The beginning is yours...

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Let’s Be Honest

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Natalie Nolan

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“Have I mentioned I’m glad you came to your senses and moved here?”

 

I grinned into the mug and took a sip of my tea. She’d only mentioned that about a dozen times since I’d arrived a couple weeks ago.

 

“Yes, but you can tell me again.”

 

“I’m so, so, so, so glad!” She laid it on thick with a big smile, and she sat down so we shared a corner of her kitchen island. “My baby sister, finally in the same state as me.” She opened her messy, giant planner that kept her life organized. It had countless Post-its and colorful tabs sticking out of it. “Now I just gotta find a date we can all get together for dinner.” She slid her pen down the dates of this week, then the next. 

 

She was a busy woman. 

 

Hell, everyone in the family was busy. Chloe ran a bed and breakfast, her husband was a successful author, and the kids… They were all grown up now, ‘cause Chloe had started early. The twins had a year left in high school, which was freaking nuts. My eldest nephew Gage lived in Vancouver and worked all the time, and the second eldest, Gray, had recently turned Chloe into a grandmother. Gray and his boyfriend were in the middle of adopting two boys, and my sister could not be happier.

 

Actually, her stepdaughter had given birth to twins not too long ago either, so make that four grandchildren.

 

She had everything up here in rainy Washington. 

 

I was still on the fence. I’d left New York for a tiny town north of Seattle.

 

Then again, New York hadn’t really suited me either.

 

“Okay, I give up,” Chloe sighed. “It looks like the next day everyone’s in town is for Jayden’s birthday in September.”

 

That was okay. “He’s turning nine, right?”

 

“Nine, goin’ on nineteen—that sweetheart.” My sister was a big fan of the boys, obviously.

 

When I’d first heard that Gray and Darius were adopting, I’d automatically assumed babies. My nephew had always wanted a big family, not unlike the one he’d grown up in. 

 

I wasn’t what one might call the jealous type, and I would never begrudge Gray all the happiness in the world. That said, when my nephew at the age of not even twenty-two suddenly settled down with a nice man and two kids, you could say it’d lit a fire under my ass. 

 

I didn’t care about the nice man, but I wanted children, and my biological clock was ticking like crazy. 

 

At thirty-four, I’d contemplated not having kids at all. I’d been semi-content in my shoebox of a Manhattan apartment, and work stole all my time. And now, just a year later, hello, baby fever. 

 

Maybe I would never get as far as Chloe; she had the big house and the marriage dreams were made of, and that was okay. As long as I could start shopping for baby shoes and onesies soon. 

 

I had a plan.

 

The smell of the apple pie Chloe had in the oven was not going to help me with that plan.

 

“When are the twins comin’ home? I need them to eat that pie before I cave,” I said.

 

Chloe glanced over at the oven, then back at me and raised a brow. “One slice won’t kill you, doll.”

 

Right, but my plan. 

 

I smiled, more than a little excited, and figured now was a good time to break the news. “Here’s the thing. You know how you’ve been on my case about having kids since I was basically in kindergarten? Well, now I’m ready.”

Her eyes widened and brimmed with hope. “No! You’re not jokin’, are you? You can’t joke about that with me, Nat.”

 

I smirked. “I’m not joking.”

 

“Oh, this is amazing!” She flew out of her chair and hugged me.

 

I couldn’t help but laugh as I hugged her back. I’d had a feeling she’d be happy. 

 

“What route are you going to take? I know better than to ask if you’re seein’ someone.” She put her hands on my arms and leaned back, eyeing me in a way that made it clear she was trying to be sure.

 

“Yeah, no, definitely not seeing anyone,” I confirmed. I wasn’t ready. “I wanna find a donor.”

 

She pursed her lips and nodded, then sat down again. “You’ll make a wonderful mama. And I’ll be there for every doctor’s appointment, you hear?”

 

I squeezed her hands in mine, more grateful than I could express. “My problem is, I have to lose some weight first. My doctor said it might be difficult for me to go through a pregnancy at this stage, so…”

 

Even if I hadn’t planned on becoming a parent, it was time. I couldn’t blame grief anymore. Two years had passed since I’d lost Brad, and I’d lost myself in the process too. I’d gained so much weight. 

