Life After Wife : Small Town Romance (Balsam Ridge Book 1)

by Amber Kelly

  Graham

  I drive up to meet Weston at Leona’s house to take a look at an addition she wants to add to the back deck. I have a lot on my plate at the moment, but I find myself looking forward to going out there in hopes of seeing Taeli.

  When did that happen?

  The last thing I need is to get involved with her. It’s a messy business to fool around with your mother’s friend’s daughter. Especially a daughter who is newly seperated and comes with a little person in tow. I’d be an asshole to take advantage, but there is something about her that’s gotten under my skin.

  I park in front and follow the voices to find them all sitting on the back deck.

  “Graham,” Leona calls when she sees me.

  “Hi, ladies, Mom,” I say as I ascend the stairs.

  Taeli is standing against one of the posts with her arms folded over her chest. She is wearing a pale yellow dress with white slip-on sandals, and her hair is pulled up in a knot. And she looks tense.

  “Did I interrupt anything?” I ask as I look between them.

  Leona waves off the question. “Nothing important,” she assures me as she stands. “I’m so happy you’re here. I have everything sorted; come see.”

  Mom, Taeli, and I follow her as she leads us onto the upper part of the deck.

  She’s hung shade curtains and surrounded the room with candles and lotus flower lamps. A large stone water fountain, meant to be displayed outdoors, is plugged into the corner of the space. Vinyl Yoga Moon wall decals hang above a bamboo bench, and the floor is covered with colorful mats.

  “What did you do?” Taeli asks as she looks around the screened-in room that used to be filled with comfy lounge furniture and an electric fireplace. “This was my favorite part of the house. I used to love to sit out here and read or just relax and watch the horses in the back field,” she states.

  “I told you I was making a yoga room. I think it’s fun and whimsical,” Leona announces.

  “It’s tacky, Mom,” Taeli disagrees.

  “When did you become such a fuddy-duddy?” Leona asks her daughter.

  Taeli looks offended. “I’m not. I’m sensible. This is a great outdoor space, and you ruined it.”

  “Sensible is just another word for prude. I didn’t raise you to be a snob, young lady,” Leona retorts.

  Mom and I exchange a look, and I try to hold back my laughter as they continue to bicker.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to turn into such a hippie. What happened to my mother?”

  “You say that like it’s an insult. I embrace my inner hippie. Life is too short to be walking around with a chip on your shoulder and acting like a stick in the mud,” Leona scolds before turning her attention to me.

  “Now, Graham, what I’d like to do is replace the screens with glass panels that roll up like garage doors so that we can have the space open when the weather allows but still use the space when the winter temperatures hit. Also, I’m thinking of hanging mirrors across this wall and painting it all a calming blue,” Leona explains.

  Taeli looks on with a befuddled expression before shaking her head and walking into the house.

  Once Leona has finished explaining her vision to me, I promise to have some plans drawn up with a quote estimate for her by the end of next week. Then, I head out in search of Taeli.

  I find her in the front yard, barefoot, twirling in the tire swing.

  “Having fun?” I ask.

  “I don’t know my own mother,” she says.

  I lean against the trunk of the tree and watch her spin.

  “I don’t know my son either,” she continues.

  I stand there in silence and let her talk it out.

  “I obviously didn’t know my husband. How did I let this happen?”

  It’s a rhetorical question.

  “I gave him everything. The best parts of me. I lost my self-worth because of him. What’s left?”

  I laugh.

  She digs her feet into the ground to bring herself to a halt, and her angry eyes bore into me.

  “You think that’s funny?” she asks.

  “It’s called self-worth, Taeli. That means the value and love you have for yourself. The pride you have in who you are. No one can take that from you or alter it. It’s who you see when you look in the mirror. Stop looking at yourself through everyone else’s eyes. You know who you are, and their opinions can’t change that,” I tell her.

  “You don’t even know me,” she retorts.

  “Maybe I don’t, but I do know Leona. She’s kind, funny, and a bit quirky, but she has a big heart. She’s been dealt some hard blows in life, same as you. You should get to know her.”

  “Same as me, huh? My husband didn’t die. He ripped our family apart on purpose.”

  “It still feels the same. She’s grieving. You’re grieving. The only difference is, she is choosing to move forward, and you are choosing to continue feeling sorry for yourself,” I accuse.

  “You want to take me to dinner?” she asks.

  “I do.”

  “I’ll be ready in five,” she says. She hops out of the swing and hurries into the house, passing Mom and Weston as she goes.

  Mom’s eyes follow her inside and then come back to me.

  “We’re going to dinner,” I blurt out.

  Mom grins, and Weston’s eyebrows rise.

  “How did that happen?” he asks.

  “I have no idea.”

  Taeli

  Did I just ask Graham Tuttle to take me on a date? What was I thinking?

  I wasn’t. There’s no other explanation. One minute, he was lecturing me, and the next, I was demanding he feed me.

  I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and take in my appearance. Dark circles and unruly hair.

  Perfect.

  “It’s not like he hasn’t already seen you, Taeli,” I scold my reflection.

