Becca

Watching my family interact with Dax is sort of fascinating. Now, keep in mind the last time I brought a guy to the dinner table, I was sixteen years old.

Dad can’t stop talking to Dax about his bar ownership, and once Dax mentioned owning two places, something extraordinary happened. Tad stopped imitating an asshole and started talking to him.

“You own two bars?”

“Yeah.” Dax grabs another slice of garlic bread—not that I’m counting, but it might be his fourth—and drags it through the sauce on his plate.

“And you can take a vacation. Must be nice,” Tad grunts.

Correction: His assholery is still intact.

Dax, chewing, raises his eyebrows and remains quiet.

“What my husband means to say,” Lara interjects, “is that he hasn’t been able to work any less than sixty hours a week since he opened Grand Lark and would love to take a family vacation.”

“Dax, would you like more lasagna?” my mom offers.

“No, thanks, Mrs. Stone. I’ve nearly eaten what could’ve been your leftovers as it is.” He winks at her and I swear to you she blushes. Then he loses that boyish chagrin and speaks directly to my brother.

“It’s within your ability to take a vacation. Ownership doesn’t require your living there.”

Tad’s eye tics and his smile is anything but polite. “You don’t run thirteen rental cabins. You run two bars. There’s a difference.”

“A big one,” Dax agrees. “But you don’t have to sacrifice all your time if you don’t want to.” As Tad turns an interesting shade of red, Dax continues explaining. “The trick to being able to walk away is actually walking away. Trust the people in your employ to do the job while you’re gone. Trust that they know what they’re doing. That they can handle the tasks you assign them. After all, it was you who trained them. If you don’t trust them to do the job you hired them for, why did you bother?”

Lara and I exchange glances as Tad and Dax regard each other like gladiators in a ring. Well, Tad looks like a gladiator. Dax is as laid-back as a sleepy lion on a sunny African plain. He doesn’t appear the least bit riled.

“Who wants dessert?” my mom interrupts.

“I’ll help with the ice cream,” Lara says, pulling Tasha out of her chair and into her arms.

“Me too!” Kiera shouts, following them out of the dining room.

My dad goes next, swiping our plates out from under our noses and vanishing as well.

“Dax makes a good point,” I tell my brother, folding my arms on the tablecloth. Next to me, Dax doesn’t move a muscle. He’s still leaning back in his chair, regarding Tad.

“Listen, Bec—” he starts, but Dax interrupts.

“Why’d you hire her?”

Tad’s eyebrows slam down. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Now answer my question. Why’d you hire her if you don’t let her do anything. Do you not trust her?”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Tad says.

“Excuse me,” I mutter. “I’m right here.”

“I know she can cook like a five-star restaurant’s chef,” Dax says.

“You know that because you scammed her out of a recipe you didn’t pay for.”

Dax sits up, his energy harnessed, but the words that follow are low and humming with warning. “Careful, Tad. She’s too smart to get scammed.”

“He offered to pay for them. I was the one who said no,” I interject. Dax and Tad both glare at me like I spoke out of turn.

“Them?” Tad asks. “You gave him more than one recipe? Are you crazy?”

“Once more,” Dax says, his tone lethal. “Watch the way you speak to her.”

“What are you going to do? Beat me up?” Tad asks, waving his hands in front of his face.

“No. But I will take her hand and walk her out of here. Maybe offer her a better job where she won’t be treated like shit on a daily basis.”

“Yeah!” I agree, then snap my head around to Dax. “Wait. What?”

“A place,” Dax tells Tad, ignoring me, “where she’s appreciated. Where she can experiment with all the recipes she wants. Where she can run the place as she sees fit without the boss over her shoulder rerouting calls to his phone because he can’t let go of the smallest of details.”

“Is that a fact?” Tad asks, standing from the table.

“Your call.” Dax stands too and I feel my jaw drop.

“She’s not going to move to Ohio to be with a guy she just met.” Tad sneers at me. “You’re not that stupid.”

“Hey!” I stand up as Dax’s arm strikes like a snake. He grabs a handful of Tad’s shirt and tugs. “Dax!”

“Happy birrrr . . . ” My mom’s singing trails off as she steps into the dining room, where she finds an interesting still life. Dax’s fist is wrapped in Tad’s shirt, Tad’s hands wrapped around Dax’s fist. I have a hand on each Dax’s and Tad’s arms in a futile effort to disconnect them.

“Let go,” Tad says.

“Tell Becca you’re sorry for calling her stupid.” Dax says, unfazed by the arrival of half my family.

“Tad!” That’s Mom, holding Dad’s blazing birthday cake.

“Tad, seriously.” Lara gestures with the ice cream scooper in her hand.

“Really?” Tad swipes away Dax’s hands and mine and throws his arms in the air. “You’re all siding with him? This is bull . . . bull,” he concludes when my nieces appear on either side of Lara’s legs.

“Did you forget whose big day it is?” My dad asks. He holds up the festive paper plates and napkins I picked up when I bought the cake. “We’re celebrating, not fighting.” He levels a glare at Tad and then at me. “Now, what do you say to each other?”

