by Jamie Beck
“No problem.” Steffi went back into the screened porch, which was formed on two sides by exterior walls of the house, and two sides of screening. She crossed to the longest section of shingled wall and pointed over at the kitchen door on the shorter wall. “We’ll remove that door to create an opening there, and another one here, for better flow.” She pounded on the section of wall that would lead into the hallway beside the stairwell.
“Good idea.” Molly checked her watch and bit her lip. She flitted her hands after clearing her throat. “Ballpark me . . . How much, and how long will it take?”
“Depends on whether you want to connect to the home’s HVAC or go with the new portable units, among other things.” She put away her notebook and withdrew a tape measure to verify her estimates.
“I’m not picky. Functional and basic is fine.” Molly’s gaze darted to the kitchen door and back again. “What’s the timing on all of this?”
“Maybe six to eight weeks. We’re working right on the slab and can keep much of the porch framing and roof, which saves time and expense.”
“Great.” Molly crossed to the kitchen door, preparing to go inside while Steffi continued measuring. “Let’s get it started ASAP.”
Steffi remained on the porch, tape measure retracting. “Molly, I haven’t even given you a bid.”
Molly waved that comment away. “Honey, I know you’ll be fair.”
Surprise tugged at her brows. “Do you mind if I ask what’s the rush?”
Molly stood in the open doorway and cast Steffi a peculiar look before affecting a half-hearted shrug. “Ryan and Emmy are moving in. We’ll need the extra space sooner rather than later.”
“Ryan’s moving home?” A steady rush of heat rose from Steffi’s toes to her head. Her body tensed into the defensive posture she’d assumed as her team’s goalie, ready to jump or run or do whatever it took to protect the net—or, in this case, her pride and heart. Ryan was coming home? And why hadn’t Molly mentioned Val?
Before Molly could expound, the front door slammed open, and a young girl’s voice called out, “Memaw, I smell cookies!”
Five seconds later, little Emmy Quinn raced into the kitchen and skidded to a halt.
Ryan tossed his keys on the walnut entry table that had long ago given him the small scar toward the back of his head and kicked off his flip-flops, keeping the damp, sandy beach towels slung over his shoulders.
“We’re home,” he called out, as if Emmy’s dash to the kitchen hadn’t already warned his mom of an oncoming storm. And Emmy was a storm these days—a raging sea of emotion that could turn from frothy giggles to waves of hysterics without notice. Val’s decision to run off with her new lover had done a real job on their daughter, leaving him and his family groping to fill the void.
He didn’t relish moving in with his parents but couldn’t deny the comfort of coming home to fresh-baked cookies and his mom’s support. More important, her help with Emmy would be invaluable; and more than anything, Emmy needed a positive, stable woman in her life.
He glanced at the unpacked boxes, sighed, and kept walking. Those could wait another thirty minutes. Sharing warm cookies with his daughter would be a better use of his time.
The transition from their eclectic suburb outside Boston to the tiny beach community of his childhood wouldn’t be a cakewalk. Next week he’d start his new job, and Emmy fourth grade at a new school, which was sure to bring another round of highs and lows while she struggled to make new friends. Between now and then, he hoped he and his parents could swaddle Emmy in some old-fashioned love and discipline. Two things Val had never consistently provided their child.
He rounded the corner and spotted Emmy standing in her flamingo-pink swimsuit, brunette curls springy as ever as she tipped her head from side to side while staring out to the porch.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Ryan swiped a cookie for himself and took a giant bite.
“Who’s that?” Emmy pointed outside, past his mother, to a woman—to Steffi Lockwood?
He nearly dropped the cookie as his hand fell to his side. Why the hell was Steffi hanging out with his mother? Before he realized what was happening, he found himself standing in the middle of the patio. “What’s going on here?”
Those brusque words scraped along the scarred part of his soul.
“Ryan Andrew Quinn! What kind of greeting is that?” His mom cast him “that look” she gave when she expected him to behave. She then leaned toward Emmy, who’d followed him onto the porch. “Emmy, this is Miss Lockwood. She’s going to turn this porch into a room for you to hang out in with your new friends.”
