Never Have I Ever

by Blakely, Lauren

  That’s not what we are. We’re simply two smart adults taking it slow because there’s so much at stake.

  First and always foremost are the kids. You can’t just parachute down and say ta-da, we’re dating, hope it works out to any young children, let alone a pair who lost their mother. Besides, who knows where things will be with Zach in another few weeks?

  A flash of memory crosses my eyes.

  White lace, pearls, a giddy grin as she tried on a dress. Was it my mom’s third, or her fourth, that I’m remembering?

  This memory isn’t random.

  It’s because I’m in a bridal shop, a place where I was practically raised. Ever the bridesmaid, helping my mother down the aisle as she sought love again and again and again.

  She never loved anyone like my dad. My stomach twists in a painful knot. Would it be like that with Zach? Would I be my mother’s husbands? Always second best to the one he truly loved?

  That’s reason enough to keep this romance inside me.

  Just in case.

  I answer her, wholly truthful, “Thank you, but I didn’t really have any spark or chemistry with Graham.”

  “Too bad.”

  The door cracks open with a squeak. She steps out. I stand and gasp. She looks stunning in a summer wedding dress, casual and perfect for a beach ceremony.

  Jessica giggles, and this is one of the few times a grown woman can giggle and not seem completely silly. “Does it look good?”

  “You look absolutely incredible. We’re talking better than Meghan and better than Kate.”

  She waves a hand. “No one’s better than Meghan or Kate.”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart,” I say to her. “You’re pretty damn close.”

  I walk over to her, put my hands on her shoulders, and spin her in front of the mirror. “You look radiant.”

  “I feel radiant. It’s crazy. But it’s awesome too.”

  She returns to the dressing room, but with one hand on the knob, she stops and looks at me. “But is there anyone you feel that kind of spark with? Like you did with . . .” She lets her voice trail off, but I know she’s speaking of the man I said I do to years ago.

  My gut clenches. I’m dying to tell her the truth about Zach, but now isn’t the time.

  I deflect airily. “Someday, I’m sure. After all, aren’t we always searching for sparks? I’m glad you found yours.”

  “I’ve definitely found sparks.”

  I’ve found them too. But do sparks like this suffice? Are feelings this strong ever enough to overcome the hurts of the past and the hurdles of the present?

  Jessica shuts the door, and my shoulders sag with the weight of all new worries.

  30

  Piper

  I’m on pins and needles for twenty-four hours.

  I’m nothing but nerves frayed thin, unraveling as I wait for good news.

  It comes on the Monday afternoon before the wedding, when Paige calls. Through tears of joy she blurts out that she’s going home from the hospital with her baby girl.

  I scream. It is an epic shout of happiness.

  No, happiness isn’t a strong enough word. This is elation. It’s glee, bliss, and delight all stirred up together in the most wonderful cocktail, and I drink it down in one gulp as I hang up the phone.

  There’s a knock on my door, and Lucy pops in. It must be after camp for her. “Are you okay?”

  I squeal again, clasping her shoulders. “That was a happy scream. My sister and her wife just went home from the hospital with their baby girl.”

  Lucy jumps up and down. I grab my purse, slinging it on my shoulder and glancing at my watch. “I’m going to see them now at their house.”

  Lucy’s eyes go wide. “Can I go with you?”

  “Of course.” I’d say yes to anything right now. Can you take me horseback riding down Fifth Avenue? Absolutely. Can I adopt a Chihuahua puppy? Let’s do it. “But ask your father first.”

  Lucy rushes down the hallway into his office, and a minute later, Zach steps into the hall, a smile on his face. “Baby is healthy? Birth parents signed the consent? Everything’s a go?”

  “Everything is fantastic, and yes, both parents signed the consent. We’re going to meet the baby. Lucy wants to come. Is that okay?”

  “It’s great.”

  I shoo Lucy along. “Let’s go, let’s go. I have a niece to meet.”

