“Burton, you take care, okay?” I said, pulling away from Peter and taking Burton’s hand in mine. Burton pulled my hand to his mouth and planted a gentle kiss on my skin.
“Don’t be a stranger, kiddo.” He winked. “They don’t make them like you anymore.”
I laughed uncomfortably and winked right back at him. “Sure they do.”
I never could accept a compliment.
I didn’t want to leave that room. In fact, it was the last thing I wanted to do. But I knew it was time to make my exit. All I could hope was that I would eventually hear from Peter. And then… Well, who knows what would happen after that. But I hoped something would. The idea of never seeing him again made the butterflies stop dead in their tracks.
“Goodbye, Burton.” I turned my head to look at him one last time, attempting to remember every angle of his handsome face. “Goodbye, Peter.”
He said nothing but raised his hand and gave me a hesitant wave before I gathered my things and walked out of Seattle General.
I’ll see him again, I told myself. At least, I hope I will.
By the time I returned to my shop, the signing had come to an end. The rich smell of Granny Smith apples, bourbon, and pumpkin filled the air. Glancing at my watch, I realized it was time to close. I’d been gone the entire day. I flipped the sign in the window and locked the door behind me. It was eerily quiet until I heard a familiar voice.
“Welcome to The Lit Wick,” I heard Lyra say from the back of the store.
“It’s just me,” I said with a smile as she came into view. “I’m back.”
“Oh my God, Maren!” She jogged to me, grabbing my hands. “Tell me everything. Is he okay?”
Running my fingers through my hair, I nodded. “He’s going to be fine, thank goodness. He did have a heart attack. Right as the ambulance pulled up to the door of the hospital.”
“Oh no!” Lyra pressed her hand over her mouth.
“He had surgery and is okay. He was awake when I left. He’s the sweetest man ever, Lyra, seriously.”
Lyra stood with her hands on her hips, her silky black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Even after a long day at work, Lyra always looked gorgeous, put together, professional.
“I can’t believe the day you’ve had,” she said, shaking her head ever so slightly in disbelief.
“And I didn’t even mention his son, did I?” I asked, frazzled with thoughts of Peter invading my head once again. The kindness of his eyes, the tenor of his voice, the love he clearly had for his father.
“Um, no, you didn’t…” Lyra, tipped her head to the side, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What son?”
“Peter,” I said, drawing out the syllables of his name slowly. “Peter… McTavish.”
“And?” She raised both eyebrows.
“And…I think I’m a horrible person.”
“What do you mean?”
“Of course I’m concerned about Burton. I am, you know I am! But my God…Peter. I swear the moment he entered the room, all of the air left my lungs. It was like I was slapped in the face…but in a good way.”
“Slapped in the face by love?”
“Nobody said anything about love.”
“Whatever. That hot, huh?”
“Yeah. That hot.”
“And you feel guilty why exactly?” She looked puzzled.
“I don’t know. Like I’m an opportunist or something.”
“Oh stop it.” Lyra waved at me, dismissively. “If I know you at all, I know you weren’t hitting on his son while the poor guy was laying there fighting for his life. You have tact.”
Leave it to Lyra to spell things out. Lyra didn’t beat around the bush—she told it like she saw it.
“I know, I just…I feel a little bad.”
She rolled her eyes. “Enough of that. Let’s talk about what matters.” She paused for a moment and raised one wicked eyebrow. “Was he into you?”
“Not sure. He was definitely grateful…and he did ask for my number.” I paused for a moment, remembering the electricity in that room. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I tried to remember everything about Peter. His eyes, the tiny crease in his forehead when he was obviously overwhelmed with worry. Everything. I wanted to remember it all.
“Maren?” Lyra said, and I realized I’d stared off into space. My cheeks flushed, and I laughed uncomfortably.
Looking into my best friend’s eyes, I said, “I think he felt it too. No, I know he did.”
