Fit for Love (A Stand By Me Novel Book 3) (9 page)

“No,” Ryder says around a giggle.

“Ryder and his mommy went to see a horse. Aiden went with them, because he wanted to have fun with the little boy and his mommy. They went to the country to see horses and hills and water and dirt and grass and pigs. Oh, are there pigs in this story? I forget.”

“No.” Ryder’s voice is sleepy and small. “No pig. Horse.”

Aiden locks his gaze with mine. Silver eyes that shine.

I can’t imagine a dark place in his entire being.

* * *

M
akenna
, age 10

“
D
addy
?” I’m home. I return my house key to the pocket of my backpack and head toward the kitchen. Milk and cookie time, my favorite ritual. Clicking on the living room lamp as I pass, I frown at the drawn curtains.

Daddy likes it dark in the house. He says he needs the curtains closed to watch TV. The ashtray sits full of cigarette butts, gross evidence. No smoking in the house. It’s Mama’s rule.

Mama will pitch a fit when she gets home.

Should I get rid of the evidence for Daddy and not have to listen to their argument? Yeah. I can’t stand to hear them fight. I pick up the ashtray and carry it to the kitchen, where I empty it in the trashcan.

Yuck, yuck, yuck. I don’t understand why Daddy doesn’t quit.

“Daddy?” I call his name once more, so maybe he’ll come out and see me cleaning up after him. Maybe this will make him do it next time.

“I’m back here,” he yells from the back of the house.

I twist the hot water knob and use the sprayer to clean off the ashtray. It’s sort of pretty, a fancy crystal one that Mama says is only for looks.

“I’m home,” I repeat. Duh. But I wish he’d come out and pick up the kitchen. Mama says if she’s going to work all day, he has to pick up the house.

It sucks that Daddy is so sad lately. I don’t think his mood medicine is helping.

I dry off the ashtray with a paper towel. Then I return it to the spot in the china cabinet with all the other pretty things that no one is supposed to use.

My knee hits the bottom cabinet door, which moves as if it isn’t latched. The booze. Daddy’s not-really-secret-stash hiding hole.

Mama threw all the bottles away months ago, but I hold my breath anyway as I take my finger and pull it open so I can see inside.

Empty. Still empty.

Woo, I breathe. Relief pads down my body like tiny kitten paws. Of all the things they fight about, the booze is the worst. He says he’ll quit and he pretends to do it.

But Mama and I aren’t stupid and we catch him hiding a bottle, again and again.

“Makenna?” Daddy’s voice again.

“I’m in the kitchen,” I yell back. I stroll across the wood floor and mentally recite my homework list: one-page essay about the colonization of America and a flow-chart for science. Easy breezy peasy. Four cookies dunked in milk ought to set me up for that.

I stop, one foot away from the refrigerator, at the sight of the glass bottle on the counter. It’s a large bottle with squared sides. Heavy looking.

Half-empty. How’d I miss that?

“Daddy?” I say, hating the way I feel. Dread. Disgust. I hate it when he drinks. I might hate it more than Mama does.

I hate the new secret I’m keeping for him. But I know it only happened because of the booze. Alcohol makes you stupid.

“Makenna,” he yells. “Come here. We need to talk.”

I hate what he did. Hate that I witnessed his betrayal to Mama.

“Makenna,” he repeats. “Now.”

M
akenna

“
T
his is a nice neighborhood
,” I say to Aiden as we pull into the driveway at his Nonna’s.

He shrugs. “Yeah. I grew up in this house.”

Nonna’s huge home holds court in a cul-de-sac, surrounded by large trees most likely planted before I was born. It’s one of those old neighborhoods with lots of iron fences and locked gates and heavy purses.

The woman must be loaded. Aiden grew up rich. I’m not certain why this surprises me.

Nonna opens the door and sunshine pours
out
instead of in. The source? Her smile. “
Bon vinuta
. I’ve been waiting to see you, Mak! What took so long? You are late.” She reaches out to embrace me.

