He stood.
Without even a glance around the place, I walked toward him, our eyes locked. I didn't feel the floor beneath my feet as I moved, and in my heart the years reeled backward, taking me to the night when I'd arrived in San Diego and gone to see him that first time. As his arms came up to receive me, those years evaporated, and I stepped into him as the young innocent woman I'd been—the woman who had chased the only man she could ever love across half a world.
His arms went around me and the scent of him, cologne and green grassy fields and some deep-buried scent of home, wrapped me as tightly as his embrace. I put my arms around his body, pressing myself into him, and it was as if we'd never been apart. Hamish MacEvoy was my home, he was my touchstone, my center. And finally, finally, after six years of denying it, I had come home.
I tilted my head back to look up at him, and the smile on his face lifted my heart and sent it through the clouds above.
I smiled back at him and then Hamish lowered his mouth to mine, our lips touching again for the first time in far too long, and the world shuddered to a halt. My hands pulled him nearer as one of his big hands cupped the back of my head, and I felt myself sigh into him. My lips parted and our tongues met, and when he pulled me closer still, I felt an urgency in the kiss that hadn't been there six years ago, something heady and masculine and demanding that I wanted to answer in kind.
I was floating, I was spinning, I was lost. I might have moaned.
And when I finally lifted my lips from his, searching for a breath, the coffee shop around us erupted in applause.
It didn't matter though. It sounded miles away because the only thing I was really conscious of was Hamish's arms holding me close and his big familiar smile beaming down at me.
"God, I've missed ya, Soph."
I was too overwhelmed with emotion to respond, so I just smiled up at him and nodded, hoping he could see my answer in my eyes, feel it in the way I held him.
"I love you, lass."
"I love you too," I told him.
We broke apart, laughing at ourselves as we finally realized where we were and that people around us were still staring. Without any kind of verbal agreement, we joined hands and left the store, stepping out into what felt like a brand new city, one I didn't know because I'd never explored it with him.
Hamish's phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the screen.
"It's Mari," he said.
Hamish's sister Marigold had been like an older sister to me once. My heart ached a little as I thought about the way I'd cut off the whole family when I'd cut him out of my life. It had been too hard to talk to her after I'd arrived in San Diego. But now I felt like maybe I'd get them all back in one fell swoop.
"Hey sis," Hamish said, grinning at me as he talked. His smile faded though, and his grip on my hand tightened. "A proxy? What?"
I had no idea what he could be talking about, but it didn't seem like anything could ruin the mood I was in now. My world, after six years of imbalance I couldn't quite name, was finally right.
Hamish bid his sister goodbye and turned to smile at me, but some of the light had left his eyes. "My brother's coming," he said. "For a visit." Hamish looked more grim than I'd have thought he would on news of a family visit. But there was one brother I knew he didn't mesh with as well as the others.
"Logan?" I asked hopefully. Hamish's brother Logan had always been a good friend of mine and I'd love to see him again.
"No," he said, his voice carrying an edge of darkness. "Charlie."
The oldest.
Charlie had always been more parent than friend to both of us, and I wondered what would inspire him to come visit his little brother. "That will be nice," I suggested, but Hamish just gave me a doubtful look.
"Never mind him. I don't want to think about any of that now," he said, though I didn't know exactly what "any of that" might be. His grin returned and he gripped my hand tighter as we strolled down Prospect Street, the air cool and clear around us and my heart as light as I could remember it feeling in years. "We have catching up to do," he said, and it sounded like a promise, setting parts of my body to tingling with anticipation.
INTERLUDE
Max
I know what you're thinking.
"It's done," you say. "What is there for Mr. Match to do here?" you ask.
First of all. Be quiet. You're supposed to be reading, not telling me what to do. Got it?
Okay, sorry. Maybe that was a little rude. I get it. You're invested. And so am I, so maybe I'm a little bit frustrated. Because here's the thing — I found Sophie MacMartin in the database. She signed up for Mr. Match and I've been diligently taking her money for months.
I'm just glad no matches have popped up for her yet. I'd have a hard time supporting Hammer's claim on her if the algorithm had popped on her profile. Because I've come to rely on the math, as you know. It's right, eight times out of ten. So it'd be tough to watch Hammer compete with someone who was mathematically perfect for her.
And that right there got me thinking... is Hammer perfect for her? They've known each other forever, and that does influence the way they'd both answer the questions on the profile, if you want the truth. Shared history is part of the equation.
But what about the years they've been apart? And what about their fundamental natures? Are those aligned?
I should probably stay out of it, but it's hard.
I'm invested too.
So I've started making a profile for Hammer, just to see. He doesn't need to know about it; I'm just curious.
And it gives me something to do. The site is expanding, but I've got a staff planted in a little office downtown and a manager I hired by telephone who runs the whole thing. She's started taking advertising and even running some ads of our own, and the revenue is spiking. It's kind of nuts. But I need to focus on soccer. And the longer I run the world's most perfectly designed dating site, the more I start to realize how ironic the whole thing really is.
And the quieter and darker my house has begun to feel every night when I go back to it. Alone.
