by Jamie Beck
“Your mom will miss you, Ian,” Sara added.
“She’s not the only one,” Gentry said.
Jenna paused midbite, her gaze darting from Gentry to Ian and Smith, then to Jed, who shrugged as if to say, “What the hell do I know?” Hunter shot his sister an unreadable look that she seemed to understand, given her confessionary tilt of the head and nonchalant shrug.
“I won’t be dead.” Ian looked at Gentry. “I’ll be back from time to time.”
When her family all stared at her, Gentry deflected. “Pass the pepperoni.”
“From what I’ve heard, Haiti’s riddled with malaria and cholera. Could you be a carrier?” Smith’s smooth voice belied the sharp edge of his question.
“I’d never put Colt at risk, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But how can you be sure?” The large man swallowed an equally large bite of pizza. In his folksy tone, he added, “My doctor’s always asking me if I’ve traveled out of the country recently, so I’m guessing it’s possible to be a carrier without knowing it.”
“Anything’s possible,” Ian admitted, hating the way Gentry’s round eyes widened at Smith’s revelation. “But not probable. I get all available immunizations and take every precaution.”
“From what little I’ve read so far, infants’ immune systems aren’t fully developed,” Smith said, as if he were now an expert.
“I’m aware.” Ian sensed everyone wanting to put a few extra inches between themselves and him . . . just in case. “I’ve gone back and forth between developing nations for a dozen years and never once contracted or transferred a serious illness.”
Everyone’s posture relaxed slightly, until Smith drove another wedge between Ian and the Cabots. “There’s always a first time.”
Smith covered his strategy with a congenial smile. The guy was smoother than his beloved wines.
Ian had done a little reading, too. Restaurants hired people like Smith to help guests choose a good wine and then empty that customer’s wallet through a combination of expertise and showmanship. Clearly, Smith had mastered the showmanship part. Would Gentry see through him or be caught in his spell again?
“Let’s change the subject,” Gentry suggested, reaching for another slice of pizza while carefully avoiding both Smith’s and Ian’s gazes.
“I want to take a minute and tell my grandson what good manners he has.” Jed flashed a proud smile across the table to Ty. “Your daddy wasn’t nearly as neat as you at your age.” He winked at Hunter, who had to wipe grease from his chin. “Still isn’t, it seems.”
Ty didn’t react much to that praise. Ian had worked with kids like him who’d survived trauma. Who’d had a rough start in the world with poor nutrition and poverty and chaos. Gentry had temporarily burst through Ty’s wall with her playfulness by the lake, but it would be years before he’d have the sense of security that would help him fully connect with this family.
“Sara’s a wonder woman.” Hunter rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “I’m constantly amazed at how smoothly she keeps things running with Ty. The calendar is loaded with appointments, Mommy and Me classes, and playdates. She’s teaching him to be organized and neat, have good manners. She’s amazing.”
“I hope you’re taking notes,” Jenna said to her daughter.
Gentry’s body stiffened beside Ian, who was about to defend Gentry’s parenting style when Smith spoke up.
“I’ll take notes, too.” Smith winked at Gentry. “Next time we get together, we should probably talk about parenting expectations and stuff like that.”
A flush rose up Gentry’s neck. “How do you mean?”
“Heck if I know. But my sister and her husband debate things all the time, like whether kids should watch videos, or if sharing is a good or bad thing, or if time-outs work better than other consequences. Now they’re trying to figure out if public school is better than private school.”
Gentry’s nostrils flared, a reflex warning that she was about to end this discussion. “My take is real simple, Smith. I’m probably an outlier, but I’m of the ‘Play it by ear’ parenting school of thought, because Colt’s an individual, not a robot. He can’t be programmed with certain inputs to get some desired output, and even if he could, I don’t want that for him. I want him to explore himself and the world, which he can’t do if he’s bogged down by too much structure and expectation.”
Sara and Hunter exchanged a look. Ian knew Gentry hadn’t meant to offend them. She’d merely had her own philosophy and didn’t want Smith to muck it up.
