by L. B. Dunbar
Mae and her husband, Adam, own a series of businesses. First is Eden Landscaping, inherited by Adam years back. When Mae and Adam met in college, Mae followed Adam here, and he eventually opened the retail garden center called Mae’s Flowers for her. Her business has grown over time to include a year-round facility selling everything from tulips to Christmas trees as well as a thriving gift shop with gardening products and books, and garden-related novelties and decorations. That’s where I came into the picture. Mae needed help running it all, and I began working part-time while still an EMT. When everything fell apart for me a while ago, I started working full-time for her. Even before all that, Mae and I clicked, and we’ve become good friends.
“It’s all embarrassing to admit because I was so sick,” I tell her, which she already knows because Jacob called her to say I’d be missing a few days of work.
“He sounded rugged and rough, as if his voice alone could strip you of your panties.”
She isn’t exactly wrong, and when my face heats, she narrows her eyes at me. “Busted,” she teases as our drinks arrive. Mae stares at me, waiting for the details while I grapple with how much I want to share.
“Nothing happened,” I lie. How do you tell your best friend the man of your dreams did something to you that you can’t forget but should have never let happen? “He might have come on to me, but he didn’t mean it.”
“No man accidentally comes on to a woman. Either he did it on purpose or he didn’t do it at all.”
“We were sleeping together and—”
“You what?!” Her screech turns a couple of heads in our direction, and I’m rethinking our being at the Town Tavern. While the country music plays, it might not be loud enough to drown out our conversation, and I don’t need some nosy Nellie overhearing us. It’s bad enough people look at me and wonder why I’m alone after all these years. Those who know the truth still look at me with sympathy. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t, and I refuse to think of Brendan tonight.
“Not sleeping-sleeping, just literally sleeping in the same bed together.”
“You were in his bed?” she shrieks again with a grin that shows teeth. Mae’s expression and good humor are contagious on a good day, but I don’t need her enthusiasm blasting my business to the entire bar.
“Mae, keep your voice down,” I state, scanning the place and then landing on the devil himself.
Jacob.
Mae looks over her shoulder in the direction of my frozen gaze and then back at me. “Where?” she questions, and I realize I’ve said his name aloud. I’ve never seen him in town. In the two and a half years I’ve known him, he hardly comes to Main Street.
I turn back to Mae uncertain how to respond. Jacob told me he was surprised I’d never told my mother who he was nor have I told my best friend. I thought women did that shit. Maybe they do, but I hadn’t because of the NDA. I took his privacy seriously. Glancing back at him, I see a woman saddled up next to him, and they look cozy.
Assuming I have his newfound permission to tell my best friend about him, I tip my head in his direction. “That’s him. By the bar.”
“Holy shit, Pam. He’s hot. You need to lick that, or I will.” This is Mae’s reference to marking someone you like. She would never cheat on Adam. He’s actually cheating on her, or so she suspects, but she hasn’t been able to prove his affair. I think she’s crazy because Mae is great. So why would her husband cheat on her? Then again, what do I know about investigating adultery? It was happening under my nose once, and I never sniffed it out. At work, Adam dotes on his wife with sweet cheek kisses and an arm around her shoulder. I don’t want to surmise those tender touches disguise bigger issues, but I hadn’t seen it in my own past relationship. I missed the signs because of tender touches such as those.
“Now, I need to know everything,” Mae prompts.
“I was in his bed.” I pause, waiting for hysteria to hit her again, and when it doesn’t, I continue. “And he’d been dreaming. I woke him up, and he…” Pinned me to the bed, spread my thighs, and went down on me. I can’t tell her this. I don’t want to share the details for two reasons. Besides being embarrassed to share them, I want to keep them all for me. “He misunderstood who I was. He has a girlfriend.”
Only he told me Mandi and he were no more. I’d heard that before, though, so I don’t have much faith that they are really over. They are constantly hot and cold for one another.
Mae watches me after I mention the girlfriend. “How can he misunderstand who you are? Maybe you need to back up and start at the beginning of this . . . working relationship.” Being as I’ve never told anyone about Jacob, it’s hard to know where to start. The accident. The accusations. His calling me angel. He is a famous author and I’m a blogger who wrote him a not-so-favorable review. That was another part to our strange circumstances, but even that I’m not certain I can mention.
“Mae, I signed an NDA to work with him, so I can’t tell you more than I work for him. But it’s never interfered with the garden center.” I don’t want her thinking I’ve used my time at her shop doing blog stuff.
“His voice could melt panties, and looking at him, he could break hearts,” she teases. “Does this have the potential for friends with benefits or full-on heartbreak?”
Glancing back at Jacob sitting next to that woman, I find his eyes are aimed at me. My fingers twitch to wave, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to acknowledge him in public. Wrapping my hands around my margarita glass, I look back at Mae.
“Heartbreak.” I sigh. Being in love with my boss has no other option, and after what he did to me, I don’t know if I should keep working with him.
“We don’t need another Brendan,” Mae states softly, and my eyes hold hers.
“No, we don’t,” I whisper, and thankfully, the subject is dropped.
