The Dream Guy Next Door: A Guys Who Got Away Novel Page 19

  Inside my parents’ place, I introduce January to my father, who shakes her hand and says, “I hear you’re gorgeous and brilliant.”

  They chat for a bit about the town, then her business, then a job she just finished, and it’s lovely how easily they’re getting along.

  A few minutes later, my mum pulls us aside and says to January, “So you’re the neighbor.”

  “I am.”

  “Great. I want to show you these cupboards that need a little bit of work, but I insist on paying you.” She beckons January into the kitchen.

  January shakes her head. “I insist on you not paying me.”

  “No, I must. It’s just how it is.”

  That’s my mum, already diving into things, enlisting January in her life and doing it on her terms.

  “You will not give me any money, Mrs. Harris.”

  From across the room, I call out, “Mum, you’re not going to win this one.”

  She tuts, shakes a finger at me, then says, “Oh, yes, I am.”

  January flashes me a smile. “She’s not going to win this one.”

  My father chuckles and says, “Love, I don’t think you’re going to win this one.”

  I sit down next to my dad as January heads inside with my mum to check out the cupboards, and he nods in their direction. “What are you going to do? Do you know?”

  I let out a long breath. What am I going to do? That’s exactly what I have to figure out.

  As in, what the fuck am I going to do because I’m in love with a woman who doesn’t want what I want at all?

  I don’t know. I don’t know. And I don’t know.

  Do I just let go of everything I thought I wanted?

  Say goodbye to my dreams?

  Let them fall to the ground and melt like snow when it touches concrete?

  “I have no idea,” I say.

  “Maybe you need some time to think about what you want.”

  Time.

  That sounds wise.

  But can I sort it out when I’m tugging her into my bedroom every night, making love to her, whispering sweet nothings, and falling mercilessly in love?

  Ethan stays behind at my parents’ house for the night.

  On the ride home, January must sense that my mind is far away. Once we pull into my driveway, she runs a hand through my hair, her eyes concerned. “What’s going on?”

  That’s the issue.

  I’m used to knowing what I want.

  Used to understanding my heart.

  Accustomed to making decisions.

  And I don’t know a damn thing anymore.

  The more I’m near her, the harder it is to understand what I want and what I’ll regret.

  There’s no point mincing words. I turn, meet her gaze, and speak the truth. “I think I need a few days to figure out what’s going on with us.”

  She blinks. Parts her lips. Gulps. When she speaks, it’s in a strangled voice. “A break? You need a break?”

  I cup her cheek, sadness flooding my entire being.

  But I need time.

  I need to know what to do, how to change, what to change. “I do. I do need it because I want all of these things and you don’t, and I can’t keep falling in love with you if you don’t want the same things I do.”

  There it is.

  I’ve told her that I’m in love with her.

  She swallows roughly, licks her lips, then says, “A time-out is a good idea, then, because I’m in love with you too.”

  25

  January

  The next morning, Betty waves me over as I’m outside checking on my flowers.

  “January,” she says, beckoning as she waters her garden. It isn’t drowning this time. I head over to her house, stopping at the white fence.

  She waggles her eyebrows, her slate-blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Inquiring minds want to know. Is his tush just as biteable as it looks from a distance?”

  I shake my head, frowning, unable to joke about biteable olives with our break status tugging me down. “You’re not going to get that out of me.”

  She tuts. “Please, do an old woman a solid.”

  “You’re not old. You’re . . . what? Sixty-two?” I ask, hoping to divert her attention away from Liam and me, especially since I don’t think there is a Liam and me anymore. I don’t know how to cross our impasse, and it’s breaking my heart.

  “Please. I am sixty-one. Don’t age me up.” She moves the hose over her peonies, drizzling a little bit of water on them before she sets it down on the lawn, heads to the faucet, turns it off, then joins me again. “I had my daughters young. Just like you with Wednesday. And we’re close too.”

  “That is true.” Missy often tells me how well she gets along with her mom, since they’re only twenty-three years apart.

  Betty wags a finger at me. “But I want to know about the olive scale.”

  I don’t want to go there, so I sidestep. “Your lawn looks great.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Are you having trouble in paradise? Missy and I were glad that you were the one who got him.”

  But does that matter if I can’t keep him? “I’m not sure it’ll last.”

  She gives me a look of utter disbelief. “How could it not last? You can fix anything in the house, and he can take care of all your pets. You’re both hot to trot for each other. What problems could you possibly have?”

  Problems like life goals.

  Like wants.

  Like the future.

  I give an easy shrug. “Who knows?” I try to keep it light and breezy. This isn’t the time or the place to break it all down.

  “Oh,” she says, as if the light bulb has flicked on. Like she’s figured it all out. “Kids. You want more and he doesn’t?”

  I let out a long breath, wishing she hadn’t nailed it in reverse, but weirdly glad that I have an outlet. “More like the other way around. But I think maybe I should change my mind.”

