I wouldn’t say I’ve never cooked for a girl.
Senior year, I snuck Ericka Smith over when my parents were out of town, and wanting to be the smooth teenager I was, I made her Bagel Bites. They were on the burned side, but Ericka said it was the thought that counted. But other than that, I’m more of a takeout or we can go to dinner kind of guy.
Which is why I don’t know why my Bagel Bites–burning ass thought I could whip something glorious up for Amelia—let alone a goddamn surf and turf of a filet and sea scallops. But it’s the first night she’s coming over to actually hang out rather than just go straight it bed. I want it to be … special?
We’ve been sneaking around since the motel, but we haven’t revisited everything that was shared that night. We act like we don’t know each other all day, and then when the sky turns black, Amelia makes her appearance, slipping into my bed. We deserve an Olympic medal in the sport of discretion.
They say the best ideas come out at night, but so do the best secrets.
We maintain a professional relationship at the brewery. Not that it’s hard since she travels from store to restaurant to bar, convincing potential clients to become a Down Home craft beer carrier. And thanks to that, the brewery has been busier than ever. It’s captivating, watching the old Amelia slowly return.
Hiding a relationship with a woman wasn’t on my life’s bingo card, but, hey, here we are. Sleeping with my deceased best-friend’s girl isn’t something I saw in the cards either. So, for right now, we’ll stay in the shadows. It’s either have Amelia in secret or don’t have her at all. And I’ll take all I can get at this point.
Our relationship exists only in the confinement of my apartment. We can only touch between these walls. But eventually, we’ll have to decide to either break things off or make our relationship public.
Amelia walks into my apartment, a black hoodie over her head, and scrunches up her nose. “Geesh, I take it, dinner by Chef Jax isn’t going well?”
I left the door open to air out the place.
I glare at the charred steaks before shoving them into the trash. “Change of dinner plans. We’re going to my grandma’s.”
She jerks her hood down to stare at me in horror. “What?”
“We’re going to my grandma’s.” I motion toward the kitchen. “Meal failed. My grams invited us over for dinner.”
“You mean, she invited you over for dinner.”
“Myself and a plus-one.” I wiggle my finger in her direction. “You, Millie baby, are my plus-one.”
She raises a brow. “Does your grandmother know I’m your plus-one?”
“She does.”
Her shoulders tense. “I thought we were keeping us private for now?”
“Grandma Lane won’t tweet about it, I promise,” I say, referring to my mother’s mom.
She rolls her eyes at me. “It’ll be weird.”
“Not weirder than eating that food I attempted to make.”
Right in the middle of me texting Amelia, asking what she wanted from takeout, my grandma called for a meal update. She’d written down a grocery list, the recipe, and directions for making our dinner. I told her it was a total fail, that the steaks resembled a leather belt and the scallop texture was way off. She said she’d made a roast, and she invited my date and me to join her for dinner.
Ask anyone in Blue Beech. Grandma Lane is one of the best comfort-food cooks in town—her roast being a fan favorite.
I stroll around the kitchen island to stand in front of Amelia. “It’ll just be the three of us.” I tug on the two strings around her hoodie, playfully tightening it around her face. “My grams could use the company.”
My grandmother has lived in the same house for nearly four decades. It’s in the most prestigious neighborhood in Blue Beech—large brick homes with substantial unused space, trimmed hedges, and neighbors who give you the stink eye when you light fireworks in the middle of the street.
Got grounded for a week for that one.
Amelia is the one who had dared me to do it.
It took a good twenty minutes and more pleas to convince Amelia to come. The final push—and winning argument—was telling her my poor grandma was sitting at the dining room table, all alone, with a cold roast.
“Hi, Nancy,” Amelia says when she walks into my grandmother’s house. “It was last minute, or I wouldn’t have come empty-handed.”
My grandmother swoops her up into a tight hug. Had I not given my grandma a heads-up that it’d be Amelia with me, the greeting would’ve gone differently. Not because my grandmother doesn’t like Amelia—she’s loved Amelia ever since she tattled on me for breaking her crystal bowl when we were ten—but because most people wouldn’t expect us to be together. It would’ve only made Amelia more uncomfortable had she witnessed my grandmother’s initial shock.
