"You're also going to need to pay a fine," the police officer informs me, writing something on a pad of paper. "I'm citing you for violation of city ordnance five three one. You'll need to come down to the courthouse and talk to the judge."

Great. Nausea surges in my stomach. The band starts to shuffle their equipment back into their van. I sign the violation notice, write out a check to the band, and rush to help settle the rest of the chaos.

Inside, the noise level is starting to decrease as mothers haul their children toward the door and other customers walk out. I return to the Castle Room, which is now empty.

In addition to the mess of overturned chairs and crumpled paper plates, the murals of black mountains and flying monkeys have been smeared with yellow and blue paint, several of the crystal ball centerpieces are cracked, and there's an entire cake smashed near the stairs.

With my heart feeling heavy as an anvil, I pick up a trash can and start to clean up the plates and cups.

"The Alice in Wonderland room took a hit too," Allie says from behind me. "But this is the worst of it."

I shake my head. "What happened?"

"Everything," Allie says, her voice tight with frustration as we start to straighten the chairs. "First Brent had to go out of town, and Sarah called in sick. Then in addition to the invited party guests, Becky thought it would be fun to tell all her friends to bring their friends. So over fifty five-year-olds showed up, and I knew we couldn't turn them away so we had to scramble to get enough food for them because we hadn't placed that big an order.

"Then the band was late, and they had way more equipment than we'd been expecting, so it took them forever to set up and by then the kids were getting impatient and wreaking havoc in the cafe because most of their parents had left. A bunch of them were yelling that they wanted cake, which wasn't supposed to happen until after the band, but then Becky saw it sitting on the sideboard and decided to carry it downstairs to the terrace."

She waves toward the cake smashed and trampled on the floor. "Well, of course she dropped it and then got hysterical, but she didn't want any of the cafe desserts as a subst.i.tute. So her mother went out to buy another cake, which meant she wasn't here when the kids started ripping open all the presents.

"I managed to get the band to start, but someone must have complained about the noise, because the police officer showed up asking for our permit-which you a.s.sured me you'd take care of-and the band had to shut down, which made all the kids upset, and then one little boy thought it would be funny to eat the cake with his hands... and next thing you know, they're throwing cake at each other, Becky is crying, her mother is yelling at me to fix things, the band is complaining about how they came here to play, and the police officer is telling me I have to pay a fine."

She whirls around to pin me with a glare. "And you weren't answering your stupid phone."

"Oh, Allie." Tears flood my eyes, and I sink onto a chair. "I am so G.o.dd.a.m.ned sorry."

"I don't get it, Liv!" She spreads her arms out. "What happened? Where were you?"

Embarra.s.sment scorches my face.

"I was with Dean," I admit.

Allie blinks in bafflement. "With Dean?"

"Sort of a date night. Or day. Whatever. We haven't spent much time together since Nicholas was born, and he took me out and... well, I usually have every other Sat.u.r.day off and I completely forgot about the party."

"I'm not begrudging you a date night with your husband," Allie says. "But it's so unlike you to be so irresponsible."

The word hits me like the tail end of a whip. I've spent my life trying to prove I'm anything but irresponsible.

"You were the one who pushed for us to have this party," Allie continues sharply, "and not because you knew we could handle it, but because you were trying to do some t.i.t-for-tat kind of thing with Edison. But you know that's not what the Wonderland Cafe is about."

"What can I do?" I ask, shame filling my chest. "How can I fix it?"

"I have no idea. I already gave Monica her deposit back. The band is upset because this hurts their reputation for making kids happy, and now we're on record as having been fined. Plus we had to turn regular customers away because we were too busy, and now there are at least three grandmothers out there p.i.s.sed off because we couldn't provide the high tea they had promised their granddaughters. That's going to mess with our business too, as if our grand opening disaster wasn't enough of a hurdle to overcome."

With that parting shot, she stalks out of room and down the stairs. I stare at a cracked crystal ball, feeling as if Allie just slapped me. Or as if I just tripped on my own feet and face-planted on a concrete floor. I rest my head in my hands and indulge in a good crying jag.

Of course it was all too good to be true. I finally have everything I've been working for-an incredible husband, a beautiful son, a successful business, a good reputation-and when the final piece of my marriage gets put back into place, all the other b.a.l.l.s I'm juggling come crashing down.

I wipe my eyes on a napkin, my insides suddenly aching with longing to see Nicholas. I text Dean that I have to "finish up" some things at the cafe, then I get back to work cleaning up the mess and trying to patch up the damage I've done.

