Juniper Hill (The Edens)

I was a man who remembered few kisses. Maybe that was a guy thing. But I could only recall with clarity three.

My first. It was the summer before my freshman year in high school with a girl—what was her name?—at the summer fair. Then there was the time I’d kissed one of Lyla’s friends when she’d been over for a sleepover. Memorable not because of the actual kiss, but because Dad had busted us making out in the closet and the next day he’d made me stack hay bales for eight hours.

And then Gianna. I remembered the kiss I’d given her before leaving San Francisco.

The last kiss.

Beyond those, they all blended together. The women too. In the years since I’d moved home to Quincy, I kept sex casual. I hooked up with tourists—uncomplicated nights, because come morning, they’d be gone from Quincy, easily forgotten.

In years, not one had made a mark.

Until Memphis.

I rubbed a hand over my lips, still feeling her mouth from last night. Her sweet taste, mixed with salty tears, lingered on my tongue.

“Goddamn it.” What the fuck had I been thinking? This was Memphis. There hadn’t been an uncomplicated minute spent with her. But damn it, when she’d answered the door last night, tear-stained and chin raised and undeniably beautiful, I’d shut off the rational part of my brain and said fuck it.

Her mouth had been heaven. Warm and wet. Her lips a fucking dream. Soft, yet firm. At first, she’d been hesitant, shocked probably, but then she’d melted into me and proved that she knew how to use her tongue.

Thinking of that wicked mouth had kept me up most of the night.

Temptation had almost bested me. But instead of pushing inside and carrying her to bed, I’d pulled away and retreated to my house, where a cold shower hadn’t done much to cool the desire in my veins.

I craved her, more than I’d craved anyone in a long, long time. And that scared the hell out of me.

If this ended badly, she’d move out and go where? The rental by the bar? Or worse, another town? I didn’t want to be the guy who sent her running from Montana and back to that fucking family of hers in New York.

Yesterday’s snow had covered the ground. The driveway was a pristine sheet of white except for the twin tracks that led from the garage and down the road. Memphis had already left to drop Drake at daycare and head to the hotel. By rights, I should be gone by now too. There was plenty of work to do.

But I stood at the glass in my bedroom and stared at my loft.

No, not mine. It was hers. That loft would always belong to Memphis, even after she left.

There were things to say. Memphis and I had a long conversation in our future, mostly about how she thought she was a charity case. I’d be clearing up that bullshit soon. We needed to talk about the kiss. What she wanted. What I wanted.

What the hell did I want?

Her. But it wasn’t quite that simple. Not with Drake.

With the guest count low at the hotel, it would be a quiet day at Knuckles. On Wednesdays, Lyla brought over pastries from the coffee shop for the guest breakfast. Skip was there this morning to make a spread of scrambled eggs, ham and bacon. Prep work was inevitable, but when I finally tore myself away from the window and headed to my truck, it wasn’t to drive into town.

I aimed my wheels for the ranch.

Maybe this was Griffin’s place now. It would always be Mom and Dad’s. But the ranch was mine too. It belonged to our hearts.

There was a line of hay in a snowy meadow and it was surrounded by grazing cattle. The Eden brand on their ribs, an E with a curve in the shape of a rocking chair’s runner beneath, gave me a sense of pride at my family’s accomplishments. Driving through the gated archway always made my shoulders relax.

Mom and Dad’s house was the epicenter of the ranch. Their log house was surrounded by a shop and the stables. The barn had a loft too, an inspiration for my own, and Uncle Briggs had just moved in.

Mateo had offered the space so Briggs could be closer to our parents in the hopes they could monitor his dementia. Meanwhile Matty had taken Briggs’s cabin in the mountains.

That was how we were raised. We watched out for each other.

Two of the hired men walked out of the barn as I pulled up, both wearing Carhartt coats and Stetsons. They climbed into a truck with the Eden brand emblazoned on the door’s side. I waved as they rolled out of the gravel lot and headed down the gravel road that wove through the meadows and trees to Griffin’s place.

