By ten o’clock he was starting to get pissed all over again so he sent her another message.
MIKE: Talk to me Anne, what the hell is going on?
When she once again didn’t respond he sat back in his desk chair and took a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes and pulled his hands down his face, as if he were trying to erase the image of Anne’s last text and lack of response to him now. He needed to stop thinking like a fucking girl. He was going to get his shit together and sort things out with Anne.
He had a job due that afternoon so he couldn’t go over there now, but when she hadn’t responded by noon he was a mess. Mike had never been in this position. He felt like he was losing a part of himself he didn’t know existed, and it wasn’t fun. Jesus, the thought that things could truly be over was like a punch to the gut. Right then and there he decided he was willing to do whatever it took to bring Anne back into his life.
His client arrived around two to pick up his Chevelle, and then Mike headed to Callie’s Confections down Main Street, hoping maybe she’d be willing to help, or at the very least explain what the fuck was going on. Being left in the dark was starting to piss him off. It was close enough to walk, and he was determined to get to the bottom of this.
The bell jingled as he entered, and the smell of cinnamon and buttercream filled his nose. Any other day he would be tempted, but today he couldn’t care less about food. Eric stood behind the counter and turned, his eyes widening when he saw Mike.
“I wondered when you’d come by. Someone has been a very bad boy.” Eric tilted his head. Mike wondered what the hell he was talking about, but he went on. “Normally I would approve of being a bad boy, but not this time, buster. Anne’s too good for that.”
Okay, now Mike was fuming. “I’m fully aware of how wonderful Anne is. What’s pissing me off is not knowing what I did wrong. What happened last night?”
Eric jerked his head back in confusion. “How do you not know?”
“Where’s Callie?”
“Dance team practice. Don’t act dumb, playboy, the witch you’re seeing and her video have leveled Anne. Whoever she is, she needs to be drawn and quartered.” Eric cringed slightly at his own words. “I’ve clearly been watching too many cable historical dramas, but who can help it with all those men in tights?”
Mike was still processing what Eric had said and trying to ignore the other images. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not seeing anyone else.”
“Yeah, well, after that bullshit on her site and Facebook yesterday, what else would she think?”
“I don’t do Facebook, so how about you tell me exactly what’s happened.”
“You really have no idea? And who doesn’t do Facebook?”
Mike shot Eric a don’t-mess-with-me look and the guy finally got to talking. When he pulled out his iPhone and showed Mike the video—and the fucking pictures—he was speechless. And also boiling with anger at whoever had done this, although he had a pretty good idea, and he wanted to strangle her. To add insult to injury he had to relive seeing that douchebag’s slimy hands on Anne. He’d seen it the first time, but watching it again—after he considered her his—that was torturous.
The worst part was Anne was his, or at least she had been, and she was hurting. He couldn’t blame her for being upset. He lifted his ball cap from his head and set it back down. “Goddamn, I can’t believe this.”
“One commenter even said they saw you and Katie having a lovers’ quarrel in the parking lot, and then kiss and make up.”
“Damn it, that’s not how it is at all. Did Anne read that comment?”
“What do you think?”
“Shit. I can’t believe this.” Mike pulled the hat off again and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t even know what to do with himself he was so angry, but—more important—he was worried about Anne. He had to talk to her.
“Sooo … you’re not seeing someone else?” Eric asked.
“Hell no!” His reply was short and showed just how pissed he was getting, but after a moment’s pause he continued. “But technically the events aren’t a complete lie. I did go to the bar, obviously, but not to see her, and we didn’t have a fucking lovers’ quarrel. Katie did try to kiss me, but I didn’t kiss her back—I pushed her away—and that was it. I left and went straight to Anne. Obviously Katie is pissed and wants to come between Anne and me, and it’s fucking working. I can’t believe she’d do something this crazy.”
And he couldn’t believe it might cost him everything.
“Well, if you say that’s the truth then I believe you, but Anne is heartbroken,” Eric said quietly.
“And that kills me. Shit, I never meant to hurt her, she’s … God, she’s fucking perfect. I want her … all the time.” Mike squeezed his fists together and turned to face the window. He couldn’t even wrap his head around what he’d just learned.
“Dude. You have to pull your shit together,” Eric said. “You can fix this, it’s just going to take some time. Anne has trouble believing that she’s as wonderful as everyone knows she is. She’s hard as hell on herself, and it took nothing for her to believe this thing with Katie and you was exactly what it appeared to be. You being with a younger, hot woman made complete sense to her. You just have to convince her of what you just told me.”
Mike turned and stared at Eric. “Then that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
* * *
That afternoon Anne lay in bed staring at the painting on her wall. It was a self-inflicted torture at this point, remembering the conversation’s they’d shared in her bed as they looked at the wildflower scene together. It was now nearing the twenty-four-hour mark since she’d seen the hurt and anger in Mike’s face on her porch.
She had never planned on feeling such pain again. Early parts of her life had been horrible; some memories were so bad she’d locked them deep inside her never to surface again. She wished she could lock this hurt away, because it was consuming her. Why did it take losing something to realize how critical it had become to your happiness? And when had that happened with Mike?
