Living at 40 (Lakeside Cottage Book 1)

by L. B. Dunbar

Three days later, I’m standing at my desk when my assistant knocks on my office door. “There’s someone here to see you, boss.”

  “Okay . . . uh, give me a minute.” With all the chaos of dealing with Chloe’s bomb drop and asking Zack for legal advice, I’m struggling to keep my thoughts on work. My current project includes a multi-level apartment and shopping complex in a once run-down area of Indianapolis that’s being rejuvenated. My architectural firm not only designs commercial properties for the immediate Indianapolis area but has also created libraries for universities and an entire hospital.

  My wandering concentration is also a result of not sleeping well in my quiet house and empty bed, spending most nights thinking of Autumn until the thoughts turn to memories, and I’m whacking off like a teenager again.

  In the three days since I left Michigan, I’ve wanted to call her a million times but haven’t known what to say. Our last two nights together, we were out of sync, and I didn’t know how to right the pieces or if there was even a chance of mending whatever it was that happened. Perhaps we just came to an end as was expected. Only, I didn’t want it to end—not by a long shot—but what could I do about it? Now, I have this Lorna mess.

  Tossing down my pencil, I stalk to my office door and freeze.

  “Autumn?” I blink once and glance left, confirming I’m standing in my office and not dreaming of her presence. “Autumn, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

  I rush forward at the panic on her face. She’s so fucking beautiful despite the fear in her eyes and the washed-out coloring of her cheeks. She’s wearing a long overcoat which makes no sense on such a summery day. Then I notice she has on flip-flops and decide something is seriously wrong.

  “Joseph, we’ll just be . . .” I point at my office as I reach for Autumn’s elbow and guide her into my space. Once inside, she takes a few steps away from me, staring out the window and wrapping her arms around her middle as I shut the door. Then she turns to face me.

  “You have a nice view.” It’s an odd statement. Glancing over her shoulder, I look out at Indianapolis's cityscape, which isn’t bad but isn’t as great as seeing the lake.

  “Autumn, honey, I’m assuming you aren’t here for the view. And I won’t believe you were just in the neighborhood.”

  She lowers her head. “I got my period.”

  Staring at her, my brows pinch. Shit. “Sweetheart.” I step up to her, but she steps back, and I halt.

  Okay, then.

  “You drove three hours to tell me you got your period.” I’m only trying to confirm that although she doesn’t want me to touch her, she drove some two hundred plus miles instead of calling me to tell me our little experiment did not work.

  “Yes.” She looks up at me, dazed and confused as if even she can’t explain why she drove here instead of calling.

  “Why?” My voice cuts. I saw her standing with her arms around Mason as I hit the end of Ben’s driveway. Or rather, Mason had his arm over her shoulder. It’s all semantics. We didn’t create what she wanted, and now it’s up to the next guy. My heart races, and I clench my hands.

  “I just thought you should know.” She shrugs as she twists her lips, and her eyes avoid mine.

  “So you can move on,” I snap, hating how I sound. Of course, Mason will be the next guy. He was always the one to steal girls away from me, or they fell for him after me. Suddenly, I’m that fat college kid once again not feeling good enough. My swimmers weren’t the sharks they needed to be and hadn’t gotten the job done. Maybe Mason already knows Autumn isn’t pregnant, which does not seem logical as I face the distraught woman before me, but suddenly, I can’t think straight.

  Her head pops up at my sharp reply.

  “No,” she states. “No, I just thought . . . I don’t know what I thought . . . you said you wanted to know. And I guess this means you’re free of any obligation.” She waves a hand between us.

  “I didn’t realize I’d have an obligation.” She didn’t want me to be obligated. She just wanted me to make a baby with her. Swiping a hand through my hair, I’m frustrated and upset with myself for my unkind words.

  “I-I shouldn’t have come.” She steps forward, but I block her path.

  “Why did you then?” I question once more, holding up my hands to stop her retreat. She’ll have to go through me to get to the door.

