Welcoming the Bad Boy: A Hero's Welcome Novel (21 page)

Val’s heart swelled inside her chest. As a preacher’s daughter, she’d been doing volunteer work all her life. No one had ever thanked her the way Griffin just had, though. And the fact was, eating lunch with Helen wasn’t work. It was her being a friend to someone she liked a lot, even if Helen couldn’t remember who Val was half the time. “You don’t have to thank me,” Val said. “But I should thank you. The coffee is just what I needed.”

Griffin leaned forward and kissed her again, settling for her cheek as she turned her mouth away. He smiled. “
You
are just what I needed. And I can’t wait to kiss you in the morning before you brush your teeth one day…I’ll call you later.”

Val nodded and watched him go, as her insides melted together into a gooey mess. She closed her front door behind her and walked across the room to her couch. Plopping down, she searched her contact list for Nikki’s name and pressed the call button.

“Hey, you!” Nikki said immediately. “You were on my call list today.”

“No need to hound me,” Val said, running her hand absently over Sweet Cheeks’s back. “The first draft is done. Finished. The end.” Val laughed out loud. It felt so damn good to say those words. To be honest, she hadn’t been sure if this day would ever get here. “Now all I have left to do is edit.”

“Perfect! Go, you!” Nikki said. Her tone was lighter this morning. She was no doubt as relieved as Val was. Or almost.

“So do you want Mr. Blow-Up Man back? To inspire someone else out of writer’s block?”

“Ha! You keep him,” Nikki said. “Sounds like he provided the necessary inspiration. Or was it that guy you’ve been seeing?”

Val grinned to herself. “It definitely wasn’t the blow-up man.” Val squirmed against the back of the couch. She didn’t want to talk about Griffin right now. She preferred not to analyze that relationship with anyone at the moment. Things were too fresh, and they were just temporary, she reminded herself.

“Well, I can’t wait to read your new book,” Nikki said. “It’s going to feel good to have another Sophie Evans romance in my hands.”

“Thank you for always believing in me,” Val said, sipping from her coffee cup.

“Of course, dear. I wouldn’t have signed you if I didn’t believe in you.”

Val and Nikki spoke a few more minutes and then hung up. Eager to see if any more readers had responded to her request for questions on her website, Val headed to her computer. She smiled when she saw that she had five new messages in her inbox. This was going to be fun.

Val clicked on the first email.

Hello Ms. Evans!

I’ve read all of your books and love them. My question is: Why do you write romance?

Val didn’t need to think about that question at all. Instead, her hand went to the string of pearls still around her neck. She wrote romance because of her mother, who’d loved to read and who’d especially loved happily-ever-afters. Her mother had never gotten her own happily-ever-after in this life. The thing about fiction was that you could live out your dreams inside a book—even if they couldn’t come true in real life.

The next reader asked:
Which of your books is your favorite?

Val smiled. The book she’d just finished was her favorite. But that was always the case.

Reader number three’s question made Val pause:
Do you have a love story of your own?

She chewed her lower lip. The obvious answer to that question was no. She’d never been in love. The L-word was elusive to her. Her entire dating life from her first date at seventeen until now had been a bunch of duds, with the exception of Griffin. But what they had wasn’t real, she reminded herself. They were just having fun. So the answer to that question was no. There was no love story of her own, just the stories of her heart.

Val kept reading. There were now ten questions in all, which was enough to make a short video clip. More questions might even come in during the day while she was gone. Later she would compile her answers and set up a video camera to record her first online interview. Maybe only a handful of people would ever see it, but that didn’t matter.

She drained the last of the coffee that Griffin had brought her that morning and decided to take Sweet Cheeks for a long walk. The walk was more for her than the dog. She needed exercise to keep her awake if she was going to make it through the day. Especially since the next long-overdue item on her to-do list was calling her father and inviting him over for dinner. Griffin was right; family was important, and her father was the only family she had left in this world. She needed to work on mending their relationship—if that was still possible.

