Taylor Lynne: The Women of Merryton - Book Two (7 page)

“Jessie, how are you?”

She approached and looked
over the whole table. She, like everyone else, seemed to have a gleam in her eye
when it came to us that night. “I wish I could stay and talk, but Blake’s
waiting for me in his truck. We uh … well, we have plans.” She blushed some.
“I’m just here to grab my cell phone. We need to catch up. We’ll have you all
out to our house for a barbecue.”

“Perfect,” Easton chimed
in.

It wasn’t perfect. We
weren’t a package deal.

I didn’t get to lob my
rebuttal because she hurried out to meet her husband. I could only guess what
plans they had. I was happy for her. I knew she and Blake had struggled. It
gave me some peace to know that some relationships made it.

Our server ended up being
the young man that seated us. I had the feeling he took someone else’s job in
serving our particular table. He seemed to only have eyes for my daughter.
Easton must have noticed as well. He cleared his throat loudly. The punk
averted his eyes immediately. Ashley blushed and looked into her menu.

I ordered a berry summer
salad and a large lemon water. I had never been so thirsty. Easton ordered the
same thing as me, and the girls each ordered a sandwich and a smoothie. The
server-slash-stalker gave Ashley one more admiring glance and then left to
place our order in the kitchen.

I looked around the café
and admired it. It had been renovated since I last lived here. The café had a
beautiful stone fireplace that sat squarely in the middle, with comfy chairs
surrounding it. All the furniture was in shades of gray, with accents of warm
colors like yellow and orange. To top it off, there were several beautiful
black and white photos of the beautiful Colorado scenery hanging on the walls.
I recognized several of the locations, like Maroon Bells and Rocky Mountain
National Park. I think I had found my new favorite spot in town. I would have
to tell Jessie I loved what she had done with the place.

The girls really needed
to work on their bladder control because they left me alone with their dad … again.

He turned his attention
toward me as soon as the girls left. “It sounds like you guys had a great day.”

“We did,” I said, with
little emotion.

His tired eyes smiled at
me. “I can’t say thank you enough. You have no idea how helpful you’ve been and
the impact you’re having on Emmy.”

“Emmy’s a doll.”

He nodded his head to
agree. He leaned in closer, to my discomfort, and changed the subject abruptly.
“I saw your dad today. He mentioned how much he would like to see you.”

Why did he have to bring
up Frank? I had almost been tolerating his company tonight.

I rubbed my forehead.
“I’ll see him when I’m ready.”
Which may be never
.

Easton’s eyes narrowed in
concern. “Time is running out.”

“Why do you care so
much?” I whispered angrily.

He thought for a moment, as
if he didn’t know how to respond. “I just think it would be good for both of
you,” he stammered. He seemed very unsure of himself.

“And how would you know
what’s good for me?”

He hung his head. “Taylor
…”

The girls came back and I
plastered a fake smile on my face for them. And although I directed my
attention toward them, I could feel Easton staring at me. Why couldn’t he leave
well enough alone? Why couldn’t be we be the kind of exes we had been for the
last umpteen years? The kind that stayed uninvolved and out of each other’s
way. I didn’t want his concern, help, or his touches. I didn’t want any
reminders of the man I used to be in love with, the man I was still in love
with. I hated him for not loving me, and for leaving me. Sure, I may have left
the state, but only after he had checked out emotionally and physically.

I would have liked to say
Friday night was our last dinner together for the weekend, or ever for that
matter, but it was only the beginning of the “fun” I had waiting for me all
weekend.

Saturday saw me shopping for
Father’s Day dinner. Yep, you heard it right. Ashley and Emmy convinced me that
I needed to help them make their father’s favorite dinner and dessert for the
occasion. Apparently they were helpless. It was a meal I hadn’t made in ages.
And it wasn’t because it was completely unhealthy, either. Easton grew up in
Chicago and he loved Italian beef sandwiches. The couple of times we visited
his brother there, I think he ate them for every meal. I figured out how to
make them for him, and he had said he would love me forever for that one act.
He lied. The lemon meringue pie was something his mother used to make. I never
got the chance to meet her or his dad. They had died in a small airplane crash
during Easton’s second year of college. He always used to talk about how much
he missed them. He was lucky he’d had the ideal childhood growing up.

Regardless, I was still
shopping, and might I add cooking and serving dinner at my house, for my
cheating ex-husband. The only good thing to come out of it was that I got to be
in the kitchen with my girl and my new girl. I loved making messes in the kitchen
with Ashley, and I welcomed the sweet new edition, too.

With aprons on, we
commenced making a homemade pie crust, lemon-filling, and meringue. I loved
watching Emmy’s eyes as she beat the meringue and it became stiffer and
stiffer. It’s amazing what egg whites, cream of tartar, and sugar can make. Emmy
had never really baked before, so we made sure to teach her the fine art of
licking the bowl, the spoon, and sampling. I also made sure to drive home the
importance of cleaning up our messes. Ashley rolled her beautiful eyes at me.
She had heard the speech a million times.

