Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) (36 page)

I grin. “Sounds about right.”

We watch Kelsey as she steps onto the dance floor with Nicholas, taking his little hands in hers as they start to dance.

Archer shakes his head in admiration. “She’s something, huh?”

“Yeah.” I reach up to loosen my tie. “You’re the only guy who’s ever figured her out. Who’s ever been worthy of her.”

I feel his surprised glance. “You think I’m the only guy who’s ever been worthy of her?”

“Well, yeah.” Uncomfortable suddenly, I look at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Archer shrugs. “Just… I don’t know. I mean, that’s good to hear, man.”

He nods to the steps of the terrace, where Liv is talking with Allie.

“The West brothers both married up, huh?” he says.

“Way out of our stratosphere,” I agree, pushing to my feet. “Hey, I got you something. Wait here a sec.”

I go into the café and get a large wrapped box out of the walk-in refrigerator. I return to Archer and plunk it down on the table in front of him.

“I guess it’s a wedding present, but more for you than Kelsey,” I tell him, sitting back down.

He pulls the blue paper off the box, his eyebrows lifting as he reads the wording on the side of the crate.
Mr. Moo’s Chocolate Milk.

Archer looks at me in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“I tracked them down,” I explain. “The company moved to Humboldt County years ago, but they’re still in business. Had it shipped overnight in dry ice.”

Archer opens the box to reveal two dozen individual containers of chocolate milk. He takes two out and hands one to me. We clink them together in a toast before opening them to drink.

“Damn.” Archer takes a long swallow and lets out his breath in a sigh. “Better than I remember. I can’t believe you found them. Thanks.”

“Yeah, well…” I shrug and look out at the dance floor, working up the courage to tell my brother what I’ve felt for a while now. “Remember when you told me you’d straightened up partly because you wanted to be more like me?”

“I remember.”

“Over the past few months, I’ve realized the same thing,” I say.

“You want to be more like you?”

“No.” I throw him a look of mild exasperation. “I could stand to be more like
you.
”

Archer stares at me in surprise.

“I know for a lot of years I didn’t think you’d amount to anything,” I continue, rolling the milk container between my palms. “Never have I been so glad to be proven wrong. You have a… uh, a kind of intuition that I wish I had. And even though I know you’ve had it rough, you’re… well, you’re calm, you know? You know how to just go with it, to sort of let things unfold. Not to rage every time something doesn’t go the way you want. It’s a great thing, man.”

Archer doesn’t respond. Embarrassment crawls up my chest. I push my chair away.

“Now we’ll never speak of this again,” I warn.

Archer blinks, a slow smile crossing his face.

“Oh, I’ll speak of it, big brother,” he says. “In fact, I might even put it on a banner and hang it outside the garage. Or hire a skywriter to write it over the lake. Or make you walk around wearing a sandwich board, shouting about how much you want to be like me—”

“Dickwad,” I mutter.

We’re both grinning as I walk away from him.

I approach Liv, who is still standing at the bottom of the terrace steps by the dance floor. I come up behind her and slide my arms around her waist, lowering my head to kiss the back of her neck.

“There you are, my beauty,” I murmur. “I haven’t seen you all night. Now I’m not letting you go. Unless Bella needs to pee, in which case I’ll have no choice.”

“Lucky for you, Marianne just took the kids home.”

“Ah. Then you are truly mine.”

“I’ve always been truly yours.”

I tighten my arms around her waist, breathing in the sweet scent of her. I love the way she leans back against me, nestling her ass up against my groin. I trail my lips over the side of her neck, her skin like satin over the arch of her collarbone.

John Legend’s “All of Me” comes over the speakers. I turn Liv to face me and pull her closer, guiding her to the music.

“Are we dancing?” she asks, sliding both her arms around my waist.

“We are, indeed.”

“We haven’t danced since Allie and Brent’s wedding,” Liv remarks.

“Really?” Now I’m surprised… and more than a little disgusted with myself for not having taken every possible opportunity over the past decade to dance with my wife.

“What kind of asshat did you marry, anyway?” I ask.

She chuckles. “The best one ever.” Her arms tighten around me. “And we’ve always just danced together in a different way.”

