15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he first two times they were together were in unconventional and unexpected places. He wanted the third time (and fourth, fifth, sixth, etcetera) to be in a bed. Or bed adjacent—like the shower. Okay, well maybe not all the times they were together, but a few needed to be in a bed. He had a great bed after all. King-sized with a pillow-top mattress, high thread-count Egyptian cotton and cooling pillows that cradled your head and neck like a newborn baby.

He was glad that they were patient enough to climb the stairs to the bedroom and use the bed because Justine straddling him, bouncing up and down with her long dark hair over her creamy shoulders, was an image he wanted burned into his brain for life.

She was on her belly, and they were post orgasms. One orgasm for him, three for her. As it should be. She hadn't even gotten up to use the bathroom, yet. His chest heaved and sweat misted his skin and hers.

Sweeping her hair off her face, he leaned down and kissed the patch of freckles on her bare shoulder. "You still feeling okay? No guilt monsters or anything telling you not to get your orgasms and enjoy them?"

She opened sleepy eyes and smiled at him. "Not yet."

"Good." He kissed her in the same spot one more time, then swung his legs over the side of the bed to go on the hunt for his clothes. "I'm going to get the oven preheated and round up ingredients. Take your time." Then he flashed her a wink after his head poked through the neck of his shirt and he opened the bedroom door.

Unable to keep the stupid grin from his face, he brought up some of his tried-and-true cake recipes on the tablet and gathered the ingredients they would need. It was easy enough to triple batch a white sponge cake and just add different flavorings, so that's what he intended to do. He also promised to make a dairy-free batch of cupcakes, as well as a dairy-free cake and a gluten-free cupcakes and cake. Luckily, this wasn't his first dietary restrictions rodeo, so he had all the alternative ingredients.

He was just measuring flour into the stand mixer when Lucy Liu—or Justine Brazeau—joined him in the kitchen, tying her hair up into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was back in her perfect ass-hugging jeans and tank top, but draped the cardigan over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "Put me to work, chef."

"Aprons are in that drawer there," he said, pointing to the middle drawer beside the fridge.

She walked over and opened the drawer, rummaging through all the different aprons in there. Bennett, of course, wore his standard black one that said, "Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'." She snorted when she saw it.

"It was a gift from the girls for Father's Day last year."

"Sure, it was," she said, pulling a light blue apron from the bottom of the pile. It had little red cherries on it. A lump formed in his throat.

She must have noticed a shift in his eyes or expression, because worry filled her gaze. "Is this one not okay? There a bunch in here, I just had to sift to the bottom to find one that wasn't a kids' or had a chiseled bare man's torso on it."

"It … it's fine. That was Carla's. Nobody has worn it since …"

Her eyes went saucer size, and she immediately put it back in the drawer, pulled out a different one and draped it over her neck. It was one of the ones with a naked man's ripped torso—a dumb joke gift from Jagger a few years ago. "It doesn't matter what's on it. An apron's an apron." Her smile was forced and caution remained in her eyes as she tied it around her waist.

"You … you can wear the blue one if you like. It's fine."

But she was already closing the drawer. "Nope. All good here." She glanced down at the spray-tanned, headless body. "I mean, not a shade of orange I'd personally strive for, but the man's got a washboard I could do a laundry load on."

He snorted. Then a new thought popped into his head. "Speaking of laundry, I'm sure you're itching to put on a load, so please feel free to do it here."

A brittle smile curled her lips. "I will, thank you."

Silence descended upon them. And not the sexual tension-filled silence that he liked. This was an awkward silence. Silence borne of his gut-reaction to seeing her with his dead wife's apron. It was such a benign and innocent thing and yet it was also enough to make his own guilt monster whisper things in the back of his mind.

"Music?" he asked, punctuating the quiet with an abrupt one-word question. He pulled up his phone as she cracked eggs single-handed into the mixer. The small portable speaker on the counter kicked to life and a moment later, alt-rock at a respectable level crooned in the corner, quelling the silence and tuning out the guilt monster in his mind.

Perhaps he was just projecting his own feelings and seeing things that weren't really there, but when Clint mentioned the trailer, Bennett could have sworn he saw Justine deflate a little. Did she want to move into the trailer?

He was happy having her in the house.

Sure, he missed his bed, but based on how things went today, maybe she'd be interested in inviting him to share it with her? The futon in the office wasn't terrible though. He could survive. He would survive. And he'd certainly slept on worse when he was in the Marines. But if Justine wanted to stay in the house, he would sleep on the futon. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for her at this point.

She intrigued him.

She was so reserved in so many ways. Almost cold.

