by Liz Crowe
“Here,” Evelyn said, thrusting the baby carrier into his hands. “So help me that kid has been squalling for the last twenty miles, and I’m going insane.” She hooked her thumb at her husband, standing on the other side of the car, stretching his back. “Sleeping Beauty here snoozed the whole damn time.” But her gaze was soft and affectionate as Austin made his way around to the back of their SUV and lifted the gate.
“Give her to me,” Elisa insisted, poking his shoulder and holding out her arms for the baby. He hesitated, recalling their first date night conversation on this topic. She stamped her foot in mock temper. “I want to hold the child, mouth-breather. Give her up and help our friends carry in the food.”
Gratefully, he handed over the seat. Elisa began crooning to Rose in German and carried her up to the house.
“So,” Evelyn said, as she piled his arms full of bags from two different groceries. “You’d better not fuck this up, Hoffman.”
“I’m capable of carrying these up to the house without dropping anything or tripping over my own feet,” he huffed.
She glowered at him. “You know what I mean.”
He leaned over and pecked her cheek, more ecstatic than he could ever express that he could do that and not want to jump off a cliff in despair. “I love her, Evelyn. It’s as simple as that. And you, more than anyone, know how I am when I’m in love.”
She paused, tilted her head and gave him one of her patented Evelyn-soul-searching stares. “I do know,” she finally said, reaching for Austin and snaking her arm around his waist. “And I couldn’t be happier for you.”
“Yeah, well, since you had to settle for this poor substitute,” he said, nodding Austin’s way. “I guess you might as well be happy for me.”
She smacked his shoulder. Austin chuckled and put him in a headlock. “Dude, you should check the entry for ‘poor substitute’ in your German to English translation dictionary. Your photo needs updating.”
“Ach. Touché, my friend. Touché. Come on, hurry up with that grub. My woman has a killer meal planned for us.”
He saw his two friends exchange a look that was equal parts amusement and relief. He smiled at them both and whistled his way up the drive to the house. Once all the food was delivered and spread out, Melody jumped in to help organize it all, encouraging everyone else to head outside to get the last of the afternoon sun.
“You should go too, Elle,” she said as Ross sipped a beer and watched the women maneuver around the biggest kitchen he’d ever encountered.
“No, it’s okay. My skin and the sun are not the best of friends. I’d rather stay here and get things going for dinner. But thank you.” She glanced over at him. “You go on, Hoffman,” she said, switching to German. “I’m sure you’re itching to be on a boat or someplace equally awful. I’ll stay to listen for the child if she wakes so grab Evelyn and Austin on your way out.”
Trent hollered in from the deck that spanned the entire back of the house that he was taking the pontoon out for a late afternoon spin and anyone interested should report down to the dock in thirty minutes. Ross finished the beer and set the empty in the case he’d opened inside the garage then came back to the kitchen, swept Elisa up in his arms and kissed her until he saw stars.
“All right, enough,” Melody said, smacking the back of his head with a spatula. “Don’t make me get out the water hose.”
When he set her down and cupped her chin, her eyes seemed more gray than blue in the ambient light. “You sure you want to stick around here? This bitch can be hard to handle.” He grabbed a bundled bunch of cilantro and flung it at Melody’s head. She ducked, flipped him off, and returned to the pile of groceries on the granite topped island.
“I’m sure,” she said, going up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. “Go on. You’re in my way.”
He found Austin, Evelyn, Brock, and a very attractive redhead lazing on lounge chairs, holding beers and wearing identical sunglasses. “You guys look weird,” Ross said, saluting them and holding out his hand to the newcomer. “I’m Ross. I’m better than either of these two assholes at pretty much anything. And you are?”
She slid the shades down her nose and gave him a blatant checking out, from his head to his toes. “Hmm…maybe.” She held out her bottle. “I’m Caroline. Did you make this?” Ross squinted at the label.
“I did, indeed, fair lady.”
“Okay, then you can stay.”
He grinned at her, then slapped Brock on his bare calf. “I like her. You can keep her.”