“Good. You need to get back out there. How long has it been?” She pressed, even though she knew exactly how long it’d been since Jackson and I had broken up.
Just the thought of Jackson made my stomach twist. Would the thought of him ever get easier? I wondered.
“Nine months.” I played along.
“Girl, it’s tiiiime,” she said, swinging her hip against mine. When I didn’t respond, she grabbed both of my hands. “C’mon. You know I’m right.”
I glanced around the store, looking for an escape hatch from the entire conversation. As much as I wanted to tell her more about Peter, I knew we would only end up circling back to Jackson and me and how we couldn’t seem to make it work.
The shop looked like a tornado had hit. Bookshelves were half empty; bookmarks and receipts were scattered across the wood floor. I grimaced, clenching my teeth and feeling overcome with guilt for missing the signing.
“You were swamped, weren’t you?”
“Way to change the subject.” Lyra closed her eyes, shaking her head dismissively but accepting that the topic of my love life was officially off the table for the day. I was simply too exhausted to discuss it any further. Luckily, she let me off the hook. “As soon as you left, I called Cheryl and she covered for ya. She’s a lifesaver, that one. You should make her full time.”
“Yeah, probably should, “ I said with a sigh, reaching down to grab the nearest candle. I unscrewed the silver cap and inhaled the scent. Warm pomegranate apple cider, one of my favorite fall scents.
“Last one,” Lyra said with a laugh. “In fact, I think it’s our last fall candle. Period. I couldn’t find any in the back, so we’ll need a restock.”
“Got it,” I said with a nod and a satisfied smile. Nothing made me happier than selling out of candles. Except maybe selling out of books and candles.
“Want me to come in early tomorrow? Help you pour?” Lyra asked, but she already knew the answer.
“Nah, I got it.” I said, patting her shoulder gently. Lyra knew better than anyone that making candles was one thing I preferred to do alone. A time where I could just heat, mix, stir, pour, and create. “You deserve a lazy Sunday morning after what you handled today. Was the author upset that I wasn’t here?”
“Nah, she was fine and even sweeter in person. You would have loved her.” Lyra said, grabbing a broom from behind the register. She handed the dustpan to me, and we began our evening routine. “Brought a huge crowd too. The last customer just left an hour ago.”
“No kidding?” I said in disbelief. “Wow, her readers are loyal.”
“Yes, we are,” Lyra said with a grin. “I got every single book signed. I have a crate in the back stacked to the top and some of them are old—first editions. She stuck around long after the customers left, and I chatted her up. I also gave her a couple of candles on the house. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all; she brought us so much business.”
“Having signings here was a brilliant idea,” Lyra said with a coy smile, returning the broom to its spot behind the counter.
“Yeah, I should really thank my assistant manager for that, huh?”
She winked. “Maybe you should.”
“Oh Lyra, what am I going to do with you?”
“For today, let me go home. My feet are killing me.”
“Get outta here. I think I’ll head home too. Thank goodness we don’t have yoga today. I honestly don’t think I have the energy.”
“Same, girl, same.”
/>
Lyra and I were obsessed with our yoga classes that we attended three times a week, and I was grateful for my part-time employees who helped with the store so we’d never miss a class. But the thought of changing clothes and hauling myself down to the health club was just too much today. Today I needed dinner, a big glass of wine, and a book.
And maybe some more thoughts of Peter McTavish.
Chapter 4
PETER
When I was ten years old, my dad had to be quarantined. A brilliant microbiologist, he was studying a dangerous and highly contagious virus at the time when a co-worker accidentally nicked his latex glove and skin with a scalpel. Luckily, my dad didn’t contract the virus, but he and his partner were separated from the public for five days. For a ten-year-old, five days of wondering and worrying that your dad might die may as well have been five years.
It was agony.
