by Aria Ford
I wanted to die of embarrassment as she passed me the right ones. I caught her father looking over at us with a frown. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be here, in this ultrachic environment in a suit that didn’t quite fit me and was overly starched, with people talking about the stock market. Now my girl had to show me which knife and fork set to use!
Across the table, the aunt gave a sniff. It was a very small, very surreptitious sniff, but I still heard it. She looked away, turning pointedly to her son, who sat a few seats down the table from me.
“Morton, could you pass me the salt, please? I would ask him, but…” she made a significant face. I swallowed. The him was probably me. Her son passed her the salt from further down the table—it was a long, thin table with about nine people per side. I wanted to vanish.
Macy looked at me, her face tight with worry. I could only imagine what she was feeling. She must have wished I would disappear.
“Macy, dear,” her mother, Mrs. Trent, a dark-haired lady with big earnest eyes asked tenderly. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine, mom,” she ground out. “Just tired.”
We sat through that dinner somehow, with her aunt keeping an eye on me, her father silent and her mother concerned, and when I got out of there I’d sworn to myself it was the last time I was going to put her through something like that.
I told my own mother about it, later, and she’d sympathized.
“It’s not your world, Maddox,” she said gently. “I think it’s better to stick to your own world.”
I nodded. Mom had married someone who wasn’t part of her world—she was the daughter of a professor and an artist. My dad owned the corner café. I knew how tough it had been for her and so I took her word for it.
She was right. It was better to stick to your own world. I couldn’t expect anything else to work.
Not really.
Which was why, as I fell asleep that night, I didn’t think that I would hear from Macy again. Mixing worlds just didn’t make sense, even when they, of their own jurisdiction, seemed hell-bent on wanting to collide.
CHAPTER FOUR
Macy
I sat up in bed, wiping sleep from my eyelids. I stretched and yawned. This was it. The day of the party.
I slid out of the coverlets and tiptoed to the shower, feeling oddly excited. It was my last day at work without my dad being there too and I felt confident with what I’d managed to achieve during his absence. I noticed, as I slid under the warm stream of water in the shower, that I was quite cheerful.
I guess it was odd, being excited about a party when it was the first party in a while I was going to attend as a singleton. But as it happened, going without Valery Olenov—handsome, charming, and ruthlessly unkind—on my tail was going to be a pleasant change. He never failed to pick apart whatever I’d said and done at a public event afterward. I was glad to be rid of him: if he hadn’t been a son of one of dad’s associates I would probably have ended it much faster. I was relieved to be free of him, I thought.
I didn’t want to admit it was seeing Maddox that had done it.
“You’re just pleased your stress levels can get back to normal,” I told myself severely in the mirror as I pulled on a pair of coffee-colored trousers and a cream-colored blouse.
I sat at the breakfast table checking my phone. When I opened my work emails, I frowned.
“Who is MNJeffers at Gmail?” Whoever that was, they weren’t on my list of contacts. Then I laid my phone down very slowly as recognition dawned through my brain.
Maddox N. Jefferson.
“It can’t be,” I told myself as my heart started to thud in my chest. “How could it be? It’s not like he has my contact details…”
As I thought that, a voice in my head reminded me I was being silly. This was the twenty-first century. If I was online, he could find my details as easily as lifting a finger.
The surprising bit is that he wanted to.
I thought he hated me.
I opened the mail.
Hey, Macy. It was nice seeing you. Like to meet for a coffee this morning? Maddox.
“No way.” I put the phone down, my heart thumping in my chest. “Actual no way.”
I felt my cheeks warm. I felt like springtime was visiting my body, everything thawing from a winter I had no idea had lain on all my feelings. My heart pulsed and my nerves danced. I felt awake. Alive. Reborn.
I replied without thinking about it. Sure. Eight thirty. Bagel and Buzzword’s.
I sent it without wondering whether he would come. I sensed he would. After all, here I was, feeling like I was renewed inside. Did he feel the same way?
I chuckled.
Only one way to find out.
I went back to my bedroom, brushed my teeth and stood back from the mirror, thinking hard. Should I change my suit? The brown one with the ivory shirt was okay. It suited me, bringing out the color of my hair and the dark rose of my lips. The woman I saw the mirror looked surprisingly girlish for all her elegant clothing—her eyes were shiny and her mouth a hesitant, smiling bow.
“I’ll go like I am,” I decided, as the clock showed me it was 8:10 a.m. already. If I wanted to make it to the coffee place on time I was going to have to practically fly there.
I grabbed my suitcase and headed down to the garage.
At eight thirty on the nose I strode into the cafe. I looked around, heart sinking. Where was he? I sighed.
I guess he decided not to come. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Suddenly my eye caught a face I recognized. There, in the back of the stylish studiolike space was a man with blond hair, rugged good looks, and a wistful smile.
My stomach tied itself in knots, and I swallowed, feeling the thrust and flutter of a thousand butterflies inside me.
Even after all these years, I thought with utter amazement, he could still do this to me. I went across to the table. To my surprise, he stood up.
