The Life That Mattered

Sneak Peek

Prologue

“Can you keep a secret?” 

Mom failed to answer her phone, the new normal I’d come to expect. It didn’t deter me from calling and leaving a message. Fifteen minutes earlier, my life exploded. I needed someone—anyone—at that moment.

 Months ago, I should have disconnected her phone line. No one still used landlines. 

And … she died. 

Dead people didn’t use phones. At least, I’d always assumed they didn’t. At that moment, I felt like anything was possible. Literally anything.  

I estimated that I had maybe ten more messages to leave before her mailbox reached capacity. Ten more messages before I’d disconnect her phone line, go through her things, and sell the house. 

“My husband did something … with another woman.” I choked on a sob, as a deadly storm of emotions ripped through me. After a minute of strangled silence, I scrounged a tiny shred of composure and continued. “And I think I’ve known the truth. But I couldn’t say anything because it took away his pain—at least temporarily. It’s better than the alternative, right? I mean … I thought he was dying. Part of me wanted to tell him that I knew. I hate secrets. But I feared what he might do if he found out I knew, or how it would break us if I was wrong and accused him.” I wiped a few tears that forced their way free because I couldn’t erase the memory of the gun in his hand and the hopelessness on his face.

“And the worst part? I can’t tell my best friend. I can’t tell anyone … so I’m telling you because this insane part of me thinks you might have connections.” I chuckled. “Afterlife connections. Spiritual connections. Supernatural connections. I’m not really sure because I still can’t believe this is happening. I don’t actually think he’s crazy. But, Mom … it’s pretty fucking crazy. Him feeling her. It’s not right. It’s not fair.” 

I closed my eyes. “Sorry for the language. But I fear—” Another sob exploded from my chest. “I fear it’s too late.”

Rubbing my swollen eyes with the heel of my hand, I blew out a slow, shaky breath. “I’m not myself at the moment. Anyway … Dad’s good.” I searched for anything to take my mind off the gun and those three terrible words he’d said to me. “Katie’s pregnant, but I’m sure she already told you that. I haven’t mentioned the affair. After her two miscarriages, I refuse to do or say anything to cause her more stress. As for me … I’m pretty sure we’re done having kids. Two is enough. Although, I thought a surprise could come along. Did I mention our sex life has been better since he’s been with her? Weird, huh? At first, I thought it was just guilt and silent remorse, but I honestly think when he leaves her, there’s this tiny window where he’s not physically in pain. So, we have sex. And it’s intense. It’s mind-blowing.” 

I sighed into the phone. “A little surprise is no longer a possibility. I officially hate surprises. And…” I closed my eyes, seeing the gun and that look—irrevocable despair “…I think it’s too late for new beginnings. Today I saw the end.” I let a few more tears come to life before pulling back my sleeve to glance at my watch. “I love you, Mom. I miss you. And if you don’t have any connections to help my situation, don’t feel bad. I’ll figure something out. Just the possibility that you’re listening is enough. Today I miss you more…” the next round of emotions burned my eyes “…than I have in all the months you’ve been gone. Today I j-just really n-need my mom.”

Falling in love tomorrow is such a waste of today.

Chapter One

Six Years Earlier

Third wheel.

Tagalong. 

Odd woman out.

For two years I played this awkward role. When did I lose my self-respect?

“I love Canada,” my best friend, Lila, declared as she helped me pack for our threesome trip to Vancouver—tagalong me, Lila, and her fiancé, Graham Porter.

Porter Realty. 

Porter Investments. 

Porter Communications. 

Porter Arena. 

Senator Alfred Porter. 

Representative Grant Porter. 

Mayor Isabel Porter. 

The Porters had a presence and financial investment in everything. They represented the one percent, and they did it in style. 

“I’m glad Graham has meetings, so we’ll get to hang out without me feeling like I’m cock-blocking your fiancé.” I zipped my suitcase as Lila plopped down onto my bed. 

“Stop it with the third wheel thing. We’re all friends. We were all friends before anything romantic started between Graham and me. Well, except for that part where I hated him. Anyway, he likes you better outside of the bedroom.” 

I laughed, acknowledging the truth with an easy nod. Graham was my best guy friend. 