Griffin stopped to look at Trooper as they stood outside the front entrance of Seaside Harbor nursing home. It’d been over a week since he’d done animal therapy here. His mother and the other residents really seemed to enjoy having Trooper on the premises. It made them smile, and unless Griffin was imagining things, Trooper enjoyed it equally as much. Trooper gave a longing look at the door and thumped his tail on the pavement beneath him.

“Yes, we’re going in,” Griffin confirmed. He enjoyed this, too. Although he had to admit, if given a choice, he’d rather be with Val tonight. Naked. In bed, or wherever they decided to enact their next fantasy.

Griffin pulled the entry door to the nursing home open before a tent rose in his jeans. Not the time or place to be thinking about Val and his fantasies. But maybe later, Griffin thought, even though he’d told Val he wouldn’t see her tonight.

Louise looked up from the front desk as he walked in.

“Hey, good-looking.” She lifted her brows.

“I bet you say the same to all the men around here.”

Louise laughed heartily. “I do. But for you I mean it. I like all that”—she whirled her finger toward him—“ink on your body. Makes me wonder what kind of ink you’re hiding in the spots I can’t see.”

Without responding to that, Griffin shook his head and started to walk down the hall.

“I guess I’ll have to ask Val to find out, huh?” Louise called after him.

He turned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, honey. Val can do the innocent act; she’s good at it. But you aren’t innocent.” She tsked. “Just don’t hurt her, all right? She’s a good girl.”

“What makes you think I’d hurt her?”

Louise curled a finger at him. Griffin tugged Trooper’s leash and walked closer, smelling the strong perfume Louise always wore. “Because everyone hurts that girl, intentionally or unintentionally. Even her own father is guilty of it. That’s probably why she chooses to spend her summer vacation here in a nursing home. There are a lot of lonely people here. They’re happy to have visitors. The people here won’t turn their backs on you. But in a place like this, a lot of people take more than they give. Not to be mean, but by the time you’re ninety years old, you don’t have a whole lot to give…I won’t stand to see Val hurt again, that’s all I’m saying, honey.”

Griffin swallowed. “I don’t want to see her get hurt, either,” he said honestly. He wanted to see Val smiling, laughing, writhing naked under him. He wanted to see her wide eyes full of shock and excitement.

Griffin shifted, avoiding the pants tent again.

“All right.” Louise sat back in her chair and nodded, as if giving him permission for something: to keep walking, to date Val. He wasn’t sure.

“I’m going to go see my mother now,” he said.

Louise nodded. “It’s been a good day so far. She’s had a song in her head all day. Been humming up a storm this evening.”

Griffin lifted his chin. “What song?”

“Not sure. Never heard it before.” Louise shrugged. Then the phone rang and she reached to answer it, waving him on.

Griffin tugged Trooper forward and headed down the hall to see his mother first. Maybe this would be a good night. Then he’d get to sit with her a little longer than usual. He stopped and stood in her doorway. She looked small in the rectangular, bleached-white bed, and older than her fifty-five years. She still had so much life left. His mother deserved more than this.

She turned and looked at him as he stood there, her face expressionless at first. He waited for a smile, a frown, some sign that she cared he was here. Her gaze dropped to Trooper and her lips curved upward toward her gaunt cheeks. “A dog.”

He stepped inside her room and sat down.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

Griffin nodded. “His name is Trooper.” She didn’t ask what Griffin’s name was, even though it was obvious she didn’t know it.
My name is Griffin, Mom. Remember me?
“Want to pet him?” he asked.

His mother reached a shaky hand toward Trooper’s head. The medication she took made her shake; it did little to make her remember.

He sat with his mother for another thirty minutes while Trooper barked and wagged on cue. Trooper allowed her to brush his coat and feed him treats. It was good exercise for his mother.

“Good night,” she called as he stepped out. “Come back again soon.”

Griffin met her gaze.

“And bring your dog,” she added, which surprised him. He’d thought she’d meant for him to come back because he had the dog. But maybe she’d enjoyed his company, too. He could hope. And the reason he had hope was because of Val. She worked so hard to help his mother, and her efforts rubbed off on him. Maybe everyone in Val’s life hurt her like Louise had said, but he wouldn’t. Not if his life depended on it.

