Violet’s midwife-friend Jenny—now her own care provider—met her patients in a cozy house on San Juan Island, only a fifteen-minute walk into Friday Harbor from the ferry terminal. Violet had her car. She’d come straight from a home visit on Orcas Island. She sat on a bench in the garden outside the clapboard rancher, waiting for Matias to arrive on foot. In deference to the cloudy April weather, she’d pulled out the teal wool cloak she wore at Franci and Archer’s wedding. It felt like good luck.
Nerves chased the excitement building in her stomach.
Jenny’s clinic was warm and loving, the same vibe Violet liked to ensure in her own midwifery space. A safe place for long conversations, celebrating milestones, sharing concerns. It was a home away from home, having been the clinic where Violet had started off the first years of her career.
Jenny had a birthing philosophy of gentle, loving care. And in the case of Violet’s pregnancy, she hoped it increased her chance of success.
Resting her hands over her stomach, she closed her eyes.
You’re welcome here. I can’t wait to meet you.
That energy mattered. That love.
And after seeing Matias holding Iris with such care during their babysitting adventure, she could finally envision him with their own child.
A tiny human, cradled in his thick arms, sharing that powerful daddy-infant eye contact.
Her heart filled with the possibility.
The crunch of feet on gravel startled her. She opened her eyes.
A light jacket covered those same thick arms she’d been picturing. He stood at the entrance to the garden, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. He must have spent the ferry ride out on the deck of the boat, because his hair was standing up six ways to Sunday. He looked rumpled and perfect and...present.
“How was the ferry?”
“Made it here okay.” His gaze dipped to her hands resting on her stomach. A nervous smile tipped his lips up at one corner.
Her own smile wobbled. She stood.
He came to her, cupping her shoulders with his wide palms. His thumbs traced her collarbones through her thick sweater. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Excited?”
She nodded.
“Me, too.” He sighed. “And anxious.”
Kind of him to admit it.
“Jenny is nothing but reassuring,” she said. “She’s a terrific mentor still, even though I have my own practice now.”
She took one of his hands and tugged him toward the front door of the cheerfully painted cottage. A short staircase centered the front porch, which had a ramp sloping down from one side.
Violet headed for the stairs. They were halfway up when the bright pink door opened. A short white man with a shaved head held the door open for a grinning Latina woman. Her brown hair was in two braids, the tails resting on the top of her belly. By the way her bump poked out between the two halves of her cardigan, Violet would bet she was close to delivery, if not overdue.
Matias’s eyes widened. “Jacie?”
“Hey, Matias!” A second later, her jaw dropped, as if her brain had caught up to her automatic greeting. Her clear gaze darted between them all. “Matias. You’re...here.”
“Sure am.” He looked a little guarded as he introduced himself and Violet to Jacie’s partner, who turned out to be her husband, Vince. Matias got a little bit of a bashful look on his face as he shook the guy’s hand. “Your lovely wife and I went out for a while. Way back in the day, though.”
As if it had the right, which it did not, the hair on the back of Violet’s neck went up. Ridiculous—nothing about the greeting suggested anything weird, and Matias having a list of past girlfriends as long as his arm was no secret. He’d loved them, left them and somehow managed to remain friends with most of them. By the tender smile Jacie exchanged with her husband, she’d long moved past whatever she’d had with Matias.
Didn’t seem to matter to Violet’s stomach. It twisted with discomfort. Why was she getting so territorial?
“Are we old enough for our twenties to count as ‘back in the day’ now?” she asked.
They all laughed.
“I guess we are,” Jacie said. “That, and ‘geriatric pregnancy.’”
Violet groaned. “I hate that term. I’m missing it, but not by much.”
“Lucky,” Jacie joked.
“Nice to meet you both,” Vince said. He kissed Jacie on the cheek. “Let me bring the car around, babe.”
Matias’s ex glanced at Violet’s lack of a bump.
“It’s early,” Violet said, feeling the need to explain.
“So early, we’d appreciate your discretion if you run into anyone from Oyster Island,” Matias added. “We haven’t told anyone yet. Still waiting a bit.”
“Of course,” Jacie said, patting her own round belly. “There’s no hiding this—I was supposed to deliver a week ago.”
Matias shot her a sympathetic look. “Want a hand down the stairs?”
Jacie pressed her hands into her back. “I’ll take the ramp. Thanks, though. And...all my best. I love to see you finally gave up that heart of yours.”
He hasn’t, Violet almost blurted.
But I might want him to.