Forty minutes and two margaritas later, Mae and I have moved onto her concerns about Adam and the possibility of his affair. We’re laughing while it isn’t funny when Sandy brings us another round.
“From the man at the bar.” Her nod is so vague, but I assume it’s Jacob. Catching his eye again, I notice the woman is absent.
“Thank you,” I mouth to him, only his brow pinches like he doesn’t understand, and Mae interrupts.
“Don’t look now but someone at the bar is checking you out.” My eyes travel the length of the bar and catch on a man seated with his back to the counter, and his gaze on us. He lifts his glass, and Mae lifts hers in response. I’m confused. Is the drink for her or me? When he stands from his stool, I do a double take.
Is that . . . it can’t be?
“Spencer? Spencer Campbell?” I question and slowly stand from the booth. I reach out for him, and he steps into the hug I offer. I haven’t seen Spencer in years. He knows my history with Brendan as he was one of his best friends.
“I knew that was you. How are you, Pam?” he questions, and I stare into the blue eyes of a man who was once a boy I crushed on before Brendan. With blond waves of hair, everything about him screams surfer boy, only our lake is missing the surf.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, meaning Elk Lake City. Last I’d heard, he’d moved away.
“Been back for a few years. I run a water adventure shop in Traverse City.” Three towns over, Traverse City caters to outdoor water sports and summertime activities, but we only really have three months to enjoy the great waters of Lake Michigan. “I was visiting some friends and thought I’d stop here for a beer before heading back to the city.”
Friends. Brendan and his wife.
“Thanks for the drinks,” I say, waving my hand at his generous gift and suddenly remembering we once kissed back in high school. “Want to join us?” I ask, though I’m uncertain what more I’d say to him. It’s been years—eleven exactly.
“Don’t want to interrupt your girls’ night out. Just wanted to say hello. It’s so great to see you again. You look exactly the same,” he states as his eyes roam down my body, an
d I blush. It’s nice to be checked out, especially by an old crush, but it’s also incredibly awkward knowing our mouths have met, and he knows my past heartache.
“Why don’t you give him your number, and you can get together another night?” Mae offers for me, and I turn on her, eyes bugging out. What do you think you are doing?
Mae reaches toward Spencer and wiggles her fingers. “Here. Give me your phone and I’ll give you her digits.” Spencer looks sheepishly from me to Mae and hands over his phone.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say to him, keeping my voice quiet.
“Actually, I’d love to call you,” Spencer says, and that’s when Jacob makes his appearance at the table.
“Lilac,” he addresses me, his voice terse as his hand slips to my lower back.
“Jacob,” I say, narrowing my eyes. What does he think he’s doing?
“Lilac?” Spencer questions, and I look at Mae for help as Jacob’s hand nearly burns a hole through my sweater. Mae mouths, “Lilac?” to me, and I want to curse her as the worst best friend ever.
“That’s a strange name,” Spencer says, drawing my attention back to him.
Ignoring the jab at my nickname, Jacob states his name without offering a hand. “Jacob Vincent.”
“Spencer Campbell.”
That’s it, conversation over. The two men are opposites—one is sunshine and the other rain.
“So, I guess I’ll give you a call,” Spencer says, holding up his phone and giving it a shake.
“You do that,” Mae encourages, and I want to drown her in my margarita.
“Nice to see you again,” I say, knowing there’s no way surfer boy Spencer Campbell will call me, especially after my pushy friend and my glaring boss made the past three minutes the most awkward of my life. Spencer leans forward, boldly giving me a cheek kiss and then excuses himself. As soon as he steps away, both Mae and I visually follow his retreat until Jacob steps in front of me to block my view.
“Want to introduce me?” he demands.
“Want to be introduced?” I ask, crossing my arms, wondering why he chose now to come to the table and what he’s playing at for someone who wants to remain a secret. Being the mystery man in the woods and all that.
“Jacob Vincent.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand to Mae.
“Mae Fox-Holland,” she says and then looks at me, mouthing, “Panty-melting.”
“Can I speak with you a minute?” Jacob states, his eyes zeroing in on me.
“You know what? I’m going to head out. Why don’t you take my seat, and you can talk here?” Mae suggests, scooting herself to the edge of the booth. Jacob steps back, allowing Mae to exit, but I reach for my friend.
“Don’t go,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty that our girls’ night is over. She needed tonight as much as I did.
“We’re good,” Mae assures me and stands from the bench seat. “See you Monday.”
After a quick hug, Mae walks away, and Jacob turns on me. “Perfect as I need to see you at my place tomorrow.”
“Is that all you had to say to me?” I ask as we remain standing next to the booth. When he doesn’t answer me directly, I reach for my purse, searching for my credit card.
“You’re all set. It’s all on my tab.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Now, if that’s all you had to say, I guess my night is over too.” I’m bitter about this fact. I wanted to hang out with Mae, talk about men in general, and just enjoy some laughter.
I walk around Jacob and head out the front door to Main Street. The February air is bitter cold like I suddenly feel. Jacob had no right to walk over when he did, nor did he need to run off Mae. Not to mention, seeing Spencer has brought on a wave of regret and memories of Brendan. Crossing my arms to huddle against the cold, I walk toward my apartment.