“Macy,” he said. The brown eyes were lit up with a kind of shining amazement. He didn’t seem to believe I was really here. Neither did I, for that matter.
“Maddox.”
He shook my hand and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot down to my elbow from his fingers, warm and strong, gripping me. I felt as if something had shifted inside me. I was home again.
I knew I was red in the face and I sat down, clearing my throat. “Thank you for the message,” I said wryly. “It was, um, quite a surprise.”
It was his turn to blush. He did so, turning a beet-dark shade of red that moved up from his smile to his hairline. I hid a grin. He had always blushed easily. For such a rugged, handsome man it made him surprisingly vulnerable. I loved that about him.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. His voice sounded tight. Not that different to mine. I felt as if I was trying to breathe through treacle as his eyes moved up and down me, making my entire body shiver with pleasure.
“So,” I said as I flipped open the menu. “We have some long time to catch up on, right?” Looking at the menu was easier than looking into his eyes, where there were so many messages to read.
“It certainly has been a long time,” he said softly.
“I know.”
We sat quietly a while, and I surreptitiously studied him while we waited for the wait staff to notice us. He seemed even more well built than the last time I saw him, if that was possible. His shoulders were massive with muscle, upper arms rippling under his T-shirt sleeves. His chest was flat and I could tell from the way the fabric hung against his side that his waist was as narrow and muscular as ever. I felt my body flush all over with heat as I remembered being under him on the bed, that sculpted artwork of a body pressing me onto the coverlet.
He coughed and I looked up. A nervous college student was standing at the table, evidently our waiter.
“Oh. Espresso, please,” I said. “Thanks.” I looked inquiringly across the table.
“Me too,” he said quickly.
I grinned. “I w
arn you, they’re pretty strong here.”
“Challenge accepted.”
We laughed. It felt as if the ten years were nothing. It was an instant click between us, the way it was that day, ten years before, when we had met.
I stared at him. “I can’t believe it,” I said. I chuckled. He laughed too.
“I can’t believe it either,” he said gently.
“Here you are. How long have you been in town?” I wanted to know. “Why did you leave?”
He looked at his hands. “I’ve been in town a while, Macy.”
I sighed. So many questions played through my mind. If he’d been here for so long, why had he only contacted me now? Why had he never thought to seek me out before? Why, for that matter, had he disappeared that day all those years ago and never contacted me again?
“You were in this job long?” I asked. He wasn’t wearing his security-guard uniform today, I noticed. He was wearing a pale oatmeal tee and his hair was freshly washed, smelling of lemon and mint.
“About a year,” he said. He shrugged. “Pays well. I had to do something with my life besides football.”
“I guess so,” I nodded.
“What about you?” he asked. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well, yeah?” His eyes drifted down my body again and I swallowed, feeling that fluttering in my abdomen again, creeping lower to places I wasn’t prepared to think about here and now.
“I guess,” I said, shrugging. “I work for my dad now.”
“Oh.”
He looked down at the table, index finger wiping at some faint stain on the menu. I sat quietly a while, just drinking in the sight of him. It felt so, so strange to be sitting here. Yet, as much time as my mind knew was passed, my body seemed unaware. It was responding as eagerly as it always had done. It was terrible, the effect he had on me! Delicious and naughty. Like double chocolate cake.
“Espresso, and…espresso.”
“Thanks,” I said as the waiter brought our order. I breathed in the delicious scent and lifted the small, delicate white cup, studying him as I did so.
He looked back at me. His eyes, brown and level, held my gaze. It seemed as if the crowded, lively scene was suddenly mute, my whole world condensing down into the two brown pools of his eyes. Neither of us said anything, but I felt as if my heart reached out to his in that stare and, as his mouth pulled to a grin, he answered me.
His foot moved under the table and lay beside mine. I jumped. It was how we’d always sat, our special secret, ankles touching, calves pressed together, knees cozy and resting on each other.
My heart thudded and then stopped, missing a beat as the contact deepened. I focused on my breath. Made myself breathe in slowly, and out.
“So,” he said as he lifted the espresso and tasted it, closing his eyes in mute appreciation. “I guess I have a few things to ask you,” he said.
“You have?” I sipped my coffee, letting the roasted aroma fill me, giving me courage. Right now I needed it—I felt as if I was on uneven ground, the whole world shifting and changing under my uncertain feet.
“Well, some of them I asked already,” he said casually. I felt the air stiffen between us, as if the other questions—the ones unasked—were more important ones. I felt a prickle of interest down my spine. I wonder what they are.
“Mm?” I said.
“Well,” he chuckled. “The first one is simple—what time is your work starting?”
I blushed. “Quarter past nine is when I should be at my desk,” I admitted. “I should go just now.”
“Sure,” he said lightly. His eyes looked wistful and my heart stopped.
“What was the other question?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Lots of questions,” he said. His face was serious again. “But the second one is, will I see you sometime?”
I stared at him. My heart thudded in my chest. I felt like when my parents had taken me skiing with them for the first time. I had stood at the top of the slope, feeling as if any move I made would send me screaming into the abyss. But at the same time, I’d yearned to go down, wanting to know what it would feel like to go so fast. Longing to take the plunge downward.