“That remains to be seen,” Brock said, sipping and not looking at her.
“I’ve known Brock and Austin since forever,” the woman said, as she lay back on the lounge again. “Our parents were friends.”
“Ah, another trust fund baby. Cool.”
Evelyn flipped him off, but her eyes remained hidden behind her dark lenses so he couldn’t gauge what she really thought.
“Are all you layabouts coming on the fucking boat, or what?” Trent hollered from the steps. Ross looked over the deck railing and saw an elaborate set of steps leading down a brick paver patio with a fire pit in the middle. A vast stretch of green grass lay between that and the sandy beach.
“Come on, I haven’t ever been on a Great Lake before,” he said, jumping up and running down the steps and across the grass. The sun on his shoulders and face had never felt better. The boat ride took an hour and by the time Ross and Brock had tied the thing to the dock, several teenaged girls were gathered around the fire pit.
“Come on up to the house, Tay,” Trent called on his way past her and two of her friends. They were all staring at their phones, ignoring the beauty all around them, as well as Trent, Ross noted.
Trent stopped, turned around and went back to the pit. “Taylor, I said come up the house. One of our guests is a chef and is taking care of dinner but I want you and your friends to set the table.”
She rolled her eyes, sighed and got up as slowly as possible. Her friends followed suit. Brock and Caroline were sitting side by side on the dock with their feet in the water. Austin and Evelyn were still on the boat, enjoying a few more moments of quiet before the kid woke up and demanded their attention. Ross looked out over the expanse of water, then up at the back of Trent’s lake house, and acknowledged that he’d never felt more content.
“Hoffman!” He spotted Elisa’s head sticking out of one of the glass doors along the back of the house. “Get your ass up here. Please.” She smiled, then disappeared. As he ran up the steps to the upper deck, he could hear the robust wail that could only mean Miss Rose was up and at ’em.
Melody was jiggling the unhappy child while Elisa warmed a bottle of breastmilk. “Here,” Elisa said, putting the thing in his hand, then taking the now-screaming kid from Melody and handing her to him. She smiled and patted his cheek, the turned back to the dinner prep.
“Wait a second. I’ll go get Ev—”
“Oh no, you will not,” Elisa said, whirling on him, her hand on her hips. “Sit down and feed her. Surely, you are capable of that simple act?” She raised an eyebrow. Rose was snuffling into his neck, which felt disgustingly wet and warm.
“I am, thank you very much. Aren’t I, Liebling? I am more than capable.” He sat in a leather recliner, leaned back so the footrest popped up and attempted to figure out the best way to hold the kid. She was reaching for the bottle, so that was good. He popped the nipple into her mouth and she gripped the thing with both hands, closing her eyes with the effort of pulling the nutrition from it.
He watched her, fascinated with her miniature features. When he touched her cheek with his fingertip her eyes flew open and she let go of the bottle. She shot him an irritated look that made him laugh out loud, it was so very much like her mother’s. After glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he pressed his lips to her forehead, sucking in that distinct baby smell he’d discovered the last time he’d held her.
She resumed her meal and they both dozed, once he’d propp
ed the arm holding her on a folded blanket. When he realized she’d maneuvered herself around and was now sitting on his chest and had her small hands on his beard, he grinned, and rubbed her soft cheek with it, making her giggle.
“Da,” she declared, keeping one hand on the soft curls along his jaw.
“No, kid. It’s complicated. But no.”
“She’s talking to me, dummkopf,” Austin said from behind him before plucking the girl up and making her squeal
“Da! Da! Da!”
“Bona fide daddy’s girl,” Evelyn said. She pressed her lips to Austin’s cheek, then Ross’ before heading into the kitchen.
“Don’t confuse her,” Austin said, as he sat on the couch, the baby on his knee before she wiggled her way down to the floor. She crawled straight over to Ross’ chair and pulled herself up to standing.
Waving one hand at him, she yelped “Da!” again.
