Haley’s laughter fills the air as she steps in front of me and opens the back door. I plop Mia in her seat.
“You behave today,” I tell her. Bending down, I kiss her cheek.
“Now that’s a friendly kiss,” she says. When I groan in response, she shrugs. “What? See the difference?”
I swing the door closed and turn to Haley. “Good luck with that today.”
“I’m kind of on her side,” Haley teases, climbing in the front seat of her car. She talks to Mia as they get buckled in and then backs down the driveway.
I stand there for a long time once they’re out of sight. I’ve wondered if a day would come where Mia misses having a woman in her life besides Haley. So far, I’ve been able to be all the things. But is that time almost up?
My eyes squeeze closed. Immediately, images of Neely pulling Mia’s hair into a ponytail at Dad’s stream through my mind. It was one of the purest, sweetest things I’ve ever seen. They get along so naturally with their spunk and gymnastics and hearts of gold.
Blowing out a breath, I open my eyes. My boots scrape over the gravel as I turn to go back to work. On my way up the hill, I make a deal with myself: if I can ever find a woman as perfect for Mia and me as Neely, I’ll scoop her up in a second. Because despite everything my heart is telling me to do, I don’t have a choice with Neely. I have to let her go.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NEELY
Mr. Rambis is coming over to fix the ice maker, right?” I take a sip of coffee.
“He said he’ll be over this morning. He’s an early riser, so I expect he’ll be by relatively soon.” She fills a thermos with decaf and adds a splash of milk. “I just didn’t want you to be spooked if you walk in here and see him.”
“Um, good call. Seeing a man in my mom’s kitchen would be rather shocking.”
She throws her purse over her shoulder and then stops in her tracks. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“What? Mr. Rambis?”
“Yes. Does it bother you that he comes by and that I spend time with him?”
Putting my cup down, I lean against the counter. “You’re a grown woman, Mom. I’m fairly certain you can make your own decisions about who you spend time with.”
“I haven’t spent time with someone in a really long time. I keep thinking I’m missing something or wondering if I’m being objective.”
“I don’t think liking someone has anything to do with objectivity. You don’t want a guy who just checks the objective boxes. You want someone who makes you feel good.”
Her shoulders sag like a weight has been removed. “I enjoy spending time with him. So that’s good.”
“Super good. It’ll not be so super good if you’re late,” I say, nodding toward the clock on the oven.
“Oh, crap. You’re right. I gotta go.” She heads for the door. “See you this evening.”
“Bye, Mom.”
The door shuts and everything goes quiet. I wait for a siren to wail or someone to shout outside, but nothing happens. I smile.
After grabbing my coffee, I mosey down the hallway. My computer is on my bed, and I lift the lid and settle in front of it. One email from Archon Sports shines above all else.
I click it.
Dear Ms. Kimber,
Thank you for your reply.
I have scheduled you for a call this afternoon at one o’clock Eastern. I’ll call the number on your résumé.
Looking forward to meeting you,
James Snow
Managing Editor, Archon Sports
“Ah,” I say, falling back into the pillows. It takes a second to catch my breath. I didn’t expect the interview to happen so quickly; I thought I’d have more time to prepare.
I go over the job description and realize it’s about two levels below what I did for years. It should be a fairly simple, routine interview about things I could talk about in my sleep. And if it works out, I could be in New York in a couple of days, working.
Springing to my feet, I gather my things to get a shower. For the first time since I got here, it feels like I have something to do. That there’s a point to waking up and going on about my day.
Heading into the hallway, I let out a shriek. “Mr. Rambis. You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing a hand over the top of his dark hair. “I thought your mom told you I was coming by.”
“She did. I just forgot.” I toss my things in the bathroom and then head to the kitchen. “How are things going?”
“I think this water line is clogged,” he says, shining a flashlight behind the refrigerator. “Other than that, pretty good.” The light flickers off. “How are things with you?”
“I just got an interview, so I’m pretty happy today,” I say.
“Here? In town? Or in New York?”
“New York.”
