by Rachel Hauck
“I know, right? But I went to help him out. I’m so stupid.”
“No, Lex.” He raised her chin to see her eyes. “You are sweet and kind and good. Zane is the wrong one here. He lied to you.” Jett bent to his knees and wiped the black stains from under her eyes, her cheeks, and her chin. “Want me to go down there and kick his butt?”
She chortled. A lovely sound that eased the tension in his chest. “Could you, please?”
“Gladly. But I have a better idea. Besides, I already spent a night in Central Booking for getting into a brawl.”
“That’s right. You and Chuck. What was that about?”
“Drunk groomsman at a wedding. Wouldn’t leave a bridesmaid alone.” He waved off the story as if it were nothing and rinsed the washcloth. If she pressed, he’d confess weddings reminded him of her.
“You hit him? Doesn’t sound like you.”
“I might have been a little drunk.” On his knees again, he wiped away any lingering soap residue.
“A little?”
“A lot. But that’s the last time. Ever.” At the sink again, he released the water and rinsed out the cloth a final time, giving it more than the necessary attention.
Hold on to your heart, man.
“Why were you so drunk? So not your scene.”
“Just one of those nights.” Where he missed her. Wanted her. It started when the bride came down the aisle to the same song Lexa had. He tossed the damp cloth in the laundry hamper and helped Lexa up. “Anything else?”
Her breath brushed his cheek. “Thank you.” She reached for her water. “I think I’d like to lie down.”
Aiding her to the bed, Jett suggested a sandwich. “My specialty. Ham and cheese.” To which she agreed.
The moment of tenderness had turned a few of their brick barriers into chain link fences.
“Want to watch Netflix?” Jett reached for Lexa’s Kindle.
“Sure.” She slumped down into the pillows. “He asked me if I was in love with him.”
A surge of energy gripped him, but he didn’t look up from her Kindle. “Wh-what’d you say?”
“What’d I say? Seriously? No. Never. I can’t believe you’d ask. He’s such an egomaniac. In love with himself. He wishes I was in love with him.”
“Yeah, I bet he does. Here.” He handled over her Kindle with his heart still pounding, his eyes averted for fear she’d see his question. He’d always wondered if there was something more between them. “I’ll go make your sandwich.”
“Jett, wait, you don’t think I was—”
As if the Divine had dipped down to rescue him, his phone rang. “Be right back.”
Was he sweating? He slapped his hand to his neck. Yep, he was sweating. He picked up his phone and shoved open the balcony doors.
The call was a marketer. Hanging up, he tossed his phone to the counter and pulled the bread from the pantry.
At least now he knew. Or thought he knew. She hadn’t been in love with Zane. But she was also not in love with him. Otherwise, why walk out, slamming the door so hard the painting over the fireplace toppled to the floor?
“What was your better idea?”
He turned at the sound of her voice. She wore his old football jersey from high school, adjusted for her cast. “Something better than beating up Zane.”
“Um, yeah, that . . .” He grabbed the ham and cheese. “I forget—do you like mustard?”
“Please.”
She slid around the banquette, exposing the high end of her thigh. When he took two slices of bread from the package they were smashed.
What was his idea? Oh right, her résumé. “I was thinking you could update your résumé. See what else is out there. You may not have the title CEO, but you have the experience.”
“My résumé?” She made a face. “I hadn’t really thought . . . Do you think I should? I don’t want to do anything out of vengeance.”
Jett turned from the cupboard where he had reached for a plate. “Lexa, he told you to shut up. Said you’d gone too far, done too much. Put you in your place by reminding you of your title. His assistant. But you and I both know—he knows—you’re so much more. He uses you, Lexa. And he had the gall to suggest you were in love with him.”
“I guess I could see where he’d wonder. We did spend a lot of time together.”
Her confession slung mud at his own ego. She spent more time with Zane than him toward the end. And he let it happen. He was so lost in himself, in pity, in grief.