She had tried so hard to take it slow, protect her heart, and tell herself that it was no big deal. Instead she now knew it was a huge deal, and realizing it wasn’t reciprocated was worse. Her heart had been breaking for the past twenty-four hours. She’d barely been functional.
After Callie and Eric had left last night Anne had called her mother and asked if Claire could spend the night. She’d needed the space for two reasons: One, because she wanted to cry freely, and two, because she was trying to make Claire happy after the mess with missing her gymnastics class. An impromptu overnight to Grandma Ree’s had done the trick.
Evading questions from her mother had been stressful, but finally Anne just said she couldn’t talk about it quite yet. She knew her mom was concerned, but she would give her space. Marie Harris knew how to give Anne what she needed; she always had, whether it was a new life, or a shoulder to cry on. Right now what she needed was to wallow in her misery for a while.
The clock on her nightstand read 3:05 p.m., and Anne’s stomach growled. She hadn’t really eaten all day. If a breakup was good for one thing, it was making your pants fit a little better. Eric always said it was nature’s way of preparing your body to go back on the market. Except Anne was never going back. Relationships were not worth this; the gnawing in her stomach matched the emptiness of her heart. And she hadn’t knowingly allowed him access in the first place.
A knock at her front door had her sitting up. She ran to the bathroom and looked at herself. She was a hot mess, her hair in a ratty ponytail, mascara masking her eyes.
Another knock, this one louder. “Shit.”
Her phone vibrated on her dresser. She’d ignored it all day but she finally went and picked it up. It was full of missed calls and texts. The most recent stopped her heart.
MIKE: I’ll stand here all night, Perfect. Open the door.
Oh God. She scanned through the texts qu
ickly and saw one from Eric that had words like Mike, bakery, and told. She groaned and ran back to the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush. She rearranged her ponytail, wiped at her eyes, and gave herself a quick splash of body spray. She remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra under her tank so she grabbed her robe and threw it around her shoulders. There was no hiding that she was a wreck; she’d have to own it.
She ran down the stairs, her pulse rapid and beating out of control when she saw Mike’s Camaro out the front window in her driveway. Why did everything make her want him? She opened the door and met his eyes—they were shadowed and his mouth was grim, one hand resting on the door frame. After just a beat his expression softened.
“Anne, I’m so sorry.”
His words were quiet, and damn her stupid emotions for instantly succumbing to the apology in his voice and the sadness in his eyes. The sight of him made her heart pound in fury but also break from the pain of it all. Of course he was sorry, he’d been caught. He could never be as regretful as she was.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She swallowed hard, trying to keep her tears from making an unwanted appearance. She knew if she started she wouldn’t be able to stop, and this conversation required her to be strong. It was bad enough that she looked like a woman who’d been sobbing in bed all day. She whispered, knowing her voice would break if she didn’t. “We never made anything official. It’s okay.”
“Damn it, Anne! It’s not okay, and it’s not what you think.” He reached for her face and she pulled back. He flinched, the shock in his eyes obvious, and even when she was this angry, it killed her to see the pain of rejection in his face. He put his hands in his pockets. Despite the heat of June, a light breeze caught the tips of his hair and he looked away from her as he continued to speak. “I didn’t think official had to be said. Couldn’t you tell how much I wanted you? Wanted to be with you, only you?” He stared at her once more. “Did it feel like I was seeing anyone else? Because I’m not. I wasn’t.”
No, it hadn’t felt like it. That had been a complete shock. But it also hadn’t felt like her husband was banging his cousin’s wife on the side. Clearly she was oblivious to such things; certain realizations were obviously better served up as a slap in the face. They really got their point across that way.
“If you’re not seeing someone … then … I don’t understand…” Her voice hiccuped. Rather than try to continue she looked down, willing herself to regroup. She couldn’t cry in front of him.
He took a deep breath, and the hesitation made her knees threaten to give out.
“So, yes, I stopped in to Smokey’s before I came here that night. I had to give Aiden the bartender the keys to his truck. I’d worked on it earlier that evening. Katie was at the bar and before I could get Aiden his keys she came up to me, she wanted to talk, but I only wanted to get to you. I left her at the bar, hopefully to sober up, but she followed me when I left to walk back to my car. Yes, she did try to kiss me. She was really drunk. That’s not an excuse for her or for what happened, but you must know I wanted nothing to do with her. I just wanted to get here, to you. I should’ve told you, but I just wanted to forget it. I didn’t want anything to mess up what we have, and when I got here I did forget about it. You’re all I think about when I’m with you.”
He stepped into the house without her permission and moved close, his front brushing hers. She didn’t stop him, just like she hadn’t stopped him at gymnastics, or that night at Smokey’s, or even that day against the Chevelle in his shop. When his body was close, hers responded like there was no other option but to lean into his touch. Except now when she thought about that first day she’d gone to his shop she remembered Katie coming in like she owned the place. He’d never explained that, and Anne had chosen to let it go. At the time he had every right to be seeing someone, and that blond big-boobed sorority girl had made perfect sense.
