Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1)

by Jennifer Millikin

  “Yeah?” His voice has grown deeper.

  “No babies this time.”

  He laughs and curls a hand around my hipbone. “Agreed.”

  Is this the right decision? Probably not. But I’m tired.

  Tired of hurting.

  Tired of holding on.

  Isaac takes my hand. As soon as we step away, a group of guys claim the bean bags we’ve left on the table. We walk out, Isaac in front, leading me through the crowd. His broad shoulders move with an easy confidence, giving me a feeling of peace and safety.

  The air around us changes the second the front door closes. After a long run-down of her evening with Claire, Lucia has finally left.

  “You.” Isaac walks toward me, his gait slow. The hungry gleam in his eyes is coming closer…closer…

  I gulp. It’s loud, and Isaac smirks.

  He reaches me. His hand runs from my shoulder to my wrist, then he pulls back. Disappointment runs through me. “Our one hour starts the second we step foot in my bedroom.”

  When he talks, my thighs ache. “Then we’d better get back there.” Lightly I push against his chest. He grins and takes my hand. His steps are steady and quick until we reach the entrance to his bedroom. He pauses, face earnest.

  “Aubrey, I respect the hell out of you. I want you to know that. If you change your mind, it’s OK. I’ll understand.”

  Could he be any sweeter? Any more caring? My insides are feeling mushy again. “Isaac, stop talking. Seriously.”

  He opens his mouth, but before he can speak I wrap my hands around his neck and quiet him with my lips. His weight pushes me through his door. We swing around as one, so that my back closes the door for us. The lock clicks into place, and then his hands are on me, lifting me from the back of my thighs and carrying me to his bed.

  Our kisses grow deeper, needier. His soft bed envelops my back, his hard front is deliciously heavy against me. He pulls away to undress me. I help him, lifting my hips, arching my back, until there’s no clothing left on my body. It’s my turn to help him, but instead of appreciating Isaac’s beautiful skin, my fear tries to creep back in.

  I ignore it and lay back down. Isaac covers me like a blanket. His lips once again meld to mine, and even though I’m insanely attracted to him, some of my attention is diverted to giving my worry a swift kick in the ass.

  “You with me, Aubrey?” he murmurs against my lips.

  He knows me. Somehow, he knows the push and pull, the fear that keeps me running and the desire that brings me back. I’m strong and stubborn, but when it comes to Isaac, I lose all sense. I’m terrified to want him, but I’m even more scared not to have him.

  “I’m with you Isaac.” My words whisper against his lips.

  Despite my assurance, I’m caught. Swaying, moving, this way and that, my heart and my brain in a tangle.

  I’m a kite in a windstorm, and all I want is for Isaac to take me away, to the place we went to five years ago.

  And he does. He wraps his arms around me, slides between my legs, and shows me once again how freeing it feels to fly.

  My fingertips sit poised on the keyboard, ready, but nothing comes out.

  I should know this policy amendment so well I can write it in my sleep. And normally, I do. But right now, after that phone call from Lucia, I can't focus.

  A mother-daughter brunch. This Sunday. To celebrate Mother's Day. An annual event, she'd said. She and Lauren have been attending since Lauren was a small child.

  It's in the ballroom at the Fairmont Princess. Daytime fancy, she intoned. I Googled it. It's not a technical term, but I figured it out for myself. Skirt, nice blouse. Maybe a jacket that matches the skirt. Something frilly for Claire.

  Good thing she chose a pink cast this time. Her previous cast would have clashed with everything. And this new cast isn't even dirty yet, although by Sunday it probably will be.

  We’d gone to Isaac’s office the day before. The front desk girl, the nurse, the x-ray technician, and the office manager—they all know who Claire is by now. I can only imagine the gossip when he told them. Suddenly the doctor they've worked with for two years has a daughter? His desk now holds a picture of a child when it never did before? Even if they're curious, they haven't asked me. They're nothing but kind when we're in there.

  Watching Isaac work is amazing. The way his brows move when he studies the x-ray. He offered me the iPad the x-rays are on, using his fingers to zoom in on the break. The line is hardly visible anymore.

