Never Got Over You

by Scott, S. L.

  “You want to get married?” I ask, blindsided, the words like a fumbled football as they leave my tongue. “I don’t understand why you’re saying this. Are you running from the law, or did you do something wrong?”

  The taste of being questioned comes out in pinched brows as he looks at me. “Nothing’s wrong, and for the record, I have no skeletons. You can run a background check. I know this is out of the blue, but my feelings aren’t. I’ve been thinking about what I want since I left New York. I want you. It’s bullshit to live in two different worlds when all I want to be is with you all of the time.”

  “But we don’t have to be married to be with each other. You skipped a few steps, like moving in together or living in the same city.”

  “I love you and want to marry you, Natalie. This isn’t a fly-by-night romance for me. You’ll not only be the first girl I’m bringing home to meet my family. You’ll be the only one. You don’t have to say yes, but you should know that I’m not giving up unless you tell me no. I’ll respect that, but it won’t change my feelings toward you, not ever.”

  “I don’t even know what fly by night means, but you’re serious, aren’t you?” I should want to tell him yes, be brave like him or bold like Tatum, but I’m so stunned I’m not sure what to say. The last thing I want to do is give a knee-jerk reaction to something that deserves thought and care.

  Images of falling into his arms the first time we met and then running into him on the street in one of the most populated cities in the world come to mind. Making love that night and then the picnic in the empty apartment in lower Manhattan. His smile when we saw each other at the airport. All of these vivid memories play like a record of our love affair, making me realize I had it all wrong. But he didn’t. “You said it was destiny the first time we met.”

  His grin grows, the sunlight reflecting in his eyes making them so much brighter. “I did. It was.” He fiddles with my fingers in his hand. What astounds me most is that we don’t have all our ducks in a row. We don’t know where he’ll live, where my business will go, whether it will keep growing. Yet this incredible man sees a future with me in it, no matter where his job takes him, no matter that he doesn’t know all my favorite things. And that confidence in us brings me peace. A feeling of rightness that I’ve only ever felt before about STJ. Contentment amidst the chaos.

  “I don’t know what I’m saying, Nick, but I think I agree with you. We were destiny. There’s no other way to describe us, so who am I to argue with our fate?”

  “You’re saying—”

  “I’ll marry you.” Saying it feels right and vacant of regret. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Nick.”

  He wraps around me, and we roll to the side onto the bed. Kisses are placed all over my face under my fits of giggles, and he leaves whispers just under my ear, “I love you.”

  “I love you too, so much.” The truth has freed itself from my chest, leaving more room for love to grow beyond my heart, spilling into all parts of me like the air I need to breathe and the blood that runs through me. Nick and I are one already, so getting married is merely a formality when thinking about destiny and the role it’s played in our lives.

  Lying next to him, I snuggle into the nook of his body, and say, “I love dogs.”

  I take the opportunity to look up at him, smiling when I see his already big enough not to contain any longer. “Me, too.”

  “Little dogs I can run errands with.”

  “I prefer bigger dogs you can play fetch with.”

  Running the tips of my fingers lightly over his abs, I say, “We’ll compromise and get one of each or buy a medium-sized dog.”

  “That sounds fair.” Curling his arm around me a bit tighter, he kisses my forehead. I could melt from the sweetness. Actually, I do, every time he plants one on me. I’ll never turn down one of his kisses.

  “I’m a six, if you’re wondering about a certain ring finger. I’m not sure on the others. You already know my favorite food.”

  “Ketchup,” he says, chuckling. “Kidding. Burgers and fries.”

  A sense of pride comes over me that he got it right. We could be the stars of the dating game, already well aware of the important stuff. I laugh against him. “My company is STJ Co., and I always cry during The Notebook whether reading the book or watching the movie. Song? Hm. I like some modern country artists even though I’m not supposed to admit that being from New York City and all. ‘Ride’ by Chase Rice is pretty sexy, though. Growing up, I loved ‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles or Sarah McLachlan. Either version.”

