“Good. I need a break.”
“But if I win, you take me to dinner this week. And no takeout, either. I want real napkins and fine china.”
Ethan whistled. “Be careful, Tink. Last time he made me pick up the bill, he ordered two bottles of pricey wine I couldn’t even pronounce. He’s gotten a bit pretentious.”
Kyle ignored him, his eyes probing hers. “Deal?”
She pursed her lips, refusing to back down even though she knew it was a trick. He thought he’d win and force her to spend time with him. But the odds were stacked against him. Her family went nuts over her cooking. It was an easy victory.
“Deal.”
“Harper, what dish did you like the most?” he asked.
Her sister didn’t even look sympathetic. “Potatoes. They rocked.”
Kyle smiled smugly. “One point for me. Mia?”
“The quiche. Simple perfection.”
“And that’s a point for me,” Ophelia said. “Ethan?”
Everyone stared at her brother. He surveyed the cluttered table. She sat back, relaxed. It’d be the biscuits. He had a weakness for her baked goods and any type of bread.
Thank God she wouldn’t have any cleanup and could retire early tonight.
“This is hard, but I have to be honest.” He shot Kyle a regretful look. “Sorry I have to say this, Kyle. It’s kind of embarrassing, but—”
“I guess I win,” she cut in.
“I love your meat.”
Her jaw dropped. Kyle gave a shout and did some type of high five with Ethan across the table. Mia murmured her condolences and swore she’d help her do the dishes. Ophelia burst into laughter at the whole ridiculous situation.
God, why did it feel so good to have him back?
And what the hell was she going to do about it?
Chapter Eleven
Ophelia finished piling in the groceries and shut the trunk of her lemon-colored SUV. Her guests were arriving tomorrow morning. By next weekend, she’d be at half capacity. She had a million things to do and needed to focus on work.
An image of last night’s dinner flashed in her mind. It was almost as if Kyle had slipped back into the family fold without a bump, even after all this time. He radiated a warm glow of ease and belonging that made her heart sigh. And after he’d won the silly contest, the promise of their dinner date hung heavily between them, causing her to shiver and stumble like a schoolgirl.
It was like she was becoming smitten with him all over again.
Ophelia groaned and headed back to the inn. She had to keep reminding herself that these next few months would be like a dream that would quickly end. They could all pretend they were united again as a family, but on April 1, Kyle intended to return to his real life. He would forget them like a blip on a screen. He’d spent too long carving out the career of his dreams to give it up. He lived in a fancy house with chefs and cleaners and had beautiful women hanging on him. He’d probably had dozens of lovers since her. Hundreds, maybe. The thought made her stomach twist with nausea, but she had to deal with the truth.
When he spoke of a second chance, he meant temporarily. Maybe he wanted her back in his bed. To relive the raw intimacy they’d shared that only the very young and very in love could experience. Maybe it was even all for this screenplay he was writing, in order to steep himself in the emotions of the past. Once he was satisfied and the screenplay was complete, he’d move on.
He’d agree to the divorce and never look back.
And she’d be left alone with a broken heart. God knew she’d barely survived the first time. It was as if a piece of her had been ripped away. She’d been forced to live without him and carve out her own path. Yes, she’d discovered her strength and eventually became happy.
But to put herself through such agony again? To watch him pick his career over her?
She may not survive.
She needed to keep herself emotionally distant and safe until then.
On her drive home, she passed the road to Patrick’s house and spotted flashing lights glimmering from the thicket of bare trees. Frowning, she made a quick right turn and followed the path to the farmhouse.
An ambulance was parked in his driveway.
She jumped from the car and raced toward the door, pausing at the scene in front of her.
“I told you to go away!” Patrick bellowed, waving the two medics away. He was seated in a battered mud-brown chair, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his upper arm. “I told you it was a mistake!”
They exchanged glances. The younger man held a stethoscope, and it seemed like they’d been there for a while, trying to cajole him. “You called 911, sir. Your blood pressure is definitely low. We’d like to get you in for a quick check.”
“I’m fine. Now you’re wasting valuable time when you could be helping people who really need you. Get this thing off me.”
“Patrick? Are you okay?”
Three glances swiveled toward the door. The medics looked relieved. “Ma’am, are you a family member?”
The ridiculous thought that he was technically her father-in-law floated by, but she pushed it away. “No, I’m his neighbor. Is there something I can do?”
“Yeah, get them the hell out of here,” Patrick grunted, ripping at the cuff. “I felt faint so I called 911, but now I’m fine. They keep pressuring me to go to the hospital. I don’t need it.”
“Technically, we can’t make you go, sir. But your pressure is low, and with your prior heart attack, I’d recommend some extra tests. We can do an EKG right now.”
“Heart attack?” she asked in a high voice. “I didn’t know about that.”
Patrick grunted again. “Happened years ago. Don’t need no EKG. I’ll rest and drink water, okay? I’d appreciate it if you’d go now.”
The medics exchanged a few words, and then the younger one nodded. “You’ll have to sign a waiver for me. There may be charges for coming out for a false alarm.”
