“Dani, you’ve given those boys a great gift,” she said, blowing gently on her smoldering marshmallow to keep it burning. The four were still whooping it up and rolling around on the grass, with Quinn refereeing. “The gift of time. I really don’t think Nash would’ve come home, had it not been for you.”
Affection for the woman surged through me; next to Bear, she had been the most straightforward and kindest of them all since we had arrived.
“Darling, speaking of time . . . I hope you’ll consider holding the wedding here. Soon. Lord knows this place could use some joyful memories.”
The guys were descending, sweaty and hungry, and Sindy made quick business of shoving more marshmallows on skewers.
“Going for a water run,” Quinn called, making toward the house.
My heart began to speed up at the thought of things going any faster than they already were. Arriving in town and discovering Mick had thrown me for a loop. I had been evading the eventual questions that I knew were bound to come, and excuses came natural for me. “Well, you know. We haven’t even considered who will officiate—”
Sindy waved a hand. “We do it differently here in Pennsylvania. You and Nash can go get yourself a Quaker license. It only takes three days, and it’s self-uniting.”
Three days? As in, before the week is up?
“Just you, your vows, and two witnesses. Isn’t that romantic? Hell, if I could do it all over again with Walt that way, I would,” Sindy was saying.
“Do what?” Nash asked, wiping his face with his shirt. He looked exhausted but happy.
“Get hitched right here at the Half Acre.” Sindy smiled and presented Logan with a marshmallow-topped skewer and a curtsy, like he was king of the world. I felt Mick’s presence behind me, heard his labored breathing, and smelled clean sweat as he reached around me and thrust a skewer into the blaze.
“That’s a great idea,” Bear said, before anyone else could react. “Right here!”
“At the fire pit?” I laughed, poking the flames with my own stick.
Bear gave a small smile, and pointed up.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but the concrete pad we were sitting on rested under a regal metal archway. It wasn’t enclosed, and we could see countless stars overhead on the clear night.
“It’s an open-air chapel,” Bear explained. “We used to have weddings here all the time.”
“It will be perfect.” Sindy sighed. “Let us help plan the wedding of your dreams.”
Mick’s gaze met mine as I came back down to earth. Smoldering. The sweets we held between us turning to forgotten ash.
I don’t sleep anymore, he had said. Not since New Orleans.
I no longer dream.
I turned to catch Nash’s reaction, but his eyes were roaming elsewhere. Focused on the dark corners of the property, his mind somewhere in the past.
• • •
“I need you. Baby. Please.”
There’s that weird spot between awake and sleeping, where you can’t remember whether you’re dreaming, yet everything feels good and right in the world. And you’re happy and your mind’s at peace, for no real reason.
That’s where I was when Nash reached for me.
“Where?” I kicked the covers off of both of us.
“Lower back,” he gasped. “Maybe I overdid it today.”
“Pain scale?” I plugged in the heating pad I had bought for him, which would help with the inflammation.
“Getting worse by the second.” He groaned loudly as I eased him over onto it.
“Relax,” I whispered, stroking his hair back as he winced and sighed.
“Christ, I am so tired of this pain. When’s it going to go away?”
“Shhh . . .” I began to stroke and knead the tense muscles in his thighs while the heat loosened his back. “You’re tired because your body is fighting a war.”
Deep down, I knew he was terrified of the pain truly going away . . . because that was the true sign that the scarring had fused the spine, leaving him with limited mobility and balance.
“Can you—” I worked my way to his hips and he moaned in grateful relief as I helped him flex them. “That’s the fucking spot, girl. Yeah.”
“Deep breaths,” I reminded, as I leaned over him.
He ran his hand over mine, breathing hard. “Oh God. Spasm. Need to turn.”
It was better for him to lie facedown, but getting there was torture. He muffled his groans and curses in the pillow as I gently massaged the hot spots where his flare-ups tended to occur.
Gradually, his breathing became slower, shallower. “Yes . . . much better. Thank you,” he mumbled, wiping the tears and sweat with the back of his hand. His eyelids gave over to the heaviness and fatigue that often followed such an episode, and he was back to sleep within minutes.
I slowly lay back down, willing my heart rate to return to normal. Coaxing my body back toward sleep, I remembered my dream. So much for the lie I had spun in the supermarket parking lot. There were many dreams. And they were always about Mick. This one had me in his arms, on a blanket under the stars by the fire pit. No s’mores, just the sweet and sticky sin of his fingers slipping toward the hottest part of me. I closed my eyes, but was having a hard time finding my way back there. Nash began snoring next to me. The ache for release grew, and my only recourse was to take matters into my own hands. Quiet, gentle and quick, I opened myself to the fantasy. Mick’s fingers, not mine, eased the ache and brought sweet sleep.
Mick
HAPPINESS SOLD SEPARATELY
The walls were way too thin at the Half Acre.
Room twelve wasn’t far enough away from mine to pretend I wasn’t hearing what I thought I was hearing, as I tossed and turned.
