by Ciara Shayee
“Carlie, hi!”
She still wears her long caramel hair in a ponytail and her big eyes are still framed by wide-rimmed glasses—for fashion, not for practicality, she used to tell me.
I spy my boys eyeing us with curiosity as she throws her arms around me; I smile, waving them over. “How are you? It’s been…God, it’s been forever!”
“Nine years.”
When we left high school, we stayed in touch for a while. Then I left for the UK and she headed off to college in New York, and it became nearly impossible to maintain that friendship. Daily phone calls became weekly, then monthly, then only on special occasions before tapering off completely as life took over.
Thanks to social media and Mom keeping me updated on the gossip passing through her crochet club, I know Carlie had a daughter shortly after I had Jaxson and Finley. I also know she got divorced not long after that. But that’s where my knowledge ends.
“You look amazing! Three kids and you could still rock that old cheerleader uniform!”
My cheeks are on fire. “Oh, man, no way. I’d be spilling out all over the place. Nobody wants to see that.”
At one time, Carlie and I were on the cheerleading team for the Bay High Dolphins. She was the captain, of course, all long legs and flowing fair hair. The skimpy white and teal uniform probably still hangs in my closet at Mom and Dad’s. Another relic of my youth.
An insistent tug on my skirt makes me grin. Looking down, I find my sons eyeing Carlie with varying degrees of interest. My shy middle child hangs a bit behind the others, but it’s his face that shows recognition.
“Is this your friend from high school, Momma?” he asks softly.
“It is, baby. Boys, this is Carlie, my friend from high school.”
Carlie crouches to introduce herself to the boys and it’s…sort of surreal, actually. It’s odd to see her all grown up. As she stands and beams at me, telling me how polite and sweet they are, I wonder if it’s as weird for her to see me all grown up.
“We’ll have to get the kids together sometime.”
“Definitely! You have a daughter, don’t you?”
“I sure do.” She fishes her phone from her pocket to show me a picture of a beautiful little girl. The boys lose interest, running back to the water’s edge. The child Carlie shows me has her caramel hair and big, blue eyes. Bailee Preston even has her mom’s dimpled left cheek.
“She’s a few months younger than your twins,” Carlie tells me. “I remember seeing pictures of them and wondering how on earth you were coping with two when I was struggling with one.”
I don’t point out that she was going through a divorce at the same time as coming to grips with parenting a newborn.
After exchanging numbers and making plans to meet up when Bailee isn’t with her dad, Carlie and I part ways.
The boys monopolize my attention for the rest of the day. It won’t be long before Jaxson and Finley have their first day of first grade and Arlo has his first day of preschool, so I’m soaking up all their silly giggles, sun-bleached smiles, and sandy hugs while I still can.
*
“Boys! We’re gonna be late if you don’t hustle!”
“Comin’, Momma!” Quite often the spokesman for my little band of hooligans, Arlo is the one to yell down.
Joining me at the foot of the stairs, Mom laughs. “Oh, the nostalgia.”
Raising an eyebrow at her, I silently ask what she’s talking about. “How many times do you think I stood exactly where you’re standing, yelling for you, your brother, and sisters?”
“Too many to count, I expect?” I guess with a grin. Her matching smile tells me I’m not wrong. “Since having the boys, I have a whole new level of respect for how patient you’ve always been.”
Mom wraps her arm around my shoulders to give me a quick squeeze as the first round of thumping footsteps hits the stairs. “Quietly, please.”
Finley slows, offering her a sheepish half-smile. “Sorry, Nana.”
“That’s okay, honey, I forgive you. Now, how about a kiss to get you off the hook?”
He hops down the last few stairs, launching himself into her arms.
“My turn, my turn, Nana!” Arlo crows, thumping down the stairs with Jaxson on his heels. Mom gives them the same tickle treatment, then we tag-team the boys to wrangle their feet into shoes before unleashing them onto the front lawn. I turn to Mom to check she has the picnic basket, but I’m interrupted by a trio of boys yelling war cries.
