the thing in the kitchenette fridge without opening it. Eilis’ cringe when she handed it over had been enough of a warning. She stayed to chat for a while, and her toddler, the newest edition to Darcy’s ever growing clan, entertained himself by investigating the various items on display. When he found the display cabinet, he patted at the glass doors, trying to get to the sparkly statue of a leviathan that lives on the bottom shelf.

  Each piece in the cabinet is a part of the town’s history, important in some small way to explain how we came to settle here. But it remains stagnant, the pieces exactly the same year after year. No one has any reason to come in to look at them anymore. And tourists care more about the maps for the hiking paths than about the compass that malfunctioned at the perfect time to allow our seafaring ancestors to spot the bay that would later be settled as the beginning of Port Lapton.

  The halls, too, have lost their draw. Fewer and fewer people rent out the dance hall for large celebrations, and the town hall only gets used for the monthly meetings. No new members have joined the book club either, and the same elderly bunch bus in from the retirement home on Tuesdays and Fridays for games. Once they stop coming, the community center will lose its purpose.

  Motion from the corner of my eye draws my attention to the street out front. Hughe waves as he strides to the door. I straighten with surprise. I’d assumed they would be busy with the Lapton Main Gallery job today.

  The bell jingles as Hughe walks inside and tugs his hat and gloves off as the door shuts behind him. “Shiv, I brought us lunch if you have time?”

  My eyes drop to the basket draped over one of his arms, and I step to the side to block his view of the counter, where my sad lunch still waits half eaten. “That sounds wonderful.”

  Suspicious, he leans to the side to look behind me, and his shoulders droop. “You’ve already eaten.”

  “Just a nibble of an apple.” I run to the counter and grab the plate, lean across the surface, and stuff it out of sight on the shelf below.

  “I didn’t know apples now looked like sandwiches,” he says drily as he joins me and sets the basket on the counter.

  Dropping back to my heels, I glance up at him. “I only took a bite.”

  Or four, but hopefully he didn’t see that much.

  “I would have called, but Dad doesn’t have the town directory for me to look up the number. And I thought coming in person would be easier.” He unbuttons his coat to reveal a soft, blue sweater. Mom’s signature diamond pattern decorates the collar, and I recognize it as the one she knit for Mr. O’Brien for the Solstice two months ago.

  For some reason, seeing him in it fills me with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Like he’s already part of the family.

  I touch his chest, my fingers sinking into the wool to find the hard muscle beneath. “I’m still hungry. What did you bring for us?”

  He turns his face away to mutter, “Sandwiches. And apples.” When I snort out a laugh, he glares down at me, defensive. “I’m not the cook in the family.”

  “I’m not either.” Unable to resist myself, I give his chest a light playful scratch through the sweater before turning to the basket. “Let’s see if yours wins over my peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Depends.” He pushes down the handles to lift the lid. “Do you like turkey and bacon more than peanut butter?”

  “Definitely.” I peer inside the wicker at the paper wrapped squares. “Should I get plates?”

  “I brought those, too.” Proud, he lifts out the sandwiches, two apples, and two clay plates, the thick edges chipped with age, but still solid. He sets the items on the counter and peers back inside the basket with a grimace. “But it looks like I forgot the thermos with our tea.”

  “I can get us tea.” When I turn to hurry toward the kitchen, Hughe follows. Glancing back over my shoulder, my eyebrows list. “I can get it by myself.”

  His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Maybe, I don’t want to waste a single moment with you.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  He pokes me in the side. “Don’t mock my desperate need for companionship, woman. I’ll warn you, I’ve become clingy over the years.”

  “How clingy?’ I skitter away from his fingers with a laugh. “Do I need to mark boundaries?”

  “Don’t you dare.” He swoops in, lifting me in a tight hold. “There will be no barriers between us.”

  I laugh and wiggle within his arms, gasping for air. “I can’t breathe.”

  “I’ll breathe for you.” He squeezes until I squeak. “We will become one person.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” I wheeze and thump a fist against his shoulder.

  His arms loosen, and my mouth pops open to pull in air only for his lips to cover mine. I sigh into him, my arm curling around his neck. My feet touch the carpeted floor long enough for me to turn within his arms to face him fully before he sweeps me up once more in a gentler embrace.

  My breasts press against his chest, my pounding heart finding a mirror within him. His smile forms against my lips a moment before his head lifts. I blink him into focus, my breath unsteady.

