My brother Knox has a stepdaughter named Violet. The irony of her name being our mother’s name did not escape anyone in the family. She’s a pretty redhead who looks just like her mom did as a teen. She’s also a junior in high school and can drive, so I ask her to watch Hudson for the few hours before Stone will be home. While Hudson isn’t too thrilled to spend time with ababysitter, I try to rationalize that she’s his cousin, making her family. He doesn’t fall for it. When her younger brother Tim agrees to come over as well, turning the night into a pizza-slash-video game competition for the older ‘cousins’, Hudson changes his tune. He hero-worships the fourteen-year-old boy who loves soccer as much as Hudson loves baseball.
“Bless you,” I say to Violet when they arrive, and I can finally slip out the door.
“You look . . .” My niece wiggles her brows then taps the tip of her tongue with her forefinger making a sizzling sound. “Hot.”
I laugh, needing the chuckle to settle my nerves. “Do you think I look all right?” I might be a tad overdressed in a slinky black number that is more appropriate for a wedding than a stay-at-home meal. Not to mention, I’m asking the opinion of a sixteen-year-old.
“Honestly, Vale, you look beautiful.” Her reassuring smile sends me on my way.
Cort lives in an A-frame house tucked in the hills around Rogue River. When I park in his driveway, the soft echo of the river comes from somewhere behind his home.
He steps out onto his porch before I’ve even exited my car, and I inhale. He looks amazing in a dark, silky shirt and black jeans, and he smiles sheepishly when he sees me. I no longer worry about being overdressed. He looks as anxious as I feel.
On the drive over, I’ve given myself a pep talk. How I shouldn’t be nervous. This man has seen intimate parts of mebut there are deeper layers we don’t know anymore. Years of absence from each other’s lives.
What if he doesn’t like me?Quickly, I shake off the negative thoughts, smooth my hand over my belly, and cross the walk to his porch.
“Vale,” he whispers like his tongue is too thick. His eyes roam up and down my body, and he holds out a hand as soon as I step onto the porch. Right there, he twirls me around so he can see me from all angles.
“Fuck. You’re so beautiful, Bee.” He cups my cheek and kisses me sweetly. Not like his typical hunger but more like he wants to savor the moment.
A mental image of this Cort is certainly going into the scrapbook of my heart.
After leading me inside, I get a quick tour of the house. The living room opens to a large kitchen that curves right and faces an open concept sitting area. Through the sliding glass doors, a view of the river down below is visible. A loft is above us with the same view.
Cort points out that one end of the house has two bedrooms. The primary bedroom is in the opposite direction. Brushing over that information, he offers me a glass of wine. “I have white or red or rosé.”
His voice trembles a little, and I round the small kitchen island and slip my arms around his waist.
“Hi.” I focus on his eyes. His shoulders relax and his arms wrap around me as well.
“Hi.” He chuckles softly, blowing out a breath. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“You won’t.” I smile to reassure him. I’m here. He’s here, and we’re alone.
Pressing a kiss to the top of my head, he pulls away. “Hope you like steak.”
“I love a good hunk of meat.” I wink and Cort laughs,bursting the initial bubble of nerves surrounding us.
As Cort prepares the steak and pulls pre-cut vegetables out of his fridge, we chat about his family, a safer topic than mine.
“Tate is still a punk ass while Clint is . . . well . . . Clint. A good guy at heart, trying to raise his daughter on his own.”
Ruby James is five years old and in kindergarten with my niece June. The two girls are becoming fast friends, and their connection might be a rebuilding bridge between the families.
“Trinity is still a spitfire.” Cort shakes his head.
I’m well aware of what he means. After her divorce, she really went through a glow up and opened up herself. She’s veryvocalat our Sterlet meetings about how a woman can meet her own needs. Often spoken like a woman truly scorned.
“I see your mom sometimes, at the grocery store.” I smile as I twirl my glass of wine in my hand, watching the liquid gently swirl from side to side. “She has always been nice to me.”
When my mother died, her friends tried to rally around our family. Seven kids ranging from twelve to newborn was a lot to tackle. My dad decided not to handle it; instead, sinking himself into bottle after bottle. From what I’ve been told, my mother’s friends stepped up and tried to step in, but Dad shut that down over and over again.
Mary Haven was particularly close to our mother, especially as several Sylvers line up in age to the Haven kids. Stone and Cort. Judd and Tate, who never got along. Sebastian and Clint. Trinity is between Knox and Ford.
“Your mother taught Sebastian and I how to bake,” I remind him, still smiling down at my glass of wine with fond memories of standing in the Haven kitchen mixing up ingredients and rolling balls of dough for holiday cookies.
“When I was little, I wanted to be adopted by your family.” I shrug and lift my glass, hoping to disguise the emotion in my voice. The memory has come out of nowhere, but it’s an honestrecollection. Before I crushed on Cort, before everything fell apart, I wanted to be a Haven.
