by Amy Olle
“Then my mom drowned, and now I’m afraid to take the ferry across a mile-wide stretch of water.” Shaking her head, she chuckled.
That time he didn’t laugh with her.
He leaned his head back to rest against the exposed brick wall. “Lately I’ve been thinking about traveling more. With the kids.”
Her tense muscles began to relax with the effects of the alcohol. “Where do you want to go?”
“Ireland, Mexico, Puerto Rico.” His quick answer surprised her. “I want to take them to see where their grandparents come from.” His voice softened when he said, “I want to visit my mom’s grave.”
Grief squeezed her heart. “You miss her?”
“Every day.”
“Your memories of her, are they strong?”
His gaze fixed on some point on the ceiling. “Not anymore. They’ve faded some, but I still remember the feeling of her, you know?”
She nodded, and shifted in her chair, as if to alleviate the old pain. “What about you? Did you always know you wanted to be a lawyer?”
A thoughtful frown touched the edges of his features. “Once I realized what law could do, yes.”
She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the cradle of her palm. “What do you mean?”
“Growing up, I saw a lot of injustice, but I was just a kid. I wanted to fight but all I had were my fists, so I mostly just used those.” His bright eyes danced with humor. “Then I discovered law, and I finally had the tools to fight with my mind. With the truth. I had a voice, and I wielded it to lay waste to bad guys. It was a heady rush.”
The passion in his voice wedged a lump in her throat. “Then why did you quit?”
When he dropped his gaze, the feathery sweep of his dark eyelashes cast deep shadows over his taut cheekbones. For many long moments he didn’t speak.
The silence in the room filled with tension until, abruptly, he stood. “It’s getting late. We should get home.”
Chapter Sixteen
Isobel returned to the loft early the next morning, but her thoughts remained at home where she’d left Shea making breakfast for Connor and Maisie.
After they’d returned home the previous night, he hadn’t seemed particularly angry or upset with her, but he’d been distant. Withdrawn. The way he used to be, right before he left her.
Was it because she’d mentioned his job at the law firm? She’d always just assumed he’d quit, but given his odd reaction, she now worried something else must’ve happened. Had he been fired. If so, why?
Around noon, Mina and Emily arrived to take their positions in front of the beaded bodice. They chattered while they worked, but Isobel became consumed by the complicated draping of the sheath gown she stitched and lost track of their conversation until Mina’s worried tone pierced her bubble of concentration.
“You look tired. Isn’t he sleeping better?”
Sneaking a glance at Emily, Isobel noticed the dark circles beneath her large brown eyes.
Then those eyes clamped onto Isobel. “Shea told m-me I should talk to you.”
Hunched over the work table, Isobel straightened. “He did?”
Emily’s strawberry-blonde ponytail bobbed when she nodded. “He said you’re the best m-mom he’s ever known, and you m-might know what to do.”
Surprise knocked into Isobel. “He said that?”
A fierce scowl pulled at Emily’s pretty features. “The b-books all say b-babies sleep twelve to eighteen hours a day.”
Isobel swallowed a laugh, only because Emily appeared so miserable. “What they don’t tell you is that those twelve hours come in forty-five-minute fits and spurts.”
Emily’s shoulders slumped.
“He’s only a few months old,” Isobel said gently. “It’ll take some time for him to get used to our schedules.”
Soulful brown eyes glistened with tears. “Are you sure I’m n-not d-doing something w-w-wrong?”
Her helplessness was palpable and Isobel experienced a wrench of pain as the memories of her own despair came crashing back through her mind. She remembered the sound of Noah’s voice reading classic novels from their English Lit class, which neither of them had completed, to Finn late into the night.
At first, she’d blamed the baby for her dad’s abandonment until one day, Noah dropped Finn into her arms and disappeared somewhere out of sight. Fear had choked her. She was afraid to love him, afraid he’d be taken away from her, too, the terror eclipsed only by the horrific possibility she might not be able to love.
But holding that tiny, squirming bundle, she’d burst into tears. He was so small, so helpless, and in that moment, she was all he had in the world. She’d had no clue what to do. She was a child herself, a child who’d needed her mom, too.
The tears didn’t stop for weeks. Months. When it came time for Shea to return to his work on the freighter, her fear expanded to include him out at sea and every cloud that darkened the sky, every drop of rain that plummeted to earth, had sent her into a dark cycle of panic and depression.
Isobel blinked away the memories and offered Emily a warm smile. “You’re doing everything perfectly.”
Emily sniffed.
“I can see how much you love him, and that’s what he needs more than anything.”
“I love him so m-much.”
“Of course you do, Em.” Mina squeezed her cousin’s hand.
“I’ve been where you are with every one of my babies. The poor things deserved a better mom than me. At least someone who knew what she was doing.” Isobel lifted and dropped her shoulders. “Instead, they got me and the only thing I had to give them was all of my heart. So I made a promise to them that no one would ever love them more than I do.”
At the sound of sniffling, Isobel turned as Mina dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “Shea was right. You’re a great mom.”
