Of course, every bit as familiar—and much, much less exciting—was what came next.
He loosened his hold on her and lowered her back down to flat footing. His hand left her back and waist and instead tenderly embraced her face as their kisses became less deep and more segmented. And then, the inevitable sigh.
Actually, in the easiest situations, there was an inevitable sigh. When separating was trickier and a little more dreaded—as it was tonight—there was an inevitable groan, from one or the other of them.
Tonight it was both.
Will pulled her back to their earlier posture—her cheek against his chest. That was better, but only slightly. She was still close enough to impact every single one of his senses, which made it so difficult to remember why they continued to repeat this dance, time after time.
Because you love her, he lectured himself. Because you told her you would. Because it’s the right thing to do. Because she’s worth it. Because you didn’t just promise her, you promised God.
That was the one that always did the trick and brought him back to reality. He hadn’t been with many women before making that promise. Before giving his life to God. But if he could go back and change that number from “not many” to “none” he would. In a heartbeat. God had forgiven him and Will had made his peace with it, but there was no way he was going to repeat the same mistakes—and there was certainly no way he was going to let Cadie get tangled up in the regret.
Her groan intensified as he put some space between them. “Don’t go.”
Well, that wasn’t going to help.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not going anywhere. But, um . . .” He looked around, urgently grasping for something concrete to focus on. “Coffee!”
She laughed as he spun her around. She was instantly a few feet away from the coffee maker, and he was standing beside it, preparing their black, caffeinated salvation.
“I love you too, by the way,” she whispered as she looped her arms around him from behind and rested her cheek on his back.
He wasn’t convinced that coffee was going to be enough of a distraction.
“Your birthday gift!” he exclaimed, pulling away from her abruptly as soon as he had turned on the coffeepot.
“What?” she asked through her laughter. “There can’t possibly be more, Will! This whole day has been perfect, and you already gave me the earrings—”
“That was anniversary. Doesn’t count.”
“And you gave me the gift of venerated,” she added with a sly smile. “And dinner and the gallery, and, well . . . that kiss a minute ago. That was a pretty special kiss, certainly reserved for a special occasion . . .”
She was crossing the room back toward him, and he knew he couldn’t allow her to reach him. Not yet. He needed a little more time before he would possess the fortitude to dance the dance again. They were usually more disciplined, and he feared he wasn’t skilled enough to handle more that night.
“Well, be that as it may, there’s one more gift.”
He returned to his jacket on the hook by the door and reached into the inside pocket. He glanced up at her and was relieved to see that she had ceased her advance into what he knew was very dangerous territory. Still, he was worried it wasn’t enough. Cadie had the benefit of wealthy parents who had helped her get established on her own in Manhattan, and there were times, such as now, when he wished she had chosen square footage over location with the amount of money she had at her disposal. Sure, there’s something to be said for a safe neighborhood and her shared English Tudor garden courtyard, not to mention being steps away from the Christopher Street Station—and therefore, effectively, steps away from all of Manhattan—and the Magnolia Bakery on the corner. But at least in, say, East Harlem, he’d be able to go to a different room to cool down a little.
“So, before I give you this—”
“Oh, Will.” She was frozen in place, her hands clasped over her mouth.
He chuckled as he looked down at the tiny box in his hands, with its unmistakable signature Astor & DeLancey style, and then back up at her. “Of course you know,” he said softly, gratified by how well he knew her. And how well she knew him. There he’d been, prepared to deliver the speech he’d begun practicing on the train back from Long Island, days earlier, after his initially promising but ultimately disheartening visit with her parents. But the expression on her face made it clear to him that she already understood.
He’d been worried that it wasn’t enough. That it would seem like he was just grasping at straws—despite the fact that the box represented more than two years of planning and saving. He’d worried she wouldn’t understand, even upon hearing the speech he had prepared, that the gift was a beginning. Step one. A down payment on forever. Most of all he’d been worried she wouldn’t remember the obscure conversation from two years earlier—and that the memory had meant more to him than it had to her. Now he felt foolish for not giving her, and their bond, enough credit.
“Sorry,” she said through her laughter and the joyful tears that were overtaking her. She began trying to wipe them away, but it was useless. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I don’t want to ruin whatever you had planned.”
“Are you kidding?” he whispered as he decided to take his chances on the status of their familiar dance and make his way back to her. The need to share the moment with her was stronger than the need to keep a safe distance between them for a little bit longer. The fingers of one of his hands attempted to dry the tears from her cheeks, as the other hand clasped the tiny, antique ring box. “All I had planned—all I’ve ever planned—was doing all I could to make you happy. And since I’m pretty sure these aren’t sad tears . . .”
She laughed. “No.”
“Then I guess everything’s going according to plan.”
Cadie wrapped her arms around him as she tilted her chin as far as it could go in order to kiss him. Will grew worried once again—one more kiss, one more touch, one more exquisite moment of her body melded against his, and he knew he could very well lose whatever restraint he had left.
Nevertheless, he was overwhelmingly disappointed when she pulled away from him.
