What Happens After This

By Suze Robinson

A chance encounter with a hunky dad threatens to tear down every wall she built.

The Pacific Northwest is the best place for me to hide from my past. I'm content holding up pretenses with my heart buried deeply in darkness.

When I meet Parker Maxwell, a flirty lawyer and single dad, the new life I've built is tested. With his witty charm and gorgeous eyes, he steals my attention when he makes me laugh again.

But I walk away.

Fate has a different plan when he turns out to be the best man in my friend's wedding. I can't escape him, and he's determined to plant himself in my life.

There's an undeniable connection, a growing friendship, and I can't resist his kisses any longer.

But when the secrets and mistakes from my past return, the ones I ran away from, will they be too much for Parker to take?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Feb 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949931457

Book preview

Chapter One

You need to go on a date.

The moment she utters those words, I contemplate how I’ll murder my best friend. I think I can easily hide her body and no one would be the wiser. It can’t be that hard to discard a dead body. I’ve watched my share of crime scene dramas. I know not to leave evidence behind.

Who am I kidding? Everyone will know Lauren is missing the moment it’s quiet. I’ll have to work on a Plan B because I’m sure they’ll investigate the roommate first. How else do I stop my best friend from interfering with my love life?

It’s just one date—for me, please, Aria? Lauren asks with her hands clasped in a pleading gesture as she settles herself on the foot of my king-size bed. It’s the most extravagant thing I have, although it isn’t mine. When Lauren took my stray ass in three years ago, it wasn’t like I came packed. I arrived in Seattle with nothing more than a change of clothes, my laptop, and a couple of my favorite paperback books—classic loves with worn spines and timeless plots.

I shoot daggers of annoyance in her direction, but it doesn’t slow her down. I’m not sure anything can slow Lauren down when she’s on a mission. She’s persistent. A reason why I love her so much, despite how much she’s annoying me. Lauren was raised as an only child by a doting father, so getting what she wants without delay is expected.

Lauren also said the one thing that could break me. That could get me to do whatever she wanted. Lauren asked me to do it for her. For me, she’d said in that sugary sweet voice. Others would sound like they were nagging when they used it, but not Lauren. She’s persuasive.

Lauren had taken in this broken shell of a woman I’d become and slowly put me back together. Three years ago, when I showed up empty-handed and shattered on her doorstep, she welcomed me into her life with a warm hug and an understanding not to pry into my past. There are certain things we never speak of, but today is different, for some reason.

I promise I’ll lay off if you try to get out more. Lauren shares with me the same look she gets when there’s a new dress out from her favorite designer. A look full of unbridled expectation and excitement, all because she wants me to mingle with the opposite sex.

I told you, I don’t date. Ever, so please stop pestering me about it.

She growls and throws herself back across my gray silk comforter. I ignore the exaggeration of her adult tantrum and put on my black eyeliner instead. I slide it under one eye, then the other. I keep thoughts of murdering my best friend to myself and give a little prayer that she doesn’t continue the conversation.

I’ll have no such luck today.

But you’ve been in Seattle for three years, and not once in all the years I’ve known you have you been out to meet anyone. You go to work then come home.

I toss the liner back into the makeup bag with more force than necessary and turn to face my friend. It’s complicated, okay? My jaw clenches as I keep my voice from rising. I don’t know what else you want me to say.

I want you to say yes to giving yourself some fucking happiness. Is that too much to ask?

Yes, I want to yell, but Lauren doesn’t know all the reasons why I’ve neglected that one integral part of myself or why I’ve hidden the real Aria Rothschild deep in the Washington peninsula for no one to find. No one from my past who remembers my mistakes.

When I don’t respond, Lauren continues, You’re only twenty-nine, Aria. That means your life shouldn’t be at this standstill. I know you came to Seattle alone, but you don’t have to stay alone.

I consider her heartfelt words. She’s grown to care for me over the years we’ve lived and worked together. Lauren was the first person I met when I arrived in Seattle, and most days, I’m halfway normal because of her.

With a deep sigh, I pull my mascara from the bag. Like always, I appreciate your concern, but I think it’s time for you to get ready for work. I need this conversation to end before I allow myself to recall everyone I lost or left behind. Before I let the dark thoughts and haunted memories resurface.