Oh.
Strolling across the yard, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a decidedly uncomfortable expression on his face, is Kellan.
Dressed in a ribbed navy Burger Co. polo, tan cargo shorts, and flip-flops, he’s sexy sin. Kellan Patterson is no laughing matter, no sir.
I haven’t even mentioned his hair; messy, shining gold in the sunlight and begging for my fingers to pull it…
Sigh.
Mom shoots me an odd look, which I studiously ignore as I attempt to stifle the butterflies in my stomach.
I think it’s safe to say my teenage crush on Kellan has survived almost a decade in England.
“Hey, Kellan.”
His lips turn up into a slight smile just as the wolves descend. Arlo wraps himself around Kellan’s long legs, peering up at him with a beaming grin. Finley and Jaxson hang back a little, but all three pepper him with questions until I laugh and call them off.
“Boys…”
They correctly interpret my warning tone and quiet down. Kellan shoots me a grateful smile, following the boys over to the porch steps.
“Are you here for your Jeep?” Mom asks.
“Yes and no,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. I assume his obvious agitation is the reason for his especially messy ‘do and the frown on his handsome face. “I actually have a favor to ask…”
There’s no hiding my surprise when his gaze slides over to me.
“I hate to even ask, but I haven’t got a lot of choice. Kelly and Jones are on vacation and I’ve called around, but everyone is busy. I don’t suppose…” Blowing out a long breath through his nose, Kellan’s shoulders drop. “You’re good with people and I could really do with someone like you out front.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Kellan. Quit rambling, all right?” I laugh, instinctively reaching for him. My hand lands on his shoulder and lightly squeezes; his body heat seeps through the fabric of his tee into my palm, warming my blood and speeding up my pulse as he flashes me a bone-melting smile.
I used to live for that smile when I was a teenager.
“You will?”
“Sure. The boys have a sleepover with Sebastian and Gianna tonight, anyway. I was just going to crash Mom and Dad’s date night.”
Mom snorts. “You don’t think Everly and Rosie already have that covered?”
“See?” I tease, shrugging at Kellan. “I’m not needed here.”
“Momma, when are we going to the park? I’m bored,” Jaxson whines.
“All right, kiddo, we’re going.” Ruffling his hair, I lead him toward the car and tell Kellan to text Mom the details. “What shall I wear?”
“We’ve got some t-shirts floating around from the last shipment, I think. I’ll find one of those for you. Jeans or shorts and sneakers will do just fine. And Piper, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this.” Shooting a glance at the boys—who are preoccupied with Mom loading them into the car—he offers me a slightly crooked grin. “I fuckin’ hate this last-minute shit. I’d probably be okay with skeleton staff any other night, but we’ve got these two big groups coming in…”
“Honestly, it’s fine. I could do with the distraction. I never do well at being on my own without the boys.”
I immediately realize my slip. Kellan’s lips tighten, his eyes darting away before returning with his usual shield back in place. “I’ll see you later, Piper.”
Watching him climb into
his Jeep and drive away without looking back, I curse my own stupidity. “Shit.” Thankfully, Mom closes the car door at the right time, drowning it out so the boys won’t make me pay the swear jar.
“What’s wrong?”
Shaking my head, I tell her it’s nothing and head around to get in the passenger seat even though my stomach is still rolling with guilt.
*
“…And we went to the big lake, um,” Arlo looks up from my iPad. “What’s it called again?”
“Lake Eola,” I tell him with a smile, flipping the sizzling bacon in the pan.
“Lake Eola, that’s it! We had a picnic and played football with Uncle Bass and Danny.”
“Well, it sounds like you had a lot of fun!” Jude laughs. “Did you send me some pictures?”
“Uh-huh. Momma mailed you some.”
“Emailed!” I call out, laughing when Jude tells me she knew what he meant.
