Ashes & Embers Series Collection (Books 1 to 4)

by Carian Cole

  “Hey, Lukas, you getting the usual?” the girl behind the counter asks, giving him a big toothy grin.

  “Yup,” he replies then turns to me. “The vanilla brown sugar latte is killer,” he hints.

  “Okay then, I need that. And I’ll have the turkey and cranberry croissant.”

  Lukas pays, refusing my attempt to pay for my own, then leads us over to a secluded table in the corner where we wait for our food to arrive.

  “This place is so cute and cozy,” I say, looking around. “I want to just curl up and read.”

  He nods. “I love it here. I come here almost every night after I close up . . . mornings, too, for my coffee. Sometimes, local musicians play acoustic here at night. I’ll walk down here, grab a coffee, and listen to some tunes and unwind before I head home.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll be back on the weekends to get breakfast.”

  “Cool. Maybe I’ll catch you here sometime.”

  MY CELL PHONE RINGS, and I pull it out of my bag, knowing it’s one of the kids.

  “I have to take this real quick.” Lukas nods while I bring the phone to my ear. “Hi, Honey,” I say happily.

  “Hi, Mommy.”

  “How’s your night? Are you and Daddy having fun?”

  “Yeah, we watched cartoons, and Charlene made me macaroni and cheese.”

  “That’s great. It’s your favorite.” I hate Charlene.

  “Yours is better, Mommy. Can I come home now?”

  My heart cracks. “No, sweetie. Remember, we talked about you having a sleepover at Daddy’s new house this weekend? He’ll bring you home on Sunday.”

  Lukas frowns and leans back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the table.

  Tommy sighs into the phone. “Okay . . . what are you doing, Mommy?”

  “I’m having dinner with a friend right now, sweetheart. You have fun with Daddy and Charlene, all right? You can call me any time you want to talk to me, and I’ll see you really soon.” I almost choke saying Daddy and Charlene to my own son.

  “Okay, Mommy. I miss you.” Ah, my sweet little boy.

  I smile and hold the phone tighter. “I miss you, too, and I love you a big bunch. Good night, now.”

  “Night.”

  I wait for him to end the call and smile at Lukas as I put my phone back into my purse.

  “He’s having a hard time understanding why things are so different,” I explain.

  He nods, a warm smile on his face, reaching his eyes. “It’s totally understandable. You’re a good mom. Your face lit up when you talked to him. You’re the kind of mom I wanted when I was his age.”

  I wait until the waitress bringing our food has gone before I reply. “My kids are my life.” I take a sip of my latte. “Wow, you were right. This is delicious!” The vanilla and brown sugar latte is sinful.

  He grins. “It’s my fave, and I actually start to go through withdrawals if I don’t have at least one a day.”

  I take my knife and fork and cut my sandwich into small one-inch pieces, while Lukas watches me in confused fascination.

  “Are you cutting up your sandwich to eat it with a fork?” he finally asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, taking a bite off my fork.

  He laughs as he watches me. “That’s . . . different. Can I ask why?”

  “Are you laughing at me?” I tease. “If you must know, ever since I was really young, I’ve just had this aversion to sticking food into my face, or biting into things. So I eat everything with a fork.”

  “Really? What about, like, ice cream cones, or bananas? Or an apple?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. None of that. I put it in a dish and cut it up and eat it with a fork or spoon.”

  A naughty, crooked grin spreads across his face. “Okay, I’m going to try really hard to refrain from making a sexual comment about all of that.”

  I feign shock. “Lukas! You shouldn’t be thinking about my mouth and sexual things.”

  He groans and bows his head, his long hair falling into his face. “I’m definitely thinking about it now.”

  I know I’m blushing five shades of red, but flirting with him feels good and safe because he’s not a jerk. I sorta like his naughty playful side, and how he’s bringing it out of me, too.

  “Let’s change the subject from what I do with my mouth,” I suggest. “So how about you? Any kids?”

  “Nope. I love kids, though. And I’m still kinda thinking about your mouth.”

  A giggle escapes me before I can stop it. I really shouldn’t be doing anything to provoke him into more flirting. I watch him place his napkin on his lap before he starts to eat, a hint that he was raised with manners.

  “You mentioned a brother. Any other siblings?” I take another bite of food off my fork, ignoring the impish glint in his eye as he watches me chew.

  “No,” he answers. “At least I don’t think so. I didn’t even know I had a brother until about five years ago.”

  “Really?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “How did that happen?”

  He swallows his food. “According to my grandmother, my father is a famous musician and slept around. A lot. He got a few women pregnant and then just dumped them. He did it to my mother and to my brother’s mother. Who knows who else? Anyway, my mom was only eighteen and had a drug problem.” He pushes his hair back away from his face. “She gave me up to her grandparents, and they raised me. She never came back, and I’ve never met my father.”

  What a horrible way for a child to start their life. I can’t even imagine leaving my kids for anything, no matter what. “Lukas, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible beyond words. Did you grow up happy?”

