Second chance romance, p.18
Second Chance Romance, page 18
Athena’s brow creased.
“Knowing something intellectually and knowing it in your bones, in your heart . . . those are two different things, Karl.” Her voice was gentle but emphatic. “And just to be clear: You wouldn’t deliberately hurt her. But you might do it by accident, because you’re both human, and people hurt each other even when they don’t intend to. Even when they’re in love.”
She waited for him to take that in, much as he didn’t want to.
“I get that Molly’s distrust hurts your feelings.” She held up a hand when he began to protest. “Please don’t insult us both by pretending your heart isn’t essentially a Cadbury Creme Egg. Hard shell. Gooey innards. Very sweet.” She paused, then added under her breath, “Albeit somewhat off-putting to many and widely unavailable at most times of the year.”
He glared at her. But he didn’t argue. “You hungry, Greydon? Sound hungry.”
Because he’d brought some potato bread for her—along with a few of Matthew’s favorite orange-caramel crunch scones—despite knowing she’d hug him when he tossed her the freshly baked loaf.
Or, possibly, because she’d hug him. Though he’d rather rip out a toenail than admit that.
“Yep.” She beamed happily at him. “And I already saw what you have in that bakery bag by your feet, so don’t bother trying to escape me once this conversation is done. Resistance to my grateful embrace is futile.”
He supposed the Borg were nosy and information-obsessed too, what with that hive-mind shit. Probably less fond of spuds and hugs than his former employee, though.
“Anyway, here’s my point.” Her bright smile softened again. Turned sympathetic. “I understand how you’re feeling and why you’re feeling that way. You know you’re trustworthy. She’s not recognizing that as quickly as you’d hoped, though, and it stings.”
Even an uncommunicative bastard like him knew what came next.
“But?” he prompted.
“But . . . maybe she just needs more time, Karl,” Matthew said quietly, and Karl turned his attention to his best friend of over thirty years. “She’s been back in Harlot’s Bay—back in your company—for less than two weeks, after twenty years apart. Also, I’m not entirely certain Molly’s ex is the full story here.”
That last bit was clearly leading somewhere. Too bad Karl had no idea where the destination might be.
“What do you mean?” Athena asked for both of them.
“I knew Molly back in high school too. Karl was closer to her, obviously, but she and I shared a lot of classes and ate lunch together most days. Even back then, she wasn’t the most . . .” He hesitated. Dragged a hand through his dark, curly hair. Seemed to search for the right words. “She wasn’t the most unguarded person around. Friendly, sure. Kind, definitely. Open? No. I wouldn’t say so.”
Karl thought that over for a few seconds. “Dearborn always valued her privacy. Could be reserved sometimes. But these days, it’s not just that. She seems more . . . wary. Cynical.”
Or maybe . . . scared.
Was that what he kept sensing in her? In her reactions to him? Fear?
The teenage girl he’d known had been distant and cool on occasion, but seemed utterly unafraid of who she was or what others thought about her. Unworried about getting hurt, or at least confident she could recover from that hurt with ease.
“Matthew told me she left school abruptly, without much explanation, in the final weeks of senior year. He doesn’t recall why.” Athena’s glasses slipped down her nose as she absently picked at a cuticle. “Normally, people don’t move across the country at a time like that unless there’s an emergency. Do you know what happened?”
Her agile brain was trying to make connections. In unlikely places, Karl could argue, but whatever. He’d play along for now, because he had no idea what the hell else to do.
“If I’m remembering it right . . .” He frowned. Tried to think back twenty years. “She went to California with her mom. Not her dad. Even though I got the sense she and her father were pretty tight back then.”
Karl shrugged, unhappy he couldn’t tell them more. “Guess I assumed her parents were splitting up. Didn’t want to ask, though. Especially since she didn’t volunteer the information.”
Her parents weren’t together now. He knew that much, at least.
Matthew’s forehead was creased in thought. “Since she’s been back, she hasn’t explained what happened?”
Karl’s sigh hurt his chest, it was so huge. “Nope.”