  The last answers he’s seeking don’t come as easily as the others. But he lets me work it out at my own pace. “I’m not looking to have kids just yet, but if I have to pick between a number and none, I’d go with two. It’s what I’m familiar with me and my brother.”

  “Same,” he replies quietly.

  “As for anywhere I’d go if I could . . . I’m happy in your arms.” This time, I lean in and kiss his chest. Looking up, I ask, “You really want to marry me?”

  He quirks a smile. “I do.”

  “What happens next?”

  “I get a ring and down on one knee to make it official.”

  “There goes the surprise,” I tease, pushing up to look at him properly. This man and that handsome face are going to be mine forever. I can already tell he’ll always make my heart race, not just from his looks but the way he touches me and how the heat lingers on my skin long after he’s gone. I’ve never felt like this before or had someone affect me soul-deep. My past relationships feel foolish in comparison.

  I love him. Our attraction may have pulled us together, but fate put the pieces in place. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “You don’t have to make a production to give me a story to tell others. I love our story best.” I could snuggle all day with him, listening to the backdrop of the ocean’s waves. “Feels official already.”

  Pushing up on one hand, he angles toward me. “It is. We are. I promise I’ll marry you—any day, place, or time. I’ll be there without hesitation. Actually, I’ll show up early.”

  I rest my hand on his cheek. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the sensible one. You do know how crazy this is, right?”

  “What can I say? Love makes people do crazy things.”

  “Crazy might be an understatement.”

  Continuing to look at me as if he’ll find a crack in my decision, he says, “Speaking of crazy . . .” He runs his hand through his hair and then rubs his eyes as if pained.

  “I really hate being on pins and needles.”

  He takes a deep breath and then looks at me again. “So my mom, she’s . . .” He drags it out, and now I’m frozen to the spot with my mind filling in all the possibilities regarding his mom.

  Is he going to tell me she’s a movie star? Spoiler alert: this wouldn’t surprise me. Great looks, inherited, and this so-called “bungalow” on the beach. It’s not small, considering it’s twice the size of my apartment, and Tatum and I have a damn nice apartment by New York standards. Or maybe she’s never liked any of his girlfriends, so he’s warning me. Carves pumpkins for a living or enters hot dog eating contests. Whatever she does or whoever she is, I’m starting to freak out. “What is it, Nick?”

  “She’s into New Age, spiritual stuff, like the zodiac signs.”

  “Okaaaay, this is not where I saw this going. Continue.”

  “The new moon was in my seventh house the day we met.” I close my mouth and fix my expression from the shock of hearing him talk about it like he knows more than he’s letting on. Is this a dirty little secret of his? It’s amazing.

  “I have to know. What does that mean?”

  “It’s new beginnings, the start of a new relationship.”

  “That’s us.”

  He grins so big like he just won a grand prize, like a new car or something. Oh wait, he likes older cars. “It is us. According to her, we’re written in the stars.” Be still
my heart.

  That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. “So, when you said it was destiny that brought us together, you meant it, literally?”

  He kisses my shoulder. “My analytical, reasonable side says no, but who am I to question fate? We’re here as living proof, so yeah, we were destined to be together.”

  Moving up to rest against the headboard, I rub my toes along his muscular leg under the sheet, loving that I have full access to his body and mind for all time is exhilarating. “I like the way you think. As for our parents, though, it seems your mom will appreciate the chain of events.”

  “But your parents might not, so we should get our story straight.”

  “No alibi needed,” I say, more certain than ever. “I love you, and you love me. The facts are all the evidence we need.”

  “You’d make a good lawyer, St. James.”

  “Thank you, Counselor. I’m just kind of impressed that I snagged you and didn’t even have to provide you with any baked goodies.”

