Somebody to Love

by Ann Christopher

  “I still don’t get how you didn’t know that was Amber,” Daniel said when they walked into Pub 221B for a drink a little while later after checking in with his parents at the damaged restaurant. He smacked Sean upside the back of the head for emphasis. Sean yelped and rubbed the spot. “Dumbass. It’s a small town. How many Ambers do you think are floating around out there?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Sean said irritably, raising his arms to fend off another blow. He’d been asking himself the same question nonstop for the last hour or so, not that he planned to admit it.

  Incredulous look from Daniel. “We talk about her. We mention her name. All the time. Is it a hearing issue? Don’t you listen?”

  What a stupid question.

  “Of course I don’t listen. Why would I care anything about Edward’s personal drama? If it doesn’t have to do with sex, sports or food, I don’t listen to anybody.”

  “Well, that’s sadly true. As I know from long personal experience.”

  “And Sean is also much stupider than the average person,” added Baptiste Mercier, their French billionaire vintner friend, whom they’d met years ago back in Napa. Baptiste was providing a much-needed infusion of capital to Harper Rose winery, of which Daniel was now the head, and had also fallen hard for Samira Palmer, a Journey’s End local who worked at the winery. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Also sadly true. Grab that table,” Daniel said, pointing as a couple vacated a prime spot with wing chairs in front of the crackling fire in the huge stone fireplace.

  “I could do without all the shit,” Sean said, splitting his glare between the two of them.

  “Evidently not,” Baptiste said easily in that silky accent of his. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me to join you for a drink.”

  Sean had to laugh.

  The pub was hopping tonight, with people mingling all up and down the thirty-foot bar and every table full. Sparkling white holiday lights and fragrant pine garlands brightened the dark English decor, with its tufted leather upholstery and dark wood paneling, and jazzy Christmas tunes played over the speakers.

  They got settled, ordered their drinks and sat in relative silence until the server returned with their drinks.

  “Cheers,” Daniel said.

  They toasted and sipped appreciatively.

  Whereupon Daniel set his drink down, leaned back to get more comfortable, laced his hands in his lap and regarded Sean with open amusement.

  Baptiste, meanwhile, rubbed his hands together and flashed a pirate’s grin in Sean’s direction.

  Sean scowled and braced himself for the official onslaught.

  “Where should we start?” Daniel asked, eyes alight with poorly banked mischief. “With that sieve you call a brain? With the fact that you’ve broken the fella’s code by hooking up with a friend’s ex? With the fact that you’ve lost your mind over a single mother?”

  “What about the fact that Sean acted like we were insane for falling in love?” Baptiste said. “I think that would be an appropriate place to start.”

  “Let’s skip all that,” Sean said, downing the rest of his drink in a single scorching gulp, wincing against the burn and signaling to the passing server for a refill.

  “Baptiste is right. I think we’ll start with the fact that the standard bearer for playing the field has finally fallen.” Daniel made a production out of bowing his head and placing a hand over his heart, a gesture that Baptiste quickly mimicked. “Rest in peace.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Sean glanced around with rising desperation, twisting at the waist to see if the server and/or bartender had his refill in the works yet. “How much more nonsense are you clowns going to spew before the night’s over?”

  “Oh, plenty,” Daniel said cheerfully. “It’s all your nonsense. There’s an endless supply.”

  Sean’s frown deepened.

  “Words about how Zoya had me on the ropes and Samira had Baptiste on the ropes,” Daniel said. “Gibberish about how we were all kicked puppies and that there was something in the water supply here in Journey’s End that you planned to avoid at all costs. I remember special nuggets about you being the lone voice of reason and how the rest of us should beware of thinking one woman in particular could be special. Something about lust making us poor fools crazy and you remaining above the fray. Any of this ringing a bell?”

  “Absolutely not.” Sean, now feeling distinctly hot under the collar, caught the approaching server’s eye and impatiently flapped a hand. “Let’s go with that drink.”

