Meant-to-Be Mom

by Karen Templeton

  The way Dad said her name...

  “Except she’s not ‘ours,’ is she?”

  Dad looked so hard at Wes he almost shuddered. “Do you want her to be?”

  Wes turned away. He didn’t know when it happened, when having Sabrina around had started to feel good. Right. Or when he got so scared that it did. But now that she was gone...

  “Yes,” he whispered, then lifted his head. “Do you?”

  Dad sighed. “More than you have any idea.”

  “So,” Brooke said, “can you fix this?”

  “Truthfully? I don’t know.” His forehead got all pinchy. “It would probably involve moving to New York, though. Think you guys can hack that?”

  Wes and his sister glanced at each other before Brooke said, “But you hate New York.”

  Dad gave them a funny smile. “Not nearly as much as I love Sabrina.”

  Weirdly, hearing Dad say that? It didn’t make Wes nearly as crazy as he’d thought it would. In fact, just the opposite.

  “Then, go for it,” he said, and Dad smiled.

  And the ache that had been Wes’s chest for so long finally eased up a little.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So how’d it go?” Frankie shouted the instant Sabrina set foot inside her assistant’s basement apartment, vibrating as usual from the booming rock music the girl always had playing. Her head pounding in time with the “music,” Sabrina dumped her purse on the floor beside the door, wishing she could ditch the doldrums that had followed her from Jersey a week ago like a pack of stinky dogs.

  “Of the three places Leena showed me today,” she said, carting her packaged salad into the microscopic apartment’s so-called kitchen in search of a fork, “one might work. More than I wanted to pay, though. But at least within reasonable distance of a subway station. And not on the fifth floor. So I should probably take it, huh?”

  “Not if it doesn’t feel right. Last thing you want is to be locked into a lease on a place that makes you want to kill yourself every time you come home. Believe me, I’ve been there. And you know you can stay here as long as you need.”

  With a wan smile, Sabrina sank onto the lumpy futon that doubled as her bed. “Thanks. You really are a sweetheart,” she said, prying the top off her plastic container to face yet another meal of limp lettuce and dubious chicken bits. She’d cook if she (a) weren’t exhausted, and (b) felt confident that Frankie’s stove—which she’d yet to see the girl use—wouldn’t blow up on her.

  “Hey, it’s nice to have company. Although...” The girl grabbed the carpetbag she used for a purse and her keys. “I’ve got a date tonight, if that’s okay.”

  “And what am I, your mother? Of course it’s okay, why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because I feel bad, you being all alone. I know, you don’t want to talk about it, but...” Sighing, she dropped the bag. “You know, I don’t really need to go out. We could stay in and watch a flick or something—”

  “No!” Sabrina said, probably a little too quickly. “Please. Go, have a good time. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. So get outta here.”

  That got a skeptical look, but—after tromping over in shoes that were like straitjackets for her feet—Frankie gave Sabrina a hug, then finally left.

  Giving up on her so-called dinner, Sabrina grabbed the stereo remote off the coffee table and killed the noise, then let her head fall back on the musty-smelling futon, relishing the silence. The peace. Never before had she appreciated the joy that was being alone as much as she’d learned to this past week.

  Although the quiet also brought her thoughts scurrying out of their hiding places like roaches seeking a midnight snack.

  Tears, too. Tears over the man she kept reminding herself she needed to get over, because.

  Because, because, because...

  And how telling was it that, for the life of her, she couldn’t finish that sentence?

  Oh, God, she missed him. As in, as if she’d left a limb back in Jersey.

  And the kids...

  Her throat clogged.

  Sighing, she got up to dump the gross salad in the trash, deciding—even as pooped as she was—she needed to get out. Take a walk. Mingle with other human beings, even if none of them acknowledged her presence.

  It was still light, the air heavy and pearlized—her favorite time of day in the city, especially in the summer. A small crowd surged up from the subway, spilling out on to the street and splintering in a dozen directions, milling around the open-air fruit stands, the florists, the newsstands. She stopped to buy an apple, swiping it across the sleeve of her lightweight top before biting into it, and the sweet tartness, the light and the crowds and the bleat of a taxi horn, made her feel marginally better. Still empty and aching, but better.

  Her phone chimed—an incoming text. Her heart stopped when she saw the message.

  Find a place yet?

  Thinking, What the hell? she stepped out of the traffic flow before she got trampled, then texted Cole back.

  With shaking hands.

  Still working on it.

  Where are you?

  She frowned at the phone. Typed in the cross streets, then added, In Queens.

  Good. DON’T MOVE.

  Smirking, she typed back, What if I have to pee?

  Two seconds later: Cross your legs.

  At which point she launched into the Crazy Lady on the Street Laugh. And, of course, nobody paid her any mind because, hey, New York.

  A million years later, a black town car lurched to a stop in front of her, and Cole opened the door and shouted “Get in!” as if they were in some crazy-ass movie. And, as if she was the lead actress in said crazy-ass movie, she did, bumping into him when the car took off again. Of course, she expected him to kiss her—since that would totally go along with the crazy-ass movie thing—but he didn’t.

  Since, you know, it wasn’t.

