Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) (37 page)

“Not long ago,” I say. “You’re not the only one who can do research, professor.”

I untangle the string from my fingers and shift closer to him. He puts his arm around me, and we sink into each other. I rub my cheek against his shoulder, everything inside me settling and at peace.

Dean slides his hand beneath my chin and lifts my face to look at him. In his eyes, I see the rescuer who crouched beside me on a sidewalk and touched the sleeve of my gray sweatshirt. I see the professor who eased me into both love and lovemaking with slow, assured gentleness. I see the brother and son who tried so hard to make things right for his family. I see the scholar who is fascinated by the minutia of the past. I see the father who plays baseball with his son and has stuffed animal parties with his daughter.

I see the man who has stood beside me in both the dark and the shining light. I see the husband who can withstand anything except the thought of losing me.

I see my Dean, who believes to the heart of his unwavering soul in our intense, imperfect love.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says.

“Okay.”

And the world falls together the instant our lips touch.

EPILOGUE

DEAN

Ten years later

THE SAN JOSE AIRPORT IS CROWDED
with summer travelers going to and from California. People rush between gates, dragging suitcases and pausing to check the departures board. I pay for a few items at a coffee-stand before heading to the gate where my family is waiting for news of our delayed flight back to Mirror Lake.

Seventeen-year-old Nicholas is busy with his phone, earbud wires trailing from his ears, his long, lanky body slouched in the chair. I toss him a granola bar, which he catches with one hand without looking up. Beside him, Bella idly sketches in her notebook and twists a strand of straight, dark hair around her finger.

Liv is bending over to adjust something in her travel bag, her skirt stretched across her hips and rear. It’s such a tempting display that I can’t help patting her round, perfect ass.

“Dad,” Bella groans, rolling her eyes in embarrassment.

I shrug unapologetically and sit across from our daughter.

“That was nothing,” I tell her. “Your mom is so hot I’m tempted to give her a long, deep kiss right this second.”

“Dad.”

“Dean.” Liv’s voice is mildly disapproving, then she winks at me and mouths the word,
“Later.”

Damn right
later.

I hand Bella a blueberry muffin and reach into the coffee tray for Liv’s latte. She takes the cup and sits beside Bella, murmuring a comment about the drawing.

“North said the next time we visit, he’ll show me how to carve scenes into white pine,” Bella says, holding the paper a distance away to study it. “Can we come back to Twelve Oaks later this summer?”

“Possibly,” Liv says. “Or maybe you can come for a few days on your own.”

“Really?”

“Fourteen is old enough to travel alone,” Liv says, glancing at me for agreement. “And North would meet you at the airport, so we can probably figure something out.”

“Wow, that would be so cool, Mom. Thanks.” With a smile, Bella returns to her drawing.

Our daughter, as I had always known she would be, is a beauty like her mother—long dark hair, thick-lashed eyes, and fine, lovely features. Though at fourteen, Bella draws male attention in a way that makes my blood boil and my fists clench, she is also a straight-A student, a talented artist, a karate black belt, a Girl Scout, an advocate for marine conservation, and a sometimes sulky teenager who likes to experiment with dying her hair any number of colors.

“I’m going to see if there’s any news about the flight,” Liv says, putting her cup on the floor beside her travel bag.

She gets up and walks over to the gate agent’s desk. I watch her go, admiring the curve of her breasts under her shirt, the length of her pretty legs, the way her shiny hair falls in a curtain to her shoulders.

Later,
I remind myself, turning my attention to the coffee before my thoughts start getting away from me.

Bella shifts, taking her phone out of the pocket of her King’s University sweatshirt. She looks at the screen and heaves a sigh before swiping and tapping with irritated movements.

Then she shoves the phone back into her pocket and slumps in her chair, her beautiful face creasing with a frown.

“You okay?” I ask.

She shrugs and doesn’t respond. She scrubs at her drawing pad with her eraser, her frown deepening. I search in Liv’s bag for a pencil and paper and make a quick sketch:

I tear the page from the notepad and reach over to drop it into Bella’s lap. She gives me a narrow look before picking up the paper and reading it.

She rolls her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at her mouth.

“It’s nacho problem, Dad,” she mutters.

“Yeah, but sometimes I like to get jalapeño business.”

Bella laughs, which makes me feel like I’ve won the lottery.

“Okay,
stop,
” she says. “God, you are such a dork.”

She tucks the taco note into her pocket and puts her pencil down, her mood sobering again.

“It’s stupid,” she says. “Just that guy Jake.”

I know “that guy Jake.”
That guy Jake
is the boy Bella has had a crush on for the past few months. He’s the guy all the girls like—good-looking, good at sports, good at getting what he wants.

But not—by any stretch of the imagination—anywhere near good enough for my daughter.

“He told me he wanted to hang out with me when I got back from Twelve Oaks,” Bella continues, scrubbing again at her drawing with the eraser. “But Anna just posted a picture of him at a party with Julie, and they were
kissing.
It’s so stupid.”

She scribbles something on the paper, her forehead still creased and her brown eyes shadowed with hurt.

I smother the swarm of protectiveness I’ve felt countless times over the years on my children’s behalf. I push to my feet and cross the aisle to sit beside Bella.

