I got word the next morning that my wife’s appendix had burst. As routine as that surgery is, they didn’t get to her in time and my wife died on the operating table. I found out later that she had waited to call someone, because she didn’t want to disturb anyone to come and stay with the girls since it was the middle of the night.
If I had only been there, would my wife still be alive today?
I went home a broken man. I lost a career I had trained so hard for, and I lost the woman that I loved with all my heart. I never really had time to accept any of this or have time to properly grieve. I had to be strong for my two little girls.
After being honorably discharged from the Air Force, I decided to move back to Seattle to be close to our families. I couldn’t raise my daughters on my own. They needed to be close to family; I needed to be close to family.
We buried my wife in her hometown. I took the life insurance money and the little money that we had saved up, and on a whim, I opened a restaurant. I have no formal training and looking back it was probably the most careless thing I could have done with our money.
I’ve always loved to cook, and as it turns out, I’m damn good at it. Jax Restaurant is a huge success.
I miss my wife every minute of every day. I went from missing my little girls’ births and all their firsts, to being their best friend and sole parent. I didn’t have a clue how to raise two girls, I still don’t. If it weren’t for the constant love and support from our family and my sister, Quinn, I’m sure I would have failed.
That was two years ago. Skylar, who is now eight, and Hope, who is now four, are my world. I live and breathe for their happiness. My goal in life is to be the best father I can be.
I knew the second I ran into Ava who she was. I played dumb and called her by her sister’s name. I don’t even know why I did that. Until she came into my restaurant, all women appeared grey to me, but when our eyes locked for the first time, color invaded my vision once again. I also knew who S. Wellington was the day he appeared next to Scarlett. I’ve seen Ava and her brothers and sister several times at their father’s grave, although I don’t think they’ve ever noticed me.
Chapter 2
Ava
Jax is still kneeling at his wife’s grave, and I start to have an argument in my brain if I should just go back to the car and wait for him to leave and come back when he’s gone, or just ignore him. But this is a public area, why should I have to leave? So I turn my back to Jax, while still looking at my dad’s headstone, and say what I came here to say.
“I love you too, Daddy. I’m so sorry I didn’t say it back. I heard what you and mom were trying to tell me, and I’m going to listen to you. I promise to slow down…” I can feel Jax looking at me. I dart my eyes to the right and I see Jax openly staring at me. I move a little more to the right, and by this time I’m no longer in front of my dad’s gravestone, but kneeling completely to the side of it in the small space between the two graves. I roll my eyes and continue. “I promise to slow down and…”
I get the feeling of being watched again, so I turn my head and see Jax craning his neck to see what I’m doing. The second our eyes meet, his eyes immediately go back to his wife’s grave in front of him. Sheesh, the dude has nerve, I can tell you that.
Now back to what I need to say to my dad.
“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted. I promise to slow down and… Do you mind!” I shout the last three words turning around and catch Jax not only looking at me, but he’s only one step behind me.
“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I’m done here anyway. I’ll just leave you alone,” he says, starting to leave.
“Forget it. I said everything I came to say. I’ll leave.”
I pivot on my heel, turn around, and walk back to the car. It may have been more of a stomp than a walk, but seriously.
“But…”
With my back still turned to him, I hold my hand up in the air that universally says, “Nope, we’re good,” and I keep walking.
We all pile back in Adrian’s car. Shay turns her whole body around in the passenger seat, raises her eyebrows, and does some sort of monkey face that looks like a frown, but silently asks, “What was all that about?” I ignore her face and her unspoken question, and help Makayla buckle her seat belt.
I turn around and look out the back window as Adrian drives off, and I see Jax with a dumbfounded look on his face. He hangs his head, then walks back to his…what the hell is he driving? An H3! GI-Joe drives a mini Hummer, that figures. I hear the rumble of a Harley and see Max and Chloe driving up, then park right where we just left. I raise my hand in the back window and give a little wave to them. At that exact time, Jax decides to look my way and he thinks I’m waving at him. He waves back with a smile on his face. Oh, my God, he waved back at me. I start waving my hands around trying to tell him no, I’m not waving at him, he looks confused, then I quickly pull my hands down, turn around in my seat and cross my arms over my chest. God, men are so stupid.