Arlo rests his little chin in his hand, leaning on the breakfast bar with an adorable furrow between his brows. “D’you miss us, Nanny Jude?” He doesn’t give her even a second to answer before telling her she should just come live out here with us. “We could live together again!”
I hear Jude’s sigh from across the room. “I’d love to live with you again, little love, but then who’d look after our apple tree?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Arlo goes off on a tangent about the apple tree he and his brothers planted with her a couple of years back; it’s a spindly little thing, but the boys loved helping her tend to it.
Jaxson and Finley running into the kitchen distract me from the intercontinental conversation at the breakfast bar.
“Momma, when’s dinner?” Jaxson asks, leaning against me while his twin joins Arlo.
“Soon, baby. The chicken is in the oven, the sauce just needs reheating, and the bacon is almost done.”
“Can I stir the sauce?”
“Sure. Be careful, ‘kay?”
“Okay.”
Mom keeps a stool in the kitchen, just in case any of her grandsons want to help her; he drags it over and hops right up to stir the sauce on the stove. I set it to low and remind him to keep his hands away from the heat, handing over a wooden spoon.
With Finley and Arlo chatting away to Jude and Jaxson helping me with dinner, I’m content.
“Momma?”
“Yeah, baby?”
Jaxson chews his lip, and slowly stirs the sauce on the stove. “Are we gonna stay here forever now?”
“Well…” I learned early on that my boys take every promise as gospel. If I tell them something, they believe it. It’s an intense thing. Terrifying, actually. Especially when I can’t always be sure that what I’m telling them is going to stay true, like all the times I’ve said their dad will show, that he’ll do better and try harder.
He never does.
“We won’t stay here, in this house, forever,” I begin carefully. “But we won’t be moving from Jackson Bay for a long time, if ever. Why, kiddo, what’s bothering you?”
He shoots a quick look at his brothers, who’ve left their spot at the bar to give Jude a tour of the yard. “Are we going back to England, though? To visit?”
“Well, how else would we see Nanny Jude, hmm? You know she’s scared of planes.”
Jaxson’s smile pops. He shakes his head with a giggle. “She’s such a fraidy cat.”
“We talked about this already, didn’t we? We’re going to see Nanny Jude in December, just before Christmas.”
Nodding slowly, Jaxson’s smile falls. “And our dad? Will we see him then, too?” he whispers.
My stomach falls to my feet. I want to say “of course,” but I can’t. I can’t promise that.
“It’s just ‘cause if we don’t go see him, I don’t think he’ll come see us, you know?”
And that right there is why I hate my ex. Jaxson won’t be the only one wondering about this—he’ll have discussed it with Finley for sure, possibly Arlo, too. Their own father has made them believe they have to be the ones to make the effort because he won’t.
They’re six and four years old.
It’s disgusting and heartbreaking and makes me want to scream.
At six years old, all Jaxson should be worrying about is when he gets to play with his cousins, which noodle to use for Noodle Races, and what topping he wants on his ice cream.
Switching off the stove, I scoop my son from the stool and stand him in front of me, his small face cupped in my hands. “Baby, I can’t promise that you’ll see your dad at Christmas. That’s up to him and his schedule, all right? But I promise you I’ll try to make it happen. I’ll do my best.”
Jaxson heaves in a deep breath, mustering a smile. “I know you will, Momma. I understand. You can’t make him want to see us.”
Oh, baby.
“I wish I could” is what I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I remind him that his dad loves him, Finley, and Arlo—he’s just not always good at showing it. The worst of it is, when he does occasionally see the boys, he’s good with them. He takes them to their favorite places, gives them their favorite foods, and has a blast with them.
But then he goes weeks or months without so much as a phone call and undoes it all. The boys don’t trust him, one of the two people they should always be able to rely on, and it kills me. They hope, but they don’t trust him to come when they call or show up when he says he will.
“Okay, Momma.”
