Homecoming (Speakeasy)

by Rebecca Norinne

  “I am,” I assured him. “We’ve only been dating for like two minutes so it’s way too soon to be having the whole ‘first comes love, then comes marriage’ conversation. Especially since, you know, I’m currently married to someone else. And besides, we don’t really know where this is going. It might be over before it even starts.” My stomach pitched at the idea. I didn’t want that. Not at all. So why had I said it?

  Self-preservation, a voice in my head piped up.

  Yeah, that sounded about right.

  He pushed away abruptly and rubbed at a deep crease that had formed on his forehead. With a quick shake of his head, he circled around the front of the truck. “Ready to head home?”

  “Sure,” I answered, wondering if I’d imagined the way his voice seemed pinched when he’d spoken just now.

  “Great,” he said when we’d both climbed in and closed our doors. He turned the key in the ignition, and I kept waiting for him to look at me. Something, anything at all, to show me that I wasn’t being paranoid. When he very purposely avoided meeting my eyes the entire drive home, I had my answer.

  I’d said—or done—something wrong. I just didn’t know what it was.

  23

  Preston

  The last couple of days had been pure shit, so I’d decided to drown my problems in beer and wings with Mikey.

  “We can’t sit around twiddling our thumbs while those assholes figure out what the fuck they’re doing,” he said, dragging the plate of chicken back onto his side of the table. “Some of the guys want to head back to Boston to pick up other jobs.”

  Typically, I would have told him to check himself—I didn’t let my crew talk about the people we worked for that way—but I had a hard time bringing myself to argue. The Lindholms weren’t great people, and I was frustrated that I’d gotten things so wrong when I’d taken the job.

  Silently, I shoved a whole wing into my mouth. I pulled it out slowly, stripping the meat from the bone. It wasn’t like Mikey had blindsided me with this news or anything. With the Lindholms talking about abandoning the project altogether, I’d expected this. No work meant no paychecks, and that was a bitter pill to swallow for those paid by the hour. Still, I’d hoped to have a little longer to drum up some new business. With a few different balls in the air, it was only a matter of time until I lined up a new project or two.

  In fact, I was meeting with another couple in a few days who were looking to hire a builder. Newlyweds with strong, solid ties to the community, they wanted to restore and expand his family’s old cape style house. It wasn’t as historic as the places I typically worked on, but it was a big enough project that I could afford to keep everyone who’d followed me up from Boston on the payroll.

  I reached for my glass of Goldenpour. After swallowing down my food and drink, I wiped my mouth and cleared my throat. “This fucking job, man. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I never saw it turning into such a mess.” I scrubbed my palms down over my face, pulling at my cheeks and scratching my nails through my beard as I let loose a weary groan.

  Mikey popped a piece of celery into his mouth. “It’s not just the job, though, is it? You’ve looked pretty haggard for a couple of days now.”

  I took another large gulp of my beer. Sometimes I hated that Mikey could read me so well. “I told Rosalie that I wanted things to be real between us.”

  “And, what? She doesn’t feel the same way?”

  “No, she does.”

  “So what’s the problem then?”

  “Nothing, except …” I trailed off. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could even put into words what my problem was.

  Everything had been going great between us. Sure, we’d gone from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, which maybe wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done, but I’d been through too much shit to waste time playing games. I wanted her, and I couldn’t see a legitimate reason why I should keep those feelings to myself.

  We were already fake dating, so it wasn’t as if anything would have changed by making our relationship official. Well, except I could kiss her now. That was a definite plus. And as we’d discovered, our physical connection was off the charts—our not-exactly-sex leading to one of the best damn orgasms I’d ever had.

  All that aside, she also made me smile in a way that no other woman had before.

  And then there was the icing on the cake: being on the exact same page about kids. What a relief.

  I hadn’t meant to broach the subject so soon, but after spending the evening dealing with other people’s kids’ poor behavior, it had just slipped out. As soon as the words left my mouth, I’d wanted to pull them back or mutter some magic incantation to make her forget I’d ever said them. But this wasn’t some fairy tale where you could wish away the stupid things you’d said. Thankfully, I didn’t have to.

  So—as Mikey had so pointedly asked—what was my problem then?

  I stared down at the table for a few seconds, silently pulling my thoughts together. Lifting the soggy paper napkin that had been sitting under my glass absorbing its condensation, I began shredding it into strips. “I think I might be the rebound guy,” I admitted, finally raising my eyes up to meet his.

  “That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” He dipped the tip of a carrot into the blue cheese sauce that came with our wings and popped it into his mouth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Being the rebound guy means you don’t have to worry about a woman falling in love with you and then asking for a ring.” I didn’t know what he must have seen on my face, but his eyes suddenly bugged out. “Oh shit. The problem is you actually do want to marry her.” He picked up his glass of beer and drained it in three deep gulps, then stared at me expectantly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I protested, brushing the napkin remnants into a small pile. “We’ve only been together for like—” Rosalie’s words from the other night caught in my throat “—two minutes. Also, she’s technically still married.”