The snow on Mom’s Cadillac was already melting under the bright morning sun. By midafternoon, it would all be gone. This storm had just been a teaser for what was to come.

I parked beside Dad’s truck and headed up the steps to the wraparound porch. Before I could knock, the door opened.

“Morning, son.” Dad smiled. His glasses were perched on his nose and he held a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Hey, Dad. You leaving?”

“Nope.” He handed me the mug. “Saw you coming down the road.”

“Thanks.” I took the coffee in my left hand to shake his with my right.

“Come on in. Your mother is in the kitchen with, and I quote, ‘more goddamn apples from the freezer.’”

I chuckled and followed him inside, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar infused their home. “Sounds like I’d better check on her.”

“I’m hiding out in the office. Find me before you leave. I’d like to talk about the hotel. See if you’ve thought about taking it over.”

“I haven’t.”

His smile faded. “I’d really like to know what you’re thinking.”

“I know.” I rubbed my jaw. “Give me another few weeks. Get past Thanksgiving.”

“Sure.” He sighed. “I don’t mean to pressure you. I just want to make a plan.”

“Understandable.”

He gave me a small smile, then retreated to his office.

The Eloise was part of this family, like the ranch. Letting it go would be like cutting a limb on our family tree.

If not for the lawsuit, if not for Briggs, Dad wouldn’t be in such a hurry for an answer. But every time I saw him, he brought it up.

The hotel ran mostly on autopilot for my parents. They’d had decades of experience, especially Mom. Yes, they had to pitch in here and there. But their accounting firm handled most of the financials. And Eloise took her role as manager seriously, coordinating employees and schedules and guests and supplies.

Could I handle it? Yeah. Did I want to? That was an entirely different question.

I walked into the kitchen, finding my mother at the counter, her hands in a bowl of dough. “I hear you’re into the apples.”

Mom glanced up and gave me a devilish smirk. “I’m cutting down that apple tree.”

“Grandma’s apple tree?”

“Do you know how many five-gallon buckets I filled this year? Six. I’ve spent forty years picking apples and coring apples and freezing apples. I’m so sick of these damn apples, I can’t see straight. You know what kind of pie I want to make? Peach. Or cherry. Or chocolate.”

“So you’re saying that this apple pie is up for grabs?” I went to the counter and threw an arm around her shoulders, kissing her hair.

“No. You can’t have it.” Mom took her hands out of the bowl, taking the floury dough out and laying it on the counter. Then she reached for a wooden rolling pin, handing it over. “Roll that out for me.”

“Pastries are Lyla’s forte, not mine,” I said, setting the pin aside so I could wash my hands in the sink. Then I went about rolling out the pie crust, doing my best to barely touch the dough so it would be as flaky as possible.

Mom came back with a glass pie pan, watching at my side as I worked. Once upon a time, she’d have offered suggestions and tips, but these days, she simply watched. “See? You’re not so bad.”

“Dad wants to talk about the hotel.”

She hummed. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It will break Eloise’s heart.”

“Your sister loves that hotel. But she also loves you. Just because you take it over doesn’t mean she can’t when she’s ready. But she’s not ready, Knox. We all know it. And if she were being honest with herself, Eloise would know it too.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Maybe.” She blew out a long breath. “We sheltered her during the lawsuit. That was probably a mistake.”

“No, I think you handled it right. It was hard enough on her as it was.”

Eloise had hired a man in housekeeping last year. He’d started out fine, working part-time. Then one day he’d skipped a shift. Eloise had let it go and covered for him. It had happened three more times before Mom got wind of it.

Dad had come in, met with the employee, and given him a warning. Yet it had happened again, so Dad had canned the guy’s ass. One week later, we were sued for wrongful termination and sexual harassment.

The asshole said Eloise had propositioned him. She’d invited him out with some of the other staff for a drink at Willie’s, trying too hard to be a friend instead of a boss. He’d gone with them, and at the end of the night, she’d hugged him.

