Page 9 of When We Were More
In fact, it’s been a huge success. The offshoot of our family business took off in the western US about eighteen months ago, and the money it brings in is almost shocking. Who knew there was such a market for luxury log homes and conference centers?
Add in the tremendous income from one small invention I can hold in my hand: A simple yet specialized hinge that I envisioned, and Holden and Hayden helped design. ThenHarrison handled all the legal aspects—patents, contracts—and we’re financially secure for the rest of our lives.
It’s all been very lucrative. So much so that my brothers and I could all retire today as multi-millionaires several times over. Not that we’d want to—we love it. What could be better than working with my best friends? If said friends happen also to be my brothers, that’s even more awesome.
I can easily afford a nanny to watch the kids here at the house when I’m at work, and I’m grateful as hell for that. Sally may be in her late sixties, but she raised five kids, and she’s still as spry as someone twenty years younger. On top of that, the girls love her.
She’s told me a million times she’s willing to be here to get them ready in the mornings, but I like to do that part. They’re both especially cuddly when they first wake up, and I wouldn’t want to miss that.
I get to the kitchen and make quick work brewing a pot of coffee. One thing I miss now that I have kids isfreshlyground coffee beans to make my morning coffee with. But any parent who has tried to grind coffee beans at 5 a.m. knows that’s a mistake—a colossal mistake. In minutes, your serene morning will become chaotic as every child in the house awakens and is likely crabby. But hey, grinding your beans the night before is a small price to pay for the joy these two bring to my life. My path to being a single father of two may be a bit unconventional—and certainly nothing I anticipated—but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d die for either one of my princesses.
I lean back against the counter in my small kitchen while I wait for the coffee to brew and glance around my cabin. This place holds immense meaning for me, even though it’s smallish at twelve-hundred square feet. I recognize its size is limiting, but the addition I’m planning for the back will make a huge difference.
Jeana, my ex-wife, used to say it’s “too rustic.” She hated living here. I promised her I’d make it something she loved, too, but she wanted out. Out of this house, and apparently, out of our lives.
My parents bought this cabin—a “rickety little shack ready to fall down,” according to Mom—and the acres of land it sits on shortly after they married. Being a carpenter himself, Dad was able to make the cabin safe to dwell in during weekend ‘boys only’ fishing trips or family camping trips. I can still smell the burning of a campfire when I think back to us five boys, our mom, and our dad sitting around the fire. We’d listen with rapt attention as Dad described all the amazing things he was going to do to turn that little shack into Mom’s dream home. One they would move into after they retired.
That never happened. Dad paid off the mortgage on the property after twenty-one years, and he was gone six months later. Mom never got her dream.
I jump when the coffeemaker beeps, but I’m grateful for it pulling me out of the trip down memory lane. The memories start out pleasant, but they take a nasty turn if I let them go too far.
I pour a cup of coffee and grab a high-protein, low-carb yogurt from the refrigerator for breakfast. Then, I walk to the back of the house, to the tiny, makeshift office I created from what used to be a mudroom. A mudroom I could use right now, since Layla is into running around outside in the rain.
I grab the stack of contracts I’ve been promising Harrison that I’d review for a week. He’s the attorney. Why he thinks I would object to anything he’s signed off on is beyond me. Still, he insists I see anything that affects the operations and expansion of the company.
I grab a pen and a sticky note and jot a reminder to myself to start looking at getting Harrison some help. All the legal andbusiness aspects of our company are a lot and becoming more than he can handle on his own with the growth of our business. He insists he’s fine, but his grumpy ass is full of it.
I handle all the operations and oversight of construction, codes, and inspections. The twins, Holden and Hayden, are our resident brainiacs with their structural engineering and architectural skills. Only our youngest brother, Heath, isn’t full time with Aron Family Builders & Restoration. He does try to chip in where he can during the professional football off-season, though.
