Moore To Love

by Faith Andrews

  Ashley breaks the silence, throwing her hands on her hips. “Well, it doesn’t matter how stupid you think it is. We’ve gone this long, and we can last another two weeks. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Says you!” Reynold laughs. “I’m a man in my twenties. This is my prime. I need sex from my woman. Every night. It’s a stress reliever and this wedding crap has me completely stressed.”

  “Oh my God, Reynold. Are you serious? You’re stressed? You’ve barely lifted a finger to do one thing. Your sister picked out our wedding cake today!”

  “I knew you were going to throw that in my face! I just knew it! Someone has to pay for that cake, you know, and I’m busting my ass with extra shifts to give you the wedding you want.”

  “Whoa, hold up! Are you saying I don’t work? Because last I checked I brought in a decent paycheck, too. I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now, when we still have to . . .”

  The two of them go on and on, ignoring Lane and me as we look at each other and shrug. Luckily, the restaurant isn’t too crowded and Ashley and Reynold aren’t overly loud. But they are noisy and heated enough to forget that they have us as an audience.

  “Is this serious?” Lane asks, spreading his lips into a tight, straight line.

  “Absolutely not. That PDA you asked about—they’ll be pawing at each other again in ten minutes.”

  “You did not just go there, Reynold Moore! I already told you the groomsmen will not be wearing ruffled tuxedos. This isn’t a joke. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life!” Ashley’s neck is redder than the Bolognese sauce on her chicken as she throws her napkin across the table and it lands in my brother’s face.

  “Nice shot,” Lane mumbles, but the two wedding crazed nuts are so enthralled in their argument they don’t even hear him. He leans closer to me and whispers in my ear, “Is it safe to leave, or will they kill each other?”

  “Nah. And honestly, I don’t want to be a witness to it, so—”

  “Wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

  “Totally.”

  We throw down enough money to cover our portion of the bill and slink out of the restaurant without so much as a “see ya later” from Ashley and Reynold. What may seem like a shitty sisterly thing to do is actually in everyone’s best interest. If I had intervened, someone would have reamed me, and if we stuck around, Lane would have gotten a little too much family drama for my taste.

  Once outside, Lane pulls me close as we make our way down the street. “So, is it safe to say you’re the normal Moore?”

  “Ha! Define normal.”

  Laughter rolls through him but his gentle touch never wavers. His hand travels from where it’s wrapped around my shoulder to down around my waist. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse. My brothers are kind of rowdy and Leo’s wife makes Ashley look like a pushover.”

  “You never really talk about them. You must miss everyone back in Tuscarora.”

  “Meh.” He shrugs against my frame as we stride along the street without a care in the world. Out of nowhere, he leans in and pecks my cheek. “I like it here a lot better.”

  A giddy warmth tingles within and even though our dinner was cut short and I was sure we’d be rushing home for that dessert he promised earlier, I’m eager to hear more and enjoy this beautiful fall evening. “Come on.” I prod. “Tell me more about where you came from.”

  “There’s not much to tell. It’s nothing like New York, at all.”

  “Funny, because when I picture Illinois I think of Chicago which seems to be exactly like New York.”

  “Not where I’m from, babe. It’s a whole different ball game. You’d be quite a sight on my grandparents’ farm.”

  “Hey! You think I’m too city to handle a little barnyard livin’?”

  He throws his hands up in defense and flashes the dimples. Even if I wanted to be mad at him for discounting my country bumpkin skills, those things make all sensibility melt into a puddle of mush. “Let’s just say, I think of you as refined—your beautiful hands do not belong anywhere near cow manure or pig slop.”

  “Wow. So you’re talking the real deal. Very interesting.” Call me small minded, but I never got around to doing my Tuscarora research to learn how the other half live. Besides, I’m too taken aback by his compliment. “And refined? I’m not quite sure that’s an adjective that’s ever been used in the same sentence with my name.”

  “I can think of a lot of adjectives you’ve probably never used to describe yourself.”

