2 Weeks 'Til Eve (2 'Til Series Book 3) (14 page)

Thursday, December 7
^th

“Where is everybody?” Fynn asked, confused by the
silence that greeted him as he came downstairs into the kitchen.

“My parents walked Cara to the bus and Magnus went
with them. So the cheese stands alone,” she said pitifully, pressing her finger
into the crumbs of toast that were left on her plate and slipping them into her
mouth. Her mother had made omelets on the brand new six-burner gas range that made
Catherine feel even less qualified to be in the kitchen. Elizabeth Hemmings
herself had looked a bit daunted at first.
More than anyone really needs,
she’d
said, pointing out that she had cooked countless meals for her family and
hosted an entire houseful of guests enough times, all on a regular old stovetop
with no problems whatsoever. Yet, by the end of the meal she seemed almost
giddy with her newfound power.

“Well, I happen to like the cheese. It’s pretty and it
smells good,” Fynn said, dipping in to sniff her neck and plant a kiss that
tingled against her skin. “So what are your plans for the day?” He righted
himself and headed toward the coffee pot.

“I guess I have to deal with the Tara situation,” she
sighed.

“The Tara situation?”

“There’s always a situation when it comes to her.” She
rolled her eyes. “I got a text in the middle of the night to meet her at
someplace called Grossman’s at one.”

“So she’s still in town?”

“I guess.”

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“No.” 

“Mad at her too now?” he asked, a pointed barb over
the whole Georgia thing.

“Shouldn’t I be? Showing up here like that? What did
she think I was going to do? God, she makes me crazy.” Her voice rising
righteously in pitch.

Fynn shook his head, busy filling his travel coffee
mug, the one he used whether traveling or not because the garage workshop was
only halfway to tolerable at this time of year and a cup of coffee would be
iced in moments if not insulated.

“What’s that for?”

He turned, the question on his face.

“Like I didn’t just see you shaking your head about
me.”

“About women in general,” he corrected.

“You think that’s better? You’re obviously lumping me
in with them.”

“You are one, aren’t you?”

Catherine stared him down.

“I just don’t get why women are so mean to each other.”
He took a sip of his coffee, casually, as if that wasn’t an incendiary
statement.

“I haven’t said a word to Tara!”

“The cold shoulder is the female version of a fist
fight. Only less humane.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” she humphed. “I
just asked you the other day if you’ve spoken to Jason at all and you said no. I
mean, when’s the last time you did? At the wedding? How is that not the cold
shoulder?”

“We’re guys; we never talk that much,” he shrugged.

“But he’s a friend. Your best man.”

“And I know he’ll be there if I need him.”

It was her turn to shake her head at the absurdity.
“Why don’t I handle my friends my way and you can handle yours your way.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t give
me
the cold
shoulder.”

“Don’t deserve it and I won’t,” she warned.

Her phone went off with another text. Tara again.
“What’s at 1367 Market Street?” she asked Fynn.

He started to shake his head—“Wait, that’s where I
know the name Grossman’s from,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“What?”

“He’s a lawyer in town.”

“Is she suing me?” Catherine joked tightly.

“Maybe she wants us to adopt her.”

She rolled her eyes. Last time a lawyer had been
brought into the mix it was Tara pretending to be one, trying to help Catherine
break through Joel “Fynn” Trager’s crusty exterior back when they first met. Yup,
Tara was just crazy enough to do most anything.

“So… are you going to take your parents with you?” He
sounded hopeful.

“Don’t want to parent-sit?” she jabbed. “You who
thinks my parents are no trouble at all?”

“That’s not what I mean. I just—”

“I haven’t talked to them yet, but I think they need
to do some shopping. My mom didn’t want to travel with a bunch of gifts, so she
mentioned going out with my dad to take care of some things.” Catherine waited
a few moments before adding, “And you don’t have to look quite so relieved.”

“I’m not.”

“Your whole body went rigid when you thought you’d be
stuck with them.”

