The Airman's Homecoming
Author
Sabrina York
Reads
17,5K
Chapters
13
Chapter One
It was almost closing time.
Amy Tolliver gusted a sigh of relief, followed quickly by a slither of unease. Was it a terrible thing that her glorious dream of owning her own bakery was sometimes...boring?
Monotony wasn’t all that terrible. It meant, at the very least, that terrible things weren’t happening.
She sighed again, but this one was more a sigh of resignation. Things were good. Not exciting, certainly not exhilarating—the way life had been when she and George had been young and in love and planning their future—but good. The bakery was a grind—no pun intended—but a success. Amy was able to take care of her sons and put food on the table. She had friends and family nearby and lived in a beautiful coastal town with fantastic pine forests and hiking trails you could lose yourself on (although thankfully, she never had). It just...
Well, it just wasn’t how she’d thought her life would play out.
No. George had factored into all her dreams back then, but now in his place was a dark and gaping hole she had no idea how to fill. She was living their dream...without him.
Maybe that old grief was the cause of this melancholy. It rose up sometimes, even now, years after—
Her heart hitched as she realized, remembered that the anniversary of her husband’s death was looming, yet again. This one would be four years. Four years as a widow and single mother. Four years alone. Longer than they’d been married. The thought was a gut punch.
Well, Amy Tuttle Tolliver was a survivor and melancholy didn’t suit her, so she straightened her spine and sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, trying to get the wayward bangs out of her face in a loud sigh that sometimes amused her two little boys. She smiled as the thought of their giggles and mimicry of her heavy sighs brought a bit of lightness to her heart.
Yeah, losing the love of your life at the tender age of twenty-one was the worst, but George had left her with a treasure in the form of his namesake, George Patton Tolliver II—Georgie for short—and his younger brother, John J. So, as lonely as she felt sometimes, there were gifts for which she could be grateful.
Her own mother had dedicated herself to her children, and all Amy wanted was to do the same. But sometimes, all that responsibility was simply...well, exhausting.
The deep bass thrum of an engine—unmistakably a Harley—resonated from the road and snatched her from her reverie. She glanced up from her cleaning, perhaps a little wistfully, to catch a glimpse of freedom and adventure. Ah. It was a beautiful touring bike, splattered with mud from other places, driven by a large, muscular man in full leathers. And...it zoomed right by. It was a little sad hearing the roar of that powerful engine peter away to nothing.
It was summer now, and the little coastal town of Coho Cove was bursting at the seams with tourists. It was great for business—Amy made the lion’s share of her profits during the summer months. And while it brought in interesting new faces—and their money—occasionally there was this longing too. The tourists came and went, and Amy stayed.
She glanced at the clock again and made a face. It was two minutes to three. Not time yet to flip the sign and lock the door. She’d already finished today’s cleaning—even the bag of flour her assistant had spilled before Amy had sent her home early. Lately, Eloise had been all thumbs and highly distracted, but with Eloise out of the way, Amy had already finished tomorrow’s prep and the end of day cleaning as well. She was itching to get out of here and go pick up the boys from the sitter, but the sign on the door said they closed at three, and she refused to flip the sign a second earlier.
Her heart lifted when she caught the sound of the Harley again. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care. It was a tiny thing to get excited about, but when your life was small, tiny things became that much larger. So, when the bike slowed and pulled into a parking spot in front of her store, a little thrill shot through her.
Steelhead Drive was Coho Cove’s answer to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, just without all the swagger. There were lots of trendy shops and restaurants in what the town council and chamber of commerce had designed into something of a retail district, mostly to attract tourists. It was likely that this adventurer from parts unknown had something a little more sophisticated than baked goods on his mind this late in the afternoon. A fine whiskey at Bootleggers, perhaps, or maybe a visit to Angel’s art gallery a few doors down. So, she was well and truly stunned when he took off his helmet, levered his long body from the saddle of his ride and sauntered toward her door. There was confidence in his stride, despite that hint of a limp.
Indeed, her breath caught at the sight of him; some unfamiliar energy swirled in her belly.
He made a fine figure, dressed in black, all muscled and tight, Oakley glasses and heavy boots. He was tall—very tall—and broad and powerful. The military élan, surrounding him like a cloud, was palpable. As an Army brat and former military wife, she could smell it on him. This man was a warrior, plain and simple.
