by Kelly Moran
To think, Fridays were supposed to be the best day of the week. With his added invite to make dinner, she had no clue if this was supposed to be a date.
With a passing thought, she was tempted to call Avery, but Zoe didn’t need any more witnesses to her epic breakdown. She was acting like an indecisive vapid female, but damn it. This was Drake.
And he’d kissed her last night. An I-can’t-feel-my-knees, where-did-gravity-go kind of kiss. God, she was still dizzy. He hadn’t claimed her with scorching heat or devoured her whole. No. He’d gradually, at his own crawling pace, took her mouth with tender endearment as if seducing her to the idea of being with him.
Drake was a meticulous guy. He always took his time and thought things through. She’d nearly died waiting for him to amp the tempo. But, oh no. He’d had control at all times. Her brain had pooled to goo and her heart hadn’t caught regular rhythm since, but had he cried mercy?
Nope.
In all her years, with as many lovers as she’d had, not a one had kissed her like that. As if she...mattered, was worth tasting or taking the time to explore.
If this were any other man, she’d jump head first. Yet this wasn’t just any guy. The complications were still evident once the dust had settled. Their joined history with Heather was only a smidgen of the issue. After her discussion with Avery the other day, Zoe figured she could get past that, in time. Avery hadn’t been wrong in the things she’d said.
Drake didn’t just care about people. He loved with every fiber of his being and every cell of his body. Once he made the leap, there was no going back. It was why he’d taken four years to get over Heather and why they’d been together so long. Love wasn’t just an emotion for him. It was a way of life.
And he wanted a wife, a forever. Kids and dogs and picket fences. Once upon a time, she’d wanted that, too. Zoe may still be an epic romantic at heart—and she’d maim anyone who agreed—but fairy tales were for other people. She wasn’t the girl who got swept off her feet. She was the prelude lover or the one left in the dust.
Could she change the town moniker of “the good time”? Sure. But that didn’t mean she should. She could never have children. Or shouldn’t. Period. And Drake deserved a family, deserved to get everything he wanted.
If she thought, for one second, he wouldn’t get attached, she would gladly step up and help him transition back into the dating scene. She’d never get over it and she’d be gutted once things ended, but having the man she’d always wanted and measured every other guy against, even for just a short while, would be worth it. At least she’d know that, for a short blip in time, Drake had wanted her, too.
Another stupid fantasy to add to the list and grind into a fine powder. Drake didn’t do casual, which meant she had to—probably, maybe—set him straight tonight.
Whatever. Shaking her head, she went into the bathroom and showered off the clinic. Donning a pair of ripped jeans and an old white tee she’d used in the past for painting, she headed out.
The staff were just finishing supper clean-up as Zoe strode into Pine Crest. Before heading to Mama’s room, Zoe made a beeline for the nurse’s station to check in.
Frances, a woman who used to work with Mama when she’d been on staff, glanced up from a chart. “Zoe, great to see you. How are things?”
She leaned over the counter and hugged the sixty-year-old woman who reminded Zoe of Mrs. Doubtfire. “Not bad. How is she doing?”
Tucking a pen into her salt-and-pepper bun, Frances nodded. “Cat’s been quite the helper. Most of the time, she thinks she still works here, so we play along. She scoots around in her wheelchair passing out Jell-O and collecting water cups. It keeps her busy.”
Wow. Mama had been here a week, and for the first half of that, she’d been restricted to bed to elevate her leg. “Is she taking the pain meds? How’s she eating?”
“Cat’s got a great appetite. She’s not taking the medication as much. We’ve been sticking to over-the-counter during the day and the narc at night. She’s been cooperative about resting mid-day for an hour in her room.”
Before the fall, when Zoe had to work, Mama attended adult daycare and had been mostly pleasant, too. Though Mama didn’t recognize her, she was pretty tame on weekends for Zoe. It was the period after three or four in the afternoons when her sundowning started that the mean came out. “Has she, you know, thrown things or anything?”
