Jamison
I’d taken to calling our rental home the log chateau. The main room in the house was so kitsch that it was laughable. It looked like a hotel set up by Disney, little cabin-y details sprinkled everywhere, axes hung on the wall, a bear rug, a hand-carved checkers game, wood signs that said things like, “The mountains are calling and I must go.” The kitchen was an open floor plan with a huge gray granite island, followed by a natural wood slab dining table that could seat a baseball team. Beyond the table was a large living room/fireplace area shrouded in stuffed moose heads, wrought iron fixtures, and dark chocolatey leather couches that were drowning in hordes of gray, red, and cream throw pillows. It was lovely really, if you were into the faux-camping, glamping, hunter lodge vibe.
After our afternoon on horseback in the idyllic fields of the Morgan ranch, I couldn’t control myself. I invited Cody to dinner. So, now, after a long hot shower and despite my horse-riding inspired aching thighs, I stood at the gray countertop chopping vegetables. Maggie was upstairs, putting Flynn down. Normally, he was a night owl but spending the day with the horses and Cody had tuckered him out. As for me, I could barely talk all day. I just kept watching Cody care for our son and oscillated between utter sappy sweet emotional overload to terrified panic. I think Maggie got the vibe that she needed to give me a little space before she asked what today was like, and I was grateful because I had no idea how to explain the intensity of what I felt watching Cody with Flynn.
If I kept it simple, it was glorious. For eternity, I would have the image of Flynn high up on Trigger, snuggled tight against his father, holding the horn of the saddle, blathering our ears off with questions about cowboys, horses, and cows. I would also carry the softness in Cody’s eyes when he spoke to and laughed with our son. Cody was so kind to Flynn, so welcoming and warm that a piece of me was glad he didn’t know that Flynn was his son because there was nothing awkward between them. They were just a man and a boy getting to know each other, and it was sweet and tender, and somehow, my lie gave them the freedom to just be. I also realized that it was my lie that gave me a front-row seat to these moments.
If I told Cody upfront that Flynn was his son, there would have been anger. There would be anger. Cody was going to be mad that I took the first years of Flynn’s life from him. I was sure of it. Cody would want to know his son, even if it was an unplanned surprise, even if he hadn’t wanted children at all. A part of me always knew that. Family mattered to Cody. He talked about his family on our night together years ago, and he talked about them now. Family was the center of his universe. So, a son would matter to him. Flynn was going to matter to him. Cody was going to love Flynn, even if he was scared at first, and I was sure, so, so sure, that Cody would be a good dad.
The big problem was that Cody might hate me. Obviously, I needed to tell him about Flynn but I wanted everything. Watching him with our son today, I wanted us to be a family or at the very least, I wanted us to consider the possibility that maybe we could be a family. I was so attracted to Cody from the first minute I saw him. My night with him was the penultimate date of my life. And seeing him with our son, can you say big fat lady boner? I mean, that man, that beautiful, gentle, strong badass man, playing with my son, too many feels all around. Yep, I was totally going to have a nervous breakdown. So, I decided that the best thing I could do was just focus on chopping vegetables and try not to think about my happy little boy in the arms of his unsuspecting father.
I heard Maggie clomping down the stairs, which told me Flynn was fast asleep because, otherwise, she’d be tiptoeing. She came into the kitchen and sat down at the counter across from me.
“Is he bringing the horses with him?” she asked.
“What?” I looked up at her like she was crazy.
“Well, considering the size of that salad you're making, it seems like maybe you were looking to feed a horse.”
I looked at the bowl in front of me. Hmm, it was rather full.
“Right, that should be enough.” I put the knife down.
She laughed. “Ya think?”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then I asked, “You think this is like people who procrasto-bake?”
“Yes. Only procrasto-salad-making is definitely not as sexy. You should switch to muffins, babe.”
I picked up the bowl and said, “I’m going to put some of this in the fridge so he doesn’t think I thought he was going to bring his horse.”
