Lark Lake Lodge

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Awkward Dinner

I couldn’t wait to test out the renovated dining room that night, regardless of the fact that there were only three of us. A wide arch next to the hearth in the lounge led to the dining area and beyond that was the door to the professional kitchen we’d put in. Both were modest in size, as restaurants go, able to serve our guest room capacity plus a handful of tables.

Simon and Michael advised that it was smart to keep the restaurant intimate. We’d have lower overhead and if it was hard to get a table, it added a certain exclusivity. Our Firebrand friends recommended their part-time pastry chef to head up the kitchen. He would start the following week, but in the meantime, I was glad to do the honors. While I was no chef, I knew my way around a kitchen.

Back in the day, Randy had used the dining room space as a game room. We’d had to clear out a pool table, foosball, air hockey, and a couple of ancient arcade games that had been left to slowly disintegrate. The only food he offered at the lodge was the odd barbecue that he threw on a complimentary basis. Otherwise, the rooms had mini-fridges and guests were expected to fend for themselves.

Harlan’s cousin Gabriel—the one that had made all of his beautiful furniture at his house—built the new tables. The masterpiece was a long, barn wood table and benches that seated twelve. Even though that night would be just the three of us, I wanted to eat there. I laid out our places at one end: two on one bench and one on the other. I didn’t want to think about who’d be sitting where, but I knew my preference.

Rob appeared in the kitchen early and insisted on helping. Fortunately, the actual meal prep was pretty easy, so it didn’t tax Rob’s limited cooking skills. It was a simple, one-pot meal—a lobster boil. I softened a chopped onion in butter and then threw in potatoes, kielbasa, corn, clams, and two bottles of beer. Whatever alcohol I consumed from the boil would be negligible, and nothing was going to stop me from eating the lobsters we bought for our opening. After everything simmered for a bit, Rob decided it was time prove his manliness and to be my hero.

“You better let me throw the lobsters in the pot. I remember you freaking out when we rented that place in Martha’s Vineyard,” he said as he headed to retrieve the bucket at the end of the counter.

“Oh my God. I almost forgot about that.” I laughed. “If you recall, I freaked out because you threw the lobsters in so hard that you splashed scalding water all over me. I’m lucky I’m not scarred for life.”

“Oh shit, that’s right,” he said, laughing along. “Well, I’ll be gentle this time. I promise.”

He placed the bucket on the metal counter next to the stove. “Hold on a sec,” I said as he lifted the squirming, brown crustacean. “I watched a video that said it takes them like, two to three minutes to die in the hot water. I hate the thought of them suffering like that.”

I walked to the freezer and opened the door. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“If you put them in the freezer for five minutes, it’s just like slowly going to sleep. It’s much more humane.”

“So, it’s a choice of boiling to death or freezing to death?”

“Well, which would you rather?”

“Neither. But I’m not a lobster.”

He placed all three lobsters in the freezer and shut the door. He took out his phone and set the timer for five minutes. I don’t know if he’d changed or was trying to impress me, but in all the time we’d been together, he’d never been so helpful. It made me a little sad that we didn’t have more times like that when we were married.

Pulling a beer from the fridge and cracking it open, he eyed me. I could sense he was building up to talk about something I wanted nothing to do with.

“This is nice,” he said, sipping his beer and leaning his back against the fridge.

Ugh, Rob. Don’t.

“I just wish…Maze, do you think there will ever be a way for you to forgive me for what I did?”

I know it was mean, but I burst out laughing. For some reason the idea of him thinking there was even a morsel of redemption in his future was utterly comical. I tried to busy myself stirring the boil with a long wooden spoon, but the laughs kept coming.

“Come on. I’m being serious,” he whined.

“I know. That’s why it’s so funny,” I said, putting the spoon down and wiping the mirthful tears from my eyes. “Let me make this very plain. No, Rob. I won’t ever be able to forgive you for what you did to me.” His face fell as he swigged his beer again. “We can be civil. Hell, maybe someday we could even be something resembling friends. But our slate will never be clean. You lied to me and stole so many years from me, transferring your infertility onto me, so that it was all my burden. And look!” I motioned to my rounded belly with fake shock on my face. “I’m Fertile Myrtle. Wasn’t even trying and bam! So, no. There’s no tearful reunion in our future. More of an awkward truce.”

He drank from his beer bottle a few more times as the silence drew out between us. I could hear him take long cleansing breaths. I hoped he’d gotten the message, but he’d always been a tenacious soul. He was one of those all-American jock types who believed you had to fight for what you wanted and not let initial defeat slow you down.

“I know what I did was terrible. Dr. Cook has really been helping me understand the gravity of the effect of my deception. I just—I hoped that there was some way I could make it up to you. And I figured since you’re having the baby you always wanted, that would be helpful—“

Hold the goddamn phone!

“Are you saying that since some other guy did you the favor of knocking me up, I’m free to just come running back to you and all our problems are solved ? You’ve lost your damn mind!”

“That’s not what I—no, hold on—“

The timer on Rob’s phone went off, startling the crap out of me. At the same time, Harlan entered through the swinging kitchen door, holding a pie and wearing a grin that was likely related to overhearing us fighting.

