by Tia Louise
Eighteen
Ember
Tabby returns and exchanges the Hazelnut Dacquoise for Coco and six more orders.
“She’s a born salesperson,” my best friend announces as my pixie takes off to the back of the store and up the stairs to my apartment.
“She’s four,” I say, placing the elegant dessert in a box on the counter.
Before I close it, we both stand back in wonder at how beautiful it is.
“You’re really fucking good,” Tabby says, her voice hushed.
“It turned out well,” I say, my voice equally hushed. Then I start to laugh. “Aren’t we supposed to have faith in my abilities?”
“Yeah, but… wow. This leaves those penis cakes in the dirt.”
“Ugh—where I’m happy for them to stay.” I roll my eyes, annoyed at the memory of Betty Pepper using her cake orders against me. “I want to be known for bakes I can actually be known for.”
“I don’t know.” Tabby shrugs. “Nothing wrong with being the perverted Peggy Porschen.”
“Only if it’s very small and on the side.” I say, closing the lid and wrapping a wide, iridescent bow around the box.
“My worst nightmare—small and on the side.” She starts to giggle. “That is not what she said… Or if that’s what she said, she said it and ran.”
I snort and roll my eyes as Tabby lifts the box in both hands. Coco comes dancing back into the room. “I’m locking up when we leave,” I say, scooping my daughter onto my hip. “We’re spending the night at Jackson’s.”
Tabby spins back around her velvet lips parted, eyes sparkling. “What does that mean?”
“It means it’s too hot to stay here, and Coco’s not going back to my mother’s.”
Black-rimmed eyes blink back and forth from my daughter to me. “You wouldn’t do this if you weren’t serious. I know you too well.”
I only shrug. The decision was made last night in Jackson’s arms. It was reinforced today when I learned the truth about our past, and it was set in stone when he looked in my eyes and told me to bring Coco home.
“It’s serious.”
My friend’s face goes dreamy, and she sighs as she walks to the door. “It’s like a fairytale. Happy endings do happen in real life.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow—I’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Coco sits at Jackson’s kitchen table, her collection of play-dough toys neatly assembled around her. She’s humming her made-up tune as she rolls out red dough, and I return to staring at my weathered notebook. Almond cake with strawberry preserves and buttercream lattice icing, fresh flower decorations, daisies and lilies.
Not lilies—those are funeral flowers.
Funeral…
I’m trying to plan Donna’s wedding cake, but my stubborn brain keeps circling back to Betty Pepper’s story.
My father was leaving my mother.
He was leaving with Jackson’s mother.
She was my mother’s best friend.
I was in the car.
Minnie was in the car.
Jackson’s mother was in the car.
I was the only survivor.
He lies just like his family lies…
Anger rises in my chest. It’s another attempt at keeping Jackson and me apart, and it won’t work. I left my mother’s home furious, but I got the answers I needed. I know the root of her hatred for Jackson and me.
Before today, I’d thought my father and sister died in a car crash, plain and simple. It was terrible, but I’d dealt with the pain and moved on…
Or so I’d thought.
I was in the car.
In the past, when I’d researched “recurring dreams of drowning,” I found explanations ranging from being obsessed with an idea to losing oneself too deeply in a relationship. I assumed it had to do with Jackson leaving, since my dreams stopped when we were together. I never had a single nightmare when I was with him… Jackson was my comfort, my strength. He took away all the fear and pain.
But they’d started before we did…
“Red monster number five!” Coco says, scampering up to me and breaking my thoughts. “Cinco!”
In her hand is a red play-dough sausage she’s shaped into a number five.
“Cinco!” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s Spanish for five.”
“Cinco de Mayo!” she shouts, and I laugh, pushing a curl off her cheek.
“Who says that?”
“Polly’s dad said it when we were playing monsters.”
“Let’s see…” I do a little grunt when I lift her onto the counter. “Who are all the monsters again?”
She rocks back and forth as she rattles them off. “Green monster number one…” She holds up her chubby index finger. “White monster number two…” two fingers. “Purple monster number three…” three fingers. “Yellow monster number four…” four fingers. “And now…”
We say it together. “Red monster number five!”
I add the numbers in Spanish, “Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco!”
“Cinco de Mayo?” The familiar male voice draws our attention to the door, and I look up and smile as Jackson enters the room. “It’s all ready.”
His blue eyes warm when they meet mine, and a rush of comfort soothes my aching chest. Walking quickly to where we stand, he leans forward and kisses me, and I feel the little body in my arms stiffen.
“You paint,” Coco says, pushing on his shoulder.
Jackson leans back and looks down at her, and the warmth that remains in his eyes makes me fall in love with him even more.
“That’s right,” he says. “I paint.”
“You kissed Mommy.” Coco’s dark brow is clenched, and she’s glaring as only a four-year-old can.
“I love your mommy.”
“Oh,” I whisper as emotion hits my chest like a wave, sweeping all my fears away in its wake.
It’s the first time he’s said it since he returned. All through last night, the words rose in my mind, loud and insistent, but for whatever reason, they never made it to my lips. Now he stands here declaring it to my daughter, and I’m blinking fast, trying not to cry.