When he found out my parents couldn’t afford treatment for my father’s failing kidneys, he arranged for his family to pay for everything, and he made sure Dad received the best doctors. My father owed the Porter family for his extended life.  

The Porters owned the building where I had my bath shop—Clean Art. The Porters owned the bank where I had my business loan. They pretty much owned everything and a piece of everyone I knew. That was okay. They were good people. Most of them. 

I collapsed onto the bed next to Lila and grabbed her left hand, still in awe of the diamond on her ring finger. “He’s going to make you quit your job and pop out babies, but not before he makes you remove that barbell from your tongue.” 

Our friendship traveled many paths with interesting stops for things like piercings and tattoos. As soon as we could legally rebel, we did. Lila pierced her tongue. I put holes in my belly button and eyebrow. Then we inked our skin. Lila splurged with a full-winged tramp stamp, while I demonstrated my geek side with a carbon atom tattoo on the inside of my left wrist. 

She giggled, yanking her hand from my grip. “Stop! No, he's not. He loves my independence, and his penis loves my piercing.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Eww …”  

***

Graham flew to Vancouver three days earlier, so I had Lila all to myself for the flight and the drive to the hotel—Porter Suites. Imagine that. 

“Baby!” Lila hurled herself into Graham’s arms as soon as he opened the door to the suite. 

He winked at me over her shoulder. 

“Graham Cracker.” I rolled my eyes. 

After Lila rushed past him, he tipped the bellboy, watching him retreat toward the elevator for a few seconds before returning his attention to me. “So you don’t have to listen to her scream.” Graham handed me a keycard. 

“Hmm … she’s never mentioned screaming. You must be referencing a movie, not actual events.” I plucked the keycard from his manicured fingers. 

“I’m throwing my hat in the gubernatorial race next year. You realize you’ll have to address me with a little more respect when that happens.” 

I brushed past Graham in his pinstriped suit, potent cologne, and over-gelled coal hair—parted perfectly on the side like the preppy guy he’d always been. Lila glued herself to my existence in kindergarten, but Graham wormed his way into our circle of friends in college. He campaigned for the role of my boyfriend for two whole weeks. 

Flowers. 

Expensive jewelry. 

Plagiarized love letters—mostly William Wordsworth and Lord Byron. 

I refrained from calling him out on his romantic poems and sonnets because the thought did count, although he lost a few points by assuming my love of science meant I knew nothing about literature. 

We discovered our attraction wasn’t as physical as it was born of our mutual love for sports. My vagina stood in the way. He thought our shared interests plus his owning a penis and my owning a vagina equaled a match made in heaven. 

As for Lila … well, she hated him for years.

“This place is quite fancy-pants, Graham Cracker. Or should I start calling you Governor Graham Cracker?”  

The suite showcased a stunning view of the coastal mountains and water’s edge from the top level of the hotel nestled in the heart of downtown Vancouver. I suppressed a gasp to prevent feeding Graham’s ego. In fact, I went out of my way to bulldoze his ego at every opportunity. 

“Why don’t you head down to the spa, Evelyn? Get a massage, maybe have them do something with your hair.” He eased his tall frame into the leather armchair and pulled Lila onto his lap, kissing her neck and groping her boob while looking at me.

Asshole. 

My nose wrinkled while Lila tried to shoo his hand away, but Graham ignored her. “What’s wrong with my hair?” I ran my fingers through my pin-straight hair that stopped midway down my back. 

“It’s fake blond. Not sexy blond like Lila’s hair.” He buried his nose in her hair and sniffed. 

Fine. I’ll admit Lila’s wavy blond hair looked a bit healthier than mine. She turned heads with a chic blend of gold and copper lowlights because Graham sent her to the most expensive salons. However, I happened to like my platinum blond hair. Sometimes I liked it with colorful streaks. Sometimes I liked it with my natural, dark blond grown out a few inches. 

It was hair. Why not get creative with it? Lila lost her carpe diem with her hair. She used to possess more flare BG (Before Graham). He liked her fitting in with his conservative family. She liked his relentless pursuit of her. Who wouldn’t like to be the center of someone’s world? 