He lifted his palm once again, and this time she let it settle on her jaw. His thumb ran across her bottom lip, and sparks traveled through her body. She closed her eyes. Apparently the power of Mike’s touch was more potent than anger, stronger than confusion, and as instinctual as self-preservation.
“I knew from the beginning this was a bad idea. We’re so different,” she whispered.
“We’re not supposed to be the same, Anne. I’m a man and you’re a woman.” She could hear the smile in his voice and feel his warm breath on her cheek.
“But I’m a mother, divorced, and let’s face it, I’m older than you.”
He scoffed and tugged at her hair from behind, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Will you get over that? How old are you exactly? Or have you noticed that I care so little that I never asked you?”
“Almost thirty-three.”
He grinned. “Ooh you are—umph.” He held on to his stomach where she’d shoved. “Anne, I was kidding. So you’re thirty-two, who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t. And we’re not that far away. I’m twenty-nine almost thirty.”
“It’s more than that, though. I can’t have this kind of drama in my life. It’s exhausting, painful, and embarrassing. That video of me … people saw it, clients, friends, and people here in town. I’ve had my website and blog for years now. It’s my job, and never has anything like this happened. I wasn’t completely honest with you about it. The site is important to me. Very important.”
He nodded his head. “I understand, I do. But it’s still just a blog, Anne. Don’t let stuff out on the Internet come between us.”
She sucked in a breath—the words were so familiar—and instantly she shut down. Any warmth that had begun to radiate inside was threatened with that sentence. It was so much more than a blog to her. Why didn’t anyone understand that?
“Mike, right now I just need to be alone. Please.”
“So you are. You’re going to let something that happened on the Internet break us apart, is that what you’re saying?”
Anne couldn’t think. The sad truth was, she was a complete wreck inside. A fearful woman sure she was one thread from unraveling altogether. She was a sham, and the thing he liked about her, the perfection: Well, it wasn’t real. Sooner or later she would be a disappointment to him and herself.
“Honestly Mike, I don’t know what to think right now. The past few days, shit, the past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. I just need to reevaluate. I thought I knew who I was and what my goals are in life. And now … I just. I just need some time.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Okay, fine.” Mike turned toward the door. “But you remember, Anne, this is your decision, you chose this. I don’t want time away from you, I don’t need to plan out my goals or reevaluate. I know what I feel and I want you, only you. But you have to want me back.”
And then he was gone.
Twenty-Three
Thursday morning Anne lost herself in the final details of Jessica Monser’s sweet sixteen party. If she had known the extent of the work this party would require, she’d have charged them double, but she was enjoying the creative process and hopefully she’d get some great exposure. She dreaded for the weekend to pass and leave her with empty hours to think about Mike. He hadn’t texted or called since he’d left the previous evening, and she didn’t blame him.
She pushed thoughts of him away and set down the last of the boxes full of decorations in the barn, which was breathtaking. It was now clean, the old cement slab floor power-washed and wooden walls swept clear of dirt and cobwebs that had accumulated over years of being a barn. The tables were arranged and waiting to be covered with black tablecloths and mismatched vintage lanterns that Anne had painted pink. The walls were lined with strings of white Christmas lights just waiting to be plugged in and sparkle. Soon the space would be completely transformed into a pink-and-black fairy tale.
With the owner’s consent the Monsers had paid for a new cement pad to be poured on the backside of the barn, which would be the location of the Mustang’s
big reveal. It overlooked a serene wheat field that would be gorgeous the evening of the party as the sun set. Even the old farmhouse at the front of the property was beautiful, the outside also freshly power-washed and the walkways neatly trimmed. She almost wished she could move in it was so gorgeous, but Anne’s favorite part was the flower garden off the side of the main house, which was now in full bloom. It reminded her of her mother’s painting in the bedroom, which of course now reminded her of Mike. He was the only man who’d ever shared that space with her, and now every morning she was reminded of his presence and subsequent absence.
Anne took a deep breath and got back to work. Claire’s laughter caught her attention from the corner of the barn where she sat watching a cartoon on Anne’s phone. Thank goodness for electronic devices and a roaming cellular connection. Anne turned a circle and took in the full space. She’d made sketch after sketch of how this would all go down, and she was excited. It was going to be beautiful.
Jessica had desperately wanted a “white” party, which at one time had been all the rage in the celebrity world, but Anne had quickly shown her how unrealistic it would be to ask teenage boys to wear white clothes and convinced her to do pink and black. She’d put together a design board of ideas, and both Jill and Jessica had swooned. So the girls’ invitations had requested they wear pink and the boys wear black.
After a few hours of arranging chairs, unpacking centerpieces, and spray-painting a few odds and ends, Anne was exhausted. She decided to check in on the blog. She, Lindsey, and Callie had discussed how they would handle the damage control and decided not to make a huge deal of it. Last night Anne had called Jill Monser and once again assured her everything was well, then she’d done a quick post that said she was sorry someone had done what they’d done, and she was trying to deal with it quietly. She hoped everyone would respect her privacy at this time. She again thanked them all for their friendship over the past few years and made sure to close it so no one could comment. She’d been too chicken to even log onto Facebook or Twitter for the past forty-eight hours.
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