by Jenni Moen
His laugh was quick and sharp. "Celeste doesn't have a type. If there's one thing I'll never accuse her of, it's falling for the same kind of guy twice."
"Well, she hasn't fallen for me. She barely knows me," I said, feeling the need to stand up for her.
"And you her, I presume?"
"I'd like to know her better," I admitted.
His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
The question was such a simple one, yet it threw me completely off-guard. I was usually the one doing the interrogating. It wasn't often that I found myself in the hot seat.
The most obvious answer was that I was attracted to her. It was what I would have said to Trevor if he'd been the one asking. Or my brother. No doubt, they both would have agreed with me—or any other man with a pulse, for that matter. I sensed, though, that Ryder was looking for something more.
"I came to her rescue the other night on the train, and she's been on my mind ever since." I was banking on his concern for Celeste's safety being our common ground.
"Rescue?" he asked, his eyes widening. "I don't know why she insists on public transportation. It used to drive Chase nuts. It's not like she can't afford a cab. Or even a driver, for God's sake. What happened?"
I didn't answer him. I'd gotten hung up on one word. "Chase?" I asked.
His jaw tensed, and the lines around his eyes seemed deeper. "Celeste was Chase's wife."
"Chase Reid?" I coughed out.
"The one and only," he said sadly.
I pushed against the table and leaned back in my seat as it all clicked into place. Her love of baseball. The misery in her eyes when she'd talked about going to Wrigley Field. Her reluctance to move on. It all made sense.
"I'm sorry. I had no idea," I said.
He shrugged. "I'm not surprised. She doesn't talk about him much. Or at all, really. I was shocked when she said she went to the game the other night. That's a big step for her."
"Celeste Reid," I muttered quietly. "She's the black widow.”
Ryder frowned. "We don't really care for the nickname."
"I didn't mean—I'm sorry. I'm just surprised." I stumbled over excuses for my offensive comment. “He was a great ball player. I’m sorry for your loss. Hers too.”
His expression softened by a degree. "He was an all-around great guy."
I had nothing but respect for Chase Reid. He'd been one of my favorite players, hitting forty-three homeruns during his last full season with an on-base percentage of .492. And as amazing as those stats were, what made him truly invaluable to the team was his relationship with Ryder and how well the pitcher-catcher duo worked together. The first two seasons after his death had been an adjustment period for the whole team.
I'd caught a couple of features on him after his death. ESPN had loved him. With the look of a GQ model, statistics hinting at the Hall of Fame, and a history steeped in tragedy, his story had all the makings of an epic biography. His parents and younger siblings had been killed in a car wreck his senior year while traveling to one of his high school games. With no one but his high school girlfriend by his side, he’d worked his way through the minor farm system before being called up to the majors.
The stories of late night partying and women chasing that plagued other big name players never touched him. He was squeaky clean, preferring to spend his extra time and money on the less fortunate, which pretty much included everyone since his contract had been worth millions. There’d been something else about money. Maybe he’d inherited a bunch before he made his own. I couldn’t remember exactly. I knew one thing: Chase Reid was a hard act to follow.
"I'm sorry," I insisted again. "Really. I didn't mean anything by it."
Ryder stared at his folded hands on the table. "No, I'm sorry. The subject of Chase makes me twitchy. After four years, I shouldn’t let it bother me, but the way the newspapers treated Celeste wasn't fair. They branded her the Black Widow before … I mean, when she didn’t deserve it."
"Why did they call her that?" I asked, surprised I couldn’t remember.
“Well, you know how he died, right?”
I nodded. It had been a freak accident at or after a charity ball game he’d attended. The glove he’d used to catch at the game had been an old one and a black widow spider had built a nest inside. His death had come as such a shock to everyone since bites like that weren’t usually fatal.
It was a shame, really. After all of the records he'd set and all of the good he'd done for the city of Chicago, his death was what everyone still talked about.