  “We're almost through it.” He'd smiled at me. It felt intimate. When Claire broke her elbow, I was a single parent, scared for my child. Now, nearing the end of this journey, I have a partner to shoulder this with me.

  I wonder how Isaac is doing today? I could text him and ask.

  Or I could write this amendment like I'm supposed to.

  Britt stops at my desk, providing the distraction I need from my thoughts. The wording that was elusive comes to me now, and while I'm talking with her I type out the amendment. I forward it on to the underwriting assistant with my approval to increase the limits of the policy.

  “Lunch?” Britt asks when I hit send on the email.

  “Can we go to the mall? I need to do some speed shopping.” I pick up my purse.

  “You want to go shopping?” She raises her eyebrows and follows me out to the elevator. I’m not a shopper. I order online.

  On the way down to my car, I explain the situation.

  “Are you ready for something like that? Have you thought about what that room is going to look like?” Britt's forehead creases as she looks at me from the passenger seat.

  “Yes, of course.” I start the car and put it in drive. “That huge ballroom will be full of mothers and daughters and—”

  “Full-grown mothers and daughters, too. Not just young girls and their mommies. It won't be like dropping Claire off at pre-school. There will be women your age. With their mothers. And probably some of those mothers will have their mothers with them.” Worry soaks Britt's words. “I just... I don't know how to say this.”

  “Say it.” We're almost to the parking structure. The mall is only a few minutes away, making it perfect for a lunchtime eat and shop. “Please,” I add, in case she thinks I'm angry.

  “You've come so far. Since you had Claire, I mean. She gave you something to focus on besides you know who. I'm afraid this brunch will cause undue pain.” She shrugs apologetically. “Sorry. I evaluate risk for a living.”

  “So do I.” I sigh and rub my eyes at a red light.

  “Which is why I find it so interesting you agreed to go.”

  “You aren't the only one wondering what I was thinking.”

  “You must have a reason?”

  “It felt like the right thing to do. Lucia asked. I didn't want to tell her no. And Claire might enjoy it. Maybe this is a tradition I can start with her.”

  “At the expense of your feelings?”

  I get what Britt is trying to say. But what she doesn't understand is that everything I do is at the expense of my feelings. I'm bombarded with reminders of my mother’s absence. Last week I watched a movie, and the credits showed the actress and her mother sitting on a couch, and the mom was talking about the actress as a child. One of the mothers of a child in Claire's class got caught in traffic yesterday, and she couldn't make it to pick-up in time. Guess who bailed her out? This morning at drop-off she gushed about how amazing it is to have a mom, and the other women standing around started saying things like, I couldn't live without my mom and my mom is my best friend. Me standing there and chatting with these women was at the expense of my own feelings, and the crazy part is that I never know just when the hits will come. Willingly subjecting myself to this brunch won't be any different. If anything, at least I'll be prepared.

  I drive through the now green light and pull into the parking garage. “I appreciate your concern. But don't worry, I'll be—”

  “Fine?” Britt's lips twist in an ironic smile.
/>
  I park and climb out, shooting her a look over the top of my car. “Yes. Now can you please help me pick out something daytime fancy? Or do I need to go it alone?”

  “God, no, don't go it alone.” She shudders playfully.

  Our heels snap against the concrete floor as we switch into power shopping mode. If anybody can get me daytime fancy in forty-five minutes, it's my best friend.

  I'm ready.

  I think, anyway.

  Maybe prepared is a better word. I'm prepared to be hit over the head with mother-daughter love.

  It's not just the brunch I needed to prepare for. All week long, it’s been a gluttony of maternal love and praise. This time of year always is.

  I walk out of my room, Claire's rose gold patent leather flats dangling from one hand. Isaac and Claire are in the living room, sitting on the couch. He's running a brush through her hair. She sits poised, eyes wide, and Isaac looks like he's concentrating. It makes me smile.

  Isaac catches sight of me and whispers loudly down to Claire. “Look at Mommy. Doesn't she look pretty?”

