by Lucy Score
“I don’t think I’ve looked at my phone since… my internal organs started trying to escape my body in the middle of the night. She made a move to get up, but Niko held her in place with one hand. “Not so fast, champ.”
“I’m just getting my phone,” she said, already short of breath from the effort to stand.
“I’ll get it.”
“It’s on my nightstand.” She watched him as he loped up the stairs. “Thank you,” she called after him weakly.
He returned with the phone and her sheets. “Willa said you can’t sleep on these or you’ll risk reinfection. I think she’s slightly crazy, but I’m going to play it safe.”
Emma rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “You held my hair while I threw up, scraped me off the bathroom floor, and now you’re doing my laundry.”
“It’s all part of the friendly service.”
“You’d do this for your other friends?” she asked, having only enough energy to open one eye.
“Hell no.”
It brought a faint smile to her lips.
“In this moment, you’re an excellent friend, Niko. And as an excellent friend, I’d like to propose that we never, ever speak of this day again.”
“Whatever you want, Barf Queen.”
He plied her with liquids, put fresh sheets on her bed while she took a shower, and watched four hours of early How I Met Your Mother episodes with her. She fell asleep on his shoulder, snuggled into his warmth.
He insisted on tucking her into bed before he left, and she was too tired to argue. But as soon as she heard her front door close behind him, she opened her text messages and reread every one he’d sent her documenting his efforts to get to her. Blue Moon was going to have a field day with Dr. Niko. And she wasn’t as upset about it as she should have been.
It was beyond sweet how he’d ridden to her rescue. He cleaned her house, he did her laundry, and he dumped bone broth down her throat. No one-night-stand man in the history of one-night-stand men would have worked this hard for a potential lay.
Emma chalked her thoughts up to vomit-induced exhaustion, pressed her cheek into the cool, clean pillowcase, and fell asleep thinking about how much she really liked Nikolai Vulkov.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Niko planned to ignore the idea of shooting the wedding for another day or two and buried himself in life in Blue Moon. He weeded and planted in the fields with Carter, played creative director with Summer, and even lent a hand in the kitchen occasionally.
The twins seemed to get bigger and more advanced by the day. Niko was convinced that Meadow would be standing on Jonathan’s shoulders to reach the knife block on the kitchen counter in a matter of days.
The physical labor and the simple routine of daily life in Blue Moon soothed his anxious brain of its “what ifs.” And for once, he just let himself be.
He took walks around the farm every afternoon, never carrying a camera, but there were moments that he couldn’t help but pull out his phone and snap away. He captured Joey working with Reva in the afternoons after school, the earnest girl absorbing Joey’s orders and tackling every responsibility as if her life depended on it. He captured the farm’s gardens and fields that took shape as the sun rose higher and stayed longer in the May sky. And he bared witness to the communal energy that was Blue Moon and Pierce Acres. There were no strangers here, only neighbors, each as much a part of the others’ lives.
In the evenings, he enjoyed his role as Uncle Niko with the twins. He began poking his head into the stables to help Joey keep an eye on the hugely pregnant mare, Calypso. He hadn’t seen Emma since her unfortunate bout with the stomach bug. She’d texted to thank him and reiterate that they should never speak of the horror again. But she’d blown off his attempts to see her since. She was avoiding him, and he was almost done letting her.
The only thing he was avoiding were the questions Summer and Gia peppered him with about Emma. He sidestepped those inquisitions in favor of toiling laboriously with Carter on the farm and was surprised to find that he enjoyed it. Niko could see the appeal of working so closely with nature rather than hustling down concrete and asphalt, rushing from building to building.
The rhythm of life here was different. Gone was the frenetic pace he’d grown so accustomed to in the city, and in its place was a patient, trusting flow. Rather than fighting or forcing successes, the victories here were found in cooperation.
