Page 31 of Steamy Ever After

NO PERFECT BEGINNING

DD LORENZO

CHAPTER 1

Carter

No matter where I wind up in this life, this place will always be my favorite. There’s a tranquil rhythm that settles my mind when the ocean waves lap against the shore. They echo in perfect harmony with the sunset’s golden hues. The colors streak across the sky, while a creamy beige carpet of soft, smooth sand stretches out until it meets the sea. I'm looking forward to this week, and doing morning runs here with the woman who holds my heart … Lacey.

"You look completely lost in thought." She pokes the cap of my arm with her finger. "I'll give you a penny for them," she says in a sweet, singsong, lyrical kind of voice.

"I was just thinking about how different our morning run will be. I've done both but I wonder how you'll compare a run on the beach to a run in the mountains. I think both are nice."

"Of course they are, silly man. That’s the beauty of living in Maryland. We get both. When one side of the state is mountains, and the other side butts up against the ocean, it's a win/win in my book." She nudges me with her shoulder and flashes a megawatt smile. "By the way, I unpacked. I put your duffle bag on the bed. I know how you like to put your stuff away yourself."

"Thanks," I nod. There are many things I love about this woman, and this is just one more. She gets me. Like, really gets me. I have a deep-seated need for order, and Lacey has no problem with it.

I can’t remember a time when my mind wasn’t consumed with a burning need for structure. I don't know if it was there when I was born, but it came to life when my parents split up. As a kid of twelve, having my world turned upside down detonated something inside of me. Something that blew apart any carefree and impulsive thoughts. From that point forward I needed order. Predictability. A world where very little went askew. My brain dictates rituals, most of which have to do with staying safe. Locking doors and windows. Making sure the stove is off before we leave the house. Mundane tasks that give me peace of mind. That same love of order made me search out a stint in the military and a career as a State Trooper, where it's necessary for order to reign.

As a teenager, some recommended treatment for my obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors. I didn't agree and my mother didn't insist that I do so. The divorce felt heavy and dark to me, not to mention out of my control. Structure helped. I think my mom welcomed having a kid who kept his room clean and insisted on doing his own laundry. There's no mistaking it was a trying time for her when my old man up and decided out of nowhere he didn't want a family. There was never a hint. Never a glimpse that he was unhappy. One day, he was playing football with me and my brother in the backyard, and the next he told Mom he was leaving. When she asked him why, he gave no reason. Then he was gone, leaving her to take care of two boys alone, and pick up the pieces of a world he'd shattered.

From that day I sought an existence of stable force. On some level, I think Mom understood. In light of such unpredictable circumstances, I think she welcomed a little stability in her kid. She doesn't mind my ways—then or now—and Lacey doesn't either.

"If you want to help your Mom get settled, I don't mind unpacking for you."

I press my lips into a smile. "I got it, babe."

She gives me a knowing smile and then looks away, enjoying the view on our first day of vacation. The woman is one of a kind and I can't imagine a day without her adding brightness to my shadows. Hopefully, this week she'll agree to add even more permanence to my life when I ask her to be my wife.

As she and I watch the waves crash against the shore, a sense of calm washes over me. The salty sea breeze fills my lungs and I truly feel at peace. With those who matter—my mother, brother, and love of my life—nearby, the static inside my head smooths and the ever-present knots in my gut unravel.

Lacey's touch awakes my inner thoughts and her fingers intertwine with mine. She has no idea how her touch grounds me and keeps me in the present moment. A deep, coffee-rich rumble rolls through the air and I glance toward the screen door. My kid brother—Mr. Eye Candy himself—is laughing at some comment our mom made. A sense of comfort and family falls over me as it hits me that, for the next week, I'll enjoy the people I love most in a place that's as familiar as an old friend.

"You want to run with us in the morning?” I ask Declan through the screen door. “Since we have a week, I thought we might hit all the towns; Ocean City, Fenwick, Bethany, Rehoboth, Lewes ... for a change of pace."

"I'm down for it," Declan answers from inside the house.

"And I’m up for it," Lacey chimes in. She busses a kiss to my cheek. "I’m going to go help your mom put away the groceries."

"Okay."

I watch as she disappears through the creaky screen door. It feels as if she's always been a part of this routine, though this is her first time here. We’ve stayed in this cottage every year for as long as I can remember. It’s an Ocean City original and has changed little in the twenty-some-odd years Mom’s been bringing us here. Me and my brother agree this house holds some of our best and most treasured memories. This is the first time I’ve ever brought someone along with us but then, Lacey isn't just "someone".

"Brought you a beer." The screen door moans as my brother pushes his shoulder against it. It slams loudly once he's passed the frame.

"Thanks." I take the bottle, twist off the top, then take a long swig. The frosty glass is already sweating from the leftover August humidity.

I grab one of the old Adirondack chairs by the arm and drag it to a place where it’ll be easy to prop my feet up on the railing. Lacey appears and follows my lead, pulling a chair of her own next to mine, while Declan plants his ass down on the railing. "I thought you were helping Mom?"

Lacey leans back and pulls her hair up into a quick, messy bun. "She said she didn't need help and that she'll be out in a few minutes. She’s washing the dishes and the pots and pans," she says, amused.

I nudge a shoulder toward my ear. "She always does that."

"Seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in some respects," she responds.

"Mom cleans them to her standards," I explain with an air of nonchalance. "It's either that or she'd be insisting on packing up her kitchen and bringing it with her."

"I guess," she says again in that knowing, sing-song tone.

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