“My,” I said, tugging him forward. One parent down, one more to go. “Aren’t we insightful today?”

“That’s a term that no one’s ever used to describe me before,” he said, tugging at his beanie so it sat just above his eyebrows. For all the long sleeves, stocking caps, and ass-kicking boots he wore, I was beginning to wonder if he had the circulation of an eighty year old woman.

“Dad,” I called, tapping his shoulder.

He didn’t look away from his pots and pans sizzling and boiling on the gas range. “Hello, my Lucy in the sky—”

“This is Jude,” I interrupted, not wanting Jude to see me even more as the little girl I already felt in his presence.

Raising a finger, dad gave the lemon butter sauce one final whisk and turned off all the burners. I wasn’t sure how he was able to time an entire meal to the same second, but I was sure this was a phenomenon that skipped a generation when it came to me.

Turning around, he wiped his hands off on his apron . . .

Oh God, how had I forgotten the apron? Jude’s eyes bulged, but he recovered so quickly I was certain dad hadn’t even noticed. Not that he would have cared if he did. The apron had been a present from Italy, Rome to be exact, and depicted the sculpture of David in his glory, in all his glory, hanging down in anatomically correct places.

“Hey, Jude,” Dad greeted, looking quite pleased with the whole transaction.

“Mr. Larson,” Jude greeted, extending his hand. “Nice apron.”

Shuffling the spatula into his other hand, dad shook Jude’s. “I like you already,” he said, wiping a streak of flour from his cheek. “Great name, exquisite taste in culinary attire,” he continued, before looking down where Jude’s hand still enveloped mine. “And you like my daughter. You’re a smart man, Jude.” Winking, dad spun back towards the stove, unleashing a whisking, flipping, and stirring frenzy.

“It’s not hard to recognize something special when life’s thrown a lotta shit your way,” Jude said.

“I’ll raise my hands to the sky at that,” dad said while I worked on confirming my feet were planted to the ground. Something about the way his eyes went all soft when he looked at me and said special was doing a job on me. “Lucy in the sky,” he said, over his shoulder. “Why don’t you forward the disc a few tracks and we’ll play Jude here his Beatles theme song?”

“No,” Jude said abruptly. Dad and I both paused, looking over at him. “My mom worshipped the Beatles, hence the name,” he said, the tension gone from his voice. “I’ve heard that song enough times to last three lifetimes.”

Dad studied Jude awhile longer before shrugging. “Well, I won’t torture you with it any more, then,” he said. “But it’s a great song to be named after. Possibly the second best,” looking over at me, he smiled, “right after Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

“It’s a song about letting drugs mask the pain of life,” Jude said. “I think mom was still loopy from delivering me when she named me.”

Dad studied Jude again, like he was trying to put his finger on something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It’s also a song about love,” he said, “and letting that love in when we need it most.”

Jude paused, something so strong going through his mind it was visible on the planes of his face. Finally, he shrugged his shoulder. “Well, whatever it is, it’s just a name.”

“A good one,” dad said, waving a spatula at him. “What’s your last name, Jude?” Dad glanced up as he plated the chicken.

“Ryder, sir.”

“Hmm,” Dad’s forehead wrinkled. “Name isn’t familiar, but you have a face that I feel certain I’ve seen before.”

Jude’s hand tensed around mine. “I get that a lot.”

“Did you grow up around here?”

“I grew up everywhere,” Jude answered, his hand clenching tighter.

“Jude’s family bought the Chadwicks’ place,” I interjected, not sure if it was more for Jude’s or my hand’s benefit. “Maybe that’s why you recognize him.”

Dad mulled this over as he spooned sauce over the plates. “Maybe,” he said to himself. “Maybe not.”

“Can I help you, Dad?” I asked, pulling Jude with me. I was sure if I let his hand go, it might be the last time I’d have it in mine again.

“These two are ready to be set,” he said as he finished saucing the other two. “One thing is for sure, son,” Dad said, patting Jude’s face. “Whether I’ve seen it or not, that is one good looking mug.”

I was used to being embarrassed by my parents, kind of came standard when your father was on the bad side of crazy and your mom was the poster woman for the ice queen, but this was hitting an all time high. Dad, all but stroking Jude’s cheek, dancing around the kitchen wearing the nak*d bust of an ancient statue, grinning like he was mad as a hatter.

If Jude still wanted to see me tomorrow after tonight’s ordeal, he could handle just about anything else I threw at him. I hoped.

Glancing up at Jude, I found him looking at me, staring at me like he couldn’t help it. Maybe that’s because I could have updated my heritage from Caucasian to Tomato Red.

