No Kissing Allowed

by Melissa West

  She winked at me as he took his seat beside Eric, both men’s postures so tight I wondered if I’d made a terrible decision throwing him on them like this. Eric started down the highway, and Mom clapped her hands. “Well, now, let’s see. What have you missed? Lexie just had twins, but there are rumors the father is in question. They’d been having trouble, you see. Trudy said they went to that fancy in vitro doctor in Atlanta. Then poof, she’s pregnant. With twins! I don’t know. Jack sure travels a lot. It’s possible, but Trudy wouldn’t breathe a word about it if it were true. You know she’s all about image.”

  Trudy was Mom’s eldest sister, and Lexie was one of my cousins, so both would be at our house for Thanksgiving.

  “Mom, it’s not uncommon for those who get in vitro to become pregnant with multiples. I’m sure that’s what happened. Y’all need to stop gossiping so much.” And there it was—y’all. It was like coming back to the South put an injection of Southern lingo straight into my brain. Welcome home, here you go. Here’s some good ole Southern-speak. You’ll be right as rain.

  I caught Eric’s gaze from the rearview mirror. He was silently warning me. Mom was volatile on a good day. She cried or yelled at a moment’s notice. Eric and I had learned not to push her buttons. Or mention that she took Prozac. God forbid.

  Forcing a smile on my face, I switched subjects. “Tell me about Madison and Emma.” Maddie and Emma were sisters and the only two cousins I actually liked, partially because they were both wonderful, but also because they were outcasts like me. Maddie had come out sometime around senior year of high school and had been in a committed relationship ever since. And Emma was married to a short black man. I still wasn’t sure what offended her mother more—that Jayden was black or that he was short. But he was an amazing husband, and truly, that’s all that should matter.

  Mom shook her head. “Well, about the same. Poor Beth is beside herself, but what can she do? We can only do so much for our children.” She peered over at me as if to say, yep, look how you turned out. Fantastic. But then her gaze switched up to Aidan and her face changed, a hint of something there that wasn’t before. Like curiosity or maybe hope, and I wished I could dispel her hope for a June wedding right now. Whatever this was, it wasn’t that.

  I pulled my phone from my bag, telling myself that I was going to check the time and shove it back into its spot in my purse, but I couldn’t stop myself from checking my text messages. A smile spread across my face as I read the latest message.

  Aidan: Did I mention that you look amazing today?

  My heart swelled until I realized that Mom had stopped talking and was reading over my shoulder. Her eyes brightened as she peered up at me, then she settled into her seat, her gaze out her window, a warm smile on her face.

  We reached our long driveway, and I grinned at the sight of our large white Victorian-style home. The house had been my great-grandparents’ and held all the bangs and bruises of an old house. The roof leaked no matter how often they had it fixed. The water took forever to heat up. And at night you could almost always hear some animal scurrying in the attic. Still, it was home, and seeing it after all these months made my heart happy.

  Eric parked in the detached garage he’d built years ago. He and Aidan had barely spoken, and I wondered what was causing the issue.

  Maybe his age. Maybe he sensed that we were hiding something. Or maybe it all had to do with Aidan being male and me being his daughter. I’d only ever brought Blaine home to meet my parents, and he’d grown up in Birmingham, like me. There was something reassuring about knowing what a person looked like in diapers. It made them less intimidating—less of a threat. That had to be it. They’d never seen Aidan in diapers.

  The thought made me giggle, and he poked my side as we walked up the steps to our wraparound front porch. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just…you’re unexpected.”

  He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “So are you.”

  A smile played at my lips as I peered back up, only to find Mom in the doorway, watching our exchange.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Aidan,” she said, her eyes shiny.

  “I’m glad to be here, Mrs. Paterson.”

  “Lorelei.”

  “Lorelei.”

  “Well, why don’t you show him around, Cammie? Then maybe he could help Eric cut some firewood, while you help me in the kitchen?”

  My eyes widened at Aidan. “Um…”

  “I’d love to help,” he assured me, then her. “Wherever you need me.”