  “See?” He nudges his nose against mine. “L
ike one person.”

  I lick my lips. “Hmm, I might need more convincing.”

  “Wicked temptress.” He presses a hard, fast kiss against my lips before setting me back down. “It’s the middle of the work day. What would the townsfolk think?”

  Heat fills my cheeks. “I think Mrs. Flanagan would give me her blessing.”

  “Oh?” With a grin. Hughe gently spins me around to face the kitchen once more, and he nudges me forward, hands on my shoulders. “What did Mrs. Flanagan say?”

  “Well, when Jameson was here yesterday—”

  “How did it go last night?” He interrupts, tone suddenly serious.

  “Don’t you already know?” This time when I peer over my shoulder, it’s to glare at him. “You interrupted our date.”

  “Hush, now. It was about work.” He squeezes my shoulders in apology.

  “I know, which is why I told him to go,” I grumble. We reach the kitchen, and I slip out of his hold to fetch our mugs. As I open the teapot to spoon in the black tea leaves, I glance at him, curious. “Didn’t Jameson tell you how our date went?”

  “No, he went straight to the office and shut himself inside. When I checked on him this morning, he was still at his computer.” He eyes the tiny dining set with the wicker seats, then leans against the wall, folding his arms. In here, he looks like a uncomfortable giant, afraid he’ll break something with a misstep. “I’m glad to hear you calling it a date, though, and not a talk. That means it went well.”

  “It did. Very well, in fact.” I pour the hot water in and set the timer, then lean against the counter to face him. “We had a lot to forgive each other for.” My gaze drops to the worn, linoleum floor, and I have to force myself to meet his eyes once more. “I have a lot I still need to apologize to you and Davin for.”

  “Shiv, you don’t—”

  I hold up a hand to stop him, a lump forming in my throat. It hurts to admit, once more, my own complicity in our separation. “I was hurt, and I let stubborn pride stop me from opening those letters. If I’d bent even a little, we could have—”

  He slashes a hand through the air. “Stop thinking of what-ifs. We can’t change that, but we can change how we move forward. That’s what matters now.”

  “But you deserve—”

  “Siobhan Rosa McKathry, not another word of apology.” He lifts a finger when I open my mouth once more. “I don’t need it. Not from you. I played my own part in going along with Jameson’s stupidity. It wasn’t just the two of you that kept us apart. We all had a hand in it. We’ve had years to play the what-if game, but that never brought us back together. We can’t turn back the clock, but we can go forward.”

  I hug my elbows, shoulders hunching. “I can’t stop it though. It keeps me up at night. If we’d just done some things differently…”

  “We’d likely have ended up in jail.”

  “What?” I rear back in shock.

  He studies me, gaze serious. “Like I said, we had a lot of time on our hands to play what-if, and at the end of it, we were too wild. If Aunt Ullna hadn’t come and picked our sorry asses up, our behavior would have likely escalated, any one of us could have been hurt, you included. We’d probably have ended up in jail before we graduated from high school.”

  “That’s a horrible outlook.”

  “It’s realistic, though.” He reaches across the small space that separates us and pulls me closer. “We needed a wake up call. I hate that it meant losing you, but we’re in a better place now, more mature. Not just for us, but for you and our life together.”

  My hands tremble, and I grip his hard biceps to steady myself. All too easily, I can see the path he describes, but instead of jail, my mind ventures down the darker one, the one where I could have lost one of them. We were stupid and young, and stealing our parents’ trucks to race down back roads in the middle of the night could have gotten us killed.

  “Hey, now, stop it.” He bends over me, his nose nudging against mine. The musk of his cologne envelopes me. “We’re all safe and healthy and in one piece. We made it through. All of us are boring now, and that makes me incredibly happy.”

  I shake myself out of the dark thoughts to squint at him. “Being boring makes you happy?”

  His forehead presses against mine. “When we weren’t playing the what-if game, we dreamed about our future with you.”

  “Oh?” I shuffle even closer until my feet bump against his. “Anything in particular?”

  “Walkers and canes.”

  I smile in confusion. “What about walkers and canes?”

  “When we’re old and gray and our grandkids only come to visit us because we give them birthday money, I want the cane so I can shake it at them.” When I snort, he lifts his head to stare down his nose at me. “Don’t mock me. This is something we need to consider.”

  Warmth pools in my chest to know they talked about us growing old together. “Aren’t you skipping a few steps?”