“Jesus! You scared me.” I said with my hand over my pounding heart.

As my adrenaline receded, I was able to appreciate the view. Harlan looked masculine and gorgeous in jeans and a navy blue t-shirt that allowed me to ogle his bookish tattoos. Also, he had pie. I memorized the view of him standing in the doorway with pie for use in future fantasies.

“Everything okay?” he asked with an arched brow .

Don’t gloat, Harlan. Yes, we were fighting.

“Fine. Rob just took leave of his senses for a second,” I said with an eye roll.

“I didn’t—“

“I brought you this.” Without even sparing a glance to his nemesis, Harlan handed me the pie. It was key lime, my all-time favorite. Yet another foolish flutter of hope zinged through my chest at the thought of him knowing my favorite dessert.

“When did you have time to bake?”

After placing the pie on the counter, I walked to the freezer and pulled out the lobsters, carrying them, one by one, to the pot and dropping them in. The squeal of the steam escaping their shells was chilling, even though I knew it wasn’t a sound the lobsters were making themselves.

“I didn’t bake it. Simon brought it over,” Harlan said, never taking his eyes off of me. “Did you just take those out of the freezer?”

“It’s more humane ,“ Rob explained as he threw back the rest of his beer.

Oh great. He’s going to drink through the pain tonight. This ought to be fun.

“Did you say Simon brought that pie? Why didn’t he bring it up here?“ I asked.

Simon was up to something. Whenever he came by to visit, he came to the lodge. He and I were much closer than he was with Harlan, regardless of how much Simon wished for the reverse.

“He said I should give it to you. He said…well, he said a lot of things.”

Harlan rubbed the back of his neck and his eyes flashed fiery lust. I nearly melted into a puddle right in front of the stove. Ever since he broke the seal and kissed me, the floodgates on our mutual craving for one another had flown open. Also, I was one hundred percent sure that he was hinting at Simon having told him how pregnancy made me horny for him. The moment that tidbit came out of my mouth, there had been no question Simon would blurt it to Harlan the first chance he got.

I didn’t realize how long we’d been staring longingly at one another until Rob’s voice invaded our lust cloud. “Anyone want a drink?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer,” Harlan said without looking up.

Rob sighed behind me. His attempt to break us out of our gaze had failed.

“You look pretty. I like your dress,” Harlan said.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile and turned back toward the pot on the stove. The intensity of his gaze was too much, and I hated to admit to myself that I thought of him while choosing my short-sleeved floral sundress.

The time it took for the lobsters to cook was probably the longest stretch in my life. I tried to act casually, but two very different men were pulling at me like a tug-of-war. On the one hand, my sulky ex-husband stood by the fridge, pounding beers in hopes of forgetting his failed attempt at offering an olive branch. On the other, my smoking hot baby daddy—who thank God was letting go of his made-of-stone act—was shooting sex vibes at me with knee-melting potency and Robin Hood-worthy accuracy. It all sparked a tense combination of urges—trying not to let’s Rob’s maudlin pity party affect my mood, while trying not to whip my sundress off and take a running leap at Harlan.

A few minutes before I took the pot off the stove, Rob grumbled, grabbed two extra beers from the fridge and headed through the swinging door. I wasn’t sure if he was outright skipping dinner, or just couldn’t handle all of the obvious sexual tension in the room. A few minutes later when Harlan and I entered with the food, I had my answer. Rob, being the troublemaker he was, had decided to enter the dining room early so he could grab one of the seats on the side with two places set—effectively claiming a seat next to me .

“Move,” Harlan growled as he set down a plate with ramekins of melted butter.

“Just sit over there, Stahl.”

Oh great. Another standoff.

“Don’t be a child, Hendrickson, just move.”

“I’m very comfortable, thank you.”

“Fine.”

Harlan grabbed the placemat next to Rob and pulled it over to the other side of the table next to his, carefully enough so that the plate, napkin, and cutlery all stayed in place.

“Oh, come on!” Rob said and reached for the placemat.

When Harlan grabbed Rob’s wrist and held it in place to keep him from re-setting the table, I knew it was time to step in. These two had fought before and they’d been on the verge of a repeat performance for the last twenty-four hours.

“Stop! Just stop!”

I put the serving dish down and walked to a nearby two-top. I picked up a chair and placed it at the end of the long table. Moving the placemat and dishware, I set my place at the end. Though I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to sit next to Harlan with our thighs pressed together, I figured the King Solomon approach was best. Let’s cut this awkward baby right in half.

Eventually, the testosterone-fest waned and the two men sat. We filled our plates with our lobsters and sides and tied kitchen towels around our necks in the absence of plastic bibs. Five minutes into eating I thought that lobster was either the best or worst choice for dinner. Harlan and Rob stared each other down as they cracked the shells and dug at the meat. They seemed to be taking their aggression toward each other out on their food.

Fine. It’s better than ending up in urgent care tonight .

I wasn’t sure who was going to break the silence and what kind of awkward intro it would be, but I certainly didn’t expect Rob to shoot for the moon right off the bat.

“So, Stahl. I hear you’re moving soon. Where you headed?”

Fuck.