Two Wedding Crashers Page 30

  “She’s been great. Very hospitable.”

  Zoey studies me, her eyes never breaking contact. “Do you really want to lie to me, Beck? Is that what you want to do?”

  I chuckle and let out a long breath. “Victoria is very particular, but I’m grateful for a free bed while I try to figure things out.”

  “And she’s not putting the moves on you?”

  “What?” My eyebrows shoot up. “No, not even a little.”

  “Good.” Zoey crosses her arms over her chest. “I can see she has a little crush on you, just a small one, but I want to make sure she knows you’re taken.”

  Oh Victoria.

  “So maybe I shouldn’t let her show me the Amelia Earhart documentary every night?”

  “Christ, no. Tell her one time is enough.” Zoey shakes her head and pulls out her phone. “That girl, I’m going to text her right now.”

  I reach over and place my hand over Zoey’s to stop her. “Please don’t. I don’t want her to feel bad. I can handle the documentary. It’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and look ungrateful, because I’m really grateful for you guys right now.”

  “We know. The fudge you bought us is thank you enough. Two pounds was really . . . a lot.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, I was unsure of what to get so I bought some of every flavors. I didn’t know they had that many flavors. Kind of impressive.”

  “It’s one of the reasons people come to Port Snow. That and the lighthouses and small harbor-town feel. But Lobster Landing is the place to be when in Maine.”

  “I could tell when I was in there.”

  The waitress brings our food. Zoey ordered through me prior to her arrival so food would be here, ready for her to chow down. That’s how she put it.

  Picking up her spoon and diving it into her lobster bisque, she asks, “So what’s your next plan?”

  “Not sure, yet. I want to find my way around the gallery, and I’m waiting on a phone call from Cal, my sponsor.”

  “What kind of call?”

  I pick at my lobster mac and cheese but don’t make any real dent. “Well, given my background, I wanted to see if it was possible for me to be a foster parent. I’m not quite sure they let felons foster kids, or adopt kids for that matter.”

  Yeah, that was a blow to my whole plan. When I spoke with Cal, he reminded me of the restrictions I have placed on my life, and foster care is most likely one of them.

  Zoey slowly looks up at me. “I never even thought about that. Oh shit. So . . . what happens if you can’t foster or adopt kids?”

  I lick my lips and tuck my fork under my bowl, leaning back in my chair. “Save a lot of money and find a surrogate. I’ll do anything to make Rylee happy. It can be some other dude’s so she doesn’t feel like the baby has more of a connection with me, if it helps.”

  A small smile passes over Zoey’s lips. “Rylee will be able to help you save, if that’s what you really want.”

  “I want whatever she wants.”

  “So you’re really serious?”

  I level with Zoey. “Do you think I would drop everything in my life, move across country, shack it up with a historian, and practically beg for a job in an art gallery for fun?” I shake my head. “I’m dead fucking serious about being with Rylee.”

  “But you’ve only seen each other in person twice, not even in your own environments.”

  That’s the same damn thing Chris said to me while he drove me to the airport, and I’m going to tell Zoey the same thing I told Chris.

  “I’m not sure how you and Art met, but I’ve been with someone who made me feel like a lesser man, someone who brought me down to their level, someone who was so incredibly toxic for me that I broke. It took about six years to piece myself back together, and since then, I’ve been cautious when meeting women. Very cautious. Rylee is the first woman I’ve spoken to about my background. She’s the first woman to lift me up, to make me want to strive to be more, to be better than I already am. She’s a once-in-a-lifetime person, Zoey. Believe me, I’ve been through the gauntlet. She makes me happy and she gives me hope for a bright future. I want to hold on to that for as long as I live.”

  “Well . . . damn.” Zoey pats at her eyes. “God, you’re a fucking catch. Not a dickhead after all.” She clears her throat and says, “Okay, so I know she’s seen you, but you’re going to have to talk to her eventually.”

  “I know.” I take a big bite of my mac and cheese finally. “I want to have all my ducks in a row before I let it be known I’ve taken over her town.”

  Zoey laughs. “Pretty sure she’s already aware.”

  I’m coming for you, sweet Rylee. You’re mine forever. Mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  BECK

  These are beautiful, Beck. How on earth did you come up with them so quickly?” Mrs. Ryan asks, passing over the three canvases I brought into the gallery this morning for possible drink-and-paint parties.

  I grip the back of my neck, staring at the landscapes of Port Snow I painted last night. I stayed up late, painting in Victoria’s garage, draped in white drop cloths, until two this morning, caught up in the strokes and colors. I took pictures of some of the infamous landmarks in the town and put my own spin on them. When I was done, I felt proud. It was like I could see Rylee in every picture I took, in every corner I walked around. I was surrounded by her, and I felt my love for her in every stroke of my brush.

  “Inspiration hit me hard last night. I tried to keep the strokes simple, the color mixing basic, and the structure of the painting as elementary as possible without compromising the painting.”

  “You did a wonderful job.” Mrs. Ryan holds up the painting of Snow Roast and smiles to herself, noticing the black-haired beauty sitting in the window. Any tourist would think it’s a random person, but the nod to my girl doesn’t slip past Mrs. Ryan. “This is my favorite.”