Steffi fiddled with her tool belt, looking like she’d rather be anyplace other than in Ryan’s sight line. Good. “Hi, Emmy. You can call me Steffi.”
“Miss Lockwood is fine,” Ryan said without thinking. A quick glance at her ring finger suggested she’d never married. No surprise. Commitment hadn’t been her strong suit, and he didn’t need his daughter getting overly familiar with another woman who didn’t keep her promises.
“Hi.” Emmy gave Steffi a serious once-over, her gaze snagging on the tool belt before lingering on the black-and-turquoise work shoes. Quite a different look from Val and her friends, none of whom would be caught dead sporting overall shorts, a freshly scrubbed face, and a ponytail. Emmy then turned toward his mother. “Can we paint the room pink, Memaw?”
“I don’t think so, Pooh. But maybe your dad will paint your bedroom pink.” She smiled at Emmy, whose head bobbed with excitement.
“Yes! Please, Dad. Please, please! The same pink as my room at home.” Her big hazel eyes fixed on him. If he dared say no, the waterworks would start.
Not that he had time to paint a picture, much less a bedroom. But Emmy probably needed something familiar in a time of tumult. If pink walls would hit “Pause” on the behavioral regression he’d noted since Val had split, he’d have to make time. “We’ll see, princess.”
“Maybe Mom will help.” Her hopeful smile shoved his heart through a meat grinder.
He wouldn’t discuss Val in front of Steffi, so he deflected. “Let’s leave these two out here to finish their discussion.”
“Actually, hand me those dirty towels before you get sand everywhere.” His mother bundled the towels in preparation for her sprint to the laundry room. “I’ve already given Stefanie my thoughts. Why don’t you weigh in? I’m sure you have an opinion about space for a big-screen TV or some such.” She glided past him, patting his cheek on her way. “Emmy, come sit at the table and I’ll pour you some milk for those cookies.”
Ryan thought to turn his back on Steffi, because even unpacking his moving boxes would be preferable to dealing with her. Then he decided he’d better not hand her the satisfaction of seeing him agitated. That’d only give her the misimpression that she held sway over him, which she didn’t. She hadn’t in many years.
If memories of how she’d blown him off still nicked his heart like a razor blade, it was only because he might mourn the fact that the girl he’d cherished had turned into a bitch.
He widened his stance and crossed his arms, reminding himself to play it cool. “I’m shocked to see you here.”
“Yeah, well.” She adjusted her overalls. “I was surprised to get the call.”
“I’m sure you were.” He stretched his stiffening neck, the litigator in him coming to the fore. With a cold smile, he asked, “What made you come? Morbid curiosity?”
“No.” She stood still, unflinching now, with a slight tip of the chin. “I need the work. Claire and I just got our company off the ground. I can’t afford to say no to anyone.”
“That must be uncomfortable for you, given how much you like your freedom.” Damn. Guess he couldn’t keep his cool. His sarcasm constituted the first blow of an argument they should’ve had years ago. Now it’d be pointless. He should change the subject. “How is Claire?”
Claire McKenna, the childhood friend who, along with Steffi and Peyton Prescott,
had formed the middle school triumvirate known as the Lilac Lane League. They’d all remained close friends until Peyton stole Claire’s boyfriend . . . or so he’d heard.
“She’s doing well.” Steffi’s expression remained alert and somewhat wary.
“Really? Even after her boyfriend dumped her to run off with Peyton?” He shook his head with a derisive chuckle. “So much for the Triple L’s infamous loyalty.”
He empathized with Claire’s pain, having suffered through duplicity more than once.
“Peyton didn’t set out to seduce Todd, and I know she feels horrible about hurting Claire.”
“Are you defending Peyton?” Actually, that shouldn’t surprise him. He clenched his jaw and released it, momentarily picturing himself striding toward Steffi and backing her up against the wall until she trembled or groveled.