Also, he was hot.
Any woman would notice. Of course she would. Any woman would feel this rush of blood and heat in her veins. And Amy wasn’t immune.
Her pulse thudded as he came through the door and smiled, a crooked lift of his lips. And goodness gracious, they were beautiful lips. Well-formed and full. They looked soft and inviting. She nearly swooned—and she was hardly the swooning type. His smile widened a little, and a dimple winked, causing a sizzle to dance through her. She’d always been a sucker for a dimple.
“Afternoon.” His voice was low timbered and velvety; it made her shiver.
“Hey.” Yeah. Pretty much all she could manage. He kind of stole her ability to think.
“You still open?”
“Uh-huh.”
She couldn’t see all of his face—because of the glasses—but what she could see was unadulterated male beauty. His neck was muscled and tanned and braided with veins. The amber spatter of day beard on his hard-cut chin made her mouth water. Above the V of his black T-shirt, the hint of a tattoo peeped out. The tip of a tiger’s tail, perhaps?
Oh, but all that was nothing compared to the impact his pale blue eyes had on her when he pulled off those glasses and her gaze met his. It crashed into her like a rogue wave, sending her spinning.
Lord have mercy.
He chuckled, as though something had amused him. She had no idea what it was—because as hot as he was, he was probably used to women drooling and stuttering around him—but it irritated her enough, his amusement, to snap her out of the hot-guy stupor.
She’d seen hot guys before. Hell, she’d married one.
“’Cause it’s almost three.” He thrust a thumb at the door. “Sign says you close at three.”
She tipped up her chin and cleared her throat. “Well, it’s your lucky day. What would you like?”
Oh, hell. Wrong question.
His expression shifted into something sultry, something naughty. His smile widened. A glint in his eye danced.
A warm slurry swirled in her gut. What was he thinking? Surely not something sexual. Surely not. She was sweaty and work worn and probably looked like a wet dishrag after a long day in a hot kitchen.
Unfortunately, her thoughts about his thoughts ignited a fire in her bloodstream, and heat rose within her, crawling all the way up to her cheeks. She’d always hated that she flushed so easily, but never more so than now.
Thankfully, he didn’t comment on her blush, other than a ghost of a smile. He glanced at the near-empty pastry cases, and his smile dimmed. For some reason, she felt it to her core, like the dimming of the sun. He put out a lip; it should be illegal for a man that gorgeous to pout. “Shoot,” he said. “I was kind of hoping for an apple fritter.”
She nodded. “Let me check in the back.” She knew perfectly well she had two fritters left. She’d already bagged them up, along with a leftover croissant and a maple bear claw to give to her friend Jax because he would eat anything she offered, even leftovers. Aside from that, Amy didn’t like serving day-olds and she deplored waste.
When she came back into the shop with the bagged fritters, the hottie was studying the pictures on her walls, all neatly framed shots she’d taken of celebrated European tourist destinations. She’d wanted her bakery to have a Continental elegance, and when she’d been decorating, she’d thought the black and white pictures from France and Italy and Germany carried the kind of cache she wanted for an upscale patisserie. Well, as upscale as things got in Coho Cove at least. They marched along the walls above the white wainscoting in color-matched frames, and every time she looked at them, she got a warm sense of satisfaction with a whiff of nostalgia. From the scrollwork on the parlor tables to the bright pink striping on the walls, she loved the way her bakery had turned out.
The tall, dark and handsome stranger—with the very fine butt, by the way—shot her a grin. Did he have any idea how lethal that grin was? “These shots are really stunning,” he said.
“Thanks. I used to be a photographer.” Used to be a lot of things, really.
His eyes widened. “You took them?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She glanced at the collection of memories. Munich’s Marienplatz, the Trocadéro in Paris, the Florentine boar... She flashed him something akin to a smile. “I was in junior high school when I took these.”
He arched a brow. “That’s a lot of travel for a teenager.”
She tipped her head to the side and studied him. He was so stunning physically, it was hard to see past that, but it seemed as though he was sincerely interested, so she said the one thing that she knew would explain it all to him. “Army brat.”
His expression changed, just ever so. Softened a little, maybe, because they had something in common now. Other than a deep love for apple fritters.