Argh. How could she trust either of their feelings? They’d slept together before and hadn’t fallen in love then. The only different variable was her pregnancy.
Being close because of it was necessary and would help them parent.
Falling in love because of it? It was impossible to believe it could be real.
Twenty minutes later, she and Matias sat on the comfy couch of the exam room across from Jenny.
Jenny, a petite redhead from the Samish tribe, had a similar setup to Violet—the couch, a comfy armchair, a glider with a footstool for nursing, a changing table for exams. The room was painted in a calm shade of sage. Coast Salish prints of animal mothers and babies decorated the wall opposite the couch.
Nothing Violet tried was helping her pulse calm. They were in the middle of going through their medical histories. Nothing particularly notable, except her fertility struggles.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to fit you in sooner. How’s it been affecting you mentally? Emotionally?” Jenny asked.
“I’m...overwhelmed.”
“I can only imagine,” Jenny said. “Best to simplify while you process. Health comes first—all four parts. Do regular check-ins with yourself—mental, emotional, physical, spiritual. Meditation, if you’re up for it.”
“Right. Simplify.” In other words, not adding a relationship to things. But she suspected she’d tipped past the point of no return.
You finally gave up that heart of yours.
Jacie’s words applied to herself as much as Matias.
And it wasn’t at all simple, not keeping each other at a distance or sharing a bed. Her libido was certainly voting for option number two. Her heart was undecided, sitting on the line between continuing to sleep together being a risk versus inevitable.
“Violet?” Jenny asked gently.
“Crap, I’m sorry, I spaced out.”
“I get it. You have a lot to think about.”
Violet nodded.
“What’s your plan for seeing clients toward the end?”
“I’ve been going back and forth with one of the graduating students at UW. She’s interested in joining my practice for at least a year or two. I’m thinking it will work out.”
“The more maternity leave you can manage to take, the better.”
“I know. I’d like at least six months. I have savings. Even thinking about it, though... It’s difficult. I’ve been doubting I’ll get to nine months.” Crossing her legs on the couch, she tried to breathe into the bottom of her belly. “But I know I have to plan for the postpartum time. The bonding, caring for our baby.”
“For yourself, too,” Matias said, taking her hand and squeezing.
“Right, yeah.” She smiled awkwardly at Jenny. “All those upside-down, inside-out days. Six months will barely feel like enough time.”
“So we’ll figure out a way for you to take more,” Matias said in a low voice.
“It’s hard to be away from this job, but you’re allowed to take time for your own family.”
“I know.” The possibility of long days and nights, a child in her arms, at her breast—she craved it so much, she ached for it. “I know there are other ways I could become a mom. Valid, meaningful ones. But I’m not ready to give up on having a biological child. On safely bringing this baby into the world. Even if it impacts my practice. I’ve been building on my emergency savings for years, in case I needed to take time off. So I’m not worried about money.”
“I’ll help, too,” Matias said.
She shot him a grateful smile. Though with how much he was digging into his savings for the brewery, she wanted to be sure she could support herself.
“I worried about my practice when I was pregnant, too,” Jenny said. “It’s normal, Violet. And worries are magnified when you’ve experienced past losses. Keep talking to each other. The ‘partner’ half of ‘birth partner’ is pretty critical.”
“It’s my one job, Violetta,” Matias said with a wink.
“I hope you do it better than I did avoiding my brother’s best man,” she murmured back.
Jenny’s deep brown eyes twinkled, like she knew there was a story there. After a second, she sobered. “After we finish your histories and talk about your options for genetic screening, ultrasounds, amnio—you know the drill—do you want to try to listen for a heartbeat? Or wait?”
Her own pulse caught in her throat. “I—”
“We can hear one this early?” Matias asked.
“Sometimes,” Jenny said. “But it’s not guaranteed I’ll find it.”
And if she didn’t, Violet wouldn’t be able to sleep. She’d spend the next two weeks with her own Doppler pressed to her abdomen, desperately searching for the rapid whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
“No,” Violet blurted. “Next appointment. Please. When we know it’s possible.”
A crowd had formed on the boardwalk, an eager audience watching the island’s newest arrival. By the size of the gathered lookie-loos, it was clear no one had anything better to do with their Thursday afternoon than peer into the warehouse. Once he convinced Violet it was safe to share about her pregnancy, the topic of fascination would change. Their close-but-not relationship, as well as their impending arrival, would be the only gossip being tossed around. But for now, his shiny mash tuns and kettles were the talk of the wharf.