But I tell myself it's for the best.
I might be selling the Koolaid, but I'm trying hard not to drink it.
Turns out maybe not everyone has a match.
Chapter 91
A Girl Only Needs One
Hamish
As Sophie and I walked through La Jolla hand in hand, it felt right. It felt perfect. It was as if everything else I'd found here, everything else I'd accomplished meant little in the face of finally getting to see Sophie again. She was by my side again, holding my hand again, and every bit of cosmic dust that made me who I was screamed at me to hold her near, and make sure I didn't screw it up again.
Because as we walked, I felt more and more certain of the thing I'd always known. Sophie James—no, MacMartin. Sophie MacMartin was my fate.
We decided to stop for dinner, and ended up at a Mexican place, sharing margaritas and tacos and doing our best to catch up on the years we'd been apart.
"What I don't understand though, is why you stopped talking to Mari too," I told Sophie. My family had missed her when she'd cut herself off.
She wiped a bit of hot sauce from the corner of her mouth with the tip of her index finger and then licked it off. It was innocent, but it did something to my blood, watching her tongue dart out from between those little pink lips like that, and certain parts of me leapt to full alert, wondering if there might be action in their future.
"It was too hard," she explained. "It took everything in me not to contact you. If I'd kept in touch with Mari or Sis, they would have told me about you and talked about what you were up to. And I wouldn't have been able to stay away, even if you were wrapped up in some other woman. And I didn't think I'd survive seeing that again."
I sighed. "Soph, there's never been anyone but you."
"I understand," she said, but there was a mournful tone in her voice making it breathier and low. "You're a cele
brity. Girls fling themselves at you. And the women here—" she looked around at the excess of girls with blond hair, tanned skin and low-cut shirts "—they're not like at home."
"They're not," I said, thinking how every woman I'd met here had made me miss Sophie that much more. I wasn't seeking perfection, and if the woman I dated was striving for perfection on the outside, what did that mean about what she expected from me? I was many things, but I was incapable of perfection. "They can't hold a candle to you, lass." I meant it. Sophie was everything I wanted, and when I thought about myself in two or three years, newly married, I could see only her. When I thought of myself ten years from now, maybe with some kids running about, she was there. I saw us as old folks, side by side. She was the one, and it had been true as long as I'd been thinking about it.
"I do miss your family," she said. "Even Charlie."
I missed Charlie too, even if the man couldn't play football to save his life. "Well, I guess you'll be seeing Charlie soon enough," I said.
"It's nice that he wants to visit."
I didn't want to tell Sophie that Charlie had some very specific intentions for his visit, and one of them involved me being engaged. It seemed a little soon to spring that on Sophie. I wished I hadn't mentioned the visit at all, actually. But Mari had made it clear that if I wasn't engaged, Charlie would come try to convince me to do whatever was necessary to meet the deadline—and I didn't need that kind of pressure.
"He's just checking up on me," I said. "Making sure I'm staying out of trouble."
"But you're Durnland's most famous export," Sophie said defensively. "And I've never heard anything about you being in trouble."
I arched an eyebrow at her. "You've been following my exploits, I see."
She laughed lightly and dropped her eyes. "Even if I wanted to never hear about you again, the news makes it impossible. I'd have had to move to a new city."
"But you didn't," I pointed out, finishing the tortilla chips that had been in the center of the table. I was so glad Sophie hadn't left San Diego.
"I have a business here. A friend."
"Just the one?"
"A woman only needs one business," she said.
"The friend, I mean." It surprised me that Sophie wouldn't have many friends. She was fun and sweet, outgoing and intelligent.
"I've never had a lot of practice making friends," she said. "Between you and Mari, James, Dane and Sis."
I nodded, thinking about it. My four youngest siblings and I were all very close in age, with Dane and James being twins, and with Sophie, we'd always had enough to make our own social group. Plus, back in Durnland, the schools had been small and rather casually organized, so Mam often taught us at home. Logan and Charlie were older, and they were off at university while the rest of us marauded around the highlands. I'd never really needed to make friends either, I realized. The Sharks had made it easy.
"But your shop makes you happy?" I asked, not wanting to keep Sophie focused on what might be a sad subject.
She lifted her eyes to mine and they lit with glee. "I love it. Anna and I have really made a name for ourselves in the bridal world, and we have more customers than we can handle. I have total free creative rein, and it's just the best time." She grinned and then dropped her eyes, embarrassed. "Sorry, I get excited about it."
I took her hand across the table. "That makes me so happy," I told her.
"And do you still feel that way about football? You love the game like you used to?"
"Aye," I told her, and I felt my own eyes glow with happiness.
Sophie smiled at me across the table, something in the way she ducked her head hinting that she was thinking of saying something, holding something back. I thought I'd have to pry it out of her, but then she sat up straight and asked, "Do you want to see my place?"
I couldn't pay the bill fast enough, and soon she was leading me into the winding streets behind La Jolla Cove, promising me that her apartment was nothing to be excited about, that it was just a room she rented above someone's garage.
