CHAPTER SIX
WEST
I FLIP THE BURGERS AND LEAN BACK A LITTLE TO INSPECT MY HANDIWORK, only to be interrupted by a shrill, excited, “Dad! Guess what!”
I sigh and let my eyes flutter shut.
Emmy.
Emmy is the apple of my eye. My little mini-me. But she is also the primary source of my exhaustion. A tiny tornado. Short in stature but full up
on attitude and zest for life.
She never stops.
Talking, moving, watching, questioning.
She’s smart, brash, and downright hilarious. I wouldn’t have her any other way. And if anyone ever tries to put out her fire or make her feel like she’s somehow too much, I’ll break their face.
But goddamn.
Emmy exhausts me.
Some days I text my parents a simple I’m sorry because I know she’s exactly how I was as a kid. Even though they’ve loved me through it all, I now know the depth of their exhaustion with me and my antics.
“What’s up, girlfrieeend?” I call over my shoulder, doing my best and most dramatic Valley-girl impression. Something that never fails to make
both of my kids laugh.
And they do laugh. Emmy. Oliver.
And someone else I don’t immediately recognize.
As I’m turning with a pair of tongs in one hand, I place the laugh. A little smoky, a little restrained, like she’s holding herself back because a loud laugh might not be ladylike.
Skylar.
Skylar, who is holding my daughter’s hand.
Skylar, who takes one glance at my apron, lets her eyes go wide, and slaps her free hand over her mouth.
I glance down and realize I’m wearing the “This Guy Rubs His Own Meat” apron that Rosie got for me last Christmas.
Joke goes right over the kids’ heads.
But not Skylar’s.
Inwardly, I cringe. Outwardly, I roll with it.
I toss her a wink and smirk. “Sorry, if I’d known we were expecting company, I’d have worn my classy apron.”
She quirks a brow at me, all attitude as her hip pops out and her arms cross beneath her breasts. It props them up in a way that I shouldn’t notice.
But I do, so I force my eyes not to linger for too long.
“And what does your classy apron look like?” she asks.
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth with an amused tilt of my head. “Well, my classy one makes me look like I have a beer belly and super hairy chest.”
Skylar watches me while my kids smile broadly, their eyes bouncing between us. “Does that mean you don’t naturally have a beer belly and a hairy chest?” Immediately following that wisecrack, her lips pop open and her jaw drops wide. It’s as though she can’t believe what just came out of her mouth.
Emmy and Oliver cover her shock by bursting into peals of laughter.
Luckily, they don’t get the innuendo yet, but time’s ticking on being granted that kind of grace.
“I’m pretty sure you got a good, long look earlier today,” I volley back, seeing her cheeks flush pink even as her eyes roll.
Just as I’m about to keep going with a teasing response about being willing to show her again if she can’t remember, Emmy pipes up.
Because of course she pipes up. Emmy always pipes up. And Emmy, for all of her jokes, loves to skewer her dad.
“He doesn’t have a beer belly. Yet. But I bet it’s coming because he does drink beer. And he already has a hairy chest.”
I feign outrage with an audible gasp as I hold my metal tongs out to the side and stare at my daughter accusingly. “Emmy, I do not have a hairy chest.”
She snorts, her cheeks all rosy, her hair wild and messy across her forehead. My daughter acts half-feral, and that’s one thing I love best about her. She doesn’t give a flying fuck how she’s perceived. She is genuine through and through.
Except when she’s fucking with me and trying to pull a fast one. Then she’s a little fibber.
Oliver stifles a quiet chuckle behind her, his palm cast tightly over his mouth as though he’d betray himself somehow if someone who isn’t family heard him laughing.
“Yes you do, Dad,” Emmy insists. “It just doesn’t look that way because
you shave it.”
This kid.
Now it’s Skylar’s turn to burst out laughing. I shake my head, watching Emmy’s expression go from amused to pissed-off in one breath.
“Dad, you told me that lying is bad, so don’t be a liar. Everyone knows you have a hairy chest and that you shave it. I saw you doing it in the shower once.”
“Yes, Emmeline. Everyone knows because you’re shouting about it at the top of your lungs and because you come barging in there uninvited to talk my ear off more often than you should.”
Oliver laughs so hard, his hand moves up over his eyes as though he can’t bear the crushing weight of my humiliation.
I turn to Skylar to explain. “I really only shave it sometimes. Not always.”
She has tears of amusement gathering in her eyes that she wipes away frantically.
“It’s okay, Emmy.” Skylar struggles to catch her breath in an attempt to cover for me. And it’s the least she can do after I saved her from a grizzly bear. “It’s okay,” Skylar repeats breathlessly. “I shave in the shower too.
