Atlas opened the door to the restaurant, holding it for Jasmine and Zoey. They picked a small booth by the window and slid in.
“Smells good in here,” Atlas said.
“Pirate’s Pizzeria have the best pizza. Gloria and Vincenzo immigrated from Italy,” Jasmine said, handing him a menu.
“I want extra cheese!” Zoey clapped.
“Please,” reminded Jasmine.
“Peas!” Zoey smiled, showing off all her baby teeth.
“What toppings do you like?” he asked Jasmine.
“I’m not picky. But pepperoni and mushrooms are my favorite.”
“Sounds good to me,” he agreed.
The waitress came over to their table. “What can I get you?”
“One large pepperoni and mushroom pizza, and another large cheese and anchovy for the little girl.”
“Ewww!” Zoey scrunched her face and plugged her nose.
He chuckled. “What? No anchovies?”
Zoey shook her head adamantly. “No, fank you.”
He shrugged, turning back to the waitress. “I guess just cheese on that one.”
She smiled and wrote it down. “Anything to drink?”
He turned to Jasmine, who said, “I’ll take a hot black tea and a chocolate milk for Zoey.”
“And I’ll take a beer—IPA if you have it.”
The waitress nodded and scribbled on her pad of paper. “I’ll bring the drinks right out.”
“Today was fun,” Atlas said, turning his attention to her as the waitress left.
Jasmine tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Aaron’s kids are great.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me.” Atlas pulled out the phone, Oliver’s name flashing on the screen.
His stomach sunk. He wasn’t ready to face reality just yet. His brother’s call was like a storm cloud hovering over this beautiful day.
Zoey giggled. Her laughter was like the sunshine parting the clouds, warming his chest. He clicked “ignore” and put his cell away.
Jasmine and Zoey were coloring a page together. The way she focused so intently on her daughter, anyone could see that little girl was her whole world. She was so selfless and giving. But who took care of her? No one. And after what had happened that morning, this woman had an immeasurable amount of strength. It didn’t take a genius to piece together the fact that she’d been sexually assaulted. Was that why she stayed so guarded and closed off? But she let me in. Her green eyes met his, and she smiled. Something a lot like love clattered around his rib cage, forcing its way into his heart.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just admiring the view.”
Her smile faltered. Yes, baby. I don’t know how to handle this either.
The waitress returned with their drinks.
“Do you ever drink coffee?” he asked, motioning to her tea.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“That explains it.”
Her forehead wrinkled.
“Your coffee was pretty terrible at the inn.” He chuckled.
Her eyes grew wide. She looked so much like Zoey in that moment. All except the eyes. Those grey orbs of Zoey’s matched his. A pang of longing he’d never experienced before grew inside him.
“Maybe it’s not up to your snobby tastes. But I’ll have you know guests love my coffee.” She crossed her arms in front of her.
“Taste it tomorrow morning, then taste some that I made and tell me what you think.” He shrugged.
“Oh, it’s on.” She smirked.
“Mr. Atlas?” Zoey’s sweet voice interrupted their challenge.
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“Wouldn’t it be cool if it rained pizza whenever we wanted?”
“So cool,” he agreed.
“And then snowed ice cream for dessert.” She smiled, her face lighting up.
“I’m guessing that means you want ice cream for dessert?” He laughed.
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, peas!”
“You’re going to turn into an ice-cream cone one of these days because you eat so much,” Jasmine teased.
“Can I have sprinkles as hair?” Zoey asked.
Jasmine giggled. “Oh, the mind of a child.”
Atlas wiped a hand over his face. He was tired in all the best ways. A long night of making love, the early-morning events, then an afternoon in the sun and sand. Now dinner with two people who were by far his favorites. To say he was attached was an understatement. A stranger walking by might assume they were a family. And something about the idea just fit. Monday wasn’t the end. This was real.
After their meal, Atlas threw enough cash on the table to pay the bill and tip. He stood, stretching his tired muscles. A small group of women cut their eyes towards Jasmine, speaking loud enough for them to hear.
“I can’t believe she’d use her child to take advantage of a man like that. Look at him. Someone should tell him what a whore she really is.”
He clenched his fists, turning towards them. Jasmine’s hand shot out and grabbed his.
“Don’t,” she pleaded.
The woman continued, “My son said she came on to him. She was the reason he and Abby almost broke up in high school. Now she wants to break up their marriage?”
“Disgusting,” another woman agreed.
Jasmine’s hand tightened. “Let’s just go.”
“You can’t let people talk about you like that and spread lies.”