  “I just thought you should know.” Her voice shakes, and her lower lip quivers. Her arms tighten around her middle. “It didn’t work. I knew it probably wouldn’t on the first try, but we . . . and so many times . . .” A tear slips down her cheek. “Something happened between us, right?”

  Guilt smacks me in the cheek. I reach for her, pulling her to me and wrapping my arms around her. Her hands cover her face as she buries it in my chest.

  “Shh.” Her body trembles against mine, and the ache inside me is an open geyser, overflowing with sorrow.

  “I knew it wouldn’t be so easy as to happen on the first attempt, but I also felt so certain that it had. It seemed like it just had to have happened. There was something. I felt it.”

  Her head pops up as she speaks, her voice confident in her conviction while her hesitant eyes search mine.

  “There was something there,” I whisper, confirming what she said. We had a connection, and it was more than just baby-making.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say, stroking my thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks.

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”

  “You just drove three hours to tell me something huge, and I’m not letting you out of my sight. Where are you staying?”

  She shakes her head. “I hadn’t gotten that far. I just noticed . . .” She waves at her lower body. “And got in my car, heading here to tell you.”

  Leaning forward, I press a kiss to her forehead. “Okay, honey. We’ll go to my place.” Keeping my hands on her shoulders, I wait for her to acknowledge what I’ve said. I’m taking her home with me.

  She nods to agree, and I pack up a few things. I can work from home later, but first, I need to take care of this woman.

  23

  [Autumn]

  I don’t know why I drove all the way to Indianapolis. I mean, I know why I drove here. I know what happened, but I don’t know why I drove here. I could have just called Logan, but I needed to see his face. I needed to see his devastation if he was devastated. I was being ridiculous, and I knew that, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I had to see him.

  After following his SUV to his townhome, his place isn’t what I’d expect him to live in. For a man who designs buildings, the skinny-looking rowhouse doesn’t say home to me. It’s quaint but obviously a modern rendition of something old and metropolis. I park on the street while he pulls into his singular driveway. I don’t have a bag or even my purse, just a tote where I dropped an entire box of tampons, my cell phone, and my wallet. I’m dressed like a homeless person in an overcoat despite the heat of mid-August and flip-flops. I’m wearing a pair of shorts that have seen better days and a Crossroads Café T-shirt.

  I’d called in sick, which I’ve never done in the five years I’ve owned the place.

  Logan waits for me as I walk up his short drive, and then he wraps his arm over my shoulder, tucking me into his side as he leads me up the front steps and into his place. The inside is nice but stark, bright but dull at the same time. It doesn’t look lived in, and I briefly wonder where are the signs he and Lorna spend time here.

  After dropping his keys on the kitchen island, he leads me directly to his couch, and we sit facing one another. He takes both my hands with his.

  “Okay, let’s back up. What happened?”

  “I got my period.” It’s that simple.

  “Okay.” He releases one of my hands and nervously scratches at the stubble under his chin. “How are you feeling? What are you thinking?”

  “Honestly, I’m thinking Ben was right. What was I thinking? I can’t sleep with random men and hope to get pr
egnant. I don’t want to sleep with a list of men, and the more I think about getting pregnant, the more I realize I don’t want to do it alone.”

  I want a child, but I want someone by my side as well. I’m thirty-six. I’m not too old. It could still happen. It’s just taking me longer than most. A late bloomer, my mother would say, although I matured early, developed young, and feel like I’ve been having sex with the wrong men forever. Before me sits the right man or at least a man I’ll measure every other man up against from this point forward.

  “Thank fuck,” Logan snaps, surprising me. “I don’t want you sleeping with random men either.” His expression sharpens. “If you still want to have a baby, though, you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to. You can raise a child on your own, but you won’t be alone. You’ll have Ben and Anna.” We meet eyes, knowing I’ll only have Ben for so long. Plus, Ben is my brother. He isn’t who I want by my side. “And I’ll give you all the support you need.”

  The sentiment is sweet, but I don’t know what he means. His thumb strokes my knuckles, distracting me, and I recall every touch, every caress, every kiss of the past weeks.