We drive back to my mother’s house so I can get my car. I’m still shaking my head at Jax’s audacity. He was completely eavesdropping on my conversation with my dad. Who does that?
I slide in my cherry red, Mercedes SL Class Roadster convertible and head to my condo. Thoughts of Jax and his muscled forearms drift in my brain, as I start to see them wrapping around my back as he pulls me close.
What?
Where did that come from? I grip the steering wheel and quickly push those thoughts right the fuck out of my mind. At least I did get to say what I needed to say to my dad; even if it was interrupted by Jax…Mmm, he can pick me up off the ground again, then I’d wrap my legs around his waist.
Shit, this is bad!
I don’t have time to think about Jax, or any man for that matter. I promised my dad I’d slow down, but I didn’t say I was giving up my dream. I still plan on becoming the youngest partner at the firm. And that dream does not in any way involve a man.
Monday morning, with my promise to my dad in the forefront of my brain, I decide to head to a coffee shop and get a coffee before work. And I’m not stepping foot in the office until exactly nine AM. Not a minute earlier. See, this is easy. I can do this.
I stand in line and order a Grande, Quad, Nonfat, One-Pump, No-Whip, Mocha, because I’ll for sure need those four shots of espresso today. Finally, my name is called and that first wonderful sip slides down my throat as I start to walk back to my car. On the way out, I see the familiar green wire tables and chairs screaming at me. Oh, what the hell, it’s a beautiful day; I can sit for a minute and drink my coffee, right? I look at my watch and see that it’s way too early anyway to go to the office. I did say nine AM. See, I can totally do this slowing down stuff. I take a seat and take another sip. Now what? How do people just sit here? A million things that I have to do today start crowding my brain. I nervously look at my watch, then consciously tell myself to stop. Alright, just five more minutes then I can go. This for sure has to count as my effort to slow down for the entire day, right?
I nervously look at my watch again and watch the last minute tick by, second by agonizing second. Finally, the second hand reaches the twelve. I give a little squeal because, honestly, going to work does make me happy. I grab my coffee and my purse, then stand up while hefting it over my shoulder and take another drink. Then WHAM! I hit another brick wall. That’s twice in as many days. My coffee lid flies off the cup and tips forward down the front of my yellow silk blouse. My favorite yellow silk blouse. It was a gift from my dad. My purse falls from my shoulder, onto the ground with a thud, and I wince as several items spill out. I love this purse and it was not allowed to ever touch the ground. It was bad enough it was sitting on a public table.
At this point I’m still shocked at the coffee stain on my shirt and have yet to look at the dumbass who can’t watch where they’re going. The person’s hands grip both my arms and the second I see his hands, I know exactly who they belong
to. You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.
“I’m so sorry…Ava…?” he says, bending down slightly to catch my eyes. He bends all the way down to pick up my bag, he shoves a tube of lipstick and a pen back inside, then holds it out to me. He looks at my shirt and inhales a shocked breath, then says, “I’m so sorry about your shirt. I was in a rush and I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for the girls…Uh… can I pay for your dry cleaning?”
“No, that isn’t necessary,” I say, briskly taking my bag from him.
Wait? What? He’s late for the girls? As in girls plural, what exactly does he do with girls? Girl strippers, oh my God he’s on his way to a strip club. Or does he have some weird fetish and likes to watch girls mud wrestle? He’s going to some weird run down building, with broken windows and a mud pit in the center, with nasty men standing around taking bets. Maybe he has a secret obsession and likes to watch girls wearing mismatched socks crash into each other at a roller derby. Oh, for the love of Pete, pull yourself together, Ava!
“Well then, let me at least buy you another coffee?”
“No, again, not necessary,” I say and walk back to my car.
I give him a dirty look, before I sink into my seat, for good measure. Well, I’ll for sure keep my promise today, because by the time I get home, change and get to the office, it will be well past nine AM.
