by Nina Lane
Nicholas is almost a high-school senior, poised on the brink of adulthood, and Bella is ending her freshman year with a well-deserved reputation as a dynamic, ambitious force.
It’s both extraordinary and scary watching our children learning how to make their own way in the world. Over the years, I’ve fought hard to stop myself from running in to fix every problem they’ve faced.
It hasn’t always been easy—my instinct to both protect and rescue my wife has naturally extended to our children—but Nicholas and Bella are strong, confident, intelligent young adults who are learning how to navigate the complexities of the world.
And though I’ve had to retreat instead of racing forward to rescue them at every turn, I’ve made sure they both know Liv and I are always ready to help, support, advise, and fight for them—both when they ask and sometimes when they don’t.
“Pre-boarding will begin now for Flight 532,” a voice announces over the loudspeaker.
The travelers crowded around the gate start making their way to the door. Liv reaches for her travel bag.
“I got it, Mom.” Nicholas grabs Liv’s bag and pushes to his feet.
“Thanks, honey.” Liv reaches out to brush his hair away from his eyes.
She does that often with the maternal remark that Nicholas’s overlong hair drives her nuts, but I know it’s really an excuse to touch him without being too mushy.
Nicholas pulls away from her with a grumble, but steps aside so she can precede him to the gate. He follows, hefting both her bag and his backpack. Nicholas’s protectiveness of his mother has grown stronger over the years, and I see it intensifying the closer he gets to moving away from home.
Good kids. The best, both of them.
After putting our carry-ons in the overhead bins, I sit beside Liv. She rests her hand on top of mine. As always, being close to her settles my heartbeat and eases my breathing. Like I’m sitting next to a pool of cool, clear water rippling with sunlight.
I turn my palm upward so I can wind our fingers together. Over the years, throughout the craziness of our daily lives, careers, travel, child-rearing, and all the happy chaos and painful challenges that life brings, I’ve always held on to one unbreakable truth.
At the end of the day, she’ll always be waiting for me. The girl who lit an eternal fire right in the center of my heart. The beauty who saved me and became my reason for being. The wife who taught me the meaning of strength and courage. The woman who is my home, the place where the stars shine so bright we can see into eternity.
My Liv will always be right here.
Epilogue Two
Olivia
The Wonderland Café is alive with chatter and laughter. Though I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve come into the café over the years, I still love the moment when I step inside. The fragrant aromas of cake and chocolate linger in the air, and the French doors are open to the outside terrace.
Kelsey is sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and her tablet, her eyes narrowed behind her rimless glasses.
“Problem?” I ask, stowing my bag under the counter and reaching for a clean apron.
“No, just might have to hit the road again sooner than I thought.” She turns the screen toward me to show me the radar. “Convergence of activity over northeast Kansas we should check out.”
“Can I go with you this time?” Bella comes down the stairs, her order pad in one hand. “Nicholas got to go on the last one.”
Kelsey glances at me with a little shrug, as if to say, “Okay with me, if it’s okay with you.”
“I’ll talk it over with Dad,” I promise Bella, not exactly loving the idea of my daughter chasing storms but knowing Archer and Kelsey will watch over her like the overprotective hawks they’ve always been.
“Is your grad student Zach going along?” Bella asks Kelsey a little too casually.
“Yes, but if Uncle Archer sees him talking to you…” Kelsey’s voice trails off ominously as she packs up her things and stands. “There will be a whole different kind of thunderbolts and lightning.”
“I thought you liked that guy Jake,” I say to Bella.
“Nah, I’m done with him.” She shakes her head and makes a noise of disgust. “Turns out he lies and doesn’t know how to wait for a girl.”
Kelsey and I exchange glances, both of us pleased but unsurprised that Bella wants nothing to do with a boy like that. After all, when Dean and Archer West are your male role models, you quickly learn to set your expectations very high.
“Mom, did you get my text?” Bella asks after Kelsey leaves. “Kylie and a few others are going to the mall and movies tonight. Okay if I go?”