  By some miracle my extended family had not arrived yet, so with Mom off in the kitchen and Eric outside, I led Aidan upstairs to my room and showed him the guest room beside my room, where my parents would expect him to sleep.

  “Where’s their room?”

  “Downstairs.”

  “So,” Aidan asked, pulling me into his arms and gently trailing kisses from my neck to my ear and back, “if I were to sneak into your room, they wouldn’t notice?”

  “Naughty.”

  He caught my earlobe between his teeth and whispered, “With any luck.”

  We came down to the sound of Mom humming in the kitchen and the crackle of a fire from the fireplace in the great room. Contentment settled over me as I opened the back door to our deck, the small lake behind our house glistening in the afternoon sun. The woods surrounding it were all painted in the yellows and oranges and reds of fall, except for the evergreen pines. I smiled fondly at memories out on our dock, my legs hanging over the side as Eric cast from beside me, then when he caught something, I’d jump up and he’d pass me the rod, allowing me to reel it in. Like I’d caught the fish instead of him.

  The deck led to a flagstone patio, complete with a stone fire pit and matching stone grill. A glass table with four chairs around it sat untouched.

  I pointed to the swing hanging under the deck, just beside the spa. “That’s the swing Eric proposed to my mom on. It was in one of the gardens in town, and he convinced them to let him replace it with a new one, so he could have that one. It was rotting at the time, but he restored it and hung it here. Mom gets goose bumps every time she sits on it, like it takes her right back to that day.”

  “Now, you’re going to make him think I’m a romantic,” Eric called from beside the old barn he converted into a work area years ago.

  “You are a romantic.”

  Eric started to argue, then shrugged. “I have my moments. Chain saw or splitting maul, Aidan?” he asked.

  “I can split ‘em,” Aidan said, and I couldn’t help grinning as his accent returned.

  “Good.”

  Aidan pushed up the sleeves of his waffle shirt and gripped the ax, causing me to dive into fantasies of him getting especially worked up and having to remove that shirt and—

  “Cammie!” Mom called from the porch. “Need you!”

  I waved apologetically to Aidan. “I’ll bring you some drinks out in a bit.”

  Walking away, I heard Eric ask Aidan where he’d graduated, and then a grin spread across my face as Aidan said Tennessee, and they settled into talk of football and the SEC and who might end up in the title game this year.

  Once back inside, I found Mom kneading dough, her phone tucked between her chin and shoulder. “No, we’re good today. Yes, I’m sure. Yes, just come tomorrow morning. Yes, eating at one like always. Yes, right. Yes, one. Cammie’s here. No, Eric’s fine. She brought a friend.” She nodded to a bowl of peaches and then the knife and cutting board in front of them. I went to work. “I don’t know. Just a friend. Maybe more.” Her eyebrows rose at me in question, and I shook my head with a laugh.

  But then it occurred to me that Aidan and I could never be more. Not really. He would never want a commitment, would never spend another Thanksgiving with me. I knew what I was getting into with him, yet I wanted more.

  I focused back on the peaches, telling myself I would talk to him when we returned to New York. The rules became more muddled the more time we sp
ent together, so why not ask about our future? Why not want more? And maybe he would be happy. Maybe he would agree and kiss me and say he didn’t want this to end.

  My gaze drifted out into the kitchen, my nerves coiling tighter with each disillusioned thought. Because despite all the maybes, deep down I knew he was far more likely to kiss my cheek and leave.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I came outside an hour later to check on Aidan and Eric to find them laughing, both men covered in sweat despite the November chill. Aidan had shed his waffle shirt to just a fitted white undershirt and low-hanging jeans, and suddenly that fantasy from before came roaring back to life.

  “Water?” I asked, holding out two cold bottles.

  Eric grabbed his. “Thanks.” He took a long sip, then clapped Aidan on the back. “I need to go make a call. Be back in a bit.” He winked over at me before disappearing through the basement door into their finished basement—aka Eric’s man cave.

  I gripped the ax and spread my legs out. “All right. Tell me what to hit.”

  Aidan laughed. “Settle down there before you hurt somebody.”

  “Hey, now. I can do it.”