“Where are you going?” Jacob calls after me.
“Home,” I say over my shoulder, not stopping due to the frigid temperature.
“Where’s home?” he questions, catching up to me and keeping pace with my rapid stride. I stop and stare at him.
“After all this time, you don’t know where I live?” I’m floored. How can he not know? I mean, I don’t expect him to have my address memorized, but how does he not remember I live over the pharmacy? It’s all a reminder that Jacob doesn’t know me. He likes to keep me at arm’s length, and that’s what makes the other night even more confusing.
“I’ll walk you home,” he suggests, and I huff, mist forming outside my mouth in the cold night.
“It’s right there.” I point at the pharmacy across the street at the end of the block.
“I’m still walking you across the street then,” Jacob demands, and we walk in silence a few steps. “Look, the other night—”
“We don’t need to talk about it,” I cut him off.
“But I don’t want you to think—”
“I don’t think anything of it,” I lie.
“You don’t?” he questions, his tone almost sounds hurt, and I chew my lip to prevent clarifying.
I’d love for you to do it again sometime, but that probably isn’t a good idea. As badly as my body wants it, my heart can’t take it.
“I understand you were under duress from a bad dream, and I was there. Perhaps you had me confused with Mandi and—”
“Don’t do that,” he snaps.
“Do what?”
“Don’t make this about Mandi. There was no confusion. There’s no comparison.” The tone of his voice emphasizes our difference.
“Yes, thank you for reminding me I’m not your type,” I snap, unable to hold back my sarcasm.
“Not. My. Type,” he stammers.
I stop, holding up a hand before he can continue. Changing topics before I burst into tears in the cold temps, I speak. “We don’t need to see one another tomorrow, Jacob. Just email or text me what you need.”
I begin walking again, but Jacob follows.
As his personal assistant, I set up his social media posts and handle reader interaction in a Facebook group. Despite not being his type, we quickly learned we have something in common—our love of books. Only I hated one of his. This caused him to ask me to beta read for him, then I became his critique partner and eventually started to work for him. Most days, I wonder why I still do it.
Because you love him.
Then on other days, I wonder why he keeps me around.
The silence in my head answers my own question. I have no idea.
“Are you going on a date with him?” Jacob interjects.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“It’s not, but are you?” His persistence pisses me off. Why does he care?
“Have you been drinking?” I ask, changing the subject.
“What? No.” He shakes his head in frustration as he drones, “Not this.”
“Can you drive home?” I question, concerned about him.
“Yes. Stop. It was like an hour ago, and it was only one,” he argues.
“I saw you at the bar.”
“I had one drink.” He’s emphatic as he stares at me, and I return the glare. “I ordered a second scotch and then changed it to a seltzer and lime.”
Interesting.
“What about the girl?” We’ve reached the back steps leading up to the pharmacy apartment.
“What?” he chokes out, his dark eyes narrowing in on me. “No girl.”
“I saw her at the bar next to you.”
“Come on, Lilac. You sound like a jealous love—” He abruptly stops, and I look away. “Wait a minute.” His voice shifts, excitement filling it. Next, I’m backed up to the pharmacy wall, and Jacob is crowding my space. His hand comes to my throat, tender but pinning me in place.
“Hey.” His voice softens. “Hey.” My eyes drop for my feet, which I can’t see because Jacob is filling my view. “Are you jealous?” The word stammers from his lips while a smile fills his voice. I don’t respond. Ins
tead, I close my eyes to shut out his nearness.
“Lilac.” My name is a call in the night, sultry and deep. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Not another woman. Not Mandi. Pam, you’re fucking beautiful.”
He’s so close he could kiss me. His breath warms my lips. My heart hammers under my winter gear. Tears fill my eyes. I want to believe him. The compliment is said with such sincerity, but he can’t possibly mean it.
“Lilac.” My name on his lips again is a plea, but I can’t give in to him. We made a mistake. I made a mistake by not stopping him the other night, by giving in to my body’s desire and pretending Jacob did what he did to give me pleasure. I even hoped he got something out of it. He thanked me as he finished, as if I’d done something for him instead of the other way around. It was all confusing, and I don’t want to be confused. I want to get to my apartment and warm up.
“Good night, Jacob,” I say to him before I push him away and race up the stairs, fumbling with the key before stepping into my apartment and letting the tears flow.
Chapter 9
My Type
[Jacob]
She’s fucking jealous.
What the hell is she jealous of? Despite the negativity brought about by that emotion, I’m gloating over the fact she might be jealous of another woman with me because that means she cares about me.
But have I misread some things between us?
Not your type. However, the words echo through my head as I watch her race up the stairs and disappear into the second-floor apartment. What does she mean she’s not my type? She’s exactly my type. She loves classic gothic tales. She wears Converse, and she humors me about frozen pizza. She’s got those curves and the sweetest pussy, and now that I’ve had a taste, I want another bite. I don’t want her to compare herself to Mandi because they are total opposites, for the better.
Then I think of the guy in the bar.
Fucking surfer dude.