There were little lessons everywhere, and Niko wondered if he would take them home with him when he returned to his real life. He could see how Summer was happy here. There was a tangible realness in Blue Moon that was too easily escaped in the city. There were no layers of artifice, no hidden agendas, no power plays—unless he counted the town’s commitment to convincing him that this was the best place in the universe to live, work, and visit.
Blue Moon wasn’t the departure he’d expected. Rather than convincing himself that his life in the city was exactly what he wanted, Blue Moon was raising questions Niko wasn’t sure he was prepared to answer.
Two days before the wedding, Niko found himself wandering the parcel of land that Phoebe and Franklin called home. They’d built a tasteful Craftsman home on a corner of the farm nestled between trees and creek, tucked away from the beehive of activity. It was here that they would marry on the grassy lawn surrounded by loved ones and friends. Another new start to build from, he thought.
Niko admired the wide covered porch that wrapped around both sides of the house, taking full advantage of the views of rolling pastures and greening tree lines.
On impulse, he took out his phone and snapped a few shots, capturing the afternoon light. It was roughly the same time that the ceremony was scheduled to start, giving him an idea of lighting. It would be an intimate event. The guest list only included family and closest friends and him.
He could do it. Probably.
It wouldn’t be work, at least not really.
“Getting the lay of the land?” Phoebe called out from the porch, a glass of iced tea in her hand, reading glasses perched on her head. She always reminded him of a literature professor with her silver streaked bob and tortoise shell glasses. The overweight pug at her feet sneezed violently.
Embarrassed at being caught trespassing, Niko scuffed his boot in the grass. “I take it Emma mentioned she asked me to step in as official photographer Sunday?”
Phoebe smiled warmly and gestured him up onto the porch. “She’s awfully hard to say no to, isn’t she?”
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Niko confessed, leaning down to scratch Mr. Snuffles behind the ears. Or Emma.
“Niko,” Phoebe sighed. “I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do. You’re an incredibly talented photographer. I don’t want you to feel strong-armed into shooting some little country wedding.”
The little dog gave a snort.
“It’s not that,” Niko shook his head, rising back up to lean against the cedar railing. “I just haven’t been shooting well lately, and I’d hate to give you subpar work. Not for you and your wedding day.”
Phoebe patted his arm in a gesture only mothers have mastered. “My poor boy. Let me get you an iced tea and tell you how ridiculous that statement is.”
Feeling like a teenager caught out after curfew, Niko slunk into the house behind her. Inside, with Mr. Snuffles on his heels, he found an expansive living space. The living room spilled into the dining area and kitchen, all sharing floor space under white washed beams.
Bookshelves were stuffed full with novels and family pictures. Couches in dog-and child-proof leather formed a U around the flat screen mounted above the whitewashed brick fireplace.
Phoebe pointed him to a stool at the kitchen island and opened the refrigerator to dig out a pitcher of tea. She set a glass of ice and tea in front of him and topped off her own.
“Let me tell you exactly what I’m looking for and then you can tell me if you think you can deliver. If not, no hard feelings.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Fair enough.”
“I want a picture of Franklin and I smiling without any food stuck in our teeth, one of me and my boys without bunny ears or middle fingers, one of Franklin and his girls, and a group shot of our combined families with everyone looking relatively sane.”
“Four pictures?” Niko clarified.
“Four pictures,” Phoebe nodded. “Franklin and I have both been married before. We’re old. We’re laid back. We’re not looking for some high-end portfolio of hundreds of shots of people posing for a toothpaste or sunless tanner commercial.”
“You’re not old,” Niko argued.
“Aren’t you sweet when you tell lies to old ladies?” Phoebe winked at him. “Now, I’d love for you to be there to snap a few quick pictures. But I’ll be just as happy to have you there strictly as a food-and alcohol-consumer.”
He squirmed on the barstool. How hard would it be to come up with a handful of shots to help the Pierces and Merills remember the day? He didn’t have to get artistic and high-concept with the “assignment.” It was a straightforward capture-the-smiles kind of plan.
