One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  “Everyone looks happy.”

  “We are.”

  He glanced down at me. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Our eyes met, and something happened in my chest that made me back away and head for the kitchen. Put a little distance between us. “I’m thirsty. If I go into the other room to get us something to drink, are you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

  “Depends. Are you gonna keep giving me shit about what I did?” He trailed me into the kitchen, which was small and narrow.

  “Maybe.” I took two bottles of water from the fridge and handed him one. “You’d deserve it.”

  “Fair enough.” Leaning back against the counter, he twisted the cap off the bottle and drank.

  Standing across from him, my back against the fridge, I watched, mesmerized by the motion of his throat as he swallowed. When I caught myself staring, I looked down at my water and unscrewed the cap. “So where do you live now?”

  “Portland.”

  “Wow. That’s a ways from here. What do you do there?”

  “I’m a tattoo artist.”

  I had to smile. “Of course you are.”

  He smiled back, and the first genuinely warm current passed between us. “And you have a yoga studio?” he asked, gesturing toward my clothing.

  “Yes.” For a moment, I was self-conscious about my appearance. I touched my messy bun, wishing I’d taken a moment at the studio to redo it. “I taught this morning. Then I came home and took a nap, so I’m —” Then I realized something. My arm dropped. “Hey. How do you know what I do?”

  “Um.” He looked at the ceiling, laughing a little. “I may have drunk-Googled you once or twice.”

  I gasped. “What? That is so unfair! You’re not even on social media, so I had no clue about you.”

  “Does that mean you drunk-Googled me, too?”

  “No.” I sniffed and drank some water before going on. “I sober-Googled you.”

  He laughed again. “I think that might be worse.”

  I kicked him gently in the shin with one bare foot. “At some point, I just wanted to know you were still alive, you big jerk.”

  “I’m alive.”

  “I can see that.” Now that we were through the heavy stuff, I wanted to know more about him. “So fill me in on the last twelve years.”

  “Not much to tell. I graduated from boarding school. Tried college for a year or so but didn’t take to it. Drifted a while. Ended up in Portland and apprenticed at a tattoo shop there. Liked it well enough to stay. The end. Now what about you? You quit ballet?”

  “Yes. I went to New York after high school, had an apprenticeship with ABT, which was—”

  “You did? Maren, that’s fucking amazing. That’s exactly what you wanted.”

  “Thanks.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “It was what I wanted, but it turns out I wasn’t really suited for that life. Or life in New York City.”

  “Too cutthroat?”

  “I guess. I came back to Michigan and went to college. Got my degree in kinesiology and health with a minor in business and opened the studio a couple years later. The end.”

  “Never been married?”

  “Not even close. But I like being a free spirit.”

  “Me too.” He studied me for a moment, that crooked grin taking over his mouth, almost like he couldn’t control it. “You look good, Maren.”

  My face warmed. “Thanks, but I’m kind of a mess right now. Obviously, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Yeah, I thought about calling first, but I was afraid you might not want to see me.”

  “I’m not sure what I would have said, to be honest. But now that you’re here, I will admit to being glad you came.”

  “Good.”

  “So how long are you in town?” I lifted my water to my lips.

  “Not long. Really I’m just passing through on my way to Boston to see my brother.”

  “Finn?”

  “Yeah. He’s a neurosurgeon, teaches at Harvard Medical School.” Dallas’s tone was flat, as if he wasn’t happy about his brother’s impressive credentials. I remembered how he’d always felt that Finn was his parents’ favorite and figured some of that resentment still lingered.

  “That’s nice,” I said carefully.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed the rest of the water in his bottle in long gulps and put the cap back on it.

  “Here, I’ll take that.” I reached for his empty bottle, and when he gave it to me, our hands touched. I might have done it on purpose.

  Turning my back to him, I opened the pantry door and tossed both empties in. My stomach was doing something dangerously twisty, and I put a hand over it. Took a steadying breath. When I turned around again, he was looking at me with a gleam in his eye.

  “What?” I asked, immediately on guard. I recognized that expression. It said I’ve Got an Idea.

  “You should let me take you out for dinner tonight. For old times’ sake.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? Do you have a hot date?”

  “Uh … no.”

  “Do you have something against dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have something against me?” He touched his chest with his hand. God, those hands got to me. Somehow they were strong and graceful at the same time. Masculine, yet elegant. So much talent in them—it was sexy as hell.

  And he’d certainly known how to use them on me.

  Something fluttery happened between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together, crossing my arms over my chest. Briefly I wondered if I’d plugged my vibrator in to charge. I was going to need it tonight. “No. It’s nothing against you.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  The problem is that you still do something to me. But I couldn’t say that out loud.

  “Come on,” he cajoled. “I’m only in town one evening, and I’ve got no one to spend it with. I’ll probably never be back this way, so what do you say you and I catch up a little over dinner? And tomorrow, I’ll be out of your hair.” He opened his arms as if to show me he had no secret weapons or tricks up his sleeve.

