The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

decided to seize the day and throw ourselves a bash before we become grandparents. Knock on wood that my daughter doesn't go into an early labor. The invitations have already gone out but, of course, all we want is to see these babies born healthy."

"And your party to go as planned," Linden added.

"It sounds wonderful," I said to her.

"It will be with you there," she replied. "You don't have to decide right now but having someone as special as you there"—she shot a meaningful grin at Linden—"would make my day. And Carlo's too. You'll meet him on Sunday but I can already tell you, he'll be thrilled."

He traced his thumbs along my hairline, behind my ears. I had to fight off a shiver. "I think Jasper might be able to make that work," he said. "What do you say, Jas?"

This wasn't real. I knew that. I was going along with this because Linden seemed to want that but none of it was real. He'd explain the nuances of this situation and I'd put on a good face come Sunday and again whenever this party took place but I wasn't here to stay.

And yet here I was, wondering how it was possible to want a man who insisted—and a mother figure who did too. I didn't know how I could live all these years believing I didn't want such a thing because it would rob me of all the self-reliance I'd built like fortress walls when it seemed as perfect as an overly tight embrace right now.

"I'll have to check my book though it really does sound wonderful. I'd love to celebrate with y'all."

"Y'all!" she hooted. "Oh my god, I love you already."

"Okay, all right, you've delivered your preserves and backed Jasper into a corner she's too polite to kick you out of. You've done your damage. Go harass someone else, would you?"

Diana pushed to her feet with an exaggerated sniff. It was sweet hilarity to watch these two ribbing each other. "I just left Magnolia, and Ash is at the office. Since your father is a golf devotee in his retirement, he won't be home until dark."

Linden circled a hand in her direction. "I see your game."

"No games," she replied. "Just very excited to meet Jasper. What a happy accident it was that I stopped in today."

"And now that you've caused this accident"—he gestured toward the door—"you have places to go, too many pumpkins to buy."

"Too many pumpkins?" She swung her purse over her shoulder. "I've never heard of that." Ignoring her son entirely, Diana bent down and wrapped me up in another soul-squeezing hug. "I am just so happy to finally meet you, Jasper. So happy."

She passed a thumb over the birthmark on my cheek and smiled at me with a type of joy I didn't actually understand. I bolted to my feet and glanced up at Linden, who must've interpreted my panic at being the source of his mother's cheek-stroking joy in some kind of urgent way because he looped an arm around her and steered her away, saying, "Jasper doesn't have all day, you know. Some of us have things to do that don't involve meddling or marmalade, or popping in unannounced."

"If you'd told me you had a special guest—"

"That's enough," he said, walking her to the door. "Save it for Sunday."

"Four o'clock," she called, waving to me over the ridge of Linden's shoulders. "Can't wait!"

I was still staring at the door when Linden returned to the kitchen, stepped into my space, and fisted his hands in the shirt I'd borrowed. "I should probably apologize for that ambush and tell you that you don't have to go to any of these things." He jerked me closer. "I should but I won't."

"Why not?"

He dipped his head to my neck, his beard rasping against my skin and drawing a slight squeak from me. "Because I want you there. I shouldn't. It's not fair to you because my mother will obviously get carried away. But I want you. There."

"I really don't want to ask what that means because I live quite contentedly without defining everything but what does that mean?"

From his spot against my neck and shoulder, he shook his head. "I don't know. I need a date for this party, is what it means. I have a family dinner coming up. I don't hate you, so—"

"You don't hate me," I said with a laugh.

He lifted his head, stared into my eyes. Down at my lips. "I don't hate you," he repeated. "I don't hate you at all, Peach."

So, this was new.

Until now, Linden had put on an ambivalent face where I was concerned. Even when he was kissing me and clearly turned on by me, it seemed as though he could just as easily not.

Yeah, he kissed me. Yeah, he backed me up against a tree or two and let me work out years of frustration. Yeah, he did something very terrible to my nipple the other day and something slightly obscene with my foot this morning.

And he didn't hate me.

"You just don't want to have to explain to your mother why I didn't come along," I countered.

Linden dropped the shirt and reached down, grabbing me by the ass and lifting me to the countertop. He liked doing that. Or, rather, he didn't hate it. "Because I want you there."

He leaned in and took my lips in a gentle kiss that seemed to go on forever, shutting down the world and responsibilities and bank balances and disappointments and all of it.

My hands flat on his barrel chest, I shifted my face to the side, asking, "What if someone recognizes me? I don't want to complicate—"

"Even if they do, there's nothing to complicate." He brought his forehead to my shoulder. "You're hell in heels. No one is going to come for you, knives out, at an anniversary party, especially not one attended by accountants and teachers. It's at a country club, for fuck's sake. The entire ethos of country clubs