After our Father’s Day prep,
Ashley took Emmy home. They were going to spend the rest of the day together
with their dad. I guess it was only right for me to share. I’d practically had
them all week. I took the opportunity to hang up my new curtains. They were bold,
horizontally striped cream and navy curtains, and they were the finishing touch
to the quaint house I would call home for the next two long, grueling years.

As a reward for finishing
up the house, I took a catnap on the couch in the living room. The room was
graced with a large bay window that faced south. It let the glorious Colorado
sunshine flood the space. I opened the window and let the breeze and sunshine
flow in while I enjoyed an hour of peace before Ashley came home to get ready
for her date with Raphe, the boy she had met at church the previous Sunday.

I helped curl her hair
while she painted her toenails. We made a good team. She wore the red sundress
she had picked out the day before. It went perfect with her dark hair and tanned
skin. She looked way too grown up in my mind. I wasn’t sure I wanted to let her
out the door. No one was ever going to be good enough for her.

During dinner, she was
fidgety.

“Relax, darlin’. He’s
only a boy after all.”

She grinned. “By the
way,” she said offhandedly, “I invited dad over here to meet him before we
leave.” She put her head down instantly and concentrated on her food.

I didn’t know whether to
laugh or cry. “Don’t you think you should have asked me first if that was
acceptable?”

She sheepishly looked up.
“You know what they say—sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness.” She batted
her lashes at me. “So, will you forgive me, Momma?”

I stared at her,
dumbfounded.

“You know, I’m leaving
for college soon and—”

“Nice try, young lady.”

“Come on, Momma, I’ve
never had a dad before who could meet a boy at the door. Every girl needs a
funny dad moment at the door.”

I remember wishing for
the same things growing up—a real dad to meet my dates, make me feel special,
and feel like his little girl. How could I deny Ashley the same opportunity now
that it was available to her?

“What time will your dad
be here?”

She smiled toothily. “In
like fifteen minutes.” Without another word she hopped down from her stool and
ran off to her room to finish getting ready.

With very mixed emotions,
I surveyed the dinner mess and decided I should clean up before our company
came over. Then I remembered that Easton would probably come in, smell the
steak fajitas, and think,
Perfect, Taylor can feed me again
.

And no sooner had I
thought it then it happened. He strode into my house looking way too good in
his baseball pants and charmed himself into my kitchen. Why was I such a sucker
for him? I blamed it on the cute nine-year-old he had in tow. She, I didn’t
mind taking care of. But they had already eaten, so she wasn’t hungry. Easton on
the other hand said, “I can’t resist your cooking, besides what you made is way
better than what we had.”

As soon as Emmy scooted
off to find Ashley, I glared at Easton. “Did you ask us to move back so you
could use me for food and child care?”

He choked on his food and
spluttered a bit. “Taylor! How could you think that?”

I looked at the fajita in
his hand.

He looked down, too, and
slowly placed it on his plate. His eyes came back up and looked directly into
mine. “Will you please come and sit next to me?”

I walked over from the
sink and pulled out the stool next to him a comfortable distance away. No sense
in getting our pheromones into the mix. He apparently had no regard for my
senses and scooted closer. He took my hands in his and held them firmly, like
he was afraid I may move away, which was a good call on his part. I had missed
his hands. I used to find comfort and strength in them. I looked down at our
joined hands and they looked like they belonged together. His masculine hands
matched my long, slender fingers well, but I tried not to think about it. I
tried not to behave like a juvenile and pull away.

“Taylor,” he began, “the
last several years have been difficult to say the least. I’ve made mistakes—life-changing
mistakes. I’m trying to make things right with my daughters. And I get that
it’s not fair of me to ask for your help, but I need it. I don’t need your food,
although it’s been amazing.” He smiled at me. “But Emmy needs you, she needs
all of us. And I need Ashley. And I think Ashley needs to see her parents get
along with each other.”

“Maybe what you’re saying
is all true, but like always, you expect me to give and give with no regard to
how I feel.” I yanked my hands away, stood up, and glared down at his now
frustrated expression. Why was I so angry? We had been divorced for ages. He
didn’t say anything more, so I took that as my signal to finish cleaning up.

I heard him get up and
leave as I began to rinse the dishes piled in the sink. I don’t know where he
went, but as long as it was out of my presence, I didn’t really care at the
moment. With every dish, I had to remind myself to breathe and not cry. I had
shed more tears over that man than I cared to remember. He didn’t deserve any more.

