His sister’s words from weeks ago plagued him as he walked the dogs into the station and over to his desk. She’s not who I pictured you with.
Trent decided he didn’t care. He liked spending his time with Lauren, and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.
He hated the graveyard shift, because while there was crime in Hawthorne Harbor, it definitely slowed down between two and five a.m. The boredom was enough to kill even the most diligent cop, and Trent spent his time with the dogs in the yard. That, at least, passed the time much faster than anything else he’d tried.
By the time he returned home, he was ready for bed. But it was only six-thirty, and one step inside the house told him that both Lauren and Porter were still asleep. So he fed the dogs on the partially finished back deck and kept them outside while he set coffee to brew.
As the day started to lighten, he heard movement coming from down the hallway. A few minutes later, Lauren appeared, looking soft and fresh from sleep. The sight made him deliriously happy, and Trent pulled two mugs from the cupboard with a “Good morning.”
“Hey.” She sat at the bar and rubbed her eyes.
“You were up too late, weren’t you?” He watched her with one eye while he got out the cream and sugar.
“No,” she said, but a yawn immediately followed it. “Maybe until ten or so.”
“He’s going to be a bear.”
“He promised he wouldn’t be.”
“Right.” Trent leaned his weight against the counter opposite of her. “Just like you both promised he wouldn’t stay up too late.” He wasn’t sure if he should smile or stay stern. Porter would be a complete bear by lunchtime, and his teacher would have to deal with it.
“It wasn’t that late,” she insisted, nodding toward the coffee pot. “Are you going to pour me some of that or what?”
Trent busied himself with pouring her coffee, and he watched as she added both cream and sugar to the black liquid. He wanted to have something to share with her, but his mind was blank.
“What’d you do last night?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “The graveyard shift is the worst.”
“How did Wilson do with the ball in the dark?”
“Great. Brought it back every time.” Trent needed to get his portfolio together and get it out to some agencies, because Wilson was ready to work on a real canine team. He poured himself a cup of coffee, which was probably a mistake. If he drank this, he wouldn’t get to sleep until at least noon, and then he’d only get three hours of sleep before he had to pick up Porter.
So he set his mug on the counter and said, “I’m going to go check on Porty. He should be getting up soon.”
Lauren nodded, and he felt her eyes on him as he walked away. His son snored in his bed, and Trent watched him for a minute. A book sat on his nightstand. Trent picked it up and didn’t recognize it. In fact, he never read to his son. He hadn’t even thought of it.
But Lauren had obviously brought this book—Captain Underpants—for Porter, and he found one of the pages had been dog-eared. Trent wasn’t sure why the book bothered him. It was a book, and it was a sign that Lauren had thought about his son and tried to bring something she thought he would like.
So why did Trent feel like he wasn’t doing a good job as Porter’s father?
He set the book down and rubbed his son’s back. “Porter,” he said in almost a whisper. “It’s time to get up, bud.”
Porter groaned and rolled toward Trent, blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes. “Hey, Daddy.”
Trent sat on the edge of his son’s bed. “Hey, bud. Did you have fun last night?”
Porter sat up and gave Trent a hug. Trent held the small child in his arms, feeling lucky and inadequate at the same time. “I love you, bud,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. He wasn’t all that great at expressing his emotions, even to his son. It was a miracle he’d gotten married the first time.
“Lauren made popcorn,” Porter said as he released Trent. “And then she melted butter and poured it all over it, and put on this cinnamon and sugar stuff, and she said it was called churro popcorn.”
“Sounds delicious,” Trent said. “She said you stayed up until ten.”
“I won’t be cranky,” Porter said, his eyes turning into those puppy dog eyes that begged for food.
“If Miss Terry emails or calls, you’ll be in so much trouble.” Trent gave his son a stern look. “Lauren won’t be able to stay with you anymore.”
“I like her,” Porter said. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
Trent wanted to point out that he’d already broken one promise, but he was tired and just wanted to go to bed. “All right. Well, let’s get up and get ready. I’ll go fry you an egg.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lauren didn’t want to leave Trent’s house, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. But it felt wonderful and comfortable to be sitting in his kitchen, sipping coffee he’d made and poured for her.
He returned from waking Porter and said, “Did you want breakfast? I’m making eggs for Porter.”
She declined and slipped off her barstool. “I better head home and get ready for the day.”
“Yeah? What are you working on now?” He unhooked a pan from the rack hanging above the island.
“I just signed a new basement,” she said. “It’s huge too, from one of those massive houses out on the bluff.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, indoor job,” she said. “Though I am a bit worried about it running into our Christmas plans.”
Trent pulled open the fridge. “Go over those again with me?”
Lauren had told him at least three times, but she’d go over it a dozen more if it meant he’d be there. Him and Porter. So she moved into his personal space as he turned with a carton of eggs in his hands.
She wrapped her arms around him, thrilled when he received her into his embrace. “My whole family is coming,” she said. “I’ve told them all about you.”