Most adults do. Totally normal.”
Emmy turns, scrutinizing her like she’s not sure if Skylar’s telling the truth or if this is an adult plot to fool her. “Your chest? Prove it.”
I suppose we all get a turn to burst out laughing tonight, and this is mine.
Skylar’s hazel eyes go wider than they did when a bear was charging us.
Oliver falls to the ground dramatically, now lying flat on his back on the grass, covering his face with both hands.
If Skylar weren’t here right now, I know he’d say Just leave me here to
die. That’s it. I’m done. Melodrama is his current go-to reaction because he’s getting to that age where everything embarrasses him.
I opt to save Ollie from his embarrassment and Skylar from having to “prove” that she has hair on her chest by rerouting this utterly out-of-pocket conversation.
“Well, Skylar, now that you’ve met the whole ragtag crew, can I interest you in a burger tonight?”
Skylar’s lips roll together, eyes still dancing with delight as she peers around the space. Emmy is giving us what most people would call a dirty look, and Oliver is still flat on his back.
Her lips continue moving, and I find myself distracted by them.
Doesn’t matter that my kids are here.
Doesn’t matter that she and I seem to be a little hot and cold.
Something about the ridiculousness of the moment makes everything else around us evaporate, and all I can think about is how close my lips came to hers on that road today.
I also can’t get over how Skylar Stone is absolutely nothing like I expected in person.
“No,” she says. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you during family time. I’ve taken quite enough of your time for one day.”
Emmy glances between us, never missing a beat. “Wait a second, you two have met?”
“Earlier,” I reply simply as my daughter props her hands on her hips. At least she missed the part earlier about Skylar seeing me shirtless.
“You met Skylar Stone today, and you didn’t even tell me about it?” She gives me a deadly glare.
I know Emmy is a fan—hell, so am I—but we don’t need to run around making the poor woman feel like she’s a sideshow attraction. Rosie told me she needed space, and that’s what I intend to give her.
Which is why I throw my sister straight under the bus.
“Auntie Rosie met her too. Did she mention it when she picked you up?”
I swear I can hear Emmy’s teeth grinding as she processes what I’ve told her.
“Not everything is your business, Emmy-Lou.”
“Dad, if I didn’t love you so much, I’d be real mad at you right now.”
Based on the way her ears have gone red, I’d say she is, in fact, real mad at me.
“Well, Emmy baby, it’s a good thing that you love me so much, then.” I
wink at my daughter, and it instantly diffuses the situation. Her pudgy cheeks squish up into perfectly round apples as she rolls her eyes.
Quick to anger and quick to let go. Can’t say the kid didn’t get my temper.
“Skylar, I haven’t made proper introductions yet. This pint-sized barrel of attitude and oversharing is my daughter, Emmeline, but she’ll shank you if you don’t call her Emmy —”
“I would never shank Skylar Stone,” she mumbles as I forge ahead.
“And that boy lying on the grass in a pile of embarrassment is my son, Oliver. Or Ollie. Call him what you want—he won’t shank you.”
“Yeah,” Emmy says, as though it’s her job to answer for everybody. “She knows. She met Oliver down by the lake. He introduced himself.”
That gives me pause. I try to hide how much my daughter’s words have affected me as I glance between Skylar and Oliver, who has now edged two fingers open to peek at me through the space between them.
He introduced himself.
Truth be told, I’m floored.
Skylar forges on like there’s nothing unusual about that. “Yeah, he was reading by the lake, and I needed some peace and quiet. It was a beautiful view, and he let me sit on the log with him. I watched the birds and the sky, and he read his book…” She trails off, eyeing me carefully, most likely reading my shock as disapproval. “I hope that’s okay. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just…”
She turns to glance down at Oliver with an affectionate grin. “You’re good company, you know? It was exactly what I needed.”
I’m trying not to make a big deal about this, so I stare down at the grill and gather my thoughts. Over the last few years, I’ve learned that making a big deal out of Oliver’s selective mutism serves zero purpose other than embarrassing him and making him quieter.
So instead of disclosing that Oliver never speaks to anyone other than immediate family and friends who might as well be family, I carry on like there is nothing out of the ordinary about what Skylar just said.
“Well, that’s great. I’m glad you guys got the chance to meet, and I’m glad my boy was such a gentleman and shared his bench with you.”
“But, Dad, don’t you—” Emmy starts, and I cut her off with a serious look. It’s not one I give her often. I’m not known to be an especially great disciplinarian, but this is a moment where we need to just change the subject
and not make him talking a whole thing.