  Placing a hand over my pitter pattering heart, I smile thinking of all the lovely ways Lane reminds me that I’m beautiful. “I’d love to let you throw some out there, but we’re talking about you, remember?”

  “How could I forget?” He half groans, half huffs. Either way, I can tell he doesn’t like being the topic of conversation.

  “Lane, you’re so closed off. Either you were an axe murderer back in Illinois or you’re even more timid than you let on. I like hearing about you. You know everything there is to know about me and I still feel as if you’re an enigma.”

  “An enigma is interesting. I’m definitely not an axe murderer, and although I have a tendency to be shy, I don’t feel that way around you. It basically leads me back to my first point. There’s not much to tell.”

  Bullshit. Someone like Lane who left his humble beginnings and his entire family to move to a big city, start a career, and is sinfully good looking and sweet to boot . . .”You’re full of it. Everything about you interests me, from the top of your just-fucked hair to the tips of your runner’s toes.” At this point in our mindless walk, we’re stopped at a corner, so I nudge him as we wait for the crosswalk signal to count down. He bumps me back, prompting me to lean in and steal an innocent kiss. I may not have gotten much out of him, but I’m still happy to have him by my side. “I guess this is the purpose of a relationship. Getting to know each other? Peeling away layers?”

  “I guess so. Although I don’t have much to go on.”

  Now, there’s something. “Are you telling me you’ve never been in a serious relationship?”

  “Would that surprise you?”

  “Um, yeah!” I pause between easy strides, facing Lane with disbelief written all over my face. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship that didn’t include a dare or a dick, but that’s just me. But you? Lane, that can’t be. There’s no ex from Tuscarora who’s daydreaming by some willow tree, pining over you? No hot nursing student who ever asked you to help her study her anatomy notes? And what about Jenny from the block? The first time you mentioned her you seemed a little—I don’t know, scorned? I assumed you two had something going on at one point and you just didn’t want to mention it.”

  Lane snorts through his nose and then spins me back toward the street ahead. He hooks his arm with mine and we continue walking while we talk. Maybe being stationary made him feel as if all eyes were on him. “I can’t believe you caught that with Jenny. I guess I don’t wear a poker face as well as I thought I did.”

  “So there was something?”

  Lane hesitates.

  “Babe, you can tell me. I don’t judge. You let me tell you all about Alex. It’s the past. We all have one.”

  Letting out another long sigh, Lane starts, “We went on a few dates after we met on the track.”

  “Do you meet all your lady friends on the track?” I joke, arching a brow.

  “I’m there a lot, what can I say? But it’s really not like that. You’re completely different. You know that, right?” His expression turns serious and there’s really no need. He doesn’t have to convince me that he’s not some Central Park stalker who preys on women in yoga pants.

  “I know, I know. Continue.”

  He shrugs, placating me. “You’re holding out for a letdown. There’s no story to tell. In the end, we didn’t have much in common besides the track. She wasn’t the girl I thought she was when I first met her. It’s why I trust that beauty is only skin d
eep. Sometimes the outside just doesn’t match the inside.”

  “And vice versa,” I add, knowing precisely what he’s getting at.

  “Exactly. And as far as any other relationships you might want to know about, there was never anyone special. No one who I clicked with. Not like you.” He kisses the top of my head and that gooey feeling returns.

  So, maybe Lane isn’t a riddle to solve. Perhaps he doesn’t have notches on his bedpost to brag about. Maybe he is the gentleman he’s demonstrated to be, on all accounts. And it may very well be that as gorgeous and sexy as he is, he’s as inexperienced as I am when it comes to this relationship thing.

  I mull over those theories as we cross the street and step onto another that’s lined with lively bars and pubs, and what looks like lots of fun waiting to be had.

  Lane stops in front of one, and turns to me. “Now that I’ve endured a round of twenty questions with Madeline Moore, what do you say we grab a drink?” He points to a bar with strings of vintage Edison bulbs hanging from their awning to the streetlamp at the curb. A familiar song seeps out into the night through wood-paned windows. The sound is as tempting as Lane’s invitation.

