by Mae Wood
I found him in the kitchen—jeans, sneakers, a Duke hoodie, the bold blue intensifying his light eyes. “Pizza Café by Pop’s and Mimi’s?” I asked, snagging my keys off the counter.
I twirled the silver carabiner on my index finger while studying the young man in front of me and wondering where to begin. Then it hit me.
“Is this your way of breaking it to me that you’re going to be a Dookie?”
“Yeah,” he responded, shifting his weight between his sneakered feet and avoiding eye contact. “Not going to get upset, are you?”
“How about this—How about you enjoy four years being a Blue Devil without making me a grandpa? Can we agree on that?”
His eyes shot to mine. And we stared at each other in silence. Dinner plans off the table.
“But we weren’t!”
I held up my hands, silencing him off with a stern look. “You’re my son. I don’t want to know precisely what you were or weren’t doing. I just need you to swear that you’ll be smart and safe, and don’t—I can’t believe I’m saying this—”
“Stop! Dad! Just stop okay? We weren’t and I’m not going to.”
“I’m not asking you to hold out until you’re married or take a vow of chastity or anything.”
“Good,” he snorted.
“But you’ve got to be smart. Be careful. Because your mom and I got lucky.”
“Seriously, can we drop this?”
“No, I promised your mom I’d talk to you about it,” I said, looking directly at him.
“You talked to Mom!” Panic filled his wide eyes.
“Yeah, I did. Condoms. Make sure she’s on some sort of birth control. And you sure as fuck keep it in your pants unless she asks.”
“Are you done? Because I’m not hungry,” he said, turning on his heel.
“Nope. Dinner. Now. We need to talk.”
“More?” he whined.
“Yes,” I said, shrugging into my coat.
“But can we not talk about me? Let’s talk about you being grumpy ever since Drennan left.”
“And that’s what we need to talk about.”
“I thought she moved back to California,” he asked, the whine I’d expected was replaced by a poorly disguised excited curiosity.
“Grab your coat. Let’s get in the car.”
Two large pizzas and two beers later, the beers being mine and not his, I told him that when he was going skiing, I was headed out to see Drennan.
“So, you’re still dating her?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to move to California?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. What would you think about that?”
And my blithe teenager returned. “Whatever. Mom’s here. And so are Pops and Mimi. And California sounds cool.”
“But I’m not going anywhere. Not right now. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Can we go next door for froyo?”
“It’s fifty degrees out.”
“And?” he asked. Maybe sending my bottomless pit to eat in a cafeteria for the next few years wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Chapter Forty
Drennan
As soon as the plane’s wheels hit the ground, I resumed texting, confirming that Kenzie, not Dad and not Ryan and not Kenzie with Leo in tow were coming to get me from Sacramento. When her black tank of a Lexus pulled up at the curb, I threw my bags in the trunk and snapped myself into the passenger’s seat.
“Hey. Glad to be home?”
“Okay, Kenz. Can you just listen for a bit?” And for the next hour I talked. About how Lickable Man wasn’t to be called that to his face. About how he was going to visit. About how I didn’t have a clue where I was going to live and wasn’t sure where Bert was going to stay when he came for Christmas. But about how I sure as shit wasn’t sleeping anywhere he wasn’t. About how she had to strong-arm him into making biscuits for Christmas morning.
Her tires crunched up the gravel drive to stop in front of the houses. “You know you can always cancel any holiday rental and move into the grandparents place,” she said, nodding to the simple rancher that was flanked by the houses we’d grown up in.
“You think Dad would be okay with me cancelling on a guest?”
“No. But if it’s that or knowing his daughter is getting fucked just down the hall from him, I’m pretty sure he’d call the guests to cancel.”
“Well, here’s the big question. What if I moved in there? Like for good?”
“I kinda assumed you would. Defeats the whole ‘family compound’ vibe if you’re elsewhere.”
“Is it weird living so close to Dad?”
“Well, he’s my uncle. And it’s not like he’s in our house a lot, and I explained the tall hedge around the backyard by saying I wanted to keep stray tourists out.”
“You were serious about the hedges?”
“Yeah. You do know I fuck with you about a quarter of the time, right?”
“No,” I said, parsing through my memories of her outrageous stories.
“Well, I wasn’t fucking with you about the hedges or liking it outside. So, if you’re going to live there year round, I suggest some nice drapes on the windows that look toward my backyard.”
I turned my vision from the middle house and toward the one I’d grown up in. And there was Dad, on the front porch with Bubba at his feet. With a wave, he began to walk towards the car. “Good luck, Dren.”
With a whisper of thanks, I opened the door to find myself immediately wrapped in my dad’s arms.
“Hey, sweetheart. Glad you’re home for more than a few days,” he said.
He let me go, and I knelt down in the pea gravel to scratch the whining tubby dog behind his floppy ears. “Yeah, this is my home,” I said to him as much as myself.
“Well, let me get your bag up to your room,” he said, moving toward the popped trunk.
“Dad,” I said, the word coming out in a long sigh. The crunch of his feet on the driveway stopped. “What would you say about me living in the grandparent’s house?”
