Rainy Day Friends

by Jill Shalvis

  He laughed again. Because yeah. Still wow.

  She went inside without another word after that, shutting and locking the door behind her, and he walked away. Probably the smartest thing he’d done all night, but at the moment, it sure didn’t feel like it.

  Chapter 9

  I don’t have a nervous system, I am a nervous system . . .

  The next morning, Lanie staggered into the office. Or tried to. She pushed a pull door and literally walked face-first into it.

  Holden, who happened to be walking past, stopped. “You have to pull.”

  “That was my next plan,” she said and sighed when he opened it for her.

  She went straight to the fridge and whimpered when the light hurt her eyes. Hangover level: she needed sunglasses to look into the fridge. Since she didn’t have any sunglasses, she did an about-face and headed for the coffee pot instead. Someone came in the office behind her, and since her happy parts quivered, she knew it was Mark. Slowly she turned around.

  His lips quirked. The same delicious lips she’d kissed last night. Damn bottle of Jack . . . She’d kissed her boss’s son.

  And she’d liked it.

  “Rough morning?” he murmured in a husky morning voice, looking annoyingly awake and chipper.

  “Not at all,” she lied.

  With a soft laugh, he moved toward her just as Samantha and Sierra came flying into the room.

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! We found our hairbrush!” Sam brandished it around, nearly taking out one of his eyes. “Sierra has the hair ties!”

  “Inside voice, baby.” But he took the brush and the hair ties and set them on the counter. Then he scooped up Sierra and plunked her down on the counter as well, after which he proceeded to brush and then braid her hair with a practiced ease. He then executed a wash-and-repeat for Samantha, gave them both hugs and kisses that elicited happy squeals, and sent them on their way.

  Lanie’s dad had been distant at best. Kyle had never wanted kids. So watching the big, strong, alpha Mark Capriotti not only be the opposite of distant but also be a true, hands-on dad was almost unbearably attractive.

  When he caught her staring, he smiled. “Need your hair braided too?”

  Yes, her mouth nearly said, oh please, yes, put your fingers through my hair . . . “I’m good, thanks.”

  He poured coffee into a travel mug that said TIRED OF WAKING UP AND NOT BEING ON AN ISLAND, saluted her with it, and then walked out.

  Which was just how she wanted things between them. Totally and completely. So why she let out a disappointed breath was beyond her.

  At lunch that day, Uncle Jack walked by her. “Hey, what kind of bees make milk?” he asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Jack!” Cora called out warningly from the far end of the other table.

  “Boo-bees,” he whispered, and with a very pleased-with-himself grin, he looked down at her salad-only plate. “That’s just sad.”

  “I like salad.” Well, she liked salad more than, say, liver and onions, but she actually much preferred lasagna. She was doing her best not to look at it.

  Jack shook his head. “There’s no accounting for taste. It’s not your fault, though—you’re not Italian.”

  “Jack.” Cora again.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “That woman’s got eyes in the back of her head.”

  “Heard that too!”

  Jack sighed and looked over at Mia, who was in black boots, black yoga pants, and a long black sweater, hood up. “Whose funeral is it?”

  Mia looked up from her phone and peered around at the crowd. “Haven’t decided yet.”

  Jack nodded at her phone. “Texting wasn’t always easy, you know. In my day, you had to work for it. You had to want it. You need an X? You’d better hit that seven button four times.”

  Lanie laughed, and he slid her a sly smile. “Did I tell you the one about the brothel? What does a sign on an out-of-business brothel say?” He beamed. “Beat it, we’re closed.”

  “Jack, so help me God,” Cora yelled, and with a wink, Jack stole a cupcake and vanished.

  Lanie moved to a bucket filled with ice and drinks near the patio door and grabbed a bottle of water.

  River stood nearby, apparently frozen. “Not again,” she whispered.

  Lanie realized she was nearly green. “Hey, are you—”

  River slapped a hand to her mouth, whirled, and ran.

  Nope. She wasn’t okay. Lanie looked around to see if anyone else had seen River, say, maybe Cora, who was good at this whole taking-care-of-people thing.

  But no one had noticed. Dammit. With a sigh, she found River getting sick in the employee bathroom.

  This poor bathroom saw a lot.

  “Go away,” River gasped, hanging her head over the toilet.

  Yeah, if only she could. With another sigh, Lanie moved forward and took over holding River’s hair back. And then she closed her eyes while River wretched and gagged, and tried to picture herself on a warm, deserted island with puppies. And A/C.

  Finally River got herself together and Lanie went to the sink. She wet some paper towels and brought them back to River.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, clearly mortified.

  “You’re still so sick. I thought pregnant women only threw up in the first trimester.”

  River shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Lanie felt for her. She’d been here two weeks and hadn’t had anyone come visit. River was every bit as alone in the world as Lanie felt, or so it seemed. “How often does this happen?”

  River hesitated. “Every day.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” Lanie asked. “Or talk to Cora about cutting back your hours?”

  “No!” she said, looking panicked. “I’m fine, really. You can’t tell anyone, okay? Cora might ask me to quit and I need this job.”