Peeking back at the door, I looked back to him with expectation. I wouldn’t have blamed him either. As a blood relative of this family, I wanted to escape through that door more than a dozen times a day.

Shaking his head once, he leaned his head down until I could feel his breath hot against my neck. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

I was fighting a bad case of full body chills off, but I managed a quick, “Darn.”

“Mags!” dad hollered up that stairs, managing to jolt the hell out of me and rattle the china cabinet at the same time. “Dinner’s on!” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, expecting an answer to which I’d known for a long time he’d never receive. The only human being on earth mom neglected more than myself was my dad. Another second passed before he turned away and headed towards the table where Jude and I were taking our seats.

“I hope you like it,” Dad said as he placed the chicken piccata in front of Jude.

Looking over at me, his eyes all intentional again, Jude replied, “I already do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I’d always loved a campfire. But a campfire at night, sharing a blanket with Jude squished up beside me, with a parent about to retreat to bed, went beyond love.

This was the campfire to top all campfires.

“Night, kids,” Dad said, stretching as he stood. Dinner had been a pleasant event, thanks to my mom staying locked in her office, giving someone a tongue thrashing through her cell. Dad, odd as he was, was pleasant to be around if you could get past the fact that reality escaped him. I’d managed to accept this as a fact of life, and Jude didn’t seem to have a problem with it either.

“Night, Dad.” My heart was already racing. I knew, once we were alone, something was going to happen. The tension had been that thick between us the past hour as expectant looks, hands playing finger hockey, legs brushing legs, and the unsaid words between us louder than had we spoken them ensued.

“Goodnight, Mr. Larson. Thanks again for dinner,” Jude called after my dad, his hand affixing above my knee.

“I like your dad,” he said as his thumb circled the inside of my leg.

It was impossible to offer any other response than a smile and a nod.

“The verdict’s still out on your mom,” he said, chuckling.

Another nod and smile.

“And I like you,” he said, his voice low. “In fact, I really like you.” Taking his hand from my leg, he lifted it to my face. And then the other. He held me so firmly I couldn’t look anywhere but at him, but gently enough that, had I tried, he would have released me.

“I like you, too.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he waited.

“I really like you,” I added, feeling so many damn sparks I could have ignited any moment.

Grinning, his thumb moved to my mouth. Brushing the line of my lower lip, he studied me like I was something he could possess.

I was all for woman empowerment and all that jazz, but standing in the heat of that touch, I wanted to be possessed in every way another person could possess you.

When I was sure more than a minute had gone by, but lost track of all time other than that, I opened my eyes. His were the lightest shade of gray I’d seen yet. “You can kiss me, Jude.”

I expected just about anything else than his forehead lining as his eyes darkened. “I know I can,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m just not sure if I should.”

The ache that originated at the very core of me began to spread. There was only one way to alleviate it. “You should kiss me, Jude.”

His eyes went another shade darker, but they never looked away from mine. “I shouldn’t,” he said, sliding a hand behind my neck, skimming a finger beneath the collar of my shirt. “But right now, I don’t give a damn.”

His words hadn’t settled on me before his lips did. They were as powerful as his hands, but as gentle at the same time. Parting his lips, his groan rumbled against my chest, and before I had time to process if I should or shouldn’t, I swung my leg over his lap because, beyond every rational reason, I couldn’t be close enough to him.

His tongue against mine, his chest pressed to mine, his hands holding me like they were as hungry as mine were, I wondered if this was one of those moments people looked back on in their darkest days and smiled on. I wouldn’t only be smiling, I’d be cartwheeling from this memory until the day I died.

My hands slipped beneath his shirt, scrolling up his stomach until there was nowhere left to go but down.

“Luce,” he breathed, when my fingers settled on his belt. “Stop.” His hands gripped my h*ps firmly, but his mouth kept pace with mine again.

“I’ll stop when you stop,” I whispered against his mouth.

“Dammit,” he sighed, pushing against me with his hands, but continuing to welcome me with his lips.

“If you’re done with her, can I have a turn?” a voice suddenly shouted at us from down the beach.

“Shit,” he hissed, lifting me to a stand in one seamless movement.

“What?” I whispered, running my fingers through my make-out hair.

“Go inside, Luce,” he said, situating himself in front of me. “Right now.”

“Why?” I wasn’t going anywhere. Not with a man that could do that to me out here. “Who are they?” I asked as a few dark figures walked up the beach towards us.

Spinning on me, his eyes were so disturbed I couldn’t determine if they were more frantic or manic. “Don’t why me, Lucy Larson. Get your ass inside that house right now.” Grabbing my shoulders, he spun me around, then shoved me in the direction of the cabin. “Right the hell now.”

He had a temper, not a good thing. Because I had one too.