by Remy Rose
“So what’s up, Mads?”
She stirs cream into her coffee, smiling down into the mug. “I wanted to tell you that we actually do have a wedding date in mind.”
“Oh! That’s great. When?”
“I don’t want anyone else to know just yet. But it’s soon.” There is color in her cheeks. “Like August.”
“Wow—August! That is soon.”
“It is, but we just didn’t want to wait any longer to take this step.”
“I can understand that. I mean, you’re totally in love, so why wait?”
“Yes. And also because...we just found out that we’re pregnant.”
Madeline’s eyes are shining. I sit there for a second, stunned, letting the realization of what she just said sink in and become utter joy. I jump up to hug and hug her, and then we’re both laughing and crying.
“How far along are you?”
“Just six weeks. That’s why I want to wait a little longer before spreading the news. But I couldn’t wait to tell my BFF.”
“I’m so glad you told me. Jack must be so excited.”
“He’s ecstatic. We weren’t planning on it this soon, but...” She pats her belly. “This little baby decided it was the right time.”
“Oh, Maddie. Oh, Mads! My God, a baby!” I start to cry.
Madeline does, too, laughing through her tears. “Laney, I’m supposed to be the one with the hormones!”
“Sorry—I can’t help it. I’m just so, so thrilled for you.”
“Thank you. I’m so happy, Lane. Those words sound so simple compared to all that’s going on inside me. I’m elated and over the moon, but content and grounded at the same time. It’s an indescribably wonderful feeling.” She pauses, her eyes soft and tender. “I want that feeling for you, too.”
I fight back a deluge of fresh tears. And then, suddenly, I decide I want her to know everything.
I tell her about the contract I have with Damon, and how he was my money source for the building, and she just listens very quietly and sympathetically without being even the slightest bit judge-y. I love her for that.
“So I guess that cancels out my not telling you about playing matchmaker?” She smiles.
“Definitely. And Confession #2—this is even bigger, because I haven’t even wanted to tell myself. I’m not faking it with him anymore. I have...I have feelings for him.”
And there it is, right out on Madeline Callaway’s kitchen table, with Murphy and her unborn baby as witnesses.
I have feelings for Damon Cavanaugh.
Maddie covers her hands with mine. I look down at her beautiful ring and feel like crying again. “Sweetie,” she says gently, “don’t you think there’s someone else you should tell about this?”
“I don’t know if I can. Or if I even should. I’ve been trying to stifle what I feel and hope it just fades.”
She grins. “And how’s that going for you?”
“Not good. But I feel like that’s what I need to do.”
“Why is that?”
“His mother can’t stand me, and she is incredibly powerful—she’s the CEO of Cavanaugh Yacht, and she has this major hold over Damon. Gloria’s made it clear she doesn’t want me to be with her son, and I’m afraid of what she might do to him if I am.”
“What if he doesn’t care?”
“Even if he doesn’t, I don’t want to be responsible for unleashing Gloria’s wrath. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”
“Is his mother the only thing that’s standing in your way?”
I sigh. She knows me too well. “No. I guess I’m standing in my own way, a little. I feel like I may be out of his league—he’s grown up in a totally different world and has had a different lifestyle than I have.”
“I had concerns and reservations, too, Laney—with Jack. But I decided he was worth the risk. From what I’ve witnessed, Damon is worth the risk, too. It’s obvious he’s crazy about you. And maybe you should let him decide what’s fair or not fair, instead of you making the decision for him. Maybe the unfair thing here would be to walk away.”
On the drive home, my mind is a torrent of thoughts, like leaves swirling in a gust of wind. I think of my parents’ reconciliation, of Maddie’s engagement and pregnancy, of my uncertain future and Maddie’s advice. I don’t know how a heart can feel so full and ache at the same time, but that’s what mine is doing.
Maybe the unfair thing here would be to walk away.