Lila’s beauty deserved all the admiration. Hell … I admired her all the time. She knew I envied so many things about her, like her curves. Whereas, I resembled a boy who hadn’t reached puberty yet. 

No butt. 

No boobs. 

If it weren’t for my hair, I could’ve passed as a fourteen-year-old boy. 

“I love you, Grammy Gram Gram.” I pinched his cheek while blowing Lila a kiss. “Try to give her a real orgasm.” 

Graham narrowed his eyes at me while Lila snickered, turning to nuzzle his neck. She’d mastered the art of ignoring our banter. 

Smart woman. 

The truth? Graham and I should have never dated. We were destined to be friends—giving-shit, banter-driven, sports-loving friends. When Lila went through many years of her Graham-is-a-spoiled-rich-kid phase, I liked Graham. We hung out in college while Lila studied because she took school seriously, while Graham and I bet on college football and basketball. 

After we graduated, Lila traveled for several years. I worked some odd jobs that didn’t actually require a science degree before deciding I wanted to make body products. Graham accepted his rightful seat helping run the many family businesses while being groomed for a position in politics. When Lila returned from her worldly travels, Graham wasted no time going full-on over-the-top Porter-style campaigning for her affection. And they lived happily ever after. At least, that was the plan. 

I skipped the massage and wandered a few blocks away from the hotel with my reminiscent thoughts keeping me company on my lonely outing. A whimsical wood sign for a bubble tea cafe caught my attention. The instant I opened the door, I began to salivate. Really, what was that smell?

“Welcome.” The brunette with braided pigtails smiled at me from behind the counter while sliding hot buns onto wood serving trays. The quaint, eco-chic cafe had odd-shaped, old-wood tables, a few bookshelves, and lots of places to plug in computers while sipping bubble tea and salivating over hot buns in unique flavors like matcha, dark chocolate, and tomato basil. A perfect find for me that morning. 

“I’ll have the berry blend bubble tea and a lemon coconut bun.” 

“Those have five more minutes in the oven. Are you okay with waiting?” 

Waiting for hot-out-of-the-oven buns? Yeah, I had all day. Hot lemon coconut buns had to be better than the champagne and sex going on back at the hotel.

“Five minutes is just fine.” I set my money on the counter while she made my tea. 

Turning, I scanned the place for somewhere to sit, but early birds occupied all of the tables. Hoping someone would leave soon, I sipped my tea and waited in the far corner by the bookshelves filled with tea pots, books on tea, bubble tea straws, and other tea paraphernalia. When braided pigtails called my number, I took my tray with the hot bun on it and inspected the table situation again. 

“Do you want your drink and bun to go?” another girl behind the counter asked. 

“Yeah, maybe.” My lips twisted to the side. 

“There’s a chair right here. I’ll be done soon.”  

I turned toward the male voice. 

A handsome Asian man, sitting at a small table by the window, gestured to the empty seat across from him.

Curiosity formed a smile on my face. 

Attractive stranger. Quaint cafe. First day in Vancouver. 

Who could say no to that? “Thank you.” 

He nodded before returning his attention to the book cradled in his hands. A real physical book. Not an e-reader or laptop. He must have been from another planet. My scientific brain had always suspected life beyond Earth. 

I stared. It was hard not to stare, even with the sweet lemony bun aroma wafting toward my nose. The generous stranger owned a kind, bright smile, and he hailed from planet Paperback Books. Did I mention his sharp jaw line and high cheekbones? It was all too much.

Mischievous eyes conveyed an unspoken pleasure. They dared me to reveal my own level of happiness and curiosity. 

The hair though … seriously … The. Hair! Jet black. So thick.

It looked like a missed attempt at parting it on the right—the opposite of Graham’s gel-suffocated Ken doll look. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he murmured just before sipping the coffee in his right hand while keeping ahold of his book with his left hand, leaving his gaze on the pages. 

“Sounds like a backward pickup line.” I used my fork and knife to cut the bun in half. 

He shot me a furtive glance. “Ah, you mean the tried and true, Do you come here often?” 

I grinned, peeking through my eyelashes as I kept my chin tipped toward my food. “It has stood the test of time.” At least, on my planet.