Allie doesn't talk to me for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time we close the cafe I'm starting to wonder if I've permanently damaged both our friendship and our business partnership.

"Allie, I don't know what else to say or do," I tell her, as we turn off the lights and lock up.

"Nothing right now, Liv." She turns away from me, her back stiff. "I'll see you Monday."

I watch her walk away, guilt simmering like acid inside me. I get into my car and head back to the b.u.t.terfly House.

I leave my purse in the foyer and go into the sunroom, where Dean and Nicholas are building an intricate, towering structure with the blocks Dean brought back from Tuscany. Twilight shines through the picture windows. The song "All Around the Kitchen" drifts from the speakers, loud enough that neither of them glances up from their task.

For a moment, I stop and look at them-Nicholas in a blue sweatshirt with his hair a mess and dried jam on his cheek, and an unshaven Dean, wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, his reading gla.s.ses on as he studies what appears to be a diagram of the tower they're constructing. He makes a notation on the picture and hands a triangular block to Nicholas, who places it carefully on top of a stack.

"Mama!"

Nicholas pushes to his feet and waddles toward me, his arms outstretched. I drop my bag on the kitchen island and crouch to pull him against me, inhaling his toddler smells of baby shampoo, sour milk, and strawberry jam.

"Hey, you get everything done?" Dean approaches, rubbing his hand over Nicholas's head as he bends to kiss me.

"Yes." I lift Nicholas into my arms and straighten, not yet wanting to tell Dean about my egregious mistake.

I lean closer to him, squishing Nicholas between us in a group hug as I breathe them both in. The scents of my husband fill my nose-coffee, laundry detergent, and chocolate mint.

"You found my secret stash of peppermint patties," I remark, rubbing my cheek against his chest.

"You need to work on your hiding skills, lady," he replies. "Did you really think I wouldn't find them behind Nicholas's yogurt bites?"

"Next time I'll hide them behind the organic kale chips."

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. "Well, I guarantee I won't bother to look there."

"Tower!" Nicholas shouts, squirming in my arms.

I lower him to the floor, and he hurries back to the unfinished tower. Dean reaches out to twist his hands around the ends of the purple silk scarf, which I'd forgotten I'm still wearing around my neck. He tugs on the scarf, pulling me to him for another kiss.

"I missed you," he remarks. "I had more plans, you know. Dirty ones."

"Oh, I know." I slide my arms around his waist and squeeze, loving so much the solid strength and heat of his body. "Sorry I had to leave so suddenly."

"S'okay." He rubs my back. "Just gives me more reason to whisk you away again for another night of debauchery."

If only it were that easy...

"Mama, tower!" Nicholas calls.

I pull away from Dean, and we join our son on the carpet. We spend the next hour building, reading picture books, listening to music, and refereeing a toddler fuss that is soothed with a sippy cup of milk.

Our evening routine is a striking contrast to last night, but comfortably familiar-after a dinner of leftover tacos, I get Nicholas ready for bed while Dean cleans the kitchen.

After I return downstairs, I shuffle through the day's mail. There's another postcard from my friend North, this time from Cambodia: Liv, Sandcastle temples, sugar palms, monks in saffron robes, crowded markets with pungent scents of grilled seafood and fried insects, brutal scars of the past and yet, when you look, evidence of a bright, serene awakening.

My adventure continues.

North I join Dean on the sofa, where he's sprawled out watching the news. He extends an arm and I snuggle against his side, letting the warmth of him ease away the lingering tightness in my chest.

"Postcard from North." I hold the card out to him.

"Cambodia, huh?" He reads the card and turns it over to look at the printed photo of the elaborate Angkor Wat temple complex. "I went to grad school with a guy who specialized in Southeast Asian architecture. He spent a year in Cambodia studying Angkor Wat. He invited me to visit any time, but I never made it over there."

For some reason, I don't like the idea of Dean not having done something. I stroke my hand under his T-shirt to touch the flat, hard ridges of his abdomen.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean pats my hip.

"Yeah, I just forgot I was supposed to do something at the cafe, and it sort of screwed things up. I'll straighten it out, though."

"What happened?"

I know he'll find out sooner or later, so I take a deep breath and confess my colossal f.u.c.k-up. He listens in silence, his brow creasing with concern.

By the time I'm finished, the tension in my shoulders has eased somewhat. Sharing my burdens with Dean has always made things easier, and I fully expect him to rea.s.sure me everything will work out.