Trent looked so, so tired, but she thought she also caught a flicker of panic in his expression. “It’s a Christmas dinner, right?”
“Right. My brothers are coming on Christmas Eve. My parents are coming on the twenty-third. So you can meet them in stages.”
He leaned down and kissed her, and while Trent had never spoken about his feelings for her, Lauren could definitely feel them in the way his mouth moved against hers. Lauren let herself get caught up in him, the taste of him, the smell of him, the very nearness of him. And she felt herself falling, and all she could do was hope he would be there to catch her.
She broke their connection and looked at him. “You’re still okay to do all of that?”
“Mm hm.” He pressed his cheek to hers, and they just breathed together. Lauren wanted to tell him how she was feeling, but so many emotions ran through her she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Dad, I can’t find my shoes.”
Trent stepped away from Lauren and said something, but she didn’t catch what. She hoped her late night with Porter wouldn’t get him in trouble, because then Trent wouldn’t trust her with his son again.
“I saw them in the closet,” she called after them, her mind finally starting to work again. Sure enough, Trent found the shoes there, and Lauren gave Porter a hug. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
Porter leaned his forehead against Lauren’s and whispered, “Daddy says we can’t stay up late or you can’t stay with me.”
“Then we’ll make sure you’re in bed by nine tonight, okay?”
He nodded, and she straightened. Trent was busy with the pan on the stove, but she knew he’d seen her exchange with his son. She lifted her hand in a wave and said, “See you guys tonight.”
“’Bye,” they said together, one low voice and one high, and Lauren’s heart sang with joy.
Outside, she stood on the top step and vowed to herself that she’d follow Trent’s rules for his son. After all, she wasn
’t the boy’s mother, and if the situation had been reversed, she’d be bugged if her babysitter just did whatever she wanted.
And she loved both of the males inside this house. A smile touched her lips, and though the winter temperatures had her breath wisping out of her mouth in white clouds, she felt warm from head to toe.
Because she was in love with Trent Baker.
* * *
Lauren worked alone in the basement of the house on the bluff, measuring and marking, cutting and constructing. It had taken a couple of days just to get everything hauled into the area, but now that she was set up, the work was moving quickly. If her pace held, she’d have the basement framed and insulated by the end of the week.
She’d done enough basements to know when she needed to focus and when she could let her mind wander. So she concentrated when at the saw and with the measuring tape in her hand, but she thought about Porter and Trent while she hammered the studs into place.
Porter especially lingered in her mind. Why had she thought she didn’t like kids? Maybe you haven’t met the right ones, Trent had said.
But Lauren knew that everything stemmed back to Rick. He hadn’t liked children, and she’d known from their third date that he didn’t want kids. So maybe she’d just told herself for so long that she didn’t want them either.
By the time she returned to Trent’s that afternoon, she was tired of measuring, cutting, and nailing. But she put up a section of the railing before he and Porter arrived home from school.
“Heya,” Porter said, immediately picking up his child-sized hammer. “I didn’t get in trouble at school at all today.”
She beamed at him, more relief than she thought she’d feel pouring through her. She glanced at Trent, who wore his police officer stern expression. “That’s great, bud. We’ll be sure to get to bed on time tonight.”
“So can I help?” A gust of wind almost blew the boy’s words away.
Lauren nodded. “I’m just about to cut the next section.”
“It can wait,” Trent said, finally moving forward and putting his arm around her. “You look tired.”
“So maybe I need to get to bed earlier tonight too.” She relaxed into his side, definitely more exhausted than she thought.
“Porter’s going to lay down for an hour.”
“Dad—”
“We already talked about it, bud.” Trent cut him a glare. “You can too, if you’d like. I’ll make dinner.”
Lauren gazed out across his yard, most of the greenery brown now. It was still beautiful, and though the wind whipped and another storm would be here within the hour, Lauren felt more comfortable than she ever had.
She went with Porter and Trent inside, and the two boys disappeared down the hall. She heard them arguing, but she kept herself busy with getting water and cleaning up from her long day of work. Maybe Trent would put off making dinner and just hold her on the couch until she dozed off.
By the time Trent returned, he looked tired too. He didn’t say anything, and the tension in the air nearly suffocated Lauren.
“If he’s not tired, he doesn’t have to take a nap,” she said.
Trent whipped his gaze to her, and it utterly scathed her. “He is tired. That’s why he’s acting like that.”
“Okay, I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t. He’s not your son, and I think I know him a lot better than you do.”
His words lashed her insides, and any thought of curling into the couch with him and kissing away the afternoon vanished. She nodded, tight little movements of her head. Tears pricked her eyes, and the thought of staying here made her chest tighten until she couldn’t breathe.
“I’m going to run home and shower,” she managed to say.
“Lauren,” he said, not an ounce of regret in his voice.
“No, it’s fine.” She waved him back. “I just feel itchy from the insulation.” What a liar she was. She hadn’t even touched the insulation yet, and Trent seemed to know it. Still, he let her go, and Lauren wept as she drove from his house to hers.