  I wavered. After all, he wasn’t suggesting anything other than dinner. I had the whole weekend off, and it’s not like I had any firm plans. Plus, spending time with him might be just what I needed. If the nightmare truly was related to unfinished business between us, then maybe I should take this opportunity to consciously say goodbye. Maybe then the door would open, and I’d be free to move through it.

  He’d have his redemption, and I’d have my closure. The end.

  “Okay,” I said.

  His grin widened. “Great. Where should we go?”

  “You can choose, since this is your last Detroit hurrah. I’m sure there will be something on the menu I can eat.”

  One of his eyebrows cocked up. “Are you a vegetarian or something? Because you used to eat like a hog. I never did know where you put it all.”

  I kicked him again. “Very funny. No, I’m not a vegetarian, but I eat very clean. You know, organic if possible, non-GMO, whole foods.”

  “I get it. Portland is full of people like you.”

  “I take it you’re not particular about what you eat?”

  He shrugged. “A burger is a burger to me. As long as it tastes good, I’m happy. I’m easy like that.”

  “I guarantee a burger made from grass-fed, free-range, locally-sourced beef tastes better than one made from animals pumped full of hormones and antibiotics kept in feedlots full of their own excrement and processed in filthy industrial meatpacking plants.”

  Dallas held up his hands in surrender. “You win. Now please stop talking or I will never enjoy a hamburger again.”

  I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I studied nutrition in college and learned a lot about the benefits of responsible, sustainable farming versus industrial agriculture.”

  “You can tell me all about it over our responsible, sustainable dinner. I
’ll pick you up around eight?”

  I glanced at the digital clock on the stove. It was just after five, which gave me plenty of time to get ready and maybe sneak in some meditation. I wanted to feel completely at ease with myself going into tonight. “Sounds good. I assume casual?”

  “Considering I haven’t worn a tie in about eight years, that’s a safe assumption. I don’t even think I own a pair of pants that aren’t jeans.”

  I was curious. “What happened eight years ago?”

  “My grandfather died.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you were close.”

  He shrugged. “He was a good guy, the only one in my family I could talk to. He understood me, for some reason. Or at least he didn’t judge me for being unlike my father or my brother.”

  I nodded slowly, picturing the silver-haired man I’d met a couple times. “He was the gunpowder guy, right?”

  “Sort of. That’s how his family made their fortune, anyway, but he’d sold that business before my father was born, and invested all his money in the stock market.”

  “Smart.”

  “He left me a lot. Of money, I mean. Much more than he left anyone else.” All the light had gone out of Dallas’s eyes. “I don’t really get it.”

  “He must’ve trusted you to do the right thing with it.”

  “Or he thought I needed it more than anyone else because I wouldn’t ever make anything of my life.”

  Our eyes met, and for a moment I saw the boy that he’d been, always so hurt by his family’s disapproval. “I don’t believe that for one second.”

  “Yeah, well, you were like him. Always thought the best of me.”

  I tried again, like I always had. “Let me ask you this. Did he put up a lot of barriers between you and your inheritance? Put a lot of conditions on it?”

  Dallas shook his head. “Not one. It was mine almost free and clear.”

  I lifted my shoulders. “There you go. He trusted you.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled and pushed away from the counter. “I should get going. See you at eight?”

  “Sounds good.” I walked him to the front door, and he gave my upper arm a squeeze before heading out to his rental car. I watched him get behind the wheel and pull away, still a little in shock.

  Dallas Shepherd, after all this time.

  I walked back into my flat, closing the door behind me. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I floated, trancelike, through the living room, down the hall, and into my bedroom. I’d planned on calling one or both of my sisters, but instead I lay on my back on top of the covers, set my phone aside, and placed my hands on my stomach. My body had that fluttery, weightless feeling I used to get before going on stage, a combination of nerves and excitement. But I didn’t have anything to be worried about, did I? Tonight wasn’t going to be a performance. I didn’t need to impress him. And it was only natural that a little desire for him lingered. I’d always liked his light eyes. And his agile hands. And his full mouth. His muscular body. His sense of humor. His dimpled chin.

  But it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t concerned that he would take advantage of it. He hadn’t even tried to give me a hug.

  I frowned. Maybe he didn’t find me attractive anymore. Maybe he had a girlfriend. He’d said he wasn’t married, but he never said he was single. A sudden rush of jealousy stole my breath.

  Which was ridiculous.

  Dallas and I hadn’t been together in twelve years. Did I think he’d been celibate all that time? Of course not. I hadn’t, either. But I didn’t like thinking about him with anyone else, so I made up my mind not to do it.

  I wouldn’t think about him with me, either. I wouldn’t think about his hands or his lips or his tongue or his cock, the way he’d touched or tasted or moved, the words he’d whispered in the dark.

  Let me do this to you.

  God, I can’t get enough.

  You know I love you.

  But of course, then there were the words he should have said but didn’t.

  I’m leaving tomorrow.

  I don’t have a choice.