  Okay, quick damage control is in order.

  I turn the faucet on to the hottest setting, grab a hand towel from the linen closet, and steam my face. Then, I dab concealer under my eyes and add tinted moisturizer, bronzer, a couple of coats of mascara, and raspberry lip gloss. I pull my hair from the knot, run my fingers through it, and spritz on some perfume.

  I take the damp towel and run it over my feet before I slip them back into my sandals.

  On my way back down the stairs, I run into Mom.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she asks.

  “I’m going to dinner with Graham.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Isn’t it early for dinner?” she asks.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say nervously.

  “I’m sure you’ll find something to do until it’s time to eat. Don’t worry about Caleb. I’ll take him on a Granna date to the arcade tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I say before continuing to the door.

  “Taeli?” she calls, and I turn to look up at her. “You look beautiful. Have fun.”

  She winks at me.

  Graham is waiting by his truck when I make it out to the porch.

  I hesitate as I watch him clean some paperwork off of the passenger seat and toss it in the back of the cab.

  My heart is racing. I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself.

  It’s just two friends spending the evening together, I tell myself.

  When Graham notices me, he smiles and opens the door wider, beckoning me.

  Here goes nothing.

  I trot down the steps and take his offered hand. He helps me up into the raised truck, then rounds the front and joins me.

  “Where to?” he asks as he starts the engine.

  “Anywhere. Let’s just drive,” I request.

  A grin spreads across his lips. “We can do that.”

  He pulls out of the drive and heads toward town, but when we reach the valley, he takes a right turn, and we start climbing again.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “On an adventure.”

  He driv
es us up the back side of the mountain, deep into the woods. The gravel road is narrow, and the ascension is steep. There isn’t much out here, but the view is spectacular.

  “I forgot how beautiful it is here in the summer,” I say as I reach for the button to roll down my window. Cool, fresh air floods the cab, and I rest my chin on my arm that’s propped on the windowsill.

  The warm afternoon sun kisses my skin, and I close my eyes. It’s like I’m sixteen again. The sound of gravel crunching under the tires, the babble of the water rolling over rocks in the creek below, the soft song of the breeze rustling through the trees.

  I open one eye and look over to Graham, who is watching me instead of the road ahead.

  “I didn’t realize that I’d missed this,” I confess.

  We come to a private entrance at the top of the mountain, and he brings the truck to a stop. I sit up and watch as he hits a button clipped to his sun visor, and the massive iron gate begins to open.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “My place,” he says.

  We wind our way up to a modern, large Swiss chalet home perched above the tree line. The house is gorgeous. The front of the two-story structure is almost completely glass. Framed in rich, dark wood. A covered deck wraps around the main level, and the carved support beams lead down to a patio with a stone fireplace. The roof is gabled with wide eaves and exposed construction beams—perfect for surviving heavy snowfall.

  “You live in a ski resort,” I muse.

  He chuckles.

  “Not quite, but I did model the design off of an Alpine lodge,” he says as he pulls up in front of a detached three-bay garage.

  I sit there in awe, staring up at the beautiful home.

  He hits another button, and one of the dark wood garage doors slides open to reveal a matte-black Harley-Davidson.

  “Come on,” he says as he exits the truck.

  I open my door, hop down, and follow him into the garage.

  When I make it by his side, he picks me up off of my feet and sets me down on the bike.

  “I’m wearing a dress,” I say as I straddle the seat.

  He shrugs.

  “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” I admit.

  “I’m glad I get to be your first,” he says smugly.

  “Graham, are you sure you know how to drive this thing?” I ask the stupid question. He owns it, so he obviously knows how to operate it.

  He walks over and grabs a helmet off of a hook. He places it on my head and tightens the chin strap. I reach up and clasp his wrist. His eyes come to mine, and he grins.

  “Don’t be nervous. You’re in good hands.”

  He secures his helmet and puts on a pair of wraparound sunglasses. Then, he takes a seat in front of me. I fist the front of the dress and scoot closer to him.

  “Rest your knees against my hips and wrap your arms around me,” he instructs.

  I do just that, and he tugs me forward, flush against his back.

  “Now, relax and trust me. Lean with me and the bike. I’ll handle the rest,” he says before cranking the beast.

  The low rumble of the engine and the vibration of power between my legs cause a thrill to shoot through me. I squeeze him and bury my face in his neck as he hits the gas, and we take off.

  Graham keeps us at a slow and steady pace as we descend the mountain, very careful not to jolt me around too much, but once we reach the paved road of the valley, he lets loose, and we fly.

  It’s exhilarating.

  We make our way out of town and onto one of the scenic Smoky Mountain byways and cruise. He makes a point to stop at every observation lookout, so I can take in the views. At one point, we are so high that the clouds settle around us like a mist.

  By the time the sun starts to set, I’m as comfortable on the back of his bike as I am seated in the passenger side of a truck. I loosen my grip on him and raise my arms into the air, letting the wind whip through the ends of my hair peeking beneath the helmet, flying around me.