  Claire giggles, one hand over her mouth. “I like your skirt, Mommy.”

  I twirl, and she and Isaac laugh.

  “There.” Isaac smooths Claire's hair. “All the tangles are gone.”

  Claire scrambles off the couch. “I need my headband.” She runs from the room.

  When she’s disappeared down the hall, Isaac turns to me, eyebrows creased. “Aubrey, while we have a second alone, I just wanted to make sure this brunch is OK with you.”

  His concern makes me feel warm inside.

  When I don't answer right away, he takes my hand and turns it over, fingertips trailing across the skin. “You can tell her you changed your mind. My mom won't be mad. She'd understand.”

  I swallow, fighting off the tingling sensation starting up in my thighs. He's so close, and he smells so good. Does he know? Does he know what his nearness is doing to me? I can't focus on anything right now. He's waiting for me to answer him, imploring me with his eyes.

  “Um, yeah. I don't think that's necessary. I'll be all right.” I withdraw my hand. It's for the best that we break physical contact. Hurt shadows the brightness in his eyes. Knowing I put it there makes me feel bad.

  “You know what's best.” His frown turns to a smile.

  Since our first date last weekend, we’ve spent four more hours together. Each hour amazing, each hour fulfilling, each hour giving me so much more than I deserve. I wish I could say all this, but thinking the words and actually releasing them are two different things.

  “Did my dad call you back yet?” I ask, searching through my purse for my lipstick.

  “He’s meeting us for lunch.”

  “Technically it’s brunch.” I raise an eyebrow while I apply the lipstick.

  He gives me a look. “Do you think your dad goes to brunch?”

  “Hah. Good call.”

  Isaac fingers the hem of my skirt. It’s modest, falling just above the knee.

  “I like this on you.”

  “Are you about to tell me you’d like it better on the floor?”

  “Hmm maybe.” His hand slips under my skirt, fingers blazing a trail up my thigh.

  “Isaac.” My voice is a warning. I cross my legs. Access denied.

  “I know, I know,” he sighs. His fingers retrace their steps, appearing out from under my skirt. I uncross my legs and stand normally again.

  “You need to get your game face on.” I can hear Claire coming from her room, and Isaac still has his hooded gaze on me.

  He rubs his eyes and blinks twice. “I’m back,” he says, bouncing his shoulders a few times.

  Claire walks in and rests her arms over the back of the couch, her pink cast standing out against the fabric. I double check my skirt, just to be sure. We spend a few minutes saying goodbye, and Isaac reminds me how to get where I’m going.

  I don’t need the directions, but it’s Isaac’s nature. He’s a caretaker.

  “Good luck with my dad,” I say, walking out with Claire in tow.

  “Good luck with my mom and Lauren. They’re a little at odds right now.” Isaac frowns as he says it. “I wouldn’t advise asking them about it either.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” I say just as the door swings shut.

  I’m happy to stay far away from whatever is going on with Lucia and Lauren. I don’t want anything to do with any mother-daughter dissension.

  Claire holds my hand and attempts to skip all the way to the car, and I try to keep up, without twisting my ankle.

  Lucia is waiting for us at the fountain near the entrance. When she sees us, she rushes forward.

  “You both look lovely. I’m so glad you decided to come.” Her hat bumps my forehead when we hug. She bends down so she’s on Claire’s level.

  “Look at that pretty dress.”

  Claire nods with happiness and runs a hand down her stomach. She hasn’t stopped touching the soft fabric since I put it on her.

  Lucia straightens. “Lauren should be here any minute.” She checks the gold watch on her wrist. “She’s always late. Operates on Lauren Standard Time.” There’s annoyance in her voice.

  We wait a few more minutes before Lucia decides she’s done waiting.

  “Come on. Lauren can join us when she arrives.” She leads us away. “No use missing out on fresh mimosas!” She links an arm through mine.

  The Princess is a local treasure. It’s lush greenery and opulent accommodations have been featured in magazines, so I know what I’m about to see. We walk through just a fraction of the grounds until we come to a big building with massive doors. Lucia pulls on one of the ornate iron door handles and ushers us in.