“I’ll give you something rigid, milady,” he said
wickedly, heading straight for her. “I’m completely serious, you know.” He glanced
at the clock. “We have a few minutes before the bus even comes and then they
have to trek all the way back.”

“You think I only need a few minutes?” she joked
playfully.

“If I’m doing it right,” he said, oozing melted butter
with each word.

Her whole body flushed at the thought.

“You pushed me off last night because they were
downstairs. Now they’re out of the house.”

Actually, she’d pushed him off last night because she
was annoyed with Georgia and with his reaction to her being mad at Georgia. Her
parents were just a good excuse. But now—

“We have to take what we can get.”

“Race you,” she blurted.

“Oh no you don’t.” He grasped hold of her as she popped
up from her chair.

“What? You said we only have a few minutes.”

“You aren’t going to go running through the house in
your condition.”

“You mean
here
? In the
kitchen
?”

“Why not?”

Because I don’t know that I can look my mother in
the eye for the next two weeks knowing I did it right here where she ate her
breakfast. And what if they come back early? Or—
But Fynn was making short
work of her robe and her resistance, lifting up her nightshirt, kissing that
spot on the side of her neck. He sought between her legs with his hand,
probing, finding what he liked. “Are you going to tell me you weren’t thinking
about me?” he whispered. Her body’s response to his touch and his breath against
her skin was so quick and all-encompassing he assumed she was always thinking
about him—about sex—when in reality he was simply perfectly skilled at flipping
a switch inside her that got her hot and bothered in a matter of moments.

Fynn wasted no time in pulling his jeans and boxers
down, leaving them trapped around his calves by his boots. He had limited
mobility, and with her massive belly she was limited as well, so he turned her
around where she could lean over the kitchen table and entered her with a sigh of
satisfaction that she mirrored, reaching his hands down around her to cradle
her breasts.
Holy fuck that feels good
, she thought, still amazed at how
easy
it was. Their sex life. How different it was from single sex when
there were so many questions and unknowns. So many innuendos and uncertainties.
She had never felt as free to feel what and how and when she wanted to feel as
she did as a married woman. With Fynn she didn’t have to think about or worry
about what she said or did or what he was thinking about the experience. There
was an odd juxtaposition of autonomy and ownership in regards to their bodies
that made the dance of physical intimacy effortless.

She had always practiced monogamy—not that she could
say that for every boyfriend she’d had—but married monogamy was something else
entirely. That “union in the eyes of God” thing was powerful. It had changed
sex for her. Satisfaction was elemental. It was at the base of everything
because it was good and true to her and her marriage. No shame. No
capitulation. Just—

“Oh my God.” She could feel the edge of her climax as
he brushed against it and withdrew, then slipped closer again, only to pull
away, then coming closer still. Her breath caught as she felt him tense, as rigid
outside as he was within her. His hands slipped from her breasts to grasp her hips
for better purchase, his fingers digging into her skin with his final thrusts
that hammered deep into her center.

“Oh, sweet day,” he breathed, driving one final thrust
and then circling his hips to attend to that perfect spot that turned her to a gooey
mess inside.

“Oh yes,” she shuddered, collapsing against the table
for the slimmest margin of a moment, only to perk quickly to the sound of
galumphing paws on the front porch.

“Shit!” she screeched. “They’re back. Now. Here.
Already.”

Fynn withdrew, reaching for a napkin from the holder
with one hand and pulling his boxers and jeans up with the other. He pressed
the napkin into her hand and she held it between her legs—certainly not an
approved use of a napkin; Elizabeth Hemmings would be appalled. Catherine pulled
up her granny panties and let her nightshirt drop down over her before tying
the robe around her waist. Her ass hit the kitchen chair at the same moment the
front door opened.

She watched in disbelief as her husband, who had put
her in this compromising position, grabbed his coffee and made a run for the
door to the garage, slipping out as if he’d never been inside her or the
kitchen, leaving her flushed and obviously fucked—or at least she feared as
much.