Frances pressed a hand to her chest. “Heavens, no. She’s more confused at night, of course, but the medication and routine help.”
Slowly, Zoe nodded, not sure how she should take that news. On one hand, she was relieved Mama was doing so well. It meant she could come home on schedule if she was cooperative. But, on the other hand, Zoe couldn’t help but think the care she’d been giving her mom wasn’t enough. It had been a constant struggle to get her to eat, take her pills, and get ready for bed. Zoe had distraction down to a science, but it didn’t always help.
Issuing her thanks to Frances, Zoe popped into Mama’s room, but the aid was giving her a bed bath and Zoe didn’t want to upset the balance, so she headed out.
The sticky heat and humidity began to fade as dusk approached. She drove with the windows down, sea salt fading from the air the farther she got from town and closer to Drake’s. Letting the scent of cedar, spruce, and peat moss calm her nerves, she wove through the winding private drive past Gayle, Cade, and Flynn’s houses.
Pulling into Drake’s driveway, she cut the engine and stared at the house. All three O’Grady boys had built their homes from the ground up and all resembled log cabins. Drake’s had a wrap-around porch, pine rocking chairs, and forest green shutters framing the large windows. His front yard was all natural with mature birch, foxtail pine, and cypress trees. A neat row of evergreen bushes lined the porch.
Zoe didn’t think she’d ever view this house as anything other than Drake and Heather’s dream. It had four bedrooms, two full baths, and a half bath on the main floor. Ginormous living room in an open floor plan leading to an equally ginormous kitchen. They’d planned to fill it to the hilt with family, but that hadn’t happened.
He’d done little things outside to distinguish the place from what it resembled before Heather died. New porch furniture. No flower pots or wind chimes. Bushes instead of wildflower beds. Though she couldn’t see it from her position, out back near the thin trickle of a riverbed, he’d torn down the gazebo and erected a stone deck, complete with a built-in grill area. The patio furniture was also new.
Sighing, Zoe exited the car, climbed the porch stairs, and rang the bell. She had a key and she’d all but lived here during Heather’s end stage, but Zoe didn’t know how to behave in this new chapter with her and Drake. The last time she’d been here was two years ago when he’d asked her, via text, to clear out Heather’s personal effects.
Damn. She should just go home.
The front door opened and Drake stood there, one arm braced on the frame. His midnight hair was damp from a shower and dark stubble shadowed his wide jaw. A green T-shirt molded to his sculpted, lean body and did wonders to enhance the slight bulge of a bicep. Loose gray sweats hung on his hips and…screw all. His feet were bare. So hot.
He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze giving her outfit a slow perusal. “Hi.”
Curse that deep voice of his.
“Hi.” She blinked in the silence. “May I come in?”
Shaking his head as if to clear it, he stepped back. “Yeah, sorry.”
She eased around him into the living room and stopped short. The mahogany floors, scarred ceiling beams, stone fireplace, walnut kitchen cabinets, gray slate countertops, and stainless steel appliances were the same, but nothing else. Gone were the pictures on the wall, the furniture, and…everything else. Even the ugly pig cookie jar Heather had adored was missing from its place on the island. The only thing that remained was his sixty-gallo
n fish tank in the corner.
“Drake, I think you should call Parker. You’ve been robbed.”
With a heavy sigh, he shut the door. “If you ever go five minutes without sarcasm, I might expire on the spot.”
Said the pot to the kettle.
“You’re really serious about redecorating.” She glanced at the staircase and wondered if the re-haul included the second floor.
Looking suddenly uncomfortable, he crossed his arms and lowered his chin. “I bought two cans each of three different paint colors. I kinda got lost after that and maybe went too far.” Closing his eyes, he rolled his head to stretch his neck. “You and Gabby helped Cade and Flynn decorate when they were finished building their houses. Heather did ours, and I’m a guy, so...yeah…”
As he gazed around, his eyebrows pinched. Shame settled in her belly. He’d asked for her help and she was acting like a bitch. This was a huge step he was taking, and she knew from experience it wasn’t an easy one. For whatever reason, he’d sought her out when he’d realized he was ready.
