Indigo Nights (Nights #3)(14)

I kissed my dad on the forehead and took his hand.

“I thought you were flying back to London, Beth?” Every now and then, I glimpsed my father and saw an old man instead of the invincible cop I’d grown up with. Now was one of those times as he lay in bed, machinery attached to his chest. I hated to see him vulnerable. It was as if our roles had been reversed, but I didn’t have his strength.

“My flight got cancelled. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” I squeezed his hand. Tears began to well but I didn’t want him to see me cry. He was fine; my tears were of relief. That he was okay. That I was sober. Still.

It had been a lesson. I needed to keep control. There were enough curveballs to cope with in life without adding more to the mix. No more one-night stands.

“Marissa shouldn’t have called you. I’m fine.” My heart rate began to return to normal as I realized he really was going to be okay.

“Stop being a grouch. She did the right thing bringing you here, and you know it. So be nice.” I turned to Marissa. “Does Jake know everything is okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I spoke to him.”

“What time’s your flight? The weather is better today. I don’t want you here fussing over me. You have your own life to get back to.” My dad looked stern.

Yeah, he was absolutely fine. I grinned and kissed him on the cheek.



“And then what?” my sister-in-law asked, looking between her best friend and me. Haven and Ash were perched on barstools in my kitchen, watching me bake while feeding and cooing at their babies. They’d become good girlfriends to me since my brother had started dating Haven, and my world, that had been just my brother for a long time, had opened up a little.

I was giving them the lowdown on Dylan. “And then we, you know.” I felt like a teenager, confessing to her girlfriends about the night before. Apparently, this kind of sharing was par for the course with Haven and Ash.

“No we don’t!” they screamed.

“We need details,” Ash said, moving her daughter, Maggie, to her shoulder to burp her. “We’re forced to live vicariously now. We don’t get to have one-night stands. We need you to be very specific.”

I laughed. “It was good. I mean, the best I’ve ever had.” Since I’d been back in London, my mind had wandered to Dylan and our night together more often than it should have. He was a one-night stand, yet thoughts of him had stayed with me. Yesterday, I’d been shopping for cake tins and thought I’d seen him walk past the shop. My heart had started to thunder and my knees fizzed.

I kept waiting for thoughts of him to fade. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. No doubt I’d been long forgotten by him.

“Do you think it was because you’re sober?”

“I have no idea, but I swear to God, if sex is that much better sober for everyone, then no one would ever drink.” Dylan had warned me that it was going to be world changing. He’d been right. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be the same again. It was as if he’d released something in me.

“Whatever it is, I think it’s showing in your baking. This cake is orgasmic.” Haven was making ohhing and ahhing noises.

I grinned. In a way, she was right. Dylan had inspired me, as if he’d been something of a muse to me. Apparently, great sex led to great cake.

“How did your meeting go with the TV people?” Ash asked.

I shifted my weight onto one hip. “Good, I think. They want me to do like a trial or screen-test for a slot on the Saturday morning show, A Chicago Saturday. I have to fly back next week and they’ll set me up in the studio—”

“Are you serious?” Haven asked, her mouth still full.

I shrugged. “It might turn into nothing, but it’s a bit of fun and perhaps I’ll attract a few more viewers to my YouTube channel.” Deep down I was excited. But I didn’t want to let those feelings bubble to the surface in case things fell through, and I hadn’t quite worked through the consequences of what a TV spot in Chicago meant. It was a long way away.

“That’s amazing. Holy crap, you’re going to be the Oprah of cooking.” Ash’s eyes were wide and sparkling. She truly was happy for me and that felt good. We were family, and I wasn’t ready to move to Chicago and give that up, so as much as a TV spot sounded exciting, there was a serious downside.

Baking had started off as therapy, and I suppose it still was. Cakes were my favorite to create. Not occasion cakes—but cupcakes, carrot cake, chocolate cake, gateaux. And of course I loved a vanilla slice and fruit tarts, and I’d just mastered profiteroles—I liked to bake anything sweet or dessert-like.

“So, you’re going to fly over to Chicago, bang a hot guy, record a TV show, then fly back to be vomited over by your nieces?” Haven had a way of getting to the heart of a situation; no doubt it was the journalist in her. “Before we know it, we’ll have lost you permanently to the Windy City.”

“Actually, it’s something I’ll need to discuss with WCIL. I’m not moving back to Chicago. I don’t believe in going backward. I don’t mind flying over regularly, but every week is crazy.” I shook my head. “Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. They’ve not offered me anything yet.”

“They will, though. They’d be crazy not to. Your breasts alone deserve to be on television,” Ash said, as if she’d just told me she liked my haircut. I shook my head at her, smiling. “They should call your slot The Baking Bombshell.”