“No.” He sighed. “But I wish you’d find a career job, so you’re happy with your work like I am.”
Needing to be not naked for this conversation, she got out of bed and pulled on the pj’s he’d stripped her out of last night. “I love what I do, Dillon.”
He snorted. “You love making sandwiches?”
“Wow. Okay,” she said slowly, suddenly mad all over again. “First of all, I make a lot more than sandwiches. And second, I get that it’s nothing high-powered like what you do, but cooking fulfills me. You know that.”
“You’re managing a deli and have a boss who micromanages you, even when you’re not at work. You complain about that job all the time. We both know you could do better for yourself. I thought you wanted to do better.”
She paused, unable to deny a lot of that. “Is that why you told everyone you don’t want kids right now, because I don’t have the right job to please your family? Because you’ve never said that before. Kids are on your list, and you led me to believe it’s something you wanted too.”
“We’re just not in a place to have kids yet.”
Her heart sank. “Since when? We have dogs. How much harder can a baby be?”
“Babe . . . babies are expensive and require planning. We haven’t even started. First we need to create our retirement fund, build an education fund, beef up our savings accounts, and buy a house. And with me the only one bringing in any substantial money, that isn’t going to happen any time soon.”
Okay, don’t overreact. You’ve jumped on him and it’s early. He hates early. He hates anything before his requisite five-mile run, shower, and coffee. But apparently, she couldn’t help herself. “My parents had me early and they never regretted a thing.”
“I’m not sure I want a big, crazy houseful like you had. Kids coming and going, and don’t even try to tell me that your parents prioritizing saving all the foster kids in the land didn’t affect you. You’re upending your life for them—still.”
She chewed on that for a moment. “I know you don’t understand this, but my parents felt they had enough love and resources to make a difference, and they did. And I’d hoped to do the same.”
“You can’t save the world, Cat.”
Maybe not, but she could save the people in her orbit. “So is that list of yours just generic then, or specific to me?” she asked.
“What difference does it make?”
“A huge difference,” she said.
He got out of the bed and pulled on sweats.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
“I need caffeine to deal with you. Lots of it.”
“Dillon.”
With a sigh, he turned back.
“We’re getting married in eight days,” she said softly. “Now would be a good time to tell me that you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said. “On anything.”
She looked into his eyes and had to admit, he was right. It was her. She was the one who’d pushed the relationship into serious territory, then further pushed for a ring. She was the one who’d pushed for all of it, and yet somehow she felt like she was the one just being carried downstream for this wedding. Yes, she’d wanted to be Dillon’s wife, but she’d also wanted to elope to Bali, not just honeymoon there. Just the two of them, without his family’s influence. But his mother, a widow, had had very different plans for her only son.
And then, instead of using her backbone, or even slowing down the momentum, she’d jumped into the wedding plans with both feet, focusing on how it would reunite her with Maze and Heather and get them back into her life. No one could refuse a wedding, right?
And here she was . . .
“Look,” Dillon said, not unkindly, “I don’t want to argue. We’re both under a lot of stress with the wedding, and the full house here is adding even more pressure. I think it’s just too early for this. It’s too early for anything, unless”—his face softened—“you’re feeling like a repeat of last night?”
She gave him an are you kidding me? look, and he gave a low, mirthless laugh.
“Right. No way in hell.” He headed for the door. “Need to clear my head, babe. Going on a run.”
Chapter 5
Walker’s man of honor to-do list:
—Don’t kill the groom. Or the maid of honor.
At breakfast, Walker watched—and found himself reluctantly impressed by—Maze. She’d made Caitlin hand over the wedding to-do list, saying that as the maid of honor, she’d make sure everything got done. He was even more impressed when Caitlin did, with only one demand of her own: that they all take this one day for fun first and go on a family hike.
Which was exactly what Caitlin’s parents had done with the lot of them that summer. Walker hadn’t appreciated the outing then, the one that had forced them into acting like a family. In fact, he’d resented the hell out of it.
At first.
But it’d taken a shockingly short amount of time for him to fall for Caitlin’s parents and want them as his own. Shelly had fed him home-cooked meals and Jim had taken him to ball games with Michael, and for the first time in his life, he’d belonged. He’d spent the best year of his life with them up until the house had burned to the ground . . .
. . . killing Michael in the process.
All of their lives had been plunged into chaos. The Walshes had to relocate and needed time to grieve and put their lives back together. Because that had involved staying in a hotel at first, then renting a smaller place until they could get back on their feet, CPS had taken the fosters. That had scattered him and Heather and Maze far and wide. Under normal circumstances, they probably wouldn’t have seen one another again. But Caitlin and her parents had treated them as part of the family, taking them everywhere, ensuring that they knew they were important, even vital, to the core group, each of them, and as a result, they’d become important and vital to each other. Going through the tragedy of the fire together had only deepened that unbreakable bond, and the ragtag motley crew had fought to stay in one another’s lives.
Until three years ago at Michael’s grave.
Now, for better or worse, Caitlin had gathered them together again. After breakfast, they all stood on the back porch applying sunscreen. February in California had the potential to be the best weather for the whole year. Today was no exception at a sunny seventy-eight degrees. Cat came at Walker with a can of sunscreen and sprayed him until he felt like a greased-up pig. “Stop.”
“You never protect yourself.”
Actually, he always protected himself. Grabbing the can, he returned the favor, laughing when she squealed at the icy coldness of the spray. “Payback’s a bitch,” he said, and turned to help Heather with Sammie, but Jace was already there. Stepping off the porch, Walker found Maze staring at him. “What?”
She shook her head.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m giving you a free pass here. Talk.”
“Wow, a free pass. Those used to be sacred.”
When he’d first landed in the Walsh home at age sixteen, a fifteen-year-old Maze had already been there for a few weeks. She’d been feisty and mouthy, and he’d been drawn to that from the start. Then one night he’d heard whimpering and had followed the heartbreaking sounds to Maze’s bedroom. He’d flipped on the light, but her bed had been empty. Another soft whimper had led him to the closet, where he’d found her cowering in a laundry basket. He’d coaxed her out by offering her a free pass—anything she wanted—if she’d tell him what was wrong.