"It sucks," he said, sadly. "She wore a black and red dress to the funeral. It had been one of his favorites, so she wore it for him. It was stupid, considering the circumstances, but she didn’t think about it. The press certainly did, though. And then—"
He stopped abruptly, looking in the direction of the bathrooms where the ladies had gone. I halfway expected to see them coming back and was surprised when they weren’t.
"Listen,” he continued. “I didn't mean to jump down your throat before. I guess I’m overprotective of her. I promised Chase I'd take good care of her, and I've pretty much failed since day one." Ryder's face was long, his eyes sad. "By the way, she goes by Smythe now. It's her maiden name."
“Can’t say that I blame her. I’d try to avoid the press too.”
“Well, that’s damn near impossible, but she tries.”
I felt like many pieces of the Celeste puzzle were within my grasp. I knew now why she was so guarded, why she hadn’t accepted my offer. Four years was a long time to hang onto a memory, but I could hardly throw stones. I'd been doing pretty much the same thing, and I didn't have the excuse she did.
“She’s very complicated,” I suggested, hoping he would tell me more.
Ryder nodded. "And that doesn't scare you? Most guys would be running for the hills."
I shrugged. "I guess I'm not most guys." I was a masochist, that’s what I was. The only love I’d ever known had been the kind that hurt. I had a history of being drawn to women who were in even worse shape than I was. Even though Celeste had every warning bell ringing in my head, I still wanted to know more and maybe even be more.
"Honestly, she's in a much better place now. If she's sad tonight, it's my fault. I suggested Chase’s favorite restaurant for dinner. To be fair, it was just the three of us at the time, and I thought it might do her some good to talk about him. I would've never suggested it if I'd known you were coming, too." He chuckled. "It was a really bad choice for a double date."
"Sounds like it's still too soon for her anyway."
He barked out a laugh, which caught me by surprise. "That's not it, believe me." He leveled his eyes at me. "What are your intentions with her?" he finally asked.
I suspected the direct question was another attempt to throw me off, but as sure as he could throw a wicked fastball, I could catch it. "I want to get to know her better. See where it goes."
"I don't want her getting hurt again. She doesn't need any more heartache."
"You won’t get any argument from me."
Ryder nodded, seeming to accept that answer. "Good enough."
I looked toward the bathrooms and saw Celeste and Natasha headed our way. We didn't have much time left. "One question, Ryder. Is there a reason Celeste would be scared of the police?” He looked confused by the change of subject. “We had a little altercation the other night with a mugger, and she just took off afterward. It was fine. I’m a police officer myself, but her reaction threw me."
We stood to greet the ladies. It was too late for him to answer me without them overhearing, but he nodded. “A lot of bad blood there.” His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Good luck to you, man.”
I followed them through the restaurant, replaying our conversation in my mind and wondering what he’d meant. As we weaved through the tables, I noticed for the first time the knowing looks and blatant stares of some of the people we passed. All of them directed at Celeste. A small group of women snickered as we passed,
and I fisted my hands by my side. It took everything I had not to throw my arm around her and rush her from the building as if she was some sort of celebrity.
It didn't make sense to me. After four years, I would've thought everyone would have lost interest by now. Especially, since an actual celebrity was walking directly in front of her and no one even seemed to notice. Highland Park might be small enough to be insulated from the madness of the big city, but it was clear it came with a circus of its own. The intimate everyone knows everyone feeling that made it so appealing also meant everyone knew each other's business. Or thought they did, anyway.
On the sidewalk outside the front door, Celeste's shoulders slumped as she exhaled heavily. "Sorry," she mumbled under her breath.
"For what?" I asked, trying to act oblivious.
"Everyone was staring."
"Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Totally my fault," I deadpanned.
Her nose wrinkled. "Your fault?"
"Yep. Handsome hero syndrome. I’m afraid this happens to me all the time."
Celeste's lips turned up and her emerald eyes glittered. "Handsome hero syndrome, huh? It must get tiresome. All of that attention," she said, playing along.
