Summer's Redemption Read online

  He blew out a breath, setting the mug on the counter with a thud. Coffee sloshed around the rim. “Yeah. I didn’t realize that she’d switched schools.”

  “Who broke if off?”

  “Me.” Remorse kicked him in the gut again.

  “Huh. Maybe I should ask to see one of the other—”

  “No, Trip. She’s not like that. Ms. Owens would never take it out on you.” She might want to hit him over the head with a sledgehammer and then shove him into a bed of curing concrete, but she would never say or do anything to hurt his son. He knew that with as much certainty as his own name.

  “That’s good. Because I really like her. I’m glad she told you, though. I didn’t like keeping it from you.”

  If only his son would always feel that way.

  With quick long strides, Trip made it to the bottom of the staircase and stopped to peer over a shoulder. “Are we good?”

  Trace blinked. Had he only imagined the silent treatment after Friday’s incident? “Sure. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Just checking. Since Mom dumped me with you, I wasn’t sure where you would leave me if I did something wrong.”

  Leaving Trace with his mouth gaping, with no coherent thought on how to respond, Trip took the stairs two at a time and disappeared.

  When Kendra had called and told him that she was tired of being a single parent, that it was his turn, he’d never considered how her actions might appear to their son or even how she’d explained the shift in custody to Trip. After all, the kid was in high school now, practically a man. But, apparently, they should’ve had a conversation.

  And they would.

  Oh, Lord. That conversation is a thousand times more important than the one we just had. Help me to explain to my son that Kendra still loves him and that I would never consider giving him up, no matter what he does or doesn’t do. Help me to model Your grace and unconditional love.

  ****

  Trace Tomlinson stood outside her locked office door, his wide shoulders relaxed against the wall and a to-go cup in each hand, a good half hour before school started. Uh oh. This couldn’t be good.

  “Good morning.” She dug around the bottom of her purse and found the keys, managed to slide the correct one into the lock and pushed the door open.

  “Good morning.” His voice held a morning gruffness that ruffled her pulse. That and the freshly shampooed hair, still damp at the tips, and the citrus and woodsy cologne still fresh on his skin.

  He followed her into the tiny space while she tucked her purse inside a drawer, trying her best not to drag in a deep lungful of him but failing. He’d always smelled so good, even after a long day at work. Now that, according to Trip, he’d transferred to the construction side of the business, she took slight satisfaction in that he probably didn’t smell quite so nice at the end of the day anymore.

  “Have a seat.” She gestured toward the pair of chairs on the other side of her desk and sank into her own.

  He set a cup in front of her. “Hope you still like your lattes extra hot, no flavor.”

  She blinked. Her fingers trembled around the cardboard heat shield, flustered that he remembered such a random detail from two years ago. “Yes. Thank you.”

  His sweet smile faded into a sad remnant, ramping up her pulse even more. “You’re welcome. Thought you might need it.”

  “Your apology didn’t go well with Trip?” She took a small sip, breathing a contented sigh as the hot liquid warmed her throat.

  He blew out a breath. “Oh, no. That went fine. It was the zinger he lobbed at the end that left me speechless and…out of my element. Thought since you gave me such great advice on my last visit that you might be able to help again.”

  “What did he say?”

  Was that moisture glittering from Trace’s lashes? He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed just over her shoulder on one of her motivational posters. “He’s worried that if he doesn’t measure up that I’ll abandon him like his mother.”

  Oh. Wow. She hadn’t seen that coming. Probably crushed Trace too. She moved over to sit in the chair next to him and covered his hand with hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He shook his head. “As if I could ever—would ever—do that. He doesn’t know how many years I tried to get Kendra to give me full custody.” He stared at her hand.

  She jerked it back. “So, what do you want to do?”

  He scoffed. “Hang onto him forever?”

  Smiling, she took another sip of coffee and waited him out.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I came here.”

  “Oh, I think you have a pretty good idea. You don’t need me.”

  “Another heart-to-heart?”

  “That would be a good start.”

  “Then what?”

  “Show him how much he means to you. I’m not talking about showering him with gifts. But just being there for him every day. Treating him with love and respect and plenty of grace. Because we all need that.”

  “True.” He pinned her to the chair with his sideways glance. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

  A frown tipped the corners of her lips and melded her eyebrows as she thought back through their conversation. “What’s that?”

  “I do need you, Bristol.”

  A seed of joy burst to life in her belly, but she squashed it. He was only referring to her advice. She swallowed hard and rose from the chair, hiding her disappointment by turning her back to him and opening a drawer from a tall filing cabinet. Pretended to rifle through the folders in search of one. “Glad I could help, Trace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting I need to get to this morning.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m sorry for coming unannounced. I just couldn’t go another day without…” His voice trailed off.

  She held her breath, waiting for him to continue. Another day without…without what, Trace?

  “Goodbye, Bristol. Thank you.”

  She waited until the footsteps were a good distance down the hall before swiveling, her breath whooshing out of her lungs. Her legs gave out on her, and she practically fell into her chair.

  Another day without what? Now, she’d never know.