  This is goodbye.

  For a fleeting moment, my throat was tight, and I was that seventeen-year-old girl again. Left behind. Confused. Broken.

  I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, forcing myself back to the present.

  Tonight wasn’t about rehashing the past; it was about making peace with it, so I could stop having that stupid dream. We weren’t rekindling an old flame. We were reconnecting as friends.

  I wouldn’t let him get to me.

  Four

  Dallas

  I lay on the bed in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling but seeing only her.

  She was even more beautiful than I’d remembered, and yet she looked exactly the same. Huge brown eyes, porcelain skin, a dusting of freckles across her tiny nose, adorable heart-shaped face, that perfect round mouth that used to drive me wild. When we started dating, at sixteen, she claimed she’d never even been kissed.

  I’d fixed that in a hurry. And then some.

  She might have been shy and inexperienced at first, but she had a dancer’s intuition and knew how to move her body instinctively. I bet she still did.

  Stop it. Don’t think about her that way.

  I hadn’t planned to ask her to dinner. I’d gotten off the plane this afternoon, rented a car, and driven straight to her house without a clue what I was going to say to her except I’m sorry for being a dick and Please forgive me. All I’d hoped for in return was to hear her say she didn’t hate me and that she was happy.

  But there was something so damn irresistible about her. Once I saw her, talked with her, I wanted more. You didn’t take one bite of the most delicious cupcake in the world and put it back in the box—you ate the whole thing.

  You stay away from her cupcake.

  I frowned. My conscience had been sounding all kinds of alarms ever since I left her house. But I hadn’t asked her to dinner to get her into bed. I just liked being around her. I mean, yes, I was still attracted to her and wished that things could have been different between us. My feelings for her had never gone away. But things were the way they were, and I couldn’t change them. I’d had her. I’d fucked it up.

  There wasn’t time for a second chance.

  Then it hit me—the perfect idea for tonight. I nearly laughed out loud, it was so damn brilliant. But since it would require some legwork to pull off, I needed to get started on it. Propping myself up on some pillows, I reached for my phone and made a few calls.

  An hour later, everything was in place. I’d had a stroke of luck in that one of the managers here at the hotel turned out to be a former classmate and football buddy. He was more than willing to help me—for the right price, of course. What I was asking for wasn’t easy. It would be a little costly, but it would be worth it, and I couldn’t help feeling pleased with myself as I tucked my credit card back into my wallet. While it was open, I pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d carried with me for the last twelve years and opened it up.

  I remembered the night I’d drawn it like it was yesterday. It was fall of our senior year, right before my parents made the decision to send me away. We were sitting in my car in her driveway, and she was upset with me because I’d been suspended from school and wouldn’t be allowed to attend the homecoming dance, which would have marked our one-year anniversary.

  I didn’t really give a shit about the dance, but it was important to her, and she was important to me. The disappointment in her face was like a knife to the heart. She sat there trying not to cry and asking why it was so hard for me to stay out of trouble, her lower lip trembling. I said I was sorry and promised to make it up to her, but secretly I was thinking how pretty she looked when she was sad. I’d just picked her up from the ballet studio, and her hair was up in a bun. Her shoulders were bare. As she talked, I probably should have been listening to what she said more closely, but I found myself memorizing the angle of her jaw, the shape of her head, the curve of
her mouth, the fullness of her lashes.

  Later, I went home and stayed up half the night drawing her in my sketchbook, trying to capture the perfect blend of beauty and heartbreak I’d seen in her expression, almost as if she already knew I was a lost cause. I’d planned on giving the drawing to her as a gift, but the next day my parents informed me of their decision about boarding school and I forgot about it.

  Twenty-four hours later, I was gone.

  Sighing, I folded the drawing up and replaced it in my wallet. I couldn’t turn back time. There was no use regretting what was never meant to be. Tonight, I’d do my best to put a smile on her face and make up in some small way for what I’d done back then. Then I’d say a proper goodbye like a mature adult and take off for Boston tomorrow. I didn’t belong in her life.

  I had no illusions about that.

  I knocked on Maren’s door a few minutes after eight. When she answered it, my jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ, Maren. I’m an old man. Are you trying to kill me?”

  She laughed and looked down at her legs, most of which were visible below the hem of a very, very short skirt. “You’re only thirty.”

  “I know, but …” I clutched my heart. “Have mercy.” My eyes roamed over her body from head to toe. Her blond hair swung loose around her shoulders, with just a few strands pinned back around her face. Just like when we were young, she hardly wore any makeup. Above the skirt she wore a loose white blouse that draped softly over her curves and somehow managed to be elegant and provocative at the same time. On her feet she wore high-heeled sandals that laced up her calves, and I had a sudden urge to untie those laces with my teeth.

  Tonight would be a test of my willpower for sure.

  She came out onto the porch and pulled the front door closed behind her. “Listen, I don’t go out for dinner that often. I work a lot of evenings and haven’t gotten dressed up in a long time. So no mercy for you.”