Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4)

by Lilian Monroe

  “You care about Mr. Remy?”

  Mac opens the door to his truck and helps Katie up. “Yeah. Him too.” He glances over at me, eyes lingering on mine before dropping to Toby. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home.”

  In that moment, I decide to ignore his comment. If I think about the fact that he essentially just admitted he cares about me, even though we haven’t so much as spoken in weeks, I’ll never get my head straight.

  I’ve been good. Really good. The last thing I need is sexy, sweet Mac scrambling my brain again.

  With the kids safely clicked into the back seat of the huge four-door cab, Mac opens the passenger door for me and nods to the departing tow truck. “You need a new car.”

  I snort. “Yeah, well, if you direct me to the car fairy, I’ll ask her to drop one off for me.”

  Mac’s lips tilt, his broad hand still curled over the top of the passenger door, effectively stopping me from entering. I watch his hands clench for a moment. “You been okay?”

  It’s funny how a simple question can hold so much weight. It’s the same thing he asked me at the parent-teacher conference. I’ve been asked if I’m okay a thousand times in my life, but when Mac says it, standing on the side of the road looking at me like he cares about the answer, it makes my throat close up.

  “Yeah,” I answer softly. “Busy. Good. You know how it is.”

  He watches me for a moment, the light from the cab of the truck illuminating his masculine, angular face, and it feels almost painful to be this close to him without being able to touch him.

  Mac is the type of man who came to my rescue without even being asked. Who dropped everything to drive me and the kids home when he could have just as easily stayed in town, and I never would have known any different. He’s the type of man who’s reliable, dependable—even when sex is off the table.

  We agreed that we can’t be together, but he’s still here.

  I don’t know why that affects me so much, why it makes it so hard to look him in the eyes, why it makes my heart feel like it’s trying to break through my chest.

  He’s doing what any decent person would do and helping out a single mother in a bind. But how many decent people really exist? How many decent men have ever done something like this for me?

  And how fucking unlucky am I that he’s the one man I can’t have? The one man I shouldn’t want?

  Throat thick with emotion, I give him a quick nod. “I should get the kids to bed.”

  He snaps out of whatever stupor he’d been stuck in and drops his hand from the door, but he doesn’t immediately move to the driver’s side. He waits until I’ve climbed into the cab of his truck, then he closes the door for me before striding around the front of the vehicle to get in the other side.

  I glance behind me and see the kids quiet, their seatbelts fastened and their eyes wide and alert, then watch Mac enter the truck with his usual grace and confidence. Finally, I settle back in my seat and let him take me home.

  And I realize that I’m glad it was Mac who showed up with Remy, because from the moment I heard his voice, I felt nothing but relief. I felt safe. I knew for sure that everything would be okay.

  35

  Mac

  I walk Trina and her kids to the door, giving Katie a smile and a wave before she disappears up the steps behind her mother. Then my eyes shift to the woman standing before me.

  The weeks haven’t dulled any of my feelings. Ever since the last parent-teacher conference, I haven’t been able to tamp down the tiny kernel of hope that’s taken root inside me.

  She didn’t choose her ex-husband. She wasn’t with him that night.

  That means the two of us could have a chance…right?

  Trina leans her shoulder on the doorjamb and gives me a soft, reserved smile. “Thanks again, Mac.”

  I nearly groan at the sound of my name on her lips. I’ve spent the last three months trying to convince myself she was just like any other woman. Is she, though? I can’t stop thinking about her. Dreaming of her. Reading and re-reading the employee handbook to make sure I wouldn’t get fired if we were together.

  It was never about the rules, though, was it? It was about my reputation. About awkwardness at school for myself, for Trina, for Katie. It was the fact that I’ve built my career over years and years, and I didn’t want anyone to think differently of me for getting involved with a parent.

  But it’s been torture to know that Trina is here, that she’s thriving on her own, and I gave up the right to be part of that when I pushed her away.

  It was my own dumb pride, wasn’t it? I’ve been so caught up in the conviction that I should be alone, that no woman could ever be right for me. It was the scars from my childhood that clouded my decisions.

  But the truth?

  The truth is I’ve known I loved Trina since she stepped into the doorway of my classroom wearing those pale-blue pants, regal and elegant and unattainable.

  “I’ve missed you,” I blurt.

  Trina stiffens. “Mac…”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I just had to say it. I was wrong to push you away and I was wrong to tell you we couldn’t be together. It kills me that I hurt you. I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

  Trina swallows, her eyes steady on mine as her hands smooth down her shirt. She takes a deep breath. “Nothing has changed, though, has it?”

  I let my eyes slide away, staring at the paved stones beneath my feet. “It feels like everything has changed.”

  “You’re still Katie’s teacher.”

  “I’ll wait. The school year will end.”

  I know I sound desperate, but I can’t quite bring myself to care. I’ve let my pride stand in my way for three months now, avoiding Trina, teaching Katie every day and wishing I was standing by her mother’s side. I’ve dreamed of Trina’s body, sure, but what I’ve missed most is her smile. The way it feels to have her in my arms. The way she laughs when she’s at the pottery wheel and the way her breath catches when she feels my touch.