And the only thing that helped me during that time was the reassurance of my mother. My strong, stoic, impervious mother who could handle anything you threw at her. She was resilient and remained positive even in the worst of situations, even when she could only speak to her husband through a pane of glass. I clung to her for dear life, afraid something might happen to her as well. For days, a feeling of dread lived in my gut, and as hard as I tried to ignore it, it always made its presence known.
It had been twenty years since that quarantine, but that feeling of dread had returned. I knew it was silly. My dad was within reach. I could hold his hand, pat his shoulder, even hug him if I did it carefully. But it didn’t matter. I was terrified that within days, he’d be taken from me. From my mom, from both of us.
“Excuse me,” a little voice said behind me. “Are you going to buy something?”
How long had I been standing in front of the vending machine? My mind had wandered, even with four quarters sitting in my hand.
I cleared my throat, attempting to pull myself out of my dazed, meandering mind. “No, you go ahead.” I stepped to the side so the little girl could get a snack. She glanced at me when I didn’t step away.
Stranger Danger.
Give her some space, Peter. Seriously.
“Thanks,” she said with a small smile before grabbing her chips and walking away. I wondered why she was at the hospital. Was her dad here too?
My phone buzzed. When I saw the name on the screen, I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.
Shit. Oh shit. How could I have forgotten?
“Hello?” I said, eyes still closed tight, my teeth clenched as I heard her voice on the other end of the line, retracing my steps as I left Scott’s wedding.
“Peter! What. The. Fuck?”
“Cara, I’m so sorry, I—”
“I was sitting there in the chapel, wondering when the best man was going to show up. But spoiler alert, Peter McTavish, he never did!”
“I can explain—”
“Where the hell are you?”
She was right…and livid. I honestly couldn’t blame her. I was in such a rush to get to my dad that I completely forgot my date for the wedding. Cara Delvecchio, the girl who originally turned down my invite because I would be too busy with the bride and groom to spend any time with her. She thought it’d be pointless for me to even have the distraction of a date. I’d convinced her that when I wasn’t doing any official best man duties like taking photos or giving toasts, that she would be my number one priority. We would eat, drink, laugh, and go home to her place after a romantic ride on the ferry. Instead, she was Cara Delvecchio, the girl I’d left sitting alone in a church in Port Townsend…with no way to get home.
“No one told you what happened?”
“I couldn’t find Dev and I wasn’t about to bother the bride and groom” she said with scorn. “You begged me to come with you to this thing, and then you fucking abandon me before the ceremony even starts? Who does that?” Her voice was manic as she screamed. Pulling the phone away from my ear a bit, I swallowed hard and prepared to respond.
“Well?” she shrieked. I’d been silent too long; I had to give her an explanation.
“I’m back in Seattle, Cara. My father was hit by a car and then he had a heart attack. I was so focused on getting to him that I forgot you were there too.”
“You forgot me?”
“Yeah. I did… and I’m so sorry.”
“Well, now I’m a dick if I’m mad at you, right? I mean, I had no idea about your dad.”
“You’re not a dick,” I said with an awkward laugh, and she sighed into the phone. “You have every right to be mad.”
“Furious,” she corrected me.
“Yes, furious.”
I’d known Cara for a very long time; we’d been friends in high school when we both worked on the school newspaper. I knew her in anger, and I knew her in exuberance. She was shy with strangers, but once you knew her, she was a riot and a lot of fun to be around. We drifted during the college years, as lots of high school friends do. But a few years later, we ran into each other at a bar. After a one-night stand, we engaged in the occasional hookup whenever we both found ourselves single. It wasn’t a relationship I was very proud of, but underneath her foul temper, she was a good person. And the sex was pretty good. Who was I kidding? It was better than good. Cara was…intense. A little nuts…but intense.
“Is your dad okay?” she asked, her voice still annoyed.
“Yeah, he will be. He needed an angioplasty, but he’ll be able to go home in a few days. Cara, I really am sorry. I should have looked for you and asked you to come with me. There’s really no excuse for what I did.”