“Okay, so forget I said anything,” she gushed as she hurriedly grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table, blew her nose, and threw the tissue in the trash. “You said, ‘Before I give you this . . .’” She laughed, and he smiled in response. “You can pick up from there.”
He’d been preparing to make a purchase at Astor & DeLancey ever since they’d walked in on a lark one night while window shopping on Fifth Avenue, more than two years earlier. They’d each spent most of their adult lives in the city, but neither had ever dared to walk into the snobby, exclusive, ridiculously luxurious jewelry store before. Once they entered, they immediately wanted to exit. All eyes were on them. They were both moderately successful, independent adults—and Cadie even came from an affluent family—but they were inordinately out of place at Astor & DeLancey.
Cadie had begun to respond to the patronizing “May I help you?” request of the store’s clerk with, “Just looking, thanks.” Or maybe by acting as if they had wandered in by mistake. But Will was more used to life on the scrappy side of the income bracket and had no patience for the snobbery.
“I’m Lord Marbury,” he’d said in a haughty British accent, not so much as putting out his hand for a handshake, but only bowing his head slightly. “Lady Marbury is looking for a retirement gift for the neighbor’s gardener. What can you suggest?”
On it had gone for a solid ten minutes. Cadie didn’t speak the entire time, and she’d later told him she’d been unable to open her mouth for fear that either laughter or horror would escape. At the very least she suspected her attempt at a British accent would give her away as a Cockney flower girl, at best. But Lord Marbury had carried on. Finally, they left the store, much to the chagrin of the convinced clerk, with a declaration that the neighbor’s gardener—whose name he claimed he couldn’t rememb
er—deserved better than Astor & DeLancey had to offer.
“All I want,” Cadie had said then, as they’d laughed their way down Fifth Avenue, “is something from there. Or even just the box that something would normally come in—if I could even afford that! Just something to remember that by, because that was us, you know.”
He glanced down at the ring box he now held, and the ostentatiously engraved Astor & DeLancey logo it sported.
“That was the first time we told each other, ‘I love you,’” he said aloud as his thoughts brought him back to the present. He fiddled with the tiny wooden box, turning it over and over nervously. “I don’t know what had taken us so long. At least I don’t know what had taken me so long. I think I began falling in love with you as soon as I met you. Certainly by the time I saw your teeth covered in icing. But that night at Astor & DeLancey, for some reason, I knew it. I knew I wanted to make you laugh forever, and if I had to be Lord Marbury to make that happen, then I’d be Lord Marbury for the rest of my life.” Cadie giggled as her tears began again, and her laughter made him smile, as it always did. It put him at ease and took away every doubt and question. “The fact that you like me even without my lordship? Well . . . even better.”
He waited as she grabbed another tissue and blew her nose once again, and then he handed her the box as he said, “Harpy birdbay, Palie,” as he had every year since the first.
He watched her with delight. On the train home from Long Island, he’d gone through so many options in his mind of how to salvage the romance of his original plan, while laying the groundwork for the new plan. To honor their past and their future, at the same time. Her reaction made it clear that by celebrating their time as Lord and Lady Marbury, he had hit it out of the park. He knew he’d made the right decision to present her with the wooden box—an antique from 1894, the sixth year the store was open.
“Should I open it?” she asked, an effervescent grin taking over her lips.
“Sure,” he answered with a shrug. “I tested it out. It’s old, but it’s not overly delicate.”
Cadie took a deep breath and then opened the box. Confusion immediately spread across her face.
“It doesn’t have the original lining,” Will rushed into his explanation as he took a step to stand beside her and point out what he had memorized about the very expensive box. “That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? This one is kind of messed up. Sorry. But, here’s the thing: in 1912, they had decided to start using silk interior instead of velvet. They pulled all of the velvet out of their existing inventory of boxes because they were expecting a shipment of silk. The silk was coming over on the Titanic. Isn’t that crazy? When they, obviously, didn’t get that shipment, they switched to Vicuña wool, which I guess switched to cashmere at some point. But anyway, that’s why it doesn’t have the original lining. Not sure why it doesn’t have any lining, but that’s probably why this was the one I could afford, honestly, so—”
He stopped rambling on about his endless research findings long enough to notice that her smile had faded and the tears in her eyes no longer seemed joyful. His confidence began to falter, and he once again began questioning the plan.
“It’s an empty box,” she muttered, bewildered.
She seemed to quickly pull herself together as she plastered a smile on her face.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Her smile didn’t appear insincere, but it also didn’t seem as warm. “I really love it. Thank you, Lord Marbury.” She tipped her imaginary hat to him and then placed her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.
“Um . . . you’re welcome?” He hadn’t meant to phrase it as a question, but he was pretty sure it had come out that way. “Look, Cadie, I’m sorry it’s not more, I just—”
“No, really. I love it.” She took a deep breath. “I think the coffee’s done.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. “I did think you’d like it.”
