Falling Into Forever

by Delancey Stewart

  “And then it gets rolling and you realize that perfect doesn’t exist?”

  “Something like that.” Her words were so leaden with disappointment, I wanted to ask her why. I wanted to know who had let her down so terrifically. I suspected the answer would be the man she’d talked about in New York, and I knew I had no right to ask. But I had come to feel a little bit protective of the woman at my side—Tanner, though she was.

  “I like that idea,” I said, hoping she might open up a bit more. “That the day is stretched out ahead of us, perfect and full of possibility.”

  That earned me a smile, but her gaze lingered on my face and the smile turned into a half frown, like she was trying to figure something out.

  “What?”

  “You’re not an optimist by nature,” she suggested.

  “I haven’t found a lot of reasons to be optimistic,” I said.

  “Someone left you a house out of nowhere. And two hundred thousand dollars to use to fix it.”

  “Came with a few burdens,” I quipped. “Like a Tanner in residence.”

  Addie elbowed me in the side, and despite the coffee that sloshed over the rim of my cup, I thrilled at that little familiar touch. “You’re not so bad, I guess,” I said.

  “Oh, thanks.” She looked into her own cup. “I’m working on my own optimism. So we can work on it together while we fix the house, I guess.”

  “Are you a reformed optimist?”

  She looked at me, and I could feel the change in the air between us the second she decided to confide in me. “I am. I used to believe the best of people. I believed you could count on them, depend on them if they said you could. But I know better now.”

  “Who let you down, Addie?” I put down my mug and faced her.

  Addie met my eyes, and the depth of sadness there lit a fire inside me. Whoever had turned this pretty, smart, independent woman into a pessimist deserved to be unhappy for the rest of his life.

  “His name was Luke. I thought we were going to get married. Have kids. I waited eight years for him to think the same thing.”

  I sighed. Clearly, it hadn’t gone that way. I was sad for Addie, but didn’t feel terribly torn up about it really. He clearly didn’t deserve her.

  “I came home from work one day to a letter. More of a note, actually.”

  “A note?” Fury stirred inside me, despite the fact I’d had only a half cup of coffee. No asshole should write anyone off with a note.

  “He said I was holding him back. That he’d had an opportunity to join a symphony in Europe and had turned it down once already because of me. He took it this time and left.”

  “Seems like that’s more of a conversation after eight years. Not a note.”

  “Right?” Addie stared into her cup. I could almost feel the self-doubt that asshole’s actions had lodged in her otherwise confident persona.

  “Hey,” I said, touching her hand. Her skin was warm, soft. “That’s on him. That wasn’t about you.”

  “I wasn’t enough to make him want to stay.” Her expression was so defeated, I felt like I’d do anything to wipe it from her face, change it to a smile.

  “You’re enough,” I said, and stepped closer, pulling Addie into my arms. I hadn’t planned it, but the atmosphere between us made it feel so natural, so close. And if ever a woman needed a hug, it was Addie.

  Her arms slipped around my waist, and her head dropped to my shoulder, and we just stood there, letting the warmth of our bodies mix. Addie smelled good, and her hair was soft and silky against my cheek. And after a moment, the feel of her breasts pressed against my chest began to become a little bit distracting, and I felt my cock hardening in my jeans. I was about to step back when the kitchen door opened and the last person I wanted to see in the world stepped in.

  “Well, this is cozy,” Shelly said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Addie practically leapt backward, spinning to face my ex-wife. “Oh, hi! That was, I mean . . . that wasn’t what it looked like, it was . . . “

  “It was really none of Shelly’s business,” I interrupted. “Since she walked into our house without even knocking.”

  “Our house?” Shelly asked, looking between us. “Are you two a thing now?”

  “Also none of your business,” I said, at the same time as Addison said, “No!”

  Shelly rolled her eyes—something she was very talented at—and pulled a piece of paper from her purse, unfolding it. “Daniel left this at home, and I think he needs it for school Monday.”

  I reached for it, but she didn’t hand it to me. “I’ll give it to him,” she said. “Where is he?”

  “He’s still asleep,” I said, hoping my voice made it clear she wasn’t going to go traipsing through the house.

  “I’ll find him,” she said, and she turned and headed up the stairway to the left.

  It was my turn to roll my eyes, and I followed her up the narrow back stairs. “We should really let him sleep, Shell, he’s growing.”

  She made a noise that sounded like “Pffft,” and continued, turning into the hallway on the second floor. She peeked into the two rooms she passed, and finally pushed open the door to the room where Daniel was sleeping. And then she pulled it shut again and nearly crashed into me.

  “What the hell is going on here?” She asked, her eyes wide and angry.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you all sleeping in one room? Together?”

  Oh shit. Addie’s bed was in my room. “Well, yeah, but not like you think.”

  “With my son?”

  “Our son.”

  “No. Michael, I’ve put up with a lot, but this is just too much. He doesn’t need to witness you, doing whatever it is you’re doing here, in the room where he’s sleeping, for God’s sake.”

  Anger and exhaustion combined in me—my usual reaction to Shelly’s over-the-top reactions to ordinary things. “That’s completely not what’s happening here.”