“Well … do you? Come here often?” He leaned back in his chair, sliding his bookmark between the pages before setting the book onto the table and resting that hand on his leg. His other hand cupped the mug of coffee. The guy looked like he should be on a billboard for something really sexy. Cologne? Jeans? Underwear? Allergy medication? Erectile dysfunction? Nah … surely not. He was the epitome of put together—light gray suede boots and perfectly fitted faded jeans. His cream shirt hugged his torso just enough to let the world know he worked out, but he kept it partially hidden under a gray notched-collar peacoat and a deep red checked scarf as if he didn’t need to flaunt his physique. 

If I hadn’t resembled an upside-down mop wearing a sweater, leggings, and boots, I would have flaunted my physique. I struggled to properly match said sweater, leggings, and boots. 

Back to book guy. Did I mention he seemed tall? I couldn’t tell for sure from his seated position, but he had to spread his legs beneath the table to accommodate my legs without us bumping knees. 

“Mmm …” I hummed my utmost appreciation for the exquisite bun as I shook my head. “No. I don’t come here often because I don’t live here. But if I did…” I rolled my eyes back in my head “…I’d be here every single day. This is so good.” 

His smirk greeted me when I recovered from my food orgasm. “Where do you live?” 

“Colorado.”

“I see. Did you come to Vancouver just for the buns and bubble tea?” 

I breathed a guileless laugh. “Subconsciously, I think I did.” 

He continued to inspect me with bright eyes while maintaining a pleasant smile.

When my pulse picked up, because that was the effect he had on me, I cleared my throat and slid my attention to the window. “I’m here with my best friend and her fiancé. He has business meetings. It’s a free trip for me, so that’s cool. Right? And Lila, my friend, likes the company.” I blotted my mouth, most likely covered in powdered sugar. 

“Where are your friends? They’re missing out on hot buns.” 

“They needed some alone time.” I smirked. “So I ventured out. I’m Evelyn, by the way.” 

“Ronin,” he said just before taking another sip of his coffee. Large hands. He had to be tall.

I had a thing for tall guys with slight accents who knew how to read. 

“Do you live here?” I stirred my tea with the wide stainless-steel straw. 

“Just for one more day. I’ve accepted a job … in Aspen.” 

“Shut up.” I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Ski patrol.” 

“Really?” I cut another bite of the bun with my fork and knife. It would have been easier to pick it up and eat it with my hands, but … handsome stranger. “I live in Aspen.” 

“Small world.” 

I tilted my head, searching for warning signs—a flicker of danger in his eyes or the twitch of a wolfish grin. My love of horror movies seeped into my real life, distorting my judgment and imparting irrational fear into random thoughts. 

“So what do you do in Aspen?” he asked with a slight accent. French? I couldn’t tell, but I wanted him to keep talking, even if he was a stalker. 

“I sell guns. And own them. A lot of them. And I’m a really good shot.” See? Who says that? Me, horror movie lover … as I imagined his face covered in paint like The Joker or Pennywise. 

Both of his eyebrows arched. “Okay. I didn’t see that coming.” 

I chewed a bite of the bun, studying him. He didn’t look like a serial killer. Wasn’t that the most common sign of one? Since killers didn’t have a look, the most notorious ones were typically normal looking—sometimes even good looking. They excelled at disarming unsuspecting women. 

“I’m not a gun person, so I don’t know any intelligent questions to ask about your job. Except maybe … how did you get into guns?” 

I scratched my cheek and grinned with a wrinkled nose. “I don’t sell guns. I’m just testing stranger danger. Do you like clowns?” 

A pleasant grin slid up his face. “Clowns are fine. I suppose.” He chuckled. 

Wrong answer. But everyone was entitled to their opinion.

“I own a bath and body shop. I make all of my own products. I’m a chemist who really wanted to be an artist. So, this combines both worlds.” 

“But do you own a gun?” 

My lips twisted, and my eyes narrowed. “It’s Colorado. The probability of me owning a gun is high. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

I didn’t own a gun. Never had. Wouldn’t have had the first clue how to use one. 

“So … ski patrol?” 