Austin and Ross both laughed, which made her laugh—the most beautiful sound Ross thought he’d ever heard. He put a hand on her strawberry blond curls. “Lucky girl, gets to call us both that, I guess.” She grabbed his hand and jammed one of his fingers into her mouth. “Holy shit, ow! Dude, she’s a biter. Better nip that in the bud.”
“She’s getting her molars, you giant fool.” Elisa perched on the arm of his chair, holding out her hands so the baby trundled over to her from where she’d been gripping Ross’ knee. When Elisa picked the girl all the way up, saying she had a special treat for her in the kitchen, Ross stretched out in both directions, then put his hand behind his head.
When he registered the odd silence around him, devoid of the various conversations that had been going on earlier, he saw Brock and Caroline standing in the doorway. Taylor, Trent’s surly teenager and her friends paused in their table-setting task. Austin frowned at him, then shrugged and got up. “I need a beer.”
“Grab me a pils, will you?” He rose and glared at the small, gawking crowd in the living room. “Okay, so who in here doesn’t know that Rose my biological daughter. Go on, raise your hand.” None of the adults raised theirs. He nodded. “What I thought.”
“Um, I didn’t know that,” Taylor said, looking from him to Austin and back to him. Ross’ face got hot. Trent shrugged and draped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders.
“Full immersion, like you said, my friend,” Ross said, giving Trent a little salute. “Ask your dad to explain, kid. I’m gonna go check on dinner.” He took the beer from Austin and got the hell out of that awkwardness, fast.
Chapter Thirty
Dinner the first night was simple—grilled lamb chops dusted with a special Moroccan seasoning mix she’d concocted, along with a fresh spinach dotted with dried cherries, pecans and goat cheese, plus two loaves of crusty bread. For dessert, she’d made a batch of double chocolate brownies. Everyone raved about all of it, even the teenagers who were at first appalled that Mary’s Little Lamb was being served to them to eat.
She and Ross had chosen a rich Zinfandel to complement the food and three bottles had quickly disappeared. Afterward, she supervised the teenagers as they loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the table. She’d already cleaned the counters and there hadn’t been any pots or pans so the tidy-up was easy.
“I love your hair, Elle,” Taylor had said. “How long did it take you to grow like that?”
She touched her dreads, which were hanging down past her shoulders. “Almost eleven years,” she admitted, sipping the last of her wine.
“I love your tatts,” one of the other girls chimed in. “What is that for?” She pointed to Elle’s neck. Elle put her fingers on it, pondering her answer, and noting that she didn’t feel self-conscious about it for a change.
“This was a mistake.” She smiled as the girls clustered around her on the barstool she had pulled up to the island. Breakfast was to include a massive fruit salad so she’d decided to cut the mangos and kiwis tonight, and sleep in…or something…in the morning.
“What about those?” Taylor asked, leaning across the island and pointing to the line of stars up the inside of her arm. She had on a utilitarian sleeveless T-shirt, which exposed all her ink.
“These are not a mistake,” she said, holding her arm. “There is one star for each year I was…here, in the US.”
“Cool.” Taylor’s eyes shone. “When I got this,” she said, pointing to the small jewel in the side of her nose, “my dad almost had kittens. But I want more. I love that one.” She pointed to Elle’s lower lip.
Melody came in bearing the decimated platter of brownies. “Leave Elle alone, girls. Go on. Shoo.”
“No, it’s all right. I enjoy their energy.” Elle turned to the cutting board again.
“What’s for dinner tomorrow?” Taylor was still staring at her. “How’d you learn to cook like that? I thought you brewed beer, like Ross.”
“I do brew beer.” She held up a bite of mango. Taylor smiled and ate it. Melody was standing behind the line of teens, tying an imaginary rope around her neck and sticking her tongue out in a parody of suicide. Elle could only imagine how hard it must be to be in love with a man with a nearly grown daughter. She waved Melody away, determined to make the most of this, and put in a good word for Taylor’s no-doubt future step-mother.