My parents were in the right. Eloise should have fired him the first time, but because she’d allowed it, the man’s smarmy lawyer thought he’d get rich suing the Eden family.

Lawsuits were never easy and though they’d come out victorious, it had caused plenty of unwanted stress.

“I’ll think about the hotel,” I told Mom. “But I’m not ready to decide. Not yet.”

“Fair enough.” She nodded and handed me a knife.

I laid the pie plate over the crust, tracing the curve of the dish, then fit the sheet to the bottom while she came over with a pan of apples coated in cinnamon and sugar.

We worked in silence, making the pie and getting it in the oven, a task we’d done a hundred times because Grandma’s tree was a monster and Mom wasn’t the only one who’d spent summers picking apples.

When it was in the oven, I washed my hands and put my coffee in the microwave to heat up.

“Do you need to get going?” Mom asked. “Or can you stick around to take this pie to Memphis?”

“Memphis? My Memphis?”

She arched her eyebrows. “Your Memphis?”

Shit. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s a beautiful woman, inside and out.”

I blinked. “I didn’t realize you’d spent much time with her.”

“Oh, I just talked to her a few times at the hotel. But I like her.”

I sighed. “I do too.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The microwave dinged and I took out my coffee, carrying it to the island, where I took one of the stools. “It’s complicated.”

That kiss last night had changed everything.

“Ever since Gi—”

Mom held up a hand, cutting me off. “Do not say her name in this house.”

Mom hated Gianna. Not only for what she’d done to me, but because Mom and Dad had been hurt too.

“It’s the kid,” I confessed. “If it was just Memphis, exploring something would be one thing.”

If it was just Memphis, I would have kissed her weeks ago and never stopped. But the baby . . . that baby changed everything.

Mom gave me a sad smile. “You’re a good man.”

“Am I?” Because I probably shouldn’t have kissed her last night.

“Don’t let what happened in the past cloud the future.”

“I can’t . . .” I closed my eyes, admitting my fears. “I can’t lose another baby.”

Mom took the stool beside mine and placed her hand over mine. “This is not the same situation, Knox.”

“I know.” But it could end just as badly.

I was already attached. To them both.

We sat in silence, sipping coffee and contemplating the past, while the pie baked. Halfway through the oven’s timer, Dad joined us, and as though he could sense the mood, he didn’t bring up the hotel.

“How’s Briggs doing?” I asked, ready for a change of topic.

“Good.” A bit of sadness always filled Dad’s blue eyes when he spoke of his brother. “No episodes this week, thank God.”

We spent the rest of the time talking about Briggs and his latest trip to the doctor. Then the pie was done and Mom took it from the oven, letting it cool while I had one last cup of coffee.

That pie, packed in a ceramic carrying container, rode shotgun with me to town and when I parked in the lot behind the inn, I took it straight to the break room, found a sticky note in a drawer and scrawled Memphis on top.

My intention was to head into the kitchen and get to work, but when I started down the hallway, my feet carried me to the elevator.

Rather than stop at the lobby, I took a gamble and headed to the second floor. Memphis wasn’t there, but I found her on the third.

She was dusting a dresser with a yellow microfiber rag. Her hair was in a ponytail, the ends swishing against her spine. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She was entirely too attractive to resist.

I rapped my knuckles on the door, then strode into the room, making sure to keep more than an arm’s length between us so that I didn’t kiss her again. Not until this conversation was over.

“If you want to pay more rent, then pay it.”

She blinked, standing straight. “I do.”

“Done.” I nodded. “Like I said last night, I enjoy cooking for you. If you don’t like extras from the restaurant, fine. I won’t bring them over. At home, I usually have plenty of stuff on hand, but if I’m ever short, maybe you could hit the store.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “Just send me your list.”

“You’re not charity.” I lost the battle with the distance and closed the space between us. “My mom made you a pie. It’s not charity either. She makes pies for people she likes.”