 

I’d been bigger my whole life, and it’d been… Eh. We all had our ups and downs. Yeah, sure, I’d doubted myself, thought I was ugly, a big fat cow, all that crap. Then I’d grown up. Acceptance had hit me in waves in my twenties, and I’d even started enjoying looking in the mirror. But the last two years, health-wise, could be summed up as one failure after another. I needed professional help. 

 

Chloe sobered a bit. “I understand. Do you have a specific goal, or…?”

 

I weighed my answer. “Sort of? Obviously, it’ll be up to the doctors, but I was the happiest when I could squeeze my ass into size fourteen pants.”

 

That’d been my happy medium between maintaining a semi-active lifestyle and…well, eating what I wanted to. In short, I had a bunch of moving boxes across town that were filled with size sixteen pants, and I wanted to wear them again. 

 

“I think that’s a good goal,” she said with a nod. “You were flippin’ glowing in your engagement photo. I remember how happy you were.”

 

I braced myself for the pang of loss I usually felt when Brad came up, but it was fading. At long last. More and more lately, I was mostly mourning the death of my best friend, ‘cause that’s what Brad had been. Our love hadn’t exactly sizzled with passion, but he’d been my other half for almost twenty years. First as the closest of friends, then as much more when we’d fallen for each other.

 

“Yeah…those were the good days.” I smiled a little. “Anyway.” I cleared my throat and took another sip of my tea. “Now you know why I’m off sugar and back on hatin’ the Mom curse.”

 

She laughed softly and went all I hear ya. Chloe wasn’t precisely a size six either. After a few glasses of wine, she would slap her butt and say she was a perfect ten, pun intended—and she wasn’t wrong. We were short too, so a single pound extra looked like three. 

 

We’d both inherited Mom’s pear-shaped body type with big butts and wide hips. But unlike Chloe and Mom, I had the belly too. 

 

“Okay, then. No sugar for you—because I want a niece or three,” Chloe said firmly. “You’re our last hope of evenin’ the scores around here. Lord knows I love my boys, but they just keep adding members to their team.”

 

I chuckled and shook my head. She wasn’t wrong, though. The men outnumbered us by far.

 

*

 

I should unpack…

 

Judging by the number of moving boxes, nobody would guess I’d moved from a studio apartment to a two-bedroom. But in New York, I’d had a storage unit too. Well, I’d had the storage unit in Jersey. Not to mention an office. So I had all my work stuff here now too, and I wasn’t getting the keys to my studio for several weeks.

 

I should really unpack.

 

Instead, I poured a glass of wine and wandered aimlessly between the boxes. Small kitchen, small bedroom that would be my office, then a decently sized main bedroom where I had a balcony. I would’ve preferred to have the balcony in the living room, but evidently I couldn’t be picky. Despite Camassia Cove being a small town, it was a popular choice for new families looking to get out of Seattle. My neighborhood, Cedar Valley, was aptly nicknamed Little Seattle. It was home to the town’s community college and countless cobblestone streets. 

 

According to Chloe, the Valley had once been nothing but factories and cheap housing, and then that had changed when the college opened. The factories had turned into trendy lofts, the parking lots had become farmers’ markets, and the cheap two- and three-story brownstones that lined the cobblestone streets were cheap no more. 

 

Except, when you left Manhattan, everything was cheap. 

 

I took a swig of my wine and looked out the living room window. It faced the street, and the view was right up my sense of humor’s alley. Quinn’s Fitness Center. How perfect. Every day since I’d moved in, I’d watched countless men and women walk in and out with their gym bags and yoga mats.

 

I wondered if the owner of Quinn’s Fitness Center was related to Gray’s man. His name was Darius Quinn.

 

Wasn’t everyone in small towns related somehow?

 

Chloe and I had grown up all over the place, depending on where Dad had been stationed. She linked her childhood to Louisiana and South Carolina. I only remembered the latter. Then a whole lot of Georgia. 

It started raining outside the window, and I peered up at the sky. Maybe I’d like it here. Even when it rained, the surroundings were beautiful. Camassia was cradled by mountains and forests on three sides, then the ocean to the west. 

 

I shifted my gaze back to the fitness center as a group of women walked inside. 

 

Open 24/7.

 

Christ.