"You'll get used to if you hang around with me long enough. A week should be sufficient." I would need at least that just to figure out this woman out.
She giggled. "You're relentless."
Ryder smiled at me. His expression was one of amused appreciation. "We're this way," he said, pointing over his shoulder in the direction of the bookstore. "We'll give you a ride, Celeste. You can get your car tomorrow."
She laughed. "I got myself here. I'm sure I can manage to find my way home again."
He shifted uneasily on the sidewalk.
I understood his concern. We'd all watched her pound through three glasses of wine with dinner. "I've got this, Ryder," I said. "I'll make sure she gets home safe and sound."
He nodded, and surprisingly, Celeste didn't argue. I stepped aside to let her say her goodbyes to Ryder and Natasha. After hugs, promises to call, and more promises to text, Ryder reached out to shake my hand.
"He wished you luck," she said as we walked away. "What do you need luck for?"
The correct answer was you. After everything he’d told me, she was probably the last woman I should be taking a chance on. But it explained why I couldn’t seem to stop trying.
"I'm starting a new job next week,” I said instead.
"Really? Where?"
"Here in HP." I turned slightly to watch her reaction, and our arms brushed against each other.
Her mouth fell open slightly, and she shifted toward me. "Well, isn't that serendipitous? And to think I thought we'd never see each other again after the train.” She paused for a beat. "That's some commute, though."
"No commute at all. I moved here yesterday." Again, I watched her face for any sign that she already knew that piece of information. A twitch of a facial muscle. A diverted gaze. After quizzing her in the bookstore, I wasn't really expecting a reaction. She didn’t disappointment me now either. If she knew I’d moved into town or was responsible for the apartment, she didn’t give herself away. I had one more test, and it was parked a block up the road.
She smiled. "Well, then it's likely we'll keep bumping into each other.” Her hand brushed the back of mine as she said it. The flirtatious glint in her eyes told me it had been intentional. "It's a small town."
"I will definitely make it my goal."
She laughed. "I'm sure you will."
The farther we got from the restaurant, the more I could feel her relax next to me. We walked in silence for a minute. On a Sunday night, Central Street was quiet. The windows of the closed shops glowed brightly. At an intersection, we stepped off the curb in unison, and I instinctively placed my hand on her back as we crossed the street. I could feel the warmth of her skin through her blouse. The soft, thin fabric seemed to melt beneath my fingers.
On the other side, I removed my hand before I was ready and gestured to my bike. "This is me."
She gasped, and it was such a wonderfully satisfying sound. "You weren't kidding when you said you were moving it to the top of your list, though I thought we were talking about a car." She stepped closer to get a better look. "Is this what you called a Dina Wide Glide?”
“Dayna,” I said, correcting her. “But yes.”
“Well, it’s beautiful.” Her eyes roamed over the bike. “Am I allowed to say that? Or is that not manly enough?"
I laughed. "It works for me."
"But that’s not how you would describe it?”
How would I describe it in one word? Free. Extravagant. Mysterious. "I think I prefer beast," I said, instead.
She laughed. "I like that."
"How about the beast and I give you a ride home?"
I eyed her outfit. The black pants would do fine. She'd be cold in the thin blouse, but I was already imagining how good she'd look in my jacket and how good she would feel with her thighs pressed against mine.
"But my car is right there," she said, pointing to a silver Mercedes parked two spots away. "You don't need to take me home."
I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Seriously. I'm fine. Ryder is a worrier."
Honestly, she didn't seem drunk. She wasn't slurring. We'd walked two blocks, and she hadn't stumbled once on the uneven sidewalk. If I gave her a sobriety test, I was sure she'd pass. But I had watched her plow through nearly an entire bottle of wine in little more than an hour. It was possible the alcohol hadn't hit her yet.
