“Yes, you did.” Her voice cracked. “I guess you’d never leave Maren at a wedding, huh?”
I paused, not knowing what to say.
“Answer the question, Pete.”
“Fine, you’re right. I wouldn’t forget her, okay? I wouldn’t forget her because this is the real deal. I’ve never felt like this before, and it’s scary and awesome and I’m sorry that this must not be easy to hear. I get it. But you have to stop sabotaging my relationship! Real friends don’t do that.”
“Fine, okay,” she said, looking away. But I wasn’t finished.
“And if you honestly think that you and I are somehow meant to be, that if you just wait her out, that we’ll be together in the end, then why in the hell would you want me to feel this way about you? Why would you want me to feel betrayed and manipulated and pissed off? I have a long memory, Cara, and I won’t forget the games you’ve played. I won’t forget how you threw our friendship away just to get what you wanted.”
Cara didn’t respond, but tears formed in her eyes as she stared out the window of her apartment. I stood in silence, swallowing hard. My mouth was dry from ranting, but I said what needed to be said, and I had no regrets. Of course I didn’t want to make her cry, but I had to get through to her. I had to make her understand that she was going about this all wrong.
Finally, after several minutes, she wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve and whispered, her voice pained, “You should go.”
“Just remember, it didn’t have to be like this. I wanted to be your friend.”
“Sure you did, Pete,” she said with a sarcastic laugh, her eyes boring into mine. “Sure you did.”
“And what does that mean?”
She shrugged and then deadpanned, “I was an easy lay. I never made you work for it.”
“Cara, that’s not true… We were friends first. The other stuff just kinda happened.”
“It happened because I allowed it to happen. And now I wish I’d never let you back into my life.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe it’s best we just take a little break…”
She rolled her eyes. “I was waiting for that.”
“It’s for the best. I’ll always care about you, but I think we both need some distance.”
She nodded and exhaled. “Fine. You got it, Pete. Consider yourself unburdened.”
I knew she was pulling me into another argument; she was being a martyr and wanted me to argue with her, to tell her she wasn’t a burden. But I’d done what I’d gone there to do. And it was time for me to go.
“Goodbye, Cara.”
I took a cab straight to Maren’s apartment, feeling like an enormous weight had finally been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t want to hurt Cara’s feelings, but I was tired of her nonsense and she had to know that I was out of patience. I felt exhilarated as the cab pulled in front of Maren’s building. She wasn’t expecting me, but I hoped she was home.
“Can you let the meter run?” I asked the driver.
“You got it, buddy.”
I ran up the steps and buzzed her apartment. The bitter January air ran a chill down my spine as I waited for a response. Finally, I heard her voice.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
“Peter, hey! Did we have plans?”
“Not exactly. Can you buzz me in?”
“Of course.”
Buzz.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I climbed to the third floor just as Maren opened her front door. Her hair was up in a loose bun, and she was wearing an oversized hoodie, leggings, and slippers without a drop of makeup on her gorgeous face. She was sexy even when she wasn’t trying to be.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her brow knitted as I stalked toward her.
“It’s going to be from now on. I promise,” I said, pulling her in for a deep kiss. I placed one hand on the back of her neck as I tilted my head and deepened the kiss, massaging her tongue with my own. Maren moaned, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me against the door. Again and again, I kissed her, seducing her lips and tongue. I could feel her heart racing, feel her breath quickening. Finally, I pulled away, placing my forehead against hers and attempting to catch my breath.
“What was that for?”
“I just wanted to kiss you.”
“Well, you certainly did.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled. “Do you want to come in?”
“I shouldn’t. I have a ton of work to do and an early meeting tomorrow.”
“Or you secretly want to go home and watch The Bachelor.” She chuckled.
“My secret is out,” I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I just wanted to see you, even if only for a minute.”
“Well, it was quite the minute.”
“Good.”
She placed a hand on her hip as she leaned into the doorframe. “Will you ever stop surprising me?”
“I hope not.” I kissed her gently on the forehead. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Chapter 23
MAREN
Peter and I had never been better. After our last major fight and all the dust had settled between us, we bounced back better than I had imagined we would. It was refreshing and exciting and I felt myself relaxing, letting Peter in again. It seemed like our relationship was strengthened by our resolved conflicts, which was a giant relief. And I knew Peter felt it too. I could only hope that things would continue as we approached his move to Japan in just six weeks.
Six weeks.
And I wanted to make them count.
That night, I decided to surprise Peter with a special date that I knew he would love. He had no idea where we were going when he picked me up in front of my apartment. He was leaning against my car door when I walked down the steps. I could tell he’d just trimmed his beard and had his hair cut. His wool overcoat covered dark jeans and a gingham checked button-down shirt. He pulled me in for a kiss when I reached the sidewalk.
“You smell good,” he murmured into my ear. “Like pears.”
“Pear spice with brown sugar and cinnamon and the tiniest bit of woods. Do you like it? It’s a new scent, and I think it might be my new favorite. Just poured a ton of it this afternoon.”