“I’ll come back,” he told his mother. Then he traveled down the hall to see a few more residents. He stopped in to see Alma on his way out, leaving Trooper with Mr. Jacobs, an elderly man who’d once served in the Marines.

“Hey, Alma.” Griffin sat beside her for a few minutes. Her family had already gone home. The word was that she was stable, but on a swift decline. Alma’s eyes cracked as he held her wrinkled hand. “How’re you doing?” he asked. Then he mentally kicked himself for asking. She was dying.

Griffin glanced over to her nightstand, where the latest Sophie Evans book lay. He reached for it and flipped to the dog-eared page. “Is this where you left off?” he asked, looking up at her. He didn’t really expect an answer, not in her condition. She didn’t budge. “Want me to read you a couple pages?” he asked anyway.

Her eyelids fluttered just a little, but remained closed. He guessed her medication made it difficult to stay awake. Probably better that way. Opening the book to page eighty-nine, he started reading. He’d heard once that people who were sleeping or in comas still had some awareness of what was going on around them. If that was true, he wanted Alma to know he was here. He only meant to read a few pages, but he found himself reading an entire chapter. The woman’s character in the book felt familiar to him. She felt like Val in some way. Everything reminded him of Val right now, though. The frisky brunette had him under a spell that he wasn’t sure he would ever break free from.

And maybe he didn’t want to.

At the chapter’s end, he folded down a new page and promised to come back and read again soon. Then he took Trooper and headed home, resisting with every ounce of willpower he possessed the need to stop by and see Val. A night off between them was good. His mind was so consumed with her lately that he could barely walk straight. He’d see her tomorrow. And for once, tomorrow couldn’t get here fast enough.

Val’s kitchen swirled with a dozen different, glorious aromas. She breathed it in, hoping everything tasted as good as it smelled. A glance at the clock on the wall told her that her father would be here any minute. He was a man who always arrived five minutes early. And thus, he expected her to be seated in the front pew at church a minimum of five minutes before the sermons started. Preferably ten.

The doorbell rang and Sweet Cheeks took off in their visitor’s direction. Her father had never been a dog person.

“Hold on, Dad.” Val grabbed Sweet Cheeks by the collar and started pulling her toward the back door. “Sorry, girl,” she said. “But believe me when I tell you, you’ll have more fun outside than I will in the dining room.” Even if there was steak involved, homemade scalloped potatoes, and roasted asparagus.

Val’s stomach knotted instead of rumbled. How had Griffin made this seem like the right thing to do? Now she wasn’t so sure about trying to revive her cooled relationship with her father.

She hurried to the door, sucked in a breath, and opened her home to the man who’d raised her. “Hey, Dad. Come on in.”

Her father was wearing a pale blue shirt and his signature gold tie—the one he wore to visit the sick. She wasn’t sick, though. She was his daughter. “You didn’t have to cook for me,” he said as he walked in. “There are lots of other people in the church to care for right now.” He set his jacket down on the arm of her couch.

“Maybe I just wanted to care for you.” She gestured toward the kitchen. Usually she’d offer a guest a beer or a glass of wine. Not her father. He didn’t even drink soda. “Want a glass of water?” she asked.

“Sure.” He sat at the table, getting straight to business.

She was glad for that. The food was prepared and ready to eat. She served their plates and sat down next to him. She picked up her fork, feeling like she was forgetting something.

“Let’s bless the food first,” her father reminded her, reaching for Val’s hand.

Right.

Slipping her hand in his, Val closed her eyes and listened to her father’s heartfelt words of thanks, getting lost in them momentarily. He had a way of speaking that made her heartbeat slow; a gentle peace seemed to fall over the room. Then he said “Amen,” opened his eyes, and looked at her. The peace was replaced by something else.

Val’s throat tightened.

This is a mistake.

“So…” She moved her food around on her plate. “How are things?”

“You see me all the time, Val. You know how things are,” her father said, shoveling his fork at the vegetables on his plate.

“Not really. We never get to talk. I don’t want to know about church things. What have you been doing for fun? Outside of church.”

