The thought of big, strong, baby-wearing Mark did ridiculous things to my ovaries. This was not the time.
“And then,” he murmured followed by another aching, memory-laced laugh, “she didn’t sleep, and if she did, you had to be holding her. There was this two-month stretch where she cried in the evenings. Every night at seven. Like clockwork. But I figured out, if I wore her in the front carrier and danced around our tiny apartment, she’d settle. And if I played Ed Sheeran, she’d be content. Basically, Ed Sheeran saved my life.”
He’d given me a list of reasons why Lyndsey hadn’t been a good baby, but he was still smiling, looking so utterly fond that I had to pinch the outside of my thigh to keep from crying.
I cleared the emotion from my throat and said seriously, “You should send him a fruit basket.”
Mark caught my eye and laughed. He looked almost grateful. As relieved as someone could be while discussing something painful.
I wondered if Mark had ever gotten to discuss Lyndsey since Hannah had ripped her from his life. Who could he confide in? I assumed no one else knew the truth. He carried these memories and never got to share them. Maybe Mark needed this. Maybe it was a good thing.
I wouldn’t make him regret telling me the truth. Even if I hated Hannah Price and thought she deserved a scarlet A and a come-to-Jesus moment with her family. He’d trusted me with this secret—one that he guarded fiercely. Being the person Mark opened up to was humbling.
“You know,” Mark said eventually, after his laughter subsided, “I knew she wasn’t mine. But she felt like she was. All those nights when she wouldn’t sleep unless I was the one holding her, they meant something. When she was about eight months old, she refused to take a bottle from anyone but me. Even Hannah couldn’t soothe her. I knew it wasn’t right, but I liked being her favorite. I might not have been her real dad, but she picked me. This little baby who didn’t share my blood, never had my eye or hair color. She didn’t know any better, but she was still mine for as long as I got to keep her.”
My eyes burned as the pressure behind them built, but I didn’t want Mark to stop talking.
A sad smile crossed his lips as he stared at the fire. “After they moved away, I got hung up on the most unexpected things. Like how I’d never get to coach Lyndsey’s sports team or go to a dance recital or watch whatever it was she was interested in as she grew. Because that would be the fun of it. To see her get big and change and figure out all the things she loved most. To see the person she’d become. Maybe she’d play the piano or learn to sing. Or maybe she’d love animals. Or maybe she’d need her dad to coach her soccer team someday.”
My quiet sniffle drew his attention.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he said, rubbing comforting circles over the tops of my feet. “I shouldn’t have told you all that.”
I wiped away a tear from my lower lashes. “No, Mark. I’m glad you did.”
“Crying on the first date isn’t a great start.” Then he froze as if realizing what he’d just said. “Not that this is a date. I just?—”
“It is,” I interjected with a reassuring smile. As far as I was concerned, this was the beginning of something. My heart was soft for Mark Mercer and getting gooier by the second. I could feel myself slipping further and faster into something dangerous. “It’s a date. I’m glad you told me those stories. I like hearing about Lyndsey. Thank you for trusting me with the truth.”
“I just didn’t want to lie to you. I didn’t want you thinking what everyone else thinks about me.”
The urge to blame Hannah for Mark’s reputation was admittedly strong, but I knew he wouldn’t appreciate or welcome it right now. “I understand,” I said instead.
“That’s why I asked you if we could keep this”—he gestured broadly between us—“under wraps. I don’t want all the rumors and gossip to touch you. I don’t want people to bad-mouth you if you’re seen out with me.”
“I understand,” I repeated.
And I did...for the most part. It didn’t make it easier to swallow though. I knew Mark was doing what he thought was best. He was trying to protect me from small-minded busybodies. But hiding our relationship brought up past insecurities.
Emerson had made me feel like a dirty little secret, and those feelings really impacted my self-worth after I found out he was married and a no-good cheater.
The idea of being someone else’s secret didn’t sit right, but I told myself it wasn’t the same. Mark was a good person. He might be misguided in his attempt to protect me, but he didn’t intend to hurt me. He didn’t know about Emerson and the affair. He didn’t know I’d been fired. He didn’t know about any of that because I hadn’t told him. However, now wasn’t really the time to bring all that up or to demand a public relationship.
I didn’t care what gossipy church ladies thought about me or how dating Mark might impact my reputation in Kirby Falls. I wanted to be with him, but it wasn’t just my decision to make.
A nasty little voice in my head whispered that if I did demand he date me openly, when I left and things ended, I’d be just as bad as Hannah Price, leaving him with a mess to clean up. I could envision the whispers and the horrible posts in the Kirby Falls Facebook group. How Mark had broken my heart, or worse, run me out of town—just like his ex-wife.
People didn’t want the truth when a lie suited their needs just fine.
I wouldn’t be careless with Mark’s heart or his life in our small town. I refused to be another selfish person using and abusing him.
I reached for Mark’s beer bottle and took a sip before passing it back. He smiled, pleased.
Then for the next little bit, we sat back and enjoyed the night and the fire and having someone to share it with.
My eyes scanned Mark’s amazing backyard. The time and care he put into his garden oasis was obvious. From the beautifully tended plants and crops to the greenhouse to the patio, it was clear that Mark’s home was important to him.
Seeing it tonight, with the stars bright and clear overhead and the smell of wood smoke thick in the air, I knew I’d been given a gift—a welcome I’d do my best to deserve.