  “I want to put pink tennis balls on your walker.” His thumbs make circles on my elbows as he thinks. “And shiny tassels on the handles.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “Why do I get the walker?”

  “Because Port Lapton’s streets are scary in the winter. You’ll need the extra stability.”

  I tilt my head to the side in consideration. “Then, we should all have walkers.”

  “Oh, Shiv, so naive.” He shakes his head in despair. “You can’t shake a walker at kids. It’s not threatening at all.”

  Behind us, the timer beeps loudly, and I reluctantly step away from him to turn it off. “I think we need to discuss this in more depth.”

  “Shall we map it out over turkey sandwiches?”

  “How about pizza?”

  “But I didn’t bring—”

  “Tonight.” I bite my lip as I lift the tea strainer out and set it in the sink. My heart pounds, and I take a deep breath. “I need help unpacking. Why don’t you, Davin, and Jameson come by for dinner tonight?”

  His heavy boots scuff against the floor as he steps up behind me. “Did you just ask us on a date?”

  “It’s manual labor with an offer of food.”

  “In your new home?” His hands cup my waist. “Where you’re all alone? Without any parents or siblings who could barge in at any moment?”

  I bend my head to hide my furious blush. “Yes or no?”

  Warm lips press into my curls as he breathes, “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Coming into Focus

  I flip the sign to Closed at six o’clock on the dot before dimming the lights and hurrying to the back to grab my jacket. While my new home is only a walk around the building, it’s a cold one. I shrug into the warm, tan wool, but leave the toggle buttons undone. There’s staying warm, and then there’s just being silly. I won’t freeze before I get upstairs.

  In the kitchenette, I unplug the kettle and pause to stare at the fridge for a moment in consideration before finally opening it to lift out the large casserole dish delivered this morning. It has a surprising weight for a six by nine inch pan and the distinct aroma of tuna sneaks out from beneath the foil cover.

  When I get upstairs, I’ll have to investigate the ingredient contents so I can properly thank Darcy when she comes in for book club this week. I’m not sure if I hope it will be better or worse than the one the O’Brien’s received. Did I also receive punch flavored gummies? Or did Darcy move onto a new candy to keep things interesting?

  Back at the front door, I balance the heavy dish on one arm to free a hand for the front door. Cold wind rushes past, blowing the curls away from my face, and I squint against it. Outside, shadows cover Main Street, the lamp posts already casting puddles of light across the sidewalk. I step out and pull the door shut while, up and down the road, the other shops slowly go dark as everyone gets ready to head home for the night.

  Next door, Mrs. Kelly folds up her sandwich board to bring inside. She nods at me. “Good work, today, Siobhan.”

&
nbsp; “You, too, Mrs. Kelly.” I pat my pocket for the hard ring of keys and pull them out to lock up. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.” She huffs and lifts the large board, shuffling toward the open door. “Mind the ice on the stairs on your way up. It misted earlier, and this wind has likely turned them slippery.”

  “You as well.” Like many of the shop owners, Mrs. Kelly lives above her store.

  Eyes on the ground, I walk around the side of the building and up the side stairs, hand on the railing. The steps look damp, though ice hasn’t formed yet. I should come back out with some salt, or tomorrow morning could be dangerous.

  Despite the cold, I enjoy winter in Port Lapton the most. It’s a quiet time of rest before the tourists flood our small town. I’ll have to keep the community center open longer then. I need to stock up on the maps of the foothills and check with the local foresters to make sure the fairy rings are still in the same places.

  I should make a list. Spring will come all too soon.

  When I get inside my apartment, the chill of outside fills the sparse room. I turn on the radiator in the front room and glance around at the few boxes that remain. Inviting the triplets over to help unpack was a poor excuse that will become obvious as soon as they arrive. Maybe I should ask them to move furniture around?

  Sighing, I drop the casserole onto the kitchen counter and crouch to open the cabinet under the sink. Mrs. Flanagan left a large bucket of road salts behind, and I use the cup inside to scoop some out before heading back outside.

  The O’Brien triplets arrive just as I reach the bottom step, the last course granules bouncing on the ground.

  Happiness rushes through me at the sight of them, and I don’t fight the smile that spreads across my lips.

  Spotting me, Davin bounces forward, arms swooping around me. “Vonnie, I missed you!”

  I bury my nose in his scarf. “You saw me this morning.”

  “That was ten hours ago.” He presses dry, cold lips against my temple. “What are you doing outside? It’s freezing.”