by Elise Faber
Quiet, then, “I get that.”
“But what I didn’t realize was that it could go the other way, too.”
“That night in Misty’s shop,” his dad murmured.
Chance nodded. “That’s when I realized I could be the one left behind. I could lose it all. I liked her before. Hell, I probably loved her already, but when I saw her bloody and broken with that fucker holding a baseball bat over her head, I knew that even if something happened to one of us, I would never regret a moment of our time together.”
“You never had that before.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Before Misty, I had never met someone who made me know it could be worth the risk. But from the moment I met her, I knew that she was different, that I could be different with her.”
His dad clapped him on the shoulder, grinned. “Well, I’m glad you finally got your head out of your ass.”
Chance snorted. “Thanks, Dad.”
A squeeze, his voice taking on a hint of gentleness. “Because you deserve it. You deserve the good and the woman who looks at you with open adoration and the full life, Chance, and I’m so glad you finally saw that.”
Fuck, now Chance was ready to cry.
He stared at the women, at the laughter and love on display. Soph so happy even though she’d been traumatized and closed-off just a year before. His mom ruling court. His woman fitting right in and unscathed and joyful.
Fucking beautiful.
All of it.
But most especially…Misty.
And somehow sensing that his emotions were raw, Misty glanced up and met his eyes. She was on her feet in an instant, coming over to him and slipping her arm around his waist, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and murmuring in his ear, “You okay?”
“That right there, son,” his dad said softly, clapping him on the shoulder again. “That right there.”
Chance knew exactly what his dad meant.
Which was why he tugged Misty close, murmured in her ear, “I love you,” and then stuck close to her the rest of the night.
Even though that meant he had to listen to the birth stories.
Misty was tucked into his side.
So all that gore was totally worth it.
23
Tissues
Misty
“What do you think?” she asked, holding up the swatches of color.
Not any shade of purple, as Chance had commanded.
But a nice blue-gray and a rich tan color. Both of which screamed P.I. to her, but what did she know about decorating a private detective’s office?
She knew about yarn, and she let that and the wicker do the talking for her in Tangled, aside from her fabulous purple accents, but she didn’t know much about interior design.
“I don’t care,” Chance said, not bothering to look at the samples.
Misty was prepared for this eventuality, because she’d experienced plenty of Chance’s “I don’t cares” over the last couple of weeks. Aside from setting up his computer and getting the internet and electricity rolling, he couldn’t care less that the space needed fresh paint and the floor needed mopping. He didn’t have a receptionist—yet, he’d said, though he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to hire one—mostly because he was working on a new case and had been pulling long enough hours that she’d brought him dinner twice this week then had gone home.
Not that she minded.
Heaven knew she worked late and often too much—so much so that Chance had ordered her to hire some help, and she’d countered by telling him she’d get a shop assistant when he hired a receptionist.
Hello, Control Freak One, meet Control Freak Two.
So now they both had interviews the following week—her for a couple of high school girls to close on the evenings she didn’t teach classes and to man the shop on the weekends (maybe she’d even open on Sundays permanently, if they worked out), him with two women and a man who had scheduling and billing and other receptionist experience.
The end goal being they would have more time together.
Because they’d been spoiled during her recovery.
All that one-on-one time, him always in her shop, always home, and she’d gotten used to having him right there. Of course, he was still right there, considering he spent most of his days next door to Tangled.
It was just that his case was heating up, and he’d spent a couple of nights apart from her while investigating a prescription drug ring.
Apparently, doctors were illegally prescribing, and they had some pharmacists in on it, and then the meds were ending up being sold on the street.
Chance was doing his best to stop it.
Which meant he’d spent some time away from her.
She was getting over her fear of being alone.
Which, yes, it sucked, but it also meant he was doing something pretty damned incredible and making the world a better place. So, the nights and days he was gone, she focused on her work and the booties and sweaters and hats she was knitting for Soph and Rob’s baby (the kid was going to be stocked up), and spending time with Raven, Frankie, and Maggie.
Maggie, who’d been unusually quiet for the last few weeks. Raven and Frankie, who were their normal selves, and Misty knew that something was going on with her friend but hadn’t been able to get it out of her yet.
But soon, maybe.
That night, maybe.
Because Chance was going to meet a contact, so she was hosting ladies’ night, and they were going to eat pizza and baked goods she didn’t bake and get drunk on cosmos, and then she was going to collapse into bed, wait for Chance to get home, which would hopefully be when she was still tipsy, so she could have wild, tipsy sex with him.
Then they’d sleep the day away because it was Sunday and until she had her teenage helpers, Tangled was closed on Sundays.
She had it all planned out.
But she needed the man to pick a paint color, so she could kiss him goodbye, go to the hardware store before it closed, come back to Tangled to teach her evening class, and then have her ladies’ night.
Then have tipsy sex.
A full afternoon and evening, see?
So, the man needed to pick a paint color.