  His laughter shakes the bed, and the weight of the world is released from his chest as his lighter side returns. Grabbing my ankles, he says, “They may not have been baked, but I definitely ate your goodies,” and then whisks me down to land flat on my back.

  I burst out laughing. I don’t even care that I gave him the perfect setup to make that comeback because I’m reaping the rewards. “You sure did, and you’re welcome to them any time you’re hungry.”

  Rolling on top of me, he slips his hand between us as he kisses my neck. “Too soon?”

  I butterfly my legs open, welcoming him. “Never.”

  * * *

  In some ways, Nick’s been a mystery. He was staying in the same kind of villa as Tatum and me in Catalina. That suite cost a few thousand a night, so I assumed he had some money. Then I was conflicted based on his job and how he’s just starting out in his career. I don’t mind either way, and I have plenty of my own money not to worry about his financials, but I’m getting the distinct feeling his family is wealthy judging by the neighborhood.

  Large mansions populate the palm tree-lined street with blue skies overhead and birds singing. It’s idyllic in that Hollywood movie star kind of way, or even for someone fresh off the Ralph Lauren runway. I mean, come on, those looks came from somewhere. I ask, “Are we in Beverly Hills?” just as he begins to slow down.

  “Yes.”

  I angle my head to look up at the top of the walls protecting the homes from looky-loo tourists like me. “This is where you grew up?” Laughing, I add, “Like the show?”

  “Nothing like the show.” I notice how his fingers whiten around the steering wheel. It appears someone is sensitive about pop culture shows of yesteryear.

  I cover his right hand since that’s the one I can reach from the passenger’s seat now, trying to contain my laughter. “Did I hit a nerve, Counselor?”

  Glancing over at me, he clenches his jaw, another tell of his revealed. He’s bothered. “Everyone thinks they know you the minute you say Beverly Hills.”

  “So what you’re saying is that it’s not all shopping, life lessons wrapped up in an hour, and hanging out at the Peach Pit? That’s seriously disappointing.”

  He chuckles. “Okay, fine. We hung out at the Peach Pit all the time.”

  “You did?”

  “No,” he deadpans. “The diner is fictional, just like the show. Although I will say that one was built just for tourists like you.”

  “Can we go?”

  “No.”

  I love pushing his buttons. It might be my new favorite thing, right after his lips on my body and how he makes me scream his name. Twice this morning.

  I whack his arm for mocking me, though I’m not really bothered. I love old TV shows. I make no apologies. “Make fun all you want, but I bet the burger is pretty good. Hey, don’t you owe me a trip to In-N-Out?”

  “I do.”

  I almost roll my eyes from hearing him say that phrase again, but this time it holds new meaning, and I grin instead. “You sure are comfortable with that phrase.”

  That finally cracks the tension I’m thinking he’s feeling from bringing a girl home, his future wife to be exact, and the smile I’ve fallen in love with shows up.

  Rubbing my leg again, he rests his arm on the console between us and leans over. “Figured I should get some practice in, so I don’t fuck it up when it’s showtime. And don’t worry about In-N-Out.” He waggles his brow. “We’ll hit it up later.”

  The car pulls onto the entrance to a long driveway, but we’re stopped at the gates. He clicks a remote, and the large iron gates open, revealing a white painted brick home with black accents—shutters, roof, and doors. “Holy crap, you’re rich!” I exclaim, not meaning to be so obnoxious. The St. James are wealthy, but wow, this place is more than impressive. It’s not a mansion; it’s an estate. If it has a pool house like on “The OC,” then I’m upping this to a compound. The place is huge, but don’t get me wrong. It has a tasteful feel to it. He shifts the car into park and cuts the engine. “My parents are. I’m still saving for my beach house.”

  The bungalow. I’d almost forgotten they own that in Malibu too. I don’t care that they bought it twenty years ago. The Christiansens are loaded and can afford it even with inflation based on this property. “Apparently, business is really good.”