 

The bright lighting and the black and neon blue design made the whole place stick out like a sore thumb on this street. I mean, everything else was so picturesque and cozy, from the cobblestone and trees to old-style lampposts and muted colors. 

 

I sighed heavily.

 

Unfortunately, tomorrow morning, I was marching down there to become a member.

 

I wanted the whole shebang with a personal trainer and dietician. I’d already scrolled through their website. They had it all, it seemed. 

 

Wine. I needed more wine.

 

*

 

You’re stalling, bitch.

 

No shit.

 

I gathered my hair in a messy bun at the top of my head, then dove into the next moving box. I was just gonna unpack my clothes and hang everything in my walk-in closet. I hadn’t had one of those in New York. I’d had a freaking clothes rack in the hallway. 

 

I had to respond to some emails too.

 

And look up what kind of power tool I needed to put up photos on exposed brick walls. I loved them so hard, especially when they were painted white like mine, but they were a drag to do anything with. 

 

Then I was definitely going down to the gym!

 

One box after another… Loose dresses, tees, tunics, button-downs, and so many pairs of leggings and jeggings. My leather jacket, lingerie, more tees, pajama bottoms. My work outfits, basically. Tees and panties. 

 

My phone dinged on my newly assembled nightstand, and I walked over there and saw a message from Chloe.

 

Girls’ night Saturday the weekend after this one? Say yes! It’ll be you, me, Adeline, and Isla. xo

 

Saturday next weekend worked. It’d be nice to see Isla and Adeline again too. I’d been introduced to Chloe’s stepdaughter and best friend when she’d married Aiden.

 

Count me in. xo

 

Feeling a bit tuckered out, I slumped down on the mattress, and before I could start cursing myself out for not having put together the bedframe yet, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-body mirror on the closet door.

 

Fucking hell. 

 

My chest tightened with anxiousness and revulsion. What the fuck had I done to myself? 

 

I looked over at where some of my larger picture frames stood against the wall. One of them in particular—it was my favorite photo of me. The photographer had asked for a bit of attitude, and I’d dropped the smile. That photo was the first thing clients and customer saw on my website. Design by Nolan. My leather jacket had fit back then. My love for exposed brick showed in the background. My hair had been a little longer, not to mentioned styled by a professional. 

 

God-fucking-dammit, I wanted to be her again. 

 

No more stalling. I pushed myself off the mattress again and sent Chloe a text.

 

Where do you get your hair done? I need an appointment like yesterday. A nail salon too, please! xo

 

Then I changed into a pair of leggings and a top that flared out underneath my chest. A thin cardigan with that, and—

 

Chloe texted back.

 

I’ll hook you up with my girl Kate. She’s amazing. I’ll text her at lunch. For nails, I go down to Cedar Point. There’s a place that just opened next to the pool hall.  

 

Cedar Point, got it. I was familiar with that area by now. It was just south of here, and they had Target, Old Navy, Staples, and all those regular stores. 

 

I sent Chloe a thanks on my way out the door.

 

Time to enter enemy territory—which had everything to do with the people and nothing to do with what you did there. 

 

In my experience, joining a gym meant encountering two types of employees. Those who assumed you wanted a whole transformation, where you shelled out thousands of dollars to go from “miserable” to “ecstatic.” In other words, from “fat” to “thin.” And then the other staff member who spoke very little because they were either scared to offend or didn’t believe I’d make any progress so there was no point in investing energy in me. 

 

No matter what, people had the wrong idea about me. The wrong assumptions. 

 

I crossed the street at a quick pace, wanting to get out of the drizzle. It seemed it’d rained all night.

 

The gym was a wide-open space. A freaking boxing ring in one corner, a large section for gym equipment, and sealed-off rooms—with glass walls anyone could see through—for spin classes, yoga, and whatever. Mirrors, motivational posters, and flat-screens competed for wall space. 

 

Gah, what was wrong with small and cozy? 

 

I opened the door and was immediately assaulted by a cold blast of the AC—and the smell of disinfectant and leather. The front part was a store where I could pick up shoes, yoga pants, and training bras in neon colors. Supplements too, of course. Oh God. What was I doing here? I didn’t want protein powder with my pancakes. I wanted syrup and butter. One shelf had a ton of water bottles lined up in Pride colors. I liked that bit. 

