by Flynn, Avery
I can’t believe he thought to make a special appeal to the board. I didn’t expect it, but then again, it isn’t like this is the first time he’s gone above and beyond. From sticking up for me to Karl to helping me with the house to giving me a job and free legal counsel, Nick isn’t nearly as gruff as he wants people to think. Truth be told, there’s a lot of softness underneath.
Exhibit forty-two in my case? Even as he stays near enough to me that I can smell the scent of his soap, he glances over at Sarah, and the heat level between us just drops.
He dips his head down so his lips are practically touching my ear. “Is everything okay?”
Wow, how in the hell do I start? “Not really. This is my s—” I nearly choke on the word, even though none of this mess is her fault.
I clear my throat and try again, and this time I finally manage to get the word out. “My sister, Sarah. Sarah, this is my…”
This time when I fumble for words, it has nothing to do with angsty familial relationships and everything to do with the fact that I have no clue what to call Nick. My neighbor? My friend? My boss?
“Friend.” Nick fills in the awkward silence for me with an easier smile than any he’s ever given me. “I’m Mallory’s friend Nick.”
Sarah peeks up at him, her lips almost curled into a tiny smile, and not for the first time, I realize how fragile she looks. So different from the woman I met at the Stella & Dot party. “Nice to meet you, friend Nick.”
Some of the tension in the room eases right in time for Mikey to show up at my back door, dressed in his date-night best dark-rinse jeans and gray Henley. Ugh. In all the confusion, I forgot to text him that I want to cancel tonight. Damn it.
Smoothing a hand over my now-ruffled hair—nothing like finding out you have a long-lost sister to mess up twenty-five intense minutes with a straight iron and hair gloss—I step through the open door. Oh yeah, Mallory, standing on the other side of a sliding glass door is gonna give you two plenty of privacy. Nick and Sarah stay in the family room, watching unabashedly.
“Wow,” Mikey says with an appreciative grin. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” I tuck an errant, and obnoxiously frizzy, hair behind my ear. “You look nice, too. But I’m afraid I’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” His smile stays in place, but his eyes dim a little. Not that I blame him—Mikey’s not naive. He knows I’m about to break the cardinal rule of dating by canceling on him when he’s already arrived for the date.
“My sister showed up out of the blue, and she just broke up with her boyfriend. She needs a place to stay, and she’s really upset, and—”
Right then, the sound of Sarah’s full-bodied laugh about something Nick said carries out to us.
“It’s okay,” Sarah says as she gives Mikey a wave. “The last thing I want to do is disrupt your night. Especially since Nick just explained you’re the contractor who’s going to bring this beautiful house to life. I just love the mahogany staircase and the built-in bookshelves.” She makes a sweeping gesture. “Besides, I can leave if—”
“You don’t need to leave.” No way. I just found her—okay, really, she found me—but either way, I’m not letting her go now. “I just didn’t think you were in any mood to be alone right now.”
“I can stay,” Nick volunteers, easy-breezy. “Sarah can veg out with Netflix, and I can clean a few closets.”
“You don’t have to d-do that,” I splutter.
Mortification has me doing a gut clench for some reason I don’t understand. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the inside of my house.
“Sure I do.” His eyes meet mine. “A deal’s a deal, after all, and I’m officially your helper every day, remember? Go enjoy your date.”
“Yes, but—” I break off because I don’t know what I want to say. Why does it feel so wrong on a gut level to leave him here, working on my house, while I’m out on a date with some other guy?
It’s absurd. I mean, it isn’t like it matters. Nick and I are…friends. That’s all. Nothing more. In fact, we’re barely even that. Why should either of us care if one of us goes on a date with someone else? Why should either of us care if one of us encourages the other to go on said date?
I mean, yeah, we had a moment yesterday, and we had a moment the other evening, when I thought for sure he was going to kiss me. But he didn’t. He left, and I need to remember that. Need to realize that when he tells me to go on a date with Mikey, he means it. There’s nothing for me to feel guilty about.
