Rushing In: A Small Town Family Romance

by Claire Kingsley

  Gavin

  Apparently trying to do the right thing was a great way to feel like shit.

  I’d done it twice now, and both times had left me with a hollow ache in my chest. Things were supposed to be better, not worse.

  So much for that.

  After Skylar had walked away, I’d gone home and sulked with Princess Squeaker for a while. Her only suggestion was to give her kitty treats, which was cute, but didn’t help solve my problems.

  My brothers were both on duty tonight, and I’d been too restless to sit at home alone. So I’d come back into town, looking for a distraction. Anything to get my mind off Skylar.

  A group of cars outside the Knotty Knitter caught my eye. That looked like Grace’s car. And Cara’s. Gram was there too. What were they all doing there? All shopping for craft shit on a Monday night?

  I was curious enough to stop and go inside.

  I’d never been in this store. Aisles were jam packed with craft and sewing supplies. Yarn, fabric, paper, paints, stuff like that. I didn’t see anyone, but I heard voices coming from the back of the shop.

  I went down an aisle and found a bunch of women sitting on a couch and in upholstered armchairs, all with yarn and big sticks or needles or something. Knitting? Crocheting? I didn’t know the difference.

  They all stared at me like I’d just walked into the girls’ locker room after gym class, not the back of a craft store that was open to the public.

  “Evening, ladies.”

  The corners of Gram’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile and her eyes flicked around the circle, like she was interested to see what the other ladies would decide to do with me.

  My great-aunt Tillie Bailey-Linfield was there, along with Violet Luscier—related to me on Gram’s side—and my high school math teacher, Lacey Hanson. I’d crushed pretty hard on Ms. Hanson back in high school, but she was married with a couple of kids now.

  Fiona waved at me with a cheerful smile. Grace twisted around to look at me, while Cara sat sideways in an armchair, sipping a drink, her legs dangling over one side. She was the only one without any yarn or sticks in her lap.

  “Evening, Otter,” Gram said.

  “Are you lost?” Cara asked with an amused glint in her eyes.

  “No, I saw your cars out front. What’s going on in here?”

  “It’s Stitch and Sip,” Grace said. “Our knitting and crochet group.”

  Cara eyed me for a second, then swung her legs to the front of her chair and stood. “Here, you can have my chair.”

  “Thanks.” I lowered myself into the chair, my eyes landing on the woman seated in the corner of the couch.

  Wait.

  Was that Marlene Haven?

  I glanced around, wondering if they could see her or if the Havens had developed invisibility powers. Because how could Marlene Haven be sitting here calmly with Gram and Grace, like it was no big deal? Like there wasn’t a feud that went back generations?

  “Marlene, can I get you a refill?” Cara asked.

  She glanced up, looking over the rims of blue reading glasses. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

  Well they could obviously see her.

  She caught me staring and her mouth twitched in a smile. “Hi, Gavin.”

  My eyes darted around again. Apparently this was fine. “Hi, Mrs. Haven.”

  Little knowing smiles passed between the other women. I decided this must be girl stuff that was above my head, so I wouldn’t worry about it. I had enough on my mind anyway.

  “Here, Otter.” Gram tossed me a package of light blue yarn. “Roll that into a ball for me.”

  She’d given me this job before. Little kid me had sat at her feet while she tipped back and forth in her rocking chair, telling me stories while I rolled yarn.

  “So what are we talking about?” I asked.

  “I’m trying to plan Grace’s baby shower, but she’s shooting down all my ideas,” Cara said.

  “Not all your ideas,” Grace said. “Just the male stripper.”

  Cara rolled her eyes and perched on the arm of Grace’s chair. “I thought you’d want your shower to be fun.”

  “I’m pretty sure we can have fun without a stripper. And it’s a baby shower, not a bachelorette party. How does a stripper go with a baby shower theme?”

  “He’d be dressed like a hot doctor. That totally works with a baby shower theme.”

  Grace tipped her head, like she was acknowledging Cara’s point.

  “You could have him jump out of a cake,” Fiona said. “That would be fun and unexpected.”

  “Speaking of the cake—”

  “No,” Grace said, cutting her off.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say, my lovely buttercup.”

  “We’re not doing a vagina cake with a doll head coming out of it.”

  “Are vagina cakes a thing?” I asked. “I think I’d be totally on board with a vagina cake, but I’m not feeling the doll head coming out of one. Seems a little too on the nose.”

  Cara tapped her phone screen a few times. “Totally a thing. See?”

  The picture showed a pink cake with a doll head emerging from an even pinker vagina. There were even little chocolate sprinkles—whoever had been the pussy model apparently hadn’t been a waxer.

  I shuddered and handed her phone back. “I can’t unsee that.”

  “Why anyone would do that to their lady garden is beyond me,” Cara said. “No offense, boo. You’re going to do great.”

  “Women do that to their lady garden because they want a family,” Grace said.

  “This is why I adopted Fiona,” Cara said.

  “Grace, you’re better off with the doctor stripper,” I said. “I’d give her that one so she gives up on the scary vag cake.”

  “I’m not budging on either,” Grace said. “No strippers. No vagina cake.”