Her sigh was less than satisfying. “I’m not happy about all of that, but Peyton didn’t get together with Todd until after he left Claire.”
“Left Claire for Peyton,” Ryan reminded her.
“I know, but Peyton’s like a sister. I hate what she did, but I don’t hate her, so I’ll forgive her even though it’s hard. As for Todd, Claire is better off without him. He obviously didn’t love her. When she realizes that and meets someone new, maybe she’ll forgive Peyton so we can all be friends again.”
“Don’t count on it,” he grumbled.
They stared at each other, their entire history now ringing in their ears at a pitch not audible to any other human. Was she so naive as to think that moving on could erase the pain of wasted love? Perhaps that was what she told herself to ease her own guilt for how she’d treated him.
The pause in conversation gave him an opportunity to study her. The ponytail—reminiscent of her soccer days—suggested she still wore her chocolate-brown hair in a simple, long, blunt style. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold and framed by heavy, dark brows, flashed her emotions like always. The cute oval face that had imprinted itself on his heart looked nearly the same as his memory of her, except for the absence of her playful smile. Those work shorts proved years of playing soccer and doing manual labor had kept her legs toned as ever, too.
She swallowed hard before clearing her throat. “Your mom wants the finished space to have lots of windows and a French door. That’s as far as we got.”
“Well, it’s her house, so I have no opinions.” He turned to leave before he did or said something even less kind.
“Ryan.”
Hearing her say his name stopped him for a second, but he didn’t turn around.
She sighed again. “I think she wants this to be someplace you and your daughter can be comfortable, so if you want a big TV or whatever, I’d like to know so I can plan for it.”
He glanced over his shoulder. How many evenings had he and Steffi hung out here, candles lit, listening to rain on the roof while making out? Every spot in the whole damn house contained a shared memory, some better than others. There’d been a time when he would’ve bet nothing could’ve come between them. He’d considered himself the luckiest in love until she’d broken and humbled him.
Between that and Val’s recent whopper, he’d taken a hard look at his judgment of people lately. “I won’t be here long enough for that to matter.”
He didn’t know how true that was, but he’d hoped he’d find his own place in six or so months. For now, he needed to conserve money to pay for his divorce. In his mind, Val didn’t deserve one cent of his hard-earned paycheck, especially not after leaving her daughter behind to move in with her sugar daddy. The court would probably disagree.
When Steffi had left him, he’d cried and prayed and secretly hoped for a reconciliation. When Val bailed, he’d shed no tears. Instead, he’d put their house on the market the next day rather than waste emotional energy on another woman who didn’t want him. He’d found a new assistant public defender job in Hartford and decided to take advantage of a rent-free situation until he had a better idea of what to expect. In the meantime, his mom wasn’t just the cheapest after-school day care around but also the most reliable.
“I’m sorry about your marriage—” Steffi sputtered.
She should be sorry. He wouldn’t have hooked up with Val if he hadn’t been on the rebound from Steffi’s head games. Granted, Val’s unplanned pregnancy during senior year had pushed that relationship someplace it probably shouldn’t have gone, although he couldn’t regret having Emmy. His daughter gave him purpose and filled his life with immeasurable love. “My marriage is off-limits. I advise you to let it lie.”
“Noted, Counselor.” The sharp edge in her voice goaded him, so he faced her fully for another stare-down. Being a lawyer who regularly contended with criminals and cops made these kinds of contests too easy. She dropped her gaze, then looked up again, her expression softened. “Listen, it looks like I’ll be here working for a couple of months, so it’d be nice if we could get off on a better foot. Maybe we could even be friends.”
He snorted. “No, thanks. Friendship requires trust, and I don’t trust you. So you can go back to treating me exactly like you did in college. Pretend I don’t even exist. It gutted me back then, but now it suits me fine.”
Bam! For three seconds, the overdue release of pent-up anger made him feel ten feet tall. But then her slumped shoulders and red cheeks reversed his high, sinking him as low as a man could go.