Emily pushed out a deep, fortifying breath. “I didn’t know it’d b-be so hard on us. On our r-relationship. I didn’t expect that.”
More painful memories lashed Isobel, of sleepless nights and short tempers. The constant, chronic inability to finish an entire conversation, or even complete a coherent thought, without interruption. The wounded pride and defensiveness, the hurt feelings, the growing apart. It was exhausting. Maddening. It could even be relationship-ending.
“That’ll p-pass, too, right?” A desperate ring infected Emily’s voice.
Isobel stared down at her hands for a long moment while her heart twisted itself inside out. The reassuring words wouldn’t come.
“Be kind to each other, and yourselves. Be patient. You’re both learning, and you’re going to screw up.” She recalled how much she’d concealed from Shea about her struggles, and how, at the end, she’d prayed there was a way to make him see her as the person she used to be, and not the weak, sad woman lying on the couch popping antidepressants. “Talk to him. Tell him things. Even if they seem irrelevant or ridiculous, tell him anyway. Otherwise, you’ll wake up one day and you won’t recognize the man you married. You might not even recognize yourself.”
By early evening, Isobel had fitted the third mannequin with the skeleton of a gown, and when Shea appeared, Mina and Emily declared the beading project halfway complete before they knocked off for the night.
At the card table, Isobel poured a Styrofoam cup more than half full of the cheap wine and took a healthy drink, hoping the alcohol would ease the achiness in her back and hands. While she sipped her drink, Shea stood before the new dress, a soft, almost wistful expression on his face.
Her heart tripped in her chest and a flood of heat rushed to the surface of her skin. Not unlike the way she reacted the first time she talked to him in the school cafeteria, or the way she felt every time she was naked before his probing gaze, even now, all these years later.
“Your mom would be blown away by you.” His gaze swung to her and he pointed at the dress.
Maybe it was exhaustion, but the punch of emotion caused her eyes to fill with
tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“It’s not that.” With the tip of one finger, she wiped away a tear that threatened to fall. “I’m just so mad that I was a teenager when she died. I was mouthy, and moody, and too self-absorbed. I don’t even know what her favorite song was or her favorite movie.” She set her drink on the table. “The day she died… I can’t remember if I told her I loved her.”
“I knew you then. You weren’t anything like that brat you describe. You were kind.” A curious light shimmered in his eyes and she chased after it, wondering what caused it. “Did your mom help you make us all that food?”
Surprise flew through her.
His deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “Yeah, I knew.”
“I never told her who it was for.” A hard lump of regret formed in the pit of her stomach at the memory. “That Christmas… Shea, I—”
“It’s okay.” He held up his hand to cut off her stammering and as it fell away, a soft light came into his eyes. “I fell in love with you that day.”
Wave upon wave of shock rolled over her.
“I don’t know, maybe it was just deeper lust.” His smile devastated her. “But it was a nice thing that you did. A very Isobel-like thing to do.”
Her skin flushed with warmth and she searched his face, wondering if he believed his own words.
In his eyes, the inner light now burned bright enough to singe her from across the room. “You were dying to help us, I could tell, but you were so concerned about protecting my ego, you tried to hide it. Believe me, my pride took a hit that day, but not because of you. You weren’t there to make yourself feel better. You were there because you cared. I saw your heart that day, and I fell in love you.”
Whether from her potent husband, the wine, or the tiredness, she experienced a pleasant surge of dizziness.
“Emily told me what you said.” She blurted the words.
Confusion rippled across his features. “What did I say?”
“That I’m a good mom.” Her blush deepened.
“You are.”
The sudden swelling of her heart pushed a smile to her face. “I thought you hated the way I parent.”
The color drained from his face. “I never once thought that. Where in the hell did you come up with that idea?”
She searched her mind but could find no words or actions to point to as evidence. Was it possible she’d assigned the belief to him without proof? Had she always assumed the worst about him?
She chewed her bottom lip. “Well, I’m a lot more permissive than you.”
“So? I’m too strict.”
Her head tipped to one side. “Why are you so strict?”
“I was raised Catholic.”
“So was I.”
“Irish Catholic is different.”
She gave her head a shake. “Try again.”
His brows pulled together as he applied more thought to the question. “I want them to be successful.”
“So do I, Shea. Truly.”
He bent his head and stared down at the wood plank flooring. “And I don’t ever want them to know what it feels like to be hungry, or to be so poor they feel humiliated, or worse, trapped.” When he glanced up, his expression was pained. “I guess I overdid it.”
For a moment, she marveled at the man she’d married. Why hadn’t she put that together about him before now? It was obvious, but she’d been so quick to assign blame she hadn’t paused to consider the reasons why he might do things differently. She hadn’t even considered that there might be reasons.
“Thankfully they have you to balance me out,” he said.
She fiddled with the rim of her cup. “That’s not why I’m lenient with them.”
“Why then?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“I know how much it hurts when a parent only sees your flaws and nothing else. I don’t want them to ever doubt that I love them or worry that I won’t be there for them, no matter what. There’s no worse feeling.”