“Oh, sweetie,” my grandmother says as she pulls away, waving off her comment. “Don’t you worry about that. We have plenty.”
She hustles us into the dining room, where the table is fully set—as if this were a dinner party and not a meal for three on a Thursday.
And as usual, her roast is never one to disappoint.
My grandmother keeps most of the conversation flowing. She asks Amelia how she’s been, throws out a thousand questions about the brewery, and says how proud she is to have such great entrepreneurs in our family.
After we’ve devoured the deliciousness that is Grandma Lane’s dinner—roast, bread rolls, egg noodles, and roasted veggies—Amelia and I clean up.
As Amelia loads the last dish in the dishwasher, I edge behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and kiss her cheek. “Told you it’d be worth coming.”
She swats me away, her gaze pinging around the kitchen, like she expects the dude from What Would You Do? to come out. “No touching or kissing at your grandma’s! What if she walks in? She’ll think it’s weird.”
“Amelia, baby, do you not know my family’s history? We’re a shitshow.”
People once called the Lane family—aka my mom’s side—the Kennedys of Blue Beech. My grandfather was their beloved mayor … and then all shit went to hell when his infidelities were exposed. My grandfather had a secret child, and my grandmother divorced him. My mom, underage at the time, kept sneaking into my father’s bar, and my aunt Cassidy married a felon. The Lane family turned out to be not as perfect as people had believed.
And not even three minutes after Amelia swatted me away, my grandmother comes in. Staring longingly at us, she holds up the remote and asks, “How about you stay for a movie before you go?”
My grandmother doesn’t act like she’s in her early seventies, nor does she look like it. But she is a woman who lives alone, as she never remarried, and even though she tries to stay active in the community, there isn’t enough charity work to stop you from returning to an empty home sometimes. But she refuses to sell her house—even after my parents offered to build her a wing off their house, and my Uncle Rex said he’d kick River out of their guesthouse and give it to her. But she says no.
Amelia genuinely smiles at her, and her tone turns upbeat as she says, “Of course we will.”
Four hours later, I’m attention-deep into a Hallmark movie marathon. First one was about an asshole falling for his child’s teacher, and she made him a ray of goddamn sunshine. Gotta be honest, not my fave. The second was a small-town romance—per what my grandmother called it—where a woman returned to town to help the family farm. She’d left her boyfriend, a gazillionaire, in the city, but the ex-boyfriend, a dude who smiled and talked about his horses too much, came back into the picture. And get this shocking twist: they fell in love with each other.
“A second chance at love.” My grandmother’s face shines as she stares at me from her chair. “They loved each other as kids and came together later. It’s always possible.”
I’m in bed, watching Amelia wiggle into a work dress, and I’m resting my arms under my head. “You going to my mom’s birthday tonight?”
Amelia nudges her bedhead hair from her face. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course I want you to.”
Her adorable nose twitches. “Will it be awkward?”
Yes. But it’ll be amazing, having you there.
I drop my arms. “Come here.”
She tiptoes toward me, stopping at the edge of the mattress, and I grab her waist. She gasps when I drag her back onto the bed, positioning her under me, and bow my head to her shoulder.
Shivers run over her body when I nudge my nose against her ear and whisper, “I don’t know about weird, but it’ll be hard, keeping my hands to myself.”
It’s true. Any chance I get to be with Amelia, I take it. We watch movies, eat meals together, and have sex.
She runs her fingers through my hair. “You can touch me all you want after.”
When we first started sneaking around, I was worried it’d be weird, but nope. Every touch, kiss, and moan we share feels nothing but natural, like our bodies have been doing it for years and it’s where we belong.
I kiss her arm. “What about touching you all I want now?”
I take her dress off, and I’m inside of her, making her moan my name minutes later.
There are two types of people in this world: those who enjoy surprise birthday parties and those who don’t.
My dad? Me? Hell no.
My mother? She loves them.
Especially when they’re for her.
