Page 178 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

HUNTER

I t’s been three months since my mother died. Some of the rawness of my grief is gone, but I still feel numb, and I still don’t know what to do about her house.

True to his word, Eric had found me a local realtor. I’d called Ajwa Pearce the day after he gave me her number. She’d driven around to see the house. “Is this a good offer, do you think?” I’d asked her.

“Yes,” she’d replied.

“Do you think I should take it?”

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Driesse,” she’d hedged. “If you need the money, then yes, you should take the offer. On the other hand…”

“Yes?”

“If you aren’t interested in a quick sale, then my advice would be for you to hold onto this property.

Once you sell, it’s gone.” She’d looked vaguely sad.

“I grew up in this area,” she’d said. “When I was a child, this was all farmland. Now, it’s almost all gone, replaced by resorts and estates and gated communities.

This property is unique, Mr. Driesse. What I’m saying is ironic, given what I do for a living, but once you sell it, it’s gone. ”

It’s been ninety days, for fuck’s sake. Do something. Anything. Make a goddamn decision about this house. You can’t stay frozen forever.

There’s a knock at my office door. I look up. It’s Annette Reeves. “I wasn’t sure you’d be in today.”

I had thought about canceling my patients, but in the end, I decided against it. Alone, all I’m going to do is brood. “I’m always here Mondays and Tuesdays, Annette.”

“Hmm. I thought you might make an exception.”

“Because it’s been three months? What use would that be? Would it bring her back?”

She surveys me silently. “Let’s go to lunch,” she says. “I’m buying.”

Everyone’s talking to me about my mother’s legacy. Annette was her friend. I’ve avoided talking to her so far, but maybe it’s time to deal with this, make a decision, and put this issue to rest. “Okay.”

We end up at my usual Thai place. May takes our order and brings us our food. When she’s out of earshot, I broach the topic. “Do you know Mitch Donahue?”

She wrinkles her nose. “The developer? No, not personally. Why?”

“He’s offering me six million dollars for the house.”

“Breanna’s house?”

I nod. “I turned him down. Then he pointed out that I could do a lot of good with that money. We should have talked about estate planning,” I murmur, keeping my attention on my pad thai.

“We never did. I thought I had more time…” I take a deep, steadying breath against the sudden onrush of grief.

“You were her friend, Annette. I want to do right by her. Tell me what she would have wanted. Tell me what to do.”

She doesn’t respond for a long time. “I’m not sure,” she says at last. “Here’s what I do know.

Bree loved that house, every drafty corner of it.

I once suggested that she move into a condo, someplace easier to maintain, and she wouldn’t hear of it.

She even wanted to plant daffodils all over the hillside.

Thousands and thousands of bulbs.” She shakes her head. “I told her she was crazy.”

An unwilling smile touches my lips. “I did too. She wouldn’t listen.”

“That was Bree,” she says. “She was very invested in the non-profits she worked with, and she would have done almost anything to see them succeed. But I can’t picture her selling the place.

She had such fond memories of growing up on the farm.

She wanted to see her grandchildren run around the property?—”

“Grandchildren? She never said anything about grandchildren to me.”

Annette quirks an eyebrow. “Well, no, she wouldn’t have, would she?

Bree never wanted to be a cliché. But she was a supportive presence in Nala's life, and she very much wanted you to find somebody to love. She had visions of your children playing in the fields and fishing in the lake, the way you did when you were a kid.”

I never knew. I wish she’d told me. “Thank you, Annette.”

Back in my office, I leave a message for Donahue. “I’ve given your offer some thought, but it’s not what my mother would have wanted. I’m not selling.”

That should be the end of it. But I have a sneaking feeling I haven’t heard the last from Mitch Donahue yet.

At five, I drive back home. No, not home.

To my mother’s house. I pour myself a beer and sit in the backyard, staring at the overgrown cherry tomato plants.

It’s almost the end of the season. The basil leaves are yellowing, a sure sign that summer’s coming to an end.

The nights are starting to get cooler. Fall will be upon us before I know it.

Time. Whether I want it or not, it marches forward. Plants bloom, plants wither. People die, but life inexorably moves on.

And so should I. I’m not going to sell to Donahue, but that’s only one decision among a thousand.

The hospital here wants me to increase my hours.

“We’re short-staffed,” Liliane Anders, the administrator, had said to me last week.

“We’re feeling Breanna’s absence keenly.

” She’d given me a sidelong glance. “Her job is yours if you want it.”

My mother had worked for Saint Joseph’s for more than thirty years. Her presence is everywhere. At the hospital, in this house. And it hurts. The only time I’ve been able to keep the feelings at bay is when I’m with Dixie.

I drain my beer and go into the kitchen to grab another one when I see movement on the security system display.

It’s Dixie. She’s wearing her favorite white ruffled skirt and a navy-blue camisole, and she’s holding a covered dish in her hands. I watch as she sets it down, turns around to leave…

I move. Wrenching the front door open, I call after her. “Dix?”

She turns around, her smile hesitant. “Hi,” she says. “I brought you a casserole. I’m sorry it’s weird, but I didn’t want you to be alone, and so…” She gestures to the dish on the front mat.

“Umm, what?” Articulate, I know.

She goes beet red. “I found out that it’s been three months since your mother passed away…” Her voice trails off. “I lost my mother a couple of years ago, so I know how rough the milestones can be. I know we’re not in a relationship, and I’m sorry if I’m intruding?—”

“You’re not,” I interrupt. She didn’t want me to be alone. She brought me food. That’s so… nice. I’m profoundly glad to see her. “Come on in, please. Do you have to leave right away, or can you stay?”