"Liv." His expression is somber, his mouth turning into a frown. "I think the universe is trying to tell you something."

I blink. "Like what?"

"Like you've been trying to do too much for too long. Sooner or later, something was going to give."

Though that's exactly what I just told myself, it hurts extra hard hearing it from Dean-especially considering the reason I forgot about Becky's party.

"You wouldn't have said that when we were getting busy in the hotel room," I mutter, pushing away from him and getting to my feet.

His frown deepens. "I won't apologize for wanting you all to myself for one d.a.m.ned night. You've had every other Sat.u.r.day off at the cafe for the past year, and you had it written on the calendar that today was your day off. I'd never have made plans if I'd known you had other commitments, but I can't even remember the last time we were alone together for an entire night. I'm not apologizing for it."

"I'm not asking you to apologize," I retort, tossing North's postcard on a table. "I know I f.u.c.ked up. But I don't need you making me feel worse."

Remorse flashes in his eyes, but his jaw tightens. "I don't want to make you feel worse. I want you to stop thinking you have to do everything. You don't have to tackle every single project on your own just because people ask you to or because you feel you have to. You don't have to prove you can do it all, Liv. Everyone knows you can."

My insides twist. Why don't I know that by now too? Why don't I believe it?

"Look, I know some people over at Edison Power," Dean continues as he stands and approaches me. "So does Kelsey. Let me call them and-"

I hold up my hand to stop him. I know-I know-the easiest way to deal with this mess is to turn everything over to my husband. Just like the night when he effortlessly rescued me and Nicholas from chaos, he would do the same thing now. He'd smooth all the rough edges, negotiate the conflicts, make everything right. He would fix it.

But why shouldn't I be responsible for cleaning up my own messes? I'm the one who wanted to do it all, so I'm the one who has to fix it. Yes, it's a rotten leftover of life with my mother-who never took responsibility for a f.u.c.king thing, including her own daughter-but that doesn't give me a free pa.s.s. I won't make excuses for myself.

"No." I shake my head. "I'll figure it out."

Dean exhales a sigh of frustration. "Liv, it's okay to ask for help. To accept help when it's offered. It doesn't make you weak or irresponsible."

"I don't think it does."

"Then let me help you, dammit."

I look up at the hard note in his voice. He's standing with his arms folded across his chest, his mouth tight and eyes dark.

I suddenly wonder what it has cost him over the years to stand back and not intervene in my problems when there is nothing he wants to do more. Being pa.s.sive, especially in regards to his family, goes against the very core of who Dean West is. He's always been the one to make things happen-to win the game, save the day, find the treasure, lead the battle.

But for me, because I asked him to, he has put himself on the sidelines and watched me try, fail, and try again. He's forced himself not to jump in and rescue me, and because of his restraint, I've grown and changed in ways I'd once never imagined I could.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?"

"For letting me make mistakes. For not trying to fix things, even though I know you always want to."

He's still frowning. "That sounds like you're going to turn me down again."

"No, I'm not turning you down. I just need to figure out what the fallout of all this is going to be and talk to Allie. Give me a day or two. I promise I'll tell you if I need you."

Dean looks at me for a long moment, his expression shuttered. He reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from my forehead.

"I thought you always needed me," he says.

My heart stutters at the idea he would ever think otherwise.

"Of course I do."

A faint, resigned smile tugs at his mouth. He turns away, picking up a stack of papers from the kitchen counter before he goes upstairs to his tower office.

I have a sudden, sharp longing to return to the hot intimacy we'd had in the hotel room. I want cherry pie and champagne again. I want lacy lingerie, silk blindfolds, the burn of l.u.s.t. I want to feel Dean's hands sweeping over my naked body. I want to hear his deep voice whispering commands in my ear. I want to close the door and shut the world out so we can focus on each other again.

But even if we could, it wouldn't be the same. All our efforts, both mine and Dean's, to find that place again have either failed or created a disaster.

Maybe because that place no longer exists. Maybe we've been trying to recreate something that can't be recreated because it belongs to the past. Maybe it's now just a memory. And if not even Dean can bring it back to stay...

My heart aches. I'm tempted to follow him to his tower and curl up on his lap. The sensation of my husband's strong arms tightening around me in a warm, secure circle is, perhaps, the only thing in the world that can banish my sense of hopelessness.

Instead, I turn in the opposite direction, walk up the stairs, and crawl into bed alone.

PART III.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.