“Probably not. You need to rethink your strategy because you can’t use the most effective tool at your disposal.” He gestures vaguely below my waist. “Your, um…tool.”
It sucks, but Britta has to want to end her relationship with Makaio before she can be mine. That makes my “tool” useless right now. Damn it.
“Thanks for the insight. I’ll figure it out.” I’ve got to. “What about you two?”
“Me and Keeley? Thankfully, I don’t have any competition for her affection, so my tool is getting lots of action.” He winks.
“Eww.” Lucky bastard that he gets to worship the woman he loves. “I mean did you two set a date?”
“Oh. Not yet. But I can’t let you beat me to the altar.”
We’ve always been competitive. Dad ingrained that into us. Maxon wasn’t my brother; he was my competition, and I should want to squash him in all endeavors. But of course, since he’s three years older than me, I’m not surprised he feels as if he has to do everything, including getting married, first.
“Yeah, I guess you better hurry up and tie the knot,” I drawl. “You’re almost eligible to apply for your AARP card.”
“Oh, fuck you.” He punches my shoulder. “I just don’t want to wait. I know Keeley is the woman I want to spend my life with. I’m trying to convince her that we should do it on the beach in front of our new house before she gets too busy being an innkeeper to sink her teeth into a wedding.”
“Makes sense. Britta really will help her.”
“Speaking of which, I hope they had a good time shopping today. And that they’re making friends.”
We both know how uncomfortable our lives will be if they don’t. Britta and Tiffanii mixed like champagne and turpentine.
“I hope Keeley vouches for my new and improved character.”
Maxon is both rolling his eyes and laughing when Keeley breezes into the office with smiles for me and kisses for my brother.
“How was it?” I rush to ask before she’s even had time to sit down.
“Actually, it went really well. Now that she doesn’t think you’re nailing me, she’s very sweet.” Then Keeley sends me a disapproving stare. “And very torn. She seemed all right when I talked to her yesterday morning. Today? Whatever you did to her, she’s a mess.”
“It’s complicated.” The engagement ring I bought is wearing a hole in the sock drawer in our bedroom. I’m waiting for the day I can slip it on Britta’s finger, but I don’t say anything now. Keeley will tell me to slow down and be gentle. I can’t. “We’ll have to work it out over the next forty-eight days. So what did you two do?”
“I know a subject change when I hear one.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a handwritten page, then begins pointing at each line as she hands it over. “This is the name of a bridal boutique we went to. Since the wedding is coming up so quickly, I encouraged her to try on some sample dresses—just for fun, you know.”
Because Makaio’s mother will have picked out traditional Hawaiian garb—a white muumuu—for Britta to wear. It’s completely not her style. She likes clothes with structure and shape, more formfitting, that show the lean lines of her body. She’s also not the sort who will want a crown of flowers in her hair or a lei around her neck. She won’t want someone blowing a conch shell, either. It’s no disrespect to Makaio’s culture. It’s just that he’s not doing anything to accommodate her wishes or beliefs.
“And?”
Keeley’s smile is full of excitement. “She found a sample dress in her size that looks ah-mazing. Which is great because she can buy it off the rack since you don’t have the six months it takes to order from the designer. It needs a little repair on the beadwork, but the shop has a tailor on-site. Other than that, the dress fits perfectly. Call them quickly. I had them hold it for you. I’ll pick it up Monday.”
I lean in to kiss her cheek. “You’re fantastic. Anything else?”
“The bridal shop recommended a photographer, a caterer, and a florist. I picked up business cards, so on my way over here, I made a few calls. I set up appointments with all these people to talk to you on the phone next week. During my lunch with Britta, I spread out all the bridal magazines available at the drugstore. I bought them last night so she could point out to me things she liked. So now I know what sort of arrangements, food, and cakes she’s interested in. It was a really productive day.”
I’m beyond pleased. “I can’t thank you enough. This is going to work.”
She nods my way. “It just might.”
“Did you plan anything for our wedding, sunshine? You got the ball rolling for my bonehead brother, but you have an eager groom here…” Maxon all but growls.
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“I have to beat this asshole to the altar.” Maxon points my way.
“How does April eighth sound? That’s the week before his wedding…”
My brother pauses. “I’d rather do it in March. The fourth sounds perfect.”
“That’s next Saturday, Maxon,” Keeley objects. “I’m already doing this last minute.”
“Then why is it still taking weeks?”
