by Melody Grace
Mackenzie slowly lifted the binder. It weighed as much as a block of clay. “Why me?” she asked, feeling like she’d just been given a curse, not a blessing. “Ellie Lucas would be great at something like this, she’s used to doing all the accounts. Or Riley’s new girlfriend Brooke! She runs that hotel, spends all her time staging events. She’d be perfect!”
“They’re in the honeymoon phase,” Debra said, dismissing her. “Poppy and Cooper will be planning a wedding soon enough. You’re the only one without any distractions, no man keeping you up at night—you’ll have plenty of time for this!”
* * *
Mackenzie left the binder at her gallery, and then headed for the coastal trail with the rambunctious dogs in tow. Single-shamed for not having a boyfriend! She couldn’t believe it, and from Debra of all people. But the older woman probably just knew Mackenzie was a soft touch, and she did love the holidays . . .
Christmas was her favorite time of year, and the Starbright Festival always made it special. The town was transformed into a twinkling wonderland, with Christmas trees on every corner, and the local businesses going all-out to decorate in new festive themes. Mackenzie did her best to top herself every year at the gallery, even hosting the annual Nog-Off eggnog competition, but she’d never been responsible for much more—let alone the whole thing!
It couldn’t be too complicated, could it? Debra wouldn’t risk the biggest tourist draw of the year just to have a nap.
Would she?
The barking of the dogs pulled her back to reality. They were out of town now, away from the main highway, so Mackenzie undid their leashes and let them run free into the undergrowth and along the winding trail that meandered up the coast, with the woods on one side, and the rocky shoreline on the other. It was a gorgeous fall afternoon, with a cool blue sky and leaves crunching underfoot, and Mackenzie took a deep breath of crisp air and felt her tension slowly slip away.
She could handle this, no problem. A project was good. Things had been getting a little predictable at the gallery, and helping with the Starbright Festival was her chance to shake things up. It would occupy her mind, and keep her from being distracted . . . like by a certain football star’s unexpected return.
Jake.
Mackenzie felt her cheeks flush again, picturing his broad shoulders and blue eyes. She hoped Debra hadn’t seen her feelings written all over her face before, but hopefully she’d played it off as just a casual question. They’d been friends, after all, long before he’d become the sports superstar everyone knew today.
Best friends.
Mackenzie smiled, remembering it. Back then, he gave her rides to school in his dad’s beat-up truck, blasting mixtapes from the cassette deck. They did their homework together in the back corner of the library, and watched crappy movies in her basement on a Friday night—before he went off to whatever party was raging that weekend. They were an unlikely pair: the football star and the weird art girl, but thanks to the Sweetbriar School District’s alphabetical seating policy, they didn’t really have a choice. Mackenzie had arrived the first day in school, a transfer student with her chunky knit sweaters and that frizzy red hair that made her wince to think of it, and been assigned the seat beside him. It was her third move in five years, so she knew the deal: high-school gods like him didn’t look twice at dorky mere mortals like her. But one afternoon during Calculus, she’d been deep in her sketchbook, when a tiny paper plane landed on her desk.
Can I see? the message read.
Jake had been watching her sketch and scribble all afternoon long. She’d been embarrassed at first, showing him her half-finished drawings and random notes, but he’d been so enthusiastic that she kept sharing. Art club let out the same time as football practice, so he’d offered her a ride home, and just like that, they’d become friends.
It would have been great, if she hadn’t gone and fallen head over teenage heels in love with him.
Mackenzie winced. Her unrequited crush on Jake had consumed most of her junior and senior years, and the only silver lining to it all was that he’d remained completely oblivious. She’d come close to telling him how she felt, just once, the night of prom, but . . . well, that hadn’t exactly gone as planned. (Unless the plan had been running half-dressed and humiliated through the Sweetbriar Town Square). But perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, because Jake stayed in the dark about her feelings—right up until the day he left for college on a football scholarship, and started what would become his glittering career. He hadn’t stepped foot back in Sweetbriar since, and although she sometimes thought of him—when a game was on TV at her parents’ place, or when some old Jimmy Eat World song came on the radio—Mackenzie figured he was gone for good, just another wistful memory of the girl she used to be.
Until that Halloween kiss made him anything but ancient history.
The kiss . . .
She inhaled, memories rushing back to her. The broad, stacked planes of his body pressed hotly against her . . . The way she’d surrendered willingly to his tempting mouth, losing her mind, and her breath, as he kissed her like nobody had ever kissed her before . . .
She shook her head sternly. It was stupid to keep replaying that night. It had been a moment of madness, and now she had to face the consequences—or rather, try her best to avoid them. With any luck, Jake was just in town for a quick visit, and she wouldn’t have to explain herself. She couldn’t imagine him staying longer, anyway. He was rich and famous, and used to the city lights by now. He was—
Jogging up the trail in workout gear, heading straight for her.
Mackenzie froze.
Maybe she was imagining things, but nope: there he was, in loose gray track pants and a sweat-drenched blue T-shirt. She wondered if she had time to dive back into the trees and hide, but it was too late. He looked up and saw her.