“When my dad was stationed in Pattonville,” she added, “we did a lot of traveling.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Stuttgart.”
Yeah. If she hadn’t already known he was military, that sealed it. A civilian probably wouldn’t know the name of that small station on the outskirts of the city; it wasn’t a commonly recognized base. She eyed him up and down and then asked, “Navy?” He looked like a SEAL. He just had that Special Forces, elite-warrior vibe.
“Air Force.” And yeah, he said it with pride. They all did.
She made a little bow. “Thank you for your service.” It was a playful offering, in a way. But also, not so playful. She knew the sacrifices military men and women—and their families—made for their country. She’d lived it. She’d lost a husband to it. It deserved acknowledgment.
“Thank you.” He put his palm on his chest in a gesture of appreciation, but all it did was make her notice how long and slender and perfect his fingers were. Which made the sizzle start again. Which made her start feeling awkward again. She wasn’t used to feeling tongue-tied and shy around men, and she didn’t like it.
So, she held the two pastry bags aloft and waggled them as totally confident women of the world did. “I found two fritters.” She handed them over and totally ignored it when their skin brushed, even though electricity shot through her. “No charge. Closing-time special.” Not because he was super cute and imbued with that military vibe she found so attractive, but for Dad and George and all the other soldiers who never came back to eat apple fritters and hug their sons and daughters again.
“Are you sure?” The gratitude in his gaze made her feel all warm and squishy. “That’s awfully generous.”
She forced a grin. “It’s after three. I’m allowed to be generous.”
“Well, much appreciated.” He chuckled, and she tried to ignore his irritating dimple.
“Sure thing.”
And then he turned to leave. She had no idea why panic flared in her, why she wanted so desperately to say something to make him stay. Pity she couldn’t think of a damn thing. Even though it had been a little awkward and very short, she’d enjoyed chatting with him. Not just because he was beautiful to look at, but because, for the first time since George, she’d felt something for a man. Felt something like that.
Excitement, attraction, interest. Desire.
How sad to be reminded that such feelings existed, especially by a tourist...who would walk away.
But he didn’t walk away. He paused at the door, and her mouth went dry. When he turned back, her heart kicked up and started thudding. She knew she was mooning, and worse, she figured he probably did too, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was a little bit more of him. Just a little bit more.
“Say, would you be able to recommend a good restaurant around here?”
Her pulse surged. Was he trying to draw out this interaction too? Or was he just hungry?
Did it matter?
“Depends,” she said in what she hoped wasn’t a too-flirty tone. “What do you like?”
Ohh. That expression again. Sexy and amused and a little lurid. They were talking about food, right?
“I mean, Smokey’s has great ribs but no ambiance unless you really like sticky tables. Bootleggers is more high end. Kind of a steak-frites-and-whiskey vibe. They’re both that way, just down the street.” She waved in that direction. “Then the other way, down by the marina, there’s the Salmon Shack and a fish-and-chips place on the dock... Lots of options. Where are you staying?”
Well, crap. She hadn’t meant to ask that. Not out loud.
His grin widened. “Not sure yet. I just got into town.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, the B and B on Main is nice. How long are you planning to stay?”
Stop! Just stop!
And yeah. The dimple popped. Goodness, he was hot. Way too hot. “Not sure yet,” he said. Then he stepped closer. Her stupid heart kicked into gear. Her lungs locked, but not before she caught a tantalizing whiff of his breath. “But hey,” he said. “Do you, ah, have plans tonight?”
For a second, a blinding excitement scudded through her. Just a second, though, before reality, like a dash of cold water, brought her back to the here and now. She did have plans tonight, and they included chicken and dumplings and footed pajamas and cuddles and story time with her two young sons.
Probably definitely not what he had in mind.
But it was fun to think about for that flash of a second—hopping onto the back of that beast of a machine behind that beast of a man and taking off for parts unknown...and sex. With an actual person.
Gosh, she missed sex.
Her expression, or the inelegant pause, must have alerted him to the fact he’d lost the fish because his jaw tightened and he nodded and said, “Ah. Well.” And then, “Thanks for the fritters.”
And, because she was socially awkward around hot men and always would be, she responded with “Y’all come back now, ya hear?” like a complete doofus—as the sexiest man who’d ever almost propositioned her left her shop, closed the door gently behind him and sketched her a wave before leaving her life forever.
