Fit for Love (A Stand By Me Novel Book 3) (3 page)

Idiot. I didn’t even ask. But she feels like she’s mine already. Dammit. This is Nonna’s fault.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. I need to ask her. If there’s a reason she won’t let me call, I can get her out of my head. Then I can close this chapter in my search for the perfect girl. “Hey. Are you seeing someone? Because if you are, I’m sorry I…”

She pulls her T-shirt straight and fidgets with the waist of her jeans, looking so damn cute I want to scoop her up and kiss her again.

“It’s not like that, but I have someone that I spend a lot of time with,” she says.

I stop breathing for a second. Somehow, I hadn’t expected that answer. Disappointment presses on every cell of my body. “Oh. Sure. I understand.”

Makenna takes two more steps backward in the direction of the hallway. “It’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to explain.” Maybe she feels guilty that I kissed her at midnight and it was more than an innocent kiss between strangers. It ignited a spark between us.

She takes another step back and she’s at the threshold of the hallway. “I have a kid. Ryder. And he’s my life.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I’m not sure what to say. A child. She’s a mother. What do I say?
I haven’t been around kids, but I think I like them.

I think I was meant to kiss you tonight.

Maybe Nonna’s right and I need to be with you.

“It was nice being your fiancée for a few minutes in there, Aiden Alesini,” she says, my name sounding like a song on her lips. And then she’s gone.

O
ne month
ago

Aiden

M
y Sicilian grandmother
believes in destiny. She also believes she will be dead within the year.

She demonstrates this at my weekly summoning to her house.

“I think I am leaving this world today,” Nonna says dramatically into the phone. “I cannot feel my hands.”

“I’m pulling into your drive now. What’s wrong with your hands?” I hit the brake and park beside her Lincoln Town car.

The red velvet curtains in her front window pull to the side and she waves at me. “Oh, you’re here. In that case, I’m fine.”

Exactly as I thought. Checking myself in the mirror, I grimace. Nonna hates my scruffy face, but I didn’t have time to shave this morning. She’ll have to deal with it.

Since I’m accustomed to her grandma-who-cried-wolf act, I temper her demand with some suspicion. I always show up.

“What took you so long? What if I fall and can’t get up?” she says as I follow her into the kitchen, her tracksuit pants making a wisp-wisp-wisp sound as she walks.

She’s a hip grandma with her baseball cap and designer gym clothes. She’s also very active. Her schedule includes visits three times a week to the gym where I work in my day job.

“Did you want me to speed?” I sit at her kitchen table and open the newspaper. She may be hip, but she won’t accept the electronic age as her news source.

She makes a displeased tutting noise with her tongue and then says a few words in Sicilian. Even though she raised me, I still can’t translate her muttering. All I catch is “meschino,” meaning poor thing, I think. As a third generation Sicilian, I really know very little about Sicily and its language.

I tilt my head at her. “Nonna, I’m here now.”

“When are you bringing a girl with you?” She pushes a plate of bread fritters at me.

“I don’t know, Nonna. You know I don’t eat bread. Too many bad carbs.” I lick my lips and inhale the yeasty aroma. My mouth waters, knowing I cannot resist my favorite. I surrender and pull a crusty end from the nearest fritter.

“I know, but life must be enjoyed,” she says and watches me with delight. “How old are you?”

She knows I’ve just had my twenty-fourth birthday. This is her way of beginning the conversation about my failing to fulfill her wishes. I’ve been through this same dialogue every week of the past year. “Too old to be asked this question.”

“Your father was twenty-five. He already had a child. What do you think about that?” She pushes the entire platter of bread fritters closer to me.

“I think he and Mom didn’t use protection.” I blink at her innocently, but she catches my meaning and pulls the platter back to her.

“You don’t deserve these. Life will end before you know it. I could pass next week. I am eighty-nine.”

I reach across to take more fritter, and she smacks my hand in a surprisingly sharp blow.

“Ouch,” I grab the rest of the fritter.

“Do you know how old my mother was when she passed?”

“Eighty-nine.” I hate this part of the conversation. I love my grandmother, but this is ridiculous. Are all old people this obsessive?

I grab a linen napkin—the only kind she keeps on the table—and wipe the corners of my mouth. Even though my grandmother has lived here longer than she lived in Sicily, she still holds tightly to her superstitions. She believes the women in her family die before they reach ninety. Her friend Esme feeds her fear with a weekly tarot card reading.