I took a breath and approached the circular front desk in the center, where a young woman with a bright smile waited.

 

Given the hour, the place was fairly empty, so I had that going for me. 

 

“Hi! Welcome to QFC!”

 

Oh shoot, I was hoping for KFC.

 

“Hi.” I smiled politely and tried to unclench, but I fucking couldn’t. I was so tense and uncomfortable here. “I would like to sign up for a membership and hopefully talk to someone about a workout schedule and diet plan.”

 

“How fun!” She was lying. This wasn’t fun at all. But over the next few minutes, Laurie, as she introduced herself as, got my first workout out of the way just by rambling a mile a minute and robbing me of all energy. Holy crap. Monthly fee this, key deposit that. I signed papers, I received a key for when the staff went home at ten every night, instructions on how to get in and out at night, general tour of the place—as in, she pointed in all directions. We didn’t leave the front desk area. Where to sign up for classes—there were three screens on the other side of the desk. Locker rooms both up here and…evidently, they had a downstairs area in the basement too. That’s where the pool was. 

 

Last but not least, I was handed a water bottle and a tote bag with the Quinn’s Fitness Center logo…and an iPad to scroll through their list of personal trainers.

 

“We have two dieticians and nutritionists on staff,” she explained, scrolling down to one man and one woman. “If you’re going all in with both diet and a custom workout plan, I highly recommend Ethan Quinn. It’s his place. Cathy is also amazing, of course, but she specializes in men’s rehabilitation—mostly work-related injuries and such.”

 

I bit my lip and glanced between the two profiles. My gut feeling told me to go with the woman, with Cathy, but… I didn’t know. Ugh, Ethan looked like a stereotypical gym-bro in his late twenties. Even wearing a T-shirt with the company logo, I could tell he was one ripped motherfucker. What could he possibly know about me and what was best for my journey?

 

On the other hand, if he had the most experience…

 

I suppressed a sigh and killed my insecurities for the moment. “If you highly recommend Ethan Quinn, I’ll trust your judgment.”

 

Laurie lit up. “I don’t think you’ll regret it, Natalie.” She accepted the iPad again, then returned her focus to her computer screen. “He’s actually downstairs in his office right now, so I’m gonna check his schedule.”

 

A noose tied itself around my neck. I wouldn’t mind a few days to let everything sink in—

 

“He’s available right this minute!”

 

Oh Christ. 

 

What had I done?

 

“Ah—” She nodded to herself. “He’s had a cancellation. I was wondering, because he’s usually fully booked on Tuesdays.” She lifted her gaze to me once more and beamed expectantly. “So what do you say? Want me to send you down there now?”

 

No, not at all. Jesus. Fuck no. 

 

“Sure.” I swallowed hard. 

 

Kill me.

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*

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The basement wasn’t as bright. If anything, it looked like they’d had to make do with what they had. The pool area was small and intimate, definitely geared toward classes that had fewer participants. The pool itself couldn’t be more than thirty feet long. 

 

Laurie guided me down a dimly lit hallway and pointed out more locker rooms and their rehab area. She rambled along the way. Ethan helped rehabilitate athletes and veterans too. Good to know if I ever enlisted or aspired to join the Olympics.

 

Please let this Ethan guy be nice. I couldn’t believe I was actually handing my health over to a damn kid. 

 

Once I’d turned thirty, everyone younger than me was a child. 

 

At the end of the hallway, we arrived at three doors. Staff only, staff only bathroom, and “Ethan Quinn.”

Laurie knocked on the door to Ethan’s office. “Sir? I have a Natalie Nolan here to see you. She’s a new client.”

 

“Come on in.”

 

I hated him already. He was supposed to say he was busy.

 

Laurie gave me one final bright smile as she let me inside. “Good luck, and welcome to the QFC family, Natalie.”

 

Don’t leave me.

 

She was actually really nice. Couldn’t she train me instead?

 

Ethan’s office was pretty empty. Nothing on the walls. The space was divided into an office area with his desk and whatnot, and then a seating area with two sofas and—what the fuck? I did a double take at the man behind the desk. That was Ethan Quinn? I mean, I clearly saw it was him, but someone should tell him to update his profile photo on the website, ‘cause that man was not in his twenties. Or thirties. 

