All In: A Moira McTark Re-release (Coming Around Again Book 2)

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Connie is still making noise, but all I’m thinking is that Laine isn’t coming back.

  She quit because of the principles I didn’t give her enough credit for having. “Has she got another job already?”

  “I would have heard about it if she’d been picked up. But she’s got contacts everywhere. If she decides to stay in the business it won’t be long. I should have pushed for the noncompete.”

  Jesus. I can’t listen to more. “Connie, you’ll be working with Erica from here on out. Front desk will set up a meeting for you.”

  I need to find Laine.

  Laine

  “Max, I’ve got to run out for a couple of errands. I’ll pick up some coffee on my way back.” Stuffing my feet into my sneakers, I pull my hair into a loose ponytail. “You need anything from Staples?”

  He pops his head out of what will become our office bathroom, and flashes that megawatt smile the brides are going to eat up. “Nah, think I brought all the supplies I need. I might need to run to the hardware store for this leak under your sink though. Lemme see what I can get done while you’re out.”

  “You are amazing. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He flashes a wink and ducks back into the bathroom.

  Tucking the leather braid of my keychain between my teeth I swing my bag over my shoulders and reach for the stack of binders by the door. Straining to collect them, I pull a deep breath in through my nose and stop.

  The leather smells like wedding cake.

  I close my eyes, tamping down the images and emotions that come unbidden.

  I don’t have time for buttercream fantasies when I need to be building a new business, only I can’t seem to stop them. I can’t pretend that I don’t miss Jason, that every day without him has me feeling more like there’s something fundamental missing.

  I’ve been going through the motions of moving on with my life, but none of it feels real. None of it feels right. Deciding to start my own bridal consultant business should be a thrill—it’s been my dream for a long time. But not having Jason to tell about it, to celebrate with, has left a drab stain over the entire thing. I miss him at every critical moment and still keep expecting to see him every time I turn around.

  For two years he was there whenever I needed him—as if he sensed my every emotion and need. He was there to bolster me when I felt doubt, to argue when I needed to get back on track. To hold me when I couldn’t stand to be alone anymore.

  I had been crazy not to run back to him and explain, beg him to understand. Yes, I was hurt, and my ego had gone into a full-on temper tantrum when he walked through the lobby with that disappointed look plastered across his face. I was furious and brokenhearted.

  But the more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve been scared. Too scared to risk being hurt again. Only, not being with him… hurts worse than anything I can remember.

  God, what am I doing?

  Chapter 11

  Jason

  I pull into an open space on the tree-lined street in Lincoln Park and kill the engine. Laine lives in a classic brownstone… two blocks over from the brick three-flat I was at last night.

  I am never going to live that down.

  But the fate of the video on Dil’s phone is the least of my concerns as I follow the walk up to her front door and press the bell, bakery box in hand. Laine has every reason not to trust me, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her go without a fight. Without at least an explanation about where my head was at that day. An apology.

  Soft music filters through the cracked window on the second floor. The sheer drapes move, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s home.

  “Laine, please come down. We need to talk.” No response. “Look, I was wrong, and I know you’re angry, but, damn it, I love you and I’m not leaving until—”

  The drapes fall back into place and a grueling handful of seconds later, I hear her door open. But it’s not Laine coming down the stairs to meet me. It’s a man. Mid-twenties. Wet hair. Pulling on a tight T-shirt… because he wasn’t wearing one before.

  Gut clenching with my fists, I watch as the guy from the picture last night—the one I’d seen putting the moves on Laine at the hotel—opens the security door with a confused look on his face.

  “Is Laine here?” I ask, the words grating past my teeth.

  He has the good sense to inch the door closed a bit further. “No, I’m sorry, she had to run out. Can I give her a message when she comes back?”

  I want to grab a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drag him out into the street, out of Laine’s apartment and out of her life. But who the hell am I to think I’ve still got any claim on her at all?

  I should have been at this door fifteen minutes after she left the hotel two weeks ago. I should have waited here until she let me in. I should have told her that I loved her, and I was sorry—but I didn’t do any of that, and now I’m standing here looking at the man she brought home last night.

  The guy clears his throat uneasily. “A message, sir?”

  Yeah, something tells me my message might lose a bit of its meaning delivered by a guy who looks like he just rolled out of her bed and probably can’t wait to get her back into it.

  Gritting my teeth, I force the image out of my mind.

  “Just tell her Jason stopped by. And give her this.” With a last look down at the pink cardboard box tied with string, I reluctantly hand it over.

  An hour later I’m slumped against the door of the fridge, phone resting against my chest as I stare blindly into the void of my apartment. Waiting.

  I’ve lived here ten years. No, I’ve showered and slept here for ten years. I could have stayed in any room in the hotel for all the living I’ve actually done. Until last month, when I brought a woman covered in sticky sweetness through my door.