This time, I hear those words in my voice.
chapter 29 / Damon
Portia and I are down at the shop today, checking out the initial progress on the Dulcinea, Cavanaugh Yacht’s newest model, and looking at the custom boats being built. Bernie, our top craftsman, does amazing work with his crew. He’s a great guy—always cheerful, loves antique cars and 80’s classic rock and the boats he makes. When he’s finished a particular boat, he’s always proud and a little sad—like a parent whose kid is leaving for college. His attention to detail and the painstaking care he exhibits has made him one of our most valuable employees. My mother adores him, and shockingly, he seems to genuinely like her, too.
I try not to hold that against him.
Our company builds sixty boats a year, stem to stern. Many of them are custom orders, but the Dulcinea is the creation of Bernie and his team. Portia steps close to it, running her hand along the glossy toe rail. “This is appsolutely gorgeous.”
Bernie’s face splits into a grin. It’s like she told him his daughter was beautiful. “Eight pieces of Burmese teak, ten coats of varnish and a whole lotta sweet-talking.”
“It seems to have worked.” Portia smiles.
Once again, I’m shaking my head at how she turned out to be nothing like I expected. I’ve grown pretty fond of her, with not even a glimmer of feeling attracted.
Delaney, too, turned out to be nothing like I expected. Someone I chose to be my girlfriend in name only...someone who would look the part.
Didn’t have a clue she’d turn out to be the part.
Her role is due to end exactly one month from today. And my focus has shifted from trying to convince my mother that Delaney Brewster is my girlfriend, to trying to convince Delaney Brewster that she’s my girlfriend.
There’s some irony for you.
A phone’s ring tone warbles, jostling me out of my thoughts. Portia looks at her screen, tells Bernie and me she’ll be right back, and then walks away to take the call as the CEO of Cavanaugh Yacht steps into view.
“Hello, Mother.”
She gives me an icy stare which thaws as she lays eyes on Bernie. “She’s stunning, isn’t she?”
He’s nodding, folding his arms as he sweeps his gaze along the Dulcinea. “I’m pretty proud of her, Ms. Cavanaugh.”
My mother’s face registers puzzlement, and then she tosses her head back and laughs. “Oh, Bernie...you’re delightful. I’m not talking about the boat, although she is also beautiful. I meant Ms. Bellamy.”
His bushy eyebrows raise, face breaking into a big grin. “Ha! My mistake. Yes, she certainly is a head-turner.”
“One would expect that my own son would think the same,” she says drily. “His lack of taste is extremely disappointing.”
“And one would think that my own mother would know when to back off.”
There’s tension in the air, thicker than the varnish on a Cavanaugh yacht. Bernie laughs nervously, looking from my mother to me, clearly not wanting to be in the middle of this. It’s Portia’s re-entrance that saves us. She’s looking a little stressed, and my mother notices it right away.
“Is everything all right?”
“I hope so. Just got a phone call from my brother. Daddy’s had some tightness in his chest, and he’s been refusing to see a physician.”
Mother’s expression turns from concern to alarm. “Chest tightness? He really should get checked out—that’s nothing to fool around with.”
Portia nods. “I know. That’s exactly what my brother told him. Daddy�
��s been under a great deal of stress lately, mainly due to the business.”
“Is your brother the only one watching out for him?”
“Yes. Daddy hasn’t been in a relationship with anyone, and I worry about that as well. I do wish he had someone in his life to take care of him.” She gives us a small smile. “Since we all know women can be highly persuasive, maybe a significant other could convince my very stubborn papa to see a doctor.”
“Well, I certainly hope you or your brother will be able to talk him into getting a physical. Please keep me posted on Roger.”
“I will, Gloria. Thank you so much for your concern.”
Concern? Hate to tell you, Portia, but my mother’s probably already making plans to sink her perfectly-manicured nails into Bellamy Marine, should your father meet his demise. Cold and callous, yes, but it’s how she rolls.
Bernie shows us the specs for the next boat he’s going to be working on, we tour the rest of the shop and then drive back to the office. Portia’s a little on the quiet side, and I’m guessing it’s because of her dad. It’s a feeling I can’t relate to, since I’ve never been close to mine.