Niko sipped the tea and caught the flavors of lemon and basil. “Fine, but if you’re disappointed with what I shoot, you and Emma only have yourselves to blame,” he warned.
“Let’s talk about this ‘subpar’ work you plan to deliver,” Phoebe suggested firmly.
An hour later, Niko felt surprisingly unburdened. He’d spilled his guts to Phoebe, and she’d listened without judgment until he’d finished. They’d switched to wine halfway through their chat and took it out onto the porch to enjoy the last of the afternoon light.
“So, if you’re sure you’ll be okay with whatever shots I can give you, I’d be happy to do it,” he finished lamely.
“You know what I think?” Phoebe asked, patting his hand.
“That I’m blowing all of this out of proportion and I should just suck it up and pick up a camera?”
She shot him the look of a mother unimpressed. “No. I think that stalls in creativity are real, and they rarely result in a complete loss of skill.”
“That’s basically Emma’s assessment,” Niko told her.
“Hmm,” Phoebe hummed, her eyebrows winging up.
“Oh, right. I’m not supposed to tell anyone we’re hanging out. Something about the Beautification Committee.”
“Really?” Phoebe’s question was laced with maternal glee.
“You seem to say a lot with very few words.”
“You’re spending time with Emma and confiding in her. I didn’t realize that you two knew each other so well.”
“We’re getting to know each other. Well, I’m trying to get to know her,” he amended. “She’s trying to make sure I stay in the friend box.”
“Interesting.”
“Now you’re looking at me like the checkout lady at the grocery store and the bank president.”
Phoebe topped off his wine glass. “I need to get on Facebook and catch up with everything I’ve been missing. It’s going to be fun to see how this plays out.”
“Uh. Okay.”
“So she wants to be friends?”
“Just friends. I’m not her type,” Niko explained and wondered why he was pouring his heart out to a woman he’d only met on a handful of occasions.
“What is her type?” Phoebe wondered.
“Stable, secure, in it for the long haul. Monogamous.”
“And you’re…?”
“I’m ‘dangerous’ and just out for a ‘good time.’ So Emma’s put me in this position where, if I want to be around her, it’s strictly as friends, and since she’s been very clear about her intentions, if I pressure her to go beyond friends I’m…”
“An asshole?” Phoebe supplied.
He grinned, seeing where her sons got a very large chunk of their personalities. “Exactly. I like her. A lot. I like spending time with her, and I’m interested in being a hell of a lot more than friends, but I can’t give her permanent.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see how they orchestrate this,” Phoebe murmured, half to herself.
“Sometimes I feel like this entire town is speaking a different language,” Niko muttered.
“Oh, honey. You have no idea.”
“So any advice you’d care to share in either of my situations?”
Phoebe pursed her lips. “My soon-to-be stepdaughter is a wonderful, headstrong woman, even if she’s headed in the wrong direction. But my money is on you, Niko. Be smart, and you’ll find a way to climb out of that friend box. Now, regarding your work issues, you should talk to Jax. He’s dealt with writer’s block. Maybe this is the same thing.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Yep. Sounds exactly like writer’s block,” Jax agreed as he tossed the bale of hay onto the stack he was making in the barn.
Niko hefted the bale he carried up onto the stack next to Jax’s. A dappled gray horse swung its giant head out of its stall and nickered until Jax pulled out a baggie of baby carrots.
“So how do you beat it?” Niko asked, pulling off his gloves and tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans.
Jax fed the horse a carrot and then popped one into his own mouth. “It’s a bitch,” he chewed. “You gotta get extra creative to break through shit like that.”
“For example?”
Jax glanced over his shoulder, making sure it was still just them and the horses. “Okay, so the last screenplay I was working on, I got stuck right in the middle of it. None of my usual fixes—taking a day off, writing drunk, binge reading, chasing my wife around the bedroom—nothing worked.”
He held out the bag of carrots to Niko, and he helped himself to one.
“So what did you do?”