It had only been a little over nine weeks since he’d met Kellan and Sam in their kayaks and Kellan had floated—pun intended—the idea of investing in Matias’s brewery. Since then life had moved faster than Matias thought possible. With having his fingers in a few restaurants in London, Kellan was a boon in terms of understanding how to efficiently start a food and beverage business. His lack of knowledge of actual brewing barely registered, given how effective he was in terms of permits, timelines, equipment and staff management.
The brewery had a name, now, too. He’d wanted to bring his Kahale family tradition into his business with a nod to his grandmother’s efforts to teach him what she knew of the Hawaiian language when he was a child. The word for oyster, depending on the accents and punctuation, had multiple meanings, so it wasn’t clear enough for his liking. He went with something happy. Literally. Hauʻoli Brewing, or happy in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi. His aunt had suggested it, and the minute it had rolled off her tongue, he’d known it was the only choice.
Hauʻoli.
The brewery wasn’t the only source of that emotion these days. Tomorrow, Violet would officially be at thirteen weeks. Even though they were still keeping their connection—both romantic and parents-to-be—under wraps until she felt comfortable sharing, he never failed to wake up with a smile on his face. Sure, it would be better if he was waking up to a smile on her face. Ever since they’d babysat, they’d given up the pretense of not sleeping together regularly, but she was still wanting to be ultracautious about it. They’d only managed a few stealthy escapes together. And unlike at Archer and Franci’s, they hadn’t spent the whole night together.
The secrecy wasn’t sitting well anymore. The whole world didn’t need to know, but with every day of holding back from their close family and friends, uneasiness built in his stomach like an uncontrolled batch of yeast. Their unspoken agreement not to discuss their feelings only added to the weight.
At least he had Hauʻoli to keep his mind off things.
Even with the warehouse doors wide open to the early-May breeze blowing off the harbor, he dripped with sweat after a day’s worth of hauling. He’d recruited a slew of friends, plus his aunt and uncle, to help him unpack and sort his brand-spanking-new brewing equipment. Grunt work, even with all the assistance. Violet had wanted to pitch in, too, but with heavy lifting not in the cards for her, she’d cleared a day in her calendar and was testing out her bussing and dishwashing skills at the pub. Her help allowed everyone else to rise up a step in their positions, given both Matias and Nic were on building detail.
His mind kept drifting to her all day.
He’d been trying and failing not to bombard her with too many texts.
Matias: You’re sure you’re okay?
Violetta: You asked me that twenty minutes ago
Matias: And you didn’t answer
Violetta: Because I was working
Violetta: My boss is a total taskmaster
A picture of her in front of the dishwasher, winking and making a kissy face, popped up on the screen.
As excited as he was at prepping the warehouse today, those lips of hers were irresistible. Groaning, he forced himself to focus on directing his crew.
The new drop lighting shone overhead, glinting on the stainless steel as they opened all the boxes and peeled protective wrap off the larger items. The pieces had arrived by ferry earlier in the week, the pile of things big enough to fill the space under the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.
Thank goodness Clara was arriving to take over the management of the pub at the end of the month. He’d need weeks to piece together the four brewhouse systems he’d bought, two large and two small. He’d hired an electrician and a pipe fitter to lay the groundwork, but putting the rest together was on him.
Well, him and his crew of willing minions. He’d promised them a thank-you dinner later in the month, but even that was using them as guinea pigs to an extent. He needed to try out some new recipes to use in the brewery tasting room. Some of his grandmother’s recipes, maybe, to match the name he’d chosen.
“Nic, grab the other end of this.” He motioned for his cousin to take hold of the backside of the slanted half staircase. “I need to tip it up.”
Nic followed instructions, and they soon had the stairs upright, ready to be attached to the platform where he’d access one of the control panels.
His cousin ran a hand down his face and readjusted his ball cap, which he had turned around. “How much longer do you figure we’ll be? Charlotte keeps texting me.”
“Doesn’t want to share you given how close you’re getting to leaving?”
Nic’s departure date was fast approaching. He’d be getting settled in his college internship come early June.
“You could say that,” Nic said with a sigh.
“Uh-oh. Problems?”
Nic scrubbed his hand over his mouth again. “I don’t know how to do the long-distance thing.”
Matias cocked an eyebrow. First he was hearing about this. Usually Nic was an open book, with the number of hours the two of them spent together at the pub. “Quite the change of heart.”
He got a shoulder lift in response.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong—long distance is tough—but you and Charlotte have been pretty inseparable since last spring.”
“I know.” His cousin sounded miserable. “But I don’t want to feel like I have one foot here and one in Boston.”