I glance over my shoulder and let Lauren see that I’m not so broken on the outside. I must fail miserably with the look of doubt she returns.

Seriously, I’m fine. Do you want Andrew to see you like that? With no makeup on? I try to relax the last bit of tension between us with a smile and a reassuring voice. I hate fighting with her. Lauren means so much to me, and I don’t want to be dismissive of her worries, but I can’t date. I can’t get close to someone and risk falling in love again. I don’t deserve it, anyway.

She huffs then glares at me. Whatever. That man worships this with or without makeup, but I get your attempts at diversion and accept loss this time. Doesn’t mean I’ll concede in the future.

Lauren slides from my bed and stands for a moment longer in my room with hands braced on her hips. I take in her appearance—gorgeous as ever. Even sleep-rumpled, the woman is flawless. I’ve seen her nightly routine. She’s religious with her habits just like I am. Something I find we matched on.

Where we don’t match are her striking blue eyes, while mine are a muddy brown and only show a hint of sea green. Hazel, some call it, but my eyes can’t claim such a title. Then, where Lauren’s hair is a vibrant blonde, thanks to her stylist Marc, mine’s a dull and lifeless brown that hangs past my shoulders. I don’t know when I last graced a stylist with my presence.

She bites her pink lip and waits a second longer before speaking. What happened was hard, and I know you don’t think you deserve happiness, but you do.

I shake my head and turn away. If she only knew how little happiness I truly deserve.

I stare into the mirror and pull my hair into a low chignon. I keep it simple these days, with nothing more than a few pins. I wear my makeup casual with mascara, eyeliner, and a shiny pink gloss.

My outfit is professional and never anything more than a pair of pressed black dress slacks and a button-up shirt. I bend down and put on my black mini pumps and walk from my bedroom. Lauren rests by the kitchen island and sips her chai tea. It’s our daily routine. Nothing changes or deviates from my static life.

Bridgett is already texting with demands for today.

I roll my eyes at Lauren’s remark and prepare a black coffee. I can’t argue with her anymore. She’s refusing to listen to the remarks I give on her work. I grab a travel mug from the cabinet then slide it under the machine and wait for the coffee to brew. This simple, regimented routine is a necessary thing for me. When things change, deviate, or stray is when I find it hard to grasp my life.

I’m not surprised. Bridgett seems to forget the hierarchy of command. Lauren adds as she takes another sip of tea and glances over today’s newspaper. The tension leaves my body since  her focus isn’t on my dating life.  If gossiping about Bridgett and Marissa helps, I’ll endure.

When I left my old life behind, my first call had been to my college roommate. Marissa Malone is the Editor in Chief of the Seattle Times. She got me a job at the newspaper, my English degree making the transition from a middle-school teacher to a copy-editor smooth. Marissa introduced me to Lauren, and we hit it off instantly despite my resting bitch face, as Lauren so eloquently referred to it. Bridgett and I—not so much.

I think she forgets she’s not connected to Marissa’s ass. I grab my caffeine and turn around to lean against the granite countertop. The best way to distract Lauren is with my failed attempts at humor. The girl is a sucker for it.

Lauren tilts her head back and lets out a very unladylike laugh. See, there’s the reason I love you. It’s not your sunny disposition.

I never thought it was my disposition that solidified our friendship. I thought it was my good looks. I playfully toss my hair back and sip my drink. Lauren’s laughter always eases the pressure that sits on my chest.

You’re on a roll this morning. You don’t laugh, but I find your attempts at being snarky humorous. Lauren’s eyes twinkle as she sets the newspaper down and stands to grab her purse.

I follow her out the front door and downstairs. She keeps a quick stride even though it takes less than five minutes to get to the office. We join the morning commuters of downtown Seattle. A thick cloud cover rests above us today, creating a low-hanging fog. There isn’t a speck of sunlight that can slip past its barrier. A steady mist falls, creating a perfect dreary day.

Across the busy street from Lauren’s condo is the Seattle Times office. Talk about practicality. Lauren is a master at simple, more practical solutions to life’s obstacles.

