Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,9
since at almost seven, Ry was getting to be a big kid and it wasn’t an effortless lift any longer. More gym time was necessary, she supposed, as she carried her daughter inside.
She stepped over the threshold and stifled a giggle, thinking of what Pepper had told her the last time she’d lamented about needing more time for exercise.
“One, lifting your wine glass to your lips is exercise,” the sweet redhead with a naughty streak had told her. Then had gone on, proving that naughty streak by adding, “Two, the best exercise is finding a hot guy and working your way through a pair of sheets.”
“Through?” Shannon had asked.
Pale skin flushed bright red, because even though Pepper had that dirty mind, her blush powers were strong. “Through,” she’d said. “Improbable, unless you’re me, who catches a heel and manages to tear my lovely, expensive thousand-thread-count sheets I argued with my husband over buying.”
“Who wanted them?”
A grin. “Neither of us . . . and both of us.”
“Um, what?”
“Part of the fun with Derek is the debate.”
Shannon had been married for years, but she had no clue what Pepper was talking about. “What do you mean?”
Green eyes on hers. “I guess, I’m saying that even if we’re bickering or arguing over stupidly expensive sheets”—Pepper’s face had softened—“I know at the end of it, he loves me . . . and making up is half the battle.”
She didn’t know what expression had crossed her face at Pepper’s words, but her friend had paled, apologies beginning to drop from her lips.
Which was the point when Shan had shepherded her to the door.
Because she’d seen what was in Pepper’s eyes.
And it was pity.
But no more pity than she felt for herself. She’d been with Brian since high school, and in all their years together, she’d never found what Pepper had.
No fighting and making up in bed.
No arguing about the small stuff because the big things were going wonderfully.
No . . . weighted looks only Derek and Pepper understood, no inside jokes, no closeness or partnership or loving eyes.
Because she and Brian weren’t meant to be.
Because Brian had fucked everything in sight.
Because . . . she’d let herself be in a relationship with a man who didn’t see her value and instead of leaving, she’d been too afraid to be alone.
She set Rylie on the bed, tugging a light blanket over her and her stuffed fox, aptly named Foxy, but when she turned to the door, Shannon found her legs wouldn’t carry her through it. Instead, she found herself moving to the rocking chair perched in one corner and sitting down.
How many hours had she sat there rocking Rylie?
How many hours had she sat there wishing that things were different?
Too many, she knew.
“Too many,” she vowed because as she stared out the window, watching the waves, so beyond done with feeling this way. No. More. Shannon made a promise to herself, to her daughter. No more wishes. No more making herself small.
She was going to live.
She was going to fight.
And in doing so, she was going to give Rylie something she never had.
Herself.
A girl, a woman who didn’t need reassurance from the outside world, or from a man, a partner, or even from her family, her friends. Ryle would have confidence inside and not look for it to be reinforced elsewhere.
But in order to do that, Shannon knew she needed to find it for herself first.
“I will, baby,” she said, glancing over at the sleeping form of her daughter. “I promise. I’ll fight for this. I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight for myself.”
Six
Bearing More Than Gifts
Finn
He was knocking on Shannon’s door again.
But this time instead of returning lost toys, he came bearing gifts.
In the form of a giant fruit basket sent from his agent. One that was going to rot on his kitchen counter, because how in the fuck was he going to eat ten pounds of apples and oranges all on his own?
A freckled nose appeared in the window. “Mom! It’s Mr. Finn.”
He grinned and waved. “Hi, Rylie.”
“Hi!” She waved back.
Then her face disappeared, and Shannon was there, dark circles under her eyes, recognition still not anywhere in the vicinity of her expression, but determination seemed to be present. “Hi, Mr. Finn.” A quirk of her lips, amusing herself by echoing her daughter. Then the door cracked, and she leaned against the opening. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Also, you can just call me Finn.”
“I don’t know. Mr. Finn does have a certain ring to it,” she teased.
“If