I just have to pray she picks up what I’m putting down. Boundaries aren’t her strong suit, but she’s pretty intuitive. “Emmy, can you please run inside and get Skylar a drink?” I turn to our guest. “Skylar, what do you want? Beer to help with a matching beer belly? Or I’ve got wine, soda, juice. Really, whatever you want, I’ve got it.”
“What about me? Can I have whatever I want?” Emmy, again. Jumping right into the fray.
“Oh em gee, girlfriend,” I whine, leaning again into my favorite Valley- girl voice that elicits a giggle from Emmy. “You get water because you already had a freezie.”
Skylar chuckles softly, and Emmy grabs her hand, hauling her into the house with a disappointed growl.
I turn to watch them walk away, and when they get close to the door, Skylar glances back at me over her shoulder. Her shiny bronze hair falls loose around her shoulders. My eyes catch on her hazel ones for a moment, and she seems uncertain. Like she doesn’t know what to make of today’s developments. I mean… Why would she?
The girl has to be entirely out of her element. She’s gone from world tours and selling out stadiums to getting hauled into an old farmhouse by a sticky-handed hellion.
Her lashes flutter down over my apron once more before her lips press into a flat line to cover a smile. She shakes her head slightly and follows my daughter into our house.
“Dad?” Ollie says to me, finally pushing up onto his elbows. His sandy- blond hair and his bright blue eyes feel a bit like looking straight into a mirror of myself at his age.
“Hell yeah, girlfriend. What’s up?” I continue in that voice and his eyes take an exasperated tour around their sockets. “If I’m annoying you now, just imagine how much you’ll hate me when you’re a teenager. I’m going to have to learn how to play it cool by then. Or do you already think I’m pretty cool?”
He ignores my line of questioning altogether and jumps in with, “You can’t leave her alone with Emmy.”
“And why not?” I ask as I lift the edge of a burger to check the sear.
“Because Emmy is absolutely obsessed and totally overbearing and is going to make her not want to be here. She was talking about choreographing her a dance and then charging her for it like she’s some sort of entrepreneur.”
I stop and stare at my son. When he does talk, he sounds like he’s twenty and has been to Harvard. Must be the absurd reading level his teachers keep telling us about. “Your vocabulary never fails to impress me. But your sister shouldn’t work for free. Child labor is a crime, you know.”
“Dad, I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay. So you do want her to be here?”
He shrugs and tips his head back, looking up at the darkening sky. “I guess so. Yeah, she’s… Well, you know I’m not into her music, but I like her. She seems nice, right?”
I study him. I don’t know what went on between the two of them down at that lake, but there must have been something. Ollie is shy and reserved and slow to trust, but there’s something about Skylar that’s speaking to him.
There’s something about her that speaks to me too.
“I’m surprised, that’s all. You’re usually not a big fan of strangers.”
His eyes are downcast as he kicks at the ground. “Haven’t met anyone before who can’t talk, even when they want to sometimes.”
Realization dawns on me. Skylar’s recent freeze-ups on camera have received a lot of attention in the press. Most people see a young woman
embarrassing herself publicly.
But Ollie sees someone like him.
“Dad,” he starts up again. “Please don’t let Emmy ruin this.”
I scoff, not wanting him to be too hard on his little sister. “Ollie, I’m not gonna let her ruin this. But your sister’s got a lot more charm than you think.
That girl could sell a hamburger to a vegan.”
He quirks a brow at me. “Are you done being wise now? Can you please go save Skylar from Emmy?”
I point my tongs at him. “Mouthy little shit.”
Then I oblige him. I place the utensil down and jog toward the house, hearing my son mumble to my back, “More like she’d hold a vegan down and force-feed them a burger.”
I can’t help but chuckle at his remark as I approach the front door. It’s wide-open, so I step inside and opt to watch for a moment.
Just to make sure Emmy isn’t force-feeding her anything after all.
Perched on a worn wooden stool at the butcher block countertop, Skylar watches while Emmy plays bartender with a can of locally made cider.
“No, fancy girls don’t drink out of cans, Skylar,” Emmy argues. “What about a champagne glass? I think Dad has one back here somewhere.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be a fancy girl anymore,” Skylar responds.
She says it in a joking manner, but something about the sentiment hits me in the chest. Something about the way she got all defensive when I made the jibe about the bedsheets.
It’s become abundantly clear there’s a lot more to Skylar Stone than just a pretty face.
She’s a girl on the run—I know that much just from watching and listening—but what I’m realizing is that she might be on the run from herself.
Emmy ignores Skylar’s reply, refusing to accept the fact that she’d drink out of a can. And I smile to myself, because now that I think of it…this is actually a little like force-feeding someone.
My daughter crawls up onto the countertop, the picture of independence as she reaches into the cupboard.