“I like her too.”

“This job is not charity. You’ve earned it. You’ve kept it. You. Got it?”

She nodded.

“Out loud, Memphis.”

“Got it,” she whispered.

My hand lifted to tug at the end of her ponytail. “That kiss was not charity.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Good.” I took her hand and pulled her to the edge of the bed, taking a seat. “I’m not one for complicated these days.”

“I get it.” She slipped her hand from mine, dropping her gaze to her lap. “This doesn’t have to be anything. You don’t owe me an explanation. We can forget the kiss ever happened.”

I couldn’t forget it if I tried. “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

Her entire body sagged. “I don’t want to be your mistake.”

Those words held so much pain. So much weight. She’d been someone else’s mistake.

If I had to guess, I’d say it was Drake’s father.

Memphis hadn’t offered that story. Considering she hadn’t told her own family and, to keep her secret, had given up a trust fund, I doubted she’d confide in me.

Not yet. Maybe if I made my own confession, she’d realize she wasn’t the only one with a story.

“When I lived in San Francisco, I was dating a woman. Gianna. We were together for about a year. And during most of that year, she was pregnant.”

Memphis sat straighter, her eyes widening. “You have a child?”

I gave her a sad smile. “No.”

“Oh, God.” Her hand came to her mouth.

“It’s not what you think. Gianna has a child. A son. His name is Jadon.”

“But . . . he’s not yours?”

“Thought he was mine. We started dating and she got pregnant. Neither of us expected it, certainly wasn’t planned, but we made the best of it. Gianna moved in. I went to the doctors’ appointments. Tagged names in the baby-name book. Helped her decorate the nursery in our cramped apartment. Held her hand through labor.”

“You were the dad.”

“I was the dad. After we got home from the hospital, I spent long nights walking the baby back and forth across the apartment.”

Just like I’d done for Drake.

“That was your look.” Memphis’s eyes softened. “When you’d come over at night, there were times you looked miserable. Just for a second. This is why.”

“Yes.” I hadn’t realized she’d noticed. But I was learning that Memphis didn’t miss much. “Jadon was two weeks old when it all fell apart. Gianna took him in for a doctor’s appointment. I came home from work four days later and she told me that he wasn’t mine.”

Memphis gasped. “Knox.”

Gianna had dropped a bomb on my life and everything had exploded. After a long day, I’d come home, dead on my feet, and found Gianna on the couch. Jadon had been asleep. I’d sat beside her, instantly knowing something was wrong. And then she’d looked at me with tears in her eyes. She’d apologized first.

Then she’d taken my son. She’d changed my life.

“She cheated. At the beginning of our relationship, she slept with a guy she knew from college. She suspected Jadon might not be mine but chose not to say anything. She told me she’d hoped I was the father. But then he was born and . . . she wanted the truth.”

Memphis’s hand closed over mine. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” I whispered. “I haven’t talked about Gianna in a long time.”

“I get that. It’s painful to dredge up the past.”

“Is that why you don’t talk about yours?”

“Yes.” It was only one word, but there was a plea for me not to ask. Not yet.

“I would have stayed in San Francisco,” I told her. “Been there for Jadon. But Gianna and I were done, and she made the decision that if we weren’t going to stay together, it was better to call it quits. She moved out. And I . . .”

“Came home.”

“Yeah. I came home.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Five years.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing to say. And I needed to leave that behind.”

Memphis studied the carpet for a long moment, my story heavy in the air. “Then where does that leave us?”

“I was hoping you had that answer.”

Her chocolate eyes met mine. “I don’t have a lot of answers these days.”

“Getting attached to you is risky. Getting attached to him is . . .” I swallowed hard. “It’s petrifying.”

“If it hurts. If it’s petrifying . . .” A crease formed between her eyebrows. “Why did you come to the loft? Why do you keep coming?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I can’t seem to stop.”

“Do you want to?”

I lifted my hand, tucking that stubborn lock of hair away once more. “No.”