Athena pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “Has she mentioned her parents?”
“Not really.”
“And you haven’t asked.”
“Nope.” Dammit.
“Huh.” Squinting in thought, she absently straightened her crooked frames. “Interesting.”
“So that’s one part of her history you don’t understand. There could be others.” Matthew angled himself to meet Karl’s eyes directly. “Maybe the changes you’ve seen in her are just the effects of passing time and the state of the world, in addition to an ugly divorce. But you won’t know that for sure until you open up her black box and get all the crucial information.”
“Good news, everyone.” Athena snickered. “Karl was already pretty damn eager to open up her box.”
She wasn’t wrong. Karl still flipped her the bird on principle.
“You’ve clearly spent far too much time with the Nasty Wenches.” Matthew shook his head at her. “It was a metaphor, not a euphemism.”
“No reason it can’t be both. And I have a correction to issue, Vine.” She raised her finger in emphasis. “The Wenches haven’t corrupted me. If anything, I’ve corrupted them. Before my arrival, sure, they read about butt plugs and threesomes and even a little light nipple-clamping, but they hadn’t once considered the erotic possibilities in getting kidnapped by a kangaroo with a luxurious pouch and an absolutely enormous—”
Her husband’s face disappeared into his hands. “I don’t want to know.”
“But his penis has special features, Matthew.” Her voice dripped with suggestion. “So many special features.”
His palms muffled his response. “I’m sure it does.”
Both of them? Entirely missing the crucial goddamn point.
“Trick dick or no trick dick, that kangaroo asshole’s still a kidnapper,” Karl interjected. “To me? Zero consent means zero romance. Why the group picked that book for next month’s discussion, I’ll never fucking know.”
“You really think Sadie Brazen dabbled in dubcon?” Athena—who’d pointed out consent issues herself in countless goddamn meetings, albeit never in a Brazen story—had the gall to look disappointed in him. “Come on, Karl. You’ve listened to every single one of her audiobooks. You know better than that.”
Wait. That meant— “There’s a twist?”
“There’s a twist,” she confirmed.
“Riley’s secretly a kangaroo too?”
“No.” Her lips twitched. “Although, it must be said, kidnapping a sentient kangaroo before boning her would still constitute dubcon.”
Karl thought for a minute. “Brazen pulled a Bobby Ewing switcheroo? Everything’s a dream?”
Bobby Ewing, Matthew repeated silently, then extracted a small notepad from the side table’s drawer and jotted down a note to himself.
“I’m not going to tell you, Special K.” Athena resettled herself on her ridiculous settee. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”
He scowled at her. “Dammit, Greydon.”
“I have a suggestion.” Matthew’s voice was drier than the strawberries currently shriveling in the bakery’s dehydrator. “One that doesn’t involve kangaroos, but rather the actual reason Karl came to our house tonight.”
“Please excuse me, Dr. Matthew Vine the Third. I got off topic again.” Athena blinked up at him through smudged lenses, all remorseful innocence. “You’ll have to teach me some discipline.”
Karl groaned and scrubbed both hands over his own face. Jesus H. Christ, that woman was a hellion. And now he needed to soak his brain in fucking bleach.
“To return to my suggestion . . .” Matthew’s voice and expression remained calm, despite his bright-pink ears. “Let me sum up the situation, and please correct me if I’ve gotten something incorrect. Karl, you’re confused as to why demonstrating your honesty and protectiveness toward Molly hasn’t convinced her to trust you as much as you’d prefer. You haven’t told her how you feel about her, however, and you don’t know key parts of her history.”
A decent summation, but not congratulatory enough when it came to Karl’s exemplary patience and research efforts.
Nevertheless, he waved Matthew on.
“Your next activity needs to involve open communication,” his best friend concluded.
No goddamn way. “Today’s food-tasting exercise covered that, Vine. We’ve already communicated. Thought we’d do putt-putt next.”