 

Still ripped, though. 

 

“Natalie’s information is in the system already, so you’re good to go, sir,” Laurie said before she abandoned me.

 

“Thanks, Laurie.” Ethan got up from his chair and gave me a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Natalie. I’m Ethan.”

 

We met halfway, and I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

 

He gestured at the sofas. “Have a seat, and we’ll get started. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water?”

 

“I’m good, thanks.” I cleared my throat and sat down in one of the sofas.

 

I couldn’t imagine having a windowless office. Spotlights weren’t everything. I needed the sun.

 

Ethan grabbed a laptop from his desk.

 

In the short timespan from seeing his profile and meeting him in person, I’d built up an impression that had just shattered. At least if he was my age—or older, actually—I felt I didn’t have to be just as nervous. He was definitely handsome, like ridiculously so, but he was a bit too polished. Clean-shaven, not a hair out of place. Brown, a little wavy, short, with a bit of silver. 

 

I dug the silver.

 

He was very tall too. 

 

He sat down across from me and opened up his laptop. “All right, Natalie. How can I help you? What’re you looking for?”

 

Okay, I liked the sound of his voice a lot. Warm and lulling, with a hint of whiskey. But by the look of him, he probably drank algae shots instead of whiskey. 

 

Stop being so judgmental!

 

Fuck. Yeah. Okay.

 

“Um, I need to lose weight,” I said. “I want to get pregnant, and my doctor recommended losing maybe twenty or thirty pounds.”

 

More like thirty. Thirty should get me back into my leather jacket too. 

 

Ethan hummed, his gaze fixed on the screen. I assumed he was reading my information. “Getting pregnant is a good, specific goal,” he replied. “We’re going to skip all talk about pounds, though. There’s a scale in every locker room for those who want to use that, but you won’t be stepping on one for me.”

 

Maybe I didn’t hate him.

 

“You have my interest,” I joked.

 

He sent me a quick grin before he refocused on the laptop.

 

Come to think of it, he looked an awful lot like Gray’s man, Darius. They could certainly be brothers. Or cousins, maybe. I didn’t have any personal social media accounts, but I could totally use my work account to look him up.

 

“Before we dig into what approach we’ll use, I just need to confirm a few things,” he said. “You’re thirty-four years old. Laurie logged your work atmosphere as sedentary. You don’t exercise regularly, and you’ve tried at least five different diets in the last three years. How tall are you?”

 

“Five-foot-three,” I answered.

 

He wrote that down. “Are you on any medication?”

 

“No.”

 

“Any heart disease in the family? Diabetes? Any joint issues?”

 

I shook my head. “My back hurts when I walk for longer than a few minutes, but that’s all.”

 

He inclined his head and kept typing. “That’ll be one of the first things we’ll take care of. From what I can see, give it a couple weeks, and then that pain will be gone.”

 

That was my experience too. It was just one hell of a climb to get over that first threshold.

 

“Can you tell me a little about your eating habits?” he requested. “Actually—first, I gotta ask. Can I speak plainly with you?”

 

I sat straighter, surprised and slightly on edge. “Uh, yeah? I didn’t come here for sugarcoating.”

 

“You’d be surprised to hear how many who do,” he answered. No smirk or grin; if anything, he took his seriously. “When it comes to health, you’ll find me somewhere in the middle of body-positivity and everything we once considered to be facts. That skinny automatically means healthy and so on. We know better today. Men and women come in many natural shapes and forms—and I’ve chosen to draw the line at health risks. So while I have met hundreds of curvy women who are much healthier than some I would call underweight, I want to let medical results and your mental state determine when you’ve reached your goal.” He paused briefly. “Being able to get pregnant and go through a pregnancy is a great start—unless there are any underlying conditions, of course. Not everyone can get pregnant, and it’s not always linked to physical health. Which—” He showed his palms, as if cautioning himself. “I probably don’t need to tell you this. I just want to be as clear as I can be. The day you get pregnant, wonderful—that’s awesome. But if your blood sugars are too high, or you’re not quite happy yet, I’d like for us to continue until you reach that point.”

 

Hell, he could speak plainly to me any day of the week. It was so refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t either or. He was somewhere in the middle. I liked the middle. I was in the middle myself. 