We dance slowly for another few beats. I lower my head to croon the lyrics into her ear.

“Hey, you have a nice singing voice.” Liv pulls back to look up at me. “I didn’t know you could carry a tune.”

“I have a lot of talents you don’t know about.”

She looks skeptical. “I thought I knew everything about you.”

“No way, baby. I’m full of surprises.”

“You’re full of something,” Liv mutters.

I slide my hands down to squeeze her rear. “Lucky for you, you have plenty of years to discover all the surprises I have in store for you.”

“Like what?”

“For your eightieth birthday, I plan to play you a romantic ballad on the bagpipes.”

“You can play the bagpipes?”

“Not yet. But for you, I’ll learn.”

She laughs. “Well, now I know the true depths of your love.”

“There’s no end to it.”

We move together for a few minutes before I ease away from her and pull back the cuff of my jacket. I take off the string tied around my wrist and unfasten Liv’s wedding ring from the knot. Liv holds out her hand and gives me a smile like the sunrise.

“Marry me again,” I say.

“I’ll never stop marrying you.”

I take her hand and slip the ring onto her finger. A perfect fit.

Liv holds her hand up. I rest my left palm against hers, and we twine our fingers together until our wedding bands click. I pull her close again and settle my other hand on her hip, needing every part of her against me. Her body yields to mine, soft and perfect.

“‘You must allow me to tell you,’” I say, “‘how ardently I admire and love you.’”

“Really?” Liv looks at me in surprise. “You actually read
Pride and Prejudice
?”

“Finished it last week,” I say. “And I do, you know. Admire and love you.
Ardently.
Not to mention passionately, intensely, madly, obsessively, and blissfully.”

She smiles. “Likewise, professor. But did you like the book?”

“I did. It was funny and insightful, and I grudgingly admit I can see why Lizzy and Darcy’s romance is so popular. But Mr. and Mrs. Darcy’s marriage will never equal Mr. and Mrs. West’s in love, devotion, and rock-your-world hotness.”

“Aw.” Liv squeezes my hand. “Good one.”

“I’ve got a million more,” I assure her. “And a lifetime to impress you with them.”

Her smile widens. I look into her brown eyes and see everything I’ve been so desperate for in recent months—hope, happiness, and a radiant belief in our future together. The eternity that started the moment we first looked at each other.

“I love you like milk loves honey,” she says.

I brush my lips across her cheek. “I love you like Dean loves Liv.”

CHAPTER FORTY

OLIVIA

July 12

SMILING SUNS, BEACH UMBRELLAS, AND COLORFUL
flowers decorate the windows of the shops on Avalon Street. Sailboats and kayaks dot the lake, and the beaches are crowded with families splashing in the water and playing in the sand.

Downtown Mirror Lake is bustling with Saturday afternoon activity—children slurping up melting ice-cream cones, strolling couples carrying plastic cups of iced coffee, locals putting out sandwich boards and tidying up their shop fronts.

I walk down Emerald Street to the café, which is sporting a newly landscaped front garden blooming with petunias and marigolds. The staff is busy with the lunch rush, and I quickly tie on an apron to help at the front counter.

Allie pushes through the kitchen doors, carrying a tray filled with sandwiches. I put down a coffee carafe and hurry toward her.

“I’ll take it,” I say, reaching for the tray.

She gives me an amused look. “Liv, I’m
fine.
”

“I know, I know. Just humor me, okay?” I manage to wrest the tray from her and head into the dining room to deliver the food.

When I return to the kitchen, Allie is standing at a table organizing a Mad Hatter tea platter with cucumber sandwiches and chocolate éclairs.

“You sure you don’t want me and Brent to babysit tonight?” she asks me. “Seems you and Dean should at least have a romantic dinner alone on your tenth anniversary.”

“We’ll do that another night,” I reply. “Tonight we want to celebrate our anniversary with the kids. Kelsey and Archer offered to take them this weekend, so Dean and I are going to rent a cottage at the Wildwood Inn.”

“Okay, I approve of that.” Allie reaches for a stack of fluted paper cups on a shelf.