  “What’s—”

  “You’ll see,” he said, tossing her a very smug smile that definitely made her girl bits go Hmm... Then he reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and okay, it felt too nice to object to. Especially since her brain hadn’t fully caught up, still hanging back to a half hour before, when she’d been mopey as hell.

  When she’d thought she’d never see this man again. Let alone hold hands with him in a hired car zipping through Queens—

  Wait.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “At my sister’s. With the kids.” Then he smiled into her eyes, and that’s all she wrote. “Miss me?” he whispered, and she thought, You should only know.

  “Yes,” she pushed out, then faced the window, only her vision was too blurry to see a damn thing.

  Not that it mattered, because a second later he’d hauled her into his arms and now he was kissing the stuffing out of her, only lifting his mouth long enough to mutter, “Me, too,” before resuming the snogfest.

  A whole lot of exchanged spit later, they pulled up in front of a sorry-looking brownstone in a very unsorry Brooklyn neighborhood. Quiet—for New York, anyway—tree-lined street, adorable little flower beds at the base of each stalwart little maple, a beautiful old church at the end of the block. The kind of neighborhood she’d fantasized about living in for years. Not as much as she fantasized about the upper East Side, maybe, but short of marrying a rock star or Middle Eastern royalty—neither of which appealed in the slightest—that wasn’t gonna happen.

  Of course, neither was this, but she was definitely...intrigued.

  Especially when it dawned on her, after he’d paid the driver and they were standing on the sidewalk, that there was no for-sale sign in the window.

  Sabrina turned to Cole, who was looking at the building with the mos
t self-satisfied grin she’d ever seen on anyone’s face. His hair had grown out a little, she noticed, giving him kind of a Roman god vibe—

  She nearly choked on her sucked-in breath.

  “Holy moly. You bought a house.”

  “I did indeed.”

  “In...” She looked back up at it. “Brooklyn.”

  “It was a toss-up between a school in Cherry Hill and one about six blocks from here.” His gaze touched hers, a slight smile curving his mouth. “Since New York’s where you were, the kids voted for here.”

  “Wait. You’re telling me I was the deciding factor in where they go to school?”

  “Pretty much, yeah. So. Wanna see inside? Although I have to warn you, it needs work.”

  “I don’t—”

  “See, we took a vote—although since the outcome was predetermined, it was only a formality—and we decided we weren’t ready to give up. On you. On...us. My kids are crazy about you, honey.” His eyes softened. “Although not half as much as I am.”

  She gawked at him, thinking, really, she should run like hell. Because of all those becauses. Which were still lurking, somewhere, ready to pounce. Since it wasn’t only the house that needed work, here.

  “Or just crazy,” she muttered, and he laughed.

  Then held out his hand.

  And God help her, she took it.

  “It’d been turned into apartments,” Cole said, leading her up the gritty, cocoa-colored steps. With stone planters on either side, begging for geraniums. “Then someone bought it and started converting it back into a single-family home.” He unlocked the door, still with most of the original stained glass intact, and the building’s history rushed out to embrace her like an excited child. “Except they ran out of money—after gutting all those extra kitchens—and the bank foreclosed.”

  Jewel-like shards of light danced across the foyer’s dusty, gouged wood floor, the paneled walls, and by now Sabrina’s heart was in her throat. Especially when she looked up and saw the dingy brass chandelier, then over at the twin rectangles of sunshine spilling across the front room’s equally pockmarked floor. She could hear the kids’ laughter, reverberating off the high ceiling. Their arguments, too, she thought with a smile—

  “Had a crackerjack agent,” Cole said. “House came on the market yesterday morning, she showed it to me like five minutes later, I made an offer the bank couldn’t refuse right after that. And still came in well under what market value will be, once the reno’s finished. The good news is, the previous owners fixed up the basement first, so they’d have someplace to live while they worked on the rest of the house. Brooke’s already called dibs on it, for down the road.”

  “So the kids have seen it?”

  “Yesterday. Bedrooms already chosen. Wes in the front, Brooke out back, overlooking the garden.”

  “Garden?”

  Cole grinned. “Go see.”

  He trailed her to the back of the house, where a small deck off the demolished original kitchen overlooked what had at one time been an adorable little garden. What could be again.

  The French doors creaked when she opened them, then stepped out onto worn-smooth wood. Brick walls, she saw. Ivy. A lush maple tree in one corner, masking the apartment building behind. An old but serviceable basketball hoop, mounted on the back wall. Not much space to play, but enough for Wesley to practice his bank shots...

  She heard Cole behind her, saying something about six bedrooms and four baths, how the top floor would make a perfect master suite, including a quiet office space for him to work, recharge. A view of the Brooklyn Bridge from the roof...

  “So whaddya think?”

  Jerking herself out of dreamland, Sabrina went back inside. Heaven help her, was that an original marble fireplace in the dining room? Damn, it was as if he’d pulled the place right out of her head—

  “I think...it’s beautiful. Or will be, once it’s been renovated. I love...” She slowly turned around, taking in the ornamental plaster on the ceiling, the medallion where a gas fixture probably once cast its soft glow over dinner parties and holiday gatherings. “I love how her past is demanding to be remembered. Restored.”