“No,” she groaned, “it’s fine. I mean, it’s your dad. I just felt really stupid, ya know? I kept asking people where you were, and no one seemed to know and the bridal party was off taking pictures during the entire cocktail hour. After a while, I just gave up and called an Uber to get me to the damn ferry.”
Thank God for Uber.
Guilt. So much guilt. She was letting me off the hook, but somehow that felt worse than when she was yelling. Cara deserved better.
“Let me make it up to you. Please, Cara.”
“I’m listening.” I could hear a slight smile through the phone.
“Once my dad is discharged, I’ll take you out for sushi. Somewhere nice.”
“I hate sushi. Ugh, do you know me at all? I know we usually don’t leave the bedroom, but c’mon, Peter.” Her words dripped with disdain and disappointment.
I pressed my closed fist to my forehead.
Moron. You really don’t know her well, do you?
I did my best to think of something Cara loved but came up with nothing. God, I was a giant douche.
“Anywhere you want, okay?” I said, my voice defeated. “We’ll go out, we’ll have dinner, and I’ll beg for your forgiveness properly. What do you say?”
“Steak. I want steak, a big one. Filet mignon; no skimping, Peter.”
“When have you ever known me to skimp?” I asked, genuinely bummed she’d said that. I always tried to be generous with others, especially anyone I was dating.
But then again, Cara and I didn’t exactly date.
She was quiet for moment. “I’m just saying…if you’re going to apologize, you have to do it right.”
“Got it.”
“And no sex.”
“That’s fine,” I said with a laugh.
“I mean it, Peter!”
“I’ll keep my hands in my pockets—a perfect gentleman. Anything else?”
“No, I guess not. I mean, I’m still kinda pissed at you.”
There was an awkward pause as I attempted to gather my thoughts. It was then that I heard the most familiar voice on the planet yelling from down the hall.
“Peter!”
Mom.
“Cara, listen. My mom just got here, and I need to take her to see my dad. I really am sorry to cut this short, but you have to know that I never would have left you there like that, all by yourself, not knowing a soul, unless it
was an emergency. I mean, you get it, right? I would never treat you or anyone like that. I just…I mean, I just…” I felt a lump form in my throat as I thought back to the dread I felt when Maren called me about my dad. All I could do was get to him, nothing else mattered…not even my date.
“It’s fine.”
“I’ll call you in a few days, I promise.”
“Fine. Give your mother my best.”
“Of course.” I ended the call and placed my phone in the pocket of my tux.
“My baby,” mom said as she approached, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you for being here.”
“Have you seen him yet?” I asked, trying to be strong, stoic, impervious. Trying to be like her.
“Yes, he’s sleeping. He woke up briefly when I arrived, but then they gave him drugs.” She let out a nervous laugh. “And now he’s out cold. His poor body has been through so much today; he needs all the rest he can get. His nurse told me where I could find you.”
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to sound optimistic, even though deep down I was scared. “Doctor says he’s going to be fine.”
“There’s no one better than Dr. Crawford. He’s in the best, most capable hands.”
“You’ve seen a thousand of these cases before, right?”
“At least that many,” she said. Her blue eyes were red as she stared into mine. She knew exactly what I was asking without me saying another word. “His heart attack was rather serious, but the timing was a blessing. He really will be fine, Petey. I promise.”
It was then that it all came out; all of my worry, all of my anxiety and fears came pouring from my eyes and my throat as I pulled my mother in for a hug that I needed more than I’d even realized. Maybe it was her showing up during my call with Cara, maybe it was her using my childhood nickname, but for that moment, I was ten years old again and the dread that I felt couldn’t be contained. It couldn’t be silenced. And even though I towered over her, I clung to my mom like the scared little boy that I was. She held me as I sobbed into her shoulder, slumped over and pulling her tight as she stroked my hair and whispered into my ear.
Melt With Me: A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel Page 3
