“Ahh!” I shriek, jumping back and pulling an ear pod from my ear. The loud music I was jamming out to stops abruptly.
James laughs, closing the refrigerator door. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I didn’t think anyone was home,” I explain, dropping my ear pods on the counter. Even though I ran this morning, it wasn’t enough to shake the agony that wraps itself around my bones and sinks its teeth into my limbs as autumn passes. It’s the season I hate more than any other even though it used to be my favorite. As a result, I’ve increased my sessions with Dr. Carlisle to two a week, just to get me through the next few weeks.
“My car is getting an oil change,” he explains.
I pull open the refrigerator to fill up a glass of water and James reaches around me, swiping a carton of eggs. When I turn, I’m surprised he hasn’t stepped back, but remains planted in front of me. I almost lose my balance but James’s hand darts out, grasping my forearm.
He frowns as he takes in my appearance. My shirt is sticking to my skin with sweat, my hair falling out around my face below my Boston Hawks baseball cap. I pushed hard today, clocking twelve miles in my second run before my legs turned to jelly and my lungs protested.
“Didn’t you already run this morning?” James asks, his eyes narrowed. Since we came clean about our mutual attraction, we’ve been doing a delicate dance. One where we come together and separate again, over and over. It’s both complicated and thrilling.
Some days, we’re buddy-buddy, other days, we’re formal and polite. And every now and then, we’re shaky inhales and bedroom eyes. To date, neither one of us has made a move but I’m always acutely aware of James when we’re the only two people in a room.
But his question, personal and probing, causes me to clamp my mouth shut. I didn’t realize he tracked my early morning runs. Today, my eight-mile sunrise workout didn’t cut it. My thoughts wouldn’t slow and after I dropped the twins at school, I couldn’t quiet the noise in my head.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out instead, not wanting to discuss my running.
He lifts an eyebrow, his eyes flashing with amusement, momentarily distracted from his questioning. For a second, he looks more like the guy I met in Taps instead of the solemn and sexy single-dad I’ve come to view him as. “You mean, in my house?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, smartass.”
His mouth drops open in mock horror.
I chuckle, enjoying this playful side of him more than I should. Over the past few weeks, we’ve settled into an easy routine. For the most part, our conversations have circled around Milly and Mason. Still, this version of him, amused, joking, and a teeny bit flirty, is my favorite. “I just meant I thought you were at practice.”
“I was. It ended early.” He moves to grab a frying pan. “Yaeger dropped me off.”
I frown. “Are you hungry?”
“I was just going to make an omelette.”
“Oh, I can do that for you,” I offer, cringing after I do because this is the type of shit I always did for Jerry. The cooking, cleaning, and pretty much doting on him even though I worked just as many hours, if not more, outside the home.
James shakes his head. “No worries. I got it. Are you hungry?” He glances at me. “You must be starving after pushing yourself that hard…”
He lets his sentence trail off but I don’t offer any more information. Because I can’t seem to form words as I stare at the kind, observant, thoughtful guy before me. I recall exactly two instances when Jerry made me food. Both occurred after our loss, the one that cut me off at the knees, and I think he only cooked at his mother’s prodding. Even then, he grumbled about doing it, as if I was being dramatic by preferring sleep to food at the lowest point of my existence.
“That’s a yes,” James decides. “Go grab a shower and then we’ll eat lunch.”
“To-together,” I stutter, wondering if he means anything more than just…lunch.
“Is my company really that awful?”
“No, of course not.” I shake my head, blushing. “I just—”
“Go put on some dry clothes, Bella.” He glances pointedly at my chest, where my white shirt is practically see-through, giving a glimpse of my colorful sports bra.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
I scurry out of the kitchen and back to my room, needing a moment to collect myself. This is James Ryan, a man I’ve already admitted makes me feel…things. Why am I blushing and bumbling my words?
I blow out a breath and shed my sweaty workout clothes. I take a quick shower and pull on a pair of leggings and a simple, olive green tee. I glance at myself in the mirror, wincing at my wet hair. I pull out my blow dryer and dry it quickly, scrunching it for some body and volume. When I’m done, I assess my reflection.
Considering I pulled myself together in fifteen minutes, it’s not awful. I mean, I’m not going to win any beauty awards but…is that what I’m even going for?
James has already seen me in my pajamas. In my robe. Naked.
I cringe at that reminder. My boss, James Ryan, has seen me completely naked. In intimate positions and sexy poses.
Why am I more nervous about eating lunch with him than I am about my former striptease?
Because you like him. A lot. Even more than you let on.
The words whisper through my mind like a spring breeze.
I flush. Of course I do. I mean, how the hell could I not?
James Ryan is a hot, sexy, confident dad who understands the bowels of despair and has been lost to the throes of grief. He’s the only man who’s looked at me and seen past the facade I shield myself in. In one night, James managed to make me feel more than I have in years and then, I ran away.