“Interesting perspective.” Smith nodded noncommittally. “You certainly started him off with a unique name.”
“You don’t like Colton?” Gentry now picked at her cuticles beneath the table. Ian reached for her hand and squeezed.
“I like it fine.” Smith shrugged. “Of course, maybe we can talk about his last name.”
Jenna cleared her throat. Gentry’s grip on Ian’s hand turned her knuckles white. In a deceptively light voice, she managed, “We can talk about anything.”
A name change would not be easy for Gentry to swallow. Neither would Jenna’s “told you so” gaze.
Smith wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin on the table. “It’s only a suggestion. Didn’t mean to bring the whole dinner to a halt.”
“Don’t apologize.” Gentry attempted a brighter smile. “He’s your son, too.”
“That’s still a shock,” Smith admitted.
“We all love him dearly, no matter what name he has,” Sara said, breaking the tension.
“My family will, too, once they meet him,” Smith said.
The energy in the room downshifted, turning to superficial conversation. Gentry grew particularly quiet. A rarity that suggested she wanted everyone to leave as soon as possible.
Sara must’ve picked up on her mood, because she’d barely finished eating when she said, “I hate to eat and run, but Ty’s bedtime is in twenty minutes, and as already established, I like to keep him on schedule.”
“No worries.” Gentry kissed her brother and Sara and hugged Ty. She turned to her parents. “You two might as well go relax, too.”
Jenna might’ve fought to stay if Jed hadn’t gripped her arm. “Of course, sweetheart. I’m sure you’re tired. It’s been an exciting weekend for everyone. Smith, it’s been nice to meet you.” Jed then turned to Ian. “Ian, in case we don’t see you before you take off, good luck down there in Haiti.”
“Thank you.” Ian shook Jed’s hand.
Jed ushered Jenna out of the house, leaving Ian alone with Gentry and Smith.
“I didn’t mean to make everyone uncomfortable,” Smith said. “And I’m not trying to disrupt everything, Gentry. I only want to catch up on what I missed and figure out the best way you and I can go forward to give our son a semblance of normality.”
“You don’t need to apologize for wanting a voice, or wanting your son to share your name.” Gentry shrugged. “Once I decided to keep Colt, I should’ve tried to find you. If I were in your shoes, I’d be a lot less nice about all this.”
“Can’t do anything about the past, and besides, it’s not about you or me.” Smith crossed his arms. “Let’s focus on the future for Colt’s sake. He’s what matters most.”
Gentry exhaled with a smile. “Agreed.”
“Maybe you’d consider hyphenating his last name to Cabot-Smith.”
Ian couldn’t fault Smith for wanting his child to share his name. And he had to admit that, all in all, Smith had handled this life-altering situation with grace.
“A compromise.” Gentry nodded.
“I’m pretty good with those,” Smith said.
Ian didn’t belong in this conversation, so he headed to the dining table. “I’ll clean up.”
“Thanks,” Gentry replied, then turned to Smith. “Excuse me for a minute.”
Ian suspected she needed a few minutes alone with her son, even if he was sleeping. She’d said all the right things, but the realities
of no longer having Colt to herself could not be easy to accept.
Smith watched Gentry go and then followed Ian into the kitchen. “You might tell me to go to hell, but I’m curious about your relationship with Gentry.”
Ian raised a brow but said nothing.
“You’re thinking it’s none of my business, but considering how it could affect Colt, I think I’m entitled to a little information. Like, do you plan on being part of their lives after you leave this house?”
“Whatever does or doesn’t happen, I’m sure Gentry will fill you in.”
“Not good enough, Ian.” Smith reached out to touch Ian’s shoulder but dropped his hand before he made contact. “Is it fair for Colt to get attached to you if you won’t be around? And if you hurt his mother, how will that affect my son? I can’t control who Gentry dates, but I hope she, and you, will consider the bigger picture when making decisions.”
Ian stared at Smith, his own thoughts bundled in a lump of knots—Farrah’s disappointed tears, Archer’s expectations, Gentry’s vivid smile. “I’ll never do anything to hurt Colt.”
