We stop at the pub booth, and I grab an iced coffee while I introduce Dad to Louis. “You’ve got a wonderful daughter, Mr. Firestone. She’s a real bright light around here, and we’re happy to have her as part of the community.” He pumps my dad’s hand vigorously.
They chat for a few minutes before I take him over to Harry’s Hardware, where I introduce him to Harry and Aaron’s mom, Noreen, who are running the booth. “Your daughter is so talented. I can’t tell you how lucky we are to have her around here. Bee would be so darn proud of everything Teagan and Van have done to help this town.”
I can feel my cheeks heating up as Harry wraps an arm around Noreen’s shoulder and the two of them talk about the day I was hired and how lucky they were that someone called in sick.
My dad and Danielle have met the Stitches before, when Van and Dillion had their engagement party—it was a backyard barbecue. Aaron is helping out at the Footprint booth, and I’m unsurprised to see a group of teen girls wearing shorts and bathing suit tops talking to him.
His eyes flare when he sees me, silently begging me to help him. I offer him a bottle of water, and he grabs my wrist, pulling me into him and laying a very non-PG kiss on me. After which he introduces me as his girlfriend. And then I get to introduce him to my dad—although they’ve also met before, at Dillion and Van’s engagement party, just not as my boyfriend.
The event is a huge success, and by the end of the day I already have requests piling in for another event in the fall. It makes all the late nights and too-little sleep worth it.
And the icing on the cake comes after the event, when we’re all sitting on the dock later in the evening and my dad announces that he and Danielle are engaged. It feels like things are finally falling into place. So I don’t know why my anxiety seems to be worse, not better. But I push it down and tuck it away, chalking it up to the overwhelming day.
A few weeks after the event, Aaron is spending the night at my place. It’s the middle of the week, so he needs to go to bed at a reasonable hour—which often happens to be earlier than my bedtime. He passed out ten minutes ago, and I’m lying here, thinking about the fall farmers’ market. I have double the interest this time, and a bunch of the families from the McMansion side of the lake want to participate as well. I also have the support of the hockey wives, and those ladies love to get involved. Apparently they have a lot of experience with events and event hosting, so they’re fantastic to have on board, but they also seem to have a lot of time to devote to things like this, and when they’re in, they’re all in. So I’ve been getting a lot of texts and emails that I’m trying to stay on top of.
I also need to read over my proposal and cost list for the newest renovated pool house and outdoor fireplace so I can send it to Dillion to vet. The family wants to get started on it next month, which means we need approval sooner rather than later.
I wait until Aaron’s been out for twenty minutes before I carefully get out of bed. I’ve learned that’s about how much time he requires to hit the deep-sleep stage, at which point I can sneak out of bed and work for a few hours before I take my sleep medication and join him again.
I grab my laptop from the kitchen counter and tiptoe across the room. I’m glad I added the folding room divider. I set my laptop up and adjust the divider to block the glow of my screen. I pour myself a glass of red wine—I don’t want to open the fridge to get my bottle of white because it’s too bright—and settle into the corner of the couch so I can answer emails and work on my Pinterest board. My shift at the Town Pub doesn’t start until four tomorrow, so I don’t need to worry about getting up early.
I work through all my emails and create three different Pinterest boards, including one for a brand-new account. That email came in yesterday at six in the evening, and I figured it’s a good idea to get a head start, since this weekend is going to be busy. Especially since I’m supposed to go to Chicago to visit with my dad and Danielle. And I have a care package I’m sending with my dad for the next time he goes to see Bradley. He needs more books, and newspapers. The last time I spoke to him, he mentioned the prison soap isn’t great for his sensitive skin.
The sound of Aaron’s alarm pulls my attention away from the screen.
“Babe?” The bed frame creaks with his movement. It drives him nuts that he can’t figure out where that one creak is coming from.
I realize that the sun is coming up and I’ve been working all night. I close my laptop and place it carefully on the coffee table, trying not to make a lot of noise, and then pad across the floor. “Morning, sleepyhead.” I slip around the divider and find him lying on his stomach, sprawled across the mattress, hugging my pillow.
I slip under the covers and snuggle up next to him. “Why’re you up so early?” he mumbles into my neck.
“I had some stuff I wanted to take care of. Can I make you pancakes for breakfast?” I run my fingers through his hair.
He shakes his head.
“No? What about bacon and eggs, then?”
He shakes his head again, nose dragging along my neck, lips following. “I want you for breakfast.” He bites the edge of my jaw and pulls my mouth to his. He tastes like mint, likely because he always has those Listerine tabs handy so he doesn’t have to get out of bed and brush his teeth in the morning. “Open for me, please,” he murmurs against my lips.
I comply, and his tongue slips inside my mouth, stroking softly. His knee finds its way between my legs, and his hand roams over my curves.
“What is that?” he mumbles, still half-asleep, judging from the rasp in his voice and the lazy way he’s touching me.
“What’s what?” I drag my fingers down his stomach, over the ridges and solid planes of muscle.
“That taste in your mouth. You’re fruity?” He pulls back, blinking a few times.
“And you’re minty.” I pull his mouth back to mine and wrap my fingers around his length. That’s all it takes to distract him.
Afterward, I make coffee and pancakes for him. He pulls me down into his lap. “Aren’t you going to eat with me? Where are your pancakes?”
“I’ll eat later.” I try to get back up, but he wraps his arm around my waist.
“You need to eat, Teagan.” He stabs a butter-and-maple-syrup-drenched bite of pancake and brings it up to my mouth.
“I don’t really like pancakes.”
“Who doesn’t like pancakes? These are delicious. Just have one bite so you know how amazing they are.”
I give in, not wanting to start an unnecessary argument. Then I steal the fork from him and start cutting up the pancakes so I can feed him one piece at a time.
His gaze meets mine while he chews, and I look away so I can spear another piece. “That one’s for you.”