Single All the Way (Single Dads of Dragonfly Lake #2)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Emerson

W hy was it that, when you were so exhausted you thought you might collapse, you couldn’t sleep once you finally went to bed?

Today had been crazy. Of course it’d been crazy. We’d had movers helping us for hours. Thank God for movers and for Kizzy’s generosity in paying for all of it, because there’d been a lot of moving parts.

First they’d moved the kids’ beds and some clothing and toys to Ben’s house for us to use for the next few weeks. Then they’d taken the rest of the kids’ and my belongings to one storage unit and anything that was left, which belonged to Kizzy, to a separate unit for her to deal with later.

After that circus, we’d picked up a couple of carryout pizzas from Humble’s and eaten a late dinner with Ben and his kids. Then everyone had gone to bed. Tomorrow was a school day and a workday for Ben. Though my hair salon was closed on Mondays, I usually went in to take care of the business and paperwork that piled up, like bills and payroll.

And here I was, wide-awake.

After some time at the salon, I planned to organize the kids’ stuff and figure out how to keep their detritus out of the way at Ben’s. He’d been so kind to invite us into his home, and I didn’t want to wear out our welcome before I found a place of our own. I’d done my best to teach my kids to pick up after themselves, but they were seven and four. Tidying was a constant battle.

On top of all the chaos and upheaval, I hadn’t slept much last night—or the past hundred nights or maybe a thousand. Ten thousand? I’d been perpetually sleep-deprived for years. I figured I could catch up when the kids were grown.

Now I lay in the double bed in Ben’s guest room with Skyler cuddled up beside me. When she’d first wandered in, lugging Waylon, I’d welcomed her. As tired as I was, I knew she was struggling hard with our family’s unsettled state. I just wanted to hug away her anxiety. Honestly I’d appreciated the contact too, content to pull her into me under the warm blankets and try to get used to the night noises of a different house.

That was nearly two hours ago. Skyler had fallen asleep almost immediately, but now my mind was spinning with all the things: Would any new real estate listings pop up tomorrow? What was that periodic clicking in the walls? Would my employees at Posh stay healthy for the upcoming holiday season, a.k.a. our busiest four weeks of the year? How awkward would Christmas at Ben’s house be? Was he really okay with Kizzy and her new wife joining us for the holiday as planned?

Shut up, brain. It’s almost midnight, and I need sleep!

I was no closer to slumber, with the exception of my arm, which was going numb. Very carefully, I pulled away from my daughter, holding my breath to make sure she didn’t stir. Then I lay there on my back, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the light shining in from outside was. A barn light? Porch light? Full moon?

Did it matter?

Of course not, but my brain was not my friend right now.

Irritated, I inched away from Skyler, then rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the door, pausing to make sure she stayed asleep. I closed it without a sound and crept down the stairs. Halfway down, just after I stepped on a creaky step, I realized there was a dim light coming from the kitchen.

Before I could take another step, Ben stuck his head around the kitchen doorway and looked straight up at me. So much for sneaking back to my room.

I glanced at myself to make sure I was decent enough and realized I made quite a sight. I wore calf-high fuzzy slipper socks, boy shorts because I hated pants on my legs under the blankets, and a long-sleeve thermal pajama shirt that outlined my torso. I’d never been so conscious of the ten or fifteen pounds I’d failed to lose after Skyler was born.

“Oh, it’s you,” he whispered.

“I didn’t know you were up. I was just going to make a cup of bedtime tea.”

He gestured me into the kitchen with his head, so I descended the rest of the steps, my arms over my chest.

“What is this magical bedtime tea you speak of?” he asked as I came around the corner.

I didn’t immediately answer because I was too busy taking in the scene. Ben wore gray sweatpants and a long-sleeve tee that stretched over a nicely sculpted chest and intriguing biceps I hadn’t noticed before. His feet were bare and must have been cold on the old, wood-plank floor. Though I was sure he’d gone to bed when the rest of us did, he didn’t look at all mussed, just his usual competent, put-together, good-looking self.

The counter, which had been cleared and cleaned after dinner, was covered with loaves of bread and a large mixing bowl.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Thanksgiving prep,” he said with a noticeable amount of enthusiasm in his tone.

“At midnight? Four days out? I thought you went to bed.”

“I realized I forgot to take the bird out of the freezer. I bought a big one this year since you three will be here. It needs to thaw.”

There was indeed a frozen turkey taking up two-thirds of the generous farmhouse sink.

“I’m sorry to butt in on your family’s holiday.”

If we had any other options, I’d make alternate plans. I’d considered taking the kids to a restaurant, but I knew Ben well enough to understand that would never fly. He’d be hurt or offended, and that was the last thing I wanted. I had my tribe of girlfriends in town, but they had their families or other plans I didn’t want to shoe-horn my kids into.

“Emerson,” he said sternly. “Stop it. You and your kids are like family. And you’re living here. We’re looking forward to having you with us.”

He returned to doing something at the counter with his back to me, as if the case was closed, and I supposed it was.

“I’m not really a holiday person, I guess,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “What are you doing now?”

I went to the cupboard he’d shown me earlier for my tea storage and took out the box of lavender and chamomile, then tried to remember where the mugs were.

Ben pointed to the mug cabinet. “Cubing the bread and setting it out to dry for stuffing.”

“You make it from scratch?”

“I do. I go all out with Thanksgiving dinner. It’ll be even more fun with more people to feed this year.”

“Want some?” I held up a second mug.

“I’ll try it,” he said, his attention on the bread.