  He stares across the room for a moment, like he’s pulling up memories from an old album in his mind. “At times, I was happy, yes. My great-grandparents were pretty old and not equipped to have a little kid. My great-grandmother homeschooled me and didn’t let me out much. They raised my mother, too, and she put them through so much they kinda thought that if they kept me safe inside and away from the outside world, I would turn out better and be easier for them to manage.”

  “It sounds like they were just really worried about something happening to you, and like you said, just wanted to keep you safe. Were you lonely?” Thinking of Lukas as a beautiful little boy, being kept in a house and not outside having fun with other kids makes me want to cry.

  “I didn’t have any friends to play with, but I didn’t know any better, so I guess, for me, it was all normal. I played in the attic mostly. Even back then, I loved all the old stuff they had stored up there. I drew and painted constantly, and read anything I could get my hands on. They had a lot of old books. I taught myself how to play music on some old instruments they had, too. When I was about ten, they both started to fail mentally and physically, so I took care of them. I cooked, I cleaned, had to remind them to take their meds . . . everything pretty much.”

  “Oh my God, you were so young to have to do all that! Tommy is only seven, and I can’t even imagine him having to take on that kind of responsibility.”

  He shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing carefully before he talks again. “I did what I had to do. They were all I had, and I was all they had. I loved them. They were as good to me as they could be. My grandfather got bad first. He developed dementia and had to be put in a home, and passed away a year later. I tried to take care of my grandmother, but she was having a real hard time with her own health and then grief. She fell in the kitchen one day and smacked her head on the counter. She died right there in front of me. I went into shock and sat there for an entire day on the floor next to her. I was afraid to call 911 because I knew they were going to take me away. I spent some time in the hospital for a little while after that.” His voice wavers and his eyes brim with the beginning of tears. Instinctively, I reach across the table and touch his inked hand.

  “Lukas . . . I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say,” I have to blink back my own tears just thinking about h
ow devastating all of that must have been for him. He was way too young to have to go through all of that.

  He wipes his eyes with his other hand, not moving his hand from beneath mine. I’m touched by his emotion and the fact that he doesn’t try to hide it or act ashamed of it, like most men would. “It sucked,” he says. “After I was let out of the hospital, I was put in a foster home, but I really didn’t get along with them. They didn’t like how quiet I was, the things I drew, my attraction to antiques, or that I enjoyed sitting in the dark. They wanted me to be social, go to dances, cut my hair, and get involved in sports. I didn’t want to do any of those things. It just wasn’t me. I didn’t feel like I belonged there.”

  “You sound like you were a good kid. Maybe just a bit of a loner?”

  He smiles a sad smile at me. “Yeah, I was. I still am.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. I am, too, actually. I’ve always been really shy.”

  “I sensed that about you.” He turns his hand under mine, so our palms touch, and our eyes shift from our joined hands to slowly meeting each other across the dim table. Warmth spreads throughout my body, from my head to my toes, and settles in my stomach. Lowering my eyes, I gently slide my hand away from his. He strums his fingers on the table for a moment and then picks up his coffee. The candle flame dances on the table, mimicking the waltz slowly starting between us, the tiny steps forward and back. I’m not ready for this.

  “So, um, how did you find out about your brother?” I ask, trying to recover from whatever the moment was that just happened.

  He clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair, and I find myself wanting that hand to be mine touching that dark silky hair. “My father’s mother found out that her son had two kids he never told the rest of his family about. When her husband died, she hired a private detective to find us so we could be included in his inheritance and become part of the family.”

  I swallow my food and gape at him. “That’s incredible. And are you, now, part of the family?”

  “I am. My grandmother, the one that looked for us, is an amazing woman. She’s just . . . so cool. It turns out, most of the family is kinda famous. My uncle, who is my dad’s brother, is a retired musician who was really well known many years ago, and his sons, who are my cousins, are in a really popular rock band. My brother is part of that band now, actually. And my aunt is a best-selling author. The money I inherited allowed me to partner up with my brother to buy the building and open the shop. It’s always been a dream of mine to have my own business.”

  “And you’re both tattoo artists?”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda cool. We have a lot in common. He’s just a bit fucked up, though. Not exactly the easiest person to get close to. He’s got some issues.”

  “I’m sure that will change in time. I imagine it must be hard to form a family bond with people that you didn’t grow up with. Especially for men, I think it’s harder for them to form relationships.”

  “You’re right. It’s kinda weird to just all-of-a-sudden have a bunch of people in your life that you never even met.” He pauses. “I don’t give up on people, though. If I want someone in my life, I make sure they are.”

  My heart flutters as I wonder if that slight infliction at the end of his sentence and that spark in his eye is hinting toward me. No. No way.

  I’m thrown by the intense attraction I feel toward him, unsure how to react to it. I’ve never been attracted to a man so much younger than me before, and I definitely have never taken notice of men with tattoos and long hair, but those things mixed with his sensual brown eyes, sweet personality, muscular body, and heart-stopping smile have my insides doing somersaults. When he smiles, I can tell he feels it, and means it. He’s what I call an old soul. There’s a quiet deepness about him, like he knows things that he couldn’t possibly know, and he has a therapeutic, yet stimulating effect on me that I’m drawn to like a magnet.

