Page 23 of Mixed Motives

I tilt my head, considering. “It still hurts that he cheated, but I don’t associate you with that. I associate you with blow jobs.” Along with a whole lot of other fun activities.

Keane laughs.

But we both sober quickly. “I’m sure you’re right,” I say finally. “But I’m not sure how to do it. I don’t want to meddle in his life. Isn’t it just going to be awkward for a while until we learn to deal with each other?”

“It could be. Or you could talk with him some more.”

I bristle.

He holds up his hands. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. This can wait until you’re ready. You might benefit from more closure, though.”

The problem is, I know Keane’s right. But I don’t want to deal with Kerrigan right now. “I don’t really want revenge on him. Not anymore. I just want to be able to live with you and not have him come between us.”

“Live with me? You want to move in?”

I slap a hand over my mouth. “That’s not what I meant. We’re not going that fast. I didn’t?—”

He smiles. “Relax. It’s okay. I’m teasing you.” He takes a bite of curry and, after swallowing, says, “I wouldn’t mind, though.”

“No?” I sound embarrassingly hopeful.

“No.”

A few weeks later, I get my closure in a funny way. Ian Davis walks into the bed-and-breakfast hand in hand with some guy who is most definitely not Kerrigan. I show them to their room for the night and let them be.

Kerrigan threw away what we had, but his thing with Ian didn’t last, either.

And the truth is, Kerrigan did me a favor, because I’m with the love of my life.

Oh, yes. I’m aware I’m not supposed to be in love with Keane after less than two months of dating.

But I’ve known him for years. And it’s easy for a crush to grow into something more when I’m allowed to actually be with him. When he texts me in the middle of the day just because. When he tells me I’m a good boy before we do naughty things to each other.

And when we enjoy simply spending time with each other. That’s the best of all.

A month later, I’m at the winery tasting room, helping Keane hang up my painting, which he insisted on paying for. He was correct—it complements the decor perfectly and really adds something to the room.

We’re just standing back to admire it when Kerrigan walks in and stops short. He and I haven’t seen each other since that morning at Keane’s house, but I’ve thought more than once about what I’d say to him. I have a few choices, but the bottom line is that I don’t want to give him any more power over my happiness.

“Hey,” I say with a lift of my chin.

He nods. “Hey.”

Keane smiles at his son, but his eyes are wary. “Hi, Kerrigan.”

“How’s it going?” Kerrigan asks.

Yep. It’s awkward in here. Appropriately so.

“It’s going great,” I say, unable to keep the happiness out of my voice.

“I can see that.” Kerrigan points to the painting. “Hey, this is yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I love it,” Keane says pointedly. I reach out to squeeze his hand, then release it, silently telling him that he doesn’t have to defend me. That I can handle myself. He looks down at me and gives a quick nod of understanding.

Kerrigan studies the neat lines of grapevines in my watercolor, which is now accented by an elegant frame. “It looks good there,” he finally says.

“Thanks,” I say.

---