Or my mother, for that matter. Probably explains why I’m a bit fucked-up.
After work, I’m heading to Delaney’s to pick up Tucker. She likes to have him at her place while I’m at work, and that’s totally fine with me, because even though the big guy sleeps a lot during the day, I like to know she can check on him and let him out to do his business. Since she closes the café earlier than I get out of work, she’ll sometimes take him for a walk downtown. Then I come over to get him, and typically I’ll have dinner there, or we’ll go out or back to my place and I’ll grill.
We usually end up in bed.
So I’m totally fine with Delaney watching T-Man.
I’m about five minutes away from her place when she calls.
“Hey, Sprite. I’m almost—”
“Damon!”
Jesus, I don’t like the sound of her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Tucker.” Her words are choked and tearful. “Oh God, Damon...I just got to the vet’s with him.”
My heart is now banging in my chest. I keep my voice calm so I won’t upset her more than she already is. I put on my blinker and make a sharp U-turn at a service station. The vet clinic is about fifteen minutes west of here. “I’ll be right there. What happened? Is he okay?”
“I—I don’t know. I hope he will be. He got into some chocolate at my house. I shouldn’t have had it out. I didn’t even think—he must have gotten up on the counter when I went into my bedroom, because when I came back in the kitchen, he was licking the wrapper. Oh, Damon—I’m so sorry!”
I know dogs aren’t supposed to have chocolate, but I’ve heard that it depends on how much they get and the size of the dog. With Tucker being basically the size of a pony, I think he’d have to eat a lot of it for him to be in any danger.
“I’m sure he’ll be okay...was he acting sick?”
“No.” She sniffs. “Not yet. But it was baking chocolate, and that’s one of the worst kinds. I was so scared, so I just brought him right in to get checked out. The vet should see him any minute.”
“Good thinking. Thanks for doing that. Is he acting okay?”
“He seems kind of agitated—panting a little bit.”
“I’m almost to the clinic. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”
She makes a little cry of protest. “I’m the one who needs to be sorry, putting your dog in danger.”
“Please don’t worry, Delaney. He’ll be okay.”
He has to be. This is T-Man we’re talking about.
The second I walk into the exam room, Delaney looks so small, so scared sitting on the bench, I have to swallow so my throat won’t tighten up. Her face is pale, her blue eyes glistening with tears. Tucker isn’t in here, and there’s a little jolt in my gut. “Where is—”
“They just took him to get some blood work,” she says quickly. “I feel so awful, Damon. I should have been more careful.”
I sit down beside her, pulling her into my arms and holding her tight, pressing my lips against her hair. “Stop. It’s not your fault. That dog is a treat hound. He’ll be okay.”
“God, I hope so. I love him.” She raises her eyes to meet mine, and once again I’m struck by how beautiful, how delicate she is.
“Me too.”
The back door to the exam room opens, and in steps the smiling, dark-haired vet. Key word: smiling. I reach over for Delaney’s hand.
“Your boy is going to be fine,” she says. “He’s not very happy right now since we’re trying to induce vomiting, but he’ll be feeling much better in just a bit. His blood work looks good, so as soon as he empties his stomach, we’ll observe him for a little while and then you can take him home.”
Delaney’s shoulders slump and she leans against me. “Oh, thank God. I’m so glad!”
“You did the right thing by getting him checked out,” the vet tells her. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry. Fortunately, he didn’t eat that much, and he’s a big boy. I’ll have the tech bring him back when he’s ready to go home.”
After she leaves, Delaney sighs with relief, the tension draining out of her face. I grin at her. “I’ve never been so happy to say ‘told you so.’”
“I know. I never would have forgiven myself. You’ll probably never trust me again to watch him.”
“Of course I will. I trust you. Absolutely, one hundred percent. But you did say something wrong.”
“What’s that?”