And yet, when she warmed up, when she let down her guard and opened the gates to her inner workings, it was beautiful. It made him feel special, because he was sure it wasn't easy for her to drop her shield, and she was choosy with who she shared personal things with. At least that was the vibe he got from her. He remained very curious about how exactly her patient died on her table, and what happened just before that to make her bring her personal life into the OR It had to be something big, something life-altering.

It sounded like both of her parents were still alive. And her sisters.

Did someone die?

Was she in a relationship and he cheated?

Was that when she found out she was barren?

No, that wasn't right. She said she went to freeze her eggs in med school.

He was lost deep in thought trying to untangle the mesmerizing web that was Justine when the oven beeped to indicate it was preheated and ready.

"So what flavors have you decided?" she asked, switching off the mixer so it no longer competed with the Foo Fighters song on the stereo.

"For the cupcakes, we'll do lemon, Funfetti, chocolate raspberry; and the gluten-free option will be vanilla with blackberry jam in the middle."

She nodded.

"And we'll do a lemon cake, Funfetti with a sprinkle center, and a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Then, after we wash all the dishes, counters and appliances, we can do a gluten-free chocolate fudge cake."

"Right! Can't risk cross-contamination."

"Exactly. Same goes for the dairy-free recipes."

"Sounds like a plan." This time, a real smile tipped up one corner of her full lips. "So, no red velvet?"

He scrunched his nose. "It's just chocolate cake with an obscene amount of food coloring. No. If Clint wants a red velvet cake, he can make it himself."

She snickered. "Fair enough."

That bit of friendly banter seemed to be exactly what they needed though, and the tension that had strung tighter than an archer's bow a moment ago was gone. He reached out and rubbed the man's nipple on her apron, which he knew was lower than her nipple. "You like that?"

She shook her head and her chin dipped, something equal parts amused and almost embarrassed circling there.

His stomach executed an unnatural squeeze, and he stepped forward, lifting her chin with his knuckle. "You okay?"

She heaved a sigh and her shoulders relaxed. "Yeah. I was just worried that …" She shook herself and smiled. "It's nothing."

"Worried about what?"

"That you were having second thoughts about us after you saw me with your wife's apron?" She shook her head again. "I'm just … it's the guilt monster. No matter how loud you crank the music or how many orgasms I have, the monster is there. Taunting me. It's either guilt about my patient, or now it's guilt about your wife."

He understood exactly what she meant, and he'd be lying if he said his guilt monster wasn't trying to make him feel like crap too. "They're not here right now. Your patient and my wife are not here. We wish they were. But they're not. But we are, and we need to honor their lives by not wallowing in guilt. By enjoying things. Like cake." He waggled his brows. "And sex."

Her cheeks pinked up, and she tipped her gaze down, her lashes fanning across her freckled cheeks. Now that he thought about it, and took in the freckles and shape of her face, maybe Clint wasn't entirely off his rocker. She did have a Lucy Liu look about her. And Lucy Liu was hot as fuck.

"We've got the house to ourselves for the day. We have a lot of baking to get done. But let's not invite anybody into our private little bakery, okay? Not your patient, not my late wife, and definitely not our guilt monsters. Because I've got one too, and it's doing its damnedest to make me feel bad about this morning. It's just us."

Pulling in a deep breath through her nose that caused her breasts to expand and draw his eyes, she exhaled slow and steady. "Eyes up here."

He met her twinkling gaze, the brown of her irises seeming lighter than normal and showing off pretty flecks of copper that sparkled under the warm kitchen lighting.

He kissed her. Slow and sweet, but with promise.

"All right, let's get to work."

"Yes, chef."

His dick twitched against his shorts. "Careful or I'll have you bent over this countertop before you can say "chocolate ganache . "

Friday at school for the kids was a bit of a wash. It was nothing but outside activities and setting up for the funfair later that evening.

But all six kids were excited to get out the door in the morning. And thankfully, Thursday's rain was a one-off and the sky was blue. The sun was out once again.

Justine opted not to walk the kids to the bus stop that morning. Brooke invited her to attend yoga with her. So even though she and Bennett ran earlier that morning, by eight fifteen she was hopping in Brooke's SUV and the two were making their way past the dads and kids walking to the bus stop.

"Your trailer arrives later today, huh?" Brooke asked as she waved to Talia and the other children, before taking a left on the main road.

Justine nodded. "Yeah. I guess so."

Brooke's smile was coy and knowing. "You don't want to move into it. Do you?"

"Not really," Justine said with a sigh of honesty. "But the alternative is unfair. Bennett is on the futon in his study right now."

"You've paid good money for a nice bed and a place to stay. I'd say it's plenty fair. Besides, can't you just invite him into your bed—which is actually his bed? You two are sleeping together now, right?"