  She stuffs her phone in her yoga pants pocket and declares, “Ready, Freddy.”

  “Do you want to go with us?” I ask Zach curiously. He likes kids. He seems excited. Maybe I should bring him?

  “I would love to, but I have a call with a client. I can’t wait to see pictures, though. Will you send me pictures later?”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I’m holding my niece for the first time. “She is gorgeous and perfect,” I tell her moms.

  Lucy pipes in, “Can I hold the baby? I used to hold my brother when he was little, and I’m really, really good at it.”

  Paige nods, patting the cushion on the couch. “Of course you can.”

  Gently, I pass Lucy the baby, and she sits with her. She looks like the most well-trained, well-behaved older sister ever. My heart climbs up my throat, thumping loudly as I gaze at the two girls, a decade apart. Neither one shares my blood, but I’ve come to love the older one, and I’m in insta-love with the new little lady.

  And that seems the right path for both. Both girls have claimed a piece of me, and I don’t want to let either one go.

  With emotions swelling inside me like a high tide, I take a few pictures as Lucy rocks the baby, singing “Hush, Little Baby, Don’t You Cry.” Once again, I tear up. Paige and Lisa do too.

  “How do you know that song?” I ask her.

  “I used to sing it to my brother,” Lucy says matter-of-factly. “Like I said, I’m a really good babysitter. I can babysit for her. Wait, what’s her name?”

  Lisa clears her throat. “We’re naming her Katherine.”

  “Beautiful,” I say.

  Lisa continues. “Katherine Piper Radcliffe-Foster.”

  I freeze.

  And for the fiftieth time in as many minutes, I’m in tears.

  “We wouldn’t have her without you,” Lisa adds. “We’re so grateful.”

  I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say, or how to even attempt to speak.

  When we leave later that evening, Lucy takes my hand. “Can we visit her again soon?”

  I say yes.

  All I want is to do that again with this little girl.

  And all I want is to do it again with this little girl and her father.

  Especially when I show him the pictures when I bring Lucy back to his office. We’re shoulder to shoulder, and Lucy’s in front of him, leaning back against his chest, Henry parked in the desk chair drawing dinosaurs, as I flip through photos on my phone.

  Zach takes his time with each picture, studying them, pointing out little details like the baby’s fingers and her thick hair as he hums, ahhs, and murmurs, and I fall a thousand times deeper. I don’t know that I want to have my own kids. I’m not even sure parenthood is in the cards for me, but the reminder that this man is such a family guy is a ray of sunshine in my soul. It says something about who he is, his values, his goals.

  Being the best dad he can be has always been his top priority, and that is mega sexy.

  “I’m definitely going to start outsourcing you, Lucy,” he says, tousling her hair.

  “What’s outsourcing?”

  “It means I’m going to rent you out to families who need sitters. You can finally start earning your keep, now that I know you’re a sitter extraordinaire.”

  She giggles. “Fine. I’ll do it because then I can make enough money to adopt a rescue kitten. I wrote a list of everything kittens need.”

  She has a plan for a rescue kitten? And a list? May God have mercy on my soul because, like that, I’m falling harder for her too.
r />   That's the problem.

  This ten-year-old child has become the biggest hurdle, it seems, between having it all with her father and having only some of him.

  Soon, soon, something has to give. There’s nothing I want more than to make it all work.

  31

  Zach

  I have a doctorate in law, but after the last month, I’d like to submit my candidacy for an advanced degree in calendar engineering.

  A Master of Science in Time Management, if you will. I’ve become brilliant at making the most of every unaccounted-for slot in my calendar to see Piper, take her out to lunch, shoehorn in dinner, or spend the night with her. And I’m still firing on all cylinders at work, looking out for clients like Taylor as we finalize her divorce, and kicking ass as a dad.

  I’m juggling parenting, career, and new romance like a goddamn circus clown superstar.

