Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love)

  WINTER HOPES

  SEASONS OF LOVE BOOK 2

  JENNIFER GRACEN

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle, WA 2014

  COPYRIGHT 2014 JENNIFER GRACEN

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions

  should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  Cover Design by Greg Simanson

  Edited by Susan Ethridge

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-440-3

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-450-2

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911532

  Table of Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  PREVIEW OF SPRING SHADOWS

  MORE FROM JENNIFER GRACEN AND BOOKTROPE

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to all of my writing friends.

  There are so many of you; I know I’m incredibly lucky, and I don’t take that for granted. You can’t know how much your collective support, cheerleading, and shared knowledge have helped, guided, and enhanced me, both as a writer and as a person. You all never stopped encouraging me, never gave up on me—even when I was seriously close to throwing in the towel—and have taught me so much, I can’t begin to fathom it all.

  You are a rare, precious breed, my fellow inkslingers. I think writers are the only ones who truly understand other writers. You are my people. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Special buckets of gratitude for my two most trusted sounding boards, go-to people about all things writing: Jeannie Moon and KD McCrite. You both found me as a newbie and saw something in me; your belief in me helped my belief in me grow and flourish. You believed in my talent from the start, nurtured my dreams, cheered me on, and taught me countless invaluable things about writing (craft, skills, etc.) in general and the publishing industry as well.

  And, most importantly, you both became my cherished friends, for which my life is richer. Thank you both, so much, for all you’ve done for me.

  And, as always, every book I write is dedicated to my sons, Josh and Danny. You are the best works of art I’ve ever created. You make me laugh and beam with pride and joy every day. I love you so much.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Every published book takes a village. Every author needs support. I wouldn’t be able to do anything I do without the wonderful people in my supportive village, and I’m so lucky and grateful to have them all in my corner.

  Thank you to the folks at Booktrope Publishing. I love being involved in every step of the process to turn my manuscripts into an actual book; thank you for giving me that opportunity. It’s incredibly satisfying. Thank you to Katherine Sears and Kenneth Shear, for making that a reality for me. Thank you to Jesse James Freeman, the undisputed King of Badassary—H&O called again; they’re readying the golden yacht. Boundless thanks to my creative team: Jennifer Gilbert, my Book Manager, who keeps it all together with master precision, is a pleasure to work with, and is so incredibly nice; Stevie McCoy, my proofreader, for once again loaning her eagle eyes; Greg Simanson, for giving me another beautiful cover to smile at from the inside out; and this time, along for the rest of the Seasons Of Love ride, huge thanks to my amazing editor, Susan Ethridge. You had too much on your plate but took this on anyway. I was so grateful you were willing to do that for me. You make my work stronger and better, we’re so in sync on the page, and I heart you, woman. #spd

  Thank you to all of my family. But especially my mom, Linda; my dad, Rob; and my brother, Jamie. That you’ve been so happy about my authordom makes me glow. I know I drive you guys crazy sometimes, but I love you more than anything and know you love me too. Thanks to my sons, Josh and Danny, who put up with a messy house and are so adorably proud of my books. You’re the true lights in my life.

  Thank you to ALL of my friends, near and far, local and online, who have been so unbelievably supportive, excited, and enthusiastic about my books being published. I can’t possibly summarize what it’s meant to me. xoxoxo

  Thank you to the members of the Team Gracen Facebook group! You rock. I hope you like this one too.

  Thank you to all my writing sisters in the LIRW (Long Island Romance Writers), who continue to guide me and help me learn and grow as a writer. Special hugs to Jeannie Moon, Patty Blount, and Lisa Jo Brennan, for brainstorming sessions that bring epiphanies, critiquing extraordinaire, and mutual cheerleading. I love how we support one another. #Fab4

  Thank you to all my friends on Twitter, and in the Facebook groups the Lounge, the Bordies, and the Dark Fairy Queen domain… You make me a better writer, as I learn with and from you. I strive to be as good as and as dedicated as the rest of you. I think we all bring up each other’s game. You also make me laugh so much and feel genuinely cared about every single day, and that’s a priceless gift.

  Thank you, last in listing but not least in importance, to all the new readers who enjoy my work. None of this would matter if I didn’t have readers. You have my deepest gratitude and appreciation.

  CHAPTER ONE

  LYDIA POWELL COULDN’T believe how quickly her mood could change. She had been so high, so elated, for the entire drive back from Connecticut; but as soon as she crossed the border into Matt’s town, she felt an instant, dramatic decline. The good feelings seeped right out of her, and quickly, like the air being released from a balloon. Some residual happiness from the magical weekend clung to heart with tiny claws, but the closer she got to her ex-husband’s apartment building, the darker she felt.