Her eyes are kind now. “And her mother was eighty-nine when she passed. You must keep your eyes open for your wife this year.”

“I keep them wide-open,” I say and roll my eyes so she’ll quit watering that seed in my brain. “Nonna,” I scold. “It’s not easy to meet somebody that I’m interested in marrying.”

She points to a spot in front of her on the table as if she’s seeing the cards again. “She could pass by you on the street and you’ll miss her if you aren’t watching.” Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “You are too picky.”

I stand and push away from the table before she can continue. “Nonna, it’s always nice to see you.” Leaning in to kiss her wrinkled cheek, I whisper, “I can’t find a woman as wonderful as you. Besides, I’m only on number four of my list of goals. I’ll start my own health club; then I’ll find a woman I want to marry. Be patient.”

She grabs my face with both hands so I’m forced to make eye contact. “I want to meet this woman before I die. I want you to know the pleasures of a good woman.”

I pull out of her hands and grin mischievously as I stand straight. “You’re too late Nonna. I’ve known plenty of pleasures already.”

She grabs my discarded napkin and throws it at me. “You are a wicked boy. Find a bride. Take me and your bride to Sicily so I can visit once more before I die. I will buy you the health club. I have plenty of money.”

Hurrying from the room, I glance over my shoulder and see her quick on my heels. “Bye, Nonna. See you in a week.”

“Aiden, you’re straining my heart. Maybe I’ll be here. Maybe I won’t.”

N
ew Year’s Day

Makenna

“
M
other
?” I twist the stubborn doorknob of her house and enter, putting Ryder on his feet. Her house is an old Craftsman, identical to mine in look and layout. Neither of us owns our houses, but renting isn’t bad and at least we are neighbors.

I drop the bag of Ryder’s stuff on the floor and stretch my arms, stiff from carrying a three-year-old and a heavy bag across the lawns.

“Happy New Year.” Mom pads into the room wearing her slippers and robe. She holds out her arms to Ryder. “Come to Grandma.”

Ryder tumbles into her embrace. He snuggles his nose into her neck, and she swings him up and makes a squealing sound that he loves. She lowers her lips and makes smacking sounds against his cheek.

I shake my head at her. “You have to quit picking him up. He’s getting too heavy.”

“Did you carry him across?”

“Well yes, but I’m younger than you are.” She doesn’t have to know that he’s killing my back.

“You stop and I’ll stop,” she says and carries him on her hip into the kitchen. The smell of brewing coffee tempts me to stay awhile. But getting ready with Ryder is always a challenge and never leaves me extra time in the mornings.

“I’m serving breakfast at Angel’s so I’d better head out.” I check the clock. Five-thirty a.m. I linger for a minute, watching them together. “Ryder, be good and I’ll see you later.”

“No,” he says and smirks at me. This is a standard answer for him.

“Yes.” I run over to him and rub his bedhead. Chocolate curls sprout in disarray around his angelic face.

Mom grabs herself a coffee cup from the cupboard. “I forgot to ask if you had a good time last night. Did your concert go well?”

“I wouldn’t call it a concert. I told you. I was stepping in for their lead singer at a bar downtown. Anyway, yeah. It was fine.”

Fine. So fine, I dreamed of gray-eyed Aiden Alesini and his lips and his hands. The way his eyes glittered and locked on me like he wanted me. But not just that. It was the timbre of his voice making everything he said so musical.

And the way he loves his grandmother. Who wouldn’t want that depth of affection directed at her?

This morning, I considered calling the hospital to check on Nonna. It was a stupid thought. They don’t give health updates to strangers.

Mama pours her coffee and takes a quick sip. “Oh good. Don’t worry about me and Ryder. I love the days when you let me have him. We’ll see you later. Oh, wait. Did Jared call again about his visitation with Ryder? Did you two work out a schedule?”

Ryder’s sharp gaze meets mine. Is he watching for my reaction? Does he sense my distrust? I try so hard to hide it.

“I haven’t heard from Jared,” I say evenly. “He’s still on tour. When he comes home—if he comes home—he can see his son.”

Jared. So unreliable, except when it comes to his fans.

Tugging my knit cap down, I turn and head out for the day. My drive to Angel’s Haven takes ten minutes. Traffic is non-existent. With all the businesses closed and partygoers sleeping late, it’s a virtual ghost town and I’m able to park a lot closer than I normally do.

