Wrong Bed, Right Man (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  But she couldn’t stop her mind from spinning.

  Did Owen really miss her? Did it come close to the longing she felt? Of course he was sorry. But was that enough? Did it mean anything would change?

  What did he have for her? It couldn’t erase what had happened between them. So why was she desperate to know?

  And that was when she realized.

  It didn’t matter what he had—whether it was big or small or would change her life or do absolutely nothing. It didn’t even matter what he wanted from her.

  What mattered was what she wanted. Owen could meet her halfway, or he could decide he was better off without her. She couldn’t control that. She couldn’t live his life.

  But she could live hers. It all came down to what was in her heart. It was like her friends had said. She deserved her happiness. She didn’t have to just accept what was handed to her. She was good enough to go after it all.

  Whether Owen wanted her or not.

  She jumped out of her seat. She almost didn’t mean to do it. But the conversation stopped mid-sentence, and everyone stared. She had to follow through.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—”

  She could have made something up on the spot. I have a headache. I’m going to be sick. I have a family emergency. I just remembered I left the oven on at home.

  But this wasn’t a time for lying. If anything, it was the most honest she’d ever been. Not just with anyone else, but with herself. She didn’t want to be there. That was the bottom line. She didn’t want to be there.

  And she didn’t have to be. She had options. She had a whole life to live.

  So she was going to leave.

  “I have to go,” she said, gathering her things.

  “Excuse me?” Jim stood up.

  “Something’s come up,” she explained.

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  Everyone looked stunned. They all started talking at once, asking what she was doing, where she was going, what was wrong.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “This isn’t something we can just reschedule,” Jim told her. “It’s the only time we can—”

  “Don’t worry about rescheduling,” she said.

  “What?”

  The room went quiet.

  “You don’t need to reschedule the meeting.” Deep breath. And then she said, loud and clear: “Because I quit.”

  The room became a roar, although she wasn’t sure if that was everyone talking at once or just the blood pounding in her head. Had she said those words aloud or only thought them? Had she meant them, or was she going to wake up tomorrow kicking herself for the stupidest split-second decision of her life?

  Most people could not just up and leave their jobs because they wanted to. But there was no time to second-guess herself. All she could do right now was act.

  She’d spent too much of her life following other people, doing what they wanted her to do. She picked up her purse and looked for the last time at the pressed suits staring at her in obvious disbelief.

  “Mr. Harris, thank you so much for the opportunities you’ve given me. But I’m afraid I can’t keep working for a company that cares more about putting hardworking people out of business than it does about making high quality products.” She turned to Jason. “And I can’t keep working in an office where everyone knows an employee behaves dishonestly but still tiptoes around him.” She pushed in her chair. “I found your bondage gear, by the way. Funny, how you think you know people.”

  And then it turns out they’re full of surprises.

  But she had her own surprises, too. She opened the door, went straight to her cubicle, and stuffed everything she thought she might need into a bag. And she walked out.

  It was terrifying, but her heart kept flopping around not like it was afraid, but like it was downright excited. Silly little organ, never knowing what was good for it.

  But she’d listened to her brain for her whole life. She’d always done what was right. And yet the happiest she’d been was when she’d closed her eyes and leaped into something unknown with a man in leather boots, worn jeans, and hands that were calloused and strong. She had to trust that from now on, she’d just have to figure it out.

  There was only one thing left to do. One easy choice to make. She got on the subway and headed to Queens.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Owen checked the time on his phone. Four more hours until Rose got out of work. Plenty of time to get the space ready before she came over. If she came over, he reminded himself. She still hadn’t texted him back.

  After the non-stop work he’d been doing, the woodshop looked like a bomb had exploded. But he hadn’t been working on a new commission. Or anything that would bring in any money. He’d been working on something much more important than that.

  When his dad had come downstairs to see what the flurry of hammering and sawing was about, for once he hadn’t told Owen to slow down.

  All he’d done was smile and tell Owen it looked just right.

  Owen certainly hoped so. He needed it to say everything words never could.

  As he swept up the sawdust, self-doubt crept in. She might refuse to see him. She still hadn’t even responded.

  He couldn’t blame her. If he were her, he’d be pissed, too. There might not be a way to set things right.

  But I have to try. He couldn’t control what anyone else did—not Rose, not Jason, not CUBE, not his potential customers. Not anyone.

  But he could control himself. At least he hoped he could, especially when it mattered the most.

  There were tools everywhere and endless wood shavings. On second thought, maybe he hadn’t left himself enough time. Everything had to go perfectly. He only had one chance to get this right.

  But when he checked his phone again, there was still no new message. He reminded himself she was probably busy at work. She’d just gotten that promotion, most likely. She’d have a lot to catch up on.