Are you working late tonight? Lauren asks as we walk through the double glass doors and into the office, making our way toward our desks. Today, the room is buzzing with the energy of highly caffeinated beverages and hopes for the next groundbreaking news story.

Nope. I narrow my eyes as we sit down at our desks. I pray Lauren isn’t planning on setting me up on a blind date tonight. She was aggressive earlier, so I’ll find work to do. I glance around at the stack of papers nearby. There’s something around here that needs editing.

So, I know tonight is your night to prepare dinner. Lauren hesitates for a moment and picks up a report. I invited Andrew to dinner. If you mind cooking for him, I’ll take over, but I know you hate when we mess up our system. She places a pen in her mouth and chews on the end as she waits for my response.

I want to argue that by inviting Andrew over, she already messed with the well-crafted system we put in place for dinner, but I refrain. She’s creating more change, and my heart flutters in my chest. A couple of deep breaths eases the anxiety building.

I don’t mind, but he’s eating whatever I choose. I take another calming breath then reach for one of the reports that will be featured this week. I let the business reports distract me because I refuse to ruin this night for Lauren. She’s bringing Andrew into her life, weaving him into everything that’s her. Her home, her friends, and her family. Which means finally meeting me. I know they’ve been dating for quite some time and it’s getting serious.

And it’s not a problem. I’m okay with being a third wheel tonight. I’m content with how my life is. The façade I’ve built to guard me works well. No one wants to see the scars and secrets hidden below.

Chapter Two

Another thing I enjoy about Lauren’s practicality is I don’t have to buy a car. I walk from the office, across the street to a Starbucks, then a bit further down is a Whole Foods Market and an incredible little pizza place. My favorite places all within a half-mile radius of my bed.

Back home, I lived in a rural town in a quiet neighborhood. For groceries, I’d drive into town, and for an overpriced coffee I couldn’t help purchasing, I was driving to the next city over. That’s how things are in the Midwest, not like here where everything I need is on this small block.

Tonight, I’ve planned a simple dinner of pan-seared salmon with garlic lemon butter sauce, and asparagus with a Chardonnay that pairs perfectly. Hopefully, Andrew enjoys a fine-dining experience and isn’t a beer and wings guy. Not that I mind, but my beer sides toward a craft and chicken is never on the menu.

I find the fish section and look over my selections. My foot taps on the floor as I stare at the different options. I’m reaching for a package of salmon when the customer next to me interrupts.

Th-There’s... After a poignant pause, the teenager continues. There’s five different species of Pacific salmon you can choose. Chinook, Sockeye, Pink, Coho, and Chum. But it’s late in the year. You’re left with Chinook or King. King Salmon is the largest because they’re thirty to forty pounds. It’s more difficult to cook, though, and best prepared pan-seared. He turns away, the blush spreading across his freckled cheeks. He seems so embarrassed that he spoke to me, but I thought it was sweet he made sure I knew my fish facts. He’s correct that most types of fresh salmon aren’t available so late into the year.

Thanks for letting me know. I’ve been cooking for a while, so I can handle King Salmon.

The boy gives a shy smile and pushes his dark brown hair from his brow. He’s about to add more when a new voice cuts in. Did you just spark up a conversation with a beautiful woman by spilling trivial facts about fish?

I glance behind the boy and all thoughts pause in my mind so quickly I think the man fried every active brain cell I have. He’s captured me in a goddamn tractor beam. His eyes stay on mine, and laughter dances in their blue depths.

He continues to stare, and I do the same. If he’s taking an unabashed look, I’ll return the sentiment. There’s an underlying weight on his shoulders and a sadness drawn in the dark circles under his eyes, but at this moment, he takes the opportunity to smile. That’s the one sentiment I don’t return.

He pats the boy on the shoulder and continues his razzing. You must teach me your ways.

I laugh. It’s a small, soft chuckle. I shake my head and turn away to continue my shopping. I’ll spare the boy any further harassment from his father.

I barely make it down to the other end of the fish section before the man catches up and grabs my arm to stop me. Wait, please. Can I at least get your name?

The boy sneaks up behind him with a knowing look.