“Mac?” he called, a grin spreading across his face. He slowed his pace, and came to a stop in front her, breathing hard. “Holy crap, I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen you in, what, ten years? C’mon over here and give me a hug!”
He held his arms wide, still beaming, and that’s when Mackenzie realized:
He still had absolutely no idea that the woman from the gazebo was her.
3
Jake couldn’t believe the woman standing in front of him, after all these years. He crushed Mackenzie in an enthusiastic bear hug and then stood back. “Look at you,” he said, taking in her curly red hair, and the thick wool jacket all bundled up. She looked older than the gangly teenager he’d seen last, but still somehow exactly the same. “You got tall!”
“I’ve always been tall,” she said, then cleared her throat, glancing away. “Umm, welcome back. I heard you were in town.”
Jake came down to earth with a bump. It had been too long since he’d visited Sweetbriar—or sent so much as a vague email to Mackenzie. They’d drifted apart after he left for college, and even though he often wondered how she was doing, whenever he thought about reaching out, he always felt too guilty for leaving it so long.
“I’m sorry we lost touch,” he said, “I mean it. I should have been better about calling, or emailing. But everything got crazy, and then, boom, it’s ten years later.”
“It’s OK.” Mackenzie gave an easy shrug. “I mean, it’s not like you were busy or anything. They let anyone in the NFL, right?”
A teasing smile played on the edge of her lips, and Jake laughed with relief. She wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. “Still, that’s no excuse,” he said, sincere. “I was actually going to look you up. Word is you have a gallery here in town?”
Mackenzie nodded.
“That’s great! I always hoped you would keep pursuing your art.”
She looked bashful. “It’s just a small place. Mainly I do stuff for tourists, you know, plates decorated with sailboats, and ceramic lobsters.”
“You still do that,” Jake said, hit with a wave of familiarity.
“What?”
“Act
like you’re not crazy talented.”
Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “And you still charm everything with a pulse, I see.”
“I do my best.” Jake grinned. God, it was good to see her. The sunlight was burning up the edges of her flame-red hair, and she had a wild striped scarf wound around her neck he just knew was handmade. It took him back to high school, driving the long way home from school with her after practice, stopping for fries and thick ice cream shakes and just talking for hours. Back when the world was full of possibility, and his bright future lay waiting.
“I missed you,” he said, feeling a pang—for those sunset drives, and everything the happened after. Being back to Sweetbriar felt like a failure for him, a last resort, but seeing Mackenzie reminded him that there was a silver lining to his return. “I mean it,” he insisted. “We need to catch up properly, get burgers from Astro like old times.”
“Astro closed a few years back,” Mackenzie replied.
“No!”
“Albert had a stroke, his son tried to keep it going, but they couldn’t make it last,” Mackenzie said with a rueful look. “It’s a fancy bistro now, all white linen tablecloths and freeze-dried caviar.”
“I guess a lot’s changed since I’ve been away.”
Jake paused. He wanted to ask more, find out everything he’d missed—all the gossip and news from her life—but Mackenzie still seemed wary. She was twisting the tassels of her scarf around her fingertip, the way she always used to do when she got nervous. Jake tried to rein in his enthusiasm. He was happy to see her, but maybe the feeling wasn’t entirely mutual. He’d been the one to leave, after all, with barely a look in the rearview mirror. Who knew what her life had been like since he’d been away—what he’d missed, and who she’d become?
“Well . . . I’m around, if you want to get together,” Jake said, deflating. “I’m back at my parents’ place for now, so just give me a call, or swing by anytime. Fries or freeze-dried caviar. Your choice, my treat.”
Mackenzie smiled. “Promises, promises,” she said, teasing.
It sounded so familiar, he was hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu. And just like that, it came rushing back to him
Promises, promises.
The mysterious woman in the gazebo. Her playful hazel stare, so foreign and familiar at the same time. A pixie face hidden under the sleek, dark hair.
Jake’s blood pounded in his ears as the two faces merged into one, standing right in front of him.
It was her. Mackenzie. It had been her all along.
“I . . .” He opened his mouth, frozen in disbelief, but she must have seen something because Mackenzie’s eyes widened in shock.
“I have to go!” she blurted. “George Clooney! Brad Pitt!”
“What?” Jake stared, totally confused.
“The dogs,” she explained quickly, and sure enough, two massive beasts came hurtling out of the woods. “Down boys! Down!” She managed to wrangle them under control, and then backed away. “I, um, good to see you!” she said, before turning and bolting away at full speed, with the dogs chasing at her heels.
But Jake could only stand, frozen in place.
The woman was Mackenzie.
He’d kissed Mackenzie.
Kissed . . . and held . . . and lain awake in bed all week, imagining the other sinful, wicked things he wanted to do with her, too.
With Mackenzie.
He couldn’t believe it. That woman had been seductive and intoxicating, flirting like it was second nature—nothing like the brash, funny girl he’d known. Had she really changed so much? And why the hell hadn’t she said something to him from the start?
He slowly started walking, feeling like he’d just been hit by a truck. His head was spinning, and memories of that night started replaying in his mind—in all their lush, sensual glory. It felt wrong somehow, knowing it was Mackenzie who was the subject of his lustful fantasies, but he couldn’t help it.