  He chuckles and then leans over to kiss me on the cheek. “It’s going well.” He comes around and helps me hop from the seat. I’m not short, but the height of this SUV makes me feel that way. He adds, “Home sweet home.”

  “Not for long, Christiansen.”

  That really makes him smile. “Can’t wait. You ready to meet my family?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. How do I look?”

  “Beautiful, like always.”

  “I just realized you didn’t give me any details to plan my small talk.” My feet stop beneath me, my mind spinning to an abrupt halt. “Oh my God, I don’t even know their names, and please tell me we aren’t making any announcements.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, appearing to make sure the coast is clear, he then turns back to me and angles down. “No announcements today.” He takes my hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently along the top of my hand. “That information is just for us for now. And there’s no need to prepare a small talk spiel. My mom already loves you because you make me happy.” We start walking again, but slowly, which is fine with me. “I’m not sure if Andrew will be here. He has an apartment downtown close to the office. And as for my dad, he’s a bear to most, but Corbin Christiansen knows how to temper that side when it comes to his family.”

  “That’s a relief.” I wipe the imaginary sweat from my forehead. We reach the steps that lead to the front door, but I tug him to a stop again. “So, Dad is Corbin. Andrew is your brother. Mom’s name?”

  His reluctance starts to worry me. Finally, he says, “Don’t make fun.”

  “Why would I make fun of her name?”

  “It’s Cookie, all right?”

  “Cookie?” Gingersnaps, peanut butter, chocolate chip, and snickerdoodle. Our conversation comes barreling back. “Like what you eat, cookie?”

  “One and the same. And that’s her real name, not a nickname. Cookie Christiansen.”

  Nodding, I try to understand why that would be someone’s first name. “It’s unique and unforgettable and absolutely adorable. I imagine it suits her. It does in my head, at least.”

  “It does.” At the top of the steps, he takes a deep breath. Suddenly, I’m bracing myself for the worst. What are we walking into exactly? Because really, how bad can a Cookie be?

  26

  Nick

  It’s a big step—meeting the parents, but this is nothing compared to getting married, so I think we’ll be all right. This seems like the right order to do things though I’m not stuck on old-fashioned traditions.

  Thinking back to yesterday, did I ask her to be my wife on a whim, or in reaction to the
news that I’m the Christiansen they’re planning on shipping all over the world to represent them?

  I have no idea but putting down roots with Natalie is more than appealing. I meant what I said to her. I love her. More than I should at this stage in the relationship? Hell no. I loved her the moment she fell into my arms. Being bonded to Natalie legally and otherwise is my best idea yet, making her my wife, a dream I never knew I had until I met her.

  And she didn’t even have to give me cookies.

  I can see now that we’re at a great place in life and in business. I’ll help her grow that company so big that other people will be begging her for loans.

  We quietly walk inside, as if we’re intruders in my childhood home. Her mouth is open as she looks up at the high ceilings and chandelier. For a California woman, Cookie has a soft spot for opulence in specific places—entryways and grand terraces that lead to a sunny and approachable garden. Go figure.

  Before we enter the main living room, I whisper, “Forget about the crystal and marble. My mom is down to earth and she’s going to love you.”

  I lead her through the living room, spying my mom at her favorite place—a barstool parked at the island near the sink. Not wanting to startle her, I say, “Hi, Mom.”

  She looks up from her laptop and then hops off the stool, planting her red reading glasses into her blond hair. “You’re early?”

  Not sure what she’s asking, but I answer, “You know traffic is unpredictable.”

  Natalie’s free hand clamps around our adjoined hands, her nervousness felt by how tight she’s gripping me. “Mom, this is Natalie St. James.” I add, “Natalie, this is my mom, Cookie Christiansen.”

  My mom’s eyes light up as she comes around the island. Opening her arms wide, my mom grins like she’s seeing her long-lost daughter. She always wanted a girl to bond with. “It’s so nice to meet you, Natalie.”