  “Well, that’s what it looks like. And he’s twelve. What is he supposed to think?”

  “We’re all in separate beds, Shell.” I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, wishing I’d managed to drink about three more cups of coffee before being forced into this conversation.

  She continued to glare at me.

  “Can we talk about this downstairs?”

  “With her? No thank you.” A flicker of jealousy flared in Shelly’s eyes, and I understood a little bit what this anger might be about.

  “Shelly, there is nothing going on with me and Addison Tanner.”

  “That wasn’t what it looked like when I walked in on you in the kitchen.”

  “Which was rude, by the way. You need to knock.”

  “This is a construction zone, not a home where you should be shacking up with your new girlfriend.”

  “She’s not—”

  “And I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to have my son living in a construction zone, either. None of this is good for him. You, living in sin, the possibility that he might fall through the floorboards at any moment. All the filth and grime.”

  I shook my head. Shelly was just grasping at straws. She did this whenever she was unhappy with me. She was irate now, spewing words and waving her hands around.

  “I’m going to sue for sole custody, Michael. You clearly aren’t responsible enough to be raising our son.”

  Despite the declaration being baseless—it wasn’t the first time I’d heard it—it was still my worst fear. I’d done everything wrong in my life, and I was determined to do right by Daniel. But I wouldn’t be able to if Shelly took him from me. And worse, I knew he would be better off with me, or at least with shared custody. Shelly’s life was unstable and irregular. For the firs time though, I was a tiny bit worried she might have a point. I was living in a construction zone with a woman who was not my wife. Maybe unstable and irregular looked better than dangerous and illicit.

  “No, Shelly, I—“

  “I don
’t want to hear it. Give Daniel this paper. I’m going to talk to my lawyer.”

  I sighed, but Shelly needed to feel like she had some power, so I defaulted to apology, which was what usually appeased her. “Please,” I said, genuine worry making my heart pound. Daniel was the only thing I hadn’t screwed up. I couldn’t lose him.

  I followed Shelly back down the stairs, hoping she’d cool off.

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” Shelly said, walking through the kitchen and shooting Addie a dagger-eyed look as she passed. Then she clattered out the back door and disappeared.

  “What was all that?” Addie asked, and the care in her voice, the softness of her tone, made me wish I could pull her into my arms again. But now—especially now—I could not.

  “Nothing,” I said, refilling my coffee cup. “Let’s get to those floors.”

  18

  A Moose on the Loose

  Addison

  Shelly left in a huff, and there was a noticeable change in Michael on the heels of her departure. I hadn’t missed her threat of a lawyer, and wondered what exactly she was talking about, but Michael’s face was closed and he wasn’t meeting my eyes. Clearly, the sharing part of our morning was over.

  I’d just given him the truth about my own issues and fears—had opened up more than I’d intended. And then he’d taken me in his arms and given me a hug that was at once reassuring and—something else entirely. I hadn’t meant to, but I’d let myself consider that hard solid chest I’d seen beneath the T-shirt he wore, had let myself feel those strong hands on my body. And while I took comfort from the gesture, there was something more I couldn’t deny. I was turned on.

  But it didn’t matter. For one thing, my life was not here in Singletree, and I wasn’t looking for love. I was coming off the heels of a devastating breakup, and I just needed to regroup and get back to New York. Besides, what in the world would my mother say if I hooked up with a Tucker?

  We spent the day working on the house as the roofers finished up overhead, Daniel joining us and Michael remaining terse and distant throughout the effort. At one point, Daniel insisted we go back up to the attic to investigate the ghostly disturbances of the night before, and I thought he was actually quite wise. Nothing would look as terrifying in the light of day. We went up after lunch, picking up the scattered papers and letters, photos and newspapers that had been strewn around by the ghosts.

  The letters were the most interesting thing we found, besides the pictures. But without knowing quite who the people in the photos were, it was hard to learn much from them—except that the house had been beautiful once. And I was starting to feel invested in the hope that it would be again. Even a couple days of pouring my energy into the place had made it feel more like mine, like something I cared about.

  “This one is totally gushy,” Daniel called from the corner of the attic where he sat reading letters. “Listen. ‘My love, I cannot imagine what you’ve had to endure during your time in France. I can only hope that the knowledge of your imminent return home is as much a balm to your soul as to mine, and that the love I have for you will help to heal any wounds your soul may have sustained. I do not care what my father says. We will be together. As you said, it is fated in the stars. I wait for you, always. All my love, Lucille.’”

  My heart warmed, imagining Lucille waiting for Robert to return. I’d read through dozens of their letters now, and the love story between Filene’s parents touched my soul in the same way a great romantic movie always did. They weren’t worried about what their parents thought about Tuckers and Tanners together. Of course, they’d never met Lottie.

  “That’s a love letter, all right,” Michael agreed.

  “Gah.” Daniel made a little retching noise. “Who’s Lucille?”

  “Filene’s mother,” I answered.

  “Who’s Filene?” Daniel asked.

  “Filene Easter,” Michael said. “The lady who left us this house.”

  “This letter is addressed to Robert Tucker,” Daniel said. “And it’s from Lucille Tanner. So who is Easter?”