  I can’t remember the last time I went a week without seeing her, let alone several. In Laine’s business there are always details to attend to, tastings, rehearsals, seating plans, floral adjustments. She spends nearly as much time at the hotel as I do. Or, at least, she did.

  Now, looking back at all of the business dinners—quick bites while we sat an arm’s distance apart, me helping with arrangements rather than begging her to tell me what she loved, rather than touching her hair or her cheek—I’m struck by what a waste of time it all was.

  I should have told her I wanted her that first day. Should have pulled her into my arms and made love to her two years ago. Instead, I waited, lying to myself every day. And now, all I have are a month’s worth of memories that revolve around more than place cards and someone else’s romance. The best month of my life topped off by the indelible memory of a man opening Laine’s door like he lived there. Offering to take a message.

  Poor kid. He’s probably already in love with her too.

  But he’s out of fucking luck, because I’m not giving up.

  The phone against my chest rings, startling the hell out of me, first by breaking the cold silence and second, by flashing the name and picture I’ve been waiting to see for weeks.

  “Laine.”

  “You came by.” Her voice is soft, slow. Unsure.

  Thank God. My head drops forward. “I’m so sorry. Please tell me there’s a chance. That it’s not too late.”

  “I’m sorry too,” she whispers. “I should have talked to you. I should have told you what happened. The bride—”

  “I know about the bride. Connie told me. But it shouldn’t have mattered, and I realized that before Connie explained, for what it’s worth.” I suck a breath, raking my hand through my hair. “I’ve been dying without you. The way I treated you, like you’d done something so wrong and didn’t deserve a single word. It was horrible.”

  “You had to have been thinking about your fiancée.”

  I’d been thinking about Sophia, about a baby that hadn’t existed, about a million things that didn’t matter, because the only thing I should have been thinking about was Laine. Who she was and what sh
e meant.

  “You aren’t Sophia. She’s no excuse… Laine, I miss you. I’ve been such an assho—”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  Her smooth voice comes to me in stereo. I stare at the phone and then slowly get up from the floor.

  Jesus, she’s here.

  Laine steps out of the elevator and drops her phone in her oversized bag. Her hair is pulled up into a careless knot and she’s wearing a Lollapalooza T-shirt with a pair of ripped-up jeans. Fucking beautiful.

  “Laine—”

  “I said, ‘You’re an asshole.’ You scared the hell out of my new assistant this morning.”

  “Assistant?” Oxygen fills my lungs so fast it knocks me back a step. Not a boyfriend crawling out of her bed. Not some guy hitting on her—hell, of course, he was hitting on her. She’s everything.

  Brows arched, she sets her bag down and props a hip against the back of the couch. “His name is Max. He’s been trying to get me to take him on as my apprentice for a while now, and last night we struck a deal. We’re going to be working out of my place until we find an office, but… that’s not why I’m here.” She takes an uneven breath, and whatever force knocked me back the second before propels me forward now. My hand goes to hers and—thank God—she takes it. “Max gave me your message and mentioned… something about you loving me?”

  “With everything I am,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “I was worried I wouldn’t have the chance to tell you. I was—” I have to stop and take a breath because it feels like there’s a vise around my chest. Shaking my head, I meet her eyes. “I thought I lost you and it’s been killing me. Laine, I don’t deserve your forgiveness for how I acted that day, but I’m begging you for it anyway.”

  “I could have told you. I should have, but all I saw was you shutting me out, and I—I ran. I was afraid to let myself be vulnerable with you again, because when we’re together, I can’t take it slow. All it takes is the slightest encouragement and I’m all in.”

  “All in, huh?” How many times have I thought those exact words? “That makes two of us. Laine, I love you. I don’t want to live without you.”

  Stepping into my space, she peers up at me with glistening eyes. “Then don’t.”

  I can’t hold myself back anymore and, cupping the back of her neck, pull her into a kiss. It’s not artful or seductive, it’s the firm press of my mouth against hers in a promise, a commitment. Our breath rushes out in synchronized relief, our hearts beating hard together. Seconds pass as we cling to each other until—

  “Oh shit,” I groan.

  Laine raises a brow, her lips curved as she bridges the gap I just put between us. “What, did you forget a meeting? Put a hit out on Max you need to cancel?”

  “No—but, did he happen to give you anything in addition to my message?”

  Recognition lights her face. “I almost forgot about it.” Stepping around me, she digs into her bag and pulls out the small pink bakery box. “Cake, I’m assuming?”

  Relief washes through me as I tug her closer again. “Open the box and find out.”

  I help her untie the string, and when she lifts the lid, her eyes go teary and wide.

  “Jason,” she gasps, looking from me to the five-inch round buttercream-frosted coconut cake with my mother’s ring embedded in the center.

  “Will you give me forever, Laine?”

  Pulling the frosting-coated ring free, she searches my eyes as I set the cake aside. “Is that what you want?”

