Page 9 of Your Two Lips
Carrie parked while I tried to take in all the changes. My old swing set was gone, but the treehouse was still in the huge cedar above. The front porch had been enlarged, and the paint color was different. A tasteful sign above the door read Heinberg House, and they listed the hours on a small plaque where the doorbell had been.
“Are you okay to stay? Or … do you want to go somewhere else? We can.” Carrie said from the driver’s seat, taking in my shocked expression.
“No, no, I’m fine.” Always fine, I faked a smile. It was just a house. I still had the memories of my mom on her best days. Yep, I was fine.
I pulled it together once we were settled, and we all enjoyed the evening. They particularly enjoyed the fact that the downstairs bar area had once been my family’s bedrooms. It was unrecognizable now, though the incredible view was still familiar and reminded me of my childhood daydreams, some of which would never come true.
Like Carrie, Angela, a large animal vet tech, was fun and unfiltered. She knew about some great trails and invited me to ride sometime. That helped improve my mood, as I listened to their stories and felt my excitement grow about the group ride tomorrow. Finally, getting back into the woods and fresh air that had been so healing last summer.
And Finn would be there. That thought, and the bourbon in my cocktail, warmed my blood and inspired sexy images of pressing my lips to acres of bare chest as his warmth surrounded me.
They dropped me back at the spa so I could grab my car. At home, I parked in my driveway and shouldered my bag for the walk to the mailbox. I’d let several days pile up, so I needed to make the effort. Plus, it would offer a brief distraction.
Inside, I set the mail on the kitchen island. The annual brochure from my private high school in Seattle gleamed from the top in four-color glory on non-recyclable paper. Ugh. It was always bragging stories about all the successful alumni along with wedding and baby announcements. Last year’s installment had been torture. I snatched it up and shoved it in the trash like any other soul-crushing, destructive literature.
Shuffling the pile, a thick pink envelope peeked out from the stack. I read the return address and inhaled sharply as my fingers trembled.
Shelby was in my infertility support group. She was only three years older than me and had already experienced two unsuccessful in vitro fertilization treatments. We were the youngest in the group and quickly became close. She and her husband were gearing up emotionally and financially for one more try. We lost touch while I was in Whistler, finding peace and the space to move forward.
I pulled the card from the simple envelope and met the cherubic face of their daughter, Ellie, born in March, and healthy. Unbidden, tears collected at the corners of my eyes. I was happy for them, I was, but it was getting harder to smile and cheer while others got everything I wanted.
It was too much. This fucking holiday. The bustling restaurant in what was once my mother’s favorite place, and a baby announcement reminder of what I would never have.
Letting the envelope slip to the floor, I laid the birth announcement on the pile. In the pantry, I opened a bottle of wine, then grabbed a package of bite-sized brownies and went to bed.
6
FINN
The smellof fresh coffee beckoned. “I left you a couple of Mom’s mixed-berry muffins because I’m an awesome brother,” Lucas announced from my kitchen table as he thumbed through his phone.
“Sometimes awesome. Sometimes not.” I punched his shoulder and grabbed a mug from the shelf near the coffeemaker.
When Lucas was in Perry Harbor, he stayed with me in the original cottage built on the first plot of land. A tech whiz kid, he served as the farm’s IT support while monitoring the finances from his condo in Seattle. Dad and I focused on the soil, the flowers, and everything else.
Lucas had done well as a software engineer in a handful of years. He and two friends designed apps on the side and even sold a few. They sold a platform they created for a boatload of money about a year ago.
I was glad to be back home after college. I’d worked this land beside my dad since I could hold a hand spade. When the tulips were at full wattage, long rows of red, yellow, purple, and white stretched to the distant edge of the property with the water and Cascade Mountains to the east. It was beautiful, alive, and I loved it.
The last of the blooms from the green house were cut and headed to the farmers’ market today, the plants in the fields dying back, sucking nutrients and sunshine into the bulb. Soon, we’d dig them up for processing, then switch our emphasis to cover crops for the summer. Those crops enriched the soil and warded off weeds and diseases, preparing the fields for fall planting.
Everything on the farm centered around creating the best bulb harvest with the least environmental impact, and I knew this place like the back of my hand. When Dad retired years from now, Lucas and I would be ready.
I grabbed a muffin, filled my coffee cup, and leaned against the counter, crossing my ankles. Today, I needed the hot liquid to jump-start my body. I hadn’t slept well since Wednesday, dreaming about Emily and all the ways I wouldn’t have her. Her not falling for Lucas’s act had only added to her appeal.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about her not being a tourist. I was glad because that meant Luc wouldn’t try to sleep with her. With his lean gym rat look, he was strictly into one-night stands with tourists. She was too good for that.
I wasnotglad because I wanted her in a way I hadn’t wanted anyone in a long time if I ever had. Seeing her around regularly would challenge my resolve to stay focused on my goals. But I had to stay strong.
She lived here and had a regular job. She was single and liked to mountain bike. But based on Lucas’s impressed face at the bar and her family’s donation to The Hutch, she was also wealthy. That made her anofor me. I was sure Carrie had set me up for a special kind of torture, inviting Emily to come with us today. Her tight body on a bike would be a damn vision.
Luc stood up, pocketing his phone. “Any more conversations with Dad about the resort?”
“Nope.” I let my frustration out on a breath.
I was planning a yurt-style resort for mountain bikers set on the back edge of the property. There were great bike trails here, and we were building more every year. Accommodations tailored to biking would bring more riders, expanding the sport and the town’s tourist revenues.
Lucas signed on with the money, saying he needed to diversify his assets, and we were ready to build a year ago. But Dad always kept us from meeting with the attorneys and making it official.