“Good call,” Maggie smiled. “Also, maybe we should talk about what’s happening so, I don’t know, maybe you get your head on straight.”
“My head is fine.”
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
I looked down. Shit. “Okay, maybe I’m a little crooked.”
“Maybe a little,” she confirmed.
I took a deep breath. “It’s a lot.”
“Of course, it is.” There was sympathy in her voice. “It would be for anyone. Let’s cover the big issues.”
I couldn’t seem to say anything. I opened the kitchen cabinet doors, looking for Tupperware.
“Third one on your right,” she offered.
She was right. She waited while I dumped half the salad into the Tupperware. There was still too much in the bowl but not an insane amount. I still didn’t speak up so she intervened. “Okay, since you’re not offering, let me help you out. Having just listened to Flynn talk about Cowboy Cody until he literally couldn’t keep his eyes open, I’m guessing that big issue number one is that you think Cody would be a good dad, and that means you have to tell him Flynn’s his son.”
I nodded.
She continued. “Big issue number two, you feel guilty that you didn’t tell him years ago.”
Yes, I nodded again.
“And the biggest issue of all…” She paused for effect. “You want to bone him.”
Fuck. “Ugh, I’m a terrible person.” I dropped my face into my hands.
“You’re not.”
“God, Mags. It’s worse than that. I think I really like him, like… like him like him. I do want to bone him. Like tear his clothes off with my teeth, but I also want to more than bone him.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Is that real though? Or is it just that he’s mind-bendingly attractive and the actual father of your son so it’s kind of a dreamy dream?”
“I know how it looks, but it’s not just a dreamy dream. Actually, he is a dreamy dream. He’s my dreamy dream. He’s so amazing. You know I always thought that, and after these two days, I feel it even more.”
Maggie sighed. “Okay, so then I think you can’t tell him yet.”
“What? No, I have to tell him. I should tell him tonight.” I couldn’t wait anymore. The more I waited, the worse it was going to get. I crossed to the fridge and took out the chicken. In addition to a lot of salad, I was making chicken pesto and pasta for dinner.
“I think if you tell him now, you’ll freak him out.” Of course, I would, that was the point.
“The longer I wait, the worse it’s going to get.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Or maybe he falls in love with you?”
I scolded her. “I’m not tricking him into falling in love with me.” But as usual, she was completely unflusterable.
“Hey, hey, don’t look down your nose at me. Nobody said anything about tricking. I just think you should spend more time with him this week before you tell him. Maybe you both fall in love. Maybe you don’t. If you’re not in love at the end of the week, then you just tell him you were trying to figure out how to tell him. Either way, you tell him that you weren’t expecting that attraction to still be there and now that you got it out of your system or know that it's true, you’d like to figure out how to make this work. You also tell him that you had to make sure he would be good for Flynn. Make it a lot about Flynn. And you apologize a lot.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” I pouted as I finished coating the chicken in pesto and then bent to put it in the oven.
“It is. But you can’t tell him tonight, Jamie. You just can’t. Because if you do, it’s going to explode. It’s too tenuous. You need to know for sure where you want it to go. And I get that it’s not fair to him, but sometimes shit’s not fair.”
I stared at her, sitting there peacefully at the counter, convincing me that I had no choice but to be deceptive. She was so dainty with her little poofy ponytail and her pale-yellow cardigan. Everything about her screamed America’s sweetheart and the girl next door, but she was actually fierce. Maggie was a badass scrapper. Having her in your corner was always a plus.
“You, my friend, are a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
She smirked at me. “It’s an art.”
“Just have fun with him?” It was rhetorical more than anything.
“You came here to figure out some stuff. Do that. You can manage the fallout later.”
I nodded.
“Also,” she paused for effect, “fix your shirt.”
Bitch.The best kind.
* * *
Cody arrivedin a crisp white dress shirt, jeans, and his black hat, looking just like he did the night we met. He came in with a lot of joy, a big barrel-chested smile. Also, he brought in a brown paper shopping bag stamped ‘Conway café.’ I met him at the door, barefoot and casual, butterflies fluttering in my belly.
