“And moving in together,” Joey added.
“And moving in together,” Summer agreed. “But he’s not talking about it to anyone. Carter and I ganged up on him about it this afternoon, but he wouldn’t crack. He also refused to stay for dinner … until he realized you were here.” She grinned innocently.
Gia couldn’t hide the blush that tinged her cheeks. Nor could she dull the quick rush of pleasure she felt.
“Any comment on that?” Joey prompted.
“None at this time,” Gia decided.
“Interesting,” Summer mused out loud.
“So back to Beckett’s potential issues with my father,” Gia said, trying to redirect the conversation.
“I’ll say this,” Joey said. “It’s out of character for Beckett to have an issue like this. He generally likes everyone and Franklin fell into that category before Beckett knew he was dating his mother.”
“I can’t imagine my father would have done something to upset him,” Gia said, tapping her fingers on her wineglass.
“Who knows what goes on in the minds of men,” Joey grumbled.
8
Today was John Pierce’s birthday.
Beckett’s father should have been fifty-eight. But instead, his ashes were scattered on the low ridge that rose above the crooked creek that snaked its way through Pierce Acres.
His father had an eternal view of the best sunsets upstate New York had to offer, but he didn’t have life. He didn’t have a voice. He didn’t have hands to slap his sons on the shoulder or stroke Phoebe’s hair when he thought no one else was looking.
Beckett would have given anything to have just one more conversation with his dad. One more hug. One more look.
But there were no more chances. Just an emptiness where a great man had once been. And the shadow of a new man encroaching.
Was it his fault Phoebe was lonely? Should he have carved out more time for his mother? Was she being taken advantage of? Was the memory of his father starting to fade from their family?
The questions had plagued him all weekend. As had thoughts of a certain redhead, which he found frustrating. A run that morning had done nothing to cool his head or settle his heart.
Maybe an hour at the gym before his late morning appointments in the office would help.
Gia peddled her rubbery legs faster and cursed the need for cardio as the elliptical’s cross-trainer program kicked up the resistance. She was definitely treating herself to a smoothie after this torture.
Monday morning classes — as well as Wednesday and Friday nights — at the yoga studio were covered by Destiny Wheedlemeyer. A free-range chicken raiser, and founder of a very successful knitting store on Etsy, Destiny gave yoga students instructions in a breathy Marilyn Monroe-esque voice and dressed entirely in black.
Gia used Destiny’s Monday class coverage to carve out a bit of free time for handling non-child-related responsibilities. After walking the kids to school — Evan had made her stop two blocks away from the junior high, while Rora had a meltdown at drop off — she headed straight to Fitness Freak for a long cardio session to start the week off right.
Fitness Freak welcomed everyone regardless of physical ability. The front desk was usually manned by a woman named Fran, the coolest person Gia had ever met. Fran had a Mohawk, sleeve tattoos, and a wheelchair. She played bass in a garage band.
The weekday morning trainer at the gym bore a striking resemblance — in appearance and accent — to Dolph Lundgren. And the clientele ran the gamut from retirees in matching tracksuits to third shift semi-competitive body builders.
Her workouts here were a blissful window of responsibility-free enjoyment. No class to lead, no kids to watch, only a good sweat to work up. Fifteen minutes into the elliptical, Gia felt a presence over her shoulder. An irritated one.
“What are you doing here?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Beckett’s frowning face.
“I’m baking cookies. What does it look like?” She mopped her sweaty forehead with her towel.
“You’re everywhere.” Beckett didn’t sound happy about it. In fact, he sounded downright confrontational.
“It’s a small town,” Gia said, trying not to sound out of breath. “It’s bound to happen especially since I live in your backyard.”
Gone was the charming, sexy Beckett that she’d had the pleasure of lusting after. And in his place was a crabby, snippy hot guy. His attitude was as confusing as it was unwelcome. She didn’t get much time to herself. Sharing it with a grumpy neighbor — no matter how attractive — was irritating. And she didn’t know Beckett well enough to warrant him taking out a bad mood on her.
After a long silence, Beckett climbed on the elliptical next to hers.
“You don’t have to be my workout buddy.”
“I might as well since there’s no avoiding you,” Beckett muttered.