“Hey.” She waited until he looked at her. “I’m sorry. What rooms are getting painted?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. He stared at her a long beat and then away as if the action had hurt. “The living room, which bleeds into the kitchen, my bedroom, and…”
“And the guestroom?” she offered gently. That’s where Heather had passed away. Drake had wanted her comfortable upstairs, but the mechanical bed hadn’t fit in their bedroom with all the furniture, thus the guestroom had been converted.
“Yeah.” His rough tone nearly tore her in two.
“What colors do you have?” She glanced at the six cans he’d set on the floor by the island. The entire house had beige walls. The old furniture and art had added the splash of color instead.
Clearing his throat, he walked into the kitchen. She followed and took the paint swatches he offered. Dark burgundy, something between a gray and blue, and forest green. Nice choices.
“Any idea what you want and where?”
After he shook his head, she studied the swatches. Heather had hated the color green, making it a good choice to use in the guestroom to eradicate all bad memories of her time there. Blue would be more soothing for a bedroom and burgundy against his stone fireplace would really do wonders for the eye. She told him as much, and he nodded.
“What about furniture?”
Grabbing an iPad off the counter, he swiped the screen. After a few taps, he moved next to her, showing her a dark ivory corduroy sectional. “It comes with a chair, too. They’re being delivered tomorrow with a new mattress for my bed.” He scrolled over and pointed to a scarred pine coffee and end table set that would match the ceiling beams.
“They’ll look awesome.”
“You think?”
“Yep. I wouldn’t lie to you. Well, not about redecorating anyway.” And he didn’t appear to need her help. Her assurance or her company, maybe, but not help.
A fond smile curved his lips. Setting the device aside, he glanced behind him. “Dinner should be ready in thirty minutes.”
At her shock in seeing the empty rooms, she hadn’t noticed the scent of roasting meat. He also had two saucepans going on the stovetop. Heather had been a terrible cook, leaving Drake to do most of the meals. “It smells great.” Except… “Where are we going to eat?” He’d gotten rid of the kitchen table, too.
“Figured we go out on the patio. A new kitchen set is coming tomorrow.”
The sound of pitter-patter scratched the floor and Drake’s two dogs came running down from upstairs. Cyprus, the gray and white Pitbull, made it to her first. He’d been a rescue from a dog fighting ring Flynn and Gabby had accidentally stumbled upon during a home visit. Poor guy had been in pretty bad shape, but had taken well to people. Moses, the German Shepherd, aptly followed and did his usual welcome by dropping at her feet and rolling over.
Laughing, she squatted and gave the dogs some love. “Who’s the best furballs on the planet? You two. Yes, you are.”
Moses barked and Cyprus gave her face a tongue bath.
Tension turned Drake’s shoulders rigid.
Her hands paused over the dogs. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m still a bit nervous about Cyprus, is all. It’s only been a few months since I brought him home, and with his violent background, I’ve been watching him close.”
“Has he shown signs of aggression?”
His gaze darted between her and the dogs. “No.”
She understood his concerns, and they were legit, but Cyprus was just a big baby, happy for some love. “You won’t eat me. Will you, boy?”
He pawed her arm.
“See? He’s okay.” She scratched his ears, one of them mangled from his dog fighting days. His tongue lolled from his mouth, his ears were up, and his stump wagged. No signs of distress. “I won’t be too tasty, anyway. Right, boy?”
He nudged her arm, and she laughed, rising to her feet.
Drake sighed. “Please just take it easy with him for a bit.” He glanced around. “Do you want to see the upstairs while we wait?”
Since he needed to loosen up, she made a point to check her watch. “Wow. Fifteen minutes in the door and you’re inviting me upstairs. That might be a record for me.”