Nash led a charmed life, apparently. As evident from his grunts, groans, and “yeah babies,” followed by soft whispers, sighs, and creaks of the bed.
Sweet nothings that weren’t exactly nothing, I thought bitterly.
The idea of Dani working him into such a state sent me out of my mind, and downstairs to watch some mindless television.
Quiet footfalls on the staircase turned my head. Quinn, freshly showered and wearing one of the inn’s signature thick waffle-weave spa bathrobes, padded in. I smirked, remembering she made me relinquish the one in my room when I established residence.
“And I thought those fancy robes were just for guests?”
“Jesus, Mick!” Quinn’s fist clutched the collar of her robe. “You scared the piss out of me.”
“Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”
She gave a snort. “With all their carrying on up there, I’m not surprised.”
Good to know I wasn’t the only one.
“I came down to watch TV. Do you know why there are no batteries in the remote?” I gave it a shake.
“Why would I know?” she snapped, jamming her hands into the pockets of her robe and glaring at me.
“Because you always watch those ridiculous cooking shows after Logan goes to sleep. Don’t bite my head off, kid.”
She reddened. “Maybe Bear used them for his guitar pedals. I don’t know.” She shrugged and turned on her bare heel. “I’m making tea. You want a cup?”
“Nah,” I said, but followed her into the kitchen anyway. “Double-A batteries to power his rock? Doubtful, honey.”
“Well, look in the junk drawer.” She gestured toward the kitchen island. “I’m sure there are some lying around.”
“Nope. Already checked. None.” I leaned against the counter while she fussed with her tea bag.
“Okay. So maybe Logan’s remote-control race car needed batteries.”
Her attempt to sound casual was just about as lame as that excuse. Logan got a billion new toys for his birthday, and that old car had been sitting in the shed since July.
“
Or maybe,” I drawled, smiling wickedly, “Queen Quinnlyn’s got herself a battery-operated friend upstairs.”
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, yanking the steaming kettle off the stove. I knew I had her.
“Hey, hey, nothing to be ashamed about.” The batteries she pulled from her robe’s pocket and whipped at me plink-plunked against my laughing chest. I stooped to retrieve them; they were still warm. “We’ve all been there, Quinn.”
“I don’t want to know about anywhere you’ve been, Mick Spencer.” She plunged her tea bag into the steaming cup and dunked it mercilessly. “End of story.”
Still chuckling, I placed the double-A’s into the remote and clicked the back shut. “The end, all good,” I said emphatically, but couldn’t help but add, “a good, happy ending. That’s all anyone ever needs, right?”
“Get out of my kitchen.”
“Come watch TV with me. I’ll even let you choose the show.”
“Gee, thanks.”
We settled into opposite ends of the couch. Quinn blew across the top of her mug while I thumbed through the channels. A nudge of her bare foot to my femur bone indicated her program preference, some celebrity cake competition. Not my idea of relaxing entertainment, but it beat listening to whatever show was still going on up in room number twelve.
Bacon lap-tested Quinn’s waffle-weave before clambering over to poke holes in my sweatpants with his claws, kneading and turning until he flopped to rest across my knee.
“That guy reminds me of you.” Quinn jutted her chin toward the screen.
“Because he’s short, stocky, bald, and looks absolutely nothing like me?” I joked, studying her profile. Cool, blue light flickered down her cute, upturned nose and dotted her cheeks before she answered.
“Because he gets absolutely lost in the joy of doing what he loves to do.”
We watched in silence for a while.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
“About strangling Bear for inviting them to stay here? Yes.”
I laughed. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“The hell if I know. Nash is up to something. I can feel it.” She dropped her head on my shoulder, and I pulled her close. “I just wish I knew what it was, so I could head it off at the motherfucking pass.”
An idea struck. “You know that old saying about keeping your friends close?” I asked her.
“But your enemies even closer?” Quinn finished.
What about your enemy’s fiancée?
“I think we should all go out this week. On a double date. You and me. Nash and Dani.”
Quinn smiled for the first time that evening. Or at least, since she left the privacy of her own room.
Dani
GOSSIP GIRLS
“Nash.” I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Nash, time to get up. First day of school.” I’d already been downstairs and Logan was a fireball of energy, excited to start fourth grade. Quinn was flitting back and forth like a bird building a nest as she simultaneously packed a brown-bag lunch for him and set the table for the Boo-hoo Breakfast. Mick was readying food for half a dozen women, and Bear was serenading everyone with Elton John songs in preparation for his Elton “tribute” that night.
My job was to rouse the sleeping giant. I gave Nash’s shoulder a gentle kneading
He started, then rolled over. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Come on. You don’t want to miss the bus.”
No answer.
“Nash.”
His lips communed with the pillow. “You go. I’m not invited to the Boob Breakfast, remember?”
“It’s Boo-hoo. And I know. But you could come see your son off on the first day of school.”
Nash sat straight up in bed like a horror flick zombie. He tamped down his rumpled hair with shaky fingers. “How late were we up last night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two o’clock?” He’d reached for me in the small hours, which was often when the pain decided to make its presence known.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Fucking flare-up.”