Because Rob was coming tomorrow to sand down and refinish the floor, and the painters were coming in after him. By tomorrow evening, the space wouldn’t be decorated, but it would have good bones, and it would look professional for any clients that Chance was going to meet there.
Which was why she tapped her foot and sighed (note: Chance did not look up at this sigh), then pulled out the big guns. “All right,” she said, “the lavender it is.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Wait—lavender? Mist.” He finally looked at her, jumping up from his desk.
She picked up her purse, started for the door. “It’ll look gorgeous. I’ll get some plum throw rugs and maybe a violet vase and—oh!”
Chance scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and plunked her onto his desk. “No lavender,” he muttered, and snatched the paint swatches from her, looked at them for approximately one-half of a millisecond. “This one,” he said, stabbing a finger onto the blue-gray one (for the record, that would have been her choice, too). Then he tossed them on the desk, wove his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back, and glared into her eyes. “You are in so much trouble,” he muttered.
“Why?” she breathed.
“Because you’re too fucking sexy when you’re mischievous, and now I have to kiss you. Which means I’m going to want to fuck you. Which means I’m going to be late leaving for my contact, and I can’t be late leaving for my contact.”
Her pulse had risen, speeding along her veins like cars on a highway. “Then don’t kiss me.” And yes, she was breathless because she really really wanted him to kiss her.
“Fucking can’t not kiss you, Cloudless.”
And then he did kiss her.
And then he was right about needing to fuck her, just as she n
eeded him to fuck her.
And so, he fucked her in his office chair, her sitting astride him, her on top since that was easier for her to come (ha), her grinding and rocking against him, crying out when her orgasm hit her, because it was damned easy for her to come, both because she was on top, but also because Chance was a really good kisser and always seemed to be able to get her halfway to completion just by having his lips on hers.
And he was right about leaving late.
Because she left late for the hardware store, barely able to summon the strength in her legs after they’d cleaned up, dressed, and said a proper goodbye (read: made out like teenagers by Chance’s car) to carry the paint cans to her car.
But she summoned that Herculean strength and did it with a smile on her face.
Because Chance Jackson was in her life, and it was pretty fucking great.
“Okay, spill.”
Misty blinked.
Because that had been directed at Maggie, but it hadn’t originated from Misty—though Maggie’s moping had Misty making plans to pull her into the kitchen for a quiet chat.
That was, before Frankie had spoken up.
Not Raven. Not Misty.
But Frankie, who was about as far from confrontational as one could be.
Mags got this, too. She paled and picked up her glass but didn’t drink from it.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t been drinking from it. Hadn’t gotten a refill. It was as full as it had been from when Raven had filled it with their first round of cosmos.
The glass plunked down onto the table.
Mags’ breathing sped up, so fast Misty barely understood her when she said, “I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
Processing.
Then the four of them spoke at once.
“Breathe, Mags.” Raven.
“Oh my God.” Frankie.
“Are you okay?” Misty.
And perhaps, most importantly, from Maggie herself. “It’s the bad lay’s.”
“The one you told was bad?” Misty asked, reaching over and squeezing her friend’s hand.
Mags groaned then nodded. “He’s the only one I’ve slept with in the last few months.” She swallowed. “And he signed papers to relinquish his parental rights this morning.”
Fuck.
“Mags.” She squeezed her hand again. “Are you okay?”
Maggie finally looked at Misty, and she shook her head. “I don’t think I am. I’m—I’m keeping the baby, but maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t know how to be a parent. I didn’t even have parents.”
Misty smothered a wince.
Maggie had, of course, had parents, but they’d taken off before her first birthday, and then her grandparents had raised her. But they were gone now, and neither of them had been particularly flowery and lovey while Mags had been growing up, and Maggie had spent the majority of her time at Frankie’s and Misty’s houses.
So, in a way, she hadn’t had parents.
“You’re a great friend,” Misty said, gripping Mags’ hand when it looked like she was going to run. “You love without reservation, you’re generous and funny and kind, and I know those are the key characteristics in being a parent, so you’ve got a leg up.”
Mags sniffed. Then, “I don’t want to be like them.”
“You won’t,” she promised.
“How do you know?”
Frankie came close now. “Because you care enough to not want to be like them.”
Raven squeezed in. “I agree,” she said. “I know I’m relatively new to town, but I’ve seen and treated a lot of people. You caring about a baby who’s not even here yet means that you’re better off than most.”
Mags’ mouth parted on an exhale, her bottom lip trembling. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” Raven nodded firmly. “Now, have you seen your obstetrician?”
Mags shook her head. “No. My normal doctor did a blood test to confirm the one I took at home, but I have an appointment tomorrow. I—maybe I should have seen her first, but she was booked, and when I told Steve about the positive test, he freaked out, told me to get rid of it.” Her lip trembled again. “So, I knew that I didn’t want him in the baby’s life. Especially when he signed the papers the moment I presented them to him and all but told me to get out of his sight. I mean, I get I was a bitch about the orgasm thing, but…this is about an innocent baby.”