Getting to the office thirty minutes later than I had planned, sends me into a panic. I hate being late. Me being fifteen minutes early, is me being late. I rush to my office and I’m immediately followed in by my assistant, Reagan. Her hands are full of yellow messages, and a legal pad and pen ready for today’s instructions. I have to be down at the courthouse in thirty minutes, and I have a million things I need to tell her to do first. See, trying to get into the office later turned out to be a big, freaking, huge disaster, and I’ll be here until midnight trying to catch up.
Reagan sits down and we have a quick conversation. She heads back to her desk, only to knock on my door five minutes later. Now, Reagan has been my personal assistant for the past three years, and she can pretty much finish my sentence and read my mind as far as the things I need her to do. So to have her knock on my door when she knows I have to leave is out of the normal.
“Ava, sorry to interrupt, I know you need to go. But, a hunk of a man, and I do mean a hunk of a man, just dropped this off for you. He placed it on my desk. I turned around for a second to close a drawer in my credenza, and when I turned back around, he was gone.”
She places a Starbucks coffee cup and a card on my desk with a wicked smile on her face. I look at the cup with a disgusted smirk. It can only be from one person…Jax. I look at her, I look at the cup, I look at her again with big eyes, and she quickly removes the smile off her face. She turns back around and leaves without another word.
A small smile creeps on my lips, but I quickly push that aside as I remember how late he made me this morning. Well, I did miss my coffee this morning. I take a sip and I’ll be damned! It’s a Grande, Quad, Nonfat, One-Pump, No-Whip, Mocha. I look at my watch and sigh. At this rate, I’ll be late for sure, but I have to open the card or I’ll die from curiosity. I don’t want to die from curiosity, so I quickly open the card.
Ava,
I’m so sorry about last night and this morning. I know you said it wasn’t necessary, but I felt like I needed to do something. So, I hope the coffee is how you like it. I asked the barista what you had, and when she rattled off your coffee order, I had to even ask her if that was still considered coffee. What on Earth do you need four shots of espresso for? Let me properly apologize, come by the restaurant tonight?
Jax
First, how did he know where I work? Second, is he asking me on a date? Because that’s not going to happen, I don’t have time or the desire to date. I take a sip of the coffee, damn that’s good stuff. Shit, I’m going to be late. I shove my files in my briefcase and run back down to my car. Luckily, it’s a short drive to the courthouse, and I walk in with exactly one minute to spare. Which, unlucky for me, doesn’t leave me any time to even take my files out of my briefcase before the bailiff says, “All rise.”
I was completely disorganized the entire day in court. I always start the first day of a new case in court, wearing my lucky yellow silk blouse. It’s sort of a good luck charm for me. I should have known to call in sick when Jax spilled coffee all over me and ruined it. The rest of my day didn’t go well either. I didn’t leave the office for the night until twenty after nine. I didn’t get to eat lunch or dinner. Reagan tries to keep me fed. She brought in a fruit salad and a sandwich, but I just didn’t have time to eat any of it. Much like many of my nights, I walk in my front door and strip out of my clothes as I walk to the fridge. A shoe here and the other shoe two steps after that. My jacket gets tossed to the floor, too. Nope, can’t do it. I circle back, pick it up off the floor, and fold it nicely over the couch. I unzip my skirt to loosen its deathly grip. Wine, I need some wine. I grab a glass and a bottle of red from the wrought iron rack on the counter. I open the drawer where I keep the opener and discover it missing. Where in the hell could it be?
I frantically open each drawer and come up empty handed. I’m almost in tears. I’m so frustrated and totally over this day from hell. With a wine glass in one hand and the unopened bottle in the other, I walk to the fridge. Even opening the fridge is too much effort. I rest my forehead on the cool stainless steel surface and close my eyes. I take deep breaths in an effort to keep the tears from streaming down my face.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but the next thing I hear is the annoying sound of gum chomping between Savvy’s teeth. I squeeze my eyes shut and just wish I had gone straight to bed instead of for the wine. All I want is a glass of wine. Was that too much to ask for on a day like today?