So yeah. A pretty exciting afternoon in the scheme of things. At least for her life as it was.
If nothing else, she’d learned that she could have feelings like that again. That the sexual part of her had not completely atrophied. It was nice to know. Aside from that, tonight she had something interesting to think about in her lonely, lonely bed.
Noah Crocker shook his head as he slipped the fritters into his saddlebags and fitted his helmet back onto his head. He tried not to look back at the bakery as he started his bike, but he couldn’t help it. She was there, watching him. Or maybe just locking the door.
He’d met a lot of women in his life—a lot—but he’d never felt electricity like that before. He’d certainly never experienced that kind of savage attraction at first glance. It had been like magnets snapping into place. Click and click. He’d thought for sure that she’d felt it too, but maybe she hadn’t.
The first thing he’d noticed about her was how cute she was, with a splotch of flour on the tip of her slightly crooked nose. She probably hadn’t been aware of the flour, but that had made her even cuter. But if he was being honest with himself, everything about her had called to him. The curly hair, pixyish features...that smile. Those eyes. And her curves... Yikes.
He’d been congratulating himself for yielding to the desire to go back for a doughnut after he’d initially passed the shop...right up until he had, like an idiot, asked her out. Her reaction had nearly gutted him. Had he really hoped that hard that she’d say yes?
A pretty woman—whose name he didn’t even know—shouldn’t have the power to slay him like that. Should she?
But her smile, her laugh, that sparkle in her eyes...everything about her was a lure.
She hadn’t been wearing a ring. He’d checked her finger. Like, first thing. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in a relationship. Of course it didn’t. He chuckled to himself and reset his GPS for the address his buddy Jax had given him, started up the Harley and headed out for Razor Clam Way.
A woman like that couldn’t possibly be single. Who wouldn’t want to claim her as a partner?
What a shame. What a damn shame.
It had been a while for him since he’d been with a woman, mostly because he didn’t care for one-night stands and, since his discharge from the Air Force, he’d been a nomad, on the road traveling the highways and backroads of the country, too restless to stay put for long. If anyone had asked, he’d have said he was on a quest for adventure...but the truth was he was desperately seeking a place to call his forever home.
So no wild one-night stands. He would have made an exception, though, for her.
Although he doubted a one-night stand would be enough with a woman like that.
It had always been his dream—since he’d been a boy—to travel the country, to see the sights and soak up the flavors the United States had to offer. So, for the last year and a half he’d been doing just that. Exploring the country and visiting friends from sea to shining sea. After visiting Jax and a few Air Force buddies who were stationed at McChord Air Force Base here in Washington State, he’d be heading up to Alaska, the last state on his list.
Hard to believe his grand adventure was almost over. His bucket list was almost complete. His time was almost up. Soon, he had to make one of the biggest decisions of his life. The trouble was—even though he’d been looking, and he’d experienced some wonderful things—he hadn’t found a place that truly felt like home to him. At least, not yet.
He ignored the little niggle at the back of his brain whispering that maybe there was no place for him to call home. Maybe because there was something lacking in him. That his rough childhood had broken the part of him that felt like it belonged anywhere. As a foster kid, shuttled from house to house, he’d never felt as though he’d belonged anywhere. He’d certainly never had time to put down roots. Even in the military—where he had felt a blessed sense of belonging—nothing had ever been permanent.
And now even the Air Force didn’t want him anymore.
He hated these thoughts when they floated up from the depths from time to time. Again, as always, he pushed them back down and focused on the drive. It was beautiful here. Lots of tall, majestic trees, fat white clouds, and the taste of the ocean in the air.
He headed west along Silver Salmon Drive to Razor Clam Way, then followed the bumpy track into the woods, toward his buddy’s place. Jax had known he’d been planning to head up to Washington when he was done exploring California and Oregon, but Noah hadn’t called to say he was on his way, so he was prepared to be fluid. If Jax wasn’t home, he’d probably head back into town and see if the B and B had a vacancy.