That right there was why Mags would be a good mom.
“Oh, Mags,” Frankie murmured, hugging her tight.
“So, that’s why I’ve been so off,” she said. “Aside from feeling like I need to puke my guts up every fucking second, I…pregnant. I mean, fuck. I’ve taken birth control for fifteen years. I always make the guys wear condoms anyway because…accidents happen. And somehow I’m pregnant and I-I—”
The waterworks came then and considering Misty was a pro hand at waterworks, she was easily able to leap to action.
Tissues within arm’s reach.
A soothing hand rubbing up and down Mags’ back.
Frankie was just as good.
She held tight, stroked Mags’ hair.
And Raven dove in, sweeping the glasses away and heading into the kitchen. Misty glanced up and saw she was filling her kettle with water, putting it on the stove, and opening cabinets until she located the mugs.
She approved.
Especially since it meant that she could stay next to Mags and be on tissue duty.
By the time the tea was ready and Raven was back with four mugs, Maggie had gotten herself under control. Her face was splotchy, half a box of tissues had been consumed, but she was coming back into herself.
“The nursery is going to be filled with sparkles,” she said, sipping at the tea. “I don’t care if it’s a boy or girl.”
“It doesn’t matter if the baby is a boy or a girl,” Misty told. “Sparkles are good in either scenario.”
Frankie nodded. “Misty’s right.”
Mags smiled. “Of course, she is.”
“What will you put with the sparkles?” Misty asked. “Will you find out the gender and go full blue or pink? Or will you do something else like lavender or green or yellow?”
Maggie’s eyes started sparkling. “I think lavender and yellow.”
“I can fully get behind lavender,” Misty said.
Her friend laughed, finally sounding normal again. “Of course, you can, you purple addict.”
And Mags was back, and then she was excited. Then they were talking all things baby, and Misty was promising to invite Maggie over next time she saw Soph, so she could get all the advice.
Before long, Maggie was yawning—no surprise considering the stress she’d carried the last few weeks and the emotional night. Frankie gathered her up, having driven her over, and took her home, Raven following and promising to meet Maggie for her appointment if she wanted.
“Really?” Maggie asked.
“Of course,” Raven said. “I’m there anyway. I’ll take my lunch during that time, and so long as there isn’t an emergency to cover, I’ll come up and meet you.”
Maggie started crying again.
More tissues were used.
Hugs were exchanged.
Then the girls were gone, and Misty’s house was quiet.
And Misty wasn’t tipsy, wasn’t going to have tipsy sex with Chance later. But she’d gotten to the bottom of what was going on with Maggie, and it was a doozy, but it would all be okay.
So, she was okay.
She was even more okay when Chance called while she was in the bathtub.
“Hi, baby,” she murmured. “On your way home?”
His voice was tense. “This is going to take longer than I’d expected,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
He sighed. “It’s all fine. My contact is feeling gun-shy, so I need to wait him out.”
“That sucks.”
“Sure does,” he muttered. “I was supposed to be
driving home to meet my sexy and maybe somewhat drunk girlfriend, and when she’s maybe somewhat drunk, she likes to blow me—”
“I like to blow you anytime.”
He chuckled. “That’s what a man loves to hear.”
She was grinning. “I know.” Then when he didn’t say anything else, asked, “Do you need to go?”
“Not for a few minutes. What’s up?”
She told him about Maggie and the pregnancy, about Mags’ fears and her upbringing, about the tissues and freak out and the bad lay already signing away his rights.
“Whoa. Maggie doesn’t play.”
“I know.” She didn’t. “Helps that she’s a lawyer and can draft her own paperwork.”
“I thought that she worked at one of the stores in town.”
“She does. The bakery. She hated being a lawyer, so Mags started working there, but even though she doesn’t regularly use her law degree, she still knows how to get her legal ducks in a row.”
“That’s a nice side-benefit.”
It was.
They talked for a few more minutes, not about Maggie and the pregnancy or her former lawyering, but about the plans for the next couple of days. Tomorrow they were going to go down to the beach and just hang, just the two of them, then maybe meet up with Rob and Soph for a late lunch. Monday, she’d teach, and he was going to work late so they could go home together. Tuesday, they were going to see a movie and go out to dinner.
“And you’re not stealing any popcorn of mine unless you let me buy a giant ass tub,” he grumbled.
She rolled her eyes. One time she’d accidentally finished his popcorn. She’d just wanted a taste. Jeez. “Do you know how many calories movie theater popcorn has?”
“Do you know how little I care? We’re at the movies. It’s time to indulge and not worry about calories.”
Since that was a good point, she stopped arguing. “Fine,” she muttered. “You can get the large popcorn.”
“Extra-large,” he muttered.
Laughter in her veins. “Extra-large,” she confirmed. “But no grumbling when I eat half of it,” she muttered to counter his mutter.