Cutting her sandwich into quarters for eating with one hand, he asked, “Do you want water or milk?”
“Oh, milk. Please.” She thanked him as he put the plate in front of her. “You know, you’re onto something with this résumé thing.” She brightened, sat up straighter, and reached for her laptop. “I mean, yes, I have a lot of experience. I could get a job at a small company, you know? Oh my gosh, why didn’t I think of this myself?” She patted the banquette next to her. “Help me. I can’t type fast enough.”
Sit? Next to her? With her bare leg next to his? “Now?”
“Yes now. Jett, the sooner I get out there the sooner I’m gone.” She bit her sandwich, chugged some milk, and hovered over her computer. “Okay, here it is. Wow, I haven’t touched this since we moved up here. We’re going to have to rearrange a lot. Jett, why are you still standing?”
He sat, squaring up with her laptop, reading her name. Lexa Prescott Wilder. B.A., Marketing, Florida State.
“I’m sure there are great opportunities in the city,” he said, typing as she rattled off her duties and experience.
“The city? The world, Jett.” She slid from the bench and stepped through the cold air onto the balcony. “The world. I’m a child of the world. I grew up in Germany, Italy, England, California, Colorado, Texas, Florida.” She rushed back to the table, eyes wide, a glare in her eye that rattled him. “I’ve been thinking too small. Holding on. Time to fly. I’ve never stayed this long in one place. I thought I was anchoring myself but no, I was hiding. Being afraid.”
“Okay, then let’s fly.” Now see what you’ve done. You just got her back in your life, now she’s leaving. You and your bright ideas.
“Unless . . .” she said, fading back. “I am running again. I run when times get hard, don’t I?”
“Well, you could make a case that you’re running, yes.” Stop, let her go. She’s not yours. She deserves to find success her way. “No, Lexa, realizing when it’s time to move on from a situation is wisdom, not avoidance or fear.” He tried to sound convincing. “But you have made a life here, and there are amazing opportunities in the city that never sleeps.”
She rose from the banquette and gazed out the French doors toward the cityscape. “But I do run. The moment things get uncomfortable, I hightail it for something I believe will be better.”
“Like when you left high school for college? You never did tell me what that was about, but I know it haunts you.”
“Just a misunderstanding is all. On the other hand, you’ve been telling me to leave Zane for years.”
“Yes, but not the city. Don’t knock down the life you’ve made here because of Zane.”
“Knock down my life? What life? All I do is work.”
Discussing her future, her desires, felt like the job a husband, or at least someone who loved her, would do. While he wasn’t her husband, he loved her. Didn’t he? At least as a friend.
“You have the society. That’s a start. No one said you had to work sixty hours a week, Lex.”
“Don’t preach to me, Jett Wilder. You are no better. No one said you had to bury yourself in books. And if you want to talk about never telling people things, you have plenty of secrets. Like what happened when your mom left. Or what happened on Eiger.”
They faced each other, eyes narrowed, lips taut, attitude stony. Then she broke.
“I’m sorry. That was rude. But I won’t bother you with my résumé. I’ll fix it myself.” She stumbled as she reached for her
laptop, knocking over her milk in the process, soaking the last half of her ham and cheese. She swore softly. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Lex, wait.” Hopping up, Jett gently grabbed her shoulders. “I’ll clean it up. Sit. And we’ll work on your résumé together.” He forced himself to smile at her. “After all, the world is waiting.”
Her eyes filled with emotion and words he knew she’d locked inside. “Can I have another sandwich?”
He could kiss her. “Ham and cheese coming up.”
“A little mayo this time?”
And just like that, everything was back to normal. The undefined affection between them. It had become their existence.
Yet as Jett mopped up the milk with a dish towel, one thing above all was true. He was in love with his ex-wife.
* * *
Chuck
Technically he wasn’t violating the restraining order. The writ said nothing about steering clear of his mother-in-law’s place.
Yet his nerves attacked, making him edgy as he approached Wanda’s door, adorned with a fall wreath.