  3

  “feel like spaghetti tonight?”

  “Sure. Sounds great. Especially if you throw in a giant loaf of garlic bread.” Trip nodded with a bit more enthusiasm than when Trace had tossed out the grilled hamburgers option, his beefy fingers curled around the handle of the cart.

  This was their weekly Thursday night shopping trip to load up on meals. A day since his meeting with Bristol, and he still hadn’t been able to erase the last image of her. The sadness that dulled her eyes. The disappointment that slumped her shoulders. What had he said to cause that picture of dejection?

  Frustrated, he tossed the largest box of pasta in the cart followed by a jumbo-sized jar of sauce. His son ate like the football player he was determined to be, and even if they didn’t eat it all tonight, Trip would devour it at some point over the weekend.

  “Whoa, Dad. You almost broke the jar. What gives?” Wide-eyed, Trip’s gaze flicked from the sauce in the bottom of the cart to him.

  “Sorry. Long day.” He huffed. Immediately he regretted the half-truth. “I think I might’ve hurt someone’s feelings, and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  Trip stared at him as if he’d spoken a different language. Finally, he blinked and found his voice. “One of your employees?”

  He shook his head but didn’t elaborate.

  “Someone I might—oh, look. Ms. Owens is here.” Trip gestured toward the end of the aisle, his deep voice projecting even farther than usual. “Hey, Ms. Owens!”

  Trace whipped his head around just as Bristol looked up, surprise widening her dark-as-espresso eyes. Her gaze darted toward the exit and then to the items in her basket before swinging back to them. Was she thinking about ditching them?

  Trip pushed the cart down the aisle, leaving Trace no choice but to follow his son and Bris
tol no escape.

  “Hi, Trip. Hi, Trace.” Bristol blew out a breath, puffing up some stray strands of hair over her forehead. Her smile appeared forced.

  Could he blame her? Who wanted to run into an ex-boyfriend and one of her students after school hours?

  “Hey.” At his softened voice, Trip swiveled to gawk at him.

  Trace cleared his throat and rubbed the sole of his flip flop against an imaginary smudge on the tile floor. Why this sudden urge to cover an awkward spot? He was a Vice President in his family’s company. He’d handled his share of uncomfortable situations over the years. Why now? With someone he knew so well.

  Trip leaned over and peered into Bristol’s basket. “Is that all you’re having for dinner, Ms. Owens? An apple and peanut butter?” He snatched the box of pasta from their cart and held it up. “My dad’s making a big pot of spaghetti along with his famous garlic bread tonight. Why don’t you join us?”

  Trace’s sputter turned into a coughing fit.

  Trip pounded him on the back. “You okay, Dad?”

  “Yeah. Uh, sure.” He twisted to glare at his son then turned back to Bristol, his features softening automatically at the refusal already forming on her lips. “We’ll have more than enough food, and we’d love for you to join us.”

  Her head wobbled. “It’s a school night. I don’t—”

  “You have to eat, Ms. Owens.” Trip’s arched eyebrows dared her to say otherwise. Without giving her a chance to respond, he put a hand on Trace’s back. “Dad, I’m going to get ice cream and the loaf of bread. I’ll meet you at the checkout.”

  “Okay.” He flicked his head to acknowledge his son.

  “What makes your garlic bread famous?”

  He lifted a palm. “Beats me. But it’s Trip’s favorite. He could eat an entire loaf himself.”

  “Then how could I resist?” Bristol teased, smiling. “Are you sure, though? Trip kind of sprung that on you.”

  “If he hadn’t invited you, I would’ve.” Would he? Maybe. Probably. He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands at his own uncertainty. Of course, he would’ve invited her. Now that the invitation was out there, he really wanted her to come.

  “In that case, I’d be delighted to join you.”

  “Great. I’ll text you the address. How about around seven?”

  “Works for me. But—” Indecision wavered on her face too.

  “It’s just dinner, Bristol. If you’re uncomfortable, you’re free to leave whenever you choose.”

  She nodded and her smile returned. “Okay, then. I’ll see you later.”

  He watched her pivot and head to the self-service checkout aisle before digging his phone from his pocket. Better get two loaves of bread, Trip.

  Why? Someone else coming?

  No. But you could eat one yourself.

  True that. Lol. Already done. Meet you at checkout.

  Ok. Trace slid the phone back in his pocket, his heart lighter, and his stride a bit peppier than when he’d entered the store.

  Bristol was coming to dinner.

  ****

  Was she crazy? What had possessed her to say yes to their dinner invitation?

  Because now that she was here, sitting on Trace’s back deck nursing a glass of iced sweet tea after helping to clear the dishes, she wished she could take it back.

  The party lights strung from the rafters cast the man’s hair in a honey glow and accented the broad shoulders under the crisp and clean T-shirt. The delicious aroma of tomato and garlic still hovered in the air. Lake water slapped the shore, the quiet laps as soft as a lullaby, just yards from the deck.

  The whole night. Watching Trace and Trip joke and laugh as they worked to get dinner on the table. They’d included her in their conversation as if she belonged with them. A stark and painful reminder of all that she’d never have.