But as I gripped the hand of the woman I'd always loved, following her to her home, I believed there was plenty to get excited about, and my body buzzed in anticipation.
When Sophie led me up a set of stairs next to a large four car garage standing next to what I could only call a mansion, I was happy to see she lived in a safe place, one that looked comfortable and clean. But what I was most excited about was that we were finally alone. And Sophie's place had a big sprawling bed.
Chapter 92
Spring Fashion Trend: Panties and Disappointment
Sophie
It was surreal to let my gaze wander the familiar space of my apartment and see Hamish standing there in the center of it all, filling the small space with his wide strong form and glowing smile. I'd imagined him here, especially when I'd first arrived. But seeing him here now was something else, and I hoped it was just the beginning of everything I'd hoped for long ago.
My stomach danced and jiggled inside me. Being here, where it was quiet and it was only us, was a sudden contrast to the noise and activity down on the street and in the restaurant. Down there, it had been easy to relax into an intimate bubble, letting the rest of the world slide by outside it. Here we were truly alone, and I was more nervous than I would have expected.
I'd been with men. Once I'd decided Hamish was not an option for me, I had dated on and off. I'd slept with two men before, one of them several times before I realized I was imagining Hamish every time I was with him. My heart had always known where it belonged, even if my body had strayed. But now, with the real thing in front of me, I wasn't sure how to proceed.
"Drink?" I asked him, mostly for an excuse to move around the small space and have something to do.
"Yeah," he said, following me to the corner of the open area where there was a refrigerator next to a sink and a small stove. A tall table made an island of sorts, where I did most of my cooking. "How did you end up in this place?" he asked.
"Anna’s uncle," I explained. "He lives in the big house with his family, and they had this apartment. She rescued me from an awful place I'd found in Mission Valley when I first got here. Beer?" I asked him, leaning down to pull a Sawannay Old Norway from the fridge.
"Scottish brew," he commented appreciatively, grinning at the label as I handed it to him.
"I'd buy Durnish if I could find it here." I opened one for myself and touched the neck of my bottle to his. "Join me in my luxurious living room?"
Hamish smiled and followed me to the couch, which was situated in the middle of the space on an area rug I'd positioned to mark out the living room and delineate it from the bedroom, which was just feet away, my big bed made up with a few more pillows than absolutely necessary in the far corner.
We sat on the couch, each of us turned sideways to face one another, and sipped our beers. Something had settled between us, a wide canyon of discomfort, of uncertainty. I didn't know how to cross it, because even though this man was here, even though I wanted him with all my heart, that heart was shy now because it had been wounded before. Maybe he didn't do it intentionally—at least the second time—but my heart remembered.
He smiled at me and put his beer down on the trunk that I used as a coffee table, and he moved closer to me, his eyes finding my face and causing me to catch my breath.
"I'm so happy, Sophie. To have found you again, to be here with you. I feel like we're on the brink of the future."
I couldn't speak, I was overwhelmed with emotion and nerves. I wanted him to kiss me, to touch me. I put my beer on the table and turned back to face him. "Me too." I shifted nearer to him and he took my hand, tugging me gently closer.
His eyes were heavy on mine, like magnets pulling me near, and I leaned toward him until he closed the distance, his hands finding my waist and pulling me into him. His mouth landed on mine, soft and gentle. My hands moved to explore his shoulders, the soft cropped hair at the back of his neck, and the kiss deepened, pu
lling at desires tucked down inside me, beckoning them up until they governed my limbs and I found myself leaning nearer to him.
Hamish's hands tightened around my waist as I let out a little noise I hadn't intended to make, and he hoisted me up into his lap, my knees going to either side of his hips, straddling him. One soft warm hand moved up inside the back of my shirt, and the feeling of his fingers on my bare skin was like putting my toes in the ocean—shocking and pleasant all at once. I couldn't help sliding forward until I felt him pressed against me at my center, and my mind spun.
This. I'd dreamed about this, even after I'd tried to make myself stop. What would sex with Hamish be like? Was it very different making love with someone you truly knew, someone who understood you so completely?
Our kiss had become urgent, almost frantic, as our hands explored places at once familiar and foreign.
I dropped my hands for an instant to pull my shirt off over my head, giving him better access, and Hamish's mouth found the valley between my breasts as one of his hands slipped down beneath the waistband of my jeans to cup my behind. After a moment, he removed my bra and held me slightly away from him, his eyes taking in every inch of my bare skin.
Normally, that kind of intent appraisal might have embarrassed me, but I found I wanted him to look. I wanted him to see me.
"God, Soph," he said, his voice almost a sigh.
I leaned in to nip at his ear and rub my chin against the soft scruff at his jaw, and let my hands roam down to unbutton his shirt. His body was glorious—planes and ridges of hard muscle and visible tendons. His chest stood out slightly, strong and proud and covered with a soft dark hair that condensed into a line leading down his torso and into the waist of his pants. I'd seen Hamish without his shirt many times as kids, and even as teens, when we'd gone swimming in the pond behind his house or at the local pool during the few months when it was warm enough in Durnland to swim. But this was different.
Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 47