Or to feel any way about, for that matter. We barely know each other.
“Go, Mallory,” Sarah says, and it’s obvious she’s trying to be as nice. “Go on, have fun.”
“Sounds like your sister has made up her mind.” Mikey’s face is made even hotter—who would have thought that possible?—by an enthusiastic grin. “Think you can handle it?”
I sneak another look at Nick. Who is already gathering trash bags and telling Sarah a joke. Mr. Uptight has jokes now?
Fine.
Perfect.
Wonderful.
I give Mikey my most dazzling smile. “Yes, let’s go have a blast.”
I slip my hand into the crook of Mikey’s arm, and we follow the path around the house to his truck. And I don’t even look back at all—not even once—which is exactly what I want out of this moment.
Really.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bella Bella’s is a neighborhood Italian restaurant that has white tablecloths, votive candles floating in a bowl surrounded by fresh flowers, and a hostess dressed in all black who never smiles when she seats you. In other words, it is the fancy date-night place that stays on the right side of too expensive but has great food and no one brings their kids.
Mikey and I have gone through all the small talk by the time my chicken Parm and his lasagna arrive. The weather. The way Sutton changed but still stayed the same. Angela’s kids, the amazing renovation he’s working on for the Jhaveris a few blocks over from my place. Now I’m chewing each bite a million times to keep my mouth full so I don’t have to come up with any more chitchat. I mean, honestly, my mind is still going a million miles an hour about the whole “secret sister” thing anyway.
It sucks because he’s so nice and hot and an absolute gem of a guy—but for someone else. There’s no way to avoid it; I’m just not ready for dating. I might never be.
“So,” I say, drawing out the word. “Talk to me about dumpsters.”
Mikey wriggles his eyebrows and gives me an exaggerated leer. “You wanna talk dirty, huh?”
I let out a squawk of amusement that has several other diners turning to stare. Oops.
“Well, I actually already got approval from the HOA, and I can afford it, so what do I need to know?”
“You want to consider a lot of things. Placement. Size. What you can’t put in there. Exactly how much you can put in. Oh, and how much it’s gonna weigh when you’re done filling it. Landfills are gonna weigh that sucker before you can empty it, and that bill can be a shock.”
Great. Just what I need—another bill.
“Did you save room for dessert?”
Always. Who doesn’t save room for cannoli? Too bad I just can’t do another half hour of dumpster talk, and I’ve exhausted everything else.
“I wish; that chicken Parm was too good not to eat it all.”
“I understand.”
I’m pretty sure he does. In addition to being a fantastic guy, he’s smart as hell.
He stands up. “Shall we?”
I nod. I insist on leaving the tip when he won’t let me split the check, and after he pays the bill, we walk out into the parking lot. He doesn’t try to hold my hand or even walk so close that we’re almost touching. I spend most of the ride home asking questions about the renovations Aunt Maggie’s house needs.
The running convo in my head, though, is all about what a sweetheart of a guy he is. Really, he deserves someone better than a woman with enough baggage to start her own luggage company. No. What I need—when the time is right—is a guy with as much baggage as I have. Then we’ll be equals, at least.
Nick probably has baggage. Why else would he be so uptight? He might even own his own luggage line full of more emotional BS than I have.
“So that’s when I switched my lifelong allegiance from the Yankees to the Mets.”
I jerk my head around and stare at him. “What?”
He snort-laughs. “I figured that would get your attention. I almost went from being a Devils fan to a Rangers fan, but I can’t even kid about that.”
Way to go, Mallory. You are such a keeper.
“I’m sorry, Mikey. It was a long day clearing out another room of Aunt Maggie’s stuff, and I’m about to drop.” Not a total lie.
“Sure,” he says, keeping his tone light even as I see the truth in his eyes. “That makes sense.”
He pulls to a stop in front of the house, and I’m opening the door before he’s even turned off the ignition.
“Thanks so much for everything,” I say as I do the short-people maneuvering it takes to get out of a big truck. “Next time, though, I’m picking up the bill.”