“Yes. It’s what I’ve been doing for years.” Definitely a French accent. What was it with guys and accents? 

“Your accent …” I tapped my finger against my bottom lip. 

He took a sip of his coffee. “My father is from Chamonix, France. My mother’s family is from Malaysia, but she was born in the United States, as was I. We moved to France when I was one, and that’s where I grew up. My father is … was an Olympic skier.” 

I blinked several times, pausing my straw at my lips. “Wow! I’m utterly boring compared to you. Bet you’re glad your coffee’s almost gone, so you can go hang out with more worldly people.” 

Ronin chuckled—deep and smooth. “You make soap. Tell me more.” 

“You don’t have to sound interested. We can talk about the weather. I hear rain is expected over the next few days.” 

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Bar soap? Liquid soap?” 

I stole another bite of the warm bun, chewing while trying to hide my grin, gazing out the window at the traffic crawling along the street. “Both. And bath bombs, scrubs, lip balms, facial creams, and toners …” I blotted my mouth with my napkin. “It’s really an endless list.” 

“Fascinating.” 

I coughed a little laugh. “It’s really not.” 

“No?” He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his neck. It tightened his shirt a bit more across his chest. “I find it all very intriguing.” 

Ronin possessed a special charm and way above average looks. Okay … he was flat-out sexy. The heat in my cheeks probably made my thoughts all too transparent. 

“To me,” I conceded, “it is interesting and fun. I genuinely like my job. I’m not sure my parents imagined my degree leading to my owning a bath shop, but they’re happy that I’m happy.” 

“I can relate. My father imagined me chasing his gold medals in skiing. I loved watching him ski. And I, too, love skiing. However, I was always more fascinated with the men and women who brought injured skiers down the mountain than the exuberant victors crossing the finishing line in record time. The only clock that interested me was the one that meant saving a life. That’s what I do now. I’ve worked in several countries as ski patrol. And I’ve spent many summers working as a paramedic with fire and EMS.” 

Hot buns. Yummy bubble tea. Sunny and fifty-five degrees in beautiful Vancouver. And an Asian Frenchman who liked saving lives. Short of Graham giving Lila a dozen orgasms … there’s no way Lila’s day beat mine. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll marry me, will you?” My mouth twisted into a smirk before I laughed—a hearty laugh so he saw my humor, my joking personality (I was ninety percent joking). 

“Probably.” He shrugged one shoulder. 

Dead. 

In that moment, I died.

He did not just say that, did he? I was joking. Yes, he was joking too. That meant we were two strangers who found joking about marriage completely acceptable. That had to be a small percent of the population. Less than two percent?

We exchanged looks that neither of us could hold for more than a few seconds without averting our gazes. 

What was that? 

What the hell just happened?

“So …” I stood on my wobbly legs. “I should get back to the hotel. Thanks for sharing your table with me.” 

Ronin unfolded his body from the chair, proving my theory—he was tall. The whole damn package.  

“It was nice meeting you, Evelyn.” Ronin glanced at his phone and slipped it back into the pocket of his wool jacket. Then he grabbed his book and opened the door for me. 

“Thank you.” I slid past him, accidentally—or not so accidentally—brushing against him. “What did you do here?” I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Nor did I want to sound desperate, but I was sure the hypothetical marriage proposal already blew my cover. 

“Which way?” He jerked his chin toward the right. 

I pointed to the left, the direction of my hotel. 

“Ski patrol in Whistler. I fly out of Vancouver tomorrow for Denver.” 

We strolled down the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of our jackets, taking our time. I craved all the seconds I could get with my new friend. At the stoplight, I frowned at my threadbare leggings and pilled, black sweater jacket. 

Five years of scuff marks painted my charcoal boots.

No makeup. 

Also, as Graham so kindly pointed out, my hair was not shampoo-commercial worthy. 

Ronin didn’t seem to care—after all, he could’ve made up any excuse to hop in a cab or walk in the opposite direction, yet he didn’t. 

“What does your father do now?” I asked. 

“He’s retired, so he travels a lot with my mom. She’s a designer and owns a clothing line. It’s a small line with a limited market, but she’s doing exactly what she loves. Her best friend is her business partner, so it affords her time to travel with my dad. I can’t keep up with them. I think they’re in Kuala Lumpur right now, but I’m not entirely sure.” He chuckled. “Do you live close to your family?” 