“I can stay.” She follows me into the kitchen. I lift open the lid, and an appetizing aroma of herbs fills the room. “It’s chicken noodle casserole.”

I’m suddenly starving. “You cooked. I’m touched.”

She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far, Hunter,” she says. “I tossed some canned soup over some store-bought chicken and baked it for thirty minutes. It’s not exactly gourmet.”

“It’s Monday night. You turned the oven on. In my world, that counts as cooking.” I open the cupboard and take a couple of plates out. “Will you eat with me?”

She pauses for a second and then nods. “Sure.”

I pour us some wine. We fill our plates and take them over to the kitchen table. “This is a nice house,” she says, looking around.

“Thank you.”

I brace myself for her next question. Everyone wants to know what I’m going to do about this place. Sell it or keep it? Move in or rent it out? But Dixie seems to sense I don’t want to talk about the house because she changes the subject. “You have a place in DC, right?”

“Yeah, a condo in Adams Morgan.” That’s a much safer topic.

“I work in Bethesda, so it’s a little bit of a commute, but I like my neighborhood.

” I take a bite of the casserole, and the flavors wash over my tongue, comforting and warm.

Dixie’s right—this isn’t a gourmet meal, but today, for the mood I’m in, it’s exactly what I need. “This is really good.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I forestall her. “Accept the compliment, Dix.”

She gives me a wry smile. “Thank you, Hunter.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? How was your day?”

She shrugs. “Up and down. You know Eric and I have been trying to track down some irregularities? Well, we had something of a breakthrough today.”

I look up. I know how hard the two of them have been working on this. “You don’t sound thrilled.”

“It’s nothing.” She takes a sip of her wine. “How was yours?”

It’s obviously not nothing. Something’s bothering her. I want to tell her it’s okay to talk about it. That if she wanted to, I’d be happy to listen. But she’s already worried about blurred lines, so much so that she was prepared to leave the casserole at my door without even coming in.

I don’t want to pressure her. “It was okay.” I eat another forkful of the casserole, and the tastes of my childhood wash over me.

My grandmother used to make something like this.

“You know what? That’s a lie. It wasn’t okay.

It was hard. It’s been three months since my mother died, and I should be coping better, but… ”

“The milestones are hard,” she says softly. “I get it. I’ve been there.”

“How did you manage?”

She smiles a little. “People brought me casseroles. I’m paying it forward.”

“Thank you.” Belatedly, I realize I’m not being a great host. “Do you want a salad with this? There’s some lettuce in the garden, I think.” I grimace. “Unless it’s gone to seed.”

“I take it you’re not the gardener?”

“My mother was the one with the green thumb. I must take after my father, because I have killed a cactus.”

Her lips twitch. “Contrary to popular belief, it’s actually very easy to kill them,” she says. “They’re very sensitive to over-watering.”

“Are you a gardener?”

“No, I looked it up on the Internet.” She looks embarrassed. “After my cactus died.”

I burst out laughing. This is nice. Eating a meal with someone, talking about nothing in particular. I get up to grab the bottle of wine from the counter, and as I’m heading back to the table, the doorbell rings.

Dixie looks horrified. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask you if you were expecting company.”

“I’m not.” I crane my head to catch a glimpse of the security display, and I’m surprised all over again. “It’s Eric.”

Eric holds up a bottle of Scotch when I open the door. “Eighteen-year Aberlour,” he says. “A client gave it to me for Christmas. Seems like a good day to break into it.” He tilts his head to Dixie’s car. “Unless I’m intruding.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; you’re not. I didn’t know she was coming over.” I throw him a look over my shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming over either.”

“You know me, I don’t like to drink alone.”

That’s bullshit—he came over because he remembered what day it was. Once again, I find myself overcome with emotion. “Thanks for dropping by.”

He flashes me a smile. “No worries, buddy. It seemed like the least I could do. Hi, Dixie. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Eric,” Dixie replies, her voice flat. “I didn’t expect to see you here either.”

She sounds stilted, and he looks strained. What’s going on with them? I have no time to ask—my doorbell rings again.

What the hell?

I head to the front door. This time, it’s Xavier standing on the step. He’s also holding a bottle of Scotch. He recognizes both cars parked in the driveway, of course. “I wasn’t sure if you’d have company,” he says. “Am I intruding?”

“No, Xavier, we’re having raw animal sex on the kitchen counter,” I retort.

Damn it, I shouldn’t have said it, because now I’m picturing it.

It’s that damn ruffled skirt. I’m never going to be able to see Dixie wearing it without flashing back to the first time we’d hooked up. “Come on in. Join us.”

“Fiona, Adrian, and Brody are right behind me,” he says. I stop and stare at him, and he shrugs uncomfortably. “What? None of us wanted you to be alone today.”

Sure enough, my friends pull in the driveway and hop out. Brody is holding a pan of brownies. “Xavier said he had the booze covered,” he tells me.

“You baked?”

“Hey, I have hidden talents.”

Fiona chuckles. “It’s from a box.” She hugs me. “How’s it going, Hunter?”

“I’m doing okay.”

And you know what? As I stand in a corner of the kitchen and watch my friends settle around the table, I realize something that I’ve allowed my grief to blind me to. I’m not alone. My mother was the last of my blood relatives, but family is far more than the people you’re related to.

These people here—my friends—they’re family. I would walk over burning coals for them. My gaze sweeps over them, and then it lands on Dixie. She’s listening to something Fiona is saying, her head bent, and she must feel me staring, because she looks up and flashes me a quick smile.

My heart stops.

It hits me with the force of a thunderclap. My world would be incomplete without Dixie Ketcham. Fuck me, I’ve caught feelings. I’ve fallen in love with her.