“Yes, if you finish your chores first.”
Bella rolls her eyes, but nods her agreement. She picks up a tray filled with a teapot and several sprinkled cake pops, then heads into the Munchkinland Room.
“Hey, Liv, can you take this to table three?” Allie pushes through the kitchen doors, balancing a tray of sandwiches. “The girls are going to be here any second, and we have to pick up Brent by two or we’re going to hit a bunch of traffic.”
“Sure.” I round the counter to take the tray.
After delivering the sandwiches, I return to the front counter where Bella is ringing up a customer’s order of brownies.
“Hi, Aunt Liv.”
The simultaneous chorus comes from the front door, which opens on a rush of hot summer air. Allie and Brent’s twin daughters come barreling into the café, all long-legged, energetic nine-year-old girls with their auburn ponytails swinging like flames behind them.
“Hi, Bella,” they say in unison as they clamber onto stools at the counter. “Is Mom here?”
“She’s getting her stuff together.” Bella pours two glasses of root beer and places them in front of the girls.
“Have a great time,” she says. “I love Door County.”
“Mom said in the fall we all might be able to go together,” Sophie suggests. “Nicholas, too.”
“Definitely,” Livvie adds. “He said he’d go with us on that bike trail this year, the one that leads to the apple farm.”
Both girls give happy little sighs at the thought of trekking through the fall foliage and picking apples with Nicholas.
“Did you get a copy of Uncle Dean’s newest book for us?” Livvie asks me.
“Yes, ma’am.” I take a slim paperback out of my bag under the counter and pass it to them. “Be sure you let him know how you like it.”
“Oh, we’ll love it, I’m sure.” Sophie admires the cover, which contains a cartoon image of a young knight beneath the title Sir Cumference: The Knight Who Made the Round Table.
Dean’s Daze of Knights series of chapter books, each one centering around a different young apprentice—Sir Prize (the knight who always does the unexpected), Sir Loin (the knight who really wanted to be a gourmet chef), Sir Kull (the knight who always goes back to where he started), and Sir Real (the dreamy, artistic knight)—has proven extremely popular among the under-ten set, and Professor West has become something of a local celebrity with his frequent visits to school classrooms and libraries. Sophie and Livvie remain his most loyal and devoted fans.
“I’m ready.” Allie bustles through the kitchen doors. “Girls, we have to swing by the house and get your father’s shaving kit, so let’s hustle. Liv, Ruby’s order is all set to go. Thanks so much for holding down the fort.”
“No problem. We’ve got it covered.”
The twins clamber off the stools to hug both Bella and me goodbye before they follow Allie out the front door. Bella and I continue working until our shifts end, then we gather up boxes of cakes and cookies and take them over to the pottery shop, Mrs. Potts’ Place.
Half of the building is an art gallery where local artists display and sell paintings, pottery, and sculptures, and the other half is a working studio.
“Hi, Ruby.” I set the boxes down on a long table where Ruby Potts is arranging a flower display. “The place
looks great.”
“Thanks.” Ruby wipes her hands on her clay-streaked apron and smiles. “Noah’s bringing in a few things from the back, and we should be all set for the new exhibit.”
“Did you get my bowl fired?” Bella asks her.
“Yes, it’s on the shelf, ready to go.”
Bella goes into the studio to find the bowl she made last week. The back door opens, and Noah Potts enters, carrying a framed painting.
“Hey, Liv.” He sets the painting beside the counter and peers eagerly at the boxes. “Did you bring the bee cakes?”
“Of course, and there’s an extra one for you.” I open a box and show him the mini fondant-covered cakes, each decorated with a little honey bee and a flower. Noah reaches for one, and Ruby shakes her head at him.
“Do you need me to stay and help set up?” I ask her.
“No, we’re covered.”
Noah leans over his wife’s shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek while sliding one hand toward the bee cakes. Ruby gives his hand a gentle pat.