“But you’re not fully committed.” Smith widened his stance. “Do you expect Gentry to wait around and handle all this on her own while you’re off chasing your other dreams?”
“Gentry’s capable of making her own choices.” Ian tossed the flatware into the sink with a clatter. “She doesn’t need either of us making them for her.”
“No, I don’t suppose she does. But wouldn’t you agree she’d be better off in a relationship with someone in this time zone who also has a permanent interest in Colt’s welfare?”
Ian swallowed. Smith dealt his hand like a croupier. The man’s interest in Gentry seemed piqued by the twenty-four hours he’d spent with her this weekend.
“I don’t presume to decide what’s best for her.” And if Smith were smart, he wouldn’t, either, not that Ian would give him that heads-up. “Should I assume this is a warning? Do you plan to seduce her again?”
“I won’t push. But I’ll be here for her and our son. If you really care about her happiness, you won’t ask her to wait around for you to decide if and when you can squeeze her and Colt into your schedule.”
“It’s pretty presumptuous to assume she’d be interested in you if I bow out.”
Smith didn’t pull his punches. “She was before.”
Gentry meandered into the kitchen, eyeballing them both. “Everything okay in here?”
“Peachy.” Smith clapped his hands together. “I’ll leave you two alone for the evening. I’d like to swing by in the morning to say goodbye to Colt before I catch my flight. Maybe then you and I can discuss bringing Colt to visit my family after Ian goes to Haiti.”
Ian’s jaw hurt from all the clenching it had done tonight.
“Of course,” Gentry replied.
Smith kissed her cheek. “See you around nine, okay?”
“We’ll be here,” Ian said, slinging an arm over Gentry’s shoulder, sending his own message to Smith.
“Good night.” Smith nodded at Ian. “I can show myself out.”
“Don’t be silly,” Gentry said, shrugging Ian off. “I’ll walk you out.”
As soon as they left the kitchen, Ian viciously crushed the pizza boxes, pretending that each one was Smith’s head.
Chapter Eighteen
Bittersweet
According to Merriam-Webster: pleasure accompanied by suffering or regret
According to me: falling in love
Gentry returned to the kitchen to find Ian scrubbing the counters with enough vigor to strip their sheen. “You okay, McJ?”
“Yep.” He neither smiled nor tossed the rag aside to pull her into a kiss. Each circular swipe of his arm coiled his energy tighter, until he looked like a viper waiting to strike.
She reached out to still him. “I think they’re clean.”
Ian released the rag. Sighing, he raked one hand through his beautiful waves of hair. Something she’d love to do. “Quite an evening.”
From her perspective it had been brilliant. No arguments or tears or threats. Everyone made it through the entire meal without storming off. Not something that could be said about every Cabot get-together, especially not one with these stakes. “You don’t like Smith, do you?”
“I don’t know him well enough to make that call.”
Oh, please. As if Ian needed more than two seconds to make one of his infamous snap judgments.
He tilted his head, leveling his gaze, and added, “Neither do you.”
And there it was. His sobriety stung like a snapped rubber band.
“Maybe not, but this weekend went well. Smith didn’t dump a barrel of guilt on me or push for anything unfair.” She mentally tested out “Colton Cabot-Smith” for the thirtieth time in fifteen minutes. “We got along great.”
“You sure did.”
She blinked at his tone. “If you’re jealous, then maybe we should work out our own stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Stuff like ‘I can’t stop thinking about what happened last weekend,’ or ‘Why can’t we give this a shot?’” She wrapped her arms around his waist, her nose brushing against his chin, and then kissed his neck beneath his jaw. “It’s Saturday night. Colt’s asleep. The house is clean. I have to work tomorrow after Smith goes to the airport. Right now I just want to be with you. After that, we can take it one day at a time.”
Ian tightened his hold on her, one hand behind her head, the other on her butt. He kissed her so hard and swift she lifted onto her toes.
“Is that a yes?” Her heartbeat thumped like a happy puppy’s tail.