He closed the space between them and when he wrapped her in his arms, sorrow engulfed her. She couldn’t escape the anguish at all they’d lost. All the years spent angry and arguing when they could’ve been as they were in that moment. Friends. Partners. Lovers.
That night he made love to her in their bed. When he was deliciously hard and thick inside her, a shuddering breath eased from her. As he began to move, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if she might be able to keep him from penetrating her heart.
With every touch, every kiss, every minute she spent with him, it was getting harder and harder to forget who they used to be, who she wanted them to be, and remember who they were now.
Chapter Seventeen
For what must’ve been the seven-billionth time that morning, the needle pierced the silk fabric and Shea pulled the thread taut. The work was beyond tedious. The pads of his fingers stung from the endless chain of tiny jabs into his flesh and his shoulders and back muscles ached from his prolonged inactivity and hunched posture.
But then, he felt the warm touch of her gaze and the pain vanished. He looked up in time to catch a glimpse of soft gray eyes before her lashes swept down to rest on her flushed cheeks.
A wide smile broke across his face. His plan was working. He’d breached her defenses, not by force or coercion, but by good old-fashioned persuasion, with a hint of flirtation thrown into the mix.
While she’d opened the gates and let him in, where once he would’ve maneuvered to conquer, now he waited. He’d made his choice. Soon, she would need to make hers. Either she’d choose to come the rest of the way back to him, willingly, or she would not, but the decision belonged to her.
He was playing for keeps, not for a temporary truce or a cease-fire that lasted only until the next fight, the next separation, the next divorce filing. She must accept him, welcome him into her heart, with all his imperfections and weaknesses, or she’d never really be his.
Commitments kept Mina and Emily away the previous two days, so he and Isobel worked alone. Throughout the long hours, they kept up their dance of stolen glances and secret smiles until a delicious tension stretched between them.
Content to let the heat simmer, he remained planted on the stool before the beaded wedding dress, dutifully stitching tiny crystals into place in accordance of Isobel’s pattern, until late in the day when he left to pick up Connor and Maisie from school and daycare.
At home, he made a quick dinner, suffering a moment of stunned speechlessness when Finn emerged from behind his bedroom door and joined his younger siblings at the kitchen island. He even made eye contact a couple of times while he scarfed down a healthy serving of mac and cheese and coaxed Connor into eating his broccoli with a ridiculous, seemingly well-practiced, pirate routine.
After bath and bedtime, Shea made the short drive downtown and arrived at the loft an hour or so past sunset to find Isobel on the floor before one of the dresses making small stitches along the skirt’s hem.
While he’d been away, she’d set up three more dress forms, which now displayed the two gowns Mina and Emily had dropped off and the pale pink dress Vanessa had lauded that day at the store.
A little more than a week had passed since Vanessa made her incredible offer, and in that short time, he and Isobel had accomplished so much together. Right before their eyes was proof that they were good together. That they belonged together. Even she must see that now.
“What do you think?” he asked, crossing the large space. “Are we going to make it?”
“It’s going to be close.” Isobel climbed to her feet and stretched, giving him a tantalizing view of her uplifted breasts. “I think I’ll be sewing beads on that bodice the whole time the photographer’s taking pictures.”
When he reached her side, he noticed lines of fatigue around her eyes. “Have you eaten?”
“I had some chips a little while ago.”
“Why don’t we go downstairs and get you a bite t
o eat before the kitchen closes?”
She groaned. “I should work.”
He dropped his chin and leveled her with a stern look. “You need food—real food—or you’re not going to last another hour.”
She’d already let down her messy bun and was combing her fingers through the tangled tresses.
He watched her closely. “Besides, it’s a special occasion.”
Her hands stilled above her head.
“Or did you forget?”
Pulling the heavy mass of her dark hair over one shoulder, her fingers worked through a snarl. “How could I forget our wedding anniversary?”
A secret smile passed between them, then their gazes slid apart.
“It’s getting late,” she said, glancing at the wall clock. “You’re going to run out of time to claim your kiss today.”
His breath snagged in his throat. “The night’s not over yet.”
“You’ve never waited this long before.”
Satisfaction kicked in his veins. “Maybe I’m holding out for a reason.”
“What reason?” she asked, her voice suddenly, slightly breathy.
Uncertainty gripped him and hesitated. “How about a date?”
Her lush mouth screwed into a contemplative frown. “That’d be what, our third date?”
“That’s not true.” Dismay crashed into him. “Is that true?”
She nodded. “It’s true.”
“That’s fecking terrible.”
Her husky laugh tugged at his groin.
Growing serious, he made a show of clearing his throat. “Isobel, would you like to have dinner with me?”
“No.”
“Oh, c’mon. I thought that was pretty good.”
A sound suspiciously like a giggle leaked out of her. “I will go on a date with you, but dinner tonight doesn’t count.” One of her small hands swept down her body. “I’m wearing yoga pants, and I haven’t even combed my hair today.”
With difficulty, he dragged his gaze away from her sleek black leggings and back to her face. “We’ll consider tonight a practice run, then.”