“And she’s not interested in joining you?”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Did you ask?” Matias picked up the wrench he’d need to join the stairs and the platform.
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“I threw it out as a possibility. Like, hypothetical.” Unhappiness stewed in Nic’s dark gaze. “She laughed it off.”
“You gotta be honest, kid. Straightforward. Relationships can’t survive without clarity.”
I should know.
Thankfully, Nic didn’t have any idea what was going on with Matias and Violet, or he might have thrown Matias’s words back in his face.
“She might say no.” Nic’s voice cracked.
“Maybe.” Exactly why he’d been keeping his growing feelings to himself. If he point-blank asked Violet to take a risk on him and she said no, it would wreck him. It sucked that his cousin was going through something similar.
“Jesus. You’re encouraging today, aren’t you?” Nic griped.
“Might be my last chance to give you some advice. I’d better make it a doozy.”
“You did.” Nic’s face grew more serious. “You’re always there. My kua‘ana, as Mom always reminds me.”
“That won’t change when you’re gone. Your mom’s bang on about ‘ohana.”
Maybe part of the growing sureness in his chest connected to the family’s deep sense of love. Bringing new life into their circle, surrounded by aunties and uncles. Love knitted the community on Oyster Island together, and he couldn’t think of a better place to raise a child.
Damn, Nic was going to miss the baby’s arrival. Was Violet even going to be ready to announce her pregnancy before it was time for Nic to head east? It wouldn’t be the same to tell him over FaceTime.
With a sudden lump in his throat, he clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Fortunate for me, I get to treat you like a workhorse until your ass is on the ferry. Get back to work, kid. Tell Charlotte I need you for a few more hours.”
The whole crew made a considerable dent in sorting all the pieces and getting some of the framework constructed. The crowd had long ago dispersed, after realizing it wasn’t overly exciting to watch people deal with the literal nuts and bolts of a brewery. A number of people had offered to help, but the equipment was too expensive to turn over to anyone he hadn’t given explicit instructions to, and he didn’t have time to walk any more people through the inches-thick manuals.
By the time the clock hit five, his friends were starting to groan at the strain of lifting heavy, awkward equipment. He could tell they’d all hit their limit, and he didn’t want to break anyone before the weekend.
“Let’s call it for the day,” Matias announced. “Come on into the pub, if you want. First round’s on me. Hell, as much as you want after all that sweat.”
“Sorry we can’t do more,” Sam said as he gave Kellan a neck rub from behind.
“Today, anyway,” Kellan added. “Partner.”
“I wasn’t expecting more than a silent partnership.”
“Nah,” Kellan said. “I’m all in.”
Archer put his hands on his hips and scanned the remaining mess. “Still lots to do.”
“I’ll pick away at it,” Matias said. “I’m not planning to start brewing until June.” The brewhouses were small enough for his makeshift work crew to assemble, but the fermentation tanks he had on order were going to require more specialized equipment. He’d lucked into finding a used forklift and was waiting for it to be delivered.
Nic groaned. “Sad I’m missing it.”
“I’ll be using cans for easy storage,” Matias assured his cousin. “I’ll ship you some.”
They got cleaned up, and then everyone except Nic made their excuses and headed home with a raincheck on the offer of free beer. Nic changed from his sweaty T-shirt into a short-sleeved button up and then headed for his car, and no doubt Charlotte.
Matias stood in the silence, taking a breath and letting go of the urge to get everything done today. Through the open doors, sharp cawing drowned out the soft whoosh of the waves. The eagles who lived in the nest on the harbor breakwater were having a damn party.
After a day of banging and clanging, he was close to needing to cover his ears.
A knock sounded on one of the warehouse’s open doors.
“It’s open!” he called.
Lawson rounded the corner, in sweat-soaked running clothes.
Great. Just great.
The other brewer plucked earbuds out of his ears and jammed them into a pocket of his shorts. He let out a low whistle. “Getting serious in here.”
Matias chafed. The eagles’ irritating chatter had nothing on Lawson’s unwelcome observation.
“Expected a dog and pony show?” he said.
“No. You know what you’re doing,” Lawson said. “Even so, you’re going to need an extra set of hands.”
“More than. I’ve put out feelers for at least one assistant, and then staff for the tasting room in the summer.”
“Hire me.”
Matias paused. Were his ears working? “Hire...you.”
“I love my sister, but I hate the farm. Goats, to be specific. Goats are the worst. I miss beer. And you won’t find anyone better.”
Arrogant. Probably true.
“You can’t expect me to trust you.”