We all laugh and discuss details a bit more. Since I brought the magazines Britta discarded, I quiz Keeley on things my angel seemed drawn to. The visuals give me a point of reference, and at the end, I’m sure I’m closer to making Britta my wife.
When the sun starts sliding toward the horizon and shadows begin to fill the office, I glance at my watch and frown. “Where are Britta and Jamie?”
Keeley showed up nearly an hour ago, and I didn’t think they would be far behind. She mentioned a run to the drugstore earlier but…
“Oh, Jamie didn’t go with us today. One of his daycare teachers agreed to watch him since a bridal shop isn’t really a place to take a toddler.”
I want to object that I could have spent today with him, that I would have been thrilled for the time with my boy…but I had to work. I grind my teeth at the missed opportunity. But Jamie is all boy, and the image of sticky hands and slobber on satin tells me Keeley is right. “Good call.”
“Britta said she would meet you at the Stowe mansion later.”
Not at home.
I know the building isn’t actually our home. It never will be. But my home is wherever Britta is. Wherever Jamie is.
The conversation brings full circle the fact that she hasn’t chosen me. It’s possible she never will.
But that’s not Keeley’s fault, so I suck it up and smile. “Thanks.”
The lovebirds leave the office hand in hand, still debating about a suitable wedding date. Maxon concedes that planning something as important as a ceremony commencing the rest of their life together might require more than six days. So he’s willing to wait a whole additional week.
I laugh and head home, mentally prowling through the refrigerator to decide what we might have for dinner.
When I pull into the enormous garage and head inside the house, Britta is already there making something with salmon. I smell jasmine rice steaming.
I set my keys down as I watch her bustle around the kitchen and Jamie curled up on the sofa with her iPad and a cartoon, his thumb in his mouth. “Hi, angel.”
She moved freely until I made my presence known. Now she seems guarded, sending me sidelong glances as she begins to toss a salad. “Hi. Good day? Did the couple from Seattle decide to buy a condo?”
“They said they’ll call me Monday, but my gut says yes.” I want to go to her, wrap my arms around her, kiss the nape she exposed when she lifted her golden tresses into a messy bun.
Maxon’s warning that Britta won’t be able to handle cheating echoes through my head.
I really am screwed.
“Good. Keeley and I had a great day. All my friends from college are on the mainland, and other than Emily, the woman you met at the park, my neighborhood wasn’t exactly filled with single women I had a lot in common with. Girl time was nice. Really nice.”
Sh
e actually smiles. I think that’s the first time I’ve seen her happy in…well, since I barged into her life again. Sure, she’s chatting to fill the space. So the silence otherwise isn’t awkward? Or so I don’t ask her whether she has an answer to my proposal?
“Good.”
“Poor Keeley seems so lost about weddings. She really wanted my opinion on everything, like she’d barely given her ceremony a thought.” She shrugs. “If I’m not going to get to plan my own, it’s nice to…”
Britta falls silent as if she realizes what she’s all but admitting.
“So you’re marrying Makaio? You’re choosing logic over love?” I try to keep my voice even and not reveal my absolute fury at the thought.
She tenses again, moving around the kitchen watchfully, as if she’s steering clear of a wild animal. “I haven’t decided anything.”
I round the bar and invade her personal space. I don’t touch her exactly. I can’t or I’m worried I’ll lose my self-control and be all over her. I pin her against the counter, anchoring my hands on either side of her, and manage to stop myself from dragging her closer. “What can I do to help you choose me?”
“Back off.”
“Besides that.”
“Nothing. I have to think this through. Last night was…a lot.”
I can’t dispute that. “Let’s figure this out together.”
That sounds calm and responsible. Mature. Not too demanding.
She’s already shaking her head. “I need time to be alone with my thoughts.”
That fucking grates on my patience.
“Give me one evening. Just one to imagine with me what our lives would be like if we’d been married for the last three years and if our lives were normal—”
“How do I do that? If we’d been married that long, you wouldn’t have to force me to live with you. Jamie calling you Daddy would make me smile, not worry. We wouldn’t be living here.” She gestures around to the expansive mansion. “And I wouldn’t be trying to decide whether I’m marrying another man in less than two months.”
You’re not, I want to growl at her, but I manage to bite back the words. “Britta… Angel. Give me a chance. I can’t prove anything to you about us if you don’t let me.”
“Give me some space and we’ll talk when I’m ready. I promise.” She shoulders her way past me to take the fish from the oven.
As she sets the table, I clench my teeth. The old me would never have accepted that answer. She belongs with me. She needs to be with me.