 

“This is partly why I don’t care about your weight, Natalie,” he went on. “My personal goal as a client’s PT is to find a balance between managing health risks, happiness, and sustainability. Yoyo-dieting is never good. We want to find the right lifestyle for you.”

 

Take me. I’m all yours.

 

“That’s the balance I want,” I admitted. “I’ll be honest too. I was incredibly happy with myself a few years ago—I was still larger, but I had way more energy. I liked going out and doing things, and I didn’t starve myself. If I hear another recommendation to cut all carbs, I will flip my freakin’ lid.”

 

He let out a warm chuckle and shook his head. “Don’t listen to those people. Complex cards are good for you.”

 

Tell that to the experts who claimed the opposite.

 

“A lot of people think you’re wrong,” I had to say.

 

“A lot of people are making billions selling bullshit,” he replied, not missing a beat. “The problem is, there’s no money in good health. There is, however, a ton of money in medicine and diet food.”

 

Yeah, Facebook needed a status for “committed to my PT.”

 

I smiled impishly. “So when do we start?”

 

He chuckled again and scratched his bicep absently, his stare returning to the laptop screen. “I’m glad you’re motivated. Unfortunately, there’s no one-size fits all for getting healthier, so now comes a long and tedious interview. I have approximately sixty questions for you, not counting follow-ups, that will help me map out your diet history, likes, dislikes, and preferences on exercise. Because I don’t think you want to go on my diet or something created for a former athlete or someone who’s allergic to gluten. This has to fit you.”

 

Oh, he made my heart happy.

 

“Is there a diet for chocolate lovers?”

 

“Do you want to get pregnant?” he shot back with a smirk.

 

Damn.

 

I waved a hand. “Proceed with your questionnaire, coach.”

 

*

 

Maybe this would actually work.

 

I came back to my apartment an hour later, overwhelmed but hopeful. Laurie had been right so far. Ethan Quinn seemed like the perfect PT for me. He’d given me tons of pamphlets but not without going through them. He wasn’t the type who just said no, this wouldn’t work; he explained why. 

 

I liked that.

 

It was only the first day, and I already felt like I was getting my money’s worth. After all, the monthly cost wasn’t pocket change—but I would get a lot of one-on-one time in exchange. Starting tomorrow. Ethan was coming with me to buy groceries and put together a meal plan.

 

On average, I’d get about ten minutes with him every day, via text, and then two workout sessions each week. I’d settled for Mondays and Fridays to surround my weekend with someone who could tell me no. 

That’d been one of his questions, if I had a husband or partner or other family member around to help me, and I had confirmed I was on my own.

 

My homework till tomorrow was to throw out all sugar, which I’d already done. 

 

It was a sad day.

 

After dumping all the pamphlets on my kitchen counter, I went to grab my laptop and—

 

Crap. My phone rang. I checked the number, only to see Gray’s name on the display, and that made everything great again.

 

“Hey, you!” I answered.

 

“Hey! If it isn’t my favorite aunt in the whole world.”

 

I laughed and continued into my office. “Okay, what do you want?”

 

He chuckled, and it sounded forced. “I’m really sorry to call about this, but is there any chance you could pick up Justin from day care? They just called, and he’s got a fever—”

 

“Say no more—of course I’ll pick him up.” I changed directions and headed for the hallway. “Do you want me to watch him till you get off work?”

 

He worked with Chloe at the inn when he wasn’t studying field medicine for SAR missions of all things. 

 

“Thank you,” Gray replied, the relief evident. “No need to watch him, just drive him over to the inn. He gets fussy when he’s sick, so I don’t think he’ll accept anyone’s company but mine and Dare’s.”

 

That made sense. Chloe had told me the boy was sensitive to certain things—and that he might be autistic or something like that. They’d decided he was too young to go through a screening. 

 

“No problem,” I said, grabbing my car keys. “Let the day care know I’m on my way.”

 

“I owe you, Aunt Nat. Thank you!”

 

Heck, this was one of the reasons I’d moved here. I wanted to be closer to family. 

 

“Do I pick up a car seat at the inn or at Darius’s restaurant?” I asked.