“You wouldn’t be taking me on as a partner. I’d be your employee. You could fire me at any time.”
“I’d like that,” Matias grumbled.
Not really true.
Firing the guy wouldn’t come close to what he deserved for how he treated Violet.
Probably because revenge doesn’t work.
Inflicting hurt didn’t make anyone’s wounds go away.
As much as Matias hated to admit it, Lawson’s own hurts were obvious, written into the pained lines on his lean face.
Lawson let out a dry laugh. “Guess I’d deserve it.”
Matias stacked his hands on top of his head. “Would you, though?”
His ex-friend’s eyes brightened a small amount.
Would Matias be stupid to consider hiring him? Having Lawson’s know-how with setup and initial brewing would be invaluable, so long as he stuck around.
“I’ll think about it,” Matias said.
Lawson did a double take. “Really?”
“For a temporary position.”
The door to the pub’s back hall slammed. Lawson stiffened.
Matias glanced over his shoulder.
Violet stood inside the warehouse, a take-out container in one hand and the other resting over her stomach.
He tried to send her a pointed look of “your hand, honey,” but she seemed frozen in place.
“What kind of temporary position?” she said, a second’s worth of space between each word.
“The kind that doesn’t exist yet,” Matias assured her, walking in her direction. He pointed at his own stomach as casually as he could.
Her eyes widened, and she dropped her hand to her side.
As soon as he was an arm’s length away, she thrust the container toward him. He took it. The warmth of the contents seeped through the thick cardboard sides, and the scent of Albie’s shepherd’s pie special wafted to his nose. “We were just talking. Promise.”
“Which is your absolute right.”
“Violetta...”
“Your absolute right, Matias,” she repeated, jaw hard. “I’m exhausted. I’m going home.”
She didn’t say “don’t follow me.” He heard it loud and clear, anyway.
Storming past him, she didn’t look back. Didn’t look at Lawson, either, or turn at all as she strode between the half constructed brewhouses and out the warehouse door to the boardwalk.
Hopelessness clenched in his chest. He tried to keep his face blank.
Lawson’s was the opposite, a haggard, aching mask. His shoulders slumped like he was carrying one of the fermenting tanks on his back.
“Is she—” His voice cracked. “Damn. Sorry. No. I won’t ask.”
“Ask what?” Matias snapped.
“I... She and I... We wanted to have a baby so goddamn badly. It...it broke us.”
“You broke you.”
Lawson’s eyes glistened. “I did. And I broke this, too. You and me.”
Matias crossed his arms over his chest.
“You, uh—” Lawson coughed. “Has she talked about the miscarriages?”
All he could manage was a sharp nod. Every cell in his body was urging him to race after Violet, but she deserved her space when she asked for it.
“I was grieving,” Lawson said. “Didn’t realize it at the time. Took me a lot of counseling to accept I can grieve something that never was.”
Matias’s throat tightened. Something that never was. He was better equipped to put himself in Lawson’s shoes these days. If Violet were to miscarry again, Matias would be devastated. It would be a major loss.
“Yeah, I imagine you can,” Matias said. “Grieve like that.”
“Does she, still?”
“Ask her.”
Lawson glanced around the space, flexing one of his hands.
“If you punch one of my kettles and leave a dent in it, I will end you.”
A cracking laugh of disbelief erupted from Lawson.
Matias snorted. A chuckle built at the back of his throat.
Then a full guffaw. He put the food on a box next to him, afraid he was going to drop it.
Hot laughter built in his chest, his arms, his throat, stinging his eyes. His cheeks were warm, wet.
Tears ran down Lawson’s face, too.
And somehow they were hugging. Pain, loss, regret, years of it all, tied up in two arms around him and his own wrapped around Lawson’s sweat-stained back.
“You were supposed to be my brother in arms. Us and some hops, against the world.”
“I will never forgive myself for leaving,” Lawson choked out. “Let alone ask you to do the same.”
“Okay,” Matias said. He didn’t know how to say “I forgive you” yet. Partly because it felt like it wasn’t his forgiveness to give, not entirely.
“But I’ve learned how to stay.”
Matias’s laughter died down, the last guffaw coming out more like a sob.
Shit.
He clapped Lawson on the back. “You smell like a locker room, man.”
Lawson scoffed. “You’re not much better.”
He wasn’t much better, not when it came to his sweaty shirt. But his heart? Part of it had mended somehow.
Laughter and honesty. The start of something new.
“Do you think Violet will be willing to talk to me at some point?”
“You’ll have to ask her that, too.”
But for her sake, Matias hoped she would.