Even after our paths crossed again, he’s been kind and considerate toward me. More than that, he’s been curious and concerned. He’s admitted his attraction, his feelings, his worries about our delicate situation. He’s been upfront from the start and eating lunch together doesn’t change anything. It’s just lunch.
This isn’t a date. This is James being friendly. Considerate. His kindness makes me like him even more.
I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen just as James places two plates on the kitchen island.
“Smells good,” I comment, trying to keep my voice light. Casual.
“Thanks.” He gestures to the plates with a spatula. “I can really only do breakfast.”
“I love breakfast for dinner. Or lunch.” I take a seat on a barstool.
“Same,” he agrees, rounding the island and sliding onto the stool next to mine. “Layla used to hate it. Said it wasn’t a real meal but every other Friday when I didn’t have a game, we’d do breakfast for dinner. Pancakes, waffles, eggs, the whole thing. The twins loved it.”
“I bet.” I cut into my omelette and spear a bite with my fork. “I used to make breakfast for supper the first Wednesday of the month. It was this weird rollover from college.” I take my bite and moan. “This is delicious.”
James’s eyes glimmer. “Glad you like it.”
I nod. “I can’t remember the last time someone made me something to eat,” I admit.
James’s eyebrows dip for a moment. “Did your ex-husband, was he, did he ever cook?”
I snort and shake my head. “No way. Jerry wasn’t really into doing anything…domestic,” I say, not wanting to admit that Jerry, while a hard worker and provider, was very firmly planted in the gender role he thought men should occupy. The partner who goes out and brings home the bacon. The fact that I too earned bacon was lost on him, even when I sometimes earned more.
“Jerry, huh,” James says, eating a bite of his omelette.
I flush, recalling the night over a week ago when I slipped and called him Jer. It just popped out, a random thought in my mind that I voiced aloud.
My shoulders rise as I duck my head. “Yep.”
I wait for James to comment on that night or dig for some Jerry dirt. Instead, he surprises me by saying, “You were right.”
“About?” I ask, enjoying more of my omelette.
“We were all okay.” He smiles.
I smile back. “See? How was Chicago?”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his stool. “You know, it was really great. I forgot…” He pauses and shakes his head, as if recalling memories. “I forgot how it feels to go all in. To focus everything I have on the game, leave it all on the ice. For the past few years, all of my thoughts, even when I was playing, would creep back to home. Was Layla feeling okay? Were the twins letting her rest? And then, after she passed, were the twins driving their aunt Maia nuts? Were they sleeping through the night?” He glances at me, tilting his head. His eyes are lighter today, more gold flecks than usual. “Of course, I was nervous leaving the twins. It was the first time they’ve ever stayed with someone who wasn’t family and I…I didn’t know what to expect. But after I spoke with them before the game, something clicked.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. I like that he’s sharing his thoughts with me. I like that he’s confiding in me about him and not just his kids.
“I felt…calm. A lot of the anxiety and thoughts that circle on a loop just eased. I skated onto the ice and was able to block everything out the way I used to. I think it’s because I knew, really knew, that the twins were in good hands and happy. So for that, Bella Andrews, I thank you.”
I smile so big from his praise that my cheeks sting. It’s been a long time since someone other than Selina or Colton paid me a real compliment. “You’re welcome.”
“You really like what you do, huh?”
“I love it. I love working with children, being with them. Their perspective on life, their outlook, it’s refreshing. I wish more people could be as open, as adaptable and accepting, as kids.”
“Yeah. They sure are resilient.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my stomach looping into a knot. Resiliency is something I’ve lacked in recent years. But I’m trying to push through it, right? The loss and the hurt and the gnawing failure that’s eaten most of the good in my life?
I’m here, aren’t I? Doing a job I love, supporting a family I relate to?
“You okay?” James’s voice is low, pulling me from my thoughts.
I turn toward him and whatever he reads in my expression prompts him to reach out. His hand lands on my knee, comforting.
“You are too,” he says, as if knowing I need to hear the words. As if he recognizes that I’m searching for assurances. “Resilient.”
I let out a sigh and smile. Before he can remove his hand, I place mine on top and line our fingers up. Lacing mine with his, I squeeze once. “Thank you, James. I didn’t realize how much I missed family until you invited me to spend time with yours.”
His expression softens and tenderness sweeps through his eyes. “We’re going to be okay, you and I.”
“I think so too.” I’m finally in a place where I can say that and mean it.
“You seem distracted,” Dr. Carlisle comments on our session that night.
“Just tired,” I say.
Dr. C lifts an eyebrow.
“He made me lunch today. Nothing fancy, just an omelette. But it was…nice.”
“James?”
I nod, my cheeks heating.
“You’re fond of him.”
“I like his family.” I bite my bottom lip at how defensive I sound.
If Dr. C is put out, he doesn’t show it. “You’re fond of the family then.”
“Of course.”