  Cara smiled, tapping her phone screen again. “That’s fine because I wasn’t going to suggest a vagina cake. I want to get something like this.”

  She held up her phone again. This cake had baby blue frosting and a big white cartoon sperm on top. He had eyes and a big grin that made him look very proud of himself. The cake read I did it in big white letters.

  “Aw, look at the cute spermie,” Fiona said.

  Grace laughed. “Okay, that’s adorable.”

  “See? I’ve got you, boo.”

  Tillie clicked her tongue. “Oh, Cara.”

  “It’s the perfect follow up to the penis cake I had made for her bachelorette party. I know how to stay on brand.”

  “That cake was really good,” Grace said.

  I shifted, trying to get my leg in a more comfortable position, then kept rolling Gram’s yarn. “I didn’t get any cake.”

  “You’d eat a dick cake?” Cara asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s cake.”

  “Otter, do you think Skylar would like to come to Stitch and Sip?” Gram asked.

  “That’s a great idea,” Fiona said.

  Grace sighed. “I keep meaning to invite her, but I seem to be forgetting everything lately.”

  “Pregnancy brain,” Lacey said. “It’s a thing.”

  Grace laughed.

  I hunkered down in the chair. “Yeah, you should invite her.”

  Cara narrowed her eyes at me.

  I ignored her.

  “Fiona, how are the wedding plans coming?” Lacey asked.

  “Great,” Fiona said with a big smile. “We’re keeping it really simple, so there’s not a lot to do.”

  “And you’re having it at Gram’s?” Lacey asked.

  Fiona nodded. “We’re putting up a tent, so it’ll be pretty and also warm.”

  “I’m still surprised you talked that broody man into a wedding,” Cara said. “I thought for sure he’d just whisk you off to Vegas or something.”

  “We thought about that, actually,” Fiona said. “But getting married at Gram’s just feels so perfect. Evan’s really excited. You just can�
�t tell unless you know what to look for.”

  Grace swiped a few tears from her cheeks. “I’m so happy for you.”

  Fiona clasped her hands at her chest and her lower lip trembled. “I’m so happy, too.”

  Cara eyed the two of them, then abruptly stood. “I love you both so much I could die, but I just started my period and there’s way too much emotion in here for me to cope with right now. Come on Gavin, let’s go drink.”

  With the mood I was in, that sounded like an excellent idea.

  She slipped on a wool trench coat and blew kisses at Fiona and Grace. “Goodnight, my lovely little sweat peas. Ladies, have a good week.”

  Everyone said goodbye to Cara. I handed the ball of yarn back to Gram, said a few quick goodbyes, and followed her out to the parking lot.

  “Caboose?” she asked.

  “Works for me.”

  “Should we drive?”

  I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my coat pockets. The air had a bite to it, but I didn’t mind. “No, I can walk.”

  It was only a few blocks to the Caboose, and streetlights lit the way. Even though the boot was awkward, it was nice to have two legs again.

  There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. Not surprising for a Monday night. I held the door for Cara and we went inside.

  She picked a spot at the bar and I eased myself onto a stool.

  Hank came over to take our orders. “What can I get you?”

  “Two Heinekens and four shots of Jameson. Put it all on my tab.” She glanced at me. “I’m buying. Don’t argue.”

  Normally I would have, but she had a glint in her eye that told me to keep my mouth shut. “Thanks. Shots, huh?”

  “It’s been one of those days.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “With the way you were pouting at Stitch and Bitch, I figured.”

  “I wasn’t pouting.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I was brooding. Not pouting.”

  “Fair enough. You are a Bailey. Brooding must be in your genes.”

  Hank brought over our beers and poured the shots.

  Cara slid one over to me and raised her glass. “To brooding.”

  “To brooding.” I lifted the shot to my lips and tossed it back. The whiskey burned going down. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m no more dysfunctional than usual. Although my mother did call this afternoon. Hence the whiskey.”

  “Phone call from your mom and you started your period. Brutal.”

  “It really is. I can’t be expected to function under these conditions.”

  “Sounds like you need another shot.” I slid the other two shot glasses closer.

  “It’s what I’m here for.”

  We both swallowed our second shots, the glasses clinking on the bar when we set them down. I blew out a breath while the burn ran through me. I was already feeling lighter, the whiskey hitting me fast.

  “So what’s wrong with your mom?” I asked. “Or do you not want to talk about it.”

  “It’s complicated. I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

  I took a sip of my beer. “I can respect that.”

  “What’s wrong with you? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We both got quiet, our attention wandering to the TV behind the bar. I drank my beer down fast, adding it to the whiskey in my stomach. Getting drunk sounded great right now. Anything to get rid of this shitty feeling in my chest.

  A couple of shots later, or maybe it was a few… or five, I’d lost count, I was well into drunk. I wobbled on my stool. “Cara, are you a lesbian? Be honest.”

  She laughed. “No, I’m not a lesbian.”

  “But you’re like totally in love with Grace, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how does that work if you’re not a lesbian?”

  “I don’t want her sexually. I like my orgasms to come from a man. But Grace is my person.”