A year ago, I signed up to volunteer at the shelter. I’d started to go a little stir-crazy and it gave me something special to do away from Ryder for one day a week.

I close my eyes and inhale the smell of baking bread—glorious Angel’s Haven bread and the special secret recipe rolls that are my favorite.

Four men, regulars at the shelter, come forward and pick up plastic trays at the end of the serving table. I unwrap foil from stacks of pancakes.

I hum to myself while wiping down the sticky syrup containers. Ralphie, a Vietnam War vet and client who flirts with me relentlessly, saunters to the serving side of the table beside me.

“Good morning, beautiful. You look tired today,” he says.

“A little. Stayed up too late.” I put the blueberry syrup down and pick up the maple. I wipe down the glass container. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m doing mighty fine. I stayed up late, too. Midnight so I could watch the ball drop. They kept the TV room unlocked until 1:00. The warden decided to go easy on the inmates,” he teases.

I smile at him. “Is that right? That’s terrific. Everyone should see the New Year begin.” Without warning, an image of tall, dark, and hot Aiden pops into my brain.

The way he’d focused on my mouth as he leaned in, that heat in his eyes, a slight smile curving his lips. And the press of his lips against mine, so warm and firm. That kiss jump-started my heart, making my body throb from a need for
more
.

Lordy. I could get pregnant from the pure bliss of that kiss.

And then the way he’d rushed to the stage like some superhero, carrying a baseball bat of all things. A shiver slides down my spine and threatens to loop around to my lady parts.

I shake my head. Time to get my thoughts out of the never-never land meant for naive girls. It doesn’t matter if he has eyes that can see into my soul and an unintentional swagger that tells me I’m more than just a mom.

First the dreams and now while I’m awake. That man needs to get out of my head. I blame my active imagination on the fantasy of being his fiancée for Nonna’s sake.

I come back to reality when Ralphie links his arm around my waist and hugs me tightly. I disengage his arm. He sticks out his bottom lip like Ryder does when he doesn’t get his way.

All the volunteers know the rules. Professional behavior at all times. The fine line between friendly and familiar is often a difficult one to maneuver. It feels sort of like walking on ice in spiked heels.

You risk falling and busting your ass.

“You should get your breakfast before things get cold,” I say in a friendly tone.

“You should get yourself a man so you don’t have to boss me around.” He’s gone from flirty to pissy to a millisecond.

“I volunteer,” says a deep voice. Aiden stands on the opposite side of the table, looking fresh and rested except for the puffy eye.

Some guys are handsome, some adorable. Aiden? He’s beautiful. His gray eyes—almost silver in the sunlight—pierce me with a mind-reading intensity.

He flashes me one of his wide smiles, and my knees knock together.

No, no,
I tell myself in my best authoritative mother’s command I use on Ryder. But I’m sick of that boring voice in my head.

Ralphie, who still stands with me, steps closer. Not touching, but entirely in my personal space. I want to tell him to back off, but I also don’t want to embarrass him in front of Aiden.

“Are you the one who kept my girl up late?” Ralphie narrows his eyes at Aiden. All I need to ruin this fine New Year’s Day is a fistfight between a seventy-year-old man and the guy who already has one black eye.

I smile. “Ralphie, this is Aiden. Aiden, meet Ralphie. Ralphie, sorry to ask, but can you go ask those ladies at the far table if they need anything? I think some of the volunteers slept in today, and we’re short.”

Ralphie presses his lips together. He knows I am getting rid of him.

“Anything for you, dear,” Ralphie says in a grumbling voice. He pushes up the sleeves on his flannel shirt as if he’s getting ready for some serious work. “He’d better keep his hands to himself. He’s trouble. Look at that black eye. He didn’t give that to himself.” He takes his time walking away, glancing back once as if to catch Aiden doing something he shouldn’t.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone. Isn’t he a little old for you?” Aiden raises an eyebrow and grins. “I’m here to volunteer.” He rubs his hands along his thighs, then claps his hands together. “Put me to work.”

“It’s not that easy. There’s an approval process for volunteers.” I widen my eyes as he walks around to my side of the table.

“You’ll vouch for me.”

“I don’t even know you.” I huff as my gaze roams from his face to his broad shoulders and trim waist. He removes his coat. The cotton fabric of his short sleeved T-shirt with ‘Evolutions’ written across the front stretches across his pecs. A tattoo sleeve covers one arm.