I try my best to stay focused on the contracts, but hell, they’re boring. Still, I get through them, and I’m sure Harrison will be pleased. I put the finished ones aside and decide to tackle the pile of supply requests each site leader has submitted for our local projects. I get to the last one in the pile and stare down at the name: Matilda Evans.
I trace my finger over the letters, and a sense of relief washes over me when I see there is no second person on the contract—only her. I lean back in my chair.Why do I care?
I have to admit, the woman has occupied a significant amount of space in my head these last few days.
Christ, she was bristly when she answered the door that first day. Such fucking sass. Yet, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful, more angelic than her. She distracted the hell out of me with that curvy body I ached to touch, chin-length deep brown hair in such contrast to her eyes. The lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She was a damn vision, even if she was wearing sweats and a ratty old college sweatshirt. One that had a massive hole in the armpit, which is how I know she didn’t have a bra on underneath. I wasn’t trying to peek, but when she crossed her arms, I got a perfect view of the side of her breast. It was challenging to divert my eyes, but I managed.
No woman has ever captivated me like Matilda did. Yes, I was physically attracted to Jeana, and there was one woman who I had a brief fling with this past year, but that was only physical as well. I’ve been too busy with work and the kids to worry about sex. Okay, that’s probably a lie. I dothinkabout it sometimes, but I’d be super hesitant to consider a situationship after what happened last time.
The most recent woman I was with insisted she only wanted someone to have some adult fun with. Until she rapidly wanted more. And she was not a fan of the word no. I’m pretty sure she was more interested in my money than me. Not that it would’ve mattered because I’ve no intention of getting involved beyond something casual.
That’s why I was shocked by my immediate and intense attraction to Matilda. Sure, she’s stunning, but something about her personality interested me, too. It wasn’t just physical.
Her mouth was sharp, and I couldn’t help but egg her on. Yet, near the end of my time there, I saw a glimpse of softness when she spoke about her family home. I found myself wanting to nurture it, to pull more of it out of her. To see the full breadth and depth of the woman.
Desire like that, it’s fucking dangerous. That’s why I swore I’d be more professional when I went back the second time. But that went to shit when I waited at her front door. What the hell was that about, anyway? It wasn’t about herforgettingto say goodbye to me. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. However, it bothers me that I can’t quite figure out what it actually wasabout. What made me walk to the front door and wait for her? Yeah, she’s gorgeous, but she’s also been a pain in my ass. I just wish she wasn’t so damn sexy while she was doing it.
None of that is good. Not for me, not for her, and definitely not for my kids. Why anyone would choose to set themselvesup for the potential heartache relationships bring is beyond me. Feelings, emotions, love… hell no. Not interested.
That’s how I’ve felt for years now, yet life had different plans, and I ended up marrying at thirty-three. Hell, as cold as it sounds, I married Jeana because she was pregnant, not for love. I cared for my wife as much as I was able, but I didn’t love her like my parents loved each other, which is a good thing. I did try to make things work, for the sake of the kids, if nothing else. But when Jeana left, a selfish part of me was relieved. However, the part that loves my sweet Layla with every bit of my heart and soul grieves the pain and confusion it’s caused her. Lena will be okay; she wasn’t even one when Jeana left and won’t remember her. Layla, though, was four and a half, and sometimes, I wake up, hearing her crying for her mother in her sleep. That’s fucking soul crushing. Especially because mothering didn’t seem to come naturally to Jeana, so what mothering she did do for Layla was minimal. How do you explain to a child that age that their mom signed away all rights to them and left?
It’s been fourteen months. Fourteen long ass months and not a single word since the legal proceedings became final. Who does that? I’m glad I have full custody, and when I look at my princesses, I can’t conceive how anyone could ever choose to leave them.
I never will, not by choice. I glance down at the last drops of coffee in my cup and the empty yogurt container. Sometimes we don’t have a choice, though. That’s what scares me more than anything.
CHAPTER 6
Tillie