  “What changed your mind?” he cautiously asks. “About the random men and your list.”

  “You,” I whisper, swallowing around the concern he won’t like my answer. “I know that’s not what we promised. That wasn’t the deal, but I can’t be with anyone else right now. I don’t know that I ever want to be with anyone else. There was never a list, Logan, but if there had been, there would only be one name on it.”

  Logan’s eyes slowly widen, and I’m freaking out that I’ve gone too far. I’ve arrived at his work like a stalker, dressed like a deranged one at that. And now, I’ve admitted my feelings for him. Feelings we weren’t allowed to factor into the equation. I’ve complicated matters that were never intended to be complicated, and Logan continues to stare at me.

  Slowly, he lifts a hand and curls it behind my neck. His fingers squeeze, tightening even.

  “I’m sorry if it’s not what you want to hear. I understand it’s—”

  A fierce kiss cuts me short and nearly forces me backward on his couch. His fingers delve into my hair, gripping a chunk, loosening strands from the messy bun on my head. His tongue invades my mouth. He tastes like absence, and I’ve missed him so much. He also tastes like everything I’d ever want, and I don’t know why I didn’t tell him how I felt before he left.

  “No random men,” he mutters against my mouth, and our teeth bump. “No list. Only me.”

  Slowly, I smile against his mouth pressed over mine but not kissing me. The demand seeps into me, and I swallow the thought, drinking it in like a magic elixir.

  “Only you,” I repeat against his lips.

  “We’ll just try again, and again, and again.” He kisses me once more, softening it only a little. “I’ll give you all the babies you want.”

  We continue to make out on his couch, falling back against it. Logan has a hand up my shirt, holding his palm against my warm belly. One of his thick thighs is between my legs as his body partially covers mine, and we continue to kiss like love-starved teens until I remember my condition.

  I have my period.

  “We can’t . . . do that,” I mutter as his thigh nudges upward, adding tension to an area that both aches for him and doesn’t want him anywhere near me. “But I want to be clear this isn’t only about sex. This isn’t about making babies. At least, not for me.”

  “Why not?” His pause should make me question everything, but I steamroll ahead.

  “I can’t ask you to make a baby with me.”

  “I think we might be a little late for that,” he teases, returning his mouth to my jaw.

  “Long-distance is difficult. I don’t want to put pressure on you, on us.”

  “Ask me,” he whispers as he nears my ear, nipping at the lobe.

  “Ask you?” I question.

  “Ask me to make a baby with you. Ask me to keep having sex with you. Ask me to fill you with babies, Autumn, and I will.”

  “Logan,” I groan, uncertain if it’s his commands or his nibbling down the side of my neck that make me shudder. Quickly, his mouth covers mine, kissing me like a man hungry and needy. No, not needy but wanting me.

  “How will this work?” I finally ask, feeling like I’m dropping a sledgehammer on our reunion.

  “We’ll work it out. It’s going to involve some creative scheduling, but I want this. I want us.”

  The words bring on the biggest smile. It’s everything I want to hear, and the weight of concern along with the reality of not becoming pregnant lifts a little.

  “I want us, too,” I tell him. His mouth returns to mine, tender and sweet, slowing our pace. Then he pulls back. His hand continues to roam my stomach, slipping to my side.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” He softly chuckles, shifting to eye my unseasonal coat. He grunts, and I giggle as he works it off me. My fingers find his tie and begin to unknot it, tugging it loose before simply pulling it over his head. Next, I unbutton a few buttons on his dress shirt, but while my fingers work, my thoughts race. His job. My café. His place. My place. His daughter.

  “Where is Lorna?”

  Logan bitterly chuckles, swiping a hand through his hair as I tug his shirt free of his pants. “Funny you should mention Lorna. The day I came home, Chloe hit me with a whammy. She wants to move to France and take Lorna with her.”

  “What?” I snap, lowering my hands to the warmth of his back. He works at kicking off his shoes while he balances over me.