“We’re right on time,” Aiden says blandly, the corner of his lips twitching.

“My grandson is always late,” she answers while looking at me. She waves a hand at Aiden, so we follow her inside. He closes the door behind us.

“You are my guest, so sit in my favorite chair, the one with the chenille blanket. Yes, yes, over there,” she says and nods to an armchair.

“Maybe she wants to sit with me on the sofa.” Aiden walks over to it and sits. He pats the spot beside him, and Nonna scurries ahead of me. She plops down into the space before I can possibly sit there.

“You see her all the time. I only have today.” Nonna smiles at me. “Go on and sit. I want you where I can look at you.”

This leaves me with the chair facing them. “Sure.”

Nonna motions to the silver tray on the coffee table between us. “I made you cookies and coffee. I was going to make tea, but Aiden, he says you must have the coffee.”

“Oh. I hope you didn’t do this for me.” I look at a frowning Nonna. The look borders on baffled and bummed. Yowsa. What did I say?

“Aiden was wrong? You don’t like the coffee?” Nonna turns her disapproving glare on him.

“She loves it, Nonna.” Aiden pats her back. “Sure she does. She’s just not accustomed to people forcing food into her. Give her a minute. And I told you not to go to any trouble. You’re supposed to take it easy. Doctor’s orders.”

A tea kettle whistles from deep within the house. Nonna hops to her feet, looking like a tiny bird. She may not understand the meaning of ‘take it easy.’

“I will go and get my tea. Make your coffee,” she demands, ignoring everything Aiden just stated.

Once she’s out of the room, I examine the shiny silver tray with the pretty dishes. “She went all out.”

He grabs the silver pot and pours a cup of coffee. He spoons sugar into the black depths. Placing the cup and saucer on my side of the serving tray, he mutters, “It’s like she thinks she’s serving the Queen of England.”

“She doesn’t do this when you come visit?” Snagging a cookie, I pop the entire thing into my mouth. “My gosh,” I say around a mouthful. “These are fantastic.”

“Walnut balls. She really likes you. You want me to find some milk for your coffee?” Aiden looks around the tray. “She’ll be upset when she realizes she didn’t offer it.”

“Good gracious, no. I don’t want…”

The sound of Nonna’s return stops me from finishing. “I made the cookies this morning,” she says. “Have some.”

“They’re delicious. Nonna, cookies like these could make a person rich and famous. I would love to have the recipe.”

Nonna purses her lips in a pleased half-smile. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then she straightens. “Of course you can have the recipe. You will inherit all my cookbooks. But you can have this recipe early.”

I fidget. Ah, yes. As the fiancée of her only grandson, I would get things from her. I don’t want to lie, but I’ve promised Aiden I’ll do this.

“You cook then. Good. Aiden, he builds his muscles so he must eat. Do you live alone?”

I glance to Aiden, then back to Nonna. I’m not going to lie about this. She may not be happy that her grandson is involved with a woman who has a child. But that’s Aiden’s problem, not mine. “I have a son, Ryder.”

Nonna’s brows come together. Yes. I knew it. She’s not in love with this scenario. Tough luck.

Nonna wags a finger at me. “Why is he not here? I want to meet him,” she demands. “Do you know I may be dead tomorrow and not get to meet your little boy?”

The corner of my mouth hitches at being scolded. Well, color me wrong.

Aiden sighs. “Nonna, you’re not dying tomorrow. You’ll meet him next time.”

“Hmph,” she says. “Do not deprive an old woman of the joys of having children around. You two should hurry and give Ryder brothers and sisters. Children need big families. I had seven brothers and sisters.”

My eyes widen. “Seven? That is big. Do you ever see any of them?”

“I am the baby,” she answers. “All but one passed before me. One brother still lives in Sicily.”

We visit for almost two hours with Nonna, her curiosity about my life endless. My curiosity about her childhood in Sicily even greater. What would it be like to visit a place like that? I’ll never know. My place is here with Ryder and Mama.