  “Those were Filene’s parents. Easter was her married name,” I explained, setting the mannequin back upright as I suppressed a shiver at the gash in its torso.

  “So Mrs. Easter was a Tucker?” Daniel asked, looking pleased.

  “And a Tanner,” I reminded him.

  “Oh, that must’ve made people mad,” Daniel said.

  “Probably,” I agreed. “My mom says the feud has been going on for hundreds of years.”

  “What started it?” Daniel asked, his freckled face lit by the dusty sunlight coming in from the high round window. He looked so young and innocent in the daylight, and the attic itself looked so harmless and ghost-free.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I don’t think anyone remembers,” Michael said. He’d been quiet for a while, sorting newspapers in the far corner.

  “Then why don’t we give it up?” Daniel asked.

  “Old habits, I guess,” Michael said. “And people get their feelings hurt and want revenge.”

  “Aunt Verda’s feelings are definitely hurt,” I said. Mom had told me that Verda saw moving her moose around town as akin to desecrating her husband’s grave. Mom had been pretty upset about it herself, telling me that she was going to help get revenge this time. I’d suggested we could be the bigger family and just let it go. But it didn’t sound like that was what Mom had in mind at all.

  “Virge and Emmet are so invested in the whole thing,” Michael said. “I’ve tried to get them to just give it up, but they have so little else going on, I guess.” Michael had spent the better part of an hour this morning on the phone with them, walking them through what needed to be done at the store in his absence. They didn’t sound like the brightest fellows to me, but they were family to Michael and Dan, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Eventually, we’d managed to sort the attic back into order, tucking the letters and clippings into boxes and setting them back on the shelves. I swept the space out and even cleaned the windows. By the time we headed back down, the place didn’t look ghostly at all, and I found it hard to believe how terrified I’d been the night before. The whole house was starting to feel less haunted and more, just, old.

  We finished sanding floors on the main level Saturday evening, falling into bed—me in my own room—and immediately to sleep with no ghostly interference all night. On Sunday, we started upstairs, working through the bedrooms we weren’t using. By the lunchtime, the house was almost livable, the company we’d called to complete the job of refinishing the floors would show up Monday. We’d agreed early on to do as much of the work ourselves as we could, but since Michael had a store to run and I had very little home improvement experience, there were limits to what we could do. And we also had the improvement fund to work with.

  I was vacuuming up some of the last bits of sawdust from our sanding when Michael stepped in front of me to get my attention. I shut off the vacuum. “What’s up?”

  “Since the guys are coming in to finish the floors, it probably makes the most sense for us to stay somewhere else, keep off of them until they’re done.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “Somewhere else?”

  He shifted his weight, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, and I sensed the same reluctance in him that I felt in myself. I didn’t want to leave the house. In the few days we’d been here, it had begun to feel like an odd kind of home, and we’d gotten along so well it was hard to remember that we weren’t actually any kind of family. “Yeah, I thought maybe you could go back to your mom’s for a few days? Dan and I could stay at my place. Get him out of the construction zone.”

  “Oh yeah, sure.”

  “It should take the guys a day or two to finish prepping and then they’ll refinish. I think the hardwood will be cured and dry in a week.”

  A week with Lottie? I swallowed back my disappointment. “Sure.”

  I said goodbye to Michael and carried my
bag down the hill to the Tin. I went back to Mom’s house with her that afternoon.

  Sunday dinner with Lottie was always a bit of an inquisition, but this one was particularly painful.

  “So you two are getting along?” Mom asked over a forkful of chicken.

  All eyes at the table were on me—my sisters, Wiley Blanchard’s, and Cormac’s. His girls were at his brother’s house, so he and Paige were both free to offer opinions and advice about my odd living situation.

  “Yeah, we are,” I said.

  “No in-house pranking? Maybe you could switch the sugar and salt or something. Keep the feud rolling on a smaller scale,” Cormac suggested.

  “Definitely not,” I said. “The feud is ludicrous, and you should all just forget about it.”

  “Tell that to poor Verda,” Mom said. “Her moose got dinged when they moved him back to her garden this time, and now he has a divot right in his privates.”

  “In his what, Mom?” Amberlynn laughed.

  “You know.” Mom sniffed, clearly too refined to repeat her comment about moose privates.

  “Let me get this straight,” Wiley said. “The moose sustained a feud-related groin injury?” He was barely suppressing a grin.

  “Yes,” Mom said stiffly. “And you know Verda thinks of that moose as representative of Harry. It’s almost like those horrible Tuckers kicked Harry in the balls or something.”

  No one at the table was doing a good job showing the appropriate amount of respect for the idea of Uncle Harry’s dearly departed balls at this point.

  “I hate seeing Aunt Verda upset,” Amberlynn said, and something in her voice made me worry.

  “Don’t do anything,” I warned.

  She smiled at me, and I had a very bad feeling that something might already be in the works.

  “So what’s Michael like?” Paige asked. “He’s always kept to himself, seemed pretty private since high school.”

  “What was he like in school?” I asked. Michael and Shelly had been behind me in school. I hadn’t really known them. But they were only a year behind my sister Paige.