by Erika Kelly
Lingering, Willow said, “You should follow me. At Willow the Wanderer. It’s a super fun page, and we have the most amazing adventures.” And then she took off, her long hair gleaming, her hips swaying.
Coco watched them go, Beckett striding several steps ahead of his long-legged fiancée.
Would she ever see him again?
She wished she could say she didn’t care. But it just wasn’t true.
It would break her heart if he chose to ignore his daughter.
Chapter Four
Beckett hadn’t had a single drop of coffee, and yet as he stared at the images on his computer screen, he felt as wired as if he’d downed a whole pot.
True to her word, Coco had set up a private Splashagram page last night, and she’d already uploaded pictures. Lots of them.
In the dark hotel room, Posie’s face was the only thing he could see. He was focused on the one taken last night. She was staring into the mirror as she brushed her teeth.
All that honey-blonde hair.
Bright blue eyes, like crystals.
Like mine.
He scrolled to the bottom of the page again to see her as a red-faced newborn, features scrunched up, damp hair plastered to her head. The next one showed her swaddled in a soft, white blanket, held snug against a chest. The muscular, hairy arms most likely belonged to Coco’s dad.
Should’ve been me.
No, he didn’t want kids, but he would’ve been there if he’d known. Coco should never have had to go through it alone.
In the third photograph, Posie sat in a high chair with a fistful of birthday cake.
In another, she toddled away from whoever took the picture. Those chubby calves, the long, bouncy hair…from behind, she looked so much like Ari.
His heart pinched hard.
Ari.
Fuck.
His sister had been his little mini me, and he’d loved her with everything he had, but the memories had stopped slicing him open a while ago.
It was kind of like the way a constant stream of water smoothed the sharp edges of rock, carving it into a whole new shape. He’d become a whole new shape.
Willow swept out of the bathroom and came to an abrupt stop. “What’re you doing? Put your laptop away. We have to go.”
They didn’t just share the same eye and hair color. Posie had Ari’s feisty spirit, her mercurial mood swings.
And, right then, in the bed of the Owl Hoot Resort and Spa at five in the morning, his past surged forward to merge with his present, leaving him disoriented, exhausted, and filled with a longing he couldn’t name.
Willow’s herbal shampoo scent surrounded him, as she stood looking at the screen. “What’re you thinking right now?”
“How alike they are, Posie and my sister.”
“Isn’t she the same age as Ari when she died?”
“Ari was six, but yeah. Close enough.” A million memories burst out of the box, and for the first time, he needed to talk about her. Not keep it all locked inside. “Ari was this crazy ball of energy. She would go, go, go, and then the next thing you know, she’d be crashed out on the couch. She never just walked anywhere, she skipped. Everywhere she went, she made people laugh, because she was just so…extra. About everything.”
Willow sat on the edge of the mattress, tipping her chin to the screen. “She wasted no time putting that page up.”
And just like that, the memories scuttled back into the box. Wrong time to share them. “You act like she’s been waiting for me to find her, like she’s got a list of demands. That’s not what’s happening here. You saw her. She was just as blown away as I was. This is tough for all of us.” He reached for Willow’s hand, understanding she had to feel threatened, too. “We’re going to get through this. It’s just going to take some time to figure things out.”
“You say that, but I’m telling you, it’s got to be a big relief for her. I mean, I was raised by a single mom, and mine would’ve jumped at the chance to have some help.”
“Pretty sure she said she doesn’t need anything from me. Her dad’s Tyler Cavanaugh, one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play football.” His gaze fell to the photo of the retired ball player squeezed onto a slide, Posie on his lap, both of them laughing as they raced down.
Damn, Coco. Who knew that night in Vegas he’d been hanging out with Joss Montalbano and Tyler Cavanaugh’s daughter?
“I’m not talking about financial stuff.” Willow shifted beside him. “It’s hard to raise a kid by yourself. It’s lonely, and there’s always something in the house that needs fixing or decisions that need to be made. But, honestly, there’s no point in thinking about any of this until we get the test results.” She nudged him. “Come on. The car’s waiting. We can talk on the way to the airport. It’s a two-and-a-half hour ride.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her passport. “Oh, shit. Where’s yours? I swear I put them both in here.” She flicked on the lamp and scanned the room.
“I took mine out.”
She whipped around. Why would you do that?
“I’m not going.”
“What? You have to go. No, no, no. You can’t do this. The island’s closed in June. They’re only opening it for you. This is your business, Beckett. You can’t bail on this trip.”
She couldn’t relate, he understood that. Posie might not be her child, but did she really not grasp the enormity of the situation? Did she really think swimming with whale sharks carried more weight than his kid? “I need another day or two to figure things out.”
“Which we’ll do in Thailand. By the time we get back, we’ll have the test results. One week isn’t going to matter.”
“Wills, I just found out I have a kid. I can’t take off.”
“Did she say something to you?”
Everything in his body strained to get back to the pictures of Posie. To seal himself in her world. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but he knew he owed it to his girlfriend. “Of course not.” There wasn’t a single chance in hell he could get off this bed, zip up his suitcase, and head to the airport.