Nonna pivots and places a hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “My lightbulbs in the upstairs bedroom. I cannot replace them myself.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Aiden says, getting to his feet. “Just the bulbs?”

“The en suite toilet. It sometimes flushes and sometimes not. It hasn’t worked for months. Can you take a look?” Nonna tilts her head sweetly. “I don’t know how to do such things.”

“You should’ve called me,” he scolds. He frowns and shakes his head. “I’ve been here every week for dinner, but you think I don’t have time to do this?”

When he’s gone, she turns back to me. “I have to trick him to have time alone with you.”

“That was sly. Did you need to talk to me about something?”

She examines me, suddenly serious. “My Aiden is a strong man. He’s proud. He might not tell you things you should know.”

An eerie chill sprinkles warnings down my arms, causing gooseflesh in its wake. “Oh?”

“Has Aiden told you about his mother?”

I shake my head. This doesn’t feel right that Nonna’s sent Aiden out of the room. “No. But maybe he should tell me.”

“That will never happen. He doesn’t speak of her. Aiden’s mother left him on my doorstep after my son died. The bitch left her own child like someone might desert an unwanted dog and hope it is cared for.”

This explains why Nonna raised him. “So, he never sees her?”

“No. But it’s for the best. She turned her back on her own child. She’s a monster. Could you give up on your son?”

That’s an easy one to answer. “Never.” Instead of picturing Ryder, I see a little boy with Aiden’s serious eyes and midnight black hair. A sad boy sitting on the doorstep of Nonna’s humongous house. I know it’s melodramatic, but I can’t seem to stop the hurt that floods me when I try to reconcile the Aiden I know with this story.

I shift uncomfortably and glance toward the doorway. “Aiden’s one of the most well-balanced people I know. He’s so…” I search for the right adjectives but fail. “You did a good job, Nonna. He’s a good person.”

“He has scars. Every person does.” She pauses and sips her tea, deep in thought. “When Aiden was a little boy, he was very quiet and still. I look forward to your next visit when you bring your son.”

I imagine Ryder putting his little fingers on every valuable item inside Nonna’s house. “I look forward to it.”

Aiden appears in the doorway and eyes us. We’re silent. “What?” he asks. “Did you run out of stories about Sicily?” He returns to his seat on the sofa and winks at me. “Nonna was a handful when she was a girl. I feel sorry for her father.”

“It’s true,” Nonna confirms without a bit of regret in her voice.

Sipping my coffee, a brew so black it may grow hair on my chest before we leave, I nod as Nonna talks about her upbringing. “My patri was very, very strict. No looking at boys. But I was a spitfire,” she says, as if she isn’t this way at all now, “and sometimes I looked, a little.”

“Did you get in trouble?” I prod since she’s stopped. I assume that patri must be her father.

“I did. But I still lifted my chin and challenged all the boys to win my affection. You and I, we are very alike and I know this is what draws my Aiden to you. You do not so easily let the men woo you. I had to be strong to resist all the temptations of youth. I am glad you let my Aiden woo you.”

Woo me.
I smash my lips together. It’s charming, the way she thinks, and I don’t want her to misinterpret my smile.

“You’ve got that right,” Aiden says and snags a walnut ball cookie. “But I let her hit me in the eye one night and then she fell in love. Right then.”

Oops. He slipped. That’s the night he let Nonna think we were engaged. It’s a good thing the lady isn’t quick to call him on it.

Nonna elbows him, but she’s smiling. “You are such a bad boy. Do not make fun of my Mak.”

My Mak. The way she says it…like we’ve been friends for years. I’ve always been close to Mama—and of course Ryder—but it puts a fuzzy feeling in my belly to have her warm up to me so quickly.

This is not real, I warn myself. Don’t get too comfy.

Nonna rubs Aiden’s hand. “This is what I wanted most for you. Someone to take care of you after I’m gone. Someone who will love you with all her heart.”

I stare at her ebony eyes, maybe dimmer than they were back in the day. Still, they see plenty. She assesses my face.