“I can finish this for you,” I say, taking the cups from her. “You should sit down.”

“You are so annoying.” Allie pokes me gently in the side. “Did I act like this when
you
were pregnant?”

“No, but you did tell me to consult an astrologer to ensure Nicholas’s name would fit well with his birth sign.”

“And did you?”

“Uh, sure. Well, if reading his horoscope in the newspaper counts.” I grin at her before reaching over to rub her round belly beneath her apron. “Speaking of names, have you come up with any yet?”

“Brent wanted Edmund if it’s a boy, after his Uncle Edmund.” Allie rolls her eyes. “I said no way. But we agreed on Sophie, if it’s a girl. That was my mother’s name.”

“Aw, that’s nice.”

“Sophie Olivia.”

My heart does a little flip. For a second, I can’t speak.

Allie smiles and reaches out with one arm to hug me.

“I wouldn’t name a girl after anyone else,” she says. “Only you and my mother.”

“Thank you.” I return her hug as my eyes well up with tears. “But I need to walk away right now or I’m going to sob all over the rainbow parfaits.”

After giving her another squeeze, I grab a napkin to wipe my eyes and return to the dining room. My heart just can’t contain it all—my great fortune, my recent “all clear” from Dr. Anderson, my everlasting friendships.

Because of summer, the lunch rush eases right into our afternoon teatime, and it’s four o’clock before I leave the café. Dean had promised to take the kids swimming, and he texts me that they’re still at the beach.

I walk to the west shore, where the sun is still casting ribbons of light over the lake. Dressed in swimming trunks, Dean is sitting on a towel, his elbows on his raised knees as he keeps an eye on Nicholas and Bella.

I let my gaze track over the golden-brown skin of his back, the streaks of light brown in his hair, the tanned muscularity of his bare arms and legs.

Awareness tingles through me. I come up behind him and settle my hand on the back of his neck. He turns to look up at me.

“Ah, my favorite mermaid,” he remarks.

“Hi Mom!” Nicholas yells from the water as he does some sort of pinwheel-type splashing.

I wave at him and Bella, who is digging a hole in the sand by the water’s edge.

I sit beside Dean, sliding my hand over the warm tautness of his shoulder. Later tonight I’ll trace the same path with my lips.

Oh yes.
Olivia West gets her groove back once again. This time, for good.

“I thought we’d have homemade pizza for dinner,” I tell him. “I’ll stop at the store and get all the ingredients.”

“Sounds good.” He leans over to give me a kiss, one that tastes like sunshine and summer. “The kids show no sign of wanting to leave, but I’ll try to get them home by five-thirty.”

“Okay.” I let my lips linger on his. “Happy anniversary, handsome.”

“Happy anniversary, love of my life.”

 We part slowly. I wave at Bella and Nicholas again before walking toward the grocery store.

As I pass a block of shops on the west end of Avalon Street, I stop and look across at the opposite row of buildings. Between a florist and a new pottery studio called Mrs. Potts’ Place, a narrow wooden door sits like a secret entrance leading to the apartment where Dean and I once lived.

I lift my gaze to the wrought-iron balcony above. Fat, colorful planters overflow with ferns and plants, and a baker’s rack against the wall displays glazed plates painted with similar bright, Italian-inspired designs as the pottery in the shop window below.

The French doors leading onto the balcony are open, with cream-colored, floral curtains rippling in the breeze. A woman parts the curtains and steps onto the balcony with a watering can.

She’s young, in her mid-twenties, her light brown hair falling to her shoulders. Over capris and a T-shirt, she’s wearing an apron that says
Mrs. Potts’ Place.

She must be the owner of the studio. The last time I passed this way, the French doors were still closed and the balcony was empty, as if no one lived here. Now there’s this pretty young woman who makes beautiful pottery and clearly loves plants.

Nice. Another reason to be happy.

The woman looks up, something down the street catching her eye. A cute, curly-haired young man is climbing off his bike and fastening it to the bike rack. He looks up at the balcony and waves at the woman, a grin breaking out across his face at the sight of her.

She smiles and waves in return. He quickens his pace and unlocks the door beside the pottery shop. The woman sets down her watering can and goes back into the apartment. The curtains flutter closed.