  Love. Family. Growing old with the man of her dreams.

  Because he’d shattered them. What was she doing setting herself up for more heartbreak? Letting herself imagine that God was really giving them a second chance.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as a sigh escaped her chest.

  “Hope that’s a happy sigh and not a sign that we bored you to sleep.”

  Her lashes lifted, and she turned to meet his gaze. “It’s…”

  “Complicated?”

  Her head twitched with surprise. “Yes. That’s it exactly.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  In one easy motion, he rose from the chair and parked his bum against the rail. Tanned muscular legs poked out from shorts that didn’t quite reach his knees as he crossed his arms over that massive chest. “I am sorry for the way things ended, Bristol. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She joined him at the rail, propping her forearms against the wood and staring out at the silver tips on the lake. “Then why did you?”

  His turn to sigh. He twisted around and mimicked her stance. His voice grew quiet, hushed even. “I felt like things were getting too serious.”

  Too serious? They’d dated for six months. Exclusively from what she’d understood. How could they not be serious? “That’s…rich.”

  His head canted to the side. “Is it? Because I could easily imagine us—”

  “Just like this?” she finished for him.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe even another kid or two.”

  His words were like daggers to her chest, each one hitting the mark with such painful precision that she stumbled backward. She covered her heart with a palm. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I wanted you to know it was all me, Bristol. Not you.”

  “As if that matters?”

  He studied her. “I always got the sense that you were carrying around a heavy burden from your past. I don’t want you to blame yourself.”

  She swallowed hard and blinked fast to dam the tears. She’d thought she’d done a decent job of hiding her love and burying the shame of rejection.

  His gaze pierced clear through to her soul. “So, the counselor doesn’t want to talk about it?”

  “No.” She gave her head a vigorous shake and lurched for the stairs. “Thanks for dinner, Trace. Tell Trip good night for me.”

  As she passed him, he stopped her with a gentle grip around her arm. “I’ll let you go this time, sweetheart. But don’t think for one second that this conversation is over.”

  She tugged out of his grasp. Somehow, she made it down the stairs without tripping and hurried around the side of the house, the dew-slicked grass tickling her sandaled feet, only stopping to breathe once she was safely locked inside her car.

  Oh, this conversation is definitely over, Trace Tomlinson.

  4

  “Those Tomlinson brothers are a hot mess. They’ve been so focused on their business, they don’t know what they want outside of that.” Everlee Armstrong scowled as she peeled the skin from a tangerine.

  “Speaking from experience?” Bristol eyed her best friend before popping a grape in her mouth.

  “Well, I work for two of them, including the one we’re talking about.” Something deep simmered underneath the surface, rattling Everlee’s normally calm expression and causing her to poke a hole in a wedge of the fruit. She frowned and wiped her hands on a napkin.

  As interior designer for Tomlinson Investment Properties, Everlee should know. And, as besties since elementary school, Bristol knew what had her friend so flustered.

  Gentry. The youngest of the three Tomlinson brothers had come back to Moondust Cove for his grandfather’s wedding. Had the prodigal left town already?

  “We’re not talking about him anymore.” Another grape exploded on her tongue as she gazed out at the water from their picnic table under the shade of a giant maple tree. Everlee had texted her that morning with an invite to eat lunch at the lake. Just what she needed to break free from the debacle of Thursday night’s dinner.

  “Why didn’t you just tell him?”

  She sco
ffed. “What? That my stepdad kicked me out of the house after Mom died? That’s ancient history.”

  “Okay. What about the louse that you were engaged to during college?”

  She shook her head. “What would be the point? It’s not like Trace wanted to get back together. He was just trying to make himself feel better.”

  Everlee scrunched her cheeks. “You think?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Why else would he apologize?”

  “Because maybe he does want to get back together?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t mention anything remotely similar to that.” Did he? She would’ve picked up on that, wouldn’t she?

  “Did you give him a chance?”

  A breeze drifted past their table, lifting the hair from her warm forehead. Grateful that she’d piled the rest of it into a messy bun on top of her head, she slid a few loose strands behind her ear. “Maybe.”

  “Or not. If I know you, you bolted as soon as he mentioned that chip on your shoulder.”

  “It’s not a chip. It’s a battle scar.”

  “And you wear it proudly.”

  She glared at her friend.

  “Just saying.” Everlee raised both palms in the air, the mangled tangerine uneaten on the wood surface. “For a counselor, it seems like you should follow some of your own advice.”

  “And what would that advice be?”

  “Well, for one, like that poster in your office says, ‘Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you imagined.’ Why do you allow your past to set all the boundaries for your future?”

  Was she doing that?

  “Or how about really listening to the other person, minus the judgment and confrontational attitude, and trying to see where they’re coming from? Isn’t that what you tell your students?” Everlee swiped an arm across her face and stared off into the distance.

  Stunned at Everlee’s unusual outburst, she leaned back and studied her friend. The sadness etching her green eyes and mouth. The hunched shoulders and slight tremble of her fingers.

  She pressed a hand over her friend’s and squeezed gently. “What’s wrong, Ev?”