He nodded, kissing her again. She could only assume that a bit of envy or possessiveness due to Smith’s presence spurred his reckless about-face. Didn’t matter. Right now she’d take what she could get and have faith that everything would work out.
“Let’s go to your room so we can be noisy.” She winked, clasping his hand and leading him upstairs.
They fell onto his bed, their hungry hands quickly undressing each other in between kisses and fondling and murmurs.
Ian’s breath heated her cheek and neck. Urgent kisses fueled her desperation to be closer, as if she were feeding off his need for her. Skin-to-skin friction sent goose bumps tumbling across her body until she became sweat-soaked.
He set his teeth to the tender spot where her neck and shoulder joined and bit her—sending sharp pleasure tripping along her nerves. His eyes remained open, watching her. Demanding a connection. Wrenching emotions out of some hidden corner of her heart or brain or lungs, or wherever it was that those vulnerabilities were stored.
Arousal flooded her heart with excitement and with trepidation about her defenselessness. She groped his back, the sheets, dug her heels into the mattress, anything to gain purchase and brace against the waves of pleasure.
Their climax shattered her, body and soul, unlike the superficial gratification she’d known with other men, including Smith. As she lay there, breathless and overwhelmed, with Ian’s body covering hers like a warm blanket, she held back the tears that would expose the unfamiliar, hot, sticky feelings boiling over like caramelized sugar.
She closed her eyes, memorizing this feeling. This moment of connection. The comfort in the dark. The sound of his heart beating in her ear. The scent of their coupling and the sheer warmth of his being.
“I’ll miss you.” He kissed her, stoking so much want.
“Then stay longer.” Her impish remark could not keep her heart from sinking when he didn’t concede.
He rolled onto his back and tucked her body against his while gently tracing the line of her hips and waist with his work-roughened hand. Despite the exhausted satisfaction seeping from her pores, she sensed his building tension.
“What’s going on in your head?” Rather than meet his gaze, she walked her fingers down the ladder of his abs, hopeful he’d open up.
He grabbed her fingers and kissed the tips. “Being with yo
u makes me happy.”
Her heart lit up a like a birthday cake with fifty candles. “Then why do you look sad?”
He shrugged. “I’m being selfish.”
“It’s not selfish to allow yourself to be happy, Ian. We’re not hurting anyone.”
He kissed her head again and tightened his hold. “I wish I foresaw a better outcome.”
She propped up onto her elbow, patting the bedding all around him as if searching for something. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” His brows knit in confusion.
“The Magic 8 Ball, or crystal ball, or whatever voodoo trinket you’ve got that’s showing you the future.”
When she chuckled, he wrestled with her, pinning her to the pillows. He pulled back and stared at her, then planted a kiss so tender it made her want to cry. “I never expected this . . . you . . . I hate to leave.”
“So stay. You know I’m a disaster without you.”
“You have everything you need here and here.” He placed two fingers at her temple and then lowered them to her breastbone.
“You mean my dirty mind and my tatas?” she joked.
“Those too.” He grinned; then he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
She needed a quick fix to rescue the night from his darkening mood.
“I have a plan.” Her pronouncement got his attention. “When you get to Jacmel, locate the best area for cell service so we can keep in touch with FaceTime and daily phone sex.”
When Ian chuckled, his eyes turned the golden green of a Bartlett pear and crinkled around the edges. “I’ll pitch a tent by the nearest cell tower.”
“Nice pun.” She chuckled, but deep down she knew that keeping these feelings alive with so little contact would be difficult, if not impossible. Then again, Gentry thrived on proving people wrong, and she was determined to prove everyone wrong where she and Ian were concerned.
She nestled back into the crook of his shoulder and stared through the window at the stars. Pinpricks of light suspended above the world for eons, connecting time and space, all the while inspiring generations of dreams and magic and hope. “Let’s promise to look at the stars each night and think of each other. Maybe even make a little wish, like ‘I hope Ian had freshwater today,’ or ‘I hope Gentry gets more than four hours of sleep tonight.’”