  “Thass pretty cool.” Shit, my speech was slurring. I slow blinked. “I think I’m drunk.”

  “You’re definitely drunk.” She brushed her hair back from her face and laughed a little. “I am too.”

  “I have a confession.”

  “Wait.” She put a hand on the bar to steady herself. “Okay, go.”

  “I stole a cookie from Chief’s cookie jar.”

  “I thought so.”

  “I didn’t mean to. But it was the most delicious cookie in the world.”

  “Of course it was. Someone said you couldn’t have it.”

  “No, that’s not…” I slumped forward and put my forehead on the bar. Groaning, I lifted my head. “That’s not why.”

  “Listen.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “You like her, right? And she likes you. So just be happy that you like each other, okay?”

  “That’s the problem. I like her too much. But she’s… and I’m… and now she’s mad.”

  “What’s her story? How’d she end up back here anyway?”

  “She was dating her agent. Found out he’d been cheating on her.”

  “What?” Her voice went flat and suddenly she seemed a lot more sober.

  “Isn’t that bullshit? Who would cheat on Skylar? I don’t know what the fuck his problem was.”

  “Who is he?”

  I took another drink of my beer. Not that I needed it. “Cullen something.”

  “He was her agent?”

  “Yeah, you know, publishing deals and shit.”

  Cara got out her phone and started typing something. “Do you know what he looks like?”

  “I think so. Maybe? But I don’t know if I can remember right now.”

  She held up her phone. “This him?”

  I squinted to keep the image from going blurry. It didn’t help much. Too much fucking whiskey. But I recognized the douchey face. “Thass him.”

  “Fucker,” she muttered, then hiccupped. “He’s so going down. Who’s the other woman?”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to think. “Another writer. Poppy? No. Penelope? No.”

  “Pepper Sinclair?”

  “Yes.” I poked her shoulder. “Thass her. How did you know?”

  “She’s on his client list on the agency website.” Her lips turned up in a wicked smile. “I’m going to bury these two.”

  Something in the back of my mind told me that maybe I should tell Cara not to. That if Grace were around, she probably would. But Grace wasn’t around, and I was really drunk. And hell, I wanted Cara to bury that fucker for what he did to Skylar.

  So I smiled back. “Get ’em, tiger.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing.” She put away her phone and had to steady herself on the bar again. Apparently she wasn’t that sober. “I’ll make him pay.”

  I stumbled off my stool. “I should go home. My kitten needs me.”

  “Let me get you a ride.”

  “No.” I waved my hand and almost knocked myself over. “I’ll just walk. Iss not far.”

  “Gavin—”

  I started toward the door. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. I’ve got this.”

  25

  Skylar

  The blank screen mocked me with its emptiness. I didn’t know why I was sitting at my desk staring at my half-finished manuscript. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to write. For one thing, there was no Gavin sitting behind me, somehow lulling my brain into a state of relaxed creativity.

  For another thing, no Gavin at all.

  I’d been miserable since we’d talked this afternoon. Thankfully, Dad was at work and Mom was out, so I’d come home to an empty house. I’d been able to cry in peace. But even a good, hard cry hadn’t completely cleansed me of my misery.

  I often used writing to help me cope with my fears, but it wasn’t working to help me cope with this, whatever this was.

  Because honestly, what was wrong with me? Gavin hadn’t broken up wi
th me. There hadn’t been a relationship in the first place. Maybe I was subconsciously projecting hurt from Cullen onto this situation. I didn’t know why I’d be doing that, but it made a little bit of sense. More than me coming home and ugly crying because a guy I was friends with and had slept with once wanted to back up and stick with being just friends without the sex.

  I even understood. I wasn’t ready for a relationship, so why couldn’t Gavin and I just press rewind and go back to where we were last week? Just friends who liked to hang out. That had been fun. What was wrong with that?

  It wasn’t what I wanted. That was what was wrong with it.

  Only, I wasn’t sure what I did want.

  Actually, when I thought about it—really thought about it—that wasn’t true. I did know. It was just very unlike me to want it.

  I wanted to be friends with Gavin. And I wanted him to fuck my brains out occasionally.

  Rushing in to a serious relationship was probably not the best idea. But Gavin didn’t want a serious relationship either. He’d said he wasn’t boyfriend material—which for the record, he was, I had no idea why he thought he wasn’t—but I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend anyway.

  I always played it safe and right now, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be a little reckless.

  Ginny’s words came back to haunt me, as they often did when she was trying to push me out of my comfort zone. If you don’t go after what you want, you probably won’t get it.

  She was right.

  My phone rang, but I didn’t recognize the number. That was odd. I was going to ignore it, but a little spark of curiosity made me pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice was on the other end. “Skylar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, this is Cara. We met… sometime, I don’t know. I got your phone off Gavin’s number. That’s not right. I got your number off Gavin’s phone.”

  “Um, okay?”

  “He’s drunk and trying to walk home from the Caboose.” She paused and her voice shifted to a loud whisper. “I’m drunk too.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Oh yeah, you know how guys are. But he left and I thought maybe you could go find him. Make sure he gets home okay.”

  I was already on my way downstairs. “Yeah, I can do that. Do you need a ride, too?”