  “Ah,” she says with a sage nod. “You thought you were done, but now you aren’t sure?”

  I didn’t intend to have this conversation with my neighbor, but sometimes it’s easier to voice deep truths to someone who’s not regularly in your life. Who only appears in it tangentially. Saying these words to Betty helps me understand them. Helps them take shape.

  “I’m thirty-seven. It’s not that I’m too old to have kids. I might be able to, but I also don’t know . . . and there is so much to consider.” I take a beat, collecting my thoughts. “And yet he’s kind of amazing.”

  “But you have a career to think about now too,” she points out, drawing up her shoulders like she’s calling on all her woman strength. “You’ve started building your business. I had my girls when I was young, and by the time I was forty-one, they were out of the house and I was able to start my flower shop. That had been my dream, something I’d always wanted to do. Would I have been able to do that if I’d had another baby? Who knows? There are all sorts of things to think about. But I’m glad I opened my shop and glad I had something of my own.”

  “Glad, too, that you didn’t have to bring a baby with you to the store?”

  She flashes a sympathetic smile. “Yes, dear. That too.”

  What would it be like to have a baby again? How would I get any work done? Would I take the baby to jobs? Get a nanny? Would Liam stay home? The practical stuff is so daunting and terrifying.

  But it’s worth considering because he wants it.

  I try to picture what it’d be like to be pregnant again.

  Would he want to start right away? What if we wanted to be together just as a couple for a few years? Then I might not be able to get pregnant. Would he resent me if I couldn’t?

  I don’t share all of this with Betty. It’s too personal. I don’t have the answers to any of these questions.

  But then, an adorable towhead toddles from inside the house onto the front porch, stretches, and says, “Nana, I woke up from my nap. Can we draw?”

  Betty t
urns around, her smile lighting up her features. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want, my little lovebug.”

  As Betty walks over to the porch, I can’t resist. I join her. When she picks up her little granddaughter and brings her close, nuzzling her hair, I get that feeling in my chest, the one I get when I’m holding a baby.

  A feeling a lot of women get. That feeling of wanting them.

  Betty must see it in my eyes because she turns to me and says, “Nora’s a sweetheart. Do you want to give her a little hug?”

  Nora reaches her hands out, and I take her in my arms, close my eyes, and inhale that fresh, sweet smell.

  Could I truly do this?

  Not for him. But for me.

  That’s the question.

  And I need to find the answer.

  26

  Liam

  My first patient on Monday is none other than the devil himself.

  Saul.

  But Maya doesn’t seem as frazzled or as manic as she did on our date, or on her first visit to the clinic after our date. She made an appointment a few weeks ago and has been working through her cat’s issues.

  She’s calmer, more hopeful, and Saul seems to be doing better too.

  “I’ve been able to leave the house a few times without him. I was able to go to the library,” she says with obvious enthusiasm.

  “That’s fantastic,” I say, stroking the less devilish devil. “He seems to be doing well.”

  We talk more as he purrs, and when we’re done, she tucks him into a cat carrier. “Thank you for that date last month. Even though it didn’t go anywhere, it made me realize something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I needed to make a change. And I did.”

  “I’m glad it was helpful to you. And I’m glad it was helpful to Saul.”

  “The funny thing is, after I started seeing you about the cat, I met this guy online, and he’s great. I went to dinner without taking Saul. Then to a movie.”

  “That’s terrific progress.”

  She hoists the carrier onto her shoulder. “If things hadn’t gone wrong with you, I never would’ve met this new guy.” She pats the bag. “It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. It is funny,” I say with a small smile.

  After the appointment, I take a lunch break, needing some exercise, so I ride to the town square in Duck Falls, and lock up my bike. But the way things work out feels less funny and more frustrating and annoying. It feels like things should work out in an entirely different way.

  I still don’t know what way that is, but it shouldn’t be this.

  I wander the town square, marinating on where I am in life. Where I want to be.

  I pass the boba tea shop, and Nina waves to me. I stroll by the wine bar, and Oscar says hi as he sets up for the afternoon. I venture by the hair salon, where January’s friend gives me a nod.

  Do I miss New York?

  Yes, but no.

  All these people, all these places feel right to me.

  That ought to be enough.

  At the corner, I spot the hardware store, a reminder that I need to snag a new light bulb to replace one that burned out. Best to focus on practical matters, not the ruminations of a half-empty heart.

  I head inside and say hello to the two men who run the shop, Travis’s dads. David points me to the light bulb section. I grab one, head to the counter, and say, “This is all I need today.”

  “Are you sure you know how to install it? Do you need help with that, vet?” David teases.

  “I think I can figure it out. Connects to the dewclaw, right?”

  “Sure, but if you can’t get it sorted, you just be sure to ask the carpenter next door,” David says, a little flirty, like he enjoys being in on the news about January and me.

  Even though there is no January and me. Not like there was that day we ran into them.