  “Oh my God, I love this song!” I look up to the stars and smile, swaying back and forth with Lane’s hands in mine.

  “I’ve never heard it.”

  At that, I pull him by the hand and into the music just as it reaches the chorus—my favorite part. “If you like me, you’re going to have to get to know the Lumineers. Come on, Fancy Pants. Buy me a drink and Karaoke Girl will sing you a song.”

  A WEEK AFTER I SERENADED my man and kind of made a fool out of myself with one too many beers, I’m freaking out over how little time is left to get everything done for Ashley and Reynold’s wedding.

  “Len, did Ashley give you the final headcount for who’s getting what done the morning of the wedding?” Raven shouts from her office into the salon where my fingers are ready to fall off from weaving the intricate braids this kid requested for her Sweet Sixteen.

  “No, not yet. I’ll get on that today,” I yell back, careful not to unclench my fingers or skip a row of plaiting in her silky, golden hair.

  My brain loops in circles as I contemplate all the things I need to ‘get on’ before the week is up. And nowhere on my list of to-do items is my boyfriend. He’s pulled twelve hour shifts four times in the last seven days, and I haven’t had a minute to breathe myself. But I’ll be damned if the looming list of untied loose ends will interfere with us hanging out tonight. He’s invited me to his apartment for a home cooked meal and a relaxing night in. Since I haven’t been to his place yet and I need a night of nothing but Lane, I’m chomping at the bit. Unfortunately, relaxing isn’t in the cards for this maid-of-honor. Favor wrapping, hair accessory making, and church program printing are just the tip of my wedding task iceberg. Lane just might become acquainted with my glue gun tonight. Real romantic.

  “Ouch!” The girl in my chair hisses when I pull a little too hard on her hair.

  “Oops. Sorry, hun.” I’m so distracted I don’t know how I even got as far as I did without scalping the poor girl.

  I go back to my obsessing without so much as another uncomfortable tug and the rest of the day flies by, leaving me wishing for another hour to get more done before I head out. Tomorrow’s another day with a full schedule, so I lock up my station, tidy up as best as I can, and make my way to Raven’s office to say goodnight.

  “Knock knock,” I say, since there’s not actually a door but a curtain separating her space from the salon.

  “Come in.”

  I plop down on the chair adjacent to her mess of a desk and rest my head against the wall with a long sigh.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Too much to do, so little time.”

  “Wedding crap?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Last I checked, you weren’t the one getting married, babe.”

  I perk to attention and scowl. “I don’t need reminding, thank you very much.”

  She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Seriously, though. Why is it all on you?”

  “Because it was a rush and my brother is a dumbass. I can’t fault Ashley for that.”

  “Tru dat.” She barely looks up from her scheduling notebook, her glasses slipping down her nose. She’s busy, too. She doesn’t need me complaining about trivial nonsense, so I just get on with it so I can get on with me.

  “While you have the book open, Ashley got back to me. Five for hair and makeup, three just for hair. I’m going to get here early that day to do my Mom and Ashley, but you think you can get Marjorie to come in to do me up?” Other than myself, Marjorie’s the only girl I trust with my face. I can probably just do it myself, but with all the running around I’ve been doing, it’ll be nice to be pampered for a change.

  “You got it.” She scribbles it down in the margin and pauses with her pencil in the air. “Lyla for hair?”

  “Yes! Perfect. Seacrest out.” I stand, feeling the tiredness in my bones, and pull my bag onto my shoulder.

  “You okay?” Raven doesn’t have to look up to show her concern.

  “Yes, just stressed, but I feel stupid for saying that knowing how much you manage to do with all you have on your plate, so don’t mind me.” Seriously, she’s like Superwoman. I’m considering a crash course in all things Raven the Great.

  “You’ll get it done, Len. You always do. Now, go treat yourself to some TLC with Lane. You’re cranky because you haven’t seen him all week. He’ll be the cure for your woes.”

  I pat her on the back as I walk out. “Thanks for listening to me bitch and complain all week.”