“I went to the most famous cooking school in France. L’ecole Cordon Bleu, in Paris. After I graduated there, I moved to Chicago and worked at a famous restaurant. But…I got tired of that life. It’s full of prima donnas and assholes. Whoops,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
The girls fell all over themselves laughing. Taylor extracted herself and propped her elbows on the granite top while Elle continued cutting the fruit, putting it in separate plastic containers. “So you learned how to brew beer from Ross?” One of the other girls asked with a dreamy look in her eyes. Elle sympathized with her. Ross Hoffman would qualify as any girl’s dreamboat.
“No. When I left Chicago I went back home, to Germany. My Oma—grandma—had died and I needed to take care of some things. Then, with extra money thanks to her will, I came back to the US, all the way to Oregon and enrolled myself in their brewing science program. Took me two years to get it but I never thought I’d make it. So many men in the program being…you know…”
“Assholes,” the girls intoned in unison.
“Exactly. And I was…well…anyway, I got my degree and my first job on the west coast. I bounced around for some years after that and found myself here, at Fitzgerald.”
“Where you met Ross,” the dreamy-eyed girl said.
“Indeed. I did.”
“All right, it’s poker time,” Trent called from the living room. “Who’s in?”
Taylor retreated, rolling her eyes at the annoying fact of her father’s existence. “Do you play poker, Elle?”
“I do. I learned it while in cooking school. I’m told I have a great poker face.”
The girls chuckled and elbowed each other. “You know,” Elle said, handing the sealed containers to Taylor’s friends to put in the huge double-doored fridge. “Melody is pretty cool. She taught me to swear in Spanish.”
“Whatever.” Taylor officially disengaged from the conversation.
“Give her a shot, Taylor,” Elle said. “I think you won’t be disappointed.”
The girls all looked at each other a minute. “Can we help you tomorrow?”
“Of course you can. We’re making lasagna so it has a lot of steps. I make the sauce from scratch.”
“Cool. Thanks, Elle.”
Trent poked his head in the kitchen. “Who in here is ready for me to beat them at Texas Hold ’em?”
“Can I play?” Taylor wandered over and hip-bumped him. He bumped her back.
“Of course. I taught you how to play myself. How about you, Elle?”
“Sure. Give me a few more minutes to put some things away.”
“Sounds like a plan. Ladies, I need your help to uncover the poker table, and get it set up.” They foll
owed him out, leaving Elle to contemplate the day, the meal, her new friends, and Ross.
Within two hours, it became clear the Elle was a total ringer. More wine had been opened while she’d tripled her stack of chips and eliminated almost everyone from every single round. Ross sulked, while Evelyn and Melody picked up her chair and paraded her around the room singing We Are the Champions.
The teenagers had given up after the first hour in favor of draping themselves on the couch and texting boys. Rose had been asleep, but a loud bleat from the baby monitor indicated she wanted to join the party. With a soft, summer breeze blowing the gauzy curtains along the wall of glass to the deck, the teens led half of them in a video game dance contest, leaving everyone but Melody gasping for breath.
“You’re pretty good at that,” Taylor said to her, reluctant admiration clear on her face.
“Si, chica,” the woman snapped her fingers. “Stick with me and I will teach you to samba and tango.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Trent said from his perch on one of the recliners, gasping for breath.
Evelyn was tucked into a bay window, nursing Rose. Austin, Ross, Trent and Brock returned to the card table, leaving the women sitting on the couch, scrolling through the movie options. Elle headed into her haven, the kitchen. She ran her hands along the expanses of cream and brown granite, the top-of-the-line appliances, the under counter wine cooler, the natural cherry cabinets.
Someday, she thought. Someday I’ll have a kitchen like this again.
“Hey,” a male voice said, interrupting her daydream. She jumped and turned, a hand to her neck to find Trent pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m so glad you and Ross came up.”
“Me too. Thank you for including us. And for letting us hang around a few more days.”
“No problem.” He waved a hand, drank half the water, then leaned against the counter opposite her, much to her dismay. Trent was an Alpha Dom. She’d been trained to know one when she saw him. Plus, Melody had filled her in on how their relationship had begun, then ended, then picked back up again. She’d hinted at the D/s nature of it, but never given much detail. Which was fine with Elle.