“You got it.” He glances over at the other side of the driveway. “That’s where I’d recommend putting the dumpster. Enough room to get your car in and out of the garage but easy for the truck to drop off and pick up.”
“Then that’s where we’ll put it.” I step down from the runner under the passenger door. “Night, Mikey.”
He nods, an easy smile on his lips. “Night.”
I shut the passenger door and take the path around the back to the sliding patio door. The lights in the family room are dim as I walk inside, but there is no missing Nick. He’s half lying, half hanging off the couch that’s barely long enough for me and definitely not for his long legs.
“Hey there,” I say, keeping my voice soft so I don’t startle him.
Sleepy-eyed, he smiles up at me, his usual firm lines and determined set to his square jaw softer now. “Sarah crashed about half an hour ago after we finished Kill Bill. I told her to take your bed, figured that’s what you’d want.” He sits up and rolls his neck. “She really liked that movie.”
A movie about a betrayed bride out for revenge? Yeah, that definitely tracks. “With our family’s history, when it comes to men, wouldn’t you? And yes, I’ll definitely take the couch. Poor girl. She needs sleep.”
Nick nods. “She’s coming by the office tomorrow. I’m going to help her get palimony and child support arrangements made.”
Awwww. That hits me right in the soft and vulnerable spots. “Always looking out for the Martin sisters, huh?”
“Someone has to, because it seems like you two look out for everyone else but yourselves.”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Instead, I plop down on the couch next to him. “Apparently, it’s our fatal flaw.”
We sit there for a few minutes in silence but, unlike during my date earlier, this is comfortable. Neither of us seems to feel the need to fill the quiet space. My eyes, though, are getting heavy. I wasn’t lying about being exhausted. They’re half closed when Nick moves beside me, getting off the couch and holding me by the shoulders as he maneuvers me so I’m lying down. He tugs the afghan blanket from where it’s draped across the back of the couch and lays it over me, tucking the edge under my chin.
“Night, Mallory.”
My eyes flutter shut. “Night, Nick.”
Then he’s gone and I’m alone on the couch, exactly like I want to be, need to be. But for some reason, it feels lonelier than ever before.
Chapter Thirty-Three
There’s nothing quite like waking up and feeling as though you’re dead—or wishing you were. First, there was the hangover from hell the other day and now, after a single night on Aunt Maggie’s Victorian-style sofa-slash-torture-device, I’m seriously wondering if my neck will ever work properly again. I turn all the way to the left just fine, but if I look to the right? Oh, that is very much not happening unless I suddenly become very into pain and the idea of paying for a chiropractor.
If Aunt Maggie had been a different kind of woman, I’d be worried she’s haunting the place. Of course, if she was, her ghost would be putting on David Bowie records and leaving a trail of Quaaludes everywhere she went.
I let my eyes flutter shut. Really, what’s the hurry when I can just lay here and enjoy my own demise under a super-soft brown-and-tan afghan blanket? I let out a deep breath, and the moment I inhale, it hits me. The beautiful, life-giving scent of heaven itself—freshly brewed coffee.
The lightly caramelized and almost nutty scent teases my lids open half a second before the meaning hits my still-half-asleep brain and I jackknife up to a sitting position. My right shoulder blade pinches, the nerves in my neck cry out with a bitch-what-are-you-doing, and I let out a yap that sounds like it comes from Christee’s little dog. It’s worth it, though, because someone is making coffee in my kitchen and, at this moment, I love them with all my heart.
Moving a little more slowly this time, I get up off the couch and shuffle past the stacks of old lampshades heaped one on top of the other and toward the kitchen.
“Are you sure this is safe to drink?” Nick asks, his voice carrying down the hall.
I nearly trip over my own feet. Nick? He’s here? Already? I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror hanging from a nail by a pink ribbon and cringe. I definitely look like I spent the night face-planted on an unforgiving couch.
Frizzy hair? Check.