  I’ve missed her. I’ve missed the way she carries herself with her back straight and her head held high. She’s emerged from her divorce with grace and strength, and I love her. I love her so much it hurts—physically, I mean. It hurts my heart to be in her presence and not be allowed to touch her, to tell her.

  Trina releases a sigh, closes her eyes, and that resolve I admire so much straightens her shoulders. She looks at me and gives me a sad smile. “I’m doing really well right now, Mac. I’ve got a new business and my kids to take care of. I’ve got a lot on my plate. I just don’t have the time or energy to put into a relationship—especially when I know that anything with you would be intense and all-consuming.” She reaches over to put her hand on my shoulder, and the weight of it feels like an anchor. “I just got out of a marriage that I’m still reeling from. It wouldn’t be fair to you or me if I jumped into something new.”

  “You sound sure,” I answer with a strangled voice.

  She holds my gaze for a moment and squeezes my shoulder. “I am.”

  “So you won’t even try?”

  When she drops her hand from my shoulder, it feels like losing a limb. Katrina shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mac. I need to focus on myself and my kids. I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

  My throat is tight, and all I can do is nod. When she closes the door, I stand on the doorstep and let a long breath slide through my lips.

  As I walk back to my truck, I sit in my cab for a few moments and glance at her house. This doesn’t feel the same way it did when she came over to my place after the first day of school. That day, I was closed off and so sure that I was making the right decision.

  It doesn’t even feel like the last time I was here, flowers in hand and hope budding in my heart. I left angry and hurt, and I ran to my father’s bar to lick my wounds.

  No—this time, I feel determined.

  I know Katrina is the woman I want. If she says it’s not the right time,
then I’ll wait. I’ll make damn sure that when the right time comes, I’ll be standing there with my arms open.

  When I roll the doors to my studio open and flick the lights on, I turn on the space heater and let my lips curl into a smile. I still have a few pieces to finish for the Four Cups order, but that’s not what I’m going to work on. Tonight, I’m going to create something that reminds me of Katrina. Something I can show at that stupid gallery opening in January that will mean something only to me.

  And if I’m lucky, it’ll mean something to her.

  36

  Trina

  For the next week, I replay that conversation with Mac in my head. No matter which way I turn it over, it always feels like I made the right decision.

  I’m better on my own. Ever since I decided to pursue this business, focus on myself and my children, things have fallen into place. I can talk to Kevin without needing an hour to recover afterward. I can arrange hand-offs with the kids and even think rationally about the fact that he’ll have them for Christmas this year since I had them for Thanksgiving, which had previously been something that broke my heart.

  The first thing I do is buy a new car—well, a new used car. No more fear of running out of money. Things will work out, and I need to have a reliable vehicle. Then, in that new car, I take the kids Christmas tree shopping with my mother, and we end up decorating it the second weekend of December. I promise them that Santa Claus knows they’ll be with their dad, and promise we’ll do a mini-Christmas here before they fly up to see Kevin in Seattle.

  It’s a new life that feels unfamiliar, but good. Yes, I can have family time with my kids and they can have time with their father, and it’ll be okay.

  I’m stepping into my life with my eyes wide open. There’s no more void beneath my next step, no fear of what comes next. I don’t think too closely about that corner of my heart that still aches when I look at that misshapen bowl in my cupboard, or the fact that maybe I did meet a good man so soon after my divorce—then lost my chance.

  It ends up taking me a week to find my third client. I do about a dozen free styling consultations that turn into a dozen rejections, but number thirteen ends up being lucky, for once. It’s a woman in her late twenties who’s starting her first corporate job after the holidays. She needs a professional wardrobe that still has personality, and our sessions together end up being a blast.

  It’s more affirmation that I’m doing the right thing. When the young woman sends me photos of her planned outfits for her first week of work, my heart feels so light I might burst.

  I’ve never felt like this, ever. Like I have gifts that are worth something. I can make money and serve other women and make them feel good. I can be as girly as I want, and it’s not sneered at.

  In the days before the kids leave for Seattle, Katie comes into my room on a Saturday morning and climbs into bed with me. I wrap her in my arms and kiss her silky hair, loving the way she nestles against me.

  With her head on my shoulder, my daughter grabs my hand and looks at my nails. “You need a manicure,” she announces.

  I look at the regrowth on my shellac. “You’re right.”

  Katie lifts her head and looks at me. “Can I come too? I want red and green nails.” She wiggles her fingers and beams at me, hopeful.

  I don’t know why that fills me with joy. It’s just my daughter wanting to do something with me, but it’s more than that. She’s not ashamed of liking pretty things. She’s not looking down on me for wanting to do something girly. So, I smile and nod, and take her to a nail salon in town for a mani-pedi. We only give her normal polish, obviously, since anything else would require upkeep and could damage her nails, but my daughter is wide-eyed and giggly the whole time.

  “Look, Mommy!” She thrusts her hand at me, and I see the red and green alternating nails with tiny snowflakes dotted on each finger. She brings her hand up to her face and beams. “So pretty!”