“If you were a lawyer, and your hearing started tomorrow, are you telling me you’d bail on your client? You wouldn’t. Thailand is your court date. It’s your career. God, Beckett, it’s been five years. One more week isn’t going to matter.”
His pulse quickened. Panic stirred inside him like a dust devil. “That’s exactly right. Five years, and I’ve missed every minute.”
“You don’t even want kids.”
“Willow…stop. I’m not getting on a plane when the only thing on my mind is the fact that I have one.” She didn’t get it, but she was making it worse. Panic hardened into a choking fear.
She drew in a breath, working to tame her frustration, to find the right words to convince him. He knew her. He knew how she worked. He knew what was coming.
And he didn’t have any room in him for it.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She held up a hand, palm facing him. “I’m in travel mode. That’s just how I get. Between the drive to Idaho Falls, the plane change in New York, there’s a lot of moving parts.” She drew in a breath and looked to the curtains. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go on ahead and meet the tourism minister. That way, you not showing up won’t be considered rude. My followers are going to freak out and want to know why I’m not with my fiancé, but it’s not like I can tell them what’s going on. At least not until you get the results back.”
“I’m not talking about her, period. That’s never going to happen.”
She reeled back from his aggressive tone. “God, Beckett. Chill out. I’m sorry if I’m not handling this the way you want, but you have to understand this isn’t just affecting you. It’s my life, too.” Slinging the purse strap over her shoulder, she reached for the handle of her carry-on. “I should go. Take a day or two to do what you need. As long as you’re there by Friday, we should be okay.”
“Sounds good.” He scrubbed a hand over mouth.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
They didn’t really say romantic things. That wasn’t the nature of their relationship. So, he just gave her a curt nod. That was all he was capable of. She couldn’t see, but he was lost in the shadows, the nowhere land between this conversation with Willow and the Splashagram world of Posie.
And the pull toward that world was too powerful to ignore.
When he didn’t set the laptop aside and get off the bed to walk her out, she came back to him, smoothing her hand down the back of his head. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. We’ll get through this. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” She went in for a mouth kiss—hers soft and open, his closed. She pulled away, studying him.
And then, sighing, she, rolled her suitcase to the door. Once there, she paused and waited for him to look at her.
He knew she needed him to be okay, so he said, “Text me when you land.”
She rolled her eyes, her relief clear. “When do I not text you? See you soon.”
The moment the door clicked shut, he turned back to the screen to find a picture of
Posie bundled in a red snowsuit, the hood drawn tightly around her face, exposing only her blue eyes, nose, and rosebud mouth.
He skimmed down to see her at the lake, standing in a shallow puddle on wet sand, the sky filled with dark, heavy clouds. She’d lifted the hem of her shorts and dipped a toe daintily into the water. He cracked a smile. How cute is that? Lifting her shorts like they might get wet.
Another birthday, this time the cake was lit with two candles. Posie stood on a chair, cheeks puffed out.
His blood pumped hard. A sense of urgency getting him moving. He set the laptop aside.
Looking at pictures wasn’t enough.
Had he not gone to the pool last night and met her, it might have been different.
But he had.
And now it was too late.
He needed to see her.
Beckett felt like an asshole. After showering, extending his stay at the front desk another night, and driving from the revitalized ghost town into the heart of Calamity, he hadn’t once thought to check the time.
Now, he stood on the sidewalk, hands jammed into his pockets, with nowhere to go.
At six in the morning, the small western town was just waking up. A man walked his dog under the antelope-horn arch and onto the dewy green, while two women in cowboy boots and jeans jumped out of the bed of a pickup truck and headed into the only store open at this hour, Calamity Joe’s coffee shop.
He should’ve thought this plan through. Not only didn’t he know where Coco lived, but he had no idea what time her store opened. Somehow, he’d had a vague notion chocolate shops worked like bakeries. He’d imagined her up at four, making fresh truffles for the day.
But he didn’t see a single light on in the store.
She’s got a five-year-old. She’s probably home.
He got an image of Posie jumping on her mom’s bed, demanding she wake up and make waffles for breakfast. Actually, with that girl’s independent streak, she was more likely to be dragging a chair to the counter and pulling a box of Cheerios down from the cupboard. He could picture the scene so clearly, all the way to the spilled milk on a kitchen table.
It killed him, the idea that while he’d been jumping on—and out of— planes and waking up when he felt like it, Coco had spent every single moment of the last five years feeding, bathing, and dressing a child.
My child.
A woman in shorts and hiking boots dashed out of Calamity Joe’s, carrying a tray of drinks and a bag of food. She headed for a car idling at the curb. The driver pushed open the door, and she passed the tray to him, before getting in.
The air smelled of coffee and something sweet, like muffins. His stomach grumbled. Maybe he’d grab a bite while he waited.
But his feet were rooted to the sidewalk.
He couldn’t do anything, go anywhere. He just needed to see them.
That’s right. Them. Not just Posie, but Coco, too.
There was something about her that drew him. Just like that night in Vegas, he felt a weird, magnetic pull.
It wasn’t sexual—he had a girlfriend, for Christ’s sake. It was just…something.