He took his first bite and chewed. After a long moment, he swallowed. “Church is fun.”

His comment felt like a reprimand at first, but then he smiled.

Val smiled, too, and the knot in her stomach loosened just a tad.

They ate together in silence for several minutes, the only sound being the tapping of their forks against her mother’s good china.

Griffin had told her not to give up on her father—and she didn’t want to—but it took two to fix a relationship.

“Are those your mother’s pearls?” her father asked, finally breaking the silence.

Val’s hand went to the strand around her neck. “Yes. Only to be worn for special occasions,” she said. “That’s what Mom always told me.”

“This isn’t a special occasion,” he said.

“You’re my father and you’re at my house for dinner. I think that’s pretty special.” Val met his gaze, desperately wanting a sign that he thought this was special, too. That he wanted more from their relationship, too.

He hesitated and then returned to the business of eating.

Val’s heart sank along with her appetite. Maybe some relationships couldn’t be saved. Maybe she and her father were what they were, even if it wasn’t enough.

When they were done, Val collected the dishes and went to her freezer to pull out the ice cream she’d purchased for dessert. Her father had always had a sweet tooth; that was one thing they had in common—maybe the only thing.

“What have you been doing for fun?” he asked as she slid a bowl of vanilla ice cream in front of him. “It’s your summer vacation and I know your friends have been away, right?”

Val lifted a shoulder. The only thing that came to mind was Griffin. He was her fun this summer. “Do you remember how I used to write stories as a kid?” she asked, against her better judgment.

“Yes. You always had a pad of paper and a pencil.” He chuckled softly. His gaze seemed to soften for just a moment.

“Well, I’ve spent a lot of time writing this summer,” she confessed.

He scooped more ice cream into his mouth. “Some of your stories were very good, I remember. I still have a few in a box somewhere.”

Val smiled. “Really? I’d like to see them sometime.”

He nodded. “There’s so much stuff in that closet. I don’t even know where to look. Maybe when things slow down, I’ll dig around.”

Val knew exactly what was in that closet—her mother’s things. Boxes and boxes of things of hers he’d put away. Her father’s home was void of the emotion her mother had infused there when she was alive. Val missed the pictures that used to hang on every spare inch of wall space. Her mother loved photographs. She loved being surrounded by the people she loved, she used to say.

“That sounds good,” Val said, swallowing past the sudden ache for her mother. If she’d never died, maybe things would be different.

“What are you writing?” her father asked, looking up.

Val hesitated. “Love stories, actually.”

He frowned. “Like the ones you read to that book club of yours at the nursing home?”

“Yes.” No sense in sugarcoating it.

His spoon stilled against the melting mound of ice cream in his bowl. “Your mother liked those stories, too. Romance novels, soap operas, she couldn’t get enough of that stuff.”

Val smiled. “I didn’t realize she liked soap operas, too.”

“Oh, yeah. Girl meets boy. Boy sweeps girl off her feet. They ride off into the sunset.” He gave a hard shake of his head as he laughed. “The Bible has a few stories like that, too, you know? Samson and Delilah is a good one.”

She laughed a little, which surprised her. She was actually enjoying a moment with her father. Who knew? “I know, Dad.”

They finished their desserts and then Val walked her father to her front door, feeling lighter than she had when she’d opened it to him. And closer to him than she had in a long time. They hadn’t hurdled mountains tonight, but they’d connected just enough for her to think that maybe she would invite him over again, and maybe their relationship could improve over time.

“Good night, Dad.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck as he turned to face her on the threshold. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” He straightened his tie as she pulled away. “Don’t forget to arrive early on Sunday.”

She nodded. “I will.”

A long moment hung between them before he turned and headed to his car in her dimly lit driveway. Val watched him go and then closed the door, expelling a breath. The night had gone reasonably well, surprisingly. She walked to her back door and let Sweet Cheeks inside, collecting her in her arms. She carried her to the couch and plopped down. The visit had drained her, but it’d been nice. And her father hadn’t dismissed her writing the way he had in the past. Maybe one day he’d warm up to the idea of her being a romance author. It was possible.