  My heart is overflowing. When we’re done, Katie walks with her nails fanned out as she struts down the street. When we meet my mother and Toby at the café, Katie runs up to the counter and shows Sven, Fiona, and Candice, who all ooh and aah over her hands.

  “She’s her mother’s daughter.” Candice winks.

  I grin. Six months ago, if Kevin had said that to me, I wonder if I would’ve taken it as a compliment.

  Things are good. Really, really good.

  Then Mac walks through the door with a box of pottery, and my heart nearly bursts out of my chest. His eyes zero in on me, sweeping from head to toe. I immediately combust.

  Hmm.

  Maybe things could be better.

  “Mr. Blair!” Katie sprints toward him. “Look at my nails!”

  Mac puts the box down on a table and crouches down, inspecting Katie’s hands and nodding appreciatively. “Wow. Did you do that yourself? It’s very good. I love the snowflakes.”

  Katie rolls her eyes. “No, of course not.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Mommy and I went to the nail salon.” She wiggles her fingers, then prances back to her table.

  I bite back a smile as Mac glances at me, laughter dancing in his eyes.

  Fiona comes around the counter and shakes his hand, and they both peer into the box.

  “That’s everything you’ve ordered,” Mac says. “I’ve included the final invoice in the box. If there’s anything you’re not happy with, just let me know.”

  “It looks lovely,” Fiona says, unwrapping a large plate. It’s the same peach-and-gold of the rest of the order, and as I drift closer, I can’t help the tightening of my chest. Fiona hums. “We’ve gotten so many compliments on our mugs, Mac. You should leave some business cards, or even put a few pieces on display here. We’d love to help you sell them.”

  Mac’s gaze is on me, those honey-colored eyes hungry as they roam over my face. “Sounds good,” he tells Fiona without looking at her. Then, with a shake of his head, he says a few quick goodbyes and walks out of the café.

  I feel like I just ran a marathon.

  Candice catches my eyes, arching a brow. “Still sure about that decision of yours?”

  She’s being vague because my little sponges are sitting at a table beside me. She means my decision to push Mac away, to focus on myself.

  I let out a breath and nod. “Yeah,” I say, “I’m still sure.”

  Saying goodbye to the kids is awful. They’re greeted by flight staff and given badges that say “Unaccompanied Minor” before being led off toward the gate. My chest feels so tight it hurts, and all I can think about is how I’d love for Mac to be beside me, for his arms to be wrapped around me, for his lips to be near my ear while he whispers comforting words to me.

  I want to feel the way I felt when I heard his voice after my car broke down. Safe, secure, and absolutely sure that everything will be okay.

  But I made the decision to do this alone, and I have to trust in that.

  I mostly spend the holidays at Candice’s house. I cook a lot, eat even more, and exchange presents with my family. I video call Toby and Katie as much as they’ll tolerate. I laugh and I do have fun, but I still miss my kids something fierce. It’s not the same without them.

  You know who I end up buying the most presents for? Mr. Fuzzles. I fill that void in my chest with toys and catnip, and I’m pretty sure even the cat knows I’m trying to bribe him for affection.

  So, when it comes time for Toby and Katie to fly back a week later, I get to the airport well early of their arrival, and as the two of them walk out toward me, I take my first full breath in a long time. I hug them both and kiss them all over until Toby scrunches his face and pulls away.

  “Gross, Mom, stop!”

  I laugh, then take them both by the hand and lead them to the exit. When I look down, Katie’s nails are bare.

  I frown. “What happened to your manicure, honey?”

  Katie blushes and looks down at her feet. She tugs her hand away from mine and curls her hands into fists. “
Daddy said I was too young to have my nails painted. He took it off.”

  Heat spears through my chest as anger explodes inside me. It takes every single ounce of self-control to keep my features under control. “He did what?”

  Katie bites her lip. “It’s okay. I didn’t even like my nails painted.” A blatant lie. Katie was preening for days. She looks up at me, brows high, and shrugs. “It’s just something stupid girls do, anyway.”

  I’m going to kill him. Kevin must have a death wish, because he really went and put those thoughts in my sweet, brilliant daughter’s head. I’m going to fly up to Seattle and throttle him right now. Sucking a breath in through my nose, I count to ten and try to get my rioting emotions under control. My vision is blanketed in red, and I feel about ready to explode.

  Some last, barbed hook buried deep under my breastbone works itself loose. For the first time in a decade and a half, I can see clearly.

  Kevin will not get one minute outside his court-ordered time with the kids. He will not ever step into my house again. He won’t fill my kids’ heads with garbage, and he sure as hell won’t make Katie feel small. He can show up a day early and watch me close the door on his face. He can come to soccer games, he can try to blot my bloody nose, he can sweet-talk me as much as he likes, but it won’t change a thing.

  We are done. My boundaries will be cast in stone. My tone will be frigid. From this moment on, I will not ever let him cross a line I set. So long as my kids are with me, I’ll keep them safe from his toxic, insidious, bullshit opinions.

  I’ll make damn sure Katie paints her nails whenever and however she wants.

  But before I can find the words to tell Katie that her father is a piece of shit, Toby puts his arm around his sister. “I don’t think nail polish is stupid,” he announces.

  Katie frowns at her brother. “You don’t?”