Arriving just after noon, he counted on Wanda having at least one Bloody Mary in her system. That’d ease her temper.
Squaring his shoulders, rehearsing his greeting, and fixing on a wide Chuck Mays smile, he rapped on the door.
“Why, Chuck Mays.” Yep, Wanda had started happy hour early. “What on earth?” Arms folded, she leaned against the doorjamb. “I could have you arrested.”
She came out swinging.
“I come in peace, Wanda.” He held up his hands to punctuate his point. “But I’d like a moment of your time.” She scowled. “Please.”
To get what he wanted, he’d have to go low. Humbly low.
“What about?”
“The kids. Specifically, their birthdays.”
She hesitated, then motioned him inside. “You have two minutes.”
“Thank you.” He gushed a little, so she’d hear his appreciation. “I’d like to attend their birthday parties—er, party.” He wasn’t supposed to know there were two.
“What makes you think we’re having a party?”
“It’s Trudy. Come on.”
Wanda conceded his point with a slight frown. “True. But Chuck, Trudy would never. And if she somehow lost her mind and allowed you to come, Will would refuse.”
“Will is not their father.”
“Technically no, but more and more every day.”
If she wanted to rattle him, it was working. “She might consider it if you asked, Wanda. She really respects your opinion.” He’d practiced groveling all week. Ever since the story society, when he’d been so grouchy. Pride had no place in a man who’d all but lost his kids. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Better than best. I know a smart, talented woman like you—”
“I smell manure.”
Yeah, well get ready, I’m still shoveling.
“You know kids need their dad. Sure, they’ve seen me at my worst.”
“Worst? You terrified them.”
“You know I’m not that guy, Wanda. You’ve seen the real me. I hate the guy I was that day.” No truer words. “You’ve told me I’m a good father. More than once. Please, talk to Trudy. One hour at the party. That’s all I ask.”
“There are two this year. One for Jakey and one for Riley.”
“Then an hour at each. They’re turning six. I’ve already missed half of four and all of five. One hour, Wanda. One.”
“Your two minutes is up.” She moved to close the door.
“Wanda, please.”
The latch clicked. He turned to go but halted when her muffled voice came through. “I’ll talk to her. But I promise nothing.”
He jogged back to the car, giving the air a solid punch. It was something. A start.
Wanda had been his first champion when Trudy brought him home. Her dad definitely thought she deserved better. Chuck couldn’t disagree. But he promised up and down to love her more than himself.
Sometimes he wondered if he didn’t still love her from under the rocks of her betrayal. He was darn sure better for her and his kids than the snake that slithered into their lives from Wall Street.
Firing up his car, he mobilized for business and caught his first customer. Just a mile from Wanda’s Woodbridge home.
Tuning in to classical music, he settled down. Hopeful. Funny thing about pain, it cut both ways. Going in and coming out. But hope was a powerful salve.
He picked up his ride, a businessman heading to the Newark airport.
It was a quick trip, and when he’d dropped off his passenger Chuck crossed over to Manhattan. The story society met tonight, so he worked that side of the river and thought off and on of Ed’s pot roast.
And, if he were honest, seeing Coral. She made him forget about Trudy. Made him glad he was a man.
She was as sweet as she was beautiful. Smart too. Not that he had much proof, but he could smell it. Her vulnerable confession about her business showed her humility.
Out of your league. The truth ground its way forward. If Trudy was out of his league, Coral wasn’t even in his stratosphere. And look how things worked out with Trudy.
Yeah, he’d have to steer clear of the heiress. The Panicked Princess. So was the story society worth his Monday nights?
Sooner or later they weren’t going to accept his grunts as answers. They were going to want the whole story.
Chuck pulled up to a stoplight and connected with a fare on Canal Street that wanted a ride to Brooklyn. The woman talked on her phone the entire time. So Chuck thought more of pot roast.
He liked everyone in the society. Ed was entertaining. Reminded him of his grandpa.