Finley and Arlo join us then, distracting Jaxson with Jude on the iPad, so I kiss my boy and tell him he can always come to me if he has questions. He seems appeased, taking off with his brothers to set the table and fetch Mom and Dad from the study, so I take the iPad to say my goodbyes to Jude before getting back to dinner. I’ll be heading to Burger Co. in an hour, but I promised to feed the boys before they head next door for their sleepover with Danny.
I can’t shake Jaxson’s worry from my mind, though, so after dinner, while I get ready for work at Burger Co., I send their dad our tentative December itinerary.
It’s no surprise to me that he doesn’t respond.
Nine
Kellan
“Thanks, man. Have a great evening.”
The customer waves, leaving with his wife as I scoop the disinfectant and cloth from under the bar to tidy their table.
It's been...actually, a quiet afternoon. TJ's a good guy, quiet and unafraid to pitch in, and Lily has been here for years now so she knows what she's doing. It's an adjustment for them working together in the kitchen, but they're both hard workers. Thankfully, we got the two big groups coming in later to pre-order, so they can get started with some of the stuff ahead of time. It'll make it a ton easier—especially for me. It means I won’t have to waste time taking all their orders.
“Shall I take my break now, boss?” TJ leans through the hatch to get my attention.
“Sure, go chill for a few, TJ. It's gonna get rowdy in here in a bit," I tell him with a grin and a finger-gun to my temple.
This time of year is always a bit hit and miss. Over the next couple of weeks, the bay will fill up a fair bit with vacationers. We're lucky it's mostly residential here so we don't get too overrun, but we'll still have the day-trippers and the out-of-towners who own vacation homes in the bay. This summer is already shaping up to be a scorcher, so I don't doubt the beaches will be jam-packed and the restaurant will take the brunt of the extra footfall.
The Georges' pizzeria on the beach took the edge off last year, but it's pretty small, so I'm still expecting a busy summer.
As I finish clearing the table by the window, I glance up in time to see Piper climbing out of Carson’s car. I can’t resist pausing to watch her. She twists her long hair back into a bun, then checks herself in the side mirror before waving to Rosie in the driver’s seat and turning toward the restaurant. My lips kick up into a smirk when she spots me and offers a wave.
She took my suggestio
n of shorts and ran with it. Her toned, lightly tanned legs are on show all the way up to just above her knees, as is her midriff. A laugh rumbles from my chest when I make out the writing across the front of her cropped tank top.
Don’t mess with me
#Momofboys
When she joins me inside, I almost find it difficult to hand over the promised Burger Co. tee. It would be tempting to let her wear her own all evening for my own perverse viewing pleasure if it weren't for the fact that one of the two bookings we have tonight is a bachelor party.
Oh, and it’s completely wrong for me to be looking at her that way.
I have a feeling ‘she’s Carson’s daughter’ is going to be running on a loop in my head all night long.
“Here ya go. It’ll probably be a bit big, but Lily and Kelly usually knot ‘em.”
“Thanks. I’ll just go change.” Soft and sweet, her voice alone makes me grin. My amusement melts when she turns to head to the restrooms, my gaze dropping south of its own volition.
Damn. The girl grew up good.
I instantly feel like an ass for checking her out—again. She’s my best friend’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. Hot or not, and she’s definitely the former, Piper is Carson’s baby girl. According to him, I’m her honorary uncle, not to mention eleven years her senior.
Still, I get a sick sense of satisfaction when she walks out onto the floor with my name printed across her back and on the pocket over her chest.
You’re a dick, Patterson.
“Will I do?” Piper asks with a bright smile, spinning in front of me. She’s knotted the shirt over her hip like I suggested, so her ass-hugging shorts do their job and make mine infinitely harder
Pun definitely intended.
Let’s just say I’m grateful for the bar between us.
“Perfect,” I croak, clearing my throat into my fist. “Looks great on you. We might make a Burger Co. girl out of you, yet.”