Tad and I exchange glances and at the same time mumble, “Sorry,” to each other. My dad has never stood for us arguing or bickering, and he’s not about to start.

My dad walks into the room and slaps down the plates and napkins. “Dax? Tad?”

Dax frowns in misunderstanding.

“Do you also have something to say to each other?”

Dax looks at me like my family has lost their minds. I’m not sure what to say, because I think they might have.

“No,” Dax answers. “I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Tad snaps.

Ha! Oh, this is too rich.

Before another standoff can occur, I burst into song, a rendition of “Happy Birthday” that might be my best ever.

Everyone joins in, except for Dax.

Then it’s cake and ice cream and awkwardness for everyone except my nieces. They’re too plied by sugar and youthfulness to be aware of how damn hard it is to be an adult.

Dax

In the passenger seat, Becca rests her head back and eyes me. She’s turning something over, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’m not great at reading her mind—or her expression.

“For a while,” I start, because I’m not sure if she’s going to do a nosedive into this conversation, “I thought maybe you didn’t feel valued because your parents ran you down. After tonight I know it’s not them. It’s Tad.”

“He’s his own creation,” she grumbles.

“But they don’t take up for you either.”

She sits up in the seat and turns to address. We’re on our way up the mountain. Soon she’ll be able to leap out of my Jeep and run away from this conversation if she chooses.

“I don’t need taking up for. And what’s with you trying to strangle Tad?” she asks, her voice escalating.

“I bet you’ve wanted to do that for years. You never had the support.”

“It wasn’t your place, Dax.” Her voice is hard. Unyielding.

In silence, we complete the climb up the mountain road. The rain has almost stopped, and the wipers on the windshield swipe intermittently. I reach cabin 13’s driveway and kill the engine. We sit in silence as raindrops fall from the trees, randomly tapping the roof.

I unhook my seatbelt and wait for Becca to say more.

She doesn’t.

Guess it’s on me to let it go or keep going.

Fuck it.

“I know you’re not used to having a man in your corner, Princess, but that man is me.” For now, anyway. “You brought me to your family’s home and—”

“And you disrespected them!”

“How?”

Her mouth is frozen open while she tries to come up with the reasoning behind her BS statement.

“Because. Because you were . . . you were manhandling my brother.”

“He insulted you.”

“He always insults me!”

I touch her arm and, in my calmest tone, agree with her. “I know.”

Her shoulders slump. Not because she’s backing down. She understands why I did what I did. Not to show off. Not to usurp control at her father’s birthday dinner. In the days I’ve known her I’ve witnessed Tad undermining and overlooking her. And it pisses me off.

“You’re too valuable to be disrespected.”

She sighs before she asks the last question I expect her to. “What was all that about you offering me a position at one of your bars?”

Yeah, I didn’t really think that part through, but I was on a roll. Although honestly, what is there to overthink? If she wants a place to work out from under her brother’s thumb, I can provide that for her without issue.

“It was what it was, babe. An offer for you to work at one of my bars.”

“You’d just . . . hire me?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’d . . . move to Ohio?”

“You say that like you haven’t moved in and out of several states several times. Like you can’t leave. Like you’re tied down. You’re none of those things.”

Her eyes go to the side in thought. “But I’d be working for you. It’s a commitment. What if I changed my mind in three months? In three weeks? What if I wanted to leave?”

Her comment stings more than I expect.

“I’m not sure a move to Ohio is the right move to make. I’m near my family now. It’d be hard to leave my nieces. I like reading them bedtime stories and hanging out with Lara. I like Grand Lark,” she continues justifying. “I like Tennessee—the mountains, the scenery. The vacation spot you picked to take a break is where I’m privileged to work every day. It’s a lot to give up, Dax.”

“A simple ‘No, thank you’ would’ve sufficed.” Gritting my teeth, I let my stare soften out the windshield and realize my mistake. I was going for ten more yards, not realizing Becca had already quit playing the game.

Our one-night stand may have shifted into a week, going on two, but for her the rules never changed. I wasn’t trying to change the rules. I was going with my gut.

I like Becca. I like her a whole hell of a lot. I like hanging out with her, and I like having sex with her. I’ve scratched the surface of who she is and what she desires, and I’d like to keep digging.

She doesn’t want me to.

“You want me to stop coming for you, gorgeous?” I’m done doing this in my head. Fun as it is to argue with myself and not come up with any answers, it’s time to behave like a grown-up.

“What’s that mean?” she asks quietly.

“I’m persistent. Pursuing you. I can shut that down if you like. I check out next week. I can lob this ball into your court and see you when you want to be seen. In other words, I can stop coming for you.”

“See me when I want to be seen?” Her eyes flash like I’ve hit a hot button and, hell, I probably have.

“I know you don’t like absolutes. That you avoid firm ‘yeses’ and ‘nos.’ That you prefer to show up when you want to and make decisions minus the committee.” I point to myself, because lately I’ve been telling her my vote.

“I’m giving you the chance to do that.” I put my hand on her leg to let her know I’m serious. “No strings. It’s how we started at the beginning, when I brought on the rain. You want to go back to that, babe, just say the word.”