“Yeah, yeah, give me a pen.”
They gave him the waiver, he signed it, and they packed up and left. Ophelia drifted into the house and sat beside him.
“You never said you’d been ill,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even hear about it in town.”
“’Cause I know how to keep a secret. Been practicing my whole life.” He leaned back his head in the chair and groaned. “I’m just tired. Pushed myself today and paid.” He shot her a suspicious look. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by and saw the ambulance. I got worried.”
“False alarm.”
Ophelia surveyed the room. She hadn’t been in Kyle’s house for nearly eight years, but what she remembered still looked the same. Basic furniture, scarred wood floors, spartan décor, and the usual quirky characteristics of an old farmhouse. The walls were thick with various built-ins, a Dutch door led to the kitchen, and the drafty, high ceilings echoed their voices. Her practiced eye also surmised Patrick hadn’t cleaned in weeks—it was obvious from the dust and clutter. Empty boxes of prepared foods littered the kitchen counters, and dirty mugs stuffed the sink that she could see.
“Ever think of bringing in some help?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She steeled herself for an angry outburst and swore she’d leave if he lost his temper. She’d done her Good Samaritan thing. Kyle’s father didn’t need anything else from her.
Instead, he nodded. “I did. Hired a local girl for a while to do light cleanup, but most of the time she didn’t show. College students aren’t the most dependable.”
“What about meals? Are you eating?”
“Sure. Got my freezer stocked full of meals, even veggies.”
She winced. His diet was packed with sodium and preservatives. Definitely not heart healthy.
Not her problem.
“Okay, as long as you have what you need. I better get back to the inn. You should rest today.”
“I will.”
Uneasy just leaving him, she scooted toward the door a
nd tried to tell herself he’d be fine.
Why did the silence sound so lonely? Did he have anyone who cared enough to check in on him?
“Listen, if you need anything, give me a call. I’m right down the road.”
“Okay.”
She stepped outside the door and glanced back. Head tipped back, eyes nearly closed, his body seemed half the size she remembered when she was young. He was no longer a fierce monster who consistently hurt Kyle and refused to be social with her family. Suddenly, he was just an old man alone in a house with no one. His choices had finally caught up with him.
She waited for the surge of emotion that would tell her he was getting justice, but it was eerily absent as she got to her car. She slid into the driver’s seat, trying to push the image of Patrick’s face out of her mind.
She was avoiding him.
Kyle cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck side to side. Dinner had been perfect. Reconnecting with Ethan and Harper was special, and Mia was now part of their inner circle. And cooking with Ophelia made him realize how much he’d missed her.
He figured he’d collect on his dinner date debt and keep things moving forward. He already knew he wanted to go to Crystal’s—a fabulous steakhouse with intimate décor. Unfortunately, he’d already mentioned the date twice and she’d waved him off, citing her calendar as too busy.
He rubbed his head and pondered his next move. He’d tried to talk to her various times, but she was back to her chilly, distant self. She just kept asking him about the damn lawyers and if he’d made a choice.
Yeah, he had.
He chose neither.
No lawyers. No papers. No divorce. But he needed to ease her into the idea.
Maybe he could use the whole divorce mess to arrange more time with her. It might be the only excuse that would get her to sit down and talk. An evil plan, yes. But necessary?
Yes.
He looked back at the last chapter and did a quick read-through. The shiver that raced down his spine told him the truth.
It was good. Really good.
Once he’d given up on writing it as a screenplay, the story had begun to flow. He’d never reached a level of raw emotion in his work like this. It was as if he were reaching deeper, fleshing out characters instead of moving them frantically forward to deliver a stunning plot.
The characters were the plot, along with their emotions. He was showing how they affect everyone and drive decisions that could end up haunting you forever.
Especially love.
He took a sip of lukewarm coffee, squinted at the screen, and wrote.
“I think we should leave.” He’d been thinking about it for a long time but was finally ready to bring it up.
She sat between his legs on the high hill by the barns. The sun was a circle of fiery orange, suspended high in the sky, brushing the tips of the jagged mountain peaks. Fingers entwined, her head leaned back against his chest. His lips brushed her cheek.
“Where would we go?” she asked, sounding more curious than shocked. She’d known his frustration with his father had reached an epic level. He was trapped, and the only way to freedom was to blow everything up that kept him tied down.
Everything but Ophelia.
She was his everything. If she decided to stay, he’d stay with her, but he hoped to hell he could communicate his vision for their future.
“California,” he answered. “It’s the best place for us. Besides having great weather, that’s where the jobs are. I want to write screenplays. You want to sing. We can both follow our dreams there.”
“What about college? I thought we were going to the community college in the fall together?”
He stroked her hair away from her nape, kissing her sensitive skin and reveling in her shivers. “What is college going to do for us other than delay our dreams? We already have talent. I won that writing contest, and I’ve clocked in endless hours studying books on how to write screenplays. I already have two ready to go.”
“And they’re good,” she added.
He smiled. “Your voice is everything, baby. When you sing, people stop to listen. Everyone talked about your solo in Grease for weeks. You could probably stand on a street corner and get your bucket filled up in a few hours.”