"We are. Or … we have, yes. But that just feels …"

She'd never had an open conversation with a stranger like this before. Heck, she'd never spoken about her sex life with anybody besides the person she was sleeping with, and usually that wasn't overly specific either. This was unchartered territory and she should feel uncomfortable. Yet, she didn't.

The fact that it wasn't uncomfortable was what made her uncomfortable more than anything.

"Like you're rushing things?" Brooke asked. "Been there. Only I was in the guest room—which is Aya's room in Bennett's house—and I ended up sleeping in Clint's bed anyway. It was a bit challenging to keep it from Talia, but in the end, she didn't care. Now she's happy that her dad and I are together."

"I have no idea what we're doing though. I'm not moving here."

"Been there," Brooke said again with humor in her tone. "I thought my time here was temporary. But as I'm sure you'll agree, the more time you spend here, the less inclined you are to leave."

"Well, that's true."

"I've never felt as safe as I do here. And any time I have to leave the island for work, I get all queasy." She laughed light-heartedly. "And I've only been here a little over a month!"

"And you already moved in?" That question came out abruptly and Justine immediately grew hot in the face and clapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound judgmental. I—"

Brooke dismissed Justine's rudeness with a hand flick. "Oh god, don't worry about it. It all happened so fast. Unconventional, warp-speed and completely out of both of our norms. But it's working, and I just feel deep down, that it's going to continue working. I love Clint—and Talia—so much. I feel safe and happy when I'm here. It's unlike any joy I've ever felt before."

It'd been less than a week since Justine moved to the island and already she was beginning to feel the same way about Bennett and the girls. Was there some weird magical spell that the McEvoy brothers cast over women who stayed here? Or was it just the island? Was it just the family that was magically charming and wonderful?

Brooke pulled into the parking lot for a big yurt-style building with wood slat siding. There were several other vehicles parked in the gravel, as well as nearly a dozen bikes. A few people waved and said "hello", their yoga mats under their arms as they headed toward the front door.

"I don't have a mat," Justine murmured, carrying nothing but her water bottle and wallet.

"First timers are free and they let you borrow a mat. It's all good." Brooke rested a gentle hand on her arm. "It'll be fun. I promise."

"Brooke," purred a woman roughly Justine's age—thirty-six—with long blonde braids over her shoulders, a septum piercing and two sleeves of colorful, floral tattoos down her arms. "So happy you can join us for flow today."

"Hey Lotus. Yeah, I'm trying to focus on family right now. So I'm not working too much. This is Justine. She's a cabin guest."

Lotus smiled at Justine, her pale-blue eyes friendly and bright. "Welcome."

Justine forced a smile. "Thanks. I, uh, I don't have a mat."

"Not to worry. We have lots to spare. Just grab one from that basket over there." She pointed to a tall wicker basket loaded with rolled up yoga mats. Justine selected a powder-lilac-colored one with magenta mandalas on it. "We just need you to sign this waiver. First classes are free though." Lotus's voice was soft and breathy, almost ethereal. She placed a form on a clipboard in front of Justine, along with a pen.

The dichotomy of Lotus's spiritual, hippy aura, combined with her professional business-like waiver, struck Justine as odd. But the woman was just covering her business's butt. Justine could respect that.

She quickly read over and signed the form. Then with a nod and smile from Lotus, she followed Brooke into the cool, gently scented yoga studio in the center of the yurt.

The place was packed.

"Oh my goodness," she breathed, following behind Brooke like a lost puppy as the blonde beauty wove her way through the people stretching and chatting. Serene spa-like music played softly in the background, but it was mostly drowned out by all the conversations.

A hand shot up near the far side, two rows deep, and waved Brooke over.

"This way," Brooke said, tipping her head. "Jordana saved us a spot."

"Hey!" the pretty redhead with freckles and bright amber eyes said, moving a towel and water bottle off the two spots she'd saved.

"Hey," Brooke sighed, unfurling her mat beside Jordana's. "Jordana, this is Justine. She's staying in one of the cabins." Then she wrinkled her nose. "Or at least she was, but then it flooded and now she's living with Bennett."

Jordana's eyes widened. "Oh!"

"It's not like that," Justine said quickly, unrolling her mat beside Brooke's. Even though it was like that . It absolutely was. She was living and sleeping with Bennett McEvoy. However, she didn't know this woman at all, and just because Brooke seemed to trust her didn't mean Justine wanted this stranger knowing her business.