I drew a breath and took that leap ahead. “Yes,” I said. “In fact,” I replied, “How about tonight?”
“Tonight?” he stared at me.
“Yes,” I said, feeling emboldened by the sheer disbelief flooding his expression. “I have an invitation to an event. I don’t see why we shouldn’t bend the rules a bit.” I ended lightly, a naughty grin lightening my words.
“Macy…” he shook his head with disbelief, the grin filling his face.
“Yes?” I asked.
He let out a long-held, ragged sigh. “Yes.”
It was only after I said my goodbye and hurried out the door, rushing to work, that I realized something. Today was Valentine’s Day. And I was about to take Maddox partying.
CHAPTER FIVE
Maddox
I stood in my bedroom, staring at myself reflected in the long window. I was wearing my new suit—the one I really bought because it was cut price, not because I actually thought I’d ever need one. I could feel my heart leaping restlessly in me. I was terrified.
I puffed out my cheeks, expelling a long, ragged breath. Why was I so nervous? I felt like I was standing on the field waiting for a kickoff against the Philadelphia Eagles—not that I’d actually ever played with them before. It was just how I felt.
“Come on, Maddox,” I told my reflection. “It’s not a shootout. You’re just going to a party.”
I sighed. I could see my forehead was sweating and I could feel the crisp white shirt starting to cling some under my arms. I could tell myself this was nothing, but I couldn’t actually make myself believe that kind of talk.
This was serious. My biggest joy and my biggest fear. I’d screwed up dating Macy once, disgraced myself, embarrassed her.
Now I have a second chance.
Was I going to get it right, second time around?
I rolled my shoulders under the burgundy jacket. I’d bought it because my cousin Stella said it was megafashionable and that dark red would suit me. I hoped now that she was right. The guy in the reflection didn’t look too bad, I told myself. With my reddish-blond hair and tawny eyes, it did actually seem to suit me. I made a mental note to inform Stella of that and turned quickly away from the reflection in the glass.
“Let’s go.”
Macy had mailed me the details of the party, which seemed to be happening on the third floor of the Highbury Hotel, though I would meet her at her apartment in The Heights. This was going to be every bit as bad as the last time I’d seen Macy. Would I manage this time?
Only one way to find out.
I took my wallet and keys from the kitchen table, hesitated and then grabbed the flowers I’d bought and headed out to the car. To drive toward my fate.
As I headed out into the violet dusk, I glanced at the bouquet. Red carnations. Those had a memory too. They were what I’d bought her on her birthday. I remembered her face then, the way she’d smiled at me so gently, and taken one out of the bunch, holding it to her nose and then putting it in her hair. I’d laughed and she’d laughed too and we’d kissed.
I shook my head and focused on the road, trying to blur out the memories of that time, of our time together. Of the slow, sweet loving that followed that exchange.
It was eight o’ clock when I arrived. I was on time. I slipped out of the car and headed to the fancy metal-finish front gate. Even the entrance to the Heights whispered of old money. I shivered. She had said number thirteen. I rang.
“Hello?”
My voice came out sounding like I was underwater. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“Hello?”
“Hi!” a voice sang out. I felt my body stiffen as if I was a piano string being tightened.
The door buzzed open, and I came in. I went into the foyer, feeling like an alien that had landed on a football field. I fe
lt like the doorman—they had a doorman—and everyone in the whole building was going to stare at me.
“Good evening,” the man said with some surprise. “Can I help?”
“I’m here to see…ah…”
“Maddox! Good evening,” a lilting voice said. I whipped round. There she was! I stared.
She was wearing a cream dress, all soft and floating. It was perhaps two inches above her knee and showed enough leg for me to think I might have a coronary. With high-heeled sandals and her hair in a sort of updo that left that long, soft neck bare, I couldn’t look away.
“Um…hi,” I said. I realized I was staring and I swallowed, shutting my mouth. “I…” I shook my head, trying to focus. “Are you ready?”
She giggled. “I guess so,” she said. She had a light coat, also white, thrown over one arm and a tiny handbag in a shade of gray like the shoes. I shook my head.
“Sorry. Dumb question. After you,” I added, standing back so that she could float down the path ahead of me.
When we reached my car, I unlocked the front door on autopilot. I looked at the seat just before she got in. My eyes stretched. There were the flowers.
“I…oh!” she stood, laughing. Then she stared down at the bouquet. She looked up at my face.
She lifted it, her face strangely shattered, all color drained. She drew one flower out of the bunch. Sniffed it.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat. “I love them. Thank you.”
I sniffed, realizing that my whole body was tense and my eyes burned. I felt like someone had hit me in the chest. “Thanks,” I murmured softly.
She lifted the flower, then paused. Deliberately, she walked to me and stuck the stalk through my buttonhole.
“There,” she said. She positioned it and looked up at me. Her hands, touched to my chest as they were, ignited my soul. I was shivering, my entire body tense. I knew I wouldn’t be able to speak—my cock was rock hard, and my blood was in my feet. I coughed.
She chuckled. “It’s almost time to start,” she observed.
I shook myself mercilessly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