  “Right,” he nodded decisively. “So if you aren’t in love with her and don’t want to—or can’t—marry her, lemme ask again: why does it matter if you’re the rebound guy?”

  And that right there was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  “Fuuuuck,” I groaned when the answer finally came to me. “I’m in love with her.”

  He laughed. “And there it is.”

  “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

  “Now, where’d be the fun in that?” He smirked and lifted a hand to hail our waitress for another round.

  Lord knew I was going to need it.

  “You okay to get home?” Mikey asked after I’d finished off two more beers.

  I wasn’t drunk, but I’d definitely calmed down a bit. I credited that as much with the passing of time as I did the alcohol in my bloodstream.

  Now that I’d had a few hours to process my feelings, I was better equipped to deal with them. Just because Rosalie didn’t love me now didn’t mean that she wouldn’t grow to love me in the future. I loathed how desperate that thought made me feel, but what choice did I have? I wasn’t going to walk away from her—not when I knew to the marrow of my bones how good things could be between us.

  And besides, I wasn’t starting from nothing here. Rosalie genuinely cared for me. That was something, at least.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I said, lifting my jacket off a nearby hook. As I shrugged my arms into it, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I just knew. Rosalie was here.

  Slowly, I turned and met her bewildered gaze as she crossed the busy restaurant. When she reached our table, Mikey cleared his throat. The sound snapped me out of my stupor. Rosalie’s gaze bounced expectantly between my friend and me as she waited for an introduction.

  “Rosalie, this is Mikey. Mikey, Rosalie.”

  Rosalie pasted what appeared an uncertain smile on her face and extended her hand in greeting. “Hi, Mikey. Nice to finally meet. Preston has told
me all about you.”

  My best friend chuckled and shook her hand in return. “He can’t stop talking about you.”

  She quickly glanced my way, her beautiful eyes filled with confusion. I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t know what that look was about. It had been a couple of days since we’d seen each other, and I’d been cowardly avoiding her ever since. Of course she was confused.

  “I was just telling him about the kids we caught making out in the bushes.” In rehashing that night with Mikey, I’d told him about nearly tripping over the young couple, so it was as good a cover as any for what we’d actually been discussing for the last hour.

  She shook her head with a light chuckle. “The trials and tribulations of young love.”

  “They had to know they’d get caught,” I remarked, thankful my diversion seemed to have worked.

  He zipped up his Carhartt jacket with a knowing laugh. “You obviously don’t remember being a teenage boy. I would have risked certain death to make out with my girlfriend. Remember that time—”

  I cleared my throat, cutting him off. “Let’s get together tomorrow and go over that paperwork you mentioned.”

  He tossed a quick, puzzled glance my way, but Mikey was no fool. He quickly schooled his features. “Yeah, of course. I think we can shift some things around to make the timing work.” He smiled at Rosalie, lightly clasping her shoulder as he moved past. “Good meeting you, Rosalie.”

  “You too,” she answered as he shoved his hands into his pocket and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Well, don’t let me keep you,” she said, turning to face me. Instead of meeting my gaze, though, her eyes scanned the restaurant, seemingly unwilling to look at me.

  “Rosalie …”

  “Yeah?”

  When I reached out to gently cup her bicep, her eyes finally flicked up to meet my own. “Sit with me?” I asked quietly.

  With a sigh, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a hook on the wall, hopping up onto the stool Mikey had vacated. “How’ve you been?” she inquired blandly.

  It was spoken the same way you’d ask a casual acquaintance how they’d been, not someone you knew intimately.

  My gut clenched in foreboding. I’d only just realized that I was in love with this woman; I couldn’t lose her already. And all because I’d been a stupid idiot who’d retreated into his shell instead of talking things out like any sane, rational adult should do.

  “Honestly?” I asked, climbing up onto my own stool and bracing my elbows on the table. “I’ve been a fucking mess.”

  She raised her right eyebrow, an unspoken assertion that seemed to say, “You ghosted me, but you’re the one who’s a mess? This ought to be good.” I could even hear her voice speaking the words in my head.

  “I want to apologize,” I started, keeping my eyes trained on her. I was a grown-ass man who should be able to admit when he’d behaved poorly. If only my heart would stop battering against my breastbone and my hands would stop trembling as I did. “I should have called or returned your texts.”

  “Yes, you should have,” she said, breaking eye contact to hail a waitress.

  When the woman who’d waited on Mikey and me earlier stepped up to the table, she glanced between Rosalie and me with a confused expression on her face. We’d paid our bill almost twenty minutes ago, so I imagined she’d just been waiting on us to leave so she could turn over the table. I thought she might have introduced herself earlier as Grace. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ve been dying to try the pot roast pie,” Rosalie told her, setting the menu back in its holder on the far end of the table.

  “Excellent,” Maybe Grace said, noting Rosalie’s order. “Any beer with that? The Barclay Stout pairs really well.”

  “That sounds great. I’ll take a pint of that and a glass of water, too?”

  “You got it.” The waitress turned to me. “Can I get you anything else?”