Jordana shrugged. "You could do worse. The McEvoy men are all very nice looking. And they're good dads and just … great." Her sigh prompted Brooke to glance at Justine and raise her brows in question. "Ignore me," Jordana went on. "I'm a lonely, frumpy, single mom. I'll just live vicariously through you two."

"There are three more McEvoys, you know," Brooke said, pointing her toes out in front of her then bending over at the hips to touch them. Jordana was in pigeon pose and Justine felt the call of the baby cobra posture for her lower back.

"That is true. Though Wyatt and Dom work so much, nobody ever sees them. And Jagger is the most mysterious man I've ever met. I'm not even sure he's straight. I've never seen him with a woman and don't know if he's dated or slept with anyone on the island." Her eyes bugged out. "Not that there is anything wrong with that, or him being gay, or bi, or pan, or whatever. Just, nobody knows. It'd be nice to know, you know?"

Brooke snorted. "Oh, I know. He's a real enigma, that one. Love the man to death, but he's got some real interesting energy about him."

"Like a nerdy lumberjack bear," Jordana added before she and Brooke erupted into giggles.

"I only know Jagger when he comes to Bennett's house early in the morning. So Bennett and I can go running. He comes in, resembling a bear—so yeah, that's an accurate description—then he growls and flops onto the couch and goes back to sleep."

Jordana's eyes twinkled. "So it is like that, then. Hmm?"

Heat infused Justine's cheeks.

"Leave her alone," Brooke said, giving Jordana a playful shove. She turned to Justine. "Jordana works at the Town Center Grocery Store. But what you might not know about her is that she's also taking her yoga teacher training so she can start teaching some classes here. This is actually where we met. Bonding over our desire to master crow pose."

Now it was Jordana's turn to get hot cheeks and because she was so fair, they burned bright pink, but it only made her more beautiful. Like a natural rouge.

"I still have about forty more hours of the two-hundred-hour class to go, plus the exam. But Lotus is a great instructor. I'm really enjoying it." Her gaze drifted to the door when, speak of the devil, but the great instructor herself, seemed to float in as if carried by a cloud.

"All right, everyone," came Lotus's breathy voice. "Please find your way into savasana. Feet pointed to the corners of your mat, arms down by your sides, and begin a deep and comforting inhale through the nose and exhale out the mouth. Moans, sighs and all other noises of practice are welcome in this safe and inviting space."

They all slid down to their backs.

"Have a great class," Brooke whispered to her with a wink.

"You too."

Justine was no yoga virgin. Although she preferred running, she did enjoy yoga. She just rarely had time for it. Running, she could squeeze in whenever it worked around her chaotic schedule. But yoga was on someone else's schedule, and sometimes she was elbow deep inside someone's chest cavity when the class was going on.

She was stiff at first, unable to get as deep as she usually could into certain postures. But as her body warmed up and they began their sun salutation A, the pull of her hamstrings with each downward dog grew more and more pleasurable. She relished the burn of her triceps when she dropped down into chaturanga, then up into baby cobra, feeling the compression of her spine and the opening of her chest.

Lost to the hypnotic flow of Lotus's beautiful voice and the way she so perfectly guided them through each posture, Justine was mesmerized and in an almost zombie-like state. Yet, she was also so happy.

It wasn't until they dropped down to their bellies and into a deep frog pose to open their hips that she snapped out of her trance. But that was only because the thoughts flooded in.

Not all of them bad.

In fact, most of them were good.

But some of them were about Mr. O'Malley, and Bennett's wife, Carla. The guilt monster wasn't nearly as loud as he could be, but he was still there, in dragon pose, telling her she was a terrible person and didn't deserve happiness.

There was someone else there too, though.

And he sounded a lot like Bennett. And his voice was louder, and he was telling her to find her joy, to live her life and live it well. To not drown in guilt or grief because nobody that cared about us would want that. Then she thought about Aya and Emme, and how much she'd already come to care for them. Her mind drifted to yesterday and last night with Bennett, tangled up in the bedsheets—since she invited him back to her bed—and how good it felt to fall asleep in his arms.

As Lotus instructed them to slowly move their bodies out of frog pose and back into their final savasana, tears began to stream down Justine's face. Then she choked on a sob.

Brooke's gaze swung to hers, confusion and worry in her green eyes.

What was happening right now?

Why was she crying?

She made to get up and leave the room, but Lotus was suddenly beside her, her soft hand on Justine's shoulder, urging her to stay seated and recline. "We carry an extreme amount of tension and emotion in our hips," she said, addressing the class. "It is normal—and also wonderful—to cry or feel a flood of feelings when we do deep hip opening postures. Don't push those feelings away. Embrace them. Welcome them." Her eyes met Justine's. "It's okay. This is a safe space."