She looked down and then grabbed Zoey’s hand. She stood, turning to face him. “Everyone is going to have an opinion about me. And in this town, there’s more who agree with them than there are on my side. But the only opinion about me that matters is my own. Only I know what I’ve been through, and why I did the things I’ve done. They aren’t worth the energy.” She led Zoey out the front door.
He stood there, staggered by her statement. This woman was a power to behold. A force unknown to man. A true warrior. If only he could adopt her self-confidence when it came to his parents’ view of him. But it wasn’t like a switch. He couldn’t just shut it off.
He cut the old women a look that could kill. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. That goddess”—he pointed at the door—“is a hundred times the person you’ll ever be.”
Their shocked faces turned to anger as he stormed out, ignoring their snide responses.
The car ride back to the inn was quiet after they got ice cream. Jasmine stared out the window as Zoey played with the doll she’d brought. He didn’t want to end the day like this. But he wanted to give her space if she needed it.
He parked at the inn and opened Jasmine’s door and then Zoey’s.
“Why do you always open Mommy’s door? She’s a big girl. She can do it,” Zoey said.
He chuckled. “Well, sweetheart. When you go out with a man, he’s supposed to open the door for the lady. And he’s the one who should pay.”
“Unless she wants to pay,” Jasmine argued.
He held his hands up. “He should make sure the woman he is with is taken care of, whatever that looks like for them.”
Jasmine’s expression softened. “I’d better get her in for her bath. It’s almost bedtime.”
“Bath!” Zoey yelled, running towards the inn.
Jasmine and Atlas followed.
When they reached her bedroom door, she opened it while he hung back leaning on his. Zoey disappeared into the room.
“Get your clothes off and in the hamper, and I’ll be in to run you a bath in a minute,” Jasmine directed. She spun around to the sound of little footsteps retreating and tucked her hands in her shorts pockets. “Thank you for dinner. And this afternoon. And . . . before. I really appreciate everything you did. And I understand it if you need some space from me now.”
He frowned. What? “I don’t—”
“Mommy!” Zoey called.
“Just a second,” she answered, backing into her bedroom.
“I don’t want—”
“Mommy! I’m cold,” Zoey persisted.
She sighed. “I have to go take care of her.”
He nodded.
“Goodnight,” she said before she closed the door.
He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. Frustration and unease slithered around him. He unlocked his bedroom door and walked inside. He needed a shower himself.
An hour later, he was clean and had changed into a pair of sweatpants. He was too hot to bother with a shirt. There was no way he was going to sleep until he and Jasmine cleared this up. He slipped out of his room and went downstairs before opening the door to the room that was always under construction.
She’d cleaned up everything except a few cans and brushes with a drop cloth. Jasmine had painted the second coat of trim around the windows. He busied himself, opening the can and stirring the paint like he’d seen her do. He dipped one of the smaller brushes he’d used last time into the bucket and wiped the excess on the side. He stroked the brush across the wood panel, getting lost in the hypnotic work.
He’d finished all three windows in the room before the door creaked open and Jasmine walked in. Lines appeared between her brows as she studied him. She’d changed into another faded T-shirt and sleep shorts.
“What are you doing in here?” Her lips curved into a small smile.
“Finishing up for you,” he said, setting the paintbrush down. He closed the lid to the paint bucket.
“Thank you. You do so much for me. And I owe you . . . everything.”
Hardly. Does she really not see how special she is?
She rubbed her hand up her arm. She was so vulnerable. He stepped closer and tipped her chin up to look at him. “I’m sorry for trying to get into your business earlier. It pissed me off—what those bitches said about you. I don’t understand how people can be so vile and spread vicious lies.”
She winced. “Thank you for caring enough to want to do something. No one’s . . .” She hesitated, holding in whatever she was going to say, like he assumed she did with so much else.
He traced his thumb over her bottom lip. She shivered.
“I care a lot more than I probably should after just a few days with you.”
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Me too.”
A spark of hope lit, burning bright. “Maybe this doesn’t have to end Monday when I return to the city. I can come back. We can see where this goes?”
Her green eyes darted to his. Disbelief, indecision, and hope flashed across her expression like a work of moving art. “Atlas, I’d love that. But—”
His mouth crashed over hers, elation spinning in his chest. Hope and warmth. Nothing had felt as right as this in his life. There was no room for “buts.” He wanted her. He yearned for her like no other before. And she’d just said he could have her. Jasmine is mine.
She was the one good thing in his life, untainted by his family or the expectations imposed on him. Jasmine saw him. She didn’t think he was second best. For once in his life he didn’t have to be compared to his brother. She was separate and beautiful. Goodness and comfort. Light and love. And he’d do whatever it took to hang on as long as she’d let him.