  Something, incidentally, I never thought I’d compare myself to. But it feels fitting—I’m doing life better than Bozo.

  And tonight, this unclaimed hour in my schedule when it turned out Miranda wanted to take both kids to a festival in Chinatown, belongs to Piper and me.

  I don’t know how I’ll get any alone time with her in Anguilla, so I’m drinking it up now. I’m imbibing it, devouring as much time with her as I can.

  We’re in her apartment, with the early evening sun shining brightly through the bedroom window as she arches beneath me.

  Her legs are wrapped around me as I move in her, slowly and luxuriously, taking our time.

  She threads her fingers through my hair, meeting my gaze for a moment. The look in her brown eyes is wondrous and vulnerable. Then she closes them and lets out the most delicious moan. Soon she lifts her hips faster, grips me tighter. She’s getting closer, racing toward the edge of pleasure, toward the endgame of desire, so I rock deeper, giving her what I know she needs to find her release, to fly down the other side of bliss.

  When she’s there, she says my name in a plaintive whisper, and something breaks inside me. Something breaks beautifully as I follow her.

  It’s not the awareness of how I’m feeling. I’m not a stupid guy. I’m smart, and I’ve known for weeks what’s been happening.

  Instead, it’s the acceptance of it. The surrender to it.

  To falling ridiculously in love again.

  After, as I run my hands through her hair, I sigh, whispering, “What are you doing to me?”

  “I don’t know. What am I doing to you?” She drags her nails down my chest playfully.

  I stroke my thumb along her jaw and give her all my truths. “You make me feel so many things. You make me feel everything. For the longest time, I never thought I would feel this way again.”

  She trembles, and her eyes flash with the same surrender that’s inside me. “How do you feel?”

  I don’t look away. I can’t. “I would hope it’s patently obvious that I’m in love with you. But just in case, let me say it.” I cup her cheeks. “I’m in love with you, and I love you madly, Piper Radcliffe.”

  A gorgeous smile takes over her face, bigger and wider than I’ve ever seen, more luminous than any other that’s graced her lips. “I’m not going to say I had a feeling you were, but I had a feeling you were.”

  I laugh and tickle her hip, loving that she still finds ways to tease me and needle me. Her expression turns serious. “I’m wildly in love with you, Zach Nolan.”

  When you open your whole damaged heart that’s not so broken anymore—in fact, it’s not broken at all, and it’s definitely not made of iron or of ice—the only thing to do is kiss.

  We kiss for minutes, gorgeous, passionate minutes that threaten to spill into an endless night in bed together if I don’t go.

  But the clock is ticking, and I need to leave.

  I need to figure out what to say to Henry and Lucy. I need to tell them the right way because the last time I felt this way for someone, she left our lives far too soon. My natural instinct is to protect them, to protect them ruthlessly like a shark, like a tiger, like a papa bear, from any other hurt.

  Oh, if I could only protect them from hurt for the rest of their lives, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

  But I’ll never be able to, so all I can do is make sure I’m not the one inflicting the wounds.

  I get dressed. “I’ll get things sorted out, Piper. We’ll figure it out soon. I can’t wait much longer. I promise.”

  Sitting, she runs a hand down my arm. “I know. I’m not worried. I’m not worried about a damned thing.”

  32

  Piper

  That’s the truth.

  I’m not worried.

  I was before in the bridal shop, when I thought about my mom.

  But now, alone with my thoughts, they don’t scare me anymore.

  Dressed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, I pour myself a glass of water, replaying the night, trying to figure out what changed.

  As I down a thirsty gulp, I’m struck with a thought. An amazing, beautiful thought. One that surprises me but delights me too. There was no earth-shattering change. No aha spotlight from above.

  Just acceptance.

  And mine is this: I’m not my mother, and I’m not her husbands.

  I believe great love comes around more than once in a lifetime, and you have to grab it, hold it, and treat it like the precious gift it is.