  Not that imagining her at CUBE made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But it was better than imagining the plans she might have after work—all the reasons she might not be able to come over. Going out with friends was one thing. But what if she had a date?

  No, he couldn’t go there.

  He was telling himself to be patient and stop assuming the worst when he heard a knock at the door.

  He put down the broom. He wasn’t expecting any packages, and it was too early for Rose. Probably a solicitor or something.

  When he opened the door, he wasn’t paying attention. He wore a smock covered in wood varnish, and his clothes were a mess. He planned to shower and clean up later, when the workshop was transformed.

  “Hi,” Rose said.

  His jaw dropped.

  Her long hair tumbled over her shoulders, a leather bag slung on her arm. He glanced at the sky behind her, like maybe it was already twilight and he hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Maybe he’d fallen completely behind.

  But the sun was still high in the sky. It really was the middle of the day.

  “Hi,” he said. “Am I hallucinating?”

  Her eyebrows pinched together. “You don’t look so happy to see me.”

  “What are you doing here?” he stammered.

  “Didn’t you ask me to come?”

  “Yeah, but—” He ran a hand through his hair. Felt sawdust, flecks of wood. God, he must have looked terrible. “I didn’t mean right this second. You have work.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t you?” he asked, even more confused.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think… I think I just quit.”

  He almost fell down the steps. “Rose.”

  “I’m having a really weird day.”

  “Why did you quit?” His heart raced
, a mix of worry and excitement and concern.

  “I got your message,” she said.

  But that didn’t explain anything at all.

  “I’m glad you got my text,” he said. “But I didn’t mean for you to—”

  “Do anything stupid?” she answered for him. “Don’t worry. That part’s all on me.”

  “But I’m not ready.” He realized he sounded kind of panicked.

  “Ready for what?”

  You, he wanted to say.

  But that wasn’t true. He was ready for her. He hadn’t always been—he could admit that. But he was ready now. Ready to be with her in every way.

  He stepped aside to let her in. “I wanted to do more,” he said, taking off his smock and draping it over a chair. “I had something of a plan. It wasn’t supposed to look like this when you got here.”

  She turned to him. “I ruined it.”

  He smiled. It wasn’t at all how he’d expected this moment to go. But to hear her say those words—no. He shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly ruin anything, Rose. You make it better just by being here.”

  Faint pink rose on her cheeks.

  The workshop was still a disaster. But it didn’t matter that it wasn’t perfect. She was here. That was all he needed for everything to be right.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” he began. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. There was so much he wanted to tell her. And yet it all came down to a few little words that were still so hard to say. I’m sorry. I love you. I was wrong. I can’t do this alone.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said.

  He shook his head. “You did what you had to in the moment. I shouldn’t have put you in that position in the first place. I shouldn’t have said all of those things that were nobody’s business. And I never, ever should have made you choose.”

  “But I did choose,” she said. “And I chose wrong.”

  He didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad to hear her say it. It was all so tangled up inside him. Happy because she was really here, standing in front of him. Sad because he’d hurt her, and she was still hurting, still thinking she’d made a mistake.

  “No, Rose. It’s not your fault. I needed to be more understanding. And a whole lot better at keeping my thoughts to myself. But—” He frowned. “You didn’t really quit, did you?”

  She made a face. “I stood up in the middle of a meeting and left. Pretty sure I can’t go back after that.”

  “Please don’t say you did that for me.” The thought was terrible. “That wasn’t what I wanted at the gala, and I’d never ask you to—”

  “No.” She held up a hand. “I left for me. It just hit me, all of a sudden. What was I doing there? I don’t want to be at CUBE for the rest of my life. Advertising what? Caring about what? I don’t even know anymore.

  “I kept thinking I’d have time to branch into something else. But it seems more likely that I’d just keep kicking the can down the road. There’d always be a reason to stay—another promotion, a raise, a project, something pressing I had to take care of first, and then I’d start living my life.”

  She looked around the workshop, as if searching for the words. And then she looked back at him. “But I don’t want everything to be later. I don’t want to put my life on hold.”

  “I know,” he said. If there was one thing he understood, it was the need to stop waiting, stop wasting time, stop compromising on things that didn’t matter.

  “This is it,” Rose said. “This is my whole life. It’s not getting started at some future point. I’m already living it. Now.”

  A lump rose in his throat. “And what do you want to do with your life?” he asked hoarsely. Needing to hear the answer. Not daring to hear it at all.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  She looked up at him, startled. “What?”

  “Close your eyes,” he repeated.

  “I’m trying to talk to you,” she said. “About the other night. About everything.”

  “And I’m listening. I want you to close your eyes, so I can tell you everything I have to say.”

  He thought she wasn’t going to do it.

