Sisters Like Us Read online

  He frowned. “He is? Stacey hasn’t said anything.”

  The knots doubled in size. “I don’t know if he’s told my mom,” she admitted. “He said he would but the way she’s acting, I’m not sure she knows.”

  “Do you think she’ll be upset? Is she still in love with him?”

  “What? No. She’s not.” At least Becca didn’t think so. Sometimes she had no idea what her mother was thinking. “The divorce was really hard on both of us, but she’s gotten it together since then.”

  “Is she dating?”

  “No!”

  Ashton’s expression turned quizzical. “Why do you say it like that? Your dad’s getting married again. Why wouldn’t your mom be dating?”

  “Because she’s my mom.” Becca knew how childish that sounded...but honestly, her mom?

  “You don’t think she wants to find someone and fall in love?”

  “Can we please not talk about this?”

  Her mom barely paid any attention to her now. What would it be like if there was a new boyfriend hanging out? Plus, if they had sex... She closed her eyes and groaned. She absolutely could not deal with that!

  “Your mom is a person, too,” he said gently.

  “Okay, then, that’s a no.” She looked at Ashton. “You are not as nice as you look.”

  He laughed. “You’re right. I’ll stop.” He stood and held out his hand.

  She wasn’t sure what to do, so she put hers in his and he gently pulled her to her feet.

  “I should go,” he said, still holding her fingers. They were standing close. Really close, and she had to look up to meet his gaze. Her chest was tight and her heart felt all fluttery.

  “W-why?”

  “You have homework. You said Lucas was demanding good grades. Plus, you need to do well in school for yourself. So you can get into a good college. Life is all about having choices and taking advantage of opportunities.”

  Because of what he’d been through, she thought, feeling young and small. He knew stuff, had experienced things, and she’d only ever lived in Mischief Bay.

  Fear and sadness mingled with a sense of never exactly fitting in. She wanted to be happy and a part of something, but lately all that happened was she didn’t know where she belonged. First with Jordan and now with...

  She didn’t get to finish the thought because without warning, Ashton leaned down and kissed her. He lightly brushed his mouth against hers before straightening.

  She stared at him, not quite sure what had just happened. Had he really done that? Kissed her? Like a boy kissing a girl?

  She’d had a few awkward kisses before—all at parties and as part of stupid games. But never had a guy stood in front of her like this and deliberately kissed her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured before cupping her face in his free hand and kissing her again.

  This time she was slightly more prepared. She didn’t know exactly how to stand or what to do, so she stayed still and tried not to act stupid.

  His mouth was warm—not soft, exactly, but not hard, either. Tingles exploded everywhere in her body, like her entire bloodstream was suddenly carbonated. She thought she might be able to float, only she didn’t want to do anything to interfere with the moment.

  She could hear the loud ticking of the clock on the wall and smell soap and something like maybe verbena on Ashton. She hoped her breath was okay and wished she knew what to do with her hands. The one holding his seemed lame and the other one just kind of trembled.

  He released her fingers and put both his hands on top of hers. He raised her arms until they were at his waist, then went back to cupping her face. He tilted her head slightly and pressed a little harder on her mouth.

  There were too many sensations. The way his T-shirt felt against her skin, the heat of his body beneath, his lips moving against hers, her body melting and shaking until she wasn’t sure she could stand or breathe or survive what was happening.

  His tongue lightly stroked her bottom lip. Becca knew what that meant. She’d read about French kissing and talked about it and had seen it in movies, but she’d never had it happen. Oh, God, she was so dumb and ridiculous. A twelve-year-old would do better than her.

  “Relax,” Ashton whispered.

  Relax? Relax! He knew! He knew she was a pathetic, inexperienced virgin who—

  She opened her mouth to tell him she had to go, or maybe scream out that the earth had to swallow her up right that second, or...

  But it didn’t matter. None of it. Because at that exact second, Ashton brushed his tongue with hers and everything suddenly made a whole lot more sense.

  She hadn’t known, she thought as every part of her turned around to pay attention to what was happening. She hadn’t known it could feel so good. No, so great. She’d had no idea that kissing anyone could be like touching stars.

  Without thinking, she raised her hands to his shoulders and leaned into to him. He wrapped his arms around her and hung on as if he would never let go. He deepened the kiss and she reveled in the sensations sweeping her body.

  She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, kissing and kissing until she’d learned every inch of his mouth only to discover she wanted to start at the beginning and do it all again forever. When he drew back and rested his forehead against hers, they were both breathing hard.

  He gave her a smile. “I knew it would be like that with you.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh-huh.” He straightened and kissed her forehead. “You need to do homework and I need to spend some time thinking about anything but kissing you.” He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “See you soon?”

  She nodded because she couldn’t speak, or maybe she didn’t want to. Far better to be quiet and allow the wonderful memories to sink into her brain so she could hold on to them forever.

  She walked Ashton to the door. He kissed her again, lightly this time, then walked out of the house.

  Becca had no idea how she got to her bedroom. Maybe she floated. Jazz joined her on the bed, where Becca snuggled close to her dog and sighed.