“Later,” she says sternly.
He groans. “You’re kiln me, honey.”
I grin as Ruby rolls her eyes at me.
“Are you and Bella coming tomorrow for our Souper Bowl throwing event?” she asks me. “We’re giving all the bowls to the library for their fundraising benefit.”
“Sure. Dean also offered to transport the bowls, if you need help.”
Bella returns from the studio with her blue-and-orange glazed bowl, which we all admire before she and I say our goodbyes and head back to the Butterfly House.
After leaving Bella at home with her chore instructions, I return downtown. I walk along a path to the lake’s edge, where a wooden dock extends out into the water. Paddle boats, canoes, and kayaks sit on the shore for rental, though a number of them are still out on the lake.
Nicholas is pulling a kayak onto the shore, his dark hair sun-streaked, his skin tanned, his lanky body clad in his standard summer attire of Bermuda shorts and a faded T-shirt.
Archer, dressed in similar clothes, is stretched out on a nearby bench, drinking from a carton of chocolate milk.
“No way, man,” he’s telling Nicholas. “Superman is just an overgrown Boy Scout. Batman had to learn how to be a hero.”
“Dude, Batman doesn’t have a single super power,” Nicholas argues. “Superman can fly. What the heck is cooler than that?”
“Without his powers, Superman would be nothing.”
“Without his gadgets, Batman would be nothing.” Nicholas tosses a set of oars onto the grass and wipes his sweaty forehead with his arm. “The fact is that Superman is a better superhero. I mean, Batman couldn’t even put the Joker away. What’s up with that? All these years and the Joker is still running wild? Oh, hey, Mom.”
“Hello, gentlemen.” I sit on the bench next to Archer. “Sorry for interrupting the great debate.”
“Who would you pick?” Archer asks me.
“Well, from a woman’s perspective, I’m going to have to go with the strong, upstanding hero who will sweep me into his arms and fly away with me.”
“Mom.” Nicholas shakes his head. “It’s not about a romance. It’s about which one is the best hero.”
“The best hero is the one who knows there’s always a romance,” I tell my son.
“Dude,” Archer says. “She has a point.”
Nicholas sighs and goes to the shore to retrieve a paddleboat.
Archer gestures to the chocolate milk. “Want one?”
“No thanks. How was the kayaking?”
“Great, especially considering I beat Dean in a race to the north shore.”
I smile. “And what’s his take on that?”
“He says he won in a photo finish, even though I had a good two yards on him.” Archer shrugs. “But he’ll want to impress you with the story of his epic win, so you might want to just go with it.”
“I’ll do that,” I agree solemnly.
“Hey, Mom?” Nicholas approaches us again, glancing at his watch. “I told Pete I’d take his shift until seven, so I won’t be home for dinner. Okay if I go to a bonfire after work? Henry said a bunch of people are meeting over at the south side beach. Dad said to ask you.”
“Yes, but be home by one, and please be careful.”
It’s a mantra I’ve repeated to both our children endlessly, and while it doesn’t mitigate my natural tendency to worry, I’m learning to let them go and find their own way. After all, I had to do the same thing once upon a time.
“Okay, thanks.” Nicholas makes his way back to the rental shack, where two teenaged girls are waiting to either rent a boat or find an excuse to talk to him.
“I’ll swing by the bonfire later and check on them,” Archer tells me, tossing the empty milk container into the trash.
“Thanks. Did Dean go to Java Works?”
“Yeah, he said he’d meet you there.”
After saying goodbye to him and Nicholas, I take out my phone and send my son a quick “I love you” text, so I won’t embarrass him by actually saying it in front of other people.
As I walk to Java Works, I realize that both our children have plans for the evening, which means Dean and I will have several hours alone together.
Ooo. Nice. Very nice.
A flutter of warmth travels through my blood. I approach the coffeehouse, the warmth intensifying as I see a certain handsome professor standing on the sidewalk near the door. He’s looking across the street, his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and his body relaxed as he leans his shoulder against a lamppost.