  For a while, I stressed that I might be the first of many for Zach, like my mom’s half dozen were for her.

  I’m refusing to worry about that any longer.

  Not at all.

  Not one bit.

  Because tonight with him felt like a defiance of second best. We thumbed our noses against the idea that new love never compares.

  Second chances rock.

  And I’m loving mine, and his.

  There are no guarantees, no promises. But I’m embracing this chance with him, and he’s embracing it too.

  I refuse to compare him to my past, or myself to his.

  He loves me for me.

  With that thought—that wondrous thought—pressing against my mind, I decide to go to an evening spin class. I lace up my sneakers and head for the door. But first, my body reminds me that chocolate would be nice.

  I riffle around in the cupboards, unearth a dark chocolate bar, and break off a square. As I chew, it hits me. I always get these chocolate cravings when I’m about to get my period.

  I look at the calendar on my phone, counting back to my last one.

  It should arrive soon. Maybe even tonight.

  Only, it doesn’t.

  33

  Zach

  I inhale the sea-salt air, drink in the tropical breeze. The sun beats down blissfully on my shoulders. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You were right.” I gesture to the wide-open waters; the calm, cool, placid Caribbean ocean in all its aquamarine glory; the blue skies stretching as far as the eye can see. “It’s mildly pleasant here, I suppose.”

  Charlie snorts, leaning back against the railing on the boat, catching rays too as we bob near the sandy shore of a small snorkeling island. “It’s not pleasant. It’s paradise. I might move here.”

  The hotel’s snorkeling instructor guides the kids in the nearby waters. I’m snorkeled out after three hours logged already today.

  Plus, the concrete jungle of Manhattan offers little opportunity to relax and soak up the rays. Suits do nothing for my vitamin D levels, so I’m doubling down now. I’d like to say I avoid the sun like the plague, wearing big straw hats and swim shirts, but a man has to have some vices.

  The sun is my drug.

  I can’t resist it, and I must have my fix.

  But Lucy made me wear sunscreen this morning. Lucy’s vigilant with sunscreen.

  I’m confident Anna left that in a set of instructions for her daughter. It’s a damn good rule, along with the others she passed on to Lucy.

  Eat your vegetables, but make room for ice cream; always wear sunscreen; and don’t forget to chase your dreams and
tell the people you love that you love them.

  Pretty damn good advice.

  So it’s SPF 50 slathered all over me. I turn to Charlie. “Hey, are you guys still moving to London?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “Nope. Jessica wants to be near family and her family’s in New York.”

  I shoot him the side-eye. “Thanks, asshole. For letting me know.”

  He arches a brow above his shades. “You could have asked me sooner. Also, isn’t that what I just did? Like right now? I let you know.”

  I smile inside.

  I am immensely happy. Life is insanely good. Charlie will stay in the city, my kids are fantastic, and Piper is one of the most awesome things to ever happen to me. Who expected that twist in the story? But there it is. Her and me, and soon we’ll be able to come out.

  I wish we were able to be open about it here. To walk around this island exploring it together.

  I flash back over the last few days here, as the group of us trekked through limestone caves and swam with turtles, tagging them for a conservation group and giving Lucy another item to check off her list. What would that have been like if we weren’t on the down low? A hand held here, a touch there, a kiss on the cheek now and then.

  I picture Piper as she made her way through the caves yesterday, chipper and cheery as always.

  Too cheery?

  Maybe it’s wedding planner stress. Everyone else is enjoying the tropical escape, and she’s likely mired in worries like What if the centerpieces don’t arrive on time? or Will the cake melt in the sun?

  But then, she’s never given off the worrying vibe.

  She’s the consummate pro, pulling off her job like an unshakeable quarterback in the huddle.

  As soon as that thought touches down, something stirs in me.

  I’m not always the most sensitive guy. But over the years, I’ve become more astute at reading women. Sometimes when they’re too bright and shiny, it means something has gone dark inside. Something is nagging at them.