  “I think I’m in love.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  STACEY NODDED AS the server cleared her plate. She’d been in the mood for pasta, and Pescadores had the best clam linguini in town, but she’d already eaten too many carbs that day and needed more protein, so she’d ordered tilapia and vegetables. Mostly she didn’t mind being a vessel but every now and then she missed having the ability to simply indulge as she wanted.

  Kit leaned close. “You should have had the pasta.”

  Because he always wanted her to be happy. He’d insisted on celebrating after she’d told him about her run-in with Karl, and the next morning at breakfast he’d worn his I’m with the Beautiful Scientist T-shirt. He was so supportive and loving. While she wasn’t a big believer in luck—from her perspective, it was little more than awareness, preparation and a willingness to take a chance—she had to admit when it came to her husband, she’d been the victim of good fortune.

  Harper sipped her iced tea. “I hope you appreciate how I support your pregnancy by not ordering wine with dinner.”

  “I do, and while it’s very kind of you, it’s not necessary.”

  Her sister glanced at Kit. “Oh, I think it’s nice to be on the team.”

  It was perhaps the second or third time Harper and Kit had exchanged a look. She had a vague sense of something going on with them, which made her uncomfortable, only she wasn’t sure why. She trusted each of them implicitly. Besides, she was hardly one to see emotional subtleties.

  Kit paid the bill. Harper tried to give him money for her dinner, but he refused. Stacey let him handle her sister—she knew that pointing out that their combined salary far exceeded hers would only lead to conflict. They got up from the table and headed for the door.

>   “Stacey,” Harper said when they were outside, “Kit and I want to take you shopping. It’s past time and you need to get going on some of your decisions.”

  They were walking as she was talking and it wasn’t until they stopped in front of a baby store that Stacey realized the evening had been a setup and that she hadn’t imagined those looks between her sister and her husband.

  She turned to Kit, who looked uncomfortable but determined. “I’m sorry,” he said before she could speak. “I’ve tried to get you to go look at baby furniture for weeks now and you won’t commit to a day or time. Telling your mom is your business, Stacey. I get that and I’m fine with waiting however long you want. But us getting ready for Joule is something else. There’s a lot to consider, a lot to buy. What if you end up on bed rest for the last couple of weeks, or she’s early? I’m not having our child sleep in a dresser drawer because we couldn’t get our act together.”

  Kit almost never spoke forcefully but tonight his tone was firm. Hurt circled her heart and tightened, making her want to lash out at him, but the logical side of her brain pointed out he wasn’t completely wrong. Or wrong at all. She had been avoiding anything to do with the baby. Unless it involved taking care of herself.

  Harper touched her arm. “I love you, Stace. You know that, but come on. It’s way past time. Suck it up and pick some furniture. Choose a color scheme. Make a decision on diapers.”

  Stacey wasn’t sure she could speak without yelling or crying, so she nodded and led the way into the store.

  It was big and bright with a wide center aisle and upbeat music playing in the background. On the left were mock rooms set up with all kinds of furniture. On the right were aisles and aisles of clothes, toys, diaper bags, strollers and a thousand items she couldn’t begin to identify.

  “See,” Harper said, standing next to her. “It’s not so bad. We’ll start with the big stuff. If worse comes to worst, Kit and I can pick out things like baby monitors and blankets. But you need to have a say in what the baby’s room looks like.”

  They walked toward the displays. Kit and Harper headed for rooms of white furniture while Stacey decided to walk through to the back, then go more slowly on her return trip. But each setup made her feel more and more uncomfortable. There were too many choices—wallpaper, comforters, rugs, stuffed animals. One bookshelf had dozens of picture frames, each of them showing a handsome couple holding a beautiful baby, a mother and her child or a father and his baby. She supposed she should have an opinion about whether she wanted silver frames or wood or some cute animal theme, but she found herself more concerned about the photos themselves. Yes, the people were models, but they represented a reality that made her uncomfortable.

  She picked up a yellow painted frame showing a man holding an infant. A girl, she would guess, based on the frilly blanket and ribbons on the baby’s hat. The man’s expression was loving, as if he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than his daughter. A sweet image, she told herself, and one that terrified her more than anything.

  She set the photo back in place, but couldn’t look away. How much would Kit love their baby? A normal amount? More than most? Would he love their daughter more than he loved her?

  She didn’t want to think about that, but she couldn’t avoid the possibility. Kit was all she had—he understood her and no other man ever had. If he didn’t love her anymore, or if he loved someone else more, where would that leave her? Before she’d been loved by Kit, she wouldn’t have minded because she wouldn’t have known what she was losing, but now she did know. Now he was everything to her. What if she lost their relationship and never got it back?

  She tried to tell herself that her fears were normal and she should simply talk to Kit about them. Only she couldn’t get past the shame. She was so afraid he wouldn’t understand, that he would think she was weak or broken or unlovable. What if by asking, she created the very scenario she wanted desperately to avoid? What if he took their baby and left her?