“It’s okay. That’s what I’m here for.” I opened the curtains to let in the eastern light, and Nash hissed like a vampire being disturbed in his crypt. “I hope that’s not the beginnings of iritis,” I said, running a gentle hand over his brow and inspecting his reddened eyes.
“Eye-right-huh? What the fuck is that?”
“Severe sensitivity to light.” I handed him his sunglasses from the bedside table. “It often comes and goes with the AS flare-ups.”
“Gee,” he said sarcastically, cramming a ball cap on his bed-head as well. “This condition is the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t it?”
• • •
“Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Quinn said, hand on the front doorknob, as we descended the grand staircase. Logan gave a grin and two thumbs up, which caused a shift in his center of gravity due to his enormous backpack. He almost went over like a turtle on his shell. Bear began strumming and singing “I’m Still Standing.”
Nash ignored her comment, choosing to smile at Logan instead. I’d reminded him of the importance of facial expressions, especially since he couldn’t sign. Yet. “How about I walk him down to the bus stop, Quinn?”
“How about we both do?” she said through gritted teeth. “Seeing as I haven’t missed doing it once these last five years.” She bared her fist, which held a camera.
“Ah yes. Another Kodak moment.” Nash bent down next to Logan and they both mugged for the camera, leaving Quinn no choice but to snap a few shots of them.
“A disguise, really? The ball cap and the shades are probably going to attract more attention than your rock star self. Who are you afraid of?” She rolled her eyes. “Groupie bus drivers?”
“Let’s rock and roll, kid.”
Logan waved back to Mick and me before turning to march proudly between both his parents down the long walkway. Bear trailed behind them with his acoustic, crooning “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”
Mick laughed and shook his head. “Now that’s a Kodak moment. How’d you manage to get him out of bed before eight?”
“My powers of persuasion, I guess,” I said, suddenly very aware that he and I were alone in a very, very large house. With a lot of rooms to get lost in.
He shot me a look that sent my mind reeling back to my fantasies of him last night. God. Any alone time with Mick was just fueling my pathetic imagination.
“Need help in the kitchen?” I mumbled.
“I’ve got it under control,” he said, resting a hand on the curved banister.
If I took one more step down, I’d be in his arms. If I hightailed it up the stairs, he might give chase. The thought of that practically buckled my knees.
“Are you staying through the breakfast?” I asked.
Mick laughed. “That’s one wall I have no desire to be a fly on. Besides, I have to get down to the bakery. Which reminds me . . . we need to set a date. For you and Nash to come in and choose a cake. You are going to take me up on my offer, right?”
Dessert wasn’t the only offer I wanted to take Mick up on. But with Nash’s ring on my finger and his well-being on my mind, any indulgence on my part was severely restricted.
For all intents and purposes, you’re off the market.
Mick’s off the menu.
His hand slid up the banister, on a dangerous crash collision course toward mine, but I stood my ground and refused to meet his eyes. It wasn’t fair for him to do this, not when the rest of the inn’s residents were just a few steps down the walkway.
“Why are you torturing me?” I said softly.
“Girl, you don’t know what torture is. Last night—”
“Enough, Bear!” Quinn marched through the front door and straight into the kitchen to rea
dy herself for the women about to descend. Her brother busted in next, singing “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues” in his smooth baritone. His fingers changed chords easily as he made his way up the stairs past us with a grin.
I swept my hand over Mick’s as I descended to meet Nash at the door. It had been an innocent-looking move, but I hope it sent him the message loud and clear that I was moving past him, moving on.
I needed to.
Now if only I could convince myself of that. The thought made me want to weep.
I was going to fit right in at that Boo-hoo Breakfast.
• • •
The delicious scents emanating from the breakfast room competed against the bevy of women arriving in a cloud of perfume, waving their hands and air-kissing each other hello. Quinn let her best friend Lizzie, a cute cheerleader type with an upturned nose and sweet voice, introduce me to the rest of the gang, whose names I promptly forgot.
“See, we used to get together and cry, back when all our kids started kindergarten. Now,” a buxom redhead said, reaching for the pitcher of mimosas Mick had prepared earlier. “We send them off and it’s like ‘There’s the sweet sound of the school bus! Time to pour me a drink!’”
“I’m an honorary Boo-hoo,” hollered Lizzie, who was single but invited every year due to her BFF status, “but for the rest of you ladies’ sanity, I’ll drink to that!”
The other ladies all laughed and clinked their glasses. “None for me,” called the blonde with the baby attached on her hip. “Still breastfeeding this little guy.”
“Quinn, sit,” I said as she whirled by me like the Tasmanian Devil character in the old cartoons. “Visit with your friends. Let me serve.”
“Everything’s all set,” Quinn said breathlessly. “Mick set things up buffet-style before he and Nash hightailed it out of here to keep their manhood intact.”
The thought of Mick and Nash out together threw me, but I shook off the uneasy feeling. They had been friends much longer than I had been in the picture for either of them. And like I had conveyed to Mick at Logan’s party, I didn’t want to make any waves.
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