“Communication’s not really a one-time event, Special K.” Athena’s tone was overly patient, like a parent explaining to her toddler why shitting his pants was problematic, and Karl did his best to murder her with his eyes. “Which I know comes as a disappointment, but it’s true. Especially since your communication today involved food, not feelings. Not personal histories. Not your hopes for the future or concerns you might have.”
“Did too learn some personal history,” Karl muttered.
That fucking terrible cake-smushing wedding story. All the divorce shit. None of which he was being given sufficient credit for, dammit!
“Good.” Athena’s approval sounded genuine. “You can build on that. We can help.”
Woman wasn’t going to relent. He could already tell.
“Motherfucker.” This groan came from deep in his tortured fucking soul. “Fuck. My. Fucking. Life.”
“Sure, Special K.” Athena beamed at him. “If you insist.”
* * *
Grumpily, Karl listened to their ideas. Took notes on his phone, because those assholes were thorough.
By the time he stomped downstairs and reached their front door, he knew what he needed to do—tomorrow and next weekend—and was way past ready for bed. Right before he left, though, Matthew drew him aside in the entryway.
“Karl, I understand why you want to prove yourself to Molly. You’re hoping for a real future with her, and that can’t happen if she doesn’t trust you.” Lines creased his forehead as he spoke quietly. “The part I still don’t get is why all this needs to happen now, before she leaves Harlot’s Bay. She can visit here again. You can visit her in California. There are video calls, texts, and emails, or even—and I know this is an upsetting concept for you—old-fashioned phone calls to tide you over between reunions. You can build trust over time, instead of trying to compress the entire process into four short weeks.”
Karl sighed heavily. “I want her to stay, Matthew.”
“I know. Eventually, you’d like her to move here, but—”
“Not eventually,” Karl corrected. “Now.”
“But . . .” Those lines across Matthew’s brow deepened. “Karl, that’s not—”
“Molly’s squirrelly as hell. Give her enough distance, and she’ll retreat further. If things don’t happen now, got a bad feeling they won’t happen at all.” That feeling had been hounding him since the first moment of their reunion. Drumming in his temples. Roiling his stomach. Keeping him awake no matter how exhausted he was. “Why I asked for your help tonight. I don’t have time to keep fumbling this shit. I need to know what to do.”
His best friend took that in for a minute.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I get it now. I might not agree completely, but I hear you.” Matthew’s chest rose and fell on his own silent sigh. Then he tugged Karl into a hug, squeezing tightly. “Good luck, man.”
“Thanks.” Karl squeezed back. “Got a feeling I’m gonna need it.”
15
Against her better judgment, Molly spent her Sunday evening discussing the validity of Satan as a fictional love interest.
Up until that very morning, she’d had zero intention of attending the Nasty Wenches book club meeting. As she’d told Karl two days ago, there was no point in putting down roots that she’d only have to rip up again, sooner rather than later. And she wasn’t a fool. If she went to the meeting, even her best efforts might not be able to stop the tendrils, however doomed they might be, from unfurling underground.
Athena. Matthew. Janel. All Nasty Wenches, apparently. All people she already liked. Hell, even Lise had overcome her shyness—not to mention the occasional awkwardness of discussing her own books as if she were simply a reader—and joined the group last month.
If Molly went, she’d probably enjoy herself too much. Which was a real problem.
Then there was the issue of Karl. Also a Nasty Wench, and the entire reason she’d changed her mind about attending.
When he’d called her that morning to reiterate his invitation, she’d worried about residual awkwardness from the way they’d parted yesterday. Wondered whether he’d employ all the sound and fury he typically employed to disguise his hurt feelings.
Instead, his tone had been casual, as if nothing notable had happened between them recently. And in typical Karl fashion—i.e., without much preamble—he’d told her he needed her at the meeting. Not because he wouldn’t finish his chosen book and hoped she could act as a human CliffsNotes—by the time they talked, he was already halfway through his audiobook of Bedded by Beelzebub—but because he required a bodyguard.