He waits, steepling his fingers the way he does when he wants me to make a connection without his having to prompt it. After a moment of silence, Dr. Carlisle sighs. “Are you fond of them because they’re a nice family trying to move on from a tragedy? Or are you fond of them because they are a family you can see yourself belonging to?”
My throat dries at his words. It’s no secret, especially not between Dr. Carlisle and me, about how anchorless I’ve felt since my divorce. Most days, I feel like a ship aimlessly sailing across the world, belonging to no place, having no destination in mind. “I want a family, you know I do.”
“I do. But you have a family. Your—”
“My parents have their own lives, as they should. My brother will most likely marry and have children of his own one day. It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s not,” Dr. C agrees, confusing me further.
I shrug. “What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you feel like sharing with me.”
I huff out a sigh. “I like the Ryans. Milly and Mason…they’re wonderful. I like James. I’m comfortable with them. I, I fit in with them.”
“I understand that. Given your history with James, I just want to dig a little further. You seem different with the Ryans than you have with other families. Is it because you can see yourself as part of their family? Is there a romantic element—”
“No,” I say firmly, even as James’s and my flirtation comes to mind.
Dr. Carlisle lifts his eyebrows and I swear.
“I don’t know,” I admit, cringing with embarrassment. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel more for James than I have for other employers. I also feel more for Milly and Mason than I have for other charges. I mother them more, am more tender and empathetic toward their feelings, than with my previous charges who hadn’t suffered such debilitating loss.
“Do you still want a family one day? A family of your own?” Dr. Carlisle asks, his tone gentle.
I nod, dashing a traitor tear away with the backs of my knuckles. I swear this good doctor has seen me cry more than anyone else. “You know I do.”
“Yes. What I’m trying to understand is, how do you see that family? Could you join a family, like the Ryans? Or do you still want to marry, become pregnant, and create a family in a more traditional way? Are you open to adoption, even as a single parent? For over a year, we’ve talked a great deal about family, but what does that family look like to you?”
I pause, my mouth opening and closing several times before I admit, “I don’t know.”
Dr. C smiles. “That’s okay. It’s just…food for thought.”
I snort, drying my eyes.
“Let’s talk again on Thursday,” he suggests, tilting his head as he studies me. “I know this is a difficult time of the year for you. I know I’m asking a lot of tough questions. You’re doing great. Try to get some sleep, Bella.”
“Thanks, Dr. C,” I say before disconnecting the call.
For months now, I’ve been feeling the agonizing ache of being alone. For years, my understanding of family was rooted in a traditional outlook. But Dr. C raises a valid point. How do I envision a family? Given everything that I’ve been through, the traditional understanding may no longer apply. It’s not the only option available for consideration.
Food for thought. I snicker at Dr. C’s words but he’s right. It’s an idea, a series of questions, I think about over the next two weeks as things shift into place in the Ryan home.
I embrace my new life with open arms, feeling some of the hurt I’ve carried around for far too long ease. Milly and Mason inject my days with a lightness that’s restorative. My last family, the Clarks, were wonderful. But their children were older and my last charge, Brayden, was already mentally checked into the new adventure boarding school promised.
Being surrounded by younger kids again, kids who see the world with wonder and awe and want to spend time with me, has made a big difference in my overall outlook.
Plus, there’s James. When he’s not traveling with the team, he’s home. Hanging in the kitchen while I heat up Justine’s meals, going all in on an epic game of Monopoly, or even joining the kids and me when we visit the New England Aquarium on a Saturday morning. Even though our flirty banter remains consistent, we’re both cautious about rocking the boat.
I think at the forefront of our minds, we’re both hesitant to do anything that could affect our arrangement, that could affect Milly and Mason. But James was truthful about offering his friendship and as we all adjust to our new normal, my walls start to come down.
I spend evenings playing Monopoly or Rummikub with the twins. They read me bedtime stories before sleep, helping to quiet my mind. On weekend mornings, I blast my favorite country or pop hits and we jump on my bed, hairbrushes clenched tightly in our hands as microphones.
Things with James shift too. Dinners are infused with laughter and lively conversation. Morning coffees are sipped between an exchange of newspaper headlines. Holiday plans, Thanksgiving and Christmas break, are discussed and the future begins to look hopeful.
I find myself smiling more, laughing deeper, talking passionately with the full use of my hands. My eagerness to meet each day increases. My morning runs allow for more reflection, with less of an emphasis on exhausting myself. I look forward to the moments when we’re like a family, the four of us doing something fun and spontaneous together. It’s a little bit reckless, leaning into someone else’s family with so much heart, but it also fills me with hope. In the recesses of my mind, Dr. C’s words float around, reminding me that families look different for everyone.
Maybe one day, I’ll truly belong to a family like the Ryans. Maybe, I’ll even have children of my own, who look at me with wide eyes and crooked smiles, like Milly and Mason do. Maybe one day, I won’t be alone.