She hasn’t noticed me standing at the door, and I suppose that’s why she starts shit-talking me. “My dad always tells me not to do this, but you know what? He doesn’t know everything, and I can handle my business. He’s always all”—she drops her voice in a mocking imitation—“Emmy, you need to be careful. But you know what? I’ve heard stories about my dad from when he was a kid. And it doesn’t sound like he was careful. So, like, what does he know?”
She cuts off when the tips of her fingers bump against the glass, but instead of getting a grip, she ends up pulling it closer and it tumbles from the cupboard. It lands on the countertop before bouncing once and shattering everywhere.
Hundreds of tiny, sharp pieces of glass litter the kitchen in an instant.
“Yeah, all good points,” I pipe up as Skylar lets out a sharp gasp. “You really showed me. What do I know, right?”
Emmy freezes, mouth popped open, as I push my propped shoulder off the doorframe and let out a smug chuckle. “Emmy baby, this is exactly why I tell you not to do that. Not because I’m being a buzzkill. Just stay right where you are.”
My daughter’s eyes are wide as I move toward her, but it’s Skylar’s reaction that hits me in the gut. She has one hand flat against her chest, and she’s staring at me like she’s afraid of me.
My brow rumples as I take her in. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s fine.” I take on the softest tone I can so as not to startle anybody. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just a glass. Not even crystal, because we’re not that fancy. Perfectly
replaceable. Most importantly, is everyone all right?”
I walk through the kitchen until I reach my daughter and scoop her up off the countertop.
Glass crunches beneath my boots as I carry her to the back door. Then I swat her playfully on the butt. “Back outside, where animals like you belong.
And can you please go ask your brother to turn the barbecue off?”
She nods as she says, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
I almost laugh. She only pulls out the daddy card when she’s in trouble or wants something.
“You better be,” I fire back with a wink. She grins at me, and I shoo her outside. “Quick, before the burgers burn.”
When I turn, Skylar is still staring at me. Her face is devoid of any color.
I quirk my head at her, attempting to figure out why this grown woman looks so traumatized over a broken glass. “Skylar, are you okay?”
She nods woodenly. “Yeah. Yeah.” Her voice comes out creaky.
“Want me to carry you out of here too?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood.
Her responding laugh is thin. “No.” She glances around her. She left her shoes at the front door. “No, I’m okay.” She says the words but still makes no move to get up. Crossing a room littered in glass shards with bare feet will be a challenge.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let her do that. I was enjoying watching her climb and listening to her talk. She’s funny.”
I nod. “Yeah, she’s funny all right.”
Skylar swallows and lowers her gaze to her hands, fiddling with her fingers like she’s been sent to the principal’s office. “Please don’t be mad at her.”
My head tilts. “Why would I be mad at her? It’s just glass. I’ll clean it up.
No big deal. She’s a little kid. Little kids make mistakes.” Skylar nods but doesn’t glance up at me. “Shit, adults make mistakes too. God knows I have.”
“Same,” she whispers.
And I can’t fucking stand how sad she looks.
“Okay, that’s it, fancy face.” I take two long steps toward her, and her chin shoots up, eyes widening when she realizes I’ve closed the distance
between us.
“What are you —”
I cut her off when I reach for her. I barely know this woman, and I don’t
know what I’m doing. But have I ever really known what I’m doing? I’ve spent my entire life ruled by impulses and instincts. So why would I stop now?
She squeals when my arms slide beneath her knees and around her waist, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her arms reach up and circle my neck as I
straighten my legs to stand.
“West!”
“What?”
“Put me down!”
“No. I don’t think I will. That’s too much sad face for one day.”
A disbelieving laugh lurches from her throat as she tips her face up to stare at me.
Meeting her eyes feels like it might be too personal, so I choose to whisper gruffly against her ear, “And I won’t stand for it.”
She shivers and presses closer as I fold her against my chest and forge ahead, over the sea of glass. I march outside to the sound of Skylar’s shocked giggles, Emmy’s loud bark of laughter, and my son’s embarrassed groan.
I feel her fingers grip the back of my neck and the rush of her breath against my throat, but I don’t put her down, not even when she gasps as I take the few steps off the deck.
Only when my boots hit the grass do I finally let her go.
Her bare feet land lightly on the ground, and her hands stay linked behind my neck for a beat before she slides them down over my shoulders.
Over the sounds of my kids’ laughter, I hear her softly say, “Thank you,” as her fingers rap against my chest.
It pulls my eyes down, her nails trailing against the apron where it says, This Guy Rubs His Own Meat.
A shy smile touches her lips. Her soft fucking lips.
And I have to draw away. Because this apron is feeling just a little too apt for the moment and what I’ll no doubt be doing later.