  “And look at you now,” Daniel continued blithely, chuckling as Sean half stood, yanked his refill off the startled server’s tray and downed it before sitting again and clunking the empty glass on the table. “Not sleeping for the last month. Barely eating. Drinking too much. Driving the rest of us crazy.”

  “Honestly, it’s pathetic.” Baptiste made a real performance out of shaking his head with mock dismay. “I always thought that the most pathetic thing Sean could do was moon over his lost love—”

  “The one who married his brother?” Daniel interjected with unmitigated delight.

  “Yes, the one who kicked him to the curb because he was such an ugly loser that she could never even bear to let him touch her,” Baptiste said. “Sean cried constantly over her—”

  “I never cried,” Sean said, his thick skin beginning to blister.

  “—and that was painful to watch. But this is far worse. And now we know the name to put to all of Sean’s misery. Amber. His beloved Amber has broken his heart and left him a mere shadow of his former self, who was only a mere shadow of a real man to begin with.”

  “Both of y’all can kiss my black ass,” Sean muttered, flashing both of them the finger for good measure.

  Baptiste and Daniel broke into raucous laughter and high-fived each other while Sean sat there in embarrassed silence and considered the relative merits of making a run for it and disappearing into the night.

  But then he’d miss Amber, and there was no way he’d do that.

  Daniel raised his glass to him once the hilarity trailed off.

  “Welcome to the Reformed Player’s Club. We expect your dues on the first of every month.”

  “Fuck you,” Sean said.

  More guffaws, which did nothing to soothe Sean’s frazzled mood.

  “Seriously, though, man, this is a mess. What the hell? Why her?” Daniel said. “Why not date a few interchangeable online women?”

  As someone who’d never gotten that excited about any woman in particular since his now sister-in-law trampled all over his youthful heart, Sean considered it a fair question. Women were women. They came and went. Some were more fun than others. Some were better in bed than others. Some were more annoying than others. No biggie. Especially when you were all about career building and weren’t in the market for any sort of a committed or long-term relationship.

  But Amber…

  Sean struggled with the question in silence for a beat or two, banging his head against the limitations of the English language. There was no way to describe the soaring thrill he felt when he was in the room with her. Or when they stared at each other. Or when she smiled at him. No possible way.

  “There’s something about her,” he said helplessly, the best he could do.

  Daniel nodded with the sage and complete understanding of a man who understood romantic trials and tribulations, having recently reunited with his long-lost first love.

  As did Baptiste, who hadn’t been the same since he laid eyes on Samira. “So, she stole into your life like a thief in the night, wrapped your queue around her little finger, kicked you to the curb and left you for dead. That covers it?”

  “If queue means dick, then yep,” Sean said glumly, wishing he had another drink.

  “What now?” Daniel asked sympathetically.

  “Remains to be seen. She’s meeting me here for drinks in a few. Maybe she wants to apologize for ghosting me. We’ll take i
t from there.”

  “Ah. So you’re making her come crawling? Smart,” Daniel said.

  For one private moment, Sean fought a ferocious battle between his shameful secret knowledge that a great woman like Amber would never want a loser like him and his urgent need to try again with her. To earn a second bite at the apple and the right to state his case. Which was that this thing between them seemed pretty special and was definitely worth exploring.

  But in the end, there was only one possible course of action that he could take, and he and Daniel both knew it.

  So Sean gave him an incredulous look. For a smart dude, Daniel said some incredibly stupid shit sometimes.

  “Are you insane? I’ll take her any way I can get her. Pride is not an issue.”

  “I thought as much,” Baptiste said, that twinkle of amusement in his eyes sparkling brighter than ever. “You are much more the type to allow a woman to walk all over you with her spiky heels. I’ve always said so.”

  “Feel free to continue kicking me while I’m down,” Sean said.

  “Thank you for that permission, which I did not need,” Baptiste said brightly.

  “A single mom, though,” Daniel said with a soft whistle. “You might be biting off more than you can chew there.”

  Truer words were never spoken. Which didn’t exactly explain why Sean was so eager to see where this interlude with Amber and possibly Ella might take him.