His phone vibrated, and he knew it was Willow. She’d probably checked in at the airport and wanted to talk. But he just wasn’t in that mindset. He hovered in some strange place of anticipation, fear, and anxiety.
His life had irrevocably changed. Either he altered his lifestyle to fit in with Posie’s—or he didn’t. He could catch a flight tomorrow and go back to life as he knew it.
Posie wouldn’t notice.
The way she’d kept sneaking looks at him last night, though…that look in her eyes…
His mind kept snagging on it. She’d liked the way he’d protected her—and that made him feel big, powerful.
Important.
Beckett could remember being at a park—what was I? Eight? Nine? No, we moved to Lake Placid when I turned eight. So, seven. His dad had been teaching him how to ride a bike when some cyclists soared by. One of them accidentally knocked him over. His dad had picked him up carefully, dusted off his jeans, and then approached the guy, who’d gotten off his bike to check on him. His dad had cornered him against a tree and yelled at him.
Beckett could remember being mortified, wishing his dad would stop, but also, underneath that, feeling safe…protected. Cared for.
Posie didn’t have a dad.
He rubbed his chest, as if he could somehow soothe the ache deep inside.
She needed one. Every kid did.
I just don’t think that’s me.
Then, what am I doing here? They’re not expecting me, so I can just go.
But he couldn’t seem to make himself leave town. Tipping his head back, he scraped his hands through his hair. Pretty sure he caught a whiff of chocolate, he swung around, wondering if she’d opened the shop. Nope, lights still off.
Inhaling again, he got a hint of sage, exhaust, freshly mown grass, and…yeah, chocolate. Definitely chocolate. Someone was making it. He’d go around back.
Heading down the street, his heart thundered. And not out of fear.
He was excited to see her. Coco. His Vegas girl.
That night had been the best sex of his life. They’d connected in a way he never had with anyone else—not before or since.
As he turned into the alley behind Main Street, sunlight crested the horizon, glinting off the windshield of a green Jeep.
She’s here.
His boots crunched on gravel as he headed toward the back door. He knocked, stupidly eager to see her.
A bearded man in an apron answered. “Oh.” He seemed startled. “Thought it was early for a delivery. Sorry, we don’t open until ten.”
“I’m actually here to see Coco.”
Interestingly, the guy stepped forward, pulling the door closed behind him.
Protective. That’s good.
“Is there something I can help you with?” He had chocolate smeared across his apron.
“I met with her yesterday to talk about chocolates for the guests at my wedding.”
“You’re the Splashagram influencer?”
“My girlfriend is, but yes.”
“You mean fiancée.” He flashed a wedding band. “Takes some getting used to. Yeah, she said you had an early flight today. Come in. She’s on a call right now, but if you don’t mind waiting…” He ushered him inside. “I’ve got to get back in there. The beans are a-roasting.” After shutting and locking the door behind them, he took off.
Metal shelves lined the hallway, all of them stuffed with neatly packed boxes. He passed a bathroom on his right, and further down he came upon an office, the door cracked open, yellow light spilling onto the concrete floor.
“No, no, no,” Coco said from inside. “You’re coming. I’ll find a place for you to stay.”
As he headed toward the kitchen, it occurred to him that he had no i
dea what to expect. Did they melt chocolate bars and turn them into truffles? Did they dip a ladle into a river of chocolate? He didn’t have a clue.
To his surprise, it was nothing more than a large industrial kitchen. Several employees clustered around workstations. Against the walls, more shelving units were stuffed with supplies, and sections of both marble and butcherblock topped the island in the center of the room. He didn’t recognize a lot of the small appliances.
The shelf nearest him had various molds—from small plastic trays with shallow wells to larger ones shaped like a rabbit, a race car, and a balloon bouquet.
“Look, at the very worst, you can stay with my parents,” he heard Coco say. “They have plenty of room, and they’ll pamper you better than any five-star hotel.” She paused. “Laurent, I wouldn’t be planning this festival if it weren’t for you. If you want to come, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
Through the crack of her doorway, he could see a large desk covered in papers and a wall of framed photographs. From the slice he could see, it seemed like her entire life was documented on these walls.
Did he even have any family photos? He thought of his cabin in Boulder, the boxes stacked in his office. Maybe in there? At the very least, he should find one of Ari and get it framed.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Coco said. “All right, let me make some calls. Au revoir.”
He reached to knock on the door, but the moment she disconnected, she tapped the screen to make another call. She’s busy. I should go.
I’ll grab something to eat from Calamity Joe’s. Leave her a note, letting her know I’m in town.
“Hey, Dad. I need a favor. Apparently, the whole town’s booked—” Her chair creaked as she sat back in it. “Ha. I wish it was all because of my little chocolate festival. I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the Economic Summit but way to support your second born.”
Her laughter was rich, a little throaty, and incredibly sexy.
It reminded him of how he’d felt that night in Vegas, when he’d scored a hard-won laugh out of her. She’d been working so hard to keep up a cheerful façade, and he’d wanted to know what a genuine smile looked like. Wanted to be the one to coax it out of her. He’d never forget the first time she’d given it to him. Such a rush.