“Yes. My parents live in Denver. My sister and her husband live in San Francisco, close to my dad’s parents. And my grandma, my mom’s mom, moved into an assisted living facility six months ago in Aurora. I moved out of my apartment last month and into her home, an actual log cabin in Aspen. My grandfather built it. I’m sure it could be worth a lot of money, but my grandma wants me to live there. It’s important to her to see it stay in the family.” 

Ronin bobbed his head several times. “I like that. It seems like our generation doesn’t really value things like log cabins built by grandparents. I heard the value of a lot of antiques has gone down because we just don’t value them like generations before ours.”  

“I can see that, and it is sad.” I pointed to the entrance of Porter Suites. 

We stopped under the awning. 

“Nice hotel.” His eyebrows lifted a fraction. 

“My best girlfriend is marrying my best guy friend. He’s a Porter—I thought the most sensible one of the bunch, but now he’s talking craziness about getting into politics. I’m not sure he’ll keep a level head if that happens. But … I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s just a great guy—albeit a really rich guy—who wants to be a public servant.” I shrugged, slipping my hands back into the pockets of my jacket while blowing hair out of my mouth. 

“Graham Porter.” 

I twisted my lips, nose wrinkled. “How did you know?” 

“No … ” Ronin jerked his chin, gesturing over my shoulder. “I mean he’s coming out of the hotel.” 

My head whipped around as the lovers emerged from the door held open by the doorman. 

It wasn’t surprising Ronin recognized Graham and his fastidious, tabloid-worthy appearance. 

“We’re going shopping. Coming, Evie?” Lila held out her hand to me, but then she stopped, letting it fall to her side as her gaze snagged on my tall, new friend. “Hello …” She smiled, showing me a quick where-are-your-manners look. 

“Ronin, this is my friend Lila and her fiancé, Graham. This is Ronin. We just met over buns and bubble tea.” 

Lila chuckled, reaching for Ronin’s proffered hand. “Buns and bubble tea. We’ll chat about that later, Evie. Nice to meet you, Ronin.” 

“You too.” He flashed her a warm smile. 

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Graham shook Ronin’s hand too. 

I waited for Graham to make some snide remark about me, just to embarrass me, but he didn’t. Grammy Graham earned extra points for being on his best behavior. Maybe his leap into politics had already matured him. He was thirty-six going on fifty.

“You should invite Ronin to dinner.” Lila looped her arm around Graham’s arm. 

Ha! 

There was a wedding proposal and a bit of hardcore swooning on my part, but dinner with my friends felt exponentially more intimidating than a hypothetical wedding proposal.

“Um …” I glanced up at Ronin. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Lila excelled at making me think I couldn’t find dates without her expert help. She was my pimp. Just when I thought I’d found a guy all on my own, she swooped in and arranged a date. Had I not been so elated, I might have been pissed off at her. 

“Me too.” I smiled at Ronin. 

“Great!” Lila tipped her chin up, her grin beaming with pride. 

Yeah, yeah … you’re an awesome best friend. 

“What time, babe?” She tugged on Graham’s arm to get his attention. 

“Six.” He glanced at his watch.

“Where?” Ronin asked. 

Lila gestured toward the hotel. “The steakhouse in the hotel. Graham says it’s phenomenal.” 

“I’ll be back around six.” Ronin winked at me. “Have fun shopping.” 

My eyes widened, smile embarrassingly too exuberant, as I held my breath to keep from squealing like a seventeen-year-old girl who just got asked to prom by the hottest guy in school.

“See you soon!” Lila waved as Ronin stepped to the curb and slid into the back of a taxi. “Breathe! Oh my god … breathe, Evie.” She pressed her hands to my face, eyes wide with excitement for me. 

“Are we shopping, ladies? If not, I have business I can do.” Graham waited at the back of the black SUV with a driver holding open the door. 

“Shopping, babe.” Lila took my hand and pulled me into the back of the vehicle. 

Graham rolled his eyes at me as I bit back my smile.