Pillow line etched into my cheek? Check.
Supposedly sleep-proof eyeliner on only one eye anymore? Check.
I hold a cupped hand to my mouth and breathe into it. Whew. Morning breath is a triple check.
Yeah, I’m totally not prepared to go see Mr. Knight in Shining Armor. But there is coffee…
Sarah chuckles. “What’s wrong, pretty boy? Are you scared of a little caffeine?”
I continue down the hall toward the big yellow kitchen, tiptoeing as if I’m a burglar in my own house—at least it would be mine if I could actually pay off the inheritance taxes, back property taxes, and HOA fines. Well, and the mortgage, but luckily I don’t have to start paying that just yet.
“No one would call this a little,” Nick says. “You doubled the recommended amount.”
“Come on, live a little,” my sister shoots back. “Take a drink. Doooooooo it.”
Nick laughs, and it’s warm and rumbly and makes me think of roasting s’mores over an open fire. Of course, that could just be because, judging by the scent wafting out from the kitchen, Sarah used the Oh Fudge beans. Usually, I can’t help but smile when I get a whiff of the chocolate-flavored coffee, but not this morning. Instead of a silly giggle at the punny name, I can’t work past the jealous pang in my belly.
He doesn’t laugh with me that way. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard him laugh around me. Chuckle? Yes. Epileptic-seizing quiet-laughing at me? Okay, that too. But a real, deep-in-your-belly, happy laugh? No.
But he does around Sarah.
Pull it together, Mallory. This isn’t a Karl and Sasha situation again. This is your sister and your neighbor. That’s all. Stop trying to make overthinking your mission in life.
Yeah, this is definitely a case of I-don’t-like-myself-all-that-much-when-I’m-hangry. It’s time for peaches-and-cream oatmeal and enough coffee to power a nuclear submarine. Kinda mean but totally on the money pep-talk complete, I walk into the kitchen.
Nick is standing with one hip leaning against the big oval kitchen table. I allow my gaze to flick over to him for 3.6 seconds. Any longer and I’m afraid I’d melt into a puddle of early-morn
ing want right there in the middle of the linoleum floor. What can I say? Mornings are always my let’s-go time. It must have something to do with the fact that the day hasn’t beaten me down yet, making morning sex forever the best sex.
“About time you got up, sleepyhead,” Sarah says when I finally tear my eyes away from Nick.
She shoots me a teasing smile as she pours me a cup of coffee and holds it out to me as I walk into the light-filled room.
Nick scoops up the Kill the Bingo Caller mug before I can make it anywhere near my sister at the coffeepot and meets me halfway. “I’m reporting for duty.”
He’s in jeans that cling to his thick thighs, a T-shirt with sleeves that end right at that perfect spot on his biceps, and he—unlike me—has obviously showered that morning. Ugh. It isn’t fair. The man not only looks good this early but he comes bearing coffee.
I take a sip and then let out a contented sigh. “Oh fudge.”
One side of Nick’s mouth curls upward in a half smile that does funny things to me. Discombobulating things. Tingly things. Definitely I’ll-be-thinking-of-this-later-tonight things.
“Yeah,” he says, looking straight at me, his gaze dipping down to my mouth. “Early-morning coffee is the best, isn’t it?”
Oh. My. God. My skin feels flush. Forget funny things. That look from him has my toes half curled, and a greedy little groan, hungry and needy, escapes my lips. Why doesn’t real life come with a rewind button? My hands start to tremble and I set my mug on the counter before I drop it.
Forget oatmeal. I need to get out of here stat.
“I’m gonna go shower.” I shuffle backward. “Then it’s all about the green guest room. After that, we’re going to burn that ridiculous couch.”
I’m halfway up the stairs before I realize I left my coffee on the counter.
“Oh fudge.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Oh wow.” Sarah stops at the doorway and stares into the first of my aunt’s guest rooms. To be fair, it isn’t like any of us can get beyond the doorway; the room is so packed with clutter anyway.