  “But—”

  “Please,” she said and turned beseeching eyes on Lanie, looking wan and anxious. “I can handle this job, I promise, I just . . . I just need a minute alone.”

  “I know you can handle the job,” Lanie said. “I’ve seen you do it. You do a good job, and I’m glad you’re here. But I can’t just leave you alone.”

  “Why not? It’s easy, lots of people have done it. You just walk out the door.”

  Lanie dropped her head to her chest and took a deep breath. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to get sucked in, dammit. But at every turn, it was happening anyway. First the twins. Uncle Jack. Mia and Alyssa. And now River.

  But no one else, she assured herself. Absolutely no one else, including Mark, no matter how sexy and talented his mouth was.

  River shuddered and Lanie held on to her, the only person she knew who might actually be standing on a bigger proverbial cliff than herself. It wasn’t often she met someone just as screwed up as she, maybe even more so. It was a nice change, she had to admit.

  And there was something else. She liked this girl. And she didn’t take that lightly—it had never been in her nature to be open enough to draw people in. But there was something about River that made her feel protective, as if they were close friends. “I can’t walk away, River. You’re pregnant, you’re sick, and I know, believe me, I know how much you probably want to stand on your own right now, but you can’t. You need a minute, you need someone at your back, and like it or not, that’s going to be me.”

  River looked stunned at this. But she didn’t argue, she just nodded. “You said you’re glad I’m here. Why?”

  Lanie sighed. “Because I hate pitching in at the front desk. It’s torture for me. I’m not good with people like you are. Everyone has questions, so many questions, and I never know the answers. You just effortlessly figure it all out.”

  Again River looked surprised. “Everything you do seems effortless.”

  “It’s an act. Trust me, I’m a fish out of water here.”

  “Me too,” River breathed softly. “So we have stuff in common.”

&nb
sp; “Seems like it.”

  “The front desk isn’t that bad,” River said. “It’s all nice people that come through here, super nice. No one yells that their French fries didn’t get cooked right or that I brought the wrong kind of beer. Instead of saying ‘Touch my ass again and you’ll be walking funny tomorrow,’ now I just say ‘Nice to talk to you and have a good day!’ I like it.”

  Lanie laughed at that.

  River smiled, but shook her head. “Seriously, you have no idea how amazing this place is. How lucky I feel.”

  Something else they had in common. “Waitressing when pregnant sounds awful. And hard. How did you end up in that job?”

  “Started when I was fifteen.”

  Lanie gaped at her, trying to imagine that. “Fifteen!”

  River shrugged. “I was on my own and it was the only thing I could do after school in the afternoons and night without hooking. I didn’t want to drop out.”

  Lanie was stunned. Here she was going on about her life with a decent-sized chip on her shoulder for how she’d grown up. But at least her parents had waited until she was eighteen and off to college before giving her the boot. “Sounds like you had it rough.”

  “We’ve all had it rough one way or another.”

  Lanie nodded. “That’s very true. But some people more than others.”

  Their gazes met and River whispered, “You’ve had it rough too.”

  A statement, not a question, but Lanie nodded, wanting her to know she wasn’t alone.

  “I’m not feeling sick anymore,” River said. “I think I can get back to work.”

  Lanie looked at her doubtfully.

  “No, really.”

  Lanie took stock. She could see the color was back in River’s cheeks and she was breathing easier, and nodded. “Okay. But take it easy.”

  River grabbed her hand and met her gaze. “Thanks.”

  For most of Lanie’s life, the fast, easy friendships most women seemed to find so readily among themselves had been something that had eluded her. But this felt different. She just squeezed River’s hand and pointed to her water bottle. “Drink. Rehydrate.”

  And then she walked out of the restroom. Cora just happened to be walking by and gave Lanie a quick smile.

  “Just who I was looking for,” she said.

  Oh shit. Someone had heard what’d happened between her and Mark last night. She steered Cora away from the bathroom and down the hallway, wanting to make sure River fully recovered before Cora caught sight of her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It was a complete fluke. I’d had a few shots, and he’s way too good-looking for his own good—” She grimaced. “Which you don’t want to hear about your own son, I know, but—”

  Cora arched one single, perfect eyebrow. “Are you talking about Marcus?”

  Lanie froze. “Um, aren’t you?”

  “No,” her boss said with some amusement. “But now I think you should go first.”

  Oh boy. “I’d really rather not,” she said with a wince.

  Cora looked at her for a long beat and then apparently decided to take mercy. “I was wondering how you’d feel about adding Owen’s bottling company to your list of things you’re designing for.”

  “Owen needs a whole new design?”

  Cora nodded. “And he wants it from you. There’s some other things we’re looking at doing as well, all of which could add as much as another month to your contract if that appeals to you.”

  She couldn’t deny that it was nice, very nice after Kyle, to be wanted and valued, but this was dangerous territory, staying another month—especially in light of her accidental kissing-Mark reveal.

  Alyssa came around the corner. “Did you ask her yet?”

  “Just did,” Cora said.

  “Yay!” Alyssa smiled at Lanie. “So . . . you down? Because it’d be so great for Owen, obviously. And us. But most especially it’d be great for Sam and Sierra, right, Mom?”