I arrive at Uncle Rex and Aunt Carolina’s fifteen minutes before my mom’s scheduled arrival. Their house was chosen because the large square footage, open concept, and massive backyard make it perfect for parties. Their house is the shit and isn’t one you’d imagine finding in a small town like ours. It’s modern, nearly all solar, and it fits them to a T. They drive electric cars and are what Chris called tree huggers. My uncle builds video games for a living and is one of the smartest people I know.
That trait was passed on to River and Essie when they were young. River was hacking into websites before we hit high school, and then he taught Essie, who is just as dangerous. I always joke that Essie became a lawyer to help her brother stay out of trouble if he ever hacked into the wrong thing.
When Amelia walks in with Ava and Callie, she looks fucking sinful, and my eyes are hungry as I watch her every move. Anytime I see her—whether she’s wearing a form-fitting dress that flaunts her every curve with her dark curls cascading down her chest or my baggy sweatpants and shirts that nearly swallow her body—she takes my breath away. I’ve seen Amelia at her worst and at her best, and every time, I always find her beautiful.
Amelia is perfection, but I just need to help bring her back to happiness—like the way she’s leading me back to mine.
She gives her parents a hug, her dad a kiss on the cheek, and then Ava, Callie, and Amelia head in my direction, where I’m standing with the guys and Essie.
I scratch my cheek, trying to play it as cool as I can. “Hey, ladies.” I slip a quick glance to her. “How have you been, Amelia?”
It might be wrong and obvious for me to ask only her how she’s doing, but I can’t not say anything to her. I have to bite my tongue not to say too much—not to tell her how beautiful she looks tonight.
Essie, the pain-in-the-ass cousin that she is, cocks her head to the side and says, “Don’t you guys work together? You probably saw each other like, what, twenty times this week?”
Twenty times?
Essie always exaggerates everything.
Amelia freezes, her eyes shooting to mine.
I quickly gather myself. “Uh, yeah … but we do our own things within the company.”
“I mainly work with clients, take orders, and do the work outside the brewery,” Amelia adds. “Jax controls the day-to-day operations and beer brewing.”
“Sounds like you two make a great team then, huh?” River says, a smile tugging on his lips.
Amelia steps to my side, and I can’t stop myself from reaching down and brushing my hand against hers. It seems almost juvenile—a simple touch of the hand but it lights my body on fire.
“Everyone, quiet!” Aunt Carolina yells. “She’s here!”
Conversations cease. I use everyone’s attention turning to the door to my advantage and give Amelia’s hand a squeeze before my mother walks in with my father and younger sister, Keelie. Amelia stares down at our hands, her lips parting and cheeks blushing.
Acting like we’re nothing kills me.
My mother pretends to be surprised, but there’s no way she didn’t know. The driveway and street are lined with cars, and my father told her they were going to dinner.
My mom thanks people for coming, hugging them, and then makes her way to me. By now, Amelia has scurried off to talk to her parents.
“Thanks for coming, sweetie,” my mom says, as if I’ve ever missed a birthday of hers, and she pulls me into a tight hug.
My father comes to her side, greeting me, and we make small talk about the brewery.
I fight to keep myself from staring at Amelia while we celebrate another year of my mother’s life. When I pay her a glance, she looks away, and I wonder if she’s been staring at me the same as I have been with her.
God, how I want to wrap my arms around her, be her man, and be how she was with Chris at parties.
They never had to play pretend. No, he got Amelia in public and in private. And it hurts that I can’t have the same.
I do smile as I watch Amelia laugh and enjoy herself because for so long, she avoided our get-togethers. No birthday parties, no barbeques, no dinners. She bailed on all of them.
After an hour of small-talking with people, I walk outside, in need of fresh air. People are scattered along the yard, laughing, talking, and drinking—mostly Down Home craft beer, courtesy of the brewery. Taking a seat in a chair by the pool, I stretch out my legs and groan as I glance up to the sky, stare up at the stars, and wonder where Amelia and I are headed—as if those stars will give me a damn answer.
It’s times like this that make me question if we’re doing the right thing or setting ourselves up for heartbreak.
“Thank you.”