He nods. “Congratulations, Neely. That’s great.”
“Thanks.” I pick up the paper plate from Mom’s toast this morning and toss it in the garbage. As the trash hits the bottom of the can, my spirits seem to sink a little with it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What’s the scariest thing you’ve done?”
He laughs, setting his flashlight on the table. “The scariest thing I’ve done? You mean one of those houses at Halloween or becoming a parent? Two different categories of fear.”
Mia’s giggle echoes through my mind. The smell of Dane’s skin warms me from the inside. The hollowness at realizing I won’t see them again, not like I’m seeing them now, is almost crushing.
“More like becoming a parent, I guess,” I say.
“Nothing is as scary as that.” He pulls out a chair and sits. “People say falling in love is hard, but it’s not. It’s not a choice if it’s done right. And some people say getting married is paralyzing, but when I married my wife, I wasn’t scared at all.”
“May I ask what happened to her?”
“Car accident. Christmas Eve,” he says. “She swerved to miss a deer, we think, and hit a tree.” His face falls. “She shouldn’t have been out driving that night. It’s a burden I’ll live with forever.”
I cross the room and place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible. But you can’t blame yourself for a decision she made, Mr. Rambis.”
He looks at me with a set of deep-brown eyes. “You can call me Gary. If it’s easier for you. Or Mr. Rambis is fine if that works better.” He takes off his glasses and polishes them on the edge of his shirt. “I’ll be honest in saying I don’t know how to work this really well. I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with . . . things like this.”
“Me either,” I say. I watch him for a long moment before pulling out a chair across from him. “I think I’ll go with Gary. It seems less teacher-y.”
“May I ask what prompted the question about fear?”
“I’ve always known exactly what I want out of life. There was no question. I even have a little check-off box in my apartment in the city of things I want to achieve by the time I’m thirty, and believe it or not, I have most of them already done.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.” My voice trails off as I think of how to put the rest of this. “I guess I’m having a mini pre-midlife crisis.”
Gary laughs. “How so?”
“I’m just second-guessing some things. Is that normal?”
“Absolutely.” He nods. “I think we all have a few times in our lives where we sort of sit back and reevaluate what we’ve done, what we’re doing, and where we’re going. At least the intelligent people do.” He leans forward. “Think about it. If you continue on the same path your whole life without thinking, just plod through the day-to-day activities because it’s on the schedule, do you even want to be where you end up?”
“See? That’s my problem,” I tell him. “I know where I want to be. That hasn’t changed. But maybe now . . . maybe now . . .” I blow out a breath and look at him. The understanding in his eyes, devoid of judgment, almost brings tears to my eyes.
“You don’t have to explain anything else. I get it. Just know one thing. There is more than one way to cook an egg, if you know what I’m saying.”
He hasn’t said anything, really, that fixes any of the anxiety in my gut. Still, I can’t help but feel a little more settled.
I stand. “Thanks, Gary. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“Anytime.”
With a lump in my throat, I head to the bathroom and jump in the shower. The warm water usually releases tension in my muscles, and I work through a lot of things mentally while standing under showerheads. I try to focus on the interview, on the questions he might ask and the responses I should give, but my brain keeps going back to Dane and Mia.
I massage shampoo and conditioner into my hair. Working the suds around, I splash some on the back of my neck and rub the knot that’s forming at the base of my skull.
I don’t have time for this. I have an interview to focus on so I can get back to my life.
Still, even as I remind myself of this, I think of Dane’s smile. My back hits the shower wall.
Might as well get used to it. That’s all he has been and all he’s going to be—a memory.
The water turns off with a quick yank of the handle. I step inside the foggy bathroom and dry off.
Lifting the jeans I brought into the room, I wonder why in the world I chose them.
Because that was twenty minutes ago. You were full of hope back then.
The fabric roughs across my skin as I make quick work of dressing. Going full speed keeps me occupied, and when my mind starts to wander, I pull it back to the next task.
Leave the bathroom.
Wave goodbye to Gary.
Go into my room.