Ah, no. You’re nowhere near as charming as your son. I walk past the gorgeous man and shake the boy’s hand. It was a pleasure to meet you. I pause for his response.

Ashton.

It was a pleasure to meet you, Ashton. I’m Aria. He shakes my hand and laughs at my brush-off toward his father. Well, I’m almost certain Ashton is his son because they have the same eyes. There’s an endless depth to the shade of blue, like a midnight sky.

Now, remember that halibut you have, it’s a quick fish to cook. Are you breading it? I add, knowing this kid is a chef. I find it impressive since he couldn’t be much over fourteen.

He nods with a smile. I smile back, acutely aware of the man behind me. He’s close, observing our conversation. His attention on me is a palpable thing I can feel deep inside, so I try to focus on Ashton instead of the tingling sensation coursing through my body.

When I bread mine, I set the oven to four hundred degrees and bake for five minutes and pop over to broil for another five minutes. Don’t overcook it. You have a good idea of what seasoning to mix with your breading?

Of course, ma’am. My mother taught me everything I need to know. A nice choice picking the salmon tonight. Enjoy your dinner company.

I’m in love. This kid is intriguing. He’s a fellow foodie and we connect with a deep understanding and love for food.

As I turn and walk away, the man speaks, You’re supposed to be my wingman.

I laugh again, the sound foreign to my ears.

After picking up the asparagus, I head to the checkout lane. I load my groceries and keep the guy from the fish market on replay in my mind. He’s gorgeous, striking in the gray suit he wears. He’s polished, although a bit rugged underneath, like he indulges in a bit of pleasure with his business. He wears his hair longer, but not long enough for one of those man buns, just enough to run your fingers through. His facial hair, while trimmed and structured, is also on the scruffier side. He wears a bit more than the usual five o’clock shadow.

Okay, I looked—and looked hard. I stand in line and wait as the cashier weighs each item. A nuance of purchasing natural and organic, but I’ll take it over processed food any day. One of my arms wraps around my center and grips the fabric of my blouse. My other hand rests on top of it, and I fidget with my manicured nails. My foot taps on the concrete floor, causing the woman in front of me to turn with a scowl.

I bite the inside of my cheek and ignore her death stare. I’ll go home and cook dinner, something that always clears my mind and re-centers my life when my axis becomes shifted. Something about that chance encounter with Ashton and his father tilted my world, and it’s all because of a laugh.

One bright spot of sunlight on an otherwise cloudy day.

***

During the entire preparation of my salmon and asparagus, I think of the kid and our conversation. He was intelligent and confident in the facts he shared. I’m also thinking about is his father.

Over the last three years, I avoid thinking of guys or falling in love. There’s only been one man in my life, but every damn time his face comes into my mind, I see her instead. I slowly count to ten, tell myself to focus on preparing dinner, and leave the past buried where it belongs. I can’t bring up thoughts of what I lost. Lauren deserves me to be entertaining for her guest and not the broken friend.

I grab a wooden cutting board and start chopping the vegetables. I play music and it filters through the open floor plan of Lauren’s condo. The condo is a decent size for a downtown city apartment. Beautiful hardwood floors stretch across the open space and reach the large floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showcase a breathtaking view of the skyline.

I place the salmon in the skillet, the sizzle blending into the background. Lauren does a bit of entertaining, so she has everything I need to set the table. I could set the table for two and surprise them with a romantic dinner, but she wants to integrate Andrew more into her life, which means meeting me.

The music settles me, the aroma of dinner infuses around the apartment, and I let the contentment accompany me. I grab three wine glasses and set them out with the Chardonnay and make sure the forks are placed correctly. My mother is an entertainer, and despite not seeing or speaking to her in three years, I picture her. And my father.

A trickle of a tear touches my cheek, and I swipe it away. I haven’t thought of them, or anyone else I left behind in so long. I don’t know why now, of all times, they slither their way into my mind. If I think of my parents, I’ll think of her. And I can’t think of her or I’ll break. It’s getting harder and harder to not think of Marley all the time, but I have to keep her locked inside.

I walk to the mirror in the entryway and check my mascara. With a quick dab under my wet eyes, I ensure my makeup is in place.