Page 17 of Forgettable in Every Way

Simon paused and turned to see the show going on behind him. Sandra refused to let go of him, keeping a tight hold on his arm. If only her daughter would cozy up to him in the same way.

Jules knelt next to Jack, clearly enamored with him by how bright her eyes shone. The way she looked at his son made Jules even more attractive.

“Are you ready?” Jules smiled at Jack. “Remember to use your highest and silliest voice.”

“I will,” Jack promised.

Winston sat between them, just happy to not be moving.

“On top of spaghetti all covered with cheese,” Jules and Jack sang high and loud. “I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed.” Jules held out the last note until Winston howled and howled as if he wanted to make the duet a trio.

“He’s talking!” Jack shouted. “I did it!” Jack grabbed Winston’s jowls and howled along with him.

Jules beamed at Jack. “Winston says he likes you.”

Jack kissed Winston’s wet nose. Simon tried not to cringe about it. “I like you, Winston,” Jack barked out like a dog.

“I never realized how good Julia is with kids,” Sandra whispered, more to herself than to Simon.

Simon detected a hint of regret in Sandra’s voice. Interesting, he thought. It appeared there was a lot of regret going around. Most regrettable was that Jules never looked his way to see how ardently he was admiring her. The easy way she had taken to Jack was incredible to him. Almost like the way she had taken to him thirteen years ago. It was like she’d purposely picked him and graced him with her kindness. A kindness he had never known before—or since. Now here she was bestowing it upon his son, the person he loved most in this world. He couldn’t help but wonder what his life might have looked like if he’d taken the time to truly see Jules when he had the chance. Perhaps he could have had a true partner in life. Possibly more children.

All he knew for certain was that Jules was a princess, and he was a daft arse.

Jules

I GRIPPED THE GRANITE ISLAND in the kitchen, never realizing how cringey my mom could be until she got ahold of an Englishman. I’d always seen her as a classy, bordering on standoffish woman. Now here she was in the kitchen, practically petting Simon like he was some boy toy. In horror, I watched as my mom ran a finger down his toned and muscular arm and said, “So tell me more about yourself,” in a breathy, intimate way.

“Mom,” I interrupted, before I tossed my cookies. “Don’t you think you should go get Dad for dinner?” I thought maybe she needed a reminder of her marital status. Not that I wanted to be left alone with Simon. The man and the universe were trying to derail me. Why did he have to put his arms around me or grab my hand on the beach? It brought back memories of when he would take my hand to run across a busy New York street or to keep me from falling on the ice as we skated. In each instance, I used to hope beyond hope he would feel the overwhelming connection I’d felt. Stupidly, I would pretend that it was more than a platonic gesture for him. I would go back to my apartment and replay every second we’d touched and try to convince myself he was just as in love with me as I was with him. Obviously, I was delusional back then.

I had no delusions now. He’d already used the dreaded F word—friendship. So, he had some regrets about letting our friendship slip away. That wasn’t the same as letting me slip away. I should have paid better attention back in New York to how many times he would say, “Jules, you’re the best mate a bloke could ask for.” See, I was hoping he really meant mate in the sense of mating-ritual kind of mate. I was daft, as Simon would say. Or like this Daft Prince, whoever he was. Sounded like maybe we were the perfect match.

Mom waved her hand at me, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. “I’ll bring him a plate of food later. Now”—she flashed Simon a gleaming smile—“where were we?”

I believe the answer to that was hell. We were in hell. Or at least my own private hell. But my mom wouldn’t know that because she never came to visit me in New York, so she had no idea about my feelings for Simon. Not that we had the kind of relationship that fostered heartfelt conversations. The last time I went to her for romantic advice was during my junior year in high school. Zane Fetterman had forgotten he’d asked me on a date, and he never showed up. There I’d sat, in my baby-doll dress and chandelier earrings, looking out the window, watching and waiting for him for over an hour. I finally gave up and went crying to my mom. All she had to say to me was, “Men will always disappoint you. It’s better you learn that now, rather than later.”

It was a real cheery piece of advice, and did nothing to soothe my young heart. But I should have listened to her. Not only to save myself some heartache, but it might have given me some insight into my parents’ marriage. I felt as if I were missing a vital piece of the puzzle. Maybe if I knew what that was, I wouldn’t be so shocked to see my mom acting like she was a single lady who wanted Simon to put a ring on it. It was probably better if Dad didn’t see her making a spectacle out of herself. He probably wouldn’t have come out, anyway. Dad barely let us see him in his current state.

Simon took a step back from my mother in the spacious kitchen that filtered in the evening sunlight and cast a glow on all the gleaming stainless-steel appliances. He cleared his throat and looked at me as if I might save him.

I gave him a look that said, You’re on your own, buddy. He’s the one who accepted my mom’s invitation. If he’d just gotten the hint that I didn’t want to be around him, we wouldn’t be in this awkward situation. Sure, I had dreamed a thousand dreams of bringing him home one day to meet my parents. Of course, I would have a stunning diamond on a certain left finger. But I gave up on those outlandish fantasies many years ago, right about the time Simon forgot about me. If only my heart would finally get the memo and quit telling my brain to play “So This Is Love” on repeat. If this was love, it sucked.

I honestly couldn’t understand why he was so adamant now about wanting to spend time with me. Was it a guilt thing? Or maybe he was just lonely after his divorce? That, I couldn’t believe. If he wanted a woman to spend time with, all he had to do was say the word and he would have hundreds jumping at the chance. My mother included. Or perhaps he wanted to get back with Penelope and he thought maybe I was still friends with her and could help him out. Ugh. I glared at him just thinking of that possibility.

His gorgeous, light-green eyes widened, filled with concern.

Thankfully, Jack grabbed my attention, so I didn’t get trapped in those amazing seas of green. I had too often found myself a prisoner of them. “Princess Jewel, I’m hungry.”

I ruffled his curly hair. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have a little boy of my own with curly hair. “Well, Sir Jack, we better eat, then.”

He grinned before properly bowing to me. “Thank you, Princess.”

The kid was going to steal my heart. How apropos considering that his father had too.

“Let’s eat out on the veranda,” my mother exaggerated veranda as if she were Elizabeth Taylor. It was weird. She normally just called it the deck. Why was she trying to impress Simon so much?

Whatever the reason, I was ready to get this little dinner party over with. “I’ll grab some plates.”

“Perfect. I’ll grab Simon and the food.” Mom laughed to herself.

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