  The ballroom carries a cacophony of ladies’ voices. White-linen-dressed tables take up the center of the room, while long rectangular tables laden with trays of food and carving stations flank the edges. At the front is a platform stage with a microphone.

  “We’re at table three,” Lucia says, passing me. We weave our way through the tables until we arrive at ours. A shallow bowl filled with white roses serves as the centerpiece, and each place is set with silverware.

  As soon as we settle into our seats, a man comes over and hands Lucia and me a mimosa. Claire receives a pink lemonade.

  We’re the first at our table. As the others join us, Lucia makes introductions. Everyone knows each other, it seems, and this event is a ritual. Each person asks the same question: How do you know Lucia? And then they have the same aghast reaction: Lucia, you have a granddaughter? Since when? Lucia smiles gracefully each time. Life can be so interesting, don’t you think? The important thing now is that we have Aubrey and Claire. She moves on, telling them about Claire’s arm, and then Claire takes the floor. She informs everybody of what grade she’s in and who her friends are.

  Their hungry eyes tell me they’re all dying for something juicier, but Lucia either doesn't see or is a fantastic pretender.

  Lauren arrives then, and I’m grateful. It takes the heat off me. Her cheeks are rosy, like she’s fresh from a workout. I’m not the only person who notices.

  “Did you get to the gym today?” Lucia lifts a section of Lauren’s hair. It’s still wet underneath.

  “Before you get upset with me, you should know that I'm training for a 5k.” She gives Lucia a pointed look. “I want to do well. And by do well I mean not die.”

  Lucia’s frown turns into a resolute smile. “I’m proud of you. And I’d rather you not die, too.”

  Lauren barks a laugh, but it’s enough to cut through the tense moment. She greets the women around the table and makes small talk with them. Like the proud mother she is, Lucia announces why Lauren was late.

  Maybe Isaac’s wrong about there being an issue with Lucia and Lauren. That seemed more like general irritation, not being at odds.

  The ladies ask question after question about Lauren’s training regimen. Claire grows bored, so I give her a coloring book and crayons fr
om my purse.

  A tall, blond woman takes the stage. She introduces herself as the chairperson of the mom’s organization and talks for a while about the group and what they do in the community. She ends her speech by asking if there is anybody celebrating a birthday today or tomorrow. “Mother’s Day birthdays are extra special!”

  A dampness springs up on my palms. My knee bounces. I look down, willing my leg to stop, but it doesn’t work, and now I’m queasy.

  “Mommy?” Claire whisper-yells.

  “What?” I whisper back, my voice strained.

  “Your birthday is in May.”

  I look from Claire and into Lucia’s curious eyes. My smile is shaky. “End of May,” I clarify. I feel bad for lying to her.

  She looks relieved. I can practically read her thoughts. Of all people, Aubrey couldn’t possibly have a birthday that falls around Mother’s Day. That would be too cruel.

  Except I do.

  Mother’s Day is always the second Sunday in May. And my birthday is May tenth.

  The irony isn’t lost on me, and it wasn’t lost on Lucia just now either. Luckily Claire doesn’t remember my actual birthday, and now Lucia thinks I was shown some mercy.

  The moment passes, lunch is served, and just when I think I might make it out of here with only that tiny incident, the woman directly across from me clears her throat and says my name.

  “Yes?” I smile at her. She has a pinched face, the kind that looks judgy all the time.

  “Your mother couldn’t make it today? Does she live out of state?” Her eyebrows draw together, but the concern looks fake.

  My fork is paused mid-air, and I grip it tighter.

  “She was unable to attend. It’s just me and Claire today.” My cheerful tone sounds as false as the woman’s concern. I set down the utensil and use my now empty hand to wrap an arm around Claire’s shoulder.

  “Well, I don’t know what could be more important than a mother-daughter brunch. Especially when you have a grand-baby as sweet as Claire.” She smiles at Claire.

  I don’t respond. I’m too busy using my napkin to meticulously wipe the chicken salad off Claire’s face. See how busy I am cleaning my child’s face? Way too busy to realize you are even speaking.