  She hated how she could never find a parking spot in Long Beach. To park anywhere near one of the many apartment complexes by the beach, she usually had to drive around, circling, searching for a good ten minutes or so before finding a space. Today wasn't any different; if anything, it was worse because it was dinner time, so everyone was home, and there were no open spots to be found. By the time Lydia found a space, three blocks away from Matt’s building, she was annoyed and disgruntled.

  After exiting and locking her car, she raised her face to the early evening sun and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Parked so close to the Atlantic, she could smell the salt of the ocean on the air. Light gusts of wind lifted thick strands of her hair from her shoulders and whipped them into her face. She took one last deep, cleansing breath, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and headed towards Matt’s apartment building.


  She couldn't help but let her thoughts again drift back to Sam, the sweet, gorgeous man she'd met over her long weekend away. She’d travelled to Connecticut for her friend’s wedding, and really hit it off with the best man’s brother. Sam had knocked her flat with his easygoing nature, kindness, warmth, and delicious charm. And those warm brown eyes… and that lean, taut body… and that smile. She'd never seen a smile that physically impacted her as his did. It made her feel silly, how much it affected her.

  She wondered if she'd ever see him again.

  He'd pursued her all weekend, then made a strong case—claimed he wanted to see her again, for them to give long distance dating a chance… but who knew if he was really sincere? Time would tell. In any case, it had been such a wonderful weekend, it barely seemed real. Even as the prospect of dealing with her grouchy ex loomed, the thought of Sam kept a smile on her face and in her heart. It was enough to buoy her up for now.

  Lydia’s chin edged up defiantly as she entered the lobby of Matt's building. She felt restored, renewed, and stronger as a result of the weekend away. Spending time with her three best girlfriends from college, who'd been so supportive and fun… relaxing at the beautiful estate where the wedding had been held… and her unexpectedly delightful rendezvous with a new and appealing man. No one could take any of that away from her, not even her snide ex-husband.

  She pushed the button for his apartment and waited for him to buzz the security door open. It took him a good twenty seconds, and she fleetingly wondered if he was genuinely busy, or if he was just making her wait to be obnoxious. She swatted the thought from her mind as she made her way across the lobby and into the elevator.

  She checked her watch as she rode to the fourth floor; it was almost five-thirty. Again she thought of Sam. If the flight was on time, he and his extended family were probably taking off at that very moment, headed back to Chicago… she made herself return to reality as she realized she had to figure out what to give her son for dinner.

  Her precious son. Andy’s beautiful little face entered her mind, and her heart expanded as it filled with love for her only child. That three-and-a-half-year-old boy had stolen her heart in a way that no one could ever have prepared her for.

  The past three days had been the longest she’d been away from him since he’d been born. When the elevator doors opened, Lydia was suddenly overwhelmed, unable to be away from her baby for another minute. She rushed down the hall and knocked insistently on Matt’s door.

  “Hey,” Matt said in greeting. His voice sounded as it had for the past few years: flat and annoyed. They glanced at each other in brief acknowledgement.

  “MAMA!!” Andy came running towards Lydia, arms outstretched, a wide smile on his angelic face.

  She crouched down to catch him in a bear hug and held him tightly, inhaling the sweet scent of him. It smelled like Matt had used an apple shampoo on their son, sweet and clean. She caressed his thick bronze hair and dropped kisses all over his face. “Oh baby, Mama missed you sooo much!”

  “Mamaaa.” Andy pulled back to look at her and smile again, then buried his face in her neck for more hugs. She cooed in response, delighted, hugging him tighter.

  “I’ll get his things,” Matt mumbled, and ambled down the small hallway towards his bedroom in the back.

  “Did you have a good time with Daddy?” Lydia murmured against Andy’s ear. “You had fun?”

  Andy pulled back to look at her again and smiled. “Dada.”

  “Really? It was good?” she asked again, hopeful.

  “Yah. Dada,” he smiled. She knew by the way that he said it and the expression on his face that Andy had genuinely enjoyed his time with his father. The first sleepover weekend had been a success. She breathed a sigh of deep relief.

  Andy was speech delayed, or speech impaired, depending on which specialist was phrasing it. He’d been getting speech therapy since the day after his second birthday, as soon as he’d qualified for services provided by the county. But even now, at three and a half, his vocabulary was a mere handful of barely discernible words: Mama and Dada, no and yah, up and down — those were clear; but dere, dis, won, mick, tee, and Emmo, which she knew referred to his beloved Elmo, were not as comprehensible, unless you knew Andy and spent time with him. Lydia often cracked that she spoke “fluent Andy-ese”, but it was her usual habit to make a joke to cover for something that bothered her. It broke her heart daily to see her son, who was obviously bright, get aggravated whenever he tried to communicate. Sometimes, he bit, or hit, or threw things in his toddler-aged frustration. Lydia understood that: in the same predicament, she’d want to bite, hit, or throw things too.