Even now, all these years after we first met, my pulse still quickens at the sight of him, my heart rising like a balloon into a clear blue sky. His features are strong in profile, his thick, dark hair threaded with silver, his jaw shadowed with scruff.
He’s not teaching summer classes this year, so his hair is a little longer and messier, and his skin is tanned golden brown from all the time he’s spending outside—working in the garden; kayaking, hiking, and fishing with Archer and Nicholas; two weeks in Monterey with Bella volunteering for a marine wildlife organization, and most recently, coaching a sports club for at-risk kids.
He turns his head, as if he senses my approach—of course he does—and our eyes meet with the hot tenderness that belongs to us alone.
Dean smiles his beautiful, hint-of-wicked smile, his eyes creasing at the corners. He extends his arm to me.
“Hey, beauty.”
“Hi, professor.”
I tuck myself against his side and wrap my arms around his waist. The scent of him—sun, wind, summertime—fills my head. Dean hugs me against him, bending to brush his lips across my temple.
“Good day?” he asks.
“Good day.”
Good life.
We go inside to order our coffees and take them to a table by the window. In some ways, it’s like the days we used to spend at Jitter Beans, after I’d finish a shift and join Dean at the table where he’d been sitting for a couple of hours.
“Pretending to work,” he once told me, “but really sneaking glances at you.”
We’d spend another hour talking about everything and secretly wondering how we could extend the time so we didn’t have to leave each other. Now, we no longer wonder that because we don’t have to leave each other at all.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bella informing me she has to be at the mall in half an hour. As we sometimes do, Dean and I obey our daughter’s summons and return to the Butterfly House.
Fitzy Darcy, seventy pounds of happy, tail-wagging dog, bounds up to meet us. Bella follows with a pleading look on her face.
“Can I please get a ride home from Cara?” she asks. “It’s just so embarrassing when I’m the only one whose Dad picks her up from the movies.”
“I could wear a disguise,” Dean suggests, scratching Fitzy behind the ears. “Fake glasses and a mustache.”
Not dignifying that with a response, B
ella turns to me. “Please, Mom?”
Dean and I exchange glances and come to an agreement. We’ve known Cara and her family since she and Nicholas were in fourth grade together, and she’s a responsible, trustworthy girl.
“All right,” I agree. “But only if Cara is driving.”
“And text us when you’re leaving so we know when to expect you home,” Dean adds.
“I will, I promise.” Bella comes over to hug me. “Thank you so much.”
“Have fun.” I squeeze my daughter tightly and send up my usual silent prayer for the universe to keep her safe. “And be careful.”
She hurries out to the car. Dean picks up his keys and glances at his watch.
“Guess I’ll stop by the hardware store after dropping her off,” he says. “I need a new lawnmower battery.”
“Nicholas is working late, then going to a bonfire,” I tell him, tapping my fingers on the counter.
“Okay. I’ll also get some new brackets for the shelving in the—” He stops and looks at me with interest. “Both kids are going out tonight?”
I nod slowly. “I was thinking we should use the time to clean out the basement storage.”
“Ah, great idea.” Dean backs toward the door, his gaze on me. “Why don’t you go ahead and get started down there? I’ll be back with some hardware you might need.”
“Sounds good.”
We exchange goofy smiles before he turns and heads out the front door.
Calculating I have an hour at most, I spring into action. I toss a blue-and-white cloth over the table in the garden, turn on the miniature globe lights strung through the trees, and set the table with white china plates, wineglasses, and a votive candle. I run upstairs to change into a flowing, white cotton sundress, doing a light-speed washing up and makeup reapplication.
By the time Dean’s car comes back up the drive, I’m in the kitchen heating the pasta dish I’d made last night. I dim the lights, set a bottle of wine on the central island, fluff out my hair, and lean my hips on the counter in what I hope is a casually sexy pose.