 

“Oh no, he has one at day care,” Gray said. “He’s got two grandmothers with sticky fingers, so we’re always prepared.”

 

I grinned, and I heard Chloe defending her innocent baby snatchings in the background. 

 

My rescue operation was uneventful and successful, and less than forty minutes later, I pulled into the guest parking outside the inn with a sniffling four-year-old. This place was freaking gorgeous. A large, three-story Victorian with a wraparound porch and perfectly maintained flower beds and fruit trees. The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac and had nothing but tree-covered mountains as a backdrop.

 

“We’re here, sweetie. You ready to see Daddy Gray and Nana?” I got out of the car and opened the back to let Justin out. 

 

He was nonverbal at the moment but was evidently comfortable enough around me to extend his arms, a silent request for me to carry him. And that was how he made my day. Sweet darling, no wonder Chloe couldn’t stop gushing about the boys. 

 

I unfastened his belt and picked him up, then earned myself a soft giggle when I hurried along the path toward the house. The rain was picking up. 

 

Gray must’ve been keeping an eye from inside, because he came out just as I climbed the porch steps.

Even though I’d seen him plenty since I’d moved up here, it was so difficult to comprehend how much he’d matured. How tall he was, how adult he looked—heck, he was growing a beard! My hockey-playing goof of a nephew was simply gone.

 

“Hey, you two.” He smiled warmly at the sight of us, and Justin whipped around in my arms and immediately reached out to him. 

 

“Daddy!”

 

My heart.

 

“I’m right here, buddy.” Gray gathered the boy in his arms and kissed his forehead, and I knew exactly why. It was such a parent way of feeling a child’s temperature. Gray was a natural. “What’s this I hear about you being sick, huh? We don’t like fevers, do we?”

 

“Nuh-uh.” Justin shook his head. “Can Nana give me ice cream?”

 

I grinned.

 

“You bet,” Gray assured. “She’s turning our reading chair in the staff room into a movie zone for you as we speak.”

 

Justin nodded. “We speak.”

 

I sighed, finding them both too adorable for words. I guessed part of it was because I was still soaking up every second I got to spend with Gray. He’d been through so much.  

 

“I know that expression,” he told me. “That’s how Mom still looks at me sometimes.”

 

“Can you blame us?” I didn’t want to put a damper on the mood, so I walked up to him and pinched his cheek. “And look at you, you’re growin’ a beard.”

 

He groaned through a laugh. “Do you see how Nattie treats Daddy, Justin? That’s how Nana and Grandma pinch your cheeks.”

 

Nattie, huh? Well, all right, that could be my nickname.

 

“Yeah, lots,” Justin snickered. “But then I get ice cream. Daddy, I want ice cream.”

 

The boy was determined. 

 

“Goodness, go give him ice cream, Gray,” I urged. 

 

“Okay, okay—” He stepped aside—we both did—as two guests came outside with firm grasps on their umbrellas and tourist maps. “Thanks again for saving the day.” Gray dipped down and kissed my cheek. “By the way, Mom said you’re thinking about joining a gym? If you go to the place across the street from your apartment, avoid Ethan at all costs.”

 

Whoa, wait, what?

 

“Wh-what?” I stammered like an idiot. 

 

“Uncle Ethan!” Justin exclaimed.

 

So he was related to Darius. 

 

Gray grinned ruefully. “Yes, Uncle Ethan, buddy. He works close to where Nattie lives.” He turned to me again. “Let’s just say he’s easy to love but extremely difficult to like. You’re just like Mom—zero filter—and if you discover how arrogant and vain that dude is, you won’t be able to keep your mouth shut. And I would like to keep the peace in the family.”

 

Oh my God, he couldn’t say that to me and expect me not to wanna hash it out. I had questions! Ethan was my PT!

 

“Anyway—it’s still a great gym,” Gray told me. “Cathy’s amazing. She helped Abel—you remember my best friend, right? She helped him with his knee injury a couple years ago.”

 

My head was officially fucked, and I had no time to ask my questions. Gray said he’d call me later, and then he excused himself to head back inside. I could tell he was a little stressed out. Summer was tourist season and whatever. But what about me? I hadn’t freaking chosen Cathy! 

 

Avoid Ethan at all costs.

 

I cursed and went back to my car.