I threw open the
dishwasher harder than I should have. The door bounced a tad. I obviously had
way too much stored up anger. It was anger that had been building for years. I
needed a session of kickboxing, or a punching bag. For now, the poor dishwasher
was getting it as I haphazardly threw in each dish I rinsed off. As I stewed
and thought of all the things I wanted to say to him, I became careless. I
reached into the sink without thinking about the very sharp knife I had used to
cut the steak earlier. I caught the wrong end of it and sliced my palm. I bit
my lip and grabbed on to the counter with my left hand trying to keep myself
from crying out in pain. It didn’t help that the sink quickly filled with
blood. I was afraid to lift my hand out and assess the damage, but the doorbell
rang. The timing really stunk.

I pulled my hand out and grabbed
a dishtowel—sure enough it had to be white. I couldn’t tell how bad I had been cut;
the blood consumed my hand. I wrapped the wound and applied pressure as I made
my way to the front door. Ashley was already en route, but Easton beat us all
and opened the door. I tried to remain calm, like everything was normal, but
the blood soaking towel told a different story.

Ashley caught a glimpse
of the towel before she could even greet her date. “Oh my gosh, Momma! What’s
wrong with your hand?”

All eyes became fixed on
me.

“It’s nothing, love, I cut
my hand when I was doing dishes. Don’t worry about me.”

Easton immediately came
over and gently pulled up my hand that was now throbbing. Poor Emmy started to
cry when she saw all the blood.

“It’s okay darlin’,” I
tried to reassure her.

Ashley began to comfort
her sister as her confused date looked on.

Easton carefully
unwrapped the towel and hardly glanced at my sliced palm before he declared I
was going to need stitches. Great, that’s just what I needed to hear. I was about
ready to ask Ashley if she could postpone her date and drive me to the
emergency room, but Easton beat me to the punch.

“Ashley you’re going to
need to watch your sister while I take your mom over to my office and stitch up
her hand.” He doled out instructions with this calm air of authority.

“No problem, Dad,” Ashley
replied.

“I can go to the
emergency room,” I protested. I didn’t need Easton taking care of my hand and I
sure as heck didn’t need to be alone with him.

He didn’t listen to me. He
turned back toward the girls. “Emmy, it’s all right honey. I’m going to take
Taylor to my office and her hand will be as good as new.”

Poor little Emmy was
looking pale.

Easton must have noticed,
too. “Ashley, please take Emmy into the family room and bring me some more hand
towels.”

In all the commotion, Raphe
stood at the door looking like a deer in headlights.

“I’m sorry, Raphe. You
can stay here with the girls if you would like, or you can come back later,” I
offered.

He did as I suspected he
would and chose option A.

Ashley returned in no
time with the towels.

Easton took them, gently
wrapped my hand back up, and applied pressure. “Are you feeling okay?”

I nodded my head yes.

His eyes were full of
concern, but I had a feeling it had more to do with the previous conversation
than with my hand.

Easton turned his
attention to Raphe. “Don’t do anything you or I will regret.”

Raphe’s eyes widened.
“Yes sir.”

I had rarely seen Easton
so serious. I was glad he could play the part of over-protective dad so well.

Ashley’s grin told me she
liked it too. She kissed my cheek.

“I’m sorry for ruining
your plans, love.”

She looked at Raphe and
smiled. “We’ll do something fun here with Emmy.”

I loved my girl.

Easton held my hand on
the way out to his truck. His very large truck that sat a little too high off
the ground, at least in this instance. I wondered how I was going to gracefully
get in with only my left hand, but I didn’t need to worry about it. What I
needed to worry about was how my heart stopped when Easton, without any thought
or warning, opened the door for me and picked me up.

“Um, I don’t think this
is necessary.”

He ignored me and placed
me carefully in the passenger seat. He took my left hand. “Hold your hand here
and apply pressure.”

I did as he said. He shut
the door and jogged around to his side. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths
in and out. The pain wasn’t horrible, but my hand stung.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. You know, you can drop
me off at the emergency room. You’re going to miss your game.”

“Do you really think that
little of me?” His voice was dangerously low.

I opened my eyes and
looked over to him. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too
hard and he had red-splotched skin. “Easton, I only meant I’m not your concern
and I wouldn’t mind if—”

“What do you mean you’re
not my concern?”

“You know what? Never
mind.” I closed my eyes again and leaned my head back against the large leather
seat.

“No, Taylor. We’re not
playing that game tonight. After fourteen years, you and I are going to finally
have it out. We’re laying all of the cards on the table.”

Tears began to sting my
eyes. “Please take me to the ER.”

“Not a chance.”

Not another word was said
until he pulled into his office parking lot. I didn’t recognize it.

“I moved about five years
ago.” He recognized the obvious question on my mind.

I looked out at the much
nicer building. The sign read, Merryton Family Medicine, with his name as well
as a Deborah Singer, which I assumed meant he had taken on a partner. And
judging by the building they were doing very well. As he came around, I opened
my door with my left hand.