“You said ‘I should be sorry for putting your dog in danger.’ He’s not just my dog. He’s ours. Okay?”
For the first time since I’ve seen her tonight, her lips make the smallest of smiles. “Okay.”
“What I’m trying to say is, you put our dog in danger.”
She lunges at me, sputtering and exasperated but giggling wildly as she takes fake swings at me. Laughing, I grab her wrists, put her arms behind her back and hold them there. It gets serious really fast when my mouth finds hers, and we’re kissing like horny teenagers in a back seat. I don’t care if the vet tech walks in—all I care about is that T-Man is okay.
And that my girlfriend is, too.
chapter 30 / Delaney
It was a fairly quiet day at the café, given that it’s the 4th of July, but I’m okay with it since business has been steady overall. Besides coffee, the big sellers today: fresh-squeezed lemonade, iced green tea and browned butter rhubarb muffins. I closed a little early since Damon and I are hosting a late-afternoon barbecue at his house for Jack and Maddie to celebrate the 4th and their engagement. Maddie’s been experiencing a little morning sickness but otherwise has been feeling great. God, I get butterflies every time I think of her becoming a mom.
And every time I think of Damon.
The butterflies turn into pterodactyls when I’m actually with him, and pterodactyls are pretty hard to ignore, let me just tell you.
I’m standing at my kitchen table, putting the finishing touches on the potato salad. Lucy’s on the floor looking up at me, paws pressed together daintily and green eyes slitted with contentment.
“I am so lucky to have you,” I tell her.
She agrees.
The flapping of pterodactyl wings begins as I get in the Sonata to drive to Damon’s. As usual he’s asked me to spend the night, and as usual, I’ve agreed. Each time we make love, I feel myself let go a little more. It’s gotten more intense.
More real.
And that would all be wonderful, if it weren’t for his very powerful, very intense, very real mother looming in my thoughts like a storm cloud. But for now, I’m going to shove that bad weather to the very back recesses of my mind and let in the son.
I pull into Damon’s driveway, and Tucker trots over to greet me, woofing and wagging. I’m so grateful he emerged unscathed from his chocolate consumption last week. I never would have forgiven mys
elf.
He’s very interested in the bowl of potato salad I’m carrying, and I hold it above dog-level while I bend down to kiss his head. I walk around back to the deck to find Damon, looking very cool and very hot in a fitted white t-shirt, denim shorts and flip-flops, his deep tan making his hair look blonder. He’s fiddling with the grill burners and flashes me a dazzling smile as I approach.
Even with a cloud-covered sky like today...when I look at him, I see sun.
The prehistoric bird thing again.
“Hey,” I tell him casually. “Happy Fourth.”
“Happy Fourth to you. Not the greatest weather right now, but it’s supposed to burn off later, so fireworks viewing should be good.” Damon motions to the patio fridge. “Grab a beer or a wine cooler. I’ve got the steaks and chicken marinating inside. Out of T-Man’s reach, of course.”
I step up onto the deck, setting my bowl on the patio table. There are frilly red and white geraniums in big ceramic pots at the corners of the big deck, each with a small American flag in the soil, and citronella candles in red, white and blue holders, clustered together in the center of the table.
“You decorated.”
“Meh. Don’t know if I’d call this decorating—just picked up some stuff at Home Depot when I was out getting propane yesterday. There’s still more I plan to do, both inside and outside.”
“Well, what you’ve got so far looks great. What can I do for you?”
“Now that’s a loaded question.”
“Be good. We have guests coming.”
“After the guests leave, I’ll be sure to address your question as to what you can do for me. For now, maybe you can help put the vegetables on skewers or cut up some watermelon. Oh, and also...”
In one swift, fluid motion he’s got me by the waist, dipping me like we’re dancers as my lips part in surprise. There is absolutely no protesting whatsoever from me as he fills my mouth with his tongue. He is all strong arms, firm abs, clean, masculine scent and below-the-belt promises. And for right now, he is all mine.