  But she took a breath. And then her eyelids fluttered shut.

  He went to get a clean cloth. Then he came up behind her. Slowly, he drew her hair over her shoulder. “Do you trust me?” he whispered, his lips as close to her skin as he dared.

  It reminded him of the first time he’d spent the night at her apartment, when he’d put the restraints on her wrists. She’d trusted him then. His heart ached, hoping she would give him this chance again.

  “Yes,” she finally sighed.

  His whole body flushed with hope at the word. Gently, he slipped the cloth over her eyes and tied it behind her head, making a blindfold. It wasn’t what he’d planned. But sometimes surprises were a good thing.

  He led her to his chair and sat her down. “Don’t go anywhere,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as he trusted she really couldn’t see, he sprinted upstairs. He’d wanted to have everything set before she arrived. But that didn’t mean he had to scrap the whole thing.

  His dad looked up when he came into the apartment. “Is she here?” he asked.

  Owen nodded. “Ahead of schedule.” He dashed to his room. When he came back, his dad grinned. “Don’t you dare say a word,” Owen warned him.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hank said. But his eyes were twinkling, and he held open the door so Owen could carry the enormous armful of red roses down the stairs.

  He sprinkled the petals around the workshop, making a path on the floor from Rose’s feet to the furniture he wanted her to look at, resting roses on the dresser and the night tables. It didn’t look how he’d pictured it in his mind, with the woodshop clean and sparkling and rose petals everywhere. But he had to admit, it didn’t look half bad.

  He came back to Rose. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said and lifted the blindfold. “Okay,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Open them.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she gasped then burst into peals of laughter. It was the happiest sound in the world. “What did you do?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “This was how it was supposed to be when you came over. Well.” He paused. “Better than this. I would have taken a shower.”

  She stood up. “I like seeing the real Owen.”

  “There’s more,” he told her. “This is what I have to show you.”

  He nudged her to walk along the path of rose petals he’d made. “Those pieces,” he said.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said. “They’re you. I feel like I’d know they were yours if I saw them anywhere. Is this your new commission?”

  She looked back at him, and he shook his head. She frowned. “Then what are they for?”

  “Look closer,” he told her. “Look at the detailing.”

  She lifted one of the roses from the dresser and smelled it as she peered closer. Then she snapped straight up and turned to him. “Owen,” she said.

  “Rose.”

  “These look just like my grandmother’s bed. It’s the same coloring, the same design.”

  He nodded. “You’re my inspiration.”

  “Whoever buys these is going to be so lucky.”

  He wasn’t sure if he could touch her. He might not have had that right anymore. But he came up close to her, stopping himself just before he was close enough to sink in and kiss her, and whispered, “You, Rose. You’re the one who gets to be so lucky.”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t get it.”

  “They’re for your bedroom. A matching set just for you. I know it’s not enough. It doesn’t turn back the clock
. It doesn’t change everything I did wrong. But it’s not about the past,” he insisted. “It’s about the future. I wanted to make you something solid, to show you my love is permanent. It’s real, and it’s not going anywhere. It may get dinged up along the way. It’s sure as hell not going to be perfect. But it’s yours to have forever. If you want it.” He swallowed. “If you want me, stubbornness and all.”

  He scanned her face, looking for her reaction. He might have gotten this all wrong. She’d come over, but it could have been to tell him off. He’d misunderstood everything. She’d never accept a gift like this. He was moving way too fast.

  And sure enough, she said, “I can’t.”

  It felt like his heart was being squeezed through a vice, all the blood in him wrung out. It couldn’t be happening this way.

  “It’s too much,” she said. “You’ve done too much for me. What about your commission? What about the other work you have to do?”

  “It’ll get done,” he said. “I have other priorities, too.”

  “I don’t—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “You deserve it,” he told her. “So don’t try to tell me you don’t. It’s my gift to you. I can’t give you everything in the world. But what I can give will always be yours.” He paused. “If you’ll have me. If you still want me. I know you might not anymore. But even so, it’s still yours. You should know that somebody loves you forever, even if you don’t love me back.”

  “That night—” She paused. Swallowed. Looked up at him.

  “You can tell me,” he told her.

  “You need to know. I wasn’t embarrassed by you. I was embarrassed by what you did. They’re not the same thing.”

  He nodded. He wanted to say sure, okay, now they could move on. But he knew he needed to stand there and really talk to her, tell her everything that had been going on.

  “I shouldn’t have said those things,” he said. “I know I talk a big game. But the truth is I was nervous. Completely out of my element. Worried you’d see me next to Jason and all those guys and realize I don’t measure up.”

  “I did see you next to Jason and those other guys,” Rose said, and he winced. “But what you don’t understand is that I saw you. The one I wanted. The one I was proud to be there with.”