Jax took another glance around the stables before continuing. “The days were ticking down to my deadline, and I was still stalled. Totally stuck. I was desperate. So in a last ditch effort, I put down the screenplay and started writing something completely different.”
“How different?”
Jax cleared his throat and swiped his hand over his mouth and murmured something.
“It sounds like you said—”
“Romance novel. I started writing a romance novel.”
“Okaaaaay.” Niko wasn’t sure where to go with that. “Did it help?”
Jax snagged another carrot, broke it in half, and held it out to the horse. “Worked like a charm. The book and then the screenplay just started pouring out of me. Now anytime I get stuck, I open up that document titled ‘Crop Rotation Schedule,’ and in a day or two, I can get back to my project with a fresh brain.”
“So the novelty—forgive the pun—of something completely different helps to grease the wheels?” Niko rubbed a hand over his jaw and briefly wondered when he’d last shaved. Life on the farm was messing with his grooming habits.
“That’s my theory,” Jax said with a shrug. “Now, if you ever mention this to anyone, I’ll tell everyone you’re a dirty liar.”
“Fair enough. So I should try something new,” Niko decided.
“Go in a different direction, and see what happens,” Jax advised.
“I’ll start penning my Fabio-cover story tonight,” Niko promised. Jax gave him a helpful shove and then tossed him a carrot. Niko chomped on it thoughtfully. Fighting through it hadn’t helped. Maybe finding something that flowed would. If the hippie woo-woo mojo of Blue Moon was pushing him in a new direction, who was he to ignore it?
“Oh, look, Reva. We must have interrupted snack time.” Joey’s voice carried a teasing sarcasm. Jax jumped a mile and shot Niko a “keep your trap shut” look. Joey and Reva sauntered down the corridor with a wire-haired dog of dubious breeding trotting after them. Waffles gazed lovingly at his females. Reva’s earnest eyes didn’t show the flickers of amusement that Joey’s did.
“Hey, gorgeous wife of mine,” Jax said, offering her the bag of carrots with a mock bow. “I grew these especially for you.”
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Obviously amused, Joey reached for a carrot only to find herself being reeled into Jax’s arms.
“Reva, why don’t you go check the outdoor ring before everyone gets here for lessons,” Joey suggested. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
The girl nodded and hustled for the door, and Niko sank down to scruff up the dog’s fur. “Hey there, Waffles.” The dog dissolved in joy.
“She has yet to crack a smile,” Joey said when the door closed behind Reva.
“How’s she doing otherwise?” Jax asked.
“Smart. Eager. She’d put a new roof on the barn if I told her I wanted it done,” Joey predicted. “But there’s just something about her…”
“Sad and cagey,” Jax assessed. “There’s something going on with her.”
“And you know how I just love getting involved in my employees’ personal lives,” Joey grumbled wryly.
“How does she get here?” Niko wondered. “Does she have a car?”
“Says she gets dropped off,” Joey said. “But I’ve seen her walking up the lane, so unless someone drops her off at the road, I think she walks.”
“At least she doesn’t look as hungry,” Jax commented.
Joey looked embarrassed as she scuffed the toe of her boot into the sawdust. “I’ve been bringing in food and leaving it in the office.”
“I fucking knew it!” Jax said, poking her in the chest with his finger. “I knew you didn’t finish off all the pot roast leftovers, you little liar!”
Waffles yipped in protest at his mother being called a liar.
“Ugh!” Joey shrugged out of his grasp. “I knew I’d regret marrying an emotional eater!”
Jax grinned. “Please, the only thing you regret about marrying me is not doing it sooner.”
Joey softened against him. “Prove it.” Jax leaned in to kiss her, and Niko cleared his throat.
“I’m just going to go over here,” he said, pointing toward Joey’s office and the smell of fresh coffee.
“Relax, Niko. We save the really hot stuff for the tack room,” Joey snickered.
“Remind me to stay out of the tack room.”