When he pulled through the old-growth woods and into the drive, Jax’s yard surprised him. First of all, it wasn’t much of a yard. More of a garden...of statuary. Lions and tigers and bears, and all kinds of creatures, all crafted from wood, speckled the sprawling front lawn leading down to the shoreline. Jax had mentioned that after leaving the service he’d gotten into woodworking, but Noah had pictured something very different. Maybe he’d been thinking rocking chairs and baby cradles rather than art. The whimsical creatures Jax had crafted made him smile.
It was intriguing to discover a side of a friend you weren’t aware existed. But then, when you met a man in a war zone, there were lots of parts of him he kept to himself. Noah had experienced this kind of discovery in his recent travels again and again. It was half the fun, discovering who your friends really were when they weren’t wearing their armor.
He and Jax had met by chance on a transport to Bagram, and they’d hit it off, chatting through the entire flight; for both of them, it had been their first deployment to Afghanistan. It so happened—as it happened sometimes, when you met people you were supposed to know—they kept running into each other on base. Considering how many troops were stationed there and the fact that Noah’s tours were short four-month spurts and the fact that their Military Occupational Specialties, or MOSs, were so different, it was quite the coincidence...if you happened to believe in coincidence. Noah did not.
He hadn’t had a lot of friends growing up—at least none who had stuck through all the chaos—and his adult life had been nomadic, following the pipeline for acceptance into the Pararescue Jumpers through multiple specialty schools and trainings all over the country. So, when he’d met a real friend, someone like Jax, he’d learned to appreciate the gift.
The last time they’d met by chance had been when Noah’s Pararescue team had responded to an Army patrol that had been ambushed during a routine recon and taken heavy casualties. Noah hadn’t realized the soldier he was patching up for exfiltration was his friend—the man’s face had been covered in blood and mud—until Jax had barked a laugh and muttered, “Crocker. I should’ve known.” They’d had a hell of a laugh over that. Shortly after that, Jax had taken an honorable discharge and come back to the States. They’d stayed in touch but hadn’t actually seen each other since.
Honestly, Noah couldn’t wait to see him again—
“So...how was it—”
Noah whirled to see a woman coming out of the front door of Jax’s place with a warm smile, wiping her hands on a rag spattered with a kaleidoscope of colorful paint splotches. She wore a pair of ratty jeans and an old T-shirt covered by an equally spattered apron. She stopped short, and her mouth made an O.
After a second, she recovered herself and said, “Hello. Sorry. I heard the Harley, and I thought it was Jax. Can I help you?” She was really pretty, with a bright smile and a smear of orange on her cheek. She kind of reminded him of the cute baker. Maybe all the women around here were perky and bright. Maybe something in the water here?
“Hey.” Noah lifted a hand. “Sorry. I’m Jax’s friend, Noah Crocker, and—”
“Oh, my goodness. Noah?” she broke in. Her face lit up even more. “He said you might be coming. He’ll be so excited you’re here. Come on in. I’m Natalie.” She put out a hand. He stepped forward, taking it, and she looked up at him and said, “My, you’re tall.”
He grinned because she was tiny. “Yes, ma’am.”
She made a face. “Ma’am makes me feel old.”
His grin widened, and because he had the suspicion she had a sense of humor, he said, “Yes, ma’am.”
She grinned back and thwacked him with her rag. He liked her immediately. “Come in. Let me get you something to drink, and I’ll call Jax. He’s just out giving his bike a test ride.” She chuckled. “That’s why I thought it was him.”
“Jax has a hog now?” he asked as he stepped inside the long low building. And then he stopped short. Because there were more wood statues inside—a lot more—along with a couple of easels, a ratty sofa, card table and kitchenette. And still, more racks of wood along the wall. “Wow.”
Natalie laughed. “Right?”
“I knew he worked with wood, but...”
“Yeah. He’s pretty into it. Can I get you a beer? Soda? Water?” She dropped her rag onto the stool by the easel and headed for the fridge.
“Water is fine.” He might be driving to the B and B yet tonight, so he didn’t want alcohol. He peeked over at the painting she’d been working on and blinked. “You’re a painter?” he asked, even though it was a stupid question to ask someone wearing a spattered apron with an orange splotch on their cheek. Also, because she was good. Like, really good. It was a seascape at sunset, and it was stunning.
“Mmm-hmm. Come on over and sit. Relax. Are you hungry?” She handed him a bottled water. He took a swig and moaned. It was cool and refreshing and washed the dust from his throat.