  “First of all, it’s a little early for you to be choosing tuxes for the wedding, okay?” he said. “Second, Ella is a great kid. As you know.”

  “It’s not just Ella, moron. Ella brings along Edward. You trying to deal with him? Amber’s got a whole package deal coming along with her.”

  “So?” Sean shrugged impatiently. “Amber comes the way she comes. What’s the mystery?”

  “Foolish words, young grasshopper,” Daniel said darkly. “Said by someone who hasn’t had the chance to walk the walk or deal with a kid yet.”

  “Whatever—”

  “Samira’s pregnant,” blurted Baptiste, who’d been suspiciously silent for the last couple minutes. “So I will also have a kid soon. But don’t tell her I told you. She’ll kill me.”

  Astonished silence while Sean and Daniel gaped at Baptiste and his reddening face.

  Daniel got his brain back online first. “The fuck are you talking about, Frenchie?”

  “Children,” Baptiste said, now glowing with some inner light that suggested he’d swallowed a lighthouse beacon when they weren’t looking. “Samira and I have one on the way. I’m supposed to keep it secret for a little while yet, but it’s impossible. It’s all I want to talk about.”

  Daniel goggled at him, evidently struggling to unstick his tongue. “How’s that even possible, Frenchie? The two of you just got together a couple months ago.”

  “That’s long enough,” Baptiste said with unmistakable masculine smugness.

  Sean exchanged a dumbstruck look with Daniel, whose lower jaw had once again dropped to his lap. Perhaps he was, like Sean, recalling all the women Baptiste had fucked back in the day. The partying. The dissolute lifestyle. The jeering at men who got married and had children. Oh, sure, they knew that Baptiste had basically taken one look at Samira and fallen hard, instantly converting into a joyous and monogamous version of his former self. They’d gotten their mind around that disturbance in The Force.

  But now this?

  “You’ve had a head injury, haven’t you?” Sean gravely asked Baptiste. “That’s what’s really going on here.”

  “No. I’ve had the best possible surprise,” said Baptiste, trying not to laugh at their utter bafflement.

  “And you’re…happy?” Daniel asked carefully.

  “I’m ecstatic.”

  “Then why’re you looking like you’re about to cry and embarrass us all in public?” Sean said.

  Grinning, Baptiste quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Shrugged. Struggled with his words for a beat or two.

  “It would have been enough to find Samira,” he finally said. “To be with her and see her eyes sparkle. But to also have a child. I didn’t think I could be happy or have a family. Now I have both.” Self-deprecating laugh as he wiped his eyes again and focused in on Sean. “Daniel and I have to give you shit for losing your mind about a woman and discovering what it’s like to fall in love—”

  “Hey, whoa,” Sean said with a flare of panic. “No one said anything about love.”

  “—that’s what we do,” Baptiste continued, not bothering to acknowledge the interruption. “But now here’s my advice. No more joking.”

  Sean found himself leaning closer. Listening harder.

  Baptiste stared Sean in the face, nailing him with the gravity of a man conveying instructions on how to defuse a bomb in the last five seconds before the timer ran out.

  “If you think you have a tiny chance to be as happy with Amber as Samira makes me, then you have to try,” Baptiste said. “Even if it’s hard with the little kid and with Edward. Try and keep trying. It’s worth it.”

  Sean nodded, shaken by the unexpected image of himself and Amber walking to the gelato shop with Ella in the stroller and how much it meant to him. How the possibility tugged at something primal and irresistible deep in his gut.

  “Well, shit, Frenchie,” Daniel said, still looking dumbfounded as he jarred Sean out of his startling reverie. “Now we have to suspend making fun of Sean and start in on you again.”

  That broke them up. They laughed and stood, taking turns hugging each other and congratulating Baptiste.

  “I have to go,” Baptiste said, gathering his coat and scarf as the others sat back down. “I cannot continue to dispense all my sage advice. Samira is waiting for me. And she’s so much better looking than you two.”