She chuckled and stretched out her legs. The heavy weight of her breast pressed into the back of his hand. He ran his knuckles over the sweet curves, his erection pressing with demand against her ass. He ignored it, used to the condition whenever he was around Ophelia.
“I don’t know how to do big auditions and stuff,” she said worriedly. “I’ve never been out of New York.”
“Neither have I, but we could do it together.” His voice filled with intensity. The vision shimmered before him in all its glory—sharing an apartment, working to follow their dreams, sleeping with her every night. Away from the farm and the suffocation of daily existence. Ethan already planned to go into the military. How could they just go to the local college and believe anything would change?
He grasped her shoulders and turned her around. Looking into her beautiful face, he tried to make her see. “Do you want to spend your life serving guests and being a glorified housekeeper? I sure as hell can’t keep living with my father and taking care of his farm. We were meant for more than this. We’re special. We were blessed with talents, and it wouldn’t be right not to go out and try to use them.”
Excitement glittered in her sky-blue eyes. She chewed her lip, obviously thinking over the possibility. “We don’t know anyone out there. How would we get a job? An apartment?”
“I contacted my uncle, and he said he could set us up with a small place. I already have enough money saved to get us started.” He’d been saving every dime for years now, just for this moment. “My uncle said he knows some people in the entertainment industry and will introduce us.”
“Your uncle Tony?” she asked. “Won’t he tell your dad?”
“They’re not close—they barely talk. He said he’s willing to help us. I have my car. We’ll drive out to California and finally get to be together.”
A nervous laugh broke from her lips. “Oh my God, my mother will kill me. So will Ethan.”
“We don’t have to tell them until we go. It may be easier that way. But I don’t want to do this unless you want it, too, Ophelia. Leaving would mean nothing without you.”
Her eyes softened. She stroked his cheek, and he kissed her, plunging his tongue deep into her honeyed mouth, gathering her taste and falling into her with everything he was.
He still hadn’t made love to her. He was waiting for the perfect time, and it was hard to get her alone for a night with Ethan and her family constantly around. He refused to rush. He wanted a full night of her stretched out in his bed—not a literal roll in the hay.
“Do you think we can do it?”
He smiled, clutching her tighter, willing her to believe what he already knew. “Yes. California will be magical. And warm. And exciting—the perfect place to start our lives together.” He couldn’t stand seeing doubt in her eyes, so he gave her the truth, not wanting to wait any longer. “I don’t just want to live with you, baby. I want us to get married.”
Her eyes widened. He held his breath and waited, but only caught joy and want in her face. “You want to get married?” she repeated, her voice a breathy wisp of sound. “Kyle, are you serious? You don’t need to promise me marriage for me to go with you. I don’t need that.” She tilted her chin up. “And I don’t need a wedding to sleep with you. I’m tired of waiting. I want you. It’s starting to drive me a bit crazy.”
“Me, too, baby. But maybe I’m the one who needs the wedding.” He pulled her tight and kissed her. “Maybe I need reassurance that you’re not just using me for my hot bod.”
She giggled against his mouth—a sweet, feminine sound he adored—and ran her hands over his back. “How’d you find out my evil plan?”
“You undress me with your eyes. I have to prove I have more to offe
r you than sex.”
Her face grew serious. She tipped her forehead to his. “All I want is you, Kyle. Always. Forever. Just us.”
“Just us. So we’re going to do this?”
Her smile was slow and sweet and perfect. “Yes. Let’s go to California and get married and become famous.”
He laughed and tumbled her to the ground, tucking her tight against his body. The sun sunk and bled out muted golds and dewy oranges, throwing the valley into shadow. He kissed her and promised her the world. He knew he’d deliver.
There was absolutely nothing to stop them.
Chapter Twelve
“We have reservations at Crystal’s tonight. Seven p.m.”
Ophelia froze midstep. She’d been completely focused on trying to run away when she heard his footsteps on the stairs, but Kyle’s commanding voice stalled her retreat. She swiveled back around and stared at him.
“I can’t go out tonight. I’m busy!”
He climbed down the last few steps and crowded her space, his lean build practically vibrating with masculine body heat. He smelled like chocolate chip cookies and coffee and washed cotton. She dug her nails into her palms and tried to look calm, to pretend she had no interest in those delicious, sulky lips and their immense talent.
“It’s Thursday night. I double-checked your schedule. Your guests arrive tomorrow, but you have time to have dinner with me tonight.”
“You spied on my calendar!”
His lip twitched. “Yeah. I learned your programs when you were sick, remember? Why? Is your calendar like your diary or something? Are there little scribbled hearts with my name scrawled in them that you didn’t want me to see?”
Her cheeks grew hot, which made her even madder. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t like you sneaking around and trying to manage my time.”
“You lost the bet. Are you going to welch?”
His direct question got her ire up. She stood on tiptoes and jabbed a finger in the air. “I’m not a welcher! Fine, let’s get this whole thing over with. We’ll talk about the divorce and finally get things moving.”
A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Page 11