  “She is a grand old lady, isn’t she?” Cole said behind her. “Kind of reminds me of Aunt Lizzie.”

  Despite the prickling sensation in her eyes, Sabrina smiled. “You and the kids...you’re going to be so happy here.”

  “Only if you’re here with us. Although we’re still in Jersey for another month, until my parents get back. Until then the basement apartment is yours. If you want it, that is.”

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. And she hadn’t even seen the apartment yet. “Do the kids know that’s what you’re thinking?”

  “You kidding? It was their idea. Correction—Wes’s idea.”

  Sabrina whipped around. “But—”

  “He was scared, honey. Scared he’d get attached. Only then—”

  “I’d leave,” she said, then pushed out a dry laugh. “Good Lord—it’s like something right out of O. Henry, isn’t it?”

  Chuckling, Cole tucked her against his chest to lay his cheek in her hair. “You two are a lot more alike than you might think,” he said, then shifted to tilt her face to his. “Marry me, honey.” He grinned. “You know you want to.”

  “You are such a turkey,” she said. Over the panic.

  “A turkey who loves you so much it’s like it won’t all fit inside me.”

  “And a poetic turkey, at that.”

  “It’s true. Because you get me, Bree. More than anyone I’ve ever known. More important, you get my kids.” He blew a soft laugh through his nose. “Probably more than I do, actually.” Then he palmed her cheek, his touch so gentle, so warm, so there... “Of course, if you don’t love me—”

  “I never said that,” she whispered, panic be damned, and his gaze softened.

  “So you...?”

  “Love you, too, okay? Happy now?”

  “Uh...yeah?” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

  “But it’s not a question of whether we love each other—”

  “No. It’s not a question. It’s an irrefutable fact. And remember, I’m the logical one here. So if I say it is, it is.”

  Her chest aching, Sabrina pulled away to sit on top of a cloth-covered crate or something in the middle of the floor, dropping her face in her hands. A moment later she sensed Cole squatting in front of her, looking up when he took her hands and curled them into his chest, his gaze so intense her stomach went haywire.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said softly.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Mmm-hmm. That it’s kind of hard to trust the future when the past hasn’t exactly been your best friend. Believe me,” he sighed out, “I know. I also know I gave up on you, on us, once before—”

  “When we were seventeen? You’re even counting that?”

  “Actually, that was kind of my point. That while it’s good to remember some parts of the past—the good parts—the crappy parts should probably be trashed.” He touched her cheek. “And the woman I love now is so much more than the girl I thought I loved then. And I refuse to give up on that woman.” A soft smile touched his lips. “I can’t. Because you are the best damn thing to ever happen to me.”

  Tears filmed his eyes, making hers sting in response. “And if you say yes,” he said thickly, “I will cherish you like nobody ever has before.” One side of his mouth lifted. “And no secrets. Swearsies,” he said, and a teary laugh bubbled from her chest.

  Because there it was, the rock-solid steadiness she now realized she’d been missing, she’d been seeking, her entire adult life. Cole was so much like Pop, she thought with a start...despite her long-standing rebellion against the very thing she most needed. Wanted.

 
Deserved.

  And damned if she was going to let fear stop her from having it.

  Tearing up, she took his face in her hands. That dear, sweet face—the right face, she realized with a punch to the gut—that had meant so much to her all those years ago, that meant so much more to her now.

  “Yes,” she whispered, sure, and his smile warmed her even more than the evening sunlight streaming through the grimy floor-to-ceiling windows, embracing them both.

  Than the joy streaming through her, finally setting her free.

  Epilogue

  A year later

  From the kitchen, while Kelly and assorted kids piled party food on platters, Cole spotted Bree out in the garden with her dad, the older man’s arm slung around her shoulder. Cole knew how relieved she was that Preston had found his footing in his new digs, making friends and putting his two cents in about the landscaping whenever anyone would stop long enough to listen to him. Rumor had it that the old guy was dating again, too, although as of yet none of his kids had been able to get more than a “So what if I am?” out of him.

  He also knew how relieved the Colonel was, in turn, that his oldest daughter was “settled,” as he put it.

  Behind him, family and friends celebrated his and Sabrina’s low-key wedding with the usual raucous laughter and joking and very loud love that had always been part and parcel of any Noble gathering. His sister and her gang fit right in—and God knew Lizzie did—but he could tell his poor parents were a little overwhelmed by it all.

  They’d get used to it, he thought, smiling.

  The year hadn’t been easy—he would never, ever, renovate an entire house from top to bottom again, especially one built during Teddy Roosevelt’s administration—but the results were more than worth it. Sabrina had gotten the ball rolling, actually, enthusiastically overseeing the first stages of the remodel until Cole and the kids could finally join her in the city.

  A city he was growing to love, surprisingly. As were his children, both thriving in their new school while reestablishing their relationship with Erin. Who’d apparently realized if she wanted to be a part of their lives, it was up to her to make that happen. Granted, nobody harbored any fantasies that she’d ever want to be a full-time mom again, but at least the visits were better.