“That little girl is a livewire,” William Hemmings
said, coming into the kitchen, rubbing his hands to warm them up.

“Such a joy to have little ones around. They make the
season that much more special,” Elizabeth Hemmings practically sang, trailing behind
him.

“Cara get off okay?” Catherine asked, hoping her voice
sounded normal. Even if there was no shame in married sex, it still felt icky
to think her parents might figure out what had just happened in the sanctity of
the kitchen where hygiene was holy.

“And then some,” her father said, as if that meant
anything at all. But Catherine understood completely.

“She just loves going to school, doesn’t she?” her
mother added.

“Yes, thankfully. I think that the school routine has
put her more at ease than anything. There is so much going on that I think it
helps keep her mind occupied and helps her heart too.”

Elizabeth nodded in sympathetic understanding.

“I don’t know how she does it, honestly,” Catherine
said. “People talk about all these horror stories when blending families, what
with divorces and all…. I guess I just figured that this guardianship situation
would be even harder. But that little girl….” She shook her head in awe, tears
coming to her eyes.

“Resilience. We need more of it,” her father said
firmly.

“She was raised well, obviously,” her mother asserted.
“Regardless of what her mother was going through with her illness, she did
whatever she needed to make sure her daughter would be cared for.”

“Renée was so strong,” Catherine said tightly. She’d
only known Cara’s mother for a short time, but she owed her so much. For her
encouragement. For her trust. For her efforts to ease all of them into the
future of which Renée couldn’t be a part. And all of that while she was going
through hell herself.

“So where is that husband of yours?” her father
bellowed suddenly.

“He’s working out in the shop.”

“Great. I’ll just take a little jaunt in and see what
he’s up to.” He headed for the door and Catherine felt justified that her
husband was about to get ambushed. It was only fair.

“Remember, William, we have some shopping to do. The
two of us. So don’t get caught up too long,” his wife warned.

“Aw, do we have to?” he mewled like a little kid,
shutting the door behind him.

Her mother turned to her. “You and Fynn are doing a
wonderful job.”

Catherine stared at her as if she’d just said she was
going to run off with the circus.

“It’s obvious,” she said plainly. “That little girl is
thriving in spite of… everything.”

“We’re trying,” Catherine said softly. “I just worry
that with the baby and everything about to change again it might be too much
too soon. We didn’t plan it this way.”

“Planning can be overrated.”

Excuse me? Let me clean out my ears.

“We didn’t plan any of you kids. We just kind of let
you happen.”

“But Cara is still dealing with everything and now
there will be this all-encompassing, demanding person thrown into the middle of
that.”

“If you tried to plan around that—around loss—you’d be
waiting forever. Loss doesn’t go away; it just gets a little less sharp. You
know that,” her mother said. “And even though it gets smaller with time, that also
means that when it does sneak up on you, it can be all the more devastating.”

Catherine gazed at her in wonder. In all of the
preparation for her parents’ visit she was so caught up in making sure she was
beyond reproach that she didn’t even bother to consider that her mother was a
real person. A survivor of the worst pain a mother could experience. Her mother
knew what helplessness felt like better than anyone.

“And whatever you do, don’t ever lose the two of you
in all of this,” she warned. “That is what will make the difference. For Cara.
For all of your children.
That
is key,” she said knowingly. “Always find
the time.”

Catherine was quiet, not knowing where to go now, or
what to say, wondering if she was talking about sex, like she sensed it in the
atmosphere around them. An awkward silence, and then, “So you and Dad are going
out?”

Elizabeth straightened, snapping out of heartfelt
human and back into automaton. “Yes. We will be gone most of the day. Grab some
lunch. Enjoy the stores. Maybe go to the mall.”

“You going to be okay getting around?”

“Of course. I think you deserve a break from us.”

“I don’t need a break, Mom.”

“You should be relaxing. Yesterday we had you on your
feet the whole time.”

“Well, actually, I do need to see Tara.”

“It’s settled. We go our separate ways.”