“I’d say that you’re an adult and should have your own place. Never expected you to move in with me for good.”
“Okay, well, that was easy,” I said, my worry over something that turned out to be so simple washing away and leaving me to face the more difficult topic. “So this part may not be.”
“What part?” he asked, his eyebrows raising with some alarm.
“There’s a guy,” I said, kneeling again to avoid his questioning gaze and to pet Bubba some more. He’d rolled over to show me his belly and I couldn’t say no to him.
“And you’re going to live here?”
I nodded, looking at my fingers as they wove through Bubba’s short fur. “Yeah. I think that may happen.”
“Is he going to live here, too?”
I kept my eyes on the chipped purple polish. “Yeah. Maybe?” The response came out as a question, my voice lilting and lingering on the end, but there was absolute certainty underneath it. I didn’t know how it was going to happen. Only that it was. That as weird as the whole “you know when you know” saying about finding your partner was, in my bones I knew.
***
Circling the airport on Christmas Eve, I tapped on the steering wheel, drumming my fingers over the smooth leather. Two weeks without him had been miserable and endurable at the same time. I missed him, but I knew I’d have him soon. And I also knew that I hadn’t lost him. And that I wasn’t going to. No ring. And I could count on one hand the times we’d exchanged “I love yous.”
A ding escaped from my phone and I slowed down to an even more leisurely crawl, not wanting to blow past him, my eyes feverishly scanning the holiday crowd for Bert. Then I saw him. Clean-shaven. Wrapped up in worn denim and the tan field coat he’d worn at Blackberry. He was looking for me. His eyes turning over each car as they crept by him.
I danced in my seat and banged the palms of my hands on the
wheel. And then he saw me in the silver hybrid SUV I’d bought the week before. A smile and a wave. A smile and a wave from him and I was sailing with joy.
Popping the car into park in front of him, I hopped out and found myself pushed back against the frame of the car. The weight of his body crushing me as he kissed me. All in. Nothing held back. Tongues lashing, lips sliding and teeth nipping, he was here. After a not-so kindly reminder from the airport policeman to get a move on, we loaded his small bag and pulled away from the curb.
“Good flight?” I asked, bathing in the comfort he radiated, stilling my mind and bringing a long sought peace to reside in my fluttering heart.
“Yes. Ready to take me home, Mizz Drennan?”
“Indubitably,” I replied.
Chapter Forty-one
Bert
Six months later
In the tangle of fingers of our clasped hands her new ring grazed me, nicking me but not breaking skin. Readjusting my grasp, I placed our palms together, our thumbs crossing. Holding her hand like I was shepherding her across a busy street. A long squeeze from her and the air leaked from me. Followed by tears.
Another squeeze and I pulled my eyes from the stage that Grady was about to cross and turned to her. Her green eyes were glassy, but when she saw my tears she smiled. “I win,” she whispered. “He was worried I was going to cry. Told him I wasn’t the parent he needed to worry about.”
Thomas doesn’t know what he’s got. I looked over Amy’s head to stare him down but his eyes were trained on her face. As they should be. And I’m fucking glad. Though we’ve got college and a lifetime ahead of us, we reached this milestone. Not as together as we’d planned, but as together as we’d been when we started sleeping together nineteen years ago—as friends.
For her I will always be thankful. For her I once felt like I had sacrificed my life. And she’d given the same. But it hadn’t been for each other. It had been for him, the six foot three inch man-child who in two weeks was off to maintain portage trails in the Boundary Waters this summer. Far from any vaginas. At least that was my plan when I suggested he look into working at a Boy Scout camp.
The Bon Appétit spread had been glorious, bringing some national attention to our humble restaurant. And Trip was being far from humble about it, telling anyone who would even halfway listen about the lightning we’d bottled. He’d been in the restaurant more than ever. Between simultaneously needing to be in Memphis to do the newborn thing and needing to get out of the house, he was becoming a fixture. Fischer had even reported he’d tried to help her tend bar one night last week with very unsuccessful results, complaining that he kept forgetting to ring anything up.
And I had no doubt that he was driving our GM Patti insane, but she hadn’t said anything during our twice-weekly phone calls this past month while I’d been out at von Eck overseeing finishing touches on the tasting room overhaul that had turned into adding deck ovens and a few other upgrades to the kitchen. Deciding to add an onsite bakery to offer perfect crusty loaves to pair with some carefully curated regional cheeses and wine was a bit of a gamble.
While sitting on a sofa next to Amy when we told her dad she was pregnant would forever be the most stressful moment of my life, the second had taken place around a battered oak dining table in Drennan’s house while we spun our pipe dream of adding a quality bread and cheese offering to visitors.
“You know about Bouchon, right?” Her cousin Kenzie spat at me before turning to Drennan. “Why would anyone buy this when Thomas Keller’s gem is right down the road? You’ve got your hands full with the branding refresh, the potential new line, and the assholes who keep counterfeiting our stuff. Why add a bakery?”