  “Stacey?” Kit walked over, grinning at her. “Okay, this is totally crazy, but they have some nursery furniture with a midcentury modern feel, and you know how we both love that. They’re calling it antique white, but it’s more of a dark cream, which means we can do anything with the decorating. Plus, there’s a piece called a chifforobe that we have to have. It has both drawers and shelves and is the cutest thing ever.”

  He tugged her up toward the front, where Harper was on the floor, shaking the base of the dresser.

  “It’s solid,” she said as she looked up. “You want to make sure the pieces don’t fall over. Some you can attach to the wall, but with others, it’s just not practical.” She pointed to the crib. “It’s a little pricey, but it converts to a toddler bed. Later, when Joule is older, you can use the back and front of the crib as a head and footboard, so you’ll certainly get your money’s worth out of it, assuming you’re not all sick of it in eight years.”

  She stood and walked over to the changing table. “There’s a lot of storage. I prefer open shelves for diapers and supplies, but you could get some kind of shelving unit or Kit could install a floating shelf. Trust me, you don’t want to be dealing with drawers every time you have to pull out new diapers, wipes, or whatever else you’ll need.”

  Kit nodded as Harper spoke. “The color is really neutral. I think it will work well in the space.”

  He sounded so hopeful, she thought, trying not to let her panic show. Furniture? They were already buying furniture? Shouldn’t they wait until...

  Even she couldn’t finish that sentence. Wait until when? She’d given birth? Their daughter was ten? Despite her fears, she had to accept the fact that there was going to be a baby.

  She forced herself to smile. “I like it a lot,” she said, thinking she neither liked nor disliked the furniture. What bothered her the most was what it represented.

  Kit hugged her. “I knew you would. Great. Let’s place the order. I hope they have everything in stock.”

  “Me, too,” Stacey said faintly, hoping her husband didn’t figure out how much she was lying.

  * * *

  “Happy birthday to me,” Harper sang softly as she lay in bed, telling herself she really had to get up. It was nearly six and just because she’d officially turned forty-two, the world didn’t actually stop turning and the work didn’t do itself.

  She briefly wondered what Terence was doing for and with his girlfriend today and tried to avoid the irony of her ex’s girlfriend turning all of twenty-eight while she was one year closer to fifty.

  She sat up and told herself she didn’t actually mind getting older, only to stop and realize that was total crap. No one wanted to get older, but she thought maybe if she had something of a personal life, she might not mind as much. Not that she had time to mind at all these days.

  She glanced at the dresser, but there was no wrapped present waiting for her. Something Terence had always done. He’d had his flaws and getting a vasectomy without telling her was probably the biggest one—except for the affair, of course—but if she ignored those two rather sizable disasters, they’d had a relatively happy marriage. Okay, not happy exactly, but average. And while she in no way wanted him back, she wouldn’t mind having someone in her life. A man she could care about who would care about her. And while she was wishing for the moon, a few extra thousand dollars in her bank account would be nice, too.

  She showered and dressed, then went directly to her tiny office, where she finished the last of the free billing for her landscaper. Her to-do list was endless and just looking at it exhausted her.

  The sound of rustling in the kitchen had her turning in that direction. She knew that her mother would have arrived plenty early and started cooking a special birthday breakfast, because that was what one did for one’s daughter, regardless of the state of the relationship.

  It wasn’t that she and Bunny weren’t speaking—the
y were. But there was tension between them. Tension born of Bunny being Bunny. It was a generational thing or a situational thing or a personality thing or maybe all three. Regardless, the unease would continue until one of them sucked it up and made things right, and the odds of her mother doing that were, well, nonexistent.

  “Happy birthday to me,” Harper murmured, saving the billing file before leaving her office.

  She found her mother at the stove, frying bacon. A very attentive Jazz sat at a polite distance away—not crowding or even whining, just gently reminding Bunny that she was there and bacon was her favorite.

  “Good morning,” Harper said cheerfully.

  Bunny turned and smiled. “Good morning, Harper. Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks, Mom. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  “I wanted to.”

  The kitchen table was set with festive birthday dishware. Yes, plates and mugs and bowls covered with birthday hats, tiny banners proclaiming Happy Birthday and little presents. Happy Birthday confetti, the same colors as the floral centerpiece, decorated the table. A pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice sat on one side of the table, next to a bowl of fresh fruit.

  Homemade croissants sat in a bread basket warmed by a terra-cotta stone that would have been preheated in the oven. She would guess that her favorite blueberry French toast casserole was finishing up in said oven at this very moment. Bunny might not be willing to move with the times, but she made a heck of a birthday breakfast.

  Harper walked over to the stove and hugged her mother. “Thank you. This is wonderful. I feel very pampered.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Harper told herself to suck it up and just get it over with. “Mom, I’m sorry we fought before. I didn’t mean to upset you and it made me feel bad that you were unhappy.”

  A bit of a weaselly apology, what with her not admitting what she said was wrong, mostly because it wasn’t and she wasn’t going to give up that ground unless she had to, but as it was her birthday, maybe Bunny would cut her a break.