Coco’s frown softens, but she’s still watching him. “I love my mommy.”
He looks up at me, and when he sees my expression, his smile grows a little wider. “Can we both love your mommy?”
Her rosebud lips press together, and she looks at me. I can’t help smiling at her careful consideration of the question. She looks over at Jackson again, and after a few more seconds, she answers. “Tommy Johnson said he loved me at school…”
That catches my attention. “He did? When did that happen?”
She nods, looking up at me, her brown eyes round and serious. “Granny said he’s naughty. He isn’t allowed to say that.”
I’m immediately suspicious, but my daughter continues her preschool logic. “Are you naughty?”
“I try not to be,” Jackson says, and I can see he’s also trying not to laugh. “Would you like to see the room I made for you?”
Coco’s entire demeanor changes so fast, it’s my turn to swallow a laugh. “Is it a princess room?” she asks.
“Better.” He holds out his hands, and she reaches for him.
I stand back and watch as the man of my dreams carries my baby girl on his hip away from the kitchen and toward his small art studio. I follow behind them, curious as well. Jackson wouldn’t even let me see what he’d done after he left me this afternoon.
When they get to the door, he stops. “It’s an entire kingdom.”
She hops out of his arms and dashes inside squealing. I step up behind him, and my jaw drops. A twin bed is centered against the wall, and a loop is attached to the ceiling above, allowing cascades of sparkly aqua chiffon to float around the edges. Mermaid decals are on the walls, and the existing beachy décor has been incorporated into an underwater scene perfect for a little girl.
“I’m a mermaid!” She climbs onto the bed a
nd lifts her arms under the netting. “I’m Ariel.”
Jackson goes to where she’s standing, surrounded by aqua chiffon. “You’re better than Ariel. You’d never trade your voice for a boy.”
“She traded her voice for legs!” Coco argues. “She wanted to run all day in the sun.”
“Well, you’re Coco the Princess of Atlantia, and all the sea creatures do whatever you say.”
She stops bouncing, eyes wide. “Atlantia?”
“It’s your underwater world,” he continues. “You can sleep all night here, and you’ll be safe and protected by your magical creatures.”
“What are my magical creatures?” she whispers, and I lean against the doorjamb completely captivated.
“What are your favorite kinds?”
“Mermaids…” Her little eyes move around the room. “Goldfish and seahorses.”
“They’ll all keep you safe and warm while you sleep.”
“I want to sleep now.”
“Have you brushed your teeth?”
She dashes out of the room to the hall bathroom where a little cup sits with her toddler-sized toothbrush.
I give him an amazed grin. “How?”
“André’s wife had it all in boxes. It was left over from their daughter’s room when she was a little girl.”
“I’ll have to thank him.” Stepping forward, I catch the front of his shirt and kiss him softly. “And once the princess is asleep, I’ll give you a special thank you.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Coco, your seahorses need to sleep now!”
Laughter bursts through my lips.
* * *
My little girl is settled and sleeping in her underwater kingdom—complete with a nightlight that projects fish swimming around her walls. Once again, Jackson has disappeared on another mysterious errand, and I’ve run a hot bath in the large, claw-footed tub in the master bedroom.
Leaning back, I close my eyes as the relaxing scent of lavender bath salts drifts higher on pillows of steam. My emotions have been on a rollercoaster the past two days, from happiness to anger to surprise and now here, in this house, with Jackson saying he loves me and treating my daughter like a princess.
It’s all happening so fast, but the happiness ringing deep in my soul tells me it’s right. It’s everything we’ve always wanted.
When we were teenagers, this cottage had been one of our many hiding places, one of the places we ran to be together. It’s where he painted me the first time.
Now it’s completely new, but still as beautiful.
Jackson calls it our home.
Home…
It’s a word I haven’t associated with anything in so long, it sounds foreign. Yet when spoken here, it feels right to me. I know I can trust him. I always have.
I don’t even realize I’m asleep until warm lips press against my temple to wake me. My eyes blink open to meet ocean blue ones, and I rise up to kiss him. I hold his face as his hand slips into the water, cupping my breast, sliding his thumb over my tightening nipple.
“I want you,” I whisper.
With precision speed, the door is locked, his clothes are quickly discarded, and he lowers into the warm water behind me, pulling my slippery body against his chest. I turn to face him, so our lips can meet, and his hands are on my waist, sliding down to my ass.
“You love me?” I say softly, kissing him again.
“I’ve always loved you, Ember Rose.” His deep voice vibrates against my skin, making me smile.
“I love you,” I say, and my words change into a moan as he slips inside, stretching and filling me.
Our mouths collide and we move together, rocking, chasing that irresistible bliss. He’s holding me, moving me, and I grip his shoulders, molding my mouth to his, getting lost in the warmth of his kisses, the feel of his tongue, the heat of his body against mine.
