I can practically hear my sister roll her eyes. I try not to grind my teeth over the phone. God, how much I hate them all.
“Thanks for the warning. So if the wedding plans get finished, how many weeks until you’re Mrs. Butler?”
“Less than twelve. I’m a little panicked. I have to fly to New York for my final fitting at some point. I’ve been waiting for Simon to come home so we could finish the menu and floral selections. He needs to pick out his tux. We have more phone counseling sessions with the minister. We both thought we’d have time to make a trip to Maui and settle everything in person…but life has been so hectic.”
I’ve never met Simon. I understand a job that seems to eat your life for weeks on end. I often live it. Maxon does, too. But if Britta told me tomorrow that she’d marry me, I wouldn’t give a shit what was happening professionally. I would push everything aside to focus on giving that woman the wedding of her dreams. The fact that Simon isn’t interested in the details… Well, I know a lot of people would say that guys just aren’t into that shit. But for the woman you love, c’mon. Taste some froufrou food, sniff a few flowers. Make her feel important. How hard is it?
From a guy who didn’t learn the first time around, what Harlow is describing smacks of a boyfriend who’s not really committed.
But maybe I’m wrong. I hope for her sake that I am. I keep my opinion to myself.
“Things will settle down, and you’ll get it all sorted out.”
“Probably. I just need to not let the details freak me out, I guess.” She pauses. “So…Maxon says you met Jamie.”
“Kind of. I saved him from a trip to the ER. Don’t think he appreciated it.” I have to laugh. “At his age, I wouldn’t have, either.”
She laughs, too. “I’m so relieved I won’t have to avoid talking about the cutie pie with you anymore.”
“Why did you in the first place?” I have some suspicions.
“Because we thought you knew and simply didn’t care. I was so angry I couldn’t even talk to you about him. I thought you didn’t deserve him. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”
I can’t really blame Harlow. I’d like to, but I see her point. In her shoes, I might have made the same choice.
“I’m sorry if that sounds mean,” she goes on. “But you really broke Britta’s heart, and I didn’t want to see you hurt your son, too.”
“I understand.” I can hardly fault her for trying to protect him.
“Good. I’m glad.” She pauses. “I’m flying to Maui sometime in mid-April. The wedding is on Saturday, May sixth. I can’t wait to see you. And to finally meet Jamie in person! Maxon sends me the cutest pictures.”
“You’ll love him. He’s beautiful.”
“I have no doubt. So…what about you and Britta? You two are talking again?”
“We have a child, so we have to. I’m trying to open the communication between us. And…I’m trying to get her to do more than talk to me.”
“Griff, seriously? Maxon said she’s engaged.”
“She is.” But I can’t feel guilty. The alternative will make us miserable for the rest of our lives.
She snickers at me like I’m incorrigible. “Actually, I’m pulling for you two. You really seemed to have something. It wasn’t perfect, but—”
“That was my fault.”
The shock of her silence is almost palpable. “You’re admitting you were wrong? Someone record this day in history.”
I roll my eyes but take her ribbing in the good nature in which she intended it. “I’ve grown into a more evolved sort of asshole.”
“I’m so proud,” she teases.
In the background, I hear someone knocking on her door. “You need to go?”
I hear rustling and guess she’s getting up from her chair. A few steps later, she groans. “Yeah. It’s Mom.”
Without even opening the door, she sounds exhausted by the woman. I understand, but I’m not about to talk to the she-dragon.
“I’ll let you go. Call me anytime, little sis.”
“Same with you. Love you. Hope everything works out with Britta and Jamie.”
Before I can say anything else, she’s gone. Ending the conversation is probably for the best since I’m nearly at Britta’s. No, she won’t be happy to see me, but she owes me an explanation. We’ll never work out any arrangement about Jamie and our future if she’s going to avoid me.
Three minutes later, I’m knocking on her door. And knocking. I see her sedan under the carport. She should be here. Unless Makaio took her out.
Damning the thought, I’m just about to walk around the house and see if I can peek in through the sliding glass door around back when I hear the click of the lock. The latch gives way and the door creaks open.
Britta wobbles in the portal with her hair pulled back haphazardly, skin somewhere between white and gray. She’s tried to belt a pink robe around her middle. It’s gaping open to reveal an overlarge oatmeal-colored T-shirt. She’s removed everything else—shoes, makeup, engagement ring. Jamie stands behind her, clinging to her thigh.
Whatever remained of my righteous anger swirls down the mental drain. “Are you okay, angel?”
She leans against the door. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine. Sorry we haven’t been able to talk—”
A cough interrupts her nasally, scratchy-voiced reply. It sounds deep and productive, and she winces like it’s painful.
“Have you been to the doctor?”
She shakes her head. “Haven’t felt like it. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.”
Where the hell is Makaio? Shouldn’t her fiancé be taking care of her? Whatever. He wasn’t important before and he’s certainly not important now.
“Have you eaten in the last few hours?”
After a slight pause, she frowns. “Not since midday. It’s probably good you woke me up. I need to feed Jamie. Um, we’ll talk about everything once I come back to the office, hopefully soon.”
If she thinks I’m leaving her and Jamie to suffer alone, she’s absolutely fucking crazy.
Gently, I nudge my way past the front door and lock it behind me. Then I kneel down to Jamie, who’s staring at me, thumb in his mouth, from behind Britta’s shapely thigh. “Hey, big guy. You hungry?”
He looks at me suspiciously, then back up to his mother. When she nods at the boy, he meets my gaze again. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of you. Meet me in the kitchen. Mommy is sick, and I’m going to make sure she gets in bed, okay?”
“What?” Britta balks as Jamie scampers off to dance around the refrigerator. “You can’t. I’ll—”
“I can’t make a can of soup or fix a sandwich? C’mon. You need rest and you don’t need to be risking Jamie’s immune system. I’m perfectly healthy and I’ll handle it.” When she still looks uncertain, I cup her shoulder. “You took care of him by yourself for years. I owe you at least this much.”
She closes her eyes, obviously torn. But she’s too exhausted to fight. “He’s allergic to strawberries.”
“Got it. Anything in particular he likes?”
“Bananas. Peanut butter sandwiches. Peach yogurt.”
“Consider it done. What can I get you?”
“I don’t need anything.”
I send her a stare of tender rebuke. “Don’t be stubborn.”
“Seriously. I need to lose those last couple of pounds I gained at Christmas anyway.”
Oh, that just annoys me. If she weren’t so sick, we’d exchange words about the fact that she’d rather starve herself than ask me for help. Nor is an illness a good time to consider her weight, which seems just fine to me. But right now, getting her back to bed so she can rest matters most.
I curl one arm across her back before I bend and lift her,