He ran his fingers through my long hair, pulling it close to him as he inhaled dramatically. “Delicious.”
“I guess it’s a winner then?”
“Definitely.” He gave me an enthusiastic nod. “So, where are we going?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Well, you kinda have to since I need to get us there,” he said with a laugh.
“I’ll direct you,” I said with a smile as he opened the car door for me. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said before kissing me on the forehead and closing my door.
When we pulled into a parking space across the street from the Pinball Museum, Peter lit up like a Christmas tree. The Pinball Museum was a very special place, part museum and part arcade that had dozens and dozens of pinball games from various decades. “Oh my God, are we going there?” Peter gestured to the museum, and I nodded with a broad grin on my face. “Maren, you’re amazing! I’ve been wanting to come here!”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d heard about it or not.”
“Yes, and I’ve been meaning to check it out.”
“Well, now we can check it out together.”
Peter hurried out of the car, walking over to open my car door for me. The shit-eating grin on his face just grew larger. “Ah, I can’t wait.”
We walked into the museum, hearing the familiar sound of bells, music, and the clapping of the flippers. After paying our entrance fees, Peter made a beeline for a Superman-themed pinball game. “Oh man, my best friend, Travis, used to have this one in his basement. It was my favorite. Wanna give it a try?”
I shook my head, taking a step back. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
Twinkle lights hu
ng above us and I noticed that each game had a placard on the wall with information on the game. “This one is from 1979, Peter.”
“Yeah, it was old when Travis had it. It was his dad’s pride and joy. I’m surprised he let us play.”
I watched as Peter released the first ball, a look of innocent wonder on his handsome face. He slapped the buttons again and again, sending the ball flying back to the front of the machine, the lights going wild.
“Just like riding a bike,” Peter said before biting down on his tongue, deep in concentration. I laughed and watched him in awe, so happy that I’d been able to bring him here, to give him this feeling of nostalgia and excitement.
When his turn had finally ended, he stepped to the side, offering me the machine. I shook my head. “Why don’t we get something to drink? I’m so thirsty.”
Peter bought us a couple of hard ciders, and we strolled up and down the aisle, marveling at the games, one that was released in 1934. “These games are older than our parents.”
“They’re as old as our grandparents! How crazy is that? These things were built to last,” Peter said, gingerly placing his hand on the oldest game.
And then something caught my eye. Something special from my childhood. I took a sip of my cider and snaked my hand between Peter’s arm and his side and grabbed hold of his bicep, dragging him to the Willy Wonka pinball game. Gene Wilder’s face covered the back wall of the game, and I bounced on my toes. “Willy Wonka?” Peter asked, looking surprised.
“My very favorite movie,” I said, placing a hand on the side of the game.
“I had no idea,” Peter said.
“I mean, it’s crazy that those kids all disappear, but I love all the colors, the music, the idea of creating all that delicious candy in his own little sanctuary.”
“Maybe that’s why you make candles,” Peter said, placing an arm around my waist. “You’re creating, using your imagination.”
I paused for just a moment. “I need a Roald Dahl collection in the shop. How cool would that be?”
“Ooh, I like that. They can all smell like candy.”
“Yes,” I said, my wheels spinning as I stared at the game. “A chocolate river candle of course, maybe fizzy lifting drinks…”
“Everlasting Gobstoppers,” Peter said, raising both eyebrows. “I always wondered what those tasted like.”
“Fruity,” I said with a decisive nod. “Gotta be fruity. Like jelly beans…or SweeTarts.”
“Yes,” Peter said, placing a kiss on my forehead. “Genius.”
“Nah.” I waved him off. “Roald Dahl is the genius. He created this entire world with all of these candies. I’m just inspired by his genius.”
“If you say so,” Peter said with a shrug. He didn’t look convinced. “Or maybe you just can’t take a compliment.”
“You know this already.” I laughed before starting the game. Thousands of points later, I challenged Peter to beat my score, knowing that he would most likely put me to shame with the first ball he launched into the game.
“Shit,” he said when the ball immediately raced past his flippers and fell into the hole. He launched another ball, but he struggled to keep that one in the playing field as well.
“Do not let me win, McTavish.”
“I’m not, I swear. This is a newer game. I just have to get used to it, I guess.” Biting down on his tongue again, he launched the final ball and, although it appeared that he had finally figured out the way to play this particular pinball game, it was a little too late. His score was half of mine. In shock, I raised my cider into the air and did a silly little victory dance, shaking my hips and pumping my fist.
“All right, all right,” Peter said, his cheeks turning pink. “That’s enough gloating.”
“Sorry,” I said, clenching my teeth. “I just can’t believe I beat you.”
“Well, don’t get used to it, okay?” Peter said with a sexy smirk.
“Nah, I think I will,” I teased. Peter pinched my butt, and I jumped in surprise.
“Peter!” I playfully slapped his arm.
“What?” He played dumb, looking around before tipping his cider back and draining the bottle. “Want another?”