  “Get out of here,” Daniel said, flapping a dismissive hand at him. “Merry Christmas.”

  “The merriest,” Baptiste said, still grinning as he walked off.

  “Wow,” Sean said when he was gone. “Did not see that one coming.”

  “Did not,” Daniel agreed. “But I’m betting he’ll be a good dad. He’ll put his heart into it since his own dad was such a disaster.”

  “You may be right,” Sean said, catching sight of someone new coming up behind Daniel. “If it isn’t Journey’s End’s favorite doc. What’s up, Jerry?”

  Dr. Jerome Ayers, a forty-something-ish primary care physician at the local medical center, Harper family friend and generally good guy, adjusted his starched collar and scanned the room as he made the final approach to their table, looking nervous.

  “What’s up, fellas?” he said glumly, transferring a small bouquet of calla lilies to his left hand so he could greet them both with handshakes. “It will come as no surprise that I’m here on another blind date. From another dating site.”

  Sean and Daniel exchanged discreet oh, shit looks. Jerry was a widower whose dating trials and tribulations had become legendary around town. He had a real knack for choosing women who bailed in the middle of the date to be with other men, most notably Sofia Abbaté, who’d ditched Jerry mid-date to be with Daniel’s brother, Ethan.

  “Not another one,” Sean said. “Didn’t I hear something about you having one this afternoon?”

  Jerry grimaced. “Yeah, but she didn’t show up. And if she had shown up, it would have been to discover that the restaurant had closed on account of the kitchen burning down in a fire, so there’s that.”

  Daniel shook his head sympathetically. “Maybe you should take a breather on the online dating for a while, man. Give yourself a rest.”

  “Trust me. I’d love nothing more,” Jerry said darkly. “But I’m sick of being alone and there are a million dating sites out there. I figure if I play the odds enough, lightning’s got to strike sooner or later, right?”

  “Maybe lightning’s striking right now,” Sean said, catching sight of a beautiful woman in a severe suit standing a few feet away who seemed to be searching fo
r someone in the crowd. “This her?”

  Jerry eagerly looked around. Saw the woman in question. Cringed as though he’d discovered a urine-filled balloon sailing through the air toward his face.

  “No, that’s not her,” he said, taking a step in the opposite direction, clearly looking for a quick escape route before she spied him. “Jesus Christ. Get me out of here.”

  “How do you know she’s not the woman for you?” Sean said, bemused by this display of hard feelings from mild-mannered Jerry.

  “I sincerely doubt she’s the woman for anybody. She has a way of sucking all happiness and light from the air—” Jerry stiffened as the woman saw him and headed in their direction. Heaved a resigned sigh. “Hello, Gabrielle.”

  “Hello, Jerry,” the woman said, displaying all the unsmiling warmth of a polar bear perched on an iceberg waiting for a seal to pop its nose out of the water. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Meeting someone for a drink,” Jerry said tightly. “Unless you’ve drafted a new hospital policy to make that illegal now.”

  “Not unless you plan to practice medicine and commit malpractice over your martini,” she said without missing a beat as she turned away from Jerry’s outrage and extended a hand to Sean. “Gabrielle Drew. General counsel for the medical center. How are you?”

  “Sean Baldwin,” Sean said hastily, stifling a laugh since he didn’t want Jerry to punch him in the mouth, which seemed like a real possibility given the look on Jerry’s face. “This is Daniel Harper.”

  “Pleasure,” she said, shaking their hands. “Pleasure.”

  “What brings you here?” Jerry asked her.

  “Meeting someone for drinks, same as you,” she said coolly.

  “It would be pretty funny if one of those dating apps hooked the two of you up, wouldn’t it?” Daniel asked.

  “No,” Jerry and Gabrielle said with equal fervor.

  “Well, don’t let us keep you,” Jerry told her, his jaw tight. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to accomplish before you return to the crypt when the sun comes up.”

  “Jerry,” Sean said in absolute amazement, scandalized by this new side of Jerry. “You can’t talk to your coworkers like that. Do you want to get sued?”