  “When I dropped Lorna off, Chloe laid it on me that her boyfriend asked her to move with him to France. Her boyfriend, not fiancé, not husband. This could be a dead-end relationship, and she wants to move to France with our child.”

  Dead-end relationship. I’ve hit plenty of dead ends in the relationship department, so I’m an expert in knowing sometimes things don’t last forever. Look at Ben and Anna. They could have had forever, but their forever will be cut short, only proving my point. Even Logan and I aren’t guaranteed, but I’d like to see where we go. As if reading my thoughts, he speaks.

  “I don’t know where we’ll go, but I know I’ll always kick myself if we don’t continue. If we don’t try.”

  Chewing at my lower lip, I slowly nod as my fingers trace over his spine.

  “I’m so sorry this is happening with Lorna. What are you going to do?”

  “I called Zack. I don’t want to take legal action against Chloe. We’ve never been that cutthroat with one another, but she can’t take Lorna from me. She’s all I have.” His hand coasts under my chin and along my throat, tenderly touching me while we discuss such an upsetting subject.

  You have me, I want to say to him, but he needs to think about his daughter. She’s a part of him, and I can’t imagine him giving her up.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, torn between the thrill of his touch and the ache in my heart for his daughter. “You need to take care of Lorna.”

  “I will take care of her.” His brows pinch. “But right now, I want to take care of you.”

  He’s sweet, and guilt peppers my heart.

  “We should reconsider unprotected sex. Now isn’t the time to get pregnant.”

  “Why not?” His eyes leap to mine. His hand stills on my chest, smoothing over my T-shirt but not reaching a breast.

  “Because you live here. Lorna’s here. Your job is here. Your home is here.”

  “If Chloe gets away with taking Lorna, I’ll have nothing tying me to this city.” His voice is laced with acid, and I’m frustrated for him. I don’t want him to lose his daughter. I don’t want him to give up his job or his home. He’s vested here.

  “Chloe isn’t going to take Lorna away from you,” I state, hoping to reassure him and keep a good vibe out in the universe that this loving father will not lose his daughter.

  “Damn right she’s not.”

  “Is there something I can do
to help with Lorna? What did Zack say?”

  “He has a lawyer friend looking into the custody agreement, but he’s pretty certain moving out of the country is out of the question. Chloe either needs to stay here without Peter or relinquish Lorna to me.”

  “Wow. You’d have her full time.” Lorna is amazing, and I have no doubt Logan will be a wonderful single parent. He’s already doing the single-dad thing, but he’s still sharing time with Chloe. Having Lorna all the time will be a new challenge, especially as she enters middle school. A girl needs her mother, but I can’t deny Lorna needs a father like Logan in her life as well.

  “That’s what I want.” His firm tone tells me he’ll do everything to battle Chloe if she tries to take Lorna away, and I love how protective he is of his child. I’d love a man to be just as protective of mine . . . and me. I’m at such a crossroads, and the name of my café sounds rather prophetic. I still want a baby, but I sense even more how now is not the time with Logan.

  “I’m sorry I made you leave work,” I admit as he remains propped on an elbow wedged between me and the back of his couch. His hand continues to skim down my body. He’s gone through the valley between my breasts and landed on my belly, kneading the soft flesh.

  “I’m not worried about work. How are you feeling?” His head lifts, and his eyes scan mine. “Cramps? Headache?” Is he really concerned about my period?

  “It’s just the usual. Cramps. Headache.” I repeat for him, excluding that ugly, heavy flow in the first days. I feel sluggish, even sleepy, but I would not trade the position I’m in right now with him next to me on this couch.

  Logan hums—an ominous sound.

  “What?” I tease as his hand lowers, returning under my shirt to touch my skin. His fingers curl into the waistband of my ratty, old shorts.

  “I’m on my period,” I state, eyes widening at him.

  “I’m not afraid of blood.”

  “Oh my God. You did not just say that to me.” I scoff.

  “I’m saying this. Shower. Now.” Logan hops over me with the agility of a cat, landing on two feet beside the couch. He lowers both hands for mine and hoists me upward.