  “More than my next breath… and until I’ve taken my last. Longer.” Taking the ring from her trembling grasp, I slide it over the third finger on her left hand, leaving a smeared sweet trail of frosting in its path. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”

  She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. “Yes.”

  I pull her in for a kiss that tastes like forever and—after we get carried away and end up on top of yet another cake—buttercream and coconut too.

  Epilogue

  A Saturday in June, the next year

  Laine

  Honestly, we probably could have pulled this wedding off within a few hours, but because we wanted to have it on the rooftop garden of our favorite hotel, Jason and I waited eleven months (lucking out with a cancellation from a couple who decided they couldn’t wait and ended up eloping). The ceremony was perfect, filled with laughter and love and vows we wrote ourselves. Our flower girl, Trina, ate too many jellybeans beforehand and threw up in her basket of rose petals, and the six-year-old ring bearer only made it halfway down the aisle before getting stage fright and running the other way, but there wasn’t a single moment I would have changed.

  Especially not that toe-curling kiss Jason laid on me the second we were pronounced man and wife.

  Now we’ve reached the part of the reception where our friends and family offer well-wishes, and I can’t help but snicker at the way Jason’s already hanging his head in anticipation of the coming toast. Because Dil’s up, and he’s making a show of stripping off his tuxedo jacket, opening his collar and rolling up his sleeves as he prepares to sync his laptop to the overhead.

  Leaning into my husband, I press a kiss to his cheek. “Have you actually seen the video?”

  Looking up with a good-humored smile, he shakes his head. “He’s been taunting me with it since that night. But no.”

  Yeah, I’ve heard about it. Watched Dil reenact the events of the night. But I haven’t seen the actual footage either. “It can’t be that bad.”

  Jason’s scoff says maybe I’m wrong about that. “At least he waited until you’d already said ‘I do’ before letting you see it.” Then with a wag of his brows, he grins. “You took me for better or for worse. No givebacks.”

  My mind whirls through my life for the past year. The late nights talking with a man who understands me better than anyone I’ve ever met. The quiet confessions and laughter that lightens my soul. The connection I’ve never felt before. “No givebacks. Promise.”

  Dil taps the microphone against his palm, drawing all eyes back to the mischievous grin on his face.

  Jason wraps his arm around my shoulders and nods at his buddy. “We’ll see.”

  In less than thirty seconds, Dill has the room wrapped around his finger, talking about how he’d idolized Jason when they met. The overhead displays what looks like a magazine ad featuring some debonair guy in a dinner jacket with a super model on each arm and Jason’s smiling mug crudely photoshopped over his head.

  “It seemed like the guy had the world on a string, like he was living the dream.” Dil cycles through a series of photoshopped ads similar to the first, but with various models. “Only the more I got to know him, the more I realized he was just going through the motions. And then one day this happened.” The next picture is of Jason standing at the front desk, a paper drooping limp in his hand, his eyes focused intently across the lobby… on me.

  My breath catches, because I remember the first day when Connie brought me to the hotel to introduce me around. I’d been crazy nervous.

  “I can’t believe he caught that shot,” I whisper. “Talk about luck.”

  And then as if he heard me, Dil adds, “And if anyone is thinking this was just some lucky shot, maybe you’re right. Or maybe…” And the images advance one by one, me moving through the lobby and Jason’s head following me shot by shot, until he’s standing there with his arms at his sides staring at the elevator that just closed with me inside.

  The next shot is the best though. It must be a second later because Jason’s turned around and is openly glaring at the camera, mouth open mid protest, hand out like he’s about to snatch it right out of Dil’s hand.

  My heart is soaring. The crowd is laughing, but Jason just tucks me in closer to his chest. Dil goes on about how he knew right then what Jason had been waiting for. The next pictures are more stolen snapshots we weren’t aware of. The two of us laughing by the front desk. Heads together in a
conference room. Standing closer than we should as one of my couples ties the knot. And in every single picture, Jason is looking at me like he already loves me.

  “Jason,” I whisper, overwhelmed by the visible proof of something he’s told me all along.

  He opens his mouth, but Dil’s next words have him closing it with a smile.

  “You know what you’re seeing in all these pictures? The look of a man who’s all in.”

  And now Jason and I are both smiling, because those words couldn’t be more true.

  Waiters have materialized at our tables, handing out an identical cocktail to each setting as Dil continues. “I thought I wanted what Jason had when we first met. But I was wrong. I want this,” he says, pointing to a picture from last night’s rehearsal dinner where we’re smiling, lost in each other’s eyes. “I think we all do. But until I find it for myself, I’ll have to settle for this instead. Everyone raise your glass with me to toast Jason and Laine with a cocktail created in their honor. The All In.”

  My eyes are wet, and my cheeks hurt from the smile I can’t contain as the people we love most in the world raise their glasses and in unison cheer, “All In.”

  Jason turns to me and I know before he speaks what he’s about to say. “That guy is totally getting laid tonight.”

  “Oh yeah.” I nod with a laugh. “Big time.”