“I brought pie,” he said with a mischevious smile.
I intended to walk him right into the kitchen, but he cornered me at the door. Setting the pie at my feet, he kissed me. At first, the butterflies I spoke of took flight, twirling and dive-bombing like kamikaze pilots. My mind raced with all the thoughts. I shouldn’t kiss him. I shouldn’t let him kiss me. How was I going to handle the moment when he hates me? Would he ever forgive me? Or would I spend my life watching and dreaming about him from afar because he accepted his role as Cody’s father but wanted nothing to do with me?
But as quickly as the fears took flight, they dissipated, completely obliterated by the lust his tongue inspired as he ravished my mouth. His lips devoured mine. Talk about a knee-shaking, mind-numbing, when-he-pulls-away-my-lips-are-going-to-involuntarily-chase-after-his kind of a kiss. He pressed me hard into the wall and I threaded my hands through his hair, taking him deeper into my mouth and bumping the bag with the pie so that the paper crackled.
From the kitchen, Maggie called, “You know I can hear you, all sloppy and panting, right?”
Shit. Tearing my mouth from his, I hollered, “Sorry, Maggie.”
Moving his kisses down my jaw and close to my ear, Cody whispered, “I’m not, I’ve been waiting to do that all day.” I let my head drop back, luxuriating for just one more second in the feel of his mouth on me.
“As long as you two hungry bunnies don’t crush that pie I heard Cody mention, it’s fine. I’ll just sit here in the kitchen feeling intensely awkward.”
Cody snickered, and after one last nuzzle, reached for the bag at our feet. He took two steps back so that he had enough distance to run his eyes over my body from head to toe. He breathed, “So fucking sexy, James.” Then he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, winked, and nodded his head toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna go chat with Maggie. You can come if you want.” And then, while my knees were still too weak to push off the wall, he turned, and he skipped off in Maggie’s direction while he said, “You’re a trip, ya know that, Mags?” He must have had her in his line of sight. “Can I call you Mags?”
Stern like a mother scolding a child for missing curfew, Maggie said, “Hold your horses, cowpoke. The jury’s still out.”
* * *
Wine helped.And pie. But Maggie was relentless. We sat at the dining table, all three on one end—Maggie and me on one side and Cody on the other. She drilled Cody like he was a criminal. By the time she put down her dessert fork, I felt like I knew everything there was to know about Cody Morgan, including the fact that he’d never been in a serious relationship, like ever. Maggie’s vantage of attack appeared to be an overzealous need to protect me, but I knew better. She loved Flynn something fierce and was absolutely doing her own vetting of Cody’s daddy potential. Cody took the entire interrogation in stride, cracking jokes and flirty smiles when she pushed and straight-shooting when she pulled.
Still holding her wineglass and possibly eyeing another piece of pie, Maggie said, “So, tell me about Jamie.”
Suddenly, Cody shifted nervously in his chair, looking squirmier than he had all night. “You mean, this James? The one sitting right here at the table with us, Mags?”
He hadn’t called her Mags since the first time he tried, so saying it now was clearly a show of strength, as if to say, Okay, girlie, I’ve tolerated your relentless questioning up until now but this is where I draw the line.
Maggie rebuked any dismissal in his response. “Yes, tonight I’ve learned that you’re a lover and also perhaps a fighter. You think you’d rather be with horses than people, but you also handle complicated and demanding people with a smile. You’d literally take a bullet for your father, and pretty much anyone you call family, and you’re a commitment-phobe. So, now I want to know, in the spectrum of Cody Morgan’s life… what is James to you?”
I shook my head in frustration. “You do not have to answer her.” Then, giving Maggie the stink eye, I said, “In fact, we can completely pretend she’s not here.” I turned back to Cody. “You know what? I think we should make out where she can hear us again.”