  He unscrewed his water and took a long pull, then set a log up for me. “All right, then, Ms. Mighty. Go right ahead. Just let me step back a few yards.”

  “Funny thing, aren’t you?” I said with a glare, then gripping the handle, I lifted it high and brought it down on the log, but it lodged into the wood instead of actually splitting it. Struggling to free the ax, I put my foot on the log and tugged and pulled and yanked, all to no avail, only to glance over to find Aidan in near hysterics.

  “Teach you to try to do man’s work.”

  “Man’s work? I’ve got this. I was just playing around before.” I fought the ax more before finally growing frustrated and tossing it down, the log still stuck to it like I’d glued them together. “I’m just gonna let that rest for a bit.”

  “Are you now?” He placed his foot on the log and took the ax in his left hand, jerking it free, then tossed it to the ground. “You’re cute, you know that?”

  I walked over and draped my arms around his neck. “Cute, huh? Is this cute?” Rising onto my toes, I pressed my lips to his, tempting his mouth open with my tongue and sweeping in to show him just how uncute I could be. Then before my teasing turned to passion, I pulled away and bit my bottom lip.

  “I retract previous statement,” he said. “No cuteness at all here, folks.”

  “Come on, let’s go down to the dock.”

  The sun shone from just over the trees now, making everything beautiful. Not a cloud dotted the sky, and I made a mental note to come sit out on the patio tonight to see the stars. We reached the end of the dock and sat down, draping our legs over the side.

  “It must have been amazing growing up here.”

  I thought of the fireworks on the Fourth of July. The family reunions in our backyard. “It was.” Then glancing at him, I asked, “Do you have any fond memories from childhood? After your father left, maybe?”

  He hesitated, thinking, then gripping the dock and leaning forward to look into the water, he said, “I have a lot of good memories after he left. It’s odd. We never wanted for anything when he was there, yet I never felt like I had anything. Never felt content or safe, the way you should in your house. Then he left, and Mom and me had nothing. No money. Shit food. No fancy toys at Christmas. Yet I never missed those things. We were happy.”

  “What was your favorite memory?”

  “When I was twelve I asked for my own bicycle so I could ride to the park for my baseball games instead of walking. It was Christmas, and I’d long since stopped believing in any jolly old man coming to bring me my wishes, but still, there was that hint of kid hope. That anticipation that maybe I’d get lucky and I’d get my wish. And then I woke Christmas morning and came out of my bedroom to find a bike under our tree. It was used and had rust spots, but there it was. Mom made us pancakes and we just stared at that bike, happy for the first time in a long time. That was a good day.”

  I threaded my fingers through his, running my thumb over his palm. “It sounds like she was a special woman.”

  “She was. She died too young. Heart disease.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Aidan shrugged and stood, reaching for my hand. “Care if I go in for a shower?”

  “Not at all.”

  I showed him to the bathroom between our two rooms and where to find towels and anything else he might need, then stepped up to kiss him once more, our bodies touching, heat radiating off him in waves. “You smell good,” I said, causing him to laugh.

  “I smell like sweat.”

  “You smell like the outdoors. It’s nice.”

  He dipped his head to press his lips to mine, then pulled away. “You better get out of here before I drag you into the shower with me.”

  Grinning, I went for the door. “We’ll have dinner ready when you come back down.”

  “Royalty treatment. I could get used to this.”

  I closed the door and leaned against it, smiling. “Yeah…me, too.”

  …

  I made my way into the kitchen to help Mom with dinner. The smell of rosemary and spice filled the air, bringing with it a thousand memories of me up on a small wooden stool, bright-eyed as I watched Mom work her magic in the kitchen. She taught me how to bake, how to season, how to make cookies from scratch and the most perfectly moist turkey on the planet. I thought of Grace and Lauren, both of whom couldn’t boil water, and felt a surge of pride for all Mom had given me. “Thanks for teaching me to cook,” I said as I sorted cheese and bread on the serving tray she’d set out.

  “I’d have liked to show you more. I wish you were home so I could.”

  Sadness and guilt weighed on me. “I know. But I’m happy in New York.”

  “I can see that,” she said, smiling over at me. “He’s nice. Where is his family for the holiday?”