“I do. I do like it, Will. Really. Thank you.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, held it for a moment, and then set it down. “I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. A good day!” She smiled that not-insincere but not-warm smile again. “I think maybe I should just—”
“Okay. Sure.” He nodded and walked to grab his jacket.
He heard her laugh behind him, but it wasn’t the laugh from before. It wasn’t the laugh that had reminded him that it was worth dancing whatever dance was necessary in order to be in her presence. No, this laugh was bitter. Cold.
“Wow. Just like that,” she mumbled—though he heard every painful syllable.
He threw his hands up in the air. “What is happening, Cadie? I get it—you don’t like the gift. I’m sorry. I thought you would. But I don’t understand why you’re mad at—”
That was as far as he got before she threw her petite frame at him—with enough force to make him lose his footing—and kissed him like she had never kissed him before. It was rough and urgent. Sexy, without a doubt, but not in her usual way. He sensed that her kiss was some sort of battle cry, though he was so confused as to when they had gone to war. He couldn’t even be sure they were battling the same opponent. Everything in him was telling him to tenderly pull away and hold her. He knew that she needed to talk. He understood that there was something she wasn’t saying—even if he understood nothing else.
But the fact of the matter was that the woman he loved, the only woman he wanted, was throwing herself at him, and clarity was giving way to clouds with each touch.
“Have you ever even thought about the two of us being together?” she asked, her lips the smallest of margins from his.
“You know I have,” he whispered as his lips bridged the distance between them.
His arms finally relented, unable to resist her, and prepared to pull her as close as he possibly could. But she was gone, as far across the room as she could manage—and he took back everything he had ever thought about wishing she had more square footage in East Harlem. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being any farther away.
“Come here,” he whispered.
“See, I can’t. That’s the problem. You know how important it is to wait until marriage—”
He cleared his throat and attempted to clear his brain, but that was proving to be a bit tougher. “Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat again. “I know. I wasn’t suggesting—”
“But that’s where it’s going to go, right?” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. How was she calm enough to sip coffee? He was a wreck. “I mean, at some point. It’s always like this.”
He would have to beg to differ. “No. Sorry, but no. In three years, I think I can safely say it’s never been like this . . .”
“Maybe not just like this, but . . . this. We have to stop before we go too far. We have to walk a line. We have to respect the boundaries we set.”
He ran his hand through his hair and then used both hands to rub his face. He wasn’t sure if he needed to wake up or focus. All he knew was that he was confused and consumed by a feeling of whiplash.
Also, he really wanted a cup of coffee. But he was afraid to move from his spot, in case it’d be another wrong move.
“Aren’t you tired of it, Will? Don’t you want more?”
His chest deflated as all of the air in his lungs rushed out, as if he’d been thrown up against a wall. Was that really what all this was about? Did she really doubt how much he wanted to be with her? If so, he knew he was going to have a very difficult time ignoring the expression on her face and the uncertainty in her voice, staying focused on the new plan he’d concocted on the train. As he left Long Island, he’d been consumed by frustration and disappointment, but he’d arrived back at Penn Station buoyed by determination. Now that determination seemed absurd and inadequate as she looked at him like she wasn’t sure she knew him at all.
“Of course I do, Cadie. But—”
“What?” she asked sharply.
He sighed. “Are we really talking about this? I mean, do you
really want me to say this stuff? I know it’s not the most comfortable—”
“I think we have to. Because I don’t know what you want, Will. I don’t.”
“Look, it’s—” He ran his hand through his hair again. “Can we sit?”
She stood up straighter and crossed her arms at the suggestion. “You go ahead.”
Well, he couldn’t very well sit after that answer. Instead he shifted his weight onto his other foot and racked his brain. He still came up empty.
Somewhere along the line he had apparently ruined the romance of this particular evening, but he knew that if he were to tell her the why behind it all, he would ruin the potential romance of the new plan. He would also undoubtedly say something he shouldn’t. His conversation with her parents was still too fresh, and he couldn’t be sure he had complete control of his emotions yet. Especially where they were concerned. And he couldn’t, even unintentionally, ask Cadie to choose sides. So what were his options?
He sighed. “You’re right. It’s been a long day. Let’s just . . . let’s talk tomorrow.”
He turned his back to her and went over to his jacket, pretty certain he wouldn’t have to worry about being stopped by an unexpected kiss this time. He threw it on hastily and turned toward her, wanting to say so much but afraid to say anything.
But it was all forgotten at the sight of her huddled on the floor, sobbing. He took a deep breath—this time not in preparation for battle but in surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he approached her cautiously. Cautiously. He’d never felt the need to be cautious around her before, and it was a strange sensation. He’d been cautious with her, but that was something very different.
“No, I’m sorry,” she cried.
With those words he was pretty sure a cease-fire had been drafted between them, and he had permission to approach the enemy, who could maybe once more become an ally. He sat beside her on the floor and pulled her to him. She cried into his shirt and he held her, and though no words were spoken between them, he was pretty sure he was beginning to understand.
Wooing Cadie McCaffrey Page 5