It occurred to me I should offer to help with the meal. Not tonight, but on Thursday. Wednesday? Whenever he’d be doing the work. I didn’t know because Kizzy and I had kept it simple every year since it was only the four of us and sometimes one or both of her other sons. Precooked ham, side dishes from the Country Market, pies from Sugar.

“What’s on the menu?” I asked as I put the mugs in the microwave and started it.

“Turkey with stuffing, green-bean casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, corn casserole, pie… What else would you like? Am I missing any favorites?”

“You’re going to make all that?”

“I can alter the menu if you guys have any traditions or there’s something the kids are used to.”

I stood there with my mouth gaping open for a few seconds as I tried to comprehend the trouble he was going to for one meal that would be devoured in less than an hour. I sensed him switching his gaze from the bread to me, waiting for an answer.

“We don’t have any traditions,” I said. In truth, I’d never had a big, homemade feast for Thanksgiving in my life.

“What kind of pie do you like?”

With a chuckle, I said, “I like all the pie. Not picky.”

“What’s your favorite though? Pumpkin? Apple?”

“French silk. Chocolate pecan. Oreo.”

He laughed. “Still with the chocolate after all these years, huh?”

I gave him a scandalized look. “That’s not something a girl grows out of.”

“I remember you brought a candy bar with you to biology lab nearly every day.”

“You have a good memory.” Those were the days when chocolate didn’t go straight to my ass.

“You really don’t have any traditions?”

“Thanksgiving’s never been big for me. When I was growing up, my mom and grandma were always so tired from working that we went for easy. There were a few years my mom and I did frozen pizza because Grams had to work on the holiday.”

It had always been just the three of us. My grandma was widowed before I was born. My dad had never been in the picture. A fling with a tourist, my mom had always told me, and she hadn’t been able to track him down.

“What about with Blake?”

“We had a grand total of two Thanksgivings together once we were married.” Most years he’d been overseas working. We’d tried not to let it bother us. We were young and had our whole lives ahead of us, or so we’d thought.

I swallowed down those thoughts and noticed Ben was watching me, as if gauging how hard the subject of my husband was.

Flashing him a subdued smile, I said, “I’m okay. The upside of that is that Thanksgiving doesn’t bring a lot of hard memories, you know?”

He nodded and looked somber as he glanced back at the bread.

“What about you and Leeann?”

He was quiet for several long seconds. “Holidays were…tricky with Leeann. Some of them were good. Others…drama filled, you could say.”

I knew now his late wife, who’d been raised in foster homes, had been plagued with mental health issues and had taken her own life when Ruby was a baby. Apparently postpartum depression, added to her other challenges, had been too much for the poor woman. I was beyond sympathetic, but I didn’t have much insight about Ben and Leeann’s life together. I’d lived across the country on base.

Though Blake and I had spent a lot of time with Ben in high school, our connection had weakened after graduation, when Blake and I married and moved away. After my mom died and then a few years later my grandma, I’d become even more disconnected from the goings-on in Dragonfly Lake. By the time Ben met Leeann, when he was close to finishing vet school, we were lucky to see him once a year if we had a chance to make it home.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not wanting to pry and bring up hard memories.

“Now I go overboard to make holidays special for my kids.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say we’ve started some traditions, especially since moving out here to the country. They don’t have many memories of their mother, good or bad. They were too young. Maybe I try to overcompensate.”

“I get that.”

Though holidays were barely on my radar, I could relate to trying to love my kids enough for two parents.

My mother-in-law, Kizzy, had been so good for Xavier and Skyler, loving them like a grandmother yet never hesitating to guide them or discipline them when they needed it. She was exactly what we’d needed after Blake’s death. She’d sacrificed a lot for us to be able to live with her—her privacy and peace, for starters. That was why I didn’t begrudge her her freedom and happiness now. She deserved all the bliss and love she could find with Shannon.

It was past time I stood on my own two legs anyway. God knows I’d had it hammered into my head—and my heart—that loss was inevitable. The more people I got close to, the more I risked losing.

“What kind of traditions have you started?” I asked, more to make conversation than out of true interest. I had a grand total of zero excitement about Turkey Day. My focus was on securing the future for my kiddos by finding us a place to settle, hopefully for the rest of their childhood and beyond.

With a quiet laugh, he said, “Nothing too out there. We all pitch in to make the meal. Before we eat, we go around, and each person tells what we’re most thankful for. After dinner, we go on a long walk in the woods to burn off some of the calories and get fresh air. Then we come back and have pie and play board games. In the evening, we hit the tree-lighting ceremony on the square.”

The microwave dinged, so I took the mugs out, added the tea bags, and let them steep as what he said soaked in.

“That’s a lot,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Inside, I was thinking I wasn’t entirely comfortable with any of it. My introverted self would rather hole up with my kids and watch a movie, maybe even drift off during it. We’d still be together as a family that way.

“That’s the point,” Ben said as he opened the final package of bread and started ripping it up. “It’s family time overload in a good way. Memory making. It’s turned out to be a special day the past couple years.”

I nodded.

“The kids love it,” he added, “and hopefully you will too.”

I made myself smile, and my brows rose as I looked at him. “We’ll see.”

“A skeptic, huh? Challenge accepted. We’re going to do whatever we can so you and Xavier and Skyler have the best holiday ever.”

“I’m terrified.” I made it sound light and funny, but I couldn’t deny the truth in that. I wasn’t in a holly-jolly mood. Never had been. Holidays were a hassle more than anything. Ben was a dear friend, was my husband’s best friend for most of their childhood, but that didn’t mean I was up for deepening the friendship. We both had too much on our plates to focus on anything but our kids and businesses.

What had I gotten myself into by moving in here for the next six weeks?