  I shook my head. “Just a coffee, please.” I felt slightly guilty for taking up a table where another customer would order something, so I made a mental note to leave her a fat tip.

  Once she left, I smiled awkwardly across the table at the woman I loved. Fuck. I couldn’t decide if acknowledging those feelings was amazing or terrifying.

  “Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?” she asked, her eyes pleading.

  The uncertain, wrecked look on her face was like a sucker punch to the gut. I reached across the table, setting my hand atop hers. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said as her eyes flicked away. “This is on me, Rosie. I fully admit that I freaked out on Saturday night.”

  She brought her gaze back around to mine. “I don’t understand why, though. I thought things were good? That afternoon, we’d … well, you know—” her cheeks flushed pink “—but then that night you basically shut down on me when I told you I don’t think I want kids. Was that too honest? You said you don’t want them either, so I just figured we were on the same page there. But then you went all silent and broody on me, and now you’ve been avoiding me for the last few days, so I have no idea what to think.” She slipped her hand out from under mine and slid it under the table to join her other hand in her lap.

  “God, no. It’s nothing like that,” I objected, keenly feeling the loss of her skin from under mine.

  “Then what is it, Preston? Just tell me. I’m a big girl; I can take it.”

  I pulled a deep breath into my lungs and let it out in one long gust. This wasn’t where I wanted to be having this conversation, but since it was my poor behavior that had led us here, I needed to roll with it. I couldn’t put her through one more second of self-doubt. “The truth is,” I said, my knee bouncing nervously, “I’m in love with you, and I freaked the fuck out because I had the sudden realization that I’m the rebound guy.”

  24

  Rosalie

  “You … you’re in love with me?” I stammered, certain I must be imagining things.

  How long had it been since someone other than my mom had uttered those words to me? How many years had I ached to hear them spoken by someone I could trust? The idea that it was Preston of all people saying them now had me reeling with disbelief. Surely my mind was playing cruel tricks on me.

  He set his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “I’m in love with you, Rosie, and I—”

  Not a trick. I hopped off my stool and circled the table. Wordlessly, I threw my arms around Preston’s neck and planted my mouth on his in a series of quick, closed-mouth kisses. He laughed against my lips and kissed me back.

  Cognizant of our location, I pulled back with a happy sigh. There’d be plenty of time later to get carried away. Still, despite keeping things relatively PG, we’d drawn notice. “He loves me,” I said by way of explanation to the woman who’d turned around in her seat to gawk at us.

  Her dining companion smiled warmly at us before they went back to their meals, while a couple of teenaged boys a few tables over made gagging noises. I ignored them; they’d find out one day soon enough how glorious it felt to hear someone say those words to you.

  “I hate to ask this,” I said when the waitress returned with my pot pie and beer. “But can I get this to go instead?”

  She glanced between us—me practically sitting in Preston’s lap wearing a smile so wide my cheeks were starting to ache—and smiled knowingly. “Absolutely.”

  “I feel like such a shitty customer right now,” I murmured to him once she was out of earshot.

  He laughed. “You? I’m the one who’s been taking up her table half the night.”

  I kissed him again quickly before making my way back to my side of the table. Rifling through my purse, I pulled out my wallet and dropped two twenty-dollar bills and a tenner on the table. That more than covered the cost of my meal, drink, and a hefty tip. Typically, I would have paid with my credit card so I could earn reward miles, but I didn’t have time to wait for both my food and the check. I was in a hurry to get Preston alone.


  I shrugged into my coat when I saw the waitress approaching with my order bagged up. When she passed it my way, she tossed me a conspiratorial wink. Under her breath, she whispered, “The hostess wanted me to tell you you’re a lucky woman. Enjoy.” She ended the exchange with a quick glance toward Preston that had me wondering if she was telling me to enjoy the food or my man.

  My man.

  I reached my free hand out toward him. He grinned down at me and grabbed hold of it, then practically dragged me out of the busy restaurant. “I probably shouldn’t drive,” he said, scanning the parking lot once we’d stepped out into the cold November night.

  “This way,” I said, tugging him toward the far end where I’d parked.

  When we reached my car, he backed me up against the driver’s side door, his lips finding mine and his hands coming up to cup my cheeks.

  Our kisses inside the restaurant had been brisk and sweet. This one was anything but.

  I opened my mouth to welcome him inside, and he groaned like a man possessed when our tongues met. “I fucking love you,” he said, breaking away for a second. “And it feels amazing to be able to say it.”

  I lifted one of my legs and wrapped it around him, tugging him closer. Just before my lips found his again, I said, “I love you, too. So, so much.”

  His eyes flicked between mine, searching. “You don’t have to say it back. I know this is—”

  I pressed the pad of my finger to his lips. “I love you.” I spoke the words slowly and emphatically so he’d know I wasn’t just throwing them out there to be conciliatory. He wasn’t a rebound, and I had every intention of proving it to him..

  “Say it again,” he said, kissing me hard as his hands found my ass. His fingers dug into my flesh as he pulled me flush against his body, the hard length of his erection pressing into the vee of my thighs.