Don’t hurt this one,
she seems to say without words.

Shit a brick. This woman is not one to cross. She will come back to haunt me if she discovers what we’ve done. I’m going to throttle Aiden.

Nervous belly flutters hit me when she continues to give me a hard stare.

Then the moment passes when she must feel she’s made her message clear. She yawns and sits back against the cushion. “What time is it?”

“Time to go,” Aiden says and pats her knee. He stands and holds out a hand to me. “You should rest, Nonna, like the doctor told you.”

“Before you leave,” she says, “go into the pantry and get the red cookbook with the rooster on the front. That one has the cookies. I’ll give it to you early.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” I say, horrified that she’ll learn she gave her treasures to me—a fake only pretending to be engaged.

“Go get the book. Aiden, take her. I’m going to sit here and rest.” Nonna’s earlier enthusiasm is curbed, her smiles more forced, her speech slower. It’s clear she’s tired.

Aiden nods. “Come on. We’ll go and get it.”

I have no choice but to let him tug me through the house. His hand comforts me as nervous adrenaline shoots through me. I don’t like the thought of taking the book or the thought of another woman getting it. It’s probably the most selfish thought I’ve had in a while. “What are you doing? I mean, that’s awfully nice of her. But I do have morals. I can’t take something intended for the girl you’re supposed to marry.”

He laughs under his breath. “She has dozens. And if you want to copy the recipe and give it back later, you can. This is what she wants.”

I can give the book back later
. No harm, no foul. I stop arguing, because as selfish as it is, it makes me happy.

We walk through a galley-style kitchen with rows upon rows of white cabinets. He opens a door, flips the light switch, and walks inside a small room with shelves on three walls. “The pantry,” he says.

I have space to walk past him to the section of books on the far wall. “Wow. There’s a ton of food. She ever going to need all this?”

“No. She’s prepared for a recession. Or war. Whichever happens first.” He pulls the door shut.

One bulb in an overhead light fixture glows dim inside the space. The cocoon environment of the pantry feels intimate. Dangerous.

“Hey. What are you doing?” I eye him, reading the look on his face. I know exactly what he’s thinking…because I’m thinking it, too.

He stalks toward me, four steps occurring in agonizing slow motion. “I behaved all morning.”

“Two hours,” I correct. My pulse speeds up.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
This isn’t right. Nonna’s out there, waiting. My body sways toward him, not listening one iota to my brain.

“Two excruciating hours of being patient. I’ve heard all Nonna’s stories.” He smoothes my hair back and holds my head still. “And I paid attention to each one like it was the first time.”

He leans forward, so close I notice the tiny flecks of iridescent color in his blue eyes. “You made an old woman very happy today. She’s important to me. Thank you.”

He’s a hypnotist, and I’m his willing subject. My breaths are shallow. “You’re welcome.” The words come out thready.

I grab his shoulders and go to my tiptoes. His muscles bunch under my hold. Inch by inch, he finally lands his lips against mine. His kiss is soft and romantic, tender and serious.

My lungs expand and struggle. My skin burns with a sudden rise of blood flow. My heart feels swollen. When he pulls back, I realize I’m hanging on to him. I release my grip on his shoulders.

What was he saying? Ah, yes. He thanked me for being nice to his grandma. “You’re welcome,” I mutter.

“You already said that,” he whispers.

“Oh,” I whisper back. I straighten and step back, knocking into a shelf.

“Careful there,” he says, coming close. He reaches out and his hand reaches past my shoulder and traps me within his frame. I freeze like a rabbit hoping to stay undetected. He pulls back and holds a red cookbook.

“Yeah. I forgot we came in here for that.” I take it from him and clutch it to my chest like a dang shield.

“That’s not why I came in here. But you gave me what I wanted. For now.”

I blow out a shaky breath and go for nonchalance. “Well, we’d better get out of the pantry before Nonna wonders what happened to us.”

He lowers his head and gives me a cocky grin. “Why do you think she sent us both in here?”