“Because people will want to rack up the number of places they visit on vacation. Quality, of course. But you can’t eat at the French Laundry every day. There are other restaurants that succeed here,” said Drennan, her focused determination coming to the forefront. I’d been familiar with it when she’d tried to sell me wine a year ago, and I knew to sit back and watch her work. Watch her sell her vision, sell our vision.
“And I’ll invest in it, too,” I offered, quickly. “I can bring capital to the table to cover equipment and construction.”
“Oh, no,” said Ryan, stepping in, his voice firm. “The only owners are this one,” he said pointing to his wife, “and that one,” jabbing a thumb in Drennan’s direction. “Family business. It’s cleaner that way.”
“Yeah, you’re not investing, Bert. End of story,” said her dad. “I’m not an owner. Never have been. Ryan’s not one either. So if it’s going to bruise your pride to be employed by Dren and Kenzie, you need to rethink this.” Her dad Carl had always been friendly yet somewhat aloof with me, so his direct fierceness took me off guard.
And I laughed. An entirely inappropriate belly laugh. Bruising my pride? “No, I’m good with that. I was a stay at home dad while my ex-wife ran her orthodontics practice. So I know my place. And I’m cool working for them. But I don’t want you thinking that I’m here freeloading. I want skin in the game,” I looked around the table, pausing my vision on each of their eyes, struggling to convey my earnestness.
“There’s another way to get skin in the game,” I heard Kenzie whisper to Ryan. My brain spun, trying to puzzle that out. If I couldn’t invest money, were they talking sweat equity? And what would that look like?
“Kenzie!” yelled Drennan, shooting up from her chair before quickly sweeping her skirt under her bottom and retaking her seat next to me.
“Just saying,” Kenzie replied with a wave of her hand at me.
It was like being with my sisters. Always on the periphery of conversations and inside jokes.
“And I have three sisters,” I told Carl, continuing in my defense. “So that little scene, that’s nothing. There’s just two of them.”
Pomp and Circumstance began to play, bringing me out of my head, and I lifted my left arm to tuck Drennan under it. The auditorium seat’s armrest kept her apart from me, but this is where she belonged. Even if her shoulder was rubbing on my still sensitive new tattoo.
I’d had to dig around through my credit card statements to find out what I needed to know. Not the date I met her. Not the date when we’d first had sex. But the morning after when she’d driven me home from Mississippi. The day I truly met my other half.
I’d picked her up from the airport last night. And once we were at my house, with its new for-sale sign in the front yard, I pulled off my shirt and showed her the freshly inked line on the inside of my left bicep. Her eyes opened wide in amazement, and I wasn’t sure if she’d understood. Then without a word she lifted the hem of her soft cotton T-shirt. Not high, but enough for me to see surrounding her Gemini constellation was a thin outline. A beat passed as I studied the impossibly thin black line, still tinged with pink skin at the edges. Then the shape took hold in my mind. Mississippi.
More by Mae Wood
The heatwave in Memphis continues. . .
Bending the rules isn’t breaking them, right?
Marisa Tanner's most important client, multi-billion dollar family-owned Brannon Company, has been sued by nine of its employees for sexual harassment. Marisa is a pro at handling sexual harassment allegations, but will she be able to handle the CEO's prodigal son as well as she can handle the lawsuits?
Clients are off-limits and Marisa could lose her law license and livelihood, but Memphis playboy Trip keeps making strong plays for her.
Their attraction is undeniable and chemistry electric. Can she have her career and Trip, too, or will she have to choose?
Catch up with Marisa and Trip in Risking Ruin and Borrowing Trouble.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B016QAX88S/
And make reservations for a table in 2018 when Bert’s little sister Fischer meets her match over a pint at Pig and Barley.
Acknowledgments
Writing a novel is a marathon. Complete with the hours of hard work at ungodly hours. For those who m
ade sure I showed up and didn’t sleep in–Kim and Beth. For those who kept me fed and hydrated–Hubs, Mom, Dad, Kiddo, Babe, Ben. For those who looked at my form and told me how to improve–Maggie Jane, Emily. For those who cheer along the course–Jess, Kenysha, Amanda, Natasha, Mila, Robyn, the Jaimes, Dawn, Angela, Kim, Marnie (hey! How’d you like your character?), Cai, Meggie, Susan, Emily, Candy, Dee, Misty, Alyssa, Jen, Katharine, Tasha, Julie, Holly, Helen, Karin, and all of the diners at Pig and Barley. For those who run with me – Kate, Donna, Tess, Hilaria, Zeia, Eli, Debi, Parker, Anne, and all the Minxes. For those who are reading these words. To you all, I am indebted. Thank you.
About the Author
Mae Wood is a mommy, bookworm, and lawyer (in that order).
A while ago Mae decided that she needed to give up the fear that she couldn’t write “great literature” and write what she wants to read.
And she wants romance. And laughter.
She wants heroines who are brave. Brave enough to be themselves and brave enough to fall in love.
She wants men who are strong and kind.
Mae lives in the Southeastern United States with her husband, two children, and a Samoyed who likes to nap at her feet while she writes.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Bert
Chapter Two