“No, thanks. I’m good. I don’t want to put you out.”
She laughed at that. “Jax is going to be thrilled you’re here. He’s been telling me all about you.”
“Yikes.”
“Aww.” She shook her head. “It’s all good. Is it true you saved his life over there?” She took a sip from her soda.
Noah shrugged. “I patched him up. I’m pretty sure the doctors back at the base did all the saving.”
“I’d never heard of Pararescue jumpers before Jax told me about you. It sounds like a very exciting job.”
He nodded. “Yeah. There were definitely some heart-pounders out there.”
“I mean, being a medic in a war zone alone would be something, but to parachute in?”
He had to grin. “Hooah.” The PJ battle cry. “Yeah, we’ll jump out of almost anything.”
“So exciting.”
“You don’t have to be crazy, but it helps.”
She nodded. “Still. It’s a very elite group. Is it true most applicants don’t make the cut?”
“A lot don’t. Yeah, it’s a tough process, but it’s a tough job.”
“Did you like it?”
He leaned back and grinned. “Loved it.” He had. It had been hard and grueling and interesting and rewarding. He’d probably still be suiting up if he hadn’t torn up his knee. But for Noah, becoming a PJ had also been a means to an end. Carving a place in the world where he belonged.
Until he didn’t.
“And now you’re traveling the States. Tell me—where have you been?”
They talked about that for a while, all the places he’d been since his discharge. It was clear from Natalie’s responses that she’d traveled around the States a lot herself before she’d landed here in Coho Cove. They were discussing their favorite beignet place in New Orleans when they heard Jax’s Harley rumble echoing in the woods and Natalie leaped to her feet.
“Oh. He’s here. He’s going to be so excited.” She ran to the door, and of course, Noah followed. He stood there in the doorway and watched as Jax parked his bike and removed his helmet. Their eyes locked, and something rose in his chest. Damn, he’d missed Jax. They’d developed a deep friendship over their time in Afghanistan—one hewn of heartbreak, loss and laughter. He really shouldn’t had waited so long to come.
“Crocker.” Jax strode forward, a grin splitting his face.
“Stringfellow.” Wow. It was good to see him. They met each other halfway and slammed into a manly hug. “I’ve missed you, you son of a bitch.”
“Same, you bastard. Why didn’t you call?”
Noah shrugged. “You know me. Footloose and fancy free.”
“Still?” They turned in unison and headed back to the shop. “I thought this trip was all about finding a place to settle.”
“Yeah.” Easier said than done. “I’m working on it.”
“Damn, it’s good to see you.”
“It’s pretty damn good to see you too.”
Jax put his arm around Natalie’s shoulders and held her close. “Have you met Nat? Natalie Tuttle.”
Natalie smiled. “We’ve met.”
“Nat’s my girl,” Jax said. But by the look on his face, Noah already knew.
Jax had found his soul mate, that rarer than rare miracle that made a man whole after the world had chewed him up and spit him out. And while Noah could not have been happier—Natalie really was a gem—he had to admit, he was also a little jealous.
Because that was what he wanted more than anything. To find that woman. The woman who could fill the gaping hole in his soul. Trouble was he was beginning to doubt she existed at all.
Or worse...that she did, and he simply wasn’t worthy of her.
Amy was still thinking about the hottie on the Harley when she pulled into her friend Kim’s driveway to pick up the boys. It bothered her that she couldn’t stop thinking about him—his smile, that flash of a dimple, the scent of his leathers. She kept circling back to the conversation where he’d asked her out—he had asked her out, right? She wished she’d said yes, even though she knew she never would. A date with a random stranger? Ha! Not with the boys to think about and a business to run and a mortgage...and everything.
As she headed up the driveway to Kim’s house, she shook her head, as though she could loosen thoughts of him. Still, he hovered.
When the bakery had first opened, the boys had stayed at Momma’s while Amy was at work, but this year things had changed. Momma’s housekeeper had broken her hip, and when Momma suffered her stroke, Amy had no choice but to find a sitter. Things were even more complicated by the early hour at which she needed to drop the boys off. Since the bakery opened at seven, prep work—from proofing the dough, forming, baking and filling the pastries as well as decorating—all needed to happen prior to opening. That meant she needed to drop the boys off by five, at the latest. Dylan’s mom, Kim, had been the best option she could find, and she hadn’t had a problem with the early hours. She and Kim had been mom friends going all the way back to Georgie and Dylan’s first Mommy and Me classes.