  “How ‘bout you?” he asks. “Brothers and sisters? Close family?”

  “I have a brother who’s two years older than me. We’re a close family. My parents live here in town, and I grew up here. My brother lives about an hour away, so I get to see them all pretty regularly, and of course on holidays and birthdays.” I take a quick sip of my coffee. “My parents are still a little freaked out over the idea that I might be getting divorced. They’re old fashioned.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Might be getting divorced? Is there a chance you and Paul might be getting back together, then?”

  Embarrassment heats my face. “No. Not at all. I think I still go into denial at times. Obviously.” I smile weakly at him.

  “Would you take him back?”

  Damn, this guy is direct. “Lukas . . . I’m not sure I want to talk about that.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business.” He sits up straighter. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “You’re not rude at all. You’re a sweetheart, and I appreciate you bringing me here for this delicious latte, and for being so nice. It’s still just hard for me to talk about that stuff.”

  He holds his hand up and smiles. “Say no more. I totally get it. I want you to have a good time, not be uncomfortable.”

  We talk about lighter things while we finish eating, until finally, I glance at my watch and see the time, which has flown by. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I should really get going. I like to be home when Macy gets there, so she’s not coming home to a dark empty house.”

  “Gotcha.” He reaches into his pocket and places a few dollars on the table. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The street is much quieter on our walk back, as all the stores are closed for the night and hardly any cars are driving by. The air is chilly, and it feels like snow could be on its way. Usually, I hope for a white Christmas because it’s my favorite holiday, but this will be my first Christmas without Paul. Years of our own little family traditions have been casually thrown away. I hope I can still make sure the kids have a happy holiday, and they don’t have to feel the effects of the separation too badly.

  “Do you live alone?” I ask as we near his shop. The stained glass windows on the upper floor are glowing beautifully, and I wonder what his apartment looks like inside.

  “Yup. I’ve had some roommates in the past at other apartments, but this place is sacred to me, so I really don’t want any friends living with me and trashing it. It’s pretty big inside, three bedrooms. Do you want to come in and see it? It’s really pretty. The woodwork and the stained glass are all original. It’s actually been in some magazines.”

  Eek. I can’t go into his apartment. That would be totally inappropriate. Right? “No, but thank you,” I say politely. “It sounds really beautiful.”

  He looks down at me with a hopeful smile. “Maybe next time,” he says.

  Just like the last time I was here after hours, my car and an older black Corvette are in the dark parking lot.

  “Is that your car?” I ask, motioning to the ’Vette.

  “Yes. That’s my baby. I wish this place had a garage I could keep it in. It’s the only thing I don’t like about living here.”

  “Corvettes are such pretty cars. I’ve always liked them.”

  Reaching my own boring mom-car, we stop walking and he turns to me. “Me, too,” he agrees. “Especially the older models. They have beautifully designed curves, like a woman.”

  Wow. Very sensual comparison. And true.

  I lean against the front fender of my car and peer up at him. He really is extremely good looking—those dark eyes, paired with his chiseled jaw and crooked smile, make me want to just sit and look at him. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, hating to end the first good night I’ve had in a very long time. “It was really good, especially the latte. That was yummy.”

  He steps closer to me and pushes his hair out of his face. “I want to see you again,” he says softly, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

  My insides melt,
and I of course reply with something lame. “I have my next appointment in two weeks.”

  He gently lifts my chin with his finger and holds it there, luring me to look up into his deep, chestnut eyes. “No. Not for that,” he replies.

  “F-for what?” My voice is shaky, just like the rest of me right now. Having his body so close to mine, his finger still under my chin, and those eyes of his locked on to mine are all shocks to my sheltered little foundation.

  “Dinner,” he replies. “I can cook for you, or we can go out. Your choice.”

  “Lukas . . .” I can’t do this.

  “Don’t say no, Ivy.” His voice is gentle and hopeful. “I’ll give you as many forks as you want, and I’ll try not to think about putting things in your mouth,” he teases, making me laugh. I’m not sure how he can be so sweet, adorable, and sexual at the same time. It’s completely rattling.

  “I’m really not ready to date yet,” I admit. “My head is still messed up.”

  He strokes his finger back and forth under my chin, and I want to rub on him like a cat. “Everyone’s head is messed up, Ivy. Messed up is the new normal.”

  “Yes, that’s very true.”

  “So, say yes. Don’t think of it as a date. No expectations other than good company and good food. And forks.”

  I try to stand my ground, even though it’s getting harder by the second with his sexy voice and pleading eyes. “It’s not a good idea. I’m not ready, and I think I’m just a little bit too old for you. I’m very flattered, though.”

  He tilts his head. “Really? Or is it that you think I’m too young for you? Because your age means nothing to me.”

  “Well, it is a big age difference, no matter how you want to spin it.”