I turn and continue walking, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. I’ll have to bring Bella to visit Mrs. Potts’ Place sometime soon. She’d love trying out a pottery wheel. So would I, as a matter of fact.

After buying groceries, I return to the Butterfly House and get things started for dinner. The front door soon opens with a flurry of noise and excited chatter.

I put down a spoon and go to greet my family. For some reason, Dean is the only one standing in the foyer. The front door is closed, the outlines of the kids appearing behind the stained glass windows.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Dean holds up his hands beseechingly. “Don’t be mad.”

I frown. “Why should I be mad?”

“It was just really hard to resist,” he says.

“What was
hard
to resist
?”

Dean flashes me his patented Dean West smile, which he knows perfectly well makes me all weak and mushy inside.

“Well, your beauty, for one thing,” he remarks.

“Dean West.” I cross my arms and steel myself against his charm. “What are you trying to hide?”

Then I hear it.

A
bark.

I push past Dean and open the door. Bella and Nicholas are crouched on the front porch, laughing at a small, rambunctious, and entirely adorable mixed-retriever puppy.

“Oh. My. God.” I stare at the dog, then at Dean. “You did not buy a dog.”

“No,” he assures me hastily. “I didn’t
buy
a dog.”

“He was free,” Nicholas says gleefully.

The puppy comes running over to sniff my legs, its tail wagging like a motor as it jumps up to greet me.

“The Humane Society had a rescue animal van in the beach parking lot,” Dean explains. “And we saw… uh, this little guy, and well, he seemed really friendly and…”

“Keep him, Mommy, please?” Bella begs, turning her imploring gaze on me.

The dog grabs the hem of my skirt between his teeth and tugs.

“I don’t think we can take care of a dog,” I say, though one look at the dog’s eager brown eyes cracks my defenses.

“I promise I’ll feed him and walk him and
everything
,” Nicholas says.

“It would be nice for the kids to have the responsibility of taking care of a pet,” Dean adds.

I look down at the dog, whose furry little body is vibrating with energy and excitement.

“
Pleeese
can we keep him?” Bella asks again.

“He can sleep in my room,” Nicholas says. “And he’ll be a great friend for Patch. Patch doesn’t know any other dogs yet.”

“He’s so
cute
,” Bella squeals. “Mommy, he’s smiling at you.”

I sigh. “He’s also peeing on my shoe.”

The dog, Fitzy Darcy, follows Dean around like… well, like a loyal dog wholeheartedly devoted to its master. And I eventually admit that puppy energy is—sometimes—nice to have around the house.

As summer draws to a close, I start putting the kids to bed at eight so they’ll be accustomed to an earlier bedtime when school starts. This tactic also gives Dean and me more time alone in the evenings, which is welcome after full days spent with our children in serious pursuit of summertime fun.

One evening in August, I find Dean sprawled on the sofa in the sunroom with a thick book, his features set in that “I’m thinking very very hard” expression. Fitzy Darcy is lying on the rug near him, enjoying a restful sleep without interruption from the kids.

“A little bedtime reading?” I ask Dean, nodding to the book as I settle in beside him on the sofa.

“I’m thinking of writing a book about a boy’s journey to knighthood,” Dean explains. “Training, weapon skills, duties, that kind of thing.”

“You already wrote a book about knighthood.”

“Not a children’s book.”

I look at him in surprise. “You’re going to write a children’s book?”

“Maybe.” Dean scratches his head. “Nicholas was asking me about apprentice knights and pages, so I started telling him a story about a boy apprentice who goes on crusade. He really liked it and said I should write a book.”

“That’s a great idea.”

Knights,
I think. Another drawing to add to my North-inspired artist’s book, which I’ve continued filling with things that make me happy. And one knight in particular makes me
very
happy.

I reach for a loop of string sitting on the coffee table. I sense Dean glance at me as I loop the string around my fingers. I’d memorized the steps of the pattern, and I repeat them silently to myself as I twist and coil the string around my fingers. Then I spread the pattern out and hold my hands up to show Dean the rectangular box containing a perfect heart.

He smiles. “When did you learn how to do that?”