  “And this time, drug the boy if you have to. You need to get laid.”

  I give her a thumbs up, laughing as I walk to my car. I haven’t even had time to obsess over not getting laid. That’s how you know I’ve been preoccupied. But Raven’s like my own personal Confucius—always insightful, minus the roofie suggestion. Hopefully all I need to refuel is waiting for me on the other side of town.

  Lane’s apartment is a twenty-minute train ride from the salon. Rather than go home in the opposite direction and waste more time away from Lane, I packed a change of fresh clothes and something for tomorrow, in case I wind up staying over. The idea of finally getting a glimpse of Lane’s personal life without having to pry has me eager to get off this overheated subway and into his arms. Of course, I’m just excited for the change of pace since we’re always at my place or out.

  When I mentioned it to Tatum, she thought it odd that I’d yet to be invited to his apartment, but that’s Tatum. Especially now that she and Paul are kaput. Two years on and off and everything you could imagine in between were draining for me—and I wasn’t even in the relationship. Paul wasn’t necessarily a bad guy, just not the guy for Tatum. She deserves to be happy, not to settle. And that’s exactly what she was doing with Paul.

  Tatum swears she’s okay, ready to move on, time to sow more wild oats, but I still owe her the best friend shoulder to cry on if that’s what she wants to do. Before leaving the salon, I texted her a quick message asking if she needs me tonight. To my surprise, she made plans with some co-workers for dinner and drinks. Body’s not even cold yet, and I have no doubt her bed won’t be for too long, either. Good for her.

  By the time I’m off the train and walking toward Lane’s apartment, all thoughts of Tatum and her love life are far gone. It’s been a whole seven days since I’ve last seen him and to say I feel deprived is putting it mildly. I miss him. A lot. And even though we speak every day, it’s not the same as seeing those adorable dimples in person or having his lips against mine.

  For the first time in forever, I know how it feels to have everything I want. Don’t get me wrong, there are a million and one superficial things I could think of that I wouldn’t dare deny if they were handed to me on a silver platter. But—none of that matters. Even the ten pounds I put back on since coming home from Miami. Poun
ds, shmounds. Who cares? I’m still keeping up with Jane and Mandy’s workout routine and I haven’t gone to hell in a hand basket with my old eating habits, but—I don’t know—it’s not my sole focus anymore. They say when you’re happy in a relationship you gain weight. If that’s the case, I should be morbidly obese, but I’ll settle for what I am right now because it’s still better than where I was a few months ago.

  Rounding a corner, I pull out my phone to text Lane that I’m outside. When I look up, he’s already there, waiting for me with an ear to ear grin. I contemplate pulling a dramatic stunt like tossing my bags to the ground and running into his arms, but he’s at my side faster than I expect.

  “Hey, babe. I’m so happy to see you.” He kisses me smack on the lips. No wasting time, no pause to let me reply, just lips on lips and oh, does it feel so good. I let the heavy overnight bag fall from my grip and wrap my arms around his neck.

  “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,” I mumble against his lips and melt into his touch. He has one hand burrowed in my hair, the other pulling me against him from my waist.

  “Fond. Me. Very.” Our foreheads rest against the other’s, our inhales and exhales releasing in time.

  I breathe is his musky man scent and then kiss him again, this time nipping his bottom lip between my teeth. “You. Mine. Now.”

  Lane laughs, smooching my neck and then leaning down to grab the duffel I dropped during our sweet reunion. “Come on up. It’s cold out here.”

  “Is it?” I joke because it’s actually quite chilly, but the truth is I’m an inferno inside. It could be ten below out here and I’d still be on fire from the way Lane makes me feel.

  With his free hand, Lane tangles his fingers with mine and guides me down the street to a green side door next to a storefront. It’s a small, rundown looking bookstore that I find absolutely charming compared to the oversized commerciality of places like Barnes &Noble.

  “Have you ever been in there?” I ask, wishing it weren’t closed so I could peruse the shelves just for fun.