"Look, I promised Ryder I'd take you home. Plus, I’ll be doing my civic duty of keeping the world safe." She looked like she might argue some more. "This is non-negotiable, Celeste. Pick your poison. Motorcycle? Or I'll drive you in your car, if you want."
"How would you get home?"
I shrugged, but her eyes weren't on me. She ran a hand across the leather seat. "I've never been on one." There was a tinge of fear in her voice, but when she looked back at me, I saw an adventurous sparkle in her eyes.
"I'll be gentle," I promised.
"You'll have to be. I’m not sure my heart can take it."
When she looked at me, I wondered if we were still talking about the bike.
HIM
When I first revved the engine, all of Celeste's tension had returned. She'd oozed it, fisting my shirt in her hands and holding herself rigid behind me with her legs spread so far apart she barely touched me. But when I rolled us around the second corner without throwing her off, I'd finally felt her relax. Her hands had fallen to my hips, and her legs had pulled in to hug mine.
With her wearing my jacket, I should've been cold. Instead, I felt electrified; incredibly aware of every place her body touched mine. She was the first woman to ride with me since Elena. For that reason alone, the moment should've felt monumental, but if it did, it was only because it felt so natural.
The drive, which couldn’t have been more than a mile, had been far too short for my taste. In front of the massive gate she’d pointed at, I pulled up close to the call box and looked away so she could punch in the code. The gate opened, and I looked questioningly at the fork in the road just inside. She pointed to the right, and we began the trek up the long, winding driveway to the top of a bluff where a house fit for a baseball king sat.
Of course, I expected it to be nice. There was no way the widow of a baseball superstar would live in a hovel. But I hadn’t expected it to look like a damn fortress or for her backyard to include an actual piece of the Lake Michigan coastline.
Even in the dark, I could tell the house was massive. The house had so many windows, its walls appeared to be made almost entirely of glass, and all of them burned brightly. As we approached, it occurred to me for the first time that she might not live alone. I pulled into the circular driveway and killed the engine in front of the broad front porch, hoping that wasn't the case.
"So what did you think of your first ride?" I asked after I’d
helped her off the bike.
I needn’t have worried. Her eyes danced with excitement. "I have survived the beast!" she exclaimed, causing me to laugh. "Seriously, I've never … the wind in my hair … on my face … I loved it."
She closed her eyes, stretched her arms out to the side, and began to turn in place. "When you were a kid, did you ever … spin?" She stopped and put her hands out to steady herself. When she stumbled anyway, she smiled.
A long forgotten memory flitted through my mind. In another time and another place, I'd known another girl who loved to spin. With my brother and her sister, we'd had contests to see who could last the longest and remain standing on their feet.
I looked at Celeste's upturned face, her small nose, her wide green eyes. For the first time, I could see the resemblance between Celeste and the girl who'd had the biggest influence on my life, though she'd barely lived long enough to be a part of it.
"That's what it felt like to me," she continued, still smiling so big I thought her cheeks might burst. "I don't know how else to explain it. I feel like all my problems just whipped away with the wind. Is that silly?"
I stared at her. Mesmerized. Enthralled. Entirely infatuated. And not wanting to ask myself why because the answer was glaring me in the face.
"Not at all. It's why I ride."
Riding cleared my mind, leaving me weightless, as if I could conquer the world. I could do anything, be anything, have anything I wanted.
"We didn't even get her over forty-five," I pointed out. "Backroads are where it’s at. There's nothing like it."
"I bet," she said, shrugging out of my jacket and handing it to me.
I tossed it over the seat. "I should take you to Starved Rock. The drive from Big Rock to the park is amazing. Especially in the spring and fall." Already, my wheels were turning. Up there and back could be done in a day.
"I've heard the waterfall is beautiful there," she said as she unlocked her door.
I tried not to gape as she punched in the code for the security system. For the first time, she hadn't immediately turned me down.
"Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?" I asked. I wasn't ready for the night to end, but I also knew I couldn't stay. After talking to Ryder, slow and steady was my new game plan.