“Wouldn’t let the Wenches visit when I was sick. Frustrated their caretaking urges,” he explained. “First time they see me again? Those smut-loving busybodies are gonna fucking swarm me, Dearborn. Bury me in soggy tuna casseroles and weird-ass home remedies. Few of the damn harpies might even hug me.”
He sounded utterly appalled, that big faker. They both knew he secretly loved hugs, however reluctantly he accepted them. Probably adored tuna casseroles too, soggy or not.
“You coming?” His voice had suddenly gone tight with tension. “Need you to help fend them off, Molly. Please.” A lengthy pause. “Besides, you’ll like everyone there. Your type of people. Could be a ready-made community for you. If you, uh, wanted that. At some point.”
In typical Karl fashion once more, he’d finally said the quiet part loud. He didn’t need a freaking bodyguard. He wasn’t inviting her to the Nasty Wenches meeting to protect him from casseroles and hugs. Not at all. Despite what she’d told him, he wanted her to put down some of her ill-fated roots, in hopes she’d decide not to rip them up after all.
Responding to him had taken a few moments of thought.
She really shouldn’t encourage his dream of getting her to stay in Harlot’s Bay long-term. But she was flattered that he wanted her at the meeting so darn much. Enough that he’d even employed his best manners—an actual please!—for the repeat invitation. And heaven knew she couldn’t resist watching a dozen people fuss over the crankiest man alive.
Also, yes, maybe she was embarrassingly eager to see him again. Not to mention more tempted than she cared to admit by the thought of a ready-made community full of people who might make her feel valued and understood.
“Fine,” she’d eventually told him. “I’ll go. But I’ll drive myself, in case I want to duck out early.”
He’d hung up before she could change her mind. Then turned off his damn phone for the rest of the day so she couldn’t cancel on him.
So now here she was, at the modest, cozy home of a fiftysomething white librarian named Bethany. Seated, improbably enough, on a floral-upholstered couch with Lise on one side and Janel on the other, listening to sweet, whispery Bethany talk about gargoyle junk.
“—and once she mounts Lucifer’s stone dick and rides him to climax, he breaks free from his marble prison for the first time in countless centuries and becomes flesh and blood once more.” Bethany carefully buttered one of the muffins Karl had brought especially for her. “Although his penis remains stone. Well, all three penises, to be exact.”
Molly blinked. Oh, wow.
From his seat nearby, Matthew leaned over to his wife and spoke quietly. “Again, my apologies on behalf of human men, sweetheart.”
“Bethany hasn’t even told you what his tail can do yet.” Athena sounded jazzed. “It has a suction-y tip. And it’s ridged!”
Matthew groaned and bowed his head. “Of course it is.”
Say what you would about the Nasty Wenches—those easily shocked should stay far, far away—but they were damned entertaining. Not to mention welcoming. From the moment Bethany had greeted her at the front door, Molly had been adopted into the group warmly and without fuss. Included in conversations. Asked for her opinions.
Yes, sometimes said opinions concerned the potential sexual sensitivity of devil horns and whether cloven hooves could ever be considered hot in a nonliteral sense, but Molly did in fact have thoughts on those matters. Thoughts the book club members had listened to, with seeming appreciation.
Upon Karl’s own arrival, the poor man had dodged a swarm of concerned book club members and tried to sit next to her. Only to be shooed away by Janel, Lise, and Athena, who’d claimed Molly’s proximity like a prize.
Early in the evening, he’d kept an eagle eye on her anyway, shoulders bunched in clear worry. Then, once he’d apparently satisfied himself as to her comfort in the situation, his tension had eased. He still glanced over at her often, though. Brought her cookies. Even kissed the top of her head once, which had prompted a number of whispered, excited-sounding conversations around the room.
To Molly’s surprise, that kiss wasn’t her only affectionate physical contact of the evening. Lise’s shoulder bumped against hers every time something funny happened, in companionable nudges of mutual amusement. At regular intervals, Janel doled out Goldfish crackers and megawatt smiles to her couchmates, as well as approving pats on the arm every time Molly participated in the discussion.