A cross between pissed off and stunned stupid spread across his face until realization gradually dawned in his eyes. At her slow grin, his threatened to follow. The dimple on his left cheek made a rare appearance. “I never know what to say to you.”
“Really?” She tilted her head, unsure whether that was a compliment or not. “Thirty-one years as friends in the same small town and you haven’t figured it out?”
“The day anyone figures you out, Zoe, will be a cold day in hell.”
Her grin widened. “You say the sweetest things.”
He grunted, pointing to the stairs. “Shall we?”
With the dogs following, they walked past his home gym and the empty bedroom Drake and Heather had planned to make a nursery, then stopped outside the guestroom. There was a full-size bed, nightstand, and tall dresser, purchased after Heather died. The I.V. stands, oxygen tanks, and hospital bed were gone, but Zoe could understand why he’d want to paint. Her throat closed just remembering Heather’s last moments in here.
Pivoting on his heel, he strode into the master bedroom. She trailed after and took in the space. The last time she’d been in here was to clear out Heather’s clothes. Everything else was the same. Pictures from their wedding, their life together, dotted the dresser and walls.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t been able to…get rid of the stuff in here.” Gazing at the photos, his jaw ticked. “I know I should, but…” Closing his eyes, he drew a breath and opened them.
Tears burned her eyes, and she had to swallow twice before speaking. “You don’t have to eradicate her from your life, nor should you. Anyone you choose to date would understand that, and if they don’t, they’re not right for you.” And Zoe would kill them dead. “I suggest picking a couple pictures you want to keep and putting them downstairs on the mantle instead. The rest can go into storage or to Heather’s parents.” That way Heather was still around, had a place, but not a primary focus everywhere he turned.
When he said nothing, she touched his arm. “Hey, there’s no rush to do this, Drake. If you’re not okay—”
His laugh was dry. “I kissed you last night, and you’re telling me to…” He turned and faced her, lips pressed in a thin line. “I kissed you last night, and you’re the same old Zoe, encouraging me at my own pace. Why, honey? Why, when everyone else is pushing and prying and never leaving me alone, do you always know exactly what I need?”
She snapped her mouth shut. Her mind ping-ponged back and forth between the term of endearment he’d never used for her before and t
he blunt way he’d essentially told her she was what he needed.
Sucking a harsh inhale, nostrils flared, he crossed his arms. “I’m ready to do this. Really, I am. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.” Hesitantly, he glanced at her. “I have new linens and curtains for after we paint.”
“Okay, well—”
“I kissed you last night.”
God, this infuriating man. “You said that already.” Many times.
“You have yet to comment on it.”
Stomping her foot and screaming at the top of her lungs wouldn’t send the right message, but it might make her feel better. “What are you looking for? A blog post? A tweet?”
“Zoe.” The vulnerability in his eyes made it damn near impossible to keep her defense in place. “How about acknowledgement it happened?”
As if her lips would ever forget. “It happened. We were both there. Honestly, I’m trying to wrap my head around it. Are you happy now?”
He opened his mouth as if to speak and quickly shut it again. After a long, intense stare down, he finally sighed. “Happy is not the term I’d use.”
Did that mean he hadn’t liked kissing her? That...sucked. Because she’d more than enjoyed it. It had left her with more questions than answers, plus a boatload of guilt, but she’d sure enjoyed it. “What term would you use then?”
Up went his brows in a clear you-asked-for-it. “Frustrated. Aroused. Confused. Tense. Unnerved. Turned on. Take your pick.”
Holy, holy cow. “Ditto,” she whispered. And since someone had to use their mind for common sense purposes, she looked away and refocused on the task at hand. “I have a plan.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Does it require the need for bail money?”
“Sadly, no.” She pursed her lips. “Though I do always aim to behave in a manner that would render it impossible for me to run for county office. Alas, my current idea doesn’t entail anything illegal.”