Our flavors and textures are lavender and cedar. Hard and soft colliding and rising, growing thicker and stronger, deeper and more insistent. My mind takes flight as his mouth moves to my ear, and he whispers words of longing and desire as I come apart, clenching and pulling him deeper into me, feeling him come apart with pulses and heartbeats and groans.
Sparkling light is behind my eyes, and our lips unite again and again. It’s lush and decadent and sprinkled with I love yous—a healing agent. Three words we’ve never had the chance to say enough, now filling the cracks, mending the old wounds, binding us together.
As my senses come down and my brain finds its way through the haze, I blink into his eyes. His dark hair is damp and lovely, his lips curve into a smile, and mine echo the movement.
He reaches up and moves a lock of hair away from my face. “I want you and Coco to be happy here. I want you to think of this as your place, as your home.”
“Is it your place now?” The thought had only briefly crossed my mind earlier. “I thought it belonged to your father.”
“It actually belonged to my mother,” he says with another kiss. “He and I discussed it when I came back and again today at lunch. The cottage became mine when she died, but he didn’t think I’d ever come back here.”
“No one did,” I say quietly.
“Not even me.” His voice changes from gentle to serious, and despite our renewed bond, a touch of anxiety trickles through my chest.
He moves us up in the now-cool water and holds my hand as I step out of the tub. Handing me a thick white towel, I watch as he quickly moves his own down his perfectly lined body. He’s so much the same.
Once I’m dry, I drop the sundress from last night over my head. He pulls on a faded pair of jeans, and I see champagne on the small table in the center of the room.
“I wanted to celebrate this night.” He hands me a glass and we clink the delicate crystal. “Having Coco here changes everything.”
My throat tightens. “In what way?”
Stepping to me, he puts his hand around my waist. “Earlier today I was afraid you were having second thoughts. By bringing her here, you proved me wrong.”
I set my glass aside and wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry.”
The story I got today might be new to me, but Jackson is three years older.
“I never knew our parents were together when my dad and Minnie died.”
He moves slightly and puts his own glass aside. Strong arms go around me, and he carries me to the bed where he sits and holds me against his bare chest.
“I always thought you knew. You were old enough to remember what happened.”
Nodding, I try to remember that night, but all I remember is my dream… water filtering in through the windows, coming up from the floor…
My whole body is tight, and fear echoes through my chest. “You were there?”
“I was in the car with my dad chasing after them.” Jackson’s voice is grave, like he’s speaking memories of pain. “She told me goodbye when she tucked me into bed.”
Pushing out of his arms, I move so I can see his face. “She left you behind?”
“She said boys needed their fathers more than their mothers. She said I’d see her again one day.”
Tears heat my eyes, and I reach up to place my palm against his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
He turns his face and kisses my palm. “It was a long time ago. It’s in the past.” Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me to him, smoothing my hair with his hands. “We’re here now. We’re together.” I feel him kiss my head. “That’s what matters.”
Snuggling down against him, I let his scent of warm woods and citrus calm my fears. I listen to him breathe and allow my heart to slow in time with his. My mother wants to cling to the past, but my present is here.
We’re moving forward together.
* * *
The scent of bacon and eggs wakes me the next morning. I open my eyes in a sunlight-filled bedroom with the warm indentation of Jackson still beside me in the bed. Rolling forward onto my stomach, I bury my face in his scent on the pillow. My though
ts return to last night, making love in the tub, making love in the bed…
Early this morning, making love again.
Voices in the kitchen pull me from my daydreaming and I hop up to investigate. I round the corner and quickly step back before they see me. Jackson stands in front of his stove in those sexy faded jeans and a white tee. Sitting in the crook of his arm is Coco.
“I don’t like tomatoes in my eggs,” she says quietly. “Or onjions.”
My hand covers my smile at her mispronunciation.
“These can be for mommy and me.” His voice is gentle, patient. “What do you want in your eggs?”
“Cheese.”
He waits a beat. “That’s it?”
“Uh-huh.”
She wipes her cheek against his shoulder then rests her head there, a golden-highlighted curl, dropping down. Her small hand is on his back, her bare feet dangle past his waist, and when he leans his head against hers, my insides melt.
His voice is a little quieter. “Do you like bacon?”
She nods. “And toast and chocolate milk.”
He gives her a little boost, and I know he’ll need help if he’s going to fill that order.
“How was Atlantia?” I say, going to where they stand and holding my hands out to my daughter.
“Good,” she says, looking down at me and not making any moves to enter my arms.
I really laugh then, catching her waist and pulling her to me. “Come here and let Jackson finish your breakfast.”
She makes a little complaining noise, and he smiles down at us. I rise on my toes and kiss his lips before carrying my daughter to the table. A knocking on the side door makes me frown.
“Who’s here at this hour on a Sunday?”
I put my daughter in front of her bake set, and when I open the door, my stomach drops. Outside stands my mother in one of her Sunday suits. Her hand is on her hip, and she isn’t smiling.
“Emberly. I thought I’d find you here.”
I quickly step outside and pull the door shut behind me. “What do you want, Momma?” Welcome is not in my tone.
Her lips pinch. “I see you’re following in your father’s footsteps.”