  We navigate off the byway to this quaint little restaurant tucked into the side of the mountain and stop. Graham helps me off the bike, we remove our helmets and we make our way inside. We are greeted by a hostess, and Graham requests a table next to a window.

  As she leads us into the restaurant, Graham tells me that we are one mile up.

  We stop at a table that is draped in white linens. It’s beautiful but pales in comparison to the breathtaking panoramic views overlooking the mountain range outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Graham,” I gasp.

  “I thought you’d like it,” he says as he pulls a chair out for me.

  “It’s stunning.”

  And romantic.

  He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Wait until you taste the lobster bisque.”

  He orders a bottle of wine, and I let him make our dinner selections. He orders a few dishes he wants me to try, and he is obviously excited to introduce me to his favorites.

  “I’m sorry I forced you into spending the day with me,” I tell him, a little embarrassed.

  “You didn’t force me to do anything.”

  “I put you on the spot,” I point out.

  He pauses for a moment.

  “Yeah, you kind of did,” he teases, as the server returns with our glasses.

  “I’m having a really nice time,” I tell him.

  He reaches over the table and takes my hand. He holds it and lightly runs his thumb in a circle on the inside of my wrist. I’m terrified he can feel the increase of my pulse.

  “So am I. It’s nice to step away from work and enjoy the countryside. Living here, I think we sometimes forget to appreciate the beauty. We take it for granted. Today was a reminder of why I love home so much,” he confesses.

  I take a sip of my wine and swallow down the lump of emotion in my throat. He just verbalized what I’d been contemplating all day.

  How did I ever feel suffocated here?

  I look out the windows at the beautiful view.

  “I envy trees,” I say.

  His brow creases.

  “Why?”

  “Because when it’s time to change, they do. They let their leaves glow bright with color in autumn, and then, come winter, they let them go so easily to make room for new growth in the spring. New adventure. New purpose.” I muse.

  His eyes follow mine out to the landscape.

  “Yeah, I guess they do.”

  Our entrees arrive a moment later and we enjoy our candlelit meal.

  “Try this.”

  He raises a spoon to my lips.

  I close my eyes as the smooth, velvety texture of the rich soup hits my tongue.

  “Oh my God, that’s amazing,” I tell him.

  “Right? It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

  Graham did an excellent job with all his selections. Every mouthful is better than the last.

  I learn all there is to know about his family while we eat. Each of his brothers has chosen very different career paths. Langford is spearheading the new ski resort in Balsam Ridge, Corbin is the chief of Valley Fire and Rescue, Weston has his organic CBD farm, Garrett is the country music star, and Morris—the baby—is still at home with his parents, trying to figure out what he wants from life.

  I sigh. “Your family is not real.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asks.

  “Y’all are too perfect. Real families are messy.”

  “That’s awfully cynical and presumptuous. We are far from perfect. Langford is divorced. Garrett can’t hold down a real relationship; he just moves from groupie to groupie. I’m a widower, and Morris is twenty-seven and still lives with his mother.”

  I giggle. “Okay, so not perfect, but close enough.”

  We finish our meal, Graham pays the bill, and we head back out to the motorcycle. The evening air is crisp and chilly.

  “I didn’t think this through,” he says as his eyes gaze my sleeveless arms.

  He unbutt
ons his flannel shirt and removes it, revealing a tightly fitted tee underneath. “Here, put this on,” he instructs.

  I take the shirt and pull it on. It swallows me, but it’s warm, and it smells of him. I bury my nose into the collar and inhale.

  “Aren’t you going to be cold?” I ask.

  “Not if you snuggle in close,” he says.

  I can do that.

  We make our way back to Mom’s house, guided by the moonlight. Graham takes it much slower this time, trying to block the cold air from me with his massive frame. I snuggle into his back, tuck my face into his neck, and hold him close, hoping my warmth is seeping into his bones.

  When we pull into the drive, he dismounts, and I follow. He helps me remove the helmet, and he runs his fingers through my tangled hair.

  I’m anxious as we stand there.

  Should I invite him in? Leave him standing here and run inside? Thank him yet again?

  He doesn’t give me a chance to do any of those things. He brings his lips to mine and kisses me. I gasp with surprise, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His mouth is soft and inviting, and I step closer into him as I clutch the front of his shirt and kiss him back. I’m not sure how long we are locked together, but I finally break away and blink up at him.

  “You kissed me.”

  “I did.”

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  He shrugs. “Kissing reduces anxiety, and you looked a little stressed to me.”

  “So, you kissed me to calm me down?”

  “Yep.”

  “You can’t just go around, kissing anyone,” I scold.

  He leans in. “I don’t. I kiss who I want to kiss,” he says before laying one more quick kiss on my lips.

  All righty then.

  I walk past him and toward the porch in a daze.

  “See you tomorrow, Taeli,” he calls.

  I throw my hand up in acknowledgment but don’t turn back around as I hear the motorcycle roar to life and pull away.

  Mom is at the door when I walk inside.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Magical,” I admit.

  She smiles wide.

  “It looks like it. Is that Graham’s shirt?” she asks.

  I look down. I’m still wrapped in his flannel.