  “He lost his mother a few years ago,” I said. “That’s why I invited him. He would’ve been alone.”

  Mom glanced at the doorway to the kitchen, likely listening for Aidan. “What about his dad?”

  “Left when he was a kid.”

  She covered her mouth. “He doesn’t have parents?”

  “He doesn’t have anyone. No family.”

  She shook her head, her eyebrows drawn in concern. “Well, then, he can share yours.”

  I pulled her into a hug. “I love you. Thank you.”

  Mom and I carried the roast and sides into the dining room, where Aidan and Eric sat talking football again. The table brimmed with candles and swirling pumpkin-and-leaf decorations, the perfect holiday centerpiece. I sat down beside Aidan, Mom across from me, and Eric at the head of the table. Mom’s best fine china, sterling, and crystal were positioned in place settings in front of us.

  Eric stood as soon as we were all seated. “Let us thank God,” he said, as he bowed his head. I peeked over at Aidan, expecting him to blanch at the idea of prayer. I’d never once heard him talk about religion. But he had already closed his eyes. “Lord, we thank you for the wonders you give us each day and the blessings that carry us. We thank you for our family, for our health, and for the gift of great friends, like Aidan. We hope to see more of him. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  I swallowed hard as I opened my eyes and peered at Eric, but he refused to meet my gaze. Aidan was the first guy I had brought home since Blaine. They knew how badly that breakup had hurt me, how hard it was to talk about Blaine for months after. I could only imagine what was going through their heads right now.

  “Let’s eat.”

  We took turns passing around dishes and piling our plates to the rims. It made me excited for Thanksgiving. I missed homemade food, how wonderful it smelled, and by the look on Aidan’s face, he was thinking the same.

  “So, Aidan,” Mom said after a few minutes of silent eating. “How exactly did you and Cameron meet?”

  Aida
n took a drink of his water and wiped his mouth with his napkin before replying. “Well, as Cameron mentioned, we work together. Though we met before she started at Sanderson-Lowe.”

  “What a nice coincidence.”

  A smile stretched across my face at the memory, and Aidan grinned at me.

  “What do you do at Sanderson-Lowe?” Mom pressed. “Are you an account manager, like Cammie?”

  And here it was. The topic we had debated over and over on the plane. Should we admit that Aidan was my boss and deal with the looks now, or skate over it and act as though he were promoted or something later?

  Aidan sat tall. “Actually, I’m the chief creative director.”

  Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounds rather important.”

  He shrugged. “I think every position is important. We operate as a team. One missing piece and everything falls apart.”

  Eric nodded, the businessman in him showing. “I like your philosophy. I used to tell my employees that every person on my staff needs to be prepared to sweep the floor if necessary.”

  “Exactly,” Aidan said, and just like that, their conversation shifted from football to business, and I watched with pride as Eric listened to Aidan talk. I’d seen Aidan captivate a room plenty of times at the office. To see him do the same to Eric, someone I’d always respected, made my heart swell. When I glanced up, I found Mom’s eyes on me, tears threatening to rain.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I’m perfect.” She reached across for my hand and held it tight. “It’s just nice to see you so happy.”

  After dinner, Mom made an effort of appearing wide-awake so we could have tea and chat, but I knew her too well to allow it. She’d been up since four preparing for Thanksgiving and would be up again tomorrow at four. She needed rest. Plus, I was eager to have Aidan alone.

  Aidan disappeared into the guest room, shutting the door with a devilish grin. I went into my room, set my bag on my bed, and clicked on the lamp. Mom had replaced my bedding with a plaid and floral set, but outside of that singular switch, it hadn’t changed a bit. The white shelves across from my bed were still full of photos from high school, trophies from competition cheerleading and dance, old baseball cards that I’d collected with my dad. On the nightstand beside the bed sat a porcelain jewelry holder and a framed photo of me sitting in my dad’s lap. I was five or six and so scrawny you’d have thought they never fed me, but the smile on my face told the true story. I didn’t remember that day. Not where we were, or what we were doing, or even why I was smiling, but I knew that since his death, I never smiled that big.