Why didn’t she say it was her?
Unless . . . she thought he’d known. And then decided to act like nothing had happened. Jake groaned, totally confused. So much for Mackenzie being the silver lining of his trip—now he was more mixed up than ever!
One thing was clear, though: He didn’t know Mackenzie Lane as well as he thought. In fact, she was more of a mystery now than he could have imagined.
And damn if he didn’t want to solve that riddle.
* * *
By the time Jake arrived back at his parents’ house, thoughts of Mackenzie had been blotted out by the dull ache ringing in his injured knee. He’d done three miles, extra-slow, barely walking at a snail’s pace by the end, but the pain told him even that had gone too far. Dammit.
He winced, limping inside and heading straight for the kitchen, where he grabbed an ice-pack and collapsed on a chair. It was strange to be home after all this time, it made him feel like he was eighteen again, bursting in after practice to grab a glass of water. His mom still had the clutter of photos and notes on the refrigerator door, and the sun fell through the windows on the worn, honey wood floors. It was a long way from his penthouse on South Beach, all glass and marble, with touch-button controls and wraparound views all the way to the ocean, but for once, he was glad to be a few hundred miles from city life. Back there, he was surrounded by reminders of the life he should have been living—and would be again, one day, just as soon as this damn knee healed.
His cellphone rang, and he retrieved it from the counter.
“Hey man, what’s up?” the voice of his agent, Trey, boomed out, as if he were hollering from the twenty-yard line.
“Nothing much.” Jake tried to be patient. Trey asked that every time, like the answer would be any different.
Not training with the team.
Not out on the field.
Not living the football star life that he’d worked so hard to achieve.
“How’s it shaping up in Sweetapple?” Trey chuckled.
“Sweetbriar,” Jake corrected.
“Same difference. I’m picturing you on a lobster boat, like an L.L.Bean commercial.” Trey laughed again.
“No time for fishing,” Jake said lightly. “I’m supposed to be getting back in shape, remember? I ran this morning, got weights this afternoon. The only thing missing is Coach yelling at me from the sidelines.”
“That’s great, man, but are you sure you’re up to it? You heard the physio,” he added, sounding cautious. “Rushing recovery could do you more harm than good.”
“I’ve been in recovery for six months now,” Jake said, his jaw clenched. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing, not if I want to get back on the field.”
“Hey, you’ll get there,” Trey reassured him. “I’m just saying, take it easy on yourself. I know you like pushing it to the limit, but things are different now. That knee of yours needs time. Hell, you were barely walking a few months back, you’ll be fighting fit again, but not if you blow it out running laps in Sweetglen, or wherever you are. You know I’m right.”
Jake scowled. The pain in his knee told him everything he needed to know, but he still didn’t have to like it. “I’ll ease up,” he said reluctantly.
“I don’t know why you sound so miserable,” Trey added. “You’ve been busting your ass for ten years, and now you get a vacation! Have a few drinks, sleep it off. That cartilage will be healed in no time.”
“Sure. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk later.” Jake hung up before he said something he would regret. He knew Trey was just trying to cheer him up, but damn if he didn’t have a skill for saying exactly the wrong thing.
A vacation?
Jake looked around the empty house and gave a hollow laugh. His vacations involved a white sandy beach and a girl wearing nothing much at all, not sleeping back in his childhood bedroom, going through his excruciating daily rehab routine, praying to God that the specialists were right, and that his injury would heal well enough for him to get back into the game.
But it was a long
shot. He knew it, despite Trey’s pep talks and his parents’ cheery messages. They’d been the first ones on the plane out to visit him in hospital after that game. They’d sat by his bedside, helped him through those first, agonizing months, when even taking a single step felt impossible. Now, finally, he was on the mend, so he’d sent them off on a dream vacation to get away from it all. It was the least he could do, and to be honest, he needed a break from their smothering concern.
But now that he was alone, there was nobody to drown out those whispers of doubt. What if he never healed the same? What if his career really had ended with that brutal tackle from the Falcon’s linebacker?
Football had been his life as long as he could remember. It was everything to him—and he was nothing without it. Just look around.
Jake slowly eased to his feet, and wandered through the house. There were his team photographs, lined up by the stairs. There were his trophies, still in pride of place on the living room shelves. And there was the photo of him up on the mantle, celebrating the day he got drafted, twenty-two, right out of college. His bedroom was no better, a shrine that hadn’t been touched in ten years. Same posters on the wall, same rookie cards on the desk, same trophies and certificates proudly telling the story of how he went from college standout to rookie long shot and finally, a starting position on the team.
His career was all around him, he couldn’t escape if he tried. A lifetime of sweat and dedication and training, every milestone like a dream come true for him.
So what if it was over?
What if five seconds and one bad tackle was all it took to send those dreams shattering to nothing?
Who was he supposed to be now?
4
After her run-in with Jake, Mackenzie needed some perspective.
Perspective, and carbs.
Luckily, she already had a girls’ night planned, so she busied herself at the gallery for the rest of the day, trying to ignore just how good Jake had looked in his workout gear—or the look on his face when he put two and two together and came up with that kiss.