But she doesn’t believe in me yet.
The new me knows she’s going to have to voluntarily choose me if she’s ever going to stand beside me in a white dress and say I do.
We sit down to dinner in silence broken only by Jamie’s antics. He’s not a fan of salad tonight, and we both have to stop him from throwing lettuce. He decides to push salmon between a gap in his baby teeth. When he reforms his mound of rice into a snowball and threatens to throw it, Britta takes it away with a wag of her finger. Only the banana I peeled for him at the last minute seems to be a hit.
“He do this often?” I haven’t noticed this behavior before.
She shakes her head. “Leslie, the woman who watched him today, is one of his favorite nursery school teachers, but she’s in her sixties. I don’t think they were running around the park all day. Sometimes when Jamie has energy to burn, he does this at the table.”
It makes sense, and I have childhood memories of being forced to sit through a meal when I had something way more interesting, usually sports, on my mind.
I stand and untie Jamie’s bib, then lift him into my arms. “Why don’t you finish? We’ll find some ball to chase for a while. If you’ll put our food in the oven, I’ll come back in a bit when we’re ready to eat it.”
She hesitates. “If you make him sit here long enough, he’ll get it down.”
“He’s a boy. He needs to run. He needs fresh air. This is my department. We’ll be back.”
“Daddy,” Jamie shrieks. “Let’s play!”
As I lead him outside, I feel Britta’s gaze on me, watching the two of us together. Is she assessing? Probably. I want to bristle a bit, but that’s what this period is for, to determine how I would be as a father and husband. This is me.
I hope what I’m doing is enough.
After a half hour of running and giggling on the lawn, Jamie is panting. One thing I know about my son now? He’s clever. He’s determined. He doesn’t mind being a little underhanded to get his way. He’s definitely my kid.
But he’s also kind and likes to laugh, and when I pretended to have a boo-boo, he didn’t hesitate to come kiss it. He’s caring, like his mother.
We enter the house again to find a spotless and empty kitchen. Britta slid our plates into a warming drawer, and I get them out, putting Jamie’s food on a plastic child’s plate so he doesn’t burn himself.
“If you eat well, I might find you some ice cream, partner.”
He claps his hands and digs into his food with gusto. Good, old-fashioned bribery works well. I can’t help but laugh.
Despite the turmoil right now, the uncertainty of not knowing whether Britta will ever be mine, I can’t deny how content I feel spending time with Jamie. Yes, he’s fun and incredible. But every time I look at him, I’m amazed that I see my face and Britta’s eyes. He’s a perfect blend of us.
After a little contraband in vanilla/chocolate swirl, I give him a quick bath, then hoist him into my arms so he can get a kiss from his mother.
I find her in the media room curled up in a chair near the CD player, wearing noise-canceling headphones over her ears.
And tears streaming down her face.
I rush over to her. “Angel, what’s wrong?”
She brushes the wetness from her cheeks and gives Jamie a falsely cheerful smile. “You all ready for bed, handsome man?”
“I want stories,” our son insists.
Her grin turns genuine. “Of course you do.”
When she stands and reaches out for Jamie, I hesitate. “You sure? I can do this.”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
I don’t think Britta means that, but she’s stubborn and this isn’t worth the fight. I hand him over. She hugs the little boy to her chest, eyes closed, her face a wealth of emotion as she holds him tight.
I can’t stand seeing her upset. I lean in and settle my lips against her ear. “How can I make you happy, angel?”
She shakes her head and clutches Jamie. “I’ll be back.”
I don’t like that answer, but I doubt she wants to risk upsetting our son just before bed.
“Night, little man.” I kiss the top of his head. “Soccer tomorrow?”
“Yeah!” He cheers and grins. “Night, Daddy.”
That still chokes me up. “Night, son.”
As Britta takes Jamie from the room, I give her my silent support with a caress down her back. I’m here for her. I may not have been good at that the first time we were together, but nothing means more to me now.
Once she rounds the corner and disappears, I look around for what might have upset her. Britta is usually the quiet, suffer-in-silence type. So when anything makes her cry, I know she means it. I hate how often I’ve reduced her to tears in the last few weeks. But I’m even more baffled by what made her sad just now.
The only thing I see are the headphones on the table in front of me. The second I put them on, I realize she’s been listening to the CD Keeley gave me.
I hear the ending notes of a song that tugs at me. I’ve heard this, I think.
I hit the BACK to start the last song she listened to over again. Instantly, I recognize it. Green Day’s “Good Riddance.”