Savvy takes the bottle from my hand, opens a drawer and removes the stupid opener that was clearly hiding from me, opens the bottle, takes the glass from my other hand, and pours it in the glass. She sets it on the counter, pats me in the center of my back, then goes back to her room without a word. There is a God in heaven. I turn my head to the left and look at the glass of wine, which at the moment reminds me that Jax invited me to his restaurant tonight, and I sigh. I hadn’t planned on going anyway, but I do feel slightly bad that not only did I not thank him for the coffee, but I didn’t tell him that dinner just wasn’t necessary.
Jax
After I spilled Ava’s coffee on her, I had to hurry back home with coffee for me and my sister, Quinn. Wouldn’t you know it, but my coffee pot broke this morning. Before I left the coffee shop though, I felt so bad about not only ruining Ava’s shirt, but also wasting her coffee that I had to at least get her another coffee. I explained to the barista that I had spilled someone’s coffee outside and wanted to replace it, but I didn’t know what she had ordered. I described what Ava was wearing to her and the young woman got a very strange look on her face. She only charged me for my two coffees and said that the other, which was Ava’s, was on the house. As I was leaving, she said, “Good luck with that.” I didn’t know what to make of that.
After my wife died, Quinn moved in with me to help me take care of Sky and Hope. I don’t know what I would do without her. She’s a student at the University of Washington, School of Dentistry. She’s fifteen years younger than I am and she has been a total godsend. So far our schedules have been able to work out where the girls never have to go to daycare or in an afterschool program. But, we both desperately need our morning coffee.
I was rushing to get coffee and get back home, so I could drop Skylar off at school for her last day of third grade. I can’t believe in the fall Skylar will already be in fourth grade and Hope will start all-day kindergarten. Where has the time gone? It seems like yesterday, Scarlett had them both in the bathtub with their hair piled on top of their heads, full of bubbles singing to them to row their boat as they splashed her with water. I miss the three of them and their giggles.
“Earth to Jax,” Quinn says, snapping her fingers in my face. “I have an appointment today with my school counselor. Will you be able to pick up Sky from school and be home to watch Hope, until around three?” she asks, taking the coffee from my hand, then inhales half of it in one swig.
“No can do, sister-oo. I can pick up Sky, but then I’ll have to take them to work with me. Can you just pick them up from the restaurant on your way back home?”
I love how we connect in the morning in a little pow-wow and hash out the girls’ schedule.
“Sure, I can do that,” she says with a weird look on her face. “Something is different about you,” she says pointing her finger in my face, then draws a big circle.
I swat her hand out of my face and give her a dirty look.
“Different? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say adamantly.
In truth, I know exactly what she’s talking about. A small brunette has gotten to me, that’s what. As I was putting things back in Ava’s purse, I picked up a business card of hers. I didn’t put that back in her purse, I pocketed that. Before I headed home, I went to her office with no plan in mind, then I chickened out and left her coffee with her assistant. Why I suggested she come to dinner on top of that is beyond me. I have two little girls to raise and a very busy business to run. I don’t have an extra second in my day to fit in a woman. But the color that invades my senses whenever she’s around, is unmistakable and intoxicating.
I quickly pack Sky’s lunch, which consists of baby carrots, because large carrots are just unacceptable - her words, not mine. A peanut butter and honey sandwich with the crusts removed. (I’ve long given up that battle over the crust.) A small bottle of water and a package of fruit snacks. I know they’re full of sugar, but I can’t win at everything. The kid won’t eat anything else. Last year was murder when I couldn’t pack her anything with peanuts in it. A kid in her class had a food allergy to peanuts, which unfortunately also meant the peanut butter and honey sandwich. She won’t eat lunch meat. Egg salad smells like farts – again, her words. We were fortunate that the kid was exclusively allergic to peanuts and not all tree nuts, and we were able to use almond butter instead. Which was acceptable - her words again, thank God.
Running Into Love - The Complete Box Set Page 70