  “Mine too,” I answer honestly. “There’s something about capturing people in their natural environment that inspires me, makes me want to paint the truth.”

  She pats my shoulder. “I couldn’t agree more.” She brings the paintings to the front window and puts them on display without even discussing it with me. “These unique colors should draw some attention. They’re very eye-catching.” Turning toward me, she clasps her hands together and asks, “So when are you going to tell my daughter what you’re doing here?”

  I bite my bottom lip. I knew she was going to ask me this question, I could see it in her eyes the minute she spotted Rylee in the painting.

  “Just trying to make sure I have all my ducks in a row before I let her in on my little life change.”

  “She hasn’t said anything to me since you’ve arrived. I actually think she’s retreated into her house, not wanting to run into you. Is there something you’re not telling me about your relationship, why she’s possibly avoiding you?”

  Feeling a little awkward standing in the middle of the gallery having this conversation, I motion to one of the seating areas and ask, “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Would love it.” We both take a seat and I lean forward, arms rested on my knees.

  “I love your daughter, Mrs. Ryan. I want to spend my life with her, but she has this notion that being with her will hold me back from my dreams because she can’t have children.”

  A knowing look passes over Mrs. Ryan’s eyes.

  “There are other ways to have families, but instead of talking it through, she ran. So I’m here to show her I’m not running. I’m willing to change everything in my life to be with her.”

  “And what about a family?”

  “We’ll figure it out, and if it doesn’t work out, then we will surround ourselves with our friends’ children.”

  “You’ll be happy with that?”

  “I’ll be happy with Rylee.” I take a deep breath. “As long as she’s happy and healthy, that’s all I really care about.”

  Mrs. Ryan nods and the bell to the fr
ont door dings. We both turn to see Rylee walk through, eyes cast toward her phone. “Mom, Dad said you were training someone new today? What’s going—?”

  She pauses mid-sentence when she looks up to see me sitting directly across from her mom. Lifting her sunglasses, as if she can’t possibly believe what she’s seeing, she takes a closer look.

  “Hi, honey,” Mrs. Ryan says, as if nothing strange is happening.

  I love watching Rylee’s mind work. It registers from shock to “what the hell is going on” to . . . yup, anger. Her eyes narrow on me, and I can see her feisty side emerging. Fuck, have I missed that side of her.

  “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “Rylee Lynn Ryan, that is no way to talk to people.”

  Straightening up, with her hand at her side, she tries to secretly call her mom over with her finger, her head nodding in her direction.

  Not being as sly as Rylee, Mrs. Ryan asks, “Would you like me to come over to you?”

  Rylee dramatically rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mom. Can I have a word, please?”

  I stand, wanting to give them some space. “I was going to get some coffee anyway. Can I grab you anything, Mrs. Ryan? Rylee?”

  “A hot chocolate on the rocks would be nice with whipped cream,” Mrs. Ryan says.

  I gesture to Rylee who shakes her head, her eyes still glaring.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a bit. Should I grab a scone to go with that hot chocolate on the rocks?”

  “Only if it’s from Lobster Landing.”

  I mirthfully shake my head. “Come on, Mrs. Ryan, I’m not a barbarian. Of course it would be from Lobster Landing.”

  “Then lemon poppy seed would be delightful.”

  “Not a problem.” I give them a parting wink. Rylee is about to blow a gasket behind me as I leave the gallery and head for Lobster Landing first, then I’ll hit up the Snow Roast.

  As I’m taking the short walk toward the infamous gift shop, my phone rings.

  I take a deep breath and answer the phone. “Hey Cal, how’s it going?”

  “Good, good. How’s Maine treating you?”

  “I kind of love it. Got a job at the gallery. I’m going to be teaching some art classes, and there is some possible contract work at the museums and zoos I can score on the weekends. Everything is lining up for me.”

  “Good to hear. And Rylee, where does she stand?”

  “Haven’t really talked to her that much. I keep running into her because it’s a small town, but I don’t really want to make my intentions known until I have answers to all my questions. I have my job situated. I have settled on living arrangements for now but hoping those will change if Rylee decides to take a leap of faith with me. Just waiting on your news to see what my options are.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll be honest, I was a little nervous about flipping your world upside down for the possible chance of being with a woman, but you’ve gone about this intelligently and you sound happy . . . healthy.”

  “I am. I feel really positive.” I lean against a lamppost, not wanting to take this conversation into a small building where everyone can listen in. Rylee was right when she told me about the gossip in this town. When I was at the grocery store the other day, two women were talking about the rebel-ish stranger lurking around town with the exact description as me. When I made myself known and said hi, they clammed up real quick.

  “Glad to hear it. Unfortunately, I don’t have the best news.”

  I sigh, my shoulders slouching forward, my posture shrinking. I knew this was possible. I’ve prepared myself for it.

  “I’m ready for it, just lay it on me.”

  “Since you were charged with vehicular manslaughter, it really limits your options. Foster care is not an option. Adoption is going to be hard, but there is a chance depending on the social worker you work with and the improvements you continue to make in your life that you can in the next few years get home study approved. But I’m going to be honest. It’s going to take a lot on your end to make that happen. It’s not going to come easily, and there’s a high possibility you’ll be turned down.”