  “Absolutely,” Cora said. “They already love you so much.”

  Lanie felt herself go still inside. She wasn’t sure she could commit to anything right now, especially this place with all these people, wonderful as they were. Her own axis was still too shaky.

  “Why don’t you just think about it, honey,” Cora said. “No pressure.”

  Right. No pressure to get over her sham of a marriage. No pressure to get her life together. No pressure to decide whether to stay here at the first job she’d ever loved when it wasn’t her work skills they coveted. No pressure on anything at all . . .

  Chapter 10

  Anxiety is having 99 problems and 86 of them are made-up scenarios that might never happen, but you stress about them anyway.

  When River finally made it out of the bathroom, she leaned against the wall for a moment. Gracie was there, sprawled in the hallway. She clambered to all fours and licked River’s hand in greeting.

  “Thanks,” River whispered and gave the big fluffball a hug before heading back to her desk. Needing calm, she put in the earbuds she’d found in her top desk drawer on her first day, left over from someone else’s time in this position, and brought up her calm app. She opted for beach sounds, her favorite. Waves gently lapped at a shore, a breeze blew through some palm trees . . .

  “Here,” someone said with a southern accent that made his voice sound like melted butter. “Sip this.”

  River startled because she knew that voice. She’d been avoiding both it and the guy it belonged to, and she’d been good at it too.

  Holden. He stood there in a cowboy hat, jeans, and boots, looking like every cowboy fantasy personified, Gracie at his side. Gracie adored him. Reluctantly, River pulled out one earbud, deathly afraid of being accidentally nice to him and being deserted and left alone and pregnant.

  Oh, wait. That’d already happened.

  “Easy,” he said and she looked up into his blue gaze as he held out a cup. “Peppermint tea.”

  “Been pregnant a lot, have you?” she asked as Gracie lay down at her feet with a huge groan, making Holden smile.

  And not that she wanted to admit it, but he had a nice smile.

  “Drink,” he said.

  “Not thirsty.”

  He gave a barely there shake of his head. “Do you ever accept help?”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because then you might expect something from me in return,” she said.

  His gaze held hers for a long beat. “Fine. Consider it a favor to me, then, that you take a damn sip,” he said. “That way, in your crazy logic, I owe you.”

  She sighed and took a sip under his watchful gaze. The tea was delicious.

  “Better, right?” he asked.

  Not wanting to encourage him in any way, she shrugged noncommittally.

  “Wow,” he said. “Which is heavier, the baby or the chip on your shoulder?”

  “Here’s a tip,” she said. “When someone removes only one earbud to talk to you, then they probably don’t want a lengthy conversation.” She tried to hand him back the cup, but he refused to take it.

  “How’s the baby doing? You eating okay?”

  “Sure. I had eggs for breakfast.”

  “So did I,” he said. “But mine were Reese’s Peanut Butter eggs.”

  She laughed, shocking the both of them. “I miss those,” she said wistfully. “Bad.”

  “I guess chocolate’s not good for the baby,” he said.

  “Or the mama,” she said on a sigh, forgetting for a moment to keep him at arm’s length. “And how do you know about chocolate not being good for the baby?”

  He lifted a shoulder and made to go. “Whenever you sit at your desk, make sure to put your feet up. Your ankles are swelling.”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen my ankles in about a month, so . . .” She broke off when he removed his hat to push his hair back from his face, revealing a nasty cut along the underside of his arm. “What did you do?”

  “This?” He looked at h
is arm and shrugged. “Mending fences this morning. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s going to get infected. You need to clean it out and cover it.”

  “Worried about me?”

  Not that she’d admit it. “I think you’re a big boy,” she said. “You can take care of yourself.”

  This caused a slow smile to cross his face. “You’re right about that. But if it makes you feel better, tonight when I shower the grime off, I’ll handle it.”

  “You can’t wait until tonight. For God’s sake.” She pulled her purse from her bottom drawer and grabbed the small first aid kit she had in it.

  She tried to push him into her chair, but he made her sit in it instead and then he crouched at her side and laid his arm across her thighs. She bent over him to work, having to dig into the cut a little bit to get rid of some stubborn dirt. He didn’t even flinch, and she looked up into his face, which was startlingly close.

  His gaze locked on hers and held, and something inside her quivered, and she recognized it for what it was.

  A connection, unwanted or not.

  Ignore it, she told herself, as she’d been doing for two weeks now. It’ll go away.

  “Tell me you feel that,” he said.

  “Indigestion? Yes.”

  He smiled a little grimly. “Not indigestion. You feel that thing between us, I know it.”

  “Yes, it’s a baby, and it’s doing somersaults today.”

  He let out a breath and shook his head at her as he lifted his big hands toward her belly. “May I?”

  People never asked her if they could touch. They just did it, like a baby bump was fair game. She hated that. But he’d asked and she nodded.

  Then those big, work-callused hands settled on her swollen stomach so gently it nearly brought tears to her eyes. The baby kicked and the tough cowboy in front of her jumped, making her laugh for the second time in as many minutes. “It’s not going to bite.”

  His startled eyes jerked up to hers and he smiled. “You have a pretty laugh. You should use it more.”