With a lump in the back of her throat and hot tears still tumbling down to her temples, Justine nodded and lay back into savasana. A hand on the other side squeezed hers and she glanced over to find Brooke smiling at her.

She smiled back and exhaled through thinly parted lips.

Closing blurry, tear-filled eyes, she engaged in more deep breathing, following Lotus's final guided meditation and allowing all thoughts—good and bad—to stay out of her conscious mind.

Focusing on her breathing was good.

Meditation was good.

By the time they said "namaste" with their hands at heart-center, the tears were gone and the knot at the back of her throat had shrunk.

"Oh, that was soooo good," Jordana said, all doe-eyed and smiley.

Brooke nodded as she rolled up her mat.

"Did you know that about hip openers?" Justine asked as she took a sip from her water bottle.

The two women nodded.

"I've cried a lot in yoga over the years," Jordana said. "Especially during my divorce. I was known for a while as "the crying chick," apparently."

Brooke snorted.

Lotus was busy saying "goodbye" to other people, but she made her leave of them and floated back over to where Jordana, Brooke, and Justine stood. She singled out Justine. "You okay?"

Justine nodded and huffed a small laugh through her nose. "I think so."

"Hip openers are powerful." Curiosity burned in her pale-blue eyes, like she wanted Justine to elaborate on why she cried.

"Seems like it."

Lotus seemed lovely, and so did Brooke and Jordana, but she really didn't know these women very well, so opening up to them wasn't on the agenda. At least not yet.

Or ever.

Justine had never really opened up to anybody. Not really. And she didn't have girlfriends. She didn't have a village, or a tribe, or girl posse, or whatever. She had acquaintances. And she and Tad had friends—couple friends. Most of them were other doctors. But none of them had reached out since she left. Since she and Tad split up. Which meant, clearly, they'd all picked their team, and it wasn't Team Justine.

That lump in her throat was back, but this time for an entirely different reason.

She didn't have any friends and up until this moment, she'd never really felt the longing for any. She had work, she had Tad. What more did she need?

Apparently, a whole heck of a lot.

Fresh tears pricked the backs of her eyes and she swallowed past the chestnut at the back of her tongue.

With eyes that could see down to Justine's very soul and probably read her mind, Lotus rested her hand on Justine's shoulder. "I hope we'll see you here again sometime."

"I'm sure you will."

Lotus gave her a final, friendly squeeze, then floated away on her little cloud like some fairy goddess in Lululemon leggings.

"Booch and Bagels?" Jordana asked, tucking her yoga mat under her arm.

"Um, yeah," Brooke said. "I hear they just rolled out a Strawberry Mint Kombucha that I'm dying to try."

"Meet you there." Jordana picked up her pace and was out the door with everyone else, leaving Brooke and Justine together as the final stragglers in the yurt.

"Booch and Bagels?" Justine asked.

"It's that little kiosk thing in the square. They sell kombucha and bagels. All homemade. From scratch. Organic. It's become a bit of a thing now. Jordana and I meet for yoga, then we meet for booch and bagels. You wanna come? Or do you want me to drop you back off at home first?"

Home.

It felt as weird as it did wonderful to have Brooke refer to Bennett's place as home.

"We have time to kill before we have to be at the funfair, right?"

"Loads," Brooke said. "It doesn't start until five. The kids will come home from school before then." A sly look glinted in her eyes. "Unless you're itching to get back for sexy-time with Mr. Serious?"

The heat was back in Justine's cheeks. "Let's go get some booch and bagels."

Brooke smiled with her whole face, the morning sun making her green eyes glow like cut emeralds. "You won't regret it. Their caramelized onion one with avocado and a fried egg, is amazing. It will change your life."

Justine chuckled as they climbed into Brooke's SUV. "Change my life, huh?"

"I've told Clint that it's almost better than sex with him. Almost ."

As Justine sat in Brooke's passenger seat, a new warmth spread through her. A warmth of hope. Of belonging. Although she never felt out of place at the hospital because she knew her role, knew that she belonged there, this was different. This was a different kind of belonging. This was being part of a community. Of a village.

Was this what girlfriends talked and joked about? Would she ever feel comfortable enough to add to the cheeky banter about her sex life? Did she want to?

She glanced over at Brooke, who sung along to the Backstreet Boys playing quietly on the stereo. Brooke grinned at her and reached forward to turn up the volume, a questioning look in her eyes.

Justine nodded, and soon the music was blasting and they were belting out the lyrics to "Everybody" with the sunroof open, the windows down, and the wind in their hair.

Yes, she absolutely did want to feel comfortable enough.

She wanted all of it.

She wanted to belong.