I nodded before draining mine as well. “So, what should we play next?”
After two hours of flirtatious banter and rivalry, we walked out of the museum with a clear winner. Aside from my Willy Wonka victory, Peter won every other game in the building. But instead of gloating, he simply pressed his lips to mine. “You’ll get me next time.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “It was beginner’s luck, that’s all.”
“You’re such a liar,” I said with a brusque laugh. “But I appreciate the effort.”
“So,” Peter asked, looking down the street. “Where to?”
“There’s a new place around here, just opened up this summer. Cool Beans. Have you heard of it?”
“No, coffee place?” Peter asked.
“Cold brew coffee and coffee-infused ice cream. I’m sure they have hot coffee too.”
“Sounds great; lead the way.”
I reached into my purse to retrieve my phone and searched for Cool Beans. “Looks like it’s two blocks east. Easy-peasy.”
“Lemon squeeze-y,” Peter said, wrapping an arm around me. “Let’s go.”
“This is the cutest place I’ve ever seen,” I said as we entered the shop. The smells of coffee, hazelnuts, and vanilla filled the air in the bright shop. All of the walls behind the counter were covered in chalkboard paint and the menu was written in several different colors and fonts. “Iced coffee, cold brew, ice cream, smoothies—everything sounds amazing.”
“Seriously,” Peter said, walking to the large ice cream case. “I think I’m in the mood for ice cream…or a shake.”
“Mm, espresso-bean-and-chocolate-fudge swirl,” I said, reading the small label on the glass. “Salted caramel macchiato, peppermint mocha with candy cane and brownie pieces. I can’t decide.”
“It’s all made in house,” the employee said from behind the case. Her name tag said Sylvie. “Want a sample of anything?”
“Yeah, I’ll try the espresso blast,” Peter said. Sylvie reached into the case and rolled a tiny scoop onto an equally tiny spoon, handing it to Peter. Peter pressed his lips to the ice cream, putting half of it into his mouth and offering the other half to me. “Oh wow. Yeah, sold. I’ll take a scoop of that in a dish, please.”
“Whipped cream and a cherry?”
“Of course.”
I laughed and took the spoon from his hand, finishing the rest of the sample. The silky ice cream slid off the spoon, and I was immediately hit by the robust flavor of espresso, followed by notes of smooth vanilla cream.
“That might be too much for me,” I said with a laugh. “Can you recommend something a little less…robust?”
Peter chuckled, and Sylvie handed me another sample. “Try the caramel macchiato. Very smooth; won’t put hair on your chest like the espresso.”
I closed my eyes as I swallowed the sweet, luxurious bite.
“Gee, thanks for sharing,” Peter said, pinching my butt in retaliation.
“Sorry,” I said, “it was just too good to share. I had to have it all to myself.”
“I see how it is,” he teased.
“I’ll take a scoop of this in a sugar cone if you have them.”
Sylvie smiled. “You got it.” She placed an enormous scoop of ice cream onto a dainty sugar cone and handed it to me. I turned to Peter, extending my cone, my peace offering.
“Here, I’m giving you the first bite.”
Peter’s lips tugged into a smile, “Thanks.”
He licked the cone and moaned. “That’s incredible.”
“I know. This place is dangerous.”
After paying for our ice cream, we took a seat by a wall lined with a variety of coffee-based candies…chocolate-covered espresso beans, coffee brittle, coffee-flavored ta
ffy, and even coffee-flavored jelly beans.
As we ate our ice cream, we talked about the pinball games and Peter’s impressive victory. He paused for a moment before his face turned serious. His jaw ticked as he wiped his mouth. “Why don’t you like compliments?”
I licked my ice cream and shrugged. “They just make me uncomfortable, I guess.”
“Are you sure there isn’t more to it?”
“Pretty sure. I mean…I didn’t hear many compliments as a kid… My mom wasn’t like that. She was doing her own thing most of the time.”
“Makes sense.”
“I used to fish for them, you know when I was little. I remember when my next-door neighbor gave me a party dress that she had outgrown. I couldn’t wait to try it on and show my mom. I think I wanted to hear what any little girl wants to hear…that I looked pretty or cute or that the dress brought out the color of my eyes…you know, things that moms say to their daughters. But she just looked me up and down and asked where the dress came from. I answered her, and she grunted and walked into the kitchen. I felt so stupid.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know, six? Maybe seven?” I said, feeling uneasy as the memory of my mother became even more vivid in my mind the more we discussed it. “And then Moira told me how pretty I was and that she would braid my hair for me. But I knew she was just being nice because I was disappointed.”
“Did your sisters do that a lot? Try to make up for her lack of attention? You’re the youngest; I’m sure they wanted to protect you.”
“Yeah, they did. And they did it with Jackson too.”
“They complimented your boyfriend?”
“No.” I shook my head. “He wasn’t one to give compliments either. I guess he was too busy patting himself on the back,” I said with an acerbic laugh. “My sisters took notice, I think, and started their childhood routine all over again.”
Melt With Me: A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel Page 21