So maybe she shouldn’t be telling him how to raise his son. Bad move, she told herself, finally getting enough control of her emotions to make the tears stop. She sniffed and wiped her eyes, pulling into her driveway in control of herself.
Inside, she went straight into the bedroom and laid down. Maybe she was acting the way she was because she was tired too. After all, she hadn’t cried over anything in years—since leaving Rick.
Then, it seemed like she’d never stop crying. But she had. She started working with a therapist and examining what she really believed, what was true and what wasn’t, and she’d come out a different version of the Lauren she’d been.
She didn’t want Trent to be upset with her, so before she allowed herself to truly calm enough to doze, she sent him a quick text. I’m sorry.
Hours later, she still hadn’t heard from him, and it was almost time for her to get over to his house so he could go to work. She assumed that was still the plan, so she slathered peanut butter on a couple pieces of bread and grabbed an apple from the fridge.
She finished eating just as she arrived at his house, only to find his truck already gone. Confusion and doubt raced through her. Had he taken Porter to his sisters? His mothers? Maybe they were just out with the dogs, but the rain splashing the windshield suggested otherwise.
She parked in his spot and dashed up to the front door. The doorbell sounded too loud amidst the rain, and it took several long moments for Betsy to answer the door. Lauren stood there and stared, unsure of what to make of this new development.
“He got called in suddenly,” she said, gesturing for her to come in. She did, stepping onto his floor and starting to drip everywhere. “He said you’d be by soon, and I said it was no problem.”
“Oh,” Lauren finally managed to say. She searched her brain for her husband’s name and couldn’t find it. “How’s your husband?”
She offered a kind smile, but it was the kind that said she was tired of answering the same questions all the time. “He’s doing better tonight, which is why I could come.”
“I would’ve come,” Lauren said. Why hadn’t Trent just called her? She lived ten minutes away, and watching Betsy put on her shoes and then her coat, it had honestly probably taken the older woman at least that long to make it over here from next door.
“I was here with dinner when the call came in,” she said. “So it was no problem to stay.” She gave Lauren a warm smile and paused in her preparations to leave. “So, how are you and Trent getting along?”
Lauren put a plastic grin on her face. “Just great.” She nodded like her statement needed extra emphasis. “Yep. Real nice.”
Which was mostly true. They’d been getting along so well, with a few minor bumps that all couples had. Right?
All she knew was that she thought so, and she didn’t necessarily want to talk about it with his next-door neighbor, a woman she’d met once and didn’t know.
“Well, hang in there, dear.” She stood and patted Lauren’s hand. “Porter’s in bed already, and Trent said he’d call you later.”
“All right.” Lauren said, the papery quality of Betsy’s skin so like Aunt Mabel’s.
“Trent can be prickly sometimes,” she said. “Don’t take it too seriously. I’ve been telling him for years to lighten up.” With that, Betsy made her way to the front door, where she pulled up the hood on her coat and stepped into the storm.
Lauren followed her and stood on the porch to make sure she got home okay. Once she was safely inside her own house, Lauren returned to the warmth of Trent’s home. She loved this place where she’d spent so much time with him and his son.
She ran her fingers along the back of the couch where they’d cuddled together after dinner, where he’d fall asleep and she’d hold his hand and dream of that being their reality all the time.
Maybe he didn’t want that. “Maybe he just needs more time to get used to the idea.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she sucked in a breath. How many times had she said that while waiting for Rick to do something she wanted? First, it was to put a diamond ring on her finger. Then it was to set a date—which had never actually happened.
She’d always told her mom that maybe he needed more time to think through the idea, make sure he liked it.
She pulled out her phone and sent him another text. Made it to your house. Betsy went home. Porter’s asleep. Her fingers hovered over the screen. She wanted to tell him she would’ve come had he called, but she didn’t want to add to his stress or make him feel like he’d done something wrong.
She shook the old Lauren’s thoughts away. She got to have feelings too, and they were valid.
I would’ve come whenever you wanted. Why didn’t you call me?
She sent the message without second-guessing herself and then dialed her mom. With Christmas just shy of two weeks away, Lauren should probably check with Aunt Mabel on the state of the Mansion and the dinner.
Knowing Mabel, the Mansion would be decked out from floor to ceiling with wreaths and trees and garland. But Lauren should still check with her. Tomorrow, she told herself as her mom’s line started to ring.
“Hey, baby,” her mother said. “How are you?”
Every emotion Lauren had been feeling that day rushed at her, choking her words from coming out.
“Lauren?” Her mother’s concern could be heard from miles away.
“Hey, Mom,” she said through a tight throat. Her mother would be able to hear the emotion in it.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with Trent?”
So many things had happened with Trent, and Lauren didn’t even know where to start. “I don’t know, Mom. I like him so much.” Another lie, but this one was necessary. Wasn’t it? She knew her mother worried about her, and she didn’t want to admit she’d fallen in love with a man who might not be ready for another wife.
Hawthorne Harbor Box Set Page 75