Hello biceps.

Did he have those last night? I remember he wore a long-sleeved Dastardly Bastard’s shirt. Between his sexy flirting and hot body, he’s my bad decision waiting to happen.

But I can’t make wrong moves. I have someone else’s future to worry about and Ryder comes first. Always.

“How’s Nonna?” I hand a plate of pancakes to a female client who stares at Aiden. I get that. Looking never hurt anyone.

Get in line, lady. I was here first.

“She’s better,” he says. “The doctor won’t release her yet. He’s running some tests on her heart this morning. I’ll go back when her tests are done this afternoon.”

“That sounds like great news, right?”

“Yeah. I think so. Unless the tests come back with bad news.” His brow wrinkles and he scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. “But you saw her. She’s not a quitter.”

Phoebe, the manager of Angel’s Haven, strolls toward us. It would be difficult to pick her out as manager, with her wearing her jeans and T-shirt. “Good morning. How can we help you, sir?” Her dress is casual, but her tone is all business.

He doesn’t hesitate. He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Aiden, your newest volunteer…as soon as I fill out the paperwork Makenna’s told me about.” He gives her an even bigger smile than he gave me in greeting.

“Any friend of Makenna’s is a friend to us.” Phoebe slips her hand into his for a shake. “We’re shorthanded this morning. I suppose some volunteers forgot to set their alarms. We’ll skip the paperwork for now and get it later.”

I shoot Phoebe a disapproving look, but she fails to even turn her gaze to me.

“Aiden,” Phoebe says. “I need help with some food boxes on the loading dock. You don’t have any back issues I should know about?”

“No, ma’am. You need something lifted? I’m your man.”

“Come with me. We’ll do one paper—a release of liability.” She looks him up and down, then winks. “In case we strain those muscles. You can sign the rest later.”

I shake my head in disbelief. Really? Oh, come on Phoebe. Quit calling attention to things I want to put out of my mind.

I need to get back to work. He is in my way. I didn’t come into Angel’s Haven with the purpose of getting all hot and bothered.

Aiden follows her to the kitchen, and I fight the urge to watch him go.

I don’t see him for the rest of the morning. I guess that Phoebe finds other tasks for him that kept him out of sight. Good. I don’t need to look at him.

Because I know without a doubt that my resolve to be disinterested might melt like snow on a sunny day if I spend any more time with him.

Phoebe has done me a favor without even knowing it.

* * *

A
t eight o’clock
, I step outside to call Jared. He answers on the first ring as if waiting on my call.

“Hi Mak,” he says.

“Hey. I thought you were coming to get Ryder this morning.”

“Things ran late. We got off the tour bus at 1:00. I’m really sorry. I’ll get him tomorrow.”

I stand straighter, remembering my vow to lay down Mak’s law. “Yeah. About that. I said you could have him today. That meant today. We have a schedule.”

“I’m dying to see him. I bet he’s grown. Do you realize what my boy means to me? It’s killing me that I’m not around.”

A pang of guilt momentarily slices into my conscience. I brush it aside. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going to make me feel bad—”

“I’m not. I know why you did what you did. It was a mistake to marry Nina. If I had known you were pregnant with my son—”

My heart seizes in my chest. I can’t breathe and I sure as hell don’t want him to know this topic still hurts. I inhale through my nose and smile as if his words don’t mean a thing to me. “But we can’t go back. It’s water under the bridge.”

He sighs into the phone. “I’ve missed two years of Ryder’s life. I should’ve divorced Nina a long time ago. We could’ve made it work. I’m taking advantage of every minute you’ll give me.”

My throat tightens and tears well in my eyes. “There is no ‘we’ in this situation. If you want to build a relationship with Ryder, that’s good. But you have to stick to the schedule or call and let me know ahead of time. I understand that you’re on tour and your schedule is crazy, but he’s going to get older and know the schedule. He’ll know that he doesn’t come first.”

“I know.” The line beeps. “Just a second. Can you hold on?”

He doesn’t wait for my response and he clicks over to the other call. I exhale and sing to myself while I wait.

He clicks back to me. “Mak? I need to go. I’ll make it up to him. Tomorrow. Please.”

“OK. Tomorrow. Pick him up early.” With trembling hands, I pocket my cell. Talking with Jared always does this to me. The easy relationship I had with him years ago seems to have occurred in another lifetime.