She smoothed her shortalls again, her face now a mask of indifference.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, especially since it seems to have changed you into someone I might not like.” She unwound her tape measure and started walking along the far edge of the patio. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
He’d changed, no doubt. She’d started that ball rolling. Then his wife and his job had exposed him to even more injustice, making him cynical and, sometimes, bitter.
Steffi had been just shy of twenty when she’d blown him off. A decade ago. They’d both been different people then, and maybe she’d changed, too. Maybe she even regretted how she’d handled things. But he certainly had more important things to worry about than her or any lingering hurt feelings.
He couldn’t make himself apologize for snapping at her now, so he pointed to the right corner of the room. “Might be nice to have my fifty-five-inch screen mounted over there.”
She paused and glanced at him. “I’ll be sure to factor that in.”
“Thanks.” He needed a shower. The damp, sandy suit had started to make him itch. “See you around.”
He walked into the kitchen to find Emmy fingers-deep in a mug of milk and soggy cookie crumbles. Little sugar puddles lay scattered on the table all around her.
“You’d better wipe all that up before Memaw comes back. She won’t stand for that kind of mess.” Unlike Val, who’d never cared much about the messes Emmy left. In fairness, he hadn’t trained his daughter to be tidy, either.
“Okay,” Emmy said, dunking another cookie.
“That’s enough, princess.” Ryan removed the platter, although he was probably too late to prevent a tummyache. “You’re going to get sick. When you finish here, come up and help me unpack some of our boxes, okay? Then I need to do some reading for a while. But maybe we can go to town and get pizza for dinner.”
She shrugged, neither excited nor unexcited by the offer.
“I’ll take you to my old favorite, Campiti’s. You’ll love it.”
Emmy kicked her feet beneath the table. “Did Miss Lockwood used to hang out here a lot?”
“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “She grew up here in town, like me.”
“Memaw says she was a special friend.”
“Did she?” Just great. A nice piece of circumstantial evidence to prove his mom had an ulterior motive with this remodeling plan. She’d always loved Steffi. She’d even pooh-poohed the breakup, claiming Steffi needed a little space to grow up.
If his mom thought Ryan had any interest in women right now, she’d lost her min
d. He’d have to be extra careful to make sure Emmy didn’t make room in her heart for Steffi, because being disappointed by Steffi Lockwood was as certain as the sugar high those snickerdoodles were about to give his daughter.
Chapter Two
Steffi wiped sweat from her brow, laboring to breathe in the oppressive midday humidity. Finally alone, she measured out the potential second access point again, managing to write it down this time. Ryan’s words kept boring into her thoughts, messing with her focus. “It gutted me back then, but now it suits me fine.”
At nineteen, she hadn’t known how to break up with the only boyfriend she’d ever had. The man she’d lost her virginity to and spun future plans about for so long that the restless feelings she’d begun experiencing as a freshman in college had made her hate herself. The catalyst had been when he’d convinced her to scrap her summer-abroad plans so they could spend time together before being separated for another nine months. For twelve weeks, she’d corralled ten-year-olds on the lumpy town field at a local summer soccer camp while daydreaming about Barcelona. Hot, aggravating, monotonous days. Her resentment had made Ryan’s attention and affection suffocating.
Freedom beckoned, but she couldn’t end it in person because he would’ve asked too many questions. He’d already proved he could talk her into or out of anything, so she’d known she’d have to take drastic steps to convince him to let go.
Her stomach tightened now as if she were back in her dorm at UConn, chewing her nails while staring at her phone as it pinged over and over after he’d returned to his school in Boston. Each deleted text and unanswered voice mail had made her hug herself and rock with doubt, despite her teammates’ claims that it would be fine. More than that, they’d turned her breakup into some kind of feminist mission. After all, guys ghosted girls all the time, didn’t they? She’d wanted a clean break, hadn’t she? They’d convinced her that she couldn’t give him any wiggle room or she’d never get the chance to explore the world.