  I keep my grin fixed on my lips. “Sure. Will do, mate.”

  He rings me up, hands me the light bulb, and says, “We’re having a barbecue next weekend. If you’d like to join us, it would be fun. The boys can play baseball.”

  “I’d love that.” I leave, content that I’m making friends in this new town, right along with my son. That ought to be a good thing.

  Plus, we’re going to the dog shelter this weekend.

  That’ll be a great thing.

  And even though my dad is facing plenty of challenges, he’s holding up.

  I see him often. Mum too.

  All good things.

  My clients are great. My practice is thriving. My son is happy.

  The glass should be all the way full.

  But it feels all the way empty.

  I wander through the square some more, looking at my phone briefly when I see a text from Aunt Jane, thanking me for my latest pic of Ethan splashing in the pool.

  * * *

  Aunt Jane: Miss you, love. But life in California seems to be treating you well.

  * * *

  I’m not entirely sure what to say, so I reply with a smiley face. Then I delete the emoticon because I am not a smiley-face guy.

  Instead, I type another answer.

  * * *

  Liam: Miss you too.

  * * *

  That feels true at the moment. I click to my next text.

  * * *

  Oliver: Did you ever figure out your fox issues?

  * * *

  This conversation requires a phone call. I ring him on FaceTime. He’s in his Manhattan office, wearing a suit, and I’m in my scrubs. He looks me up and down. “I see we’re both in our work uniforms.”

  “Seems we are.” My tone is sullen, and I hate it. But I can’t change it.

  “You also look ridiculously sad. Are you still being a complete twat about relationships?”

  I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, looking around. “I think I might be.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, you probably are. Didn’t you break up with a woman you’re in love with?”

  “I sort of did.”

  “Judging from the look on your face, that was sort of dumb.”

  “Or maybe all the way dumb.”

  “So why’d you do it, then?”

  “We don’t want the same things.” But even as I say it, that urge to expand my family, to add a baby to the mix, doesn’t feel as important as it did when I met her. Not when faced with the thought of losing her.

  He arches a brow. “Are you absolutely certain about that?”

  Am I certain? I thought I was sure, but I don’t know anymore.

  When I don’t say anything, Oliver fills the silence.

  “It seems when you find somebody you love, really love, especially when you’ve never been in love before, you ought to try and make it work, Liam.”

  There’s some serious wisdom in there, but I’m not actually sure how to mine it.

  I hop on my bike and go back to work, because that I can do.

  27

  January

  When I finish my job the next day installing kitchen cabinets for LaTanya Smith, Wednesday and I head to town, both of us on a mission.

  Boba tea and YouTube channel planning for her and Audrey.

  Advice and sympathy from Alva for me.

  As we near the salon, Wednesday taps her wrist. “Did you know it’s time?”

  “Time for what? Seeing Audrey? Um, yeah. Obviously.”

  She pats my shoulder. “Ripley, Mom. Ripley. Keep up with me.”

  “This weekend,” I say, doing my best to stay cheery for my girl.

  When she spots Audrey snapping photos of some ducks in a pink wading pool, she waves and rushes off to hang with her bestie.

  I go to see Alva at the salon.

  She’s closing up, and I sit in one of the chairs, look at her in the mirror, and sigh heavily.

  I’m a sandbag made of lead.

  My heart is stone.

  My head hurts.

  “Talk to me, babe
.”

  The saddest sigh in the state of California falls from my lips. “I held this sweet little girl the other day, Betty’s granddaughter, and it made me think maybe I could do this. I just don’t want to lose him.”

  She stares at me in the mirror, an intensity in her brown eyes as she tucks her sleek black hair behind her ears. “You shouldn’t have children for another person.”

  “I know that, but I like kids. Hell, I love kids.” I don’t sound as chipper as I want to.

  “No doubt there. But just because you have one, just because you love them, doesn’t mean you should have another one for a man. It’s not fair to the kid, or to the man, or to you.”

  My chest aches, a nagging, insistent pain. “But I love him too, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “If you don’t know if you want children, you can’t make yourself want them for him.”

  “I want to want them. I think maybe I could. When I held Betty’s granddaughter, I thought maybe I could do it.”

  She turns around, facing me so we’re no longer looking in the mirror. Somehow, stripping away that reflection makes the conversation more intense. She parks her hands on the armrests of the salon chair. “But you don’t know for sure, right?”

  My throat hitches. “I don’t think I know for sure. But I don’t want to lose him. I love him. I love him so much. More than I thought I would. So much that I’d marry him if he wanted,” I say, and she lights up with glee. “So maybe I should be willing to have kids.”

  The glee winks off, replaced by a stern stare. “Have you told him any of this? How you feel about kids? About him? About a future? Not even the marrying part, but the being-willing-to-be-a-partner part? The I love you and want to be with you always part. Have you spoken to him about how you feel?”

  I flash back through our conversations, because I have a sinking feeling I’ve said the opposite to Liam.