  I nod, pressing my fingers into my brow, trying to massage the tension that’s causing my sudden migraine.

  “I can understand that. The choices you make always have an impact on your future.”

  “Which means, the choices you make now, the actions you take to better your life, will better your chances at possibly adopting one day. Keep building your foundation, keep making guest-speaking engagements, and educating everyone about the effects of drinking and driving.”

  “I will never let those fall through the cracks. They are a main priority in my life.”

  “Which is very admirable and shows great character, something that will serve you well on your application. But if the times comes and you do decide to take that step toward adoption, I have an adoption advisor that will be critical to have on your side during the process.”

  “Thanks, Cal.” I lean my head against the lamppost. Once again, my decision to get behind that wheel is altering my life. It’s a consequence I’ve had to live with every day of my life.

  “But I have some good news.” I perk up. “I know you really want to shape and mold kids, that’s your true passion.” Cal understands me to my very core. “So I made a few phone calls and becoming a Big Brother is a very viable option for you.”

  Huh, the thought of becoming a Big Brother never even crossed my mind.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, you meet the criteria. The only technicality is the note of violence against others. I spoke with someone in the Portland office and explained your situation, and they thought, given your track record and philanthropic focus, you would be a viable candidate for the Big Brother program, under strict supervision.”

  “Understandable. But that’s amazing. That’s actually kind of fantastic. I could really get into doing some work for them and even educational fundraisers.” My mind starts whirling with the many possibilities.

  “I’ll email you the contact information. Her name is Nancy Watson. She’s tough, but I think you two will get along.”

  “Thanks, Cal. Seriously. You went above and beyond to help me out here.”

  “No need to thank me. Just pay it forward like you always do, and when the time comes for you to be a sponsor, I hope you’ll strive for the same relationship we have.”

  “You’ve led me with such grace and honesty I can’t imagine doing it any other way.”

  And now I’m starting to get fucking emotional. Leave it to Cal.

  “Good to hear.” His voice sounds gruff and for the first time since I’ve known the man, I think I’m hearing a little bit of emotion in his tough-as-nails voice. “Now that you have everything in order, it’s time to get the girl. You up for the challenge?”

  I chuckle into the phone and pull on the short strands of my hair. “I’ve never been more ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  RYLEE

  My eyes stay laser-focused on my mom when the bell to the door rings, signaling Beck’s departure from my parents’ gallery.

  “What the hell was he doing here? And why on earth is he getting you hot chocolate and a scone?”

  My mom pats my cheek with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you too, honey. Why don’t you sit down? Would you like me to get you a warm washcloth to wipe that sneer off your face?”

  Can you guess where I got my sassiness from?

  “Mom, seriously, how do you know Beck?”

  “Hmm, maybe I should be asking you the same thing? How do you know Beck?” My mom sits back on her chair, which only makes me feel awkward, so I take the seat across from her that Beck was just sitting in. And I swear to my right boob that the space around me still smells like Beck, like his intoxicating cologne. It’s . . . frustrating.

  He’s consuming every last piece of my life, and I don’t know what to do with it. I’m hiding out in my house to avoid him, and when I’m not in my house,
I see him everywhere, even walking into Victoria’s house as if he’s living there. When I tried to call her—ten times—she refused to answer. And it’s not like I’m about to knock on her door, looking for answers. With my luck, Beck will answer the door wearing an apron from cooking dinner for Lord knows who, probably all his new friends.

  How can one man make himself at home this quickly? I feel like everyone knows him and everyone is talking about him—hence the reason to stay at home. I was sick of hearing all the wishful gossiping about the sexy new stranger in town.

  I can’t seem to shake him, and when I thought I was retreating to a safe space, to get some writing done in my parents’ empty classroom—they only do classes in the afternoon and evening—there he is, sitting with my mom, gabbing away and offering hot chocolate and scones.

  What the WHAT?

  “Well . . .” My mom clears her throat, drawing my attention. “Are you going to tell me how you know Beck?”

  “I asked you first,” I counter.

  “Yes, but I have all day to sit around and do nothing. From the crazed look in your eyes, I’m going to guess you’re not at the same leisure as I am.”

  Gah! Where’s my dad when I need him?

  “Fine, Beck was the guy I met in Key West. We kind of had a thing for each other but you know how it is. Ideas got in the way, and we kind of broke it off.”

  “Ah, I see. And what ideas got in the way?”

  “It’s not important.” I wave her off, but instead of letting it go, she presses further.

  “What kind of ideas? Because from where I’m sitting, a few weeks ago you were the happiest I’ve ever seen you, which I’m going to assume is because of Beck. Don’t lie to me and tell me it isn’t.”

  “Mom,” I groan.

  “Don’t Mom me. You’re the one who came into my place of work and started mouthing off to a perfectly nice man, so you better start explaining or you know where the door is.”

  Ever hear of tough love? My mom has perfected it over the years. She doesn’t put up with any sass or denial when it comes to me.