Cody’s nostrils flared as his face did something between a laugh and a smile at my comment, and then he chose to answer Maggie’s demanding, nosy question. “I see what you're feeling all over your face and in the tension of your body, Maggie. And while a part of me knows that you're being intrusive and that my life is none of your business, another piece of me is over the moon that James…” he paused and then as if surprised by his own thought, added, “and Flynn have someone who wants to snarl for them.”
Maggie brought her wineglass to her mouth and took a sip, covering a little sneaky smile. I was pretty sure Cody didn’t notice that, at the mention of Flynn, Maggie had finally dropped her guard because he was busy looking up, the way you do when you’re trying to formulate your thoughts. He started to speak again. “I guess I’m just gonna answer you even though the answer is messy and maybe not exactly what you want to hear.”
He paused again, still trying to get the words right. Maggie stayed quiet, but her eyes were wide, and under the table, she tapped me with her foot. I knew what she was saying with her touch, Holy fuck, Jamie, what is he going to say right now? And honestly, I wasn’t sure, but I was suddenly way too anxious. I could feel the sweat percolating under my arms and on the back of my neck. I had the urge to jump up and start the dishes, like if I moved I might keep him from saying anything scary, dismissive, or painful. God, I just wanted to matter to him so much it was stupid.
I watched his shoulders curl as his confidence faltered for a second, and then he screwed his courage to the sticking place and puffed out his chest. He looked in my eyes, even though he was speaking to Maggie. “I don’t know exactly how to explain this, but James marked me. Like in the middle of the night, if I wake up thirsty and needing to pee, when I get back into bed, I’m thinking about her. Or when I read with Molly and the books are silly, I’m reminded of how James and I are silly.” He looked down at his lap for a second and looked up again, softly smiling. “Or when I’m out on the ranch and a storm’s coming in and the clouds look black and ominous and I’m rushing to get everything tied up and tied down, and suddenly, I just wonder if I’ll ever see her again. Like it’s just a thing.”
When he finished, the silence around the three of us echoed. I kept my eyes on Cody, trying to make sure that he knew I wasn’t horrified or terrified by his brazen vulnerability. But it took effort to pull in a breath. And when I did, the sound and movement of the air entering my lungs felt noisy and annoying, like someone talking during a movie.
Maggie cleared her throat. “I think you can call me Mags,” she said nonchalantly, standing and picking up her dessert plate. She crossed to the kitchen and put the plate in the sink. I still had my eyes locked on Cody when she said, “And on that note, I’m gonna go check on the babe You two, try to behave yourselves.”
Neither Cody nor I responded.
When she was gone and we could hear the creaking of her weight on the floor above us, he said, “Always, I always think of you.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Me too.” The feelings were intense, too intense, like a boulder on my chest. I was gonna hurt him. How could I not hurt him? And maybe I loved him. Maybe I always loved him. Maybe I didn’t tell him about Flynn three and a half years ago because I couldn’t bear the idea of him not wanting me.
He pushed his chair back, the legs scratching against the floor. I opened my eyes to him reaching his hand out for me. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“A walk?” I questioned, my voice catching in my throat a bit.
“Yeah, a walk. The kind where we hold hands and look at the stars and I contemplate how to get you to let me kiss you.”
I took his hand, standing, and tried to echo the lightness in his tone. “I mean, not for nothing, but I’m pretty sure if you get your mouth anywhere near my mouth, I’ll attack you, so try not to overthink that bit.”
He yanked my hand, pulling me flush to his chest so our lips were separated by centimeters, not inches, and our two hands were crushed between us. Good to my word, I pushed up on my toes and pressed my lips to his. Unlike the feverish pitch we’d reached at the front door, this kiss was languid. His lips were soft, his tongue slow and wet, circling with mine. This was a smoldering kind of kiss, a gentle caress, an engine starter. When it was over, he whispered in my ear like he had earlier. “Who said it was your mouth I wanted to kiss?”
* * *