  Matt, on the other hand, had never been as tolerant, sympathetic, or compassionate as she thought the father of such a child should be. He obviously loved Andy—she’d never deny that—but Matt was quickly frustrated by his inability to understand his son. His own irritation, and, she suspected, repressed guilt would bubble to the surface, and he’d lose patience, basically just thrusting Andy back at Lydia when he couldn’t figure out what his son wanted. She had been initially nervous and reluctant to let Andy stay with Matt for three whole days.

  Now, she kissed Andy once more before standing up. He seemed happy, he was fine. She could exhale again. She smiled down at him and smoothed his hair. “We’re going home now, okay?”

  “Yah, yah,” Andy cried, jumping up and down with happiness. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes, the eyes he’d inherited from his father. In Matt, the pale shade of blue seemed like ice, and left her cold. In her beloved child, the same shade of blue seemed nothing short of stunningly beautiful.

  “Here’s his bag,” Matt said as he reentered the living room. He dropped the blue duffel bag without care at Lydia’s feet. “His coat’s in the closet, I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured. They always tried to be civil in front of their son, knowing their fighting in front of him had done enough damage already. But it was difficult. They were still so angry at each other, for so many things. She could feel herself tense up whenever she was near Matt, and knew he shut down around her almost altogether.

  It’s a shame things have to be this way, she thought as she cupped her little boy’s chin in her hand. Andy smiled up at her, hugged her leg tightly. She smiled back and caressed his straight, shiny hair.

  “Come here, little man,” Matt said, using a warm, friendly tone that Lydia was convinced he reserved strictly for their son. Andy ran to his father and flung himself at him. Matt laughed and bent down to put Andy’s coat on him. He hugged the little boy tightly, kissed his forehead. “I love you, Andy. Daddy loves you. I’m glad you could stay here with me this weekend. Maybe we could do it again? Have another sleepover soon?”

  “YAH!” Andy squealed in delight.

  Matt laughed again, obviously pleased. “Okay, good. You’ll come back and sleep over again soon. But I’ll see you in a couple of days. I’m picking you up from Aunt Jane’s house on Wednesday afternoon, so we can have dinner together, like always.” Matt held up three fingers. “That’s only three days away, okay, buddy? Three.”

  “Yah.” Andy smiled. “Fee.”

  Lydia smiled broadly, her insides warm with joy. Andy had uttered a new word, made the connection. “That’s right, baby! Three! Can you say it again?”

  “Fee!” Andy said, beaming at his mother’s excited praise. “Feeeee!”

  “Good boy!” Matt said, hugging his son once more before releasing him. “Okay, go with Mama now. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

  “Fee, Dada.” Andy smiled.

  “That’s right buddy, in three days. Okay, go on now.”

  Lydia took a deep breath before saying to Matt, “Speaking of three days, thanks for taking him, letting me be at Melanie's wedding for the whole long weekend. I do appreciate it.”

  Matt blinked. “Yeah, sure.” She’d obviously taken him off guard by saying something amicable. “It was good to be with him.”<
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  “I’m glad you had some nice time together,” she said.

  “Yeah, we did.” Matt smiled down at Andy and yawned. “But I’ve gotta admit, he can wear you out. I’m tired.”

  She smiled faintly. “Yeah, he’s a little whirlwind.”

  “Mm hmm.” Matt offered her a small, strained grin in return. “Well… okay, I’ll pick him up from Jane’s on Wednesday and bring him back to you at seven o’clock, the usual.”

  “Alright.” She picked up Andy’s duffel bag and slung the strap over her shoulder, holding onto Andy’s little fingers with her free hand.

  “Bye, buddy.” Matt ruffled Andy’s hair once more before opening his door. Almost as an afterthought, he said to Lydia, “So you had a good time at the wedding?”

  A flashback seared through her mind: Sam hovering over her on the bed, shirtless. His warm skin and his muscled shoulders under her hands, his hot mouth as it trailed down her neck…

  Lydia smiled broadly. “Oh, I did. I really did.”

  ***

  “Moo! Moo! said the cow,” Lydia read aloud from the book. “Want to eat some grass?”

  Andy giggled as his mother employed yet another silly voice and snuggled closer into her lap. He rested his cheek against her chest, and Lydia let her free hand stroke his back as she continued to read his favorite bedtime story. His cotton pajamas felt soft beneath her hand.

  She had read him this book every night for two years. She’d memorized it and could easily recite it word for word if she had to. But Andy still loved it, wanted to hear it every night, and she loved that he loved it. It was their ritual. She'd read him three stories each night at bedtime, but Eric Carle's The Very Busy Spider was always the third one. She'd use a different voice for each animal, and Andy was thrilled by it each and every time.