I look at her sketchpad, the page covered with a detailed drawing of an imaginary forest. Twisting tree trunks are perforated with curved windows and doors, vines with heart-shaped leaves trail from the branches, and mushrooms sprout over the moss-covered ground.

“Did I ever tell you about the time when I was dating your mother, and I waited over three hours at a restaurant for her?” I ask.

“About a million times, Dad, yeah,” Bella mutters.

“Everyone in that place was sure I’d been stood up,” I continue, ignoring her sarcasm so I can relive the memory. “Your mother didn’t call or text, and I had no idea where she was. Some men would have thought she’d forgotten or that it was a lousy break-up. But I waited. I knew she’d show up eventually.

“And she did, apologizing over and over because her phone was dead, and she didn’t have her charger with her, and she hadn’t memorized my number. But someone at Jitter Beans had called in sick and she had to help cover their shift. And she hadn’t called the restaurant because she couldn’t remember the name of it, so she’d hurried up and down State Street, going into half a dozen different restaurants until she found me. Because she knew I’d still be waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bella sighs. “And you and Mom, like, saw each other across the crowded room or whatever, and she ran over to leap into your arms or something, and you probably had some goopy kiss. And then you stayed at the restaurant for hours, unable to take your eyes off each other, eating and talking and drinking wine. And it was all so disgustingly romantic that you paid the owner to let you stay past closing before you brought Mom home well after two in the morning, but please, God in heaven, don’t tell me what you did after that.”

I’ll never tell anyone, though
that
particular memory still simmers hot at the back of my mind.

“My point,” I tell my daughter dryly, “is that I
waited
for her. It wasn’t the first time I’d waited for her, and it was far from the last. But I’d have waited longer, if I had to. I’d still wait forever for your mother. And any guy who wants to be with
you
will do the same. If he’s not willing to wait, he’s not worth your time.”

She doesn’t respond, her pencil moving swiftly over one of the forest tree branches.

“The right guy will not tell you one thing and then go do something else,” I say. “He won’t lead you on. He won’t break promises. He won’t lie, cheat, or go after another girl when you’re not around. He’ll be honest with you. He’ll open doors for you, look you in the eye when he’s talking to you, and work hard to make things right for you. He’ll laugh at your jokes, want to fix all your problems, and give you his jacket when you’re cold.”

I push to my feet as Liv approaches from the gate.

“And,” I tell Bella, “the right guy will always let your dad win at football.”

A smile tugs at Bella’s mouth. She continues drawing, but the lines on her forehead ease and her pencil doesn’t dig quite so hard into the paper.

“Half an hour until takeoff,” Liv says. “They should start boarding in about ten minutes.”

She starts to pass me to return to her seat. The scent of her—peaches and vanilla—fills my head, the air between us warming with her body heat.

I slide my hand around her waist and pull her closer, pressing my mouth swiftly against hers. She surrenders easily, putting her hand on my chest as she returns the kiss. When we part, the promise of
later
still heats her dark eyes.

“Hey, Dad.” Nicholas pulls an earbud out of his ear and indicates his phone. “Aunt Kelsey says she can get me a few college credits if I work with her and Uncle Archer on the Spiral Project this summer.”

“Great. Just make sure the credits will transfer to the colleges you’re interested in applying to.”

“What did Kelsey say you could do?” Liv asks Nicholas.

“Some of the forecasting and modeling.” Nicholas scrolls on his phone. “But Uncle Archer still won’t let me drive.”

I make a mental note to thank my brother.

We return to our seats to wait for the boarding call. A second and a lifetime have passed since Nicholas and Bella were born. Years of school, sporting events, gymnastics, homework, science fairs, assemblies, vacations, music performances, contests, friendships, and holidays are like a spinning kaleidoscope in our past.

Nicholas is almost a high-school senior, poised on the brink of adulthood, and Bella is ending her freshman year with a well-deserved reputation as a dynamic, ambitious force.

It’s both extraordinary and scary watching our children learning how to make their own way in the world. Over the years, I’ve fought hard to stop myself from running in to fix every problem they’ve faced.

It hasn’t always been easy—my instinct to both protect and rescue my wife has naturally extended to our children—but Nicholas and Bella are strong, confident, intelligent young adults who are learning how to navigate the complexities of the world.

And though I’ve had to retreat instead of racing forward to rescue them at every turn, I’ve made sure they both know Liv and I are always ready to help, support, advise, and fight for them—both when they ask and sometimes when they don’t.

“Pre-boarding will begin now for Flight 532,” a voice announces over the loudspeaker.

The travelers crowded around the gate begin making their way to the door. Liv reaches for her travel bag.

“I got it, Mom.” Nicholas grabs Liv’s bag and pushes to his feet.

“Thanks, honey.” Liv reaches out to brush his hair away from his eyes.

She does that often with the maternal remark that Nicholas’s overlong hair drives her nuts, but I know it’s really an excuse to touch him without being too mushy.

Nicholas pulls away from her with a grumble, but steps aside so she can precede him to the gate. He follows, hefting both her bag and his backpack. Nicholas’s protectiveness of his mother has grown stronger over the years, and I see it intensifying the closer he gets to moving away from home.

Good kids. The best, both of them.

After putting our carry-ons in the overhead bins, I sit beside Liv. She rests her hand on top of mine. As always, being close to her settles my heartbeat and eases my breathing. Like I’m sitting next to a pool of cool, clear water rippling with sunlight.