I turn to find Silas taking the chair next to me. He makes himself comfortable, setting his beer and plate with a half-eaten slice of birthday cake—compliments of Callie—on the concrete.
“Thank you, Jax,” he says again before I get the chance to ask what he’s thanking me for. “The brewery is helping Amelia.” He strokes his jaw. “I know you weren’t happy about the situation because you and Chris had started the brewery from the ground up and it’s your baby, but I appreciate you giving her a chance.” He blows out a long breath as he half-slumps in the chair. “I wasn’t sure what would bring my daughter out of her grief, and it seems it’s the brewery …” Bending down, he grabs his beer and points it in my direction. “And you.”
I doubt he’d be thanking me if he knew all the dirty things I’ve been doing with his daughter.
His words send a warmth through my chest.
“It seems it’s the brewery and you.”
Silas clears his throat. “I liked Chris, but I don’t like what he did to my daughter. Call it selfish, whatever, but she can’t be hurt again. I’m not sure her heart can take much more.”
It seems as if Silas is no longer talking to me, more to himself, as he’s now staring at the pool. As if he needs to tell someone what’s on his mind but he’s worried to share it with his wife and daughter.
I like Silas. I don’t think he’s been my biggest fan since I gave his daughter hell, and when we were young, our moms claimed I’d someday marry his daughter, but he’s never been a straight dick to me. This might be the first one-on-one conversation we’ve ever shared.
I nod. “I was worried at first, you know, but she’s been a huge asset. We have so many clients that I’ve started looking for extra help.”
He chuckles. “She is her mother’s daughter, and if there’s something they know how to do, it’s sell liquor.”
“Amelia could sell ice to an Eskimo.”
When he turns back to me, I see the heavy worry in his eyes. “I’ll pay you to stop asking to buy her out.”
I wince.
“She needs the brewery just as much as you do. If it makes my daughter happy, then I’ll pay the price.”
“Half the brewery is Amelia’s for as long as she wants it.”
“Thank you.” And with that, he doesn’t say another word.
The next person to join me is my Keelie.
“Hey, big brother.” She enthusiastically plops down in Silas’s abandoned chair, a beer in her hand, and grins at me.
I confiscate her beer, causing her smile to collapse, and she groans.
“You’re not twenty-one yet, you pain in the ass.”
Keelie is the poster child for college coed. She joined a sorority the first chance she got and spends more time partying than studying. You wouldn’t know that from her GPA. With her short skirt, crop tops, and blonde hair, like my mother’s, she’s the child who gave my father gray hair. Our older sister, Molly, is quieter, an attorney, and I saw her somewhere on her phone, talking about pleas or some shit.
“And you’re not supposed to be eye-fucking Amelia.” Keelie snatches the beer back from me. “Looks like we’re both doing shit we’re not supposed to. Cheers to that.” She takes a long draw of the beer.
“I’m not eye-fucking anyone.”
“True. It’s not just anyone. It’s Amelia.” She lowers her voice. “Chris’s Amelia.”
I grind my teeth. “Amelia doesn’t belong to anyone.”
She’s not his.
She’s not mine.
Amelia is Amelia, and I want her to be my partner.
My everything.
Hell, she already is my everything.
I want to be her everything.
Keelie eases closer to me, and the lightheartedness in her tone dissipates. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, Jax.”
“I’m so sick of hearing people say that.”
“I just … don’t know what to think about it.”
“Then, don’t think about it.”
Keelie was only nine when Chris moved in with us, and I’m pretty sure she crushed on him for a few years, given I found a notebook with I love Chris Simpson written in glitter gel pen while helping her pack for college.
She taps her nails against the beer can. “I want you to be happy, and if she makes you happy, then go be happy with her.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Do you love her?”
I glance away. I’m not having this conversation with my little sister.
“You do.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”
“You’d better figure it out before you lose her a second time.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Just saying.” She shrugs and chugs the rest of her beer. “You only live life once, big brother.”
“Why am I taking Dr. Phil advice from someone who was most likely bonging beers in some dirty-ass frat house last night?”
She stands and taps the tip of my nose. “Because those who’ve never been in love give the best love advice, obvi.”