The boys, of course, had been delighted to spend more time with their friend—who had a Nintendo. Amy, however, was still on the fence about the arrangement. She much preferred that the boys spend their days engaged in some kind of intellectual enrichment rather than playing video games and watching movies all day long. But Coho Cove was a small town and there weren’t a lot of day care options. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they?
Kim greeted her at the door with a big smile. “Hey, Amy. Come on in. Coffee?”
“Ah, no thanks. We should scoot...”
“Sure. They’re down in the basement playing video games. Boys, your mom is here!” Kim shouted down the stairs. Then, to Amy, in a non-yelly voice, “How was your day?” Amy appreciated her asking because there was no one else to do it.
“Well...” She waggled her brows. “A hot tourist came into the bakery today.”
“Ooh. Fun. Must be nice to be single.”
“I think he asked me out to dinner.”
Kim’s eyes boggled. “You think? You don’t know?”
“I’m pretty sure?”
“Why aren’t you having dinner with a hot tourist, then?”
Amy made a snort noise. “I’m the mother of two young boys. I can’t go to dinner with a rando.”
“A hot rando.”
“Come on. I don’t know him from Adam. He could be a serial killer.”
“Did he strike you as a serial killer?”
“Do they ever?”
“Hmm.” Kim thought about it for a minute, then got a look on her face, one Amy knew well and dreaded. “Are you sure you’re not just scared to start dating again?”
“Scared? Me? I’m not scared of anything.” Okay. Maybe a little. He was one intimidating package, her sexy tourist. But she wasn’t going to admit it to Kim. It hardly mattered though, did it? Tourists were tourists. They always left. “Oh, is Dylan coming to John J.’s birthday party?” A lame segue, but a necessary one.
“Of course. He wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. John J. is worried no one will come.”
Kim chuckled. “What a funny thing. Everyone’s coming.”
“You know him. He’s sensitive.”
“Yeah, but it’s a pool party...at the Sherrod.” She said it like that—the Sherrod. Granted, it was the fancy new resort on the point. “And how, may I ask, did you manage to book that?”
Amy shrugged. “Ben Sherrod is a friend.”
“Is he?” Kim’s brow arched. “Now there’s a guy you should date.”
Amy barely kept another snort-laugh from exploding from her face. “Right.”
“He’s handsome, successful...rich.”
“He’s a nice guy, and John J. is close with his daughter, Quinn—”
“All the more reason! Ready-made family. Brady Bunch. Oh.” Kim was easily distracted. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“No. I have chicken and dumplings in the slow cooker, thanks. Look, Ben and I have been friends for years. We are both very firmly friend-zoned with each other. We’re comfortable there. Besides, I don’t have those kinds of feelings for him.”
Her mind flickered back to another man, another dimple, a whole slew of scorching feelings that had hit her like a Mack Truck, unexpected and devastating. What would it be like to be with a man like that? Even now the thought of him made her a little weak at the knees. And she wasn’t a weak-at-the-knees kind of gal. She’d never felt that way for Ben, even remotely. Call it chemistry, call it lust, call it whatever you wanted, it wasn’t there with Ben, no matter how perfect the matchup might’ve looked on paper.
But him? Whatever his name was?
It was silly to think about because she’d never see him again, but at the same time, the thrill she’d felt when he’d looked into her eyes, when he’d come close—well, that gave her hope, somehow. Hope that it wasn’t all over for her—the love and romance and all that nonsense that now felt so far away.
Kim shrugged. “You could fake it. Lots of women would fake passion for a catch like that.”
Amy swallowed the bitterness in her mouth at the suggestion. Though she and Kim had a lot in common, their values didn’t always align. “Ben deserves better. He really is a great guy. And honestly... I deserve better too.” Sure, she’d had her one great love—many people never got that, not even for three short years—but she still wasn’t inclined to settle for less than that, should a chance ever drift her way again.
As. If.
She huffed out a breath and leaned into the basement doorway and bellowed, “Boys! Let’s go.” Because, all of a sudden, she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it anymore. Not really. Not at all.