Since he’d already spent a night in Central Booking with Jett, they were practically family. Ha.
Lexa was sweet, if broken. Chuck suspected Jett was the cause of her sorrow. But she was in love with him. He with her. Neither one saw it.
Maybe that’s what the society was about? Helping those two find love again.
Yeah, he’d stick with this society for a bit. Parts of Ed’s story haunted him. He wondered what it felt like to be so in love. Would that ever happen to him? Or anyone he knew?
His parents stayed married. Loved each other despite how much they barked at one another. But a love like Ed and Esmerelda’s? Felt like fiction.
Now that he knew Jett was the son of adventurer Bear Wilder, he wanted to hear some adventure stories. Chuck watched a bunch of YouTube videos on his day off last week of Bear and Storm climbing mountains and rafting rapids. Jett was even in a few of the episodes. Bear was a good storyteller. No wonder his son became a literature professor.
Hope. Yep, that was the prevailing sentiment swirling in his chest. He’d like to hang on to it. Since Trudy’s affair and realizing he wasn’t the man he wanted to be, despair had been his companion.
But after his encounter with this story society and the brief exchange with Wanda, could he dare believe things were starting to look up?
* * *
Ed
It was nice of Chuck to pick him up for the society meeting. Not so nice of him to mention the pot roast.
Ed spent forty bucks trying to find a recipe. He burned the first hunk of meat in the oven. Overcooked the second in the Crock-Pot. Yes, that’s right, overcooked. Apparently twenty-four hours on high is too long.
He’d lost track of time painting the floorboards he’d replaced in the Evans apartment. By the time he was done, he’d thrown his back out. Two ibuprofen and he was sacked out. Forgot all about the roast.
It was a wonder Holly grew up healthy at all. How did he not know how to cook a pot roast? Friday he almost knocked on Mabel’s door for help but changed his mind. What chain of events would a conversation with her set off?
Not worth the risk.
By the weekend, he’d made the decision to punt and ordered a roast from the local diner, brought it home this afternoon and dumped it into a roasting pan, then stuffed it in the oven. H
e bought a couple of bags of salad to go along. Should be enough.
He’d just come from the bedroom, dressed and smelling like Old Spice, when Chuck buzzed up.
“I’m here. Double parked.”
“On my way down.”
“I’ll circle the block.”
Ed grabbed a couple of oven mitts and took the roast from the oven. He flung a tote with the salad over his shoulder and decided to leave his new pages at home.
One miracle at a time. Food versus story. He could always tell the rest of their story. How they fell in love and got engaged.
But didn’t he sort of cover all that last week? Not in detail, but how they held hands in the theater and never let go?
Grabbing his keys and wallet, he headed down to meet Chuck.
As he waited for the elevator—his old legs too tired to take the stairs—Mabel Cochran came out of her apartment.
“Ed?”
“Mabel.” Did she hover by her door waiting for him to enter the hall? Seemed like every time he opened his door, she opened hers.
“I made a cake. Care to step inside for a slice with coffee? Decaf if you like.”
“Busy, Mabel.” He held up his pan. “On my way out. But you have a good night.”
“I will. Is that a pot roast?”
“Sure is.” He stepped into the elevator, glad to be out of her presence.
Darn woman had gotten to him. Ever since she invited him to dinner, he found himself thinking of her when he should be thinking of Esmerelda. And that would never do.
Chapter 20
Lexa
She balanced a thick paper plate of Ed’s pot roast on her lap after Jett cut her meat and dressed her salad.
The tension between them from the other night had faded, but they lived like disagreeable roommates the rest of the week.
“You’re quiet, Lexa.” Coral addressed her across the circle.
“Just eating.” She popped a wide smile. “Good roast, Ed.”
“Thank you.”
Her argument with Zane lingered in her heart, in her bones. And as Jett updated and uploaded her résumé, she felt something for him. Like she did when they first met. What was that about?
