Aroused

by Clover Hart

  I’m not going to compromise my vision anymore.

  I face Barry as Dawson strides over to him, shakes his hand, and then salutes me.

  “Smooth sailing,” he says, and then winks at my business partner.

  As Dawson leaves the room, Barry gives me a strange look.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “You’re not his type.”

  “You have a half hour before I’m meeting my type for a drink.” Barry flops onto the sofa and pushes the hair back from his forehead. “What’s the urgency? And this better not have anything to do with Cherry Valley again.”

  I continue to stare at him.

  “Fuck, Zach. I thought we closed this out.”

  “Just listen to me. Really listen, without any argument, until I’m done.”

  He levels an exasperated glare at me.

  I keep standing. Shit, this is my last stand, because I’ve been staying up nights, not only knowing that FCT needs Cherry Valley and vice versa, but because I keep thinking about Mandy. I can’t stay away. I won’t.

  “On a personal note,” I begin, “you know I’ve been miserable lately, and it’s not just because of Mandy. The stipulations that Franklin Funding put on this deal have been eating away at me.”

  “It’s a good deal.”

  “Yeah, if we want to dance to their tune. Remember back in college when we used to talk about how corporations are ruining the world and, if we had our shot at success, we wouldn’t become one of the bad guys?”

  “Have we become one?”

  “Not yet, but we also wanted to be agents of change, not the status quo. That’s why we came up with all these new ways to use our tech. Silicon Valley doesn’t need it as much as someplace like Cherry Valley does.”

  Barry folds his hands behind his head and brings his elbows in, as if he can block out my words that way. But I know better — this is how he thinks and absorbs, with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes closed.

  So here I go.

  I put everything I’ve got into this. I repeat what I presented to Dawson about how tech and reality can mix in a place that’s ready to be the template for much bigger things. A place where a new kind of community can be formed, brick by brick, change by change, with FCT contributing to improving the schools, the roads, the everything, while still keeping the town pure at heart.

  I don’t mention Mandy or how I’d do anything to get back to her, including putting our partnership on the line. But I think Barry gets that, because by the time I’m done, his arms are down and he’s watching me.

  I have no idea what’s going through his mind. His expression is blank, maybe even unimpressed.

  It’s time for me to lay down the heavy stuff.

  “The best part,” I say, “is that we don’t need Franklin Funding. Dawson can pull together investors, and he can do it fast. He’d be one of them, too, and part of the deal is that we go to Cherry Valley.”

  Barry’s skin goes ruddy. “You went behind my back on this?”

  “Let’s face it, Bar — our communication hasn’t exactly been stellar lately. Besides, I wanted to be on solid ground when we talked today.”

  There’s something in his eyes — betrayal? Coldness? I’ve seen the same emotion after he gets off the phone with his disapproving parents.

  I hold out my hands. “I want to do this with you. There was a time when you trusted me more than anyone, and you know I wouldn’t have consulted Dawson about this without you in mind.”

  His words are clenched. “There was a time when you wouldn’t have chosen a girl over your partner.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.” I sit on the sofa. “Yeah, I fell for Mandy, and the longer I stay here, the more I’m sure that all I want to do is get back there and see if she feels the same way about me. And I want you right by my side, just like we always planned.”

  “As opposed to not by your side.”

  Yeah, he gets that I’ve been reluctantly thinking about moving forward without him, and it’s not because of Mandy. It’s because he’s going one way and I’m going another.

  “We’re going to have funding,” I say. “That was a big obstacle, but not now. Now the biggest question is this: do you see what I’m picturing for FCT? Do you believe in it as much as I do?”

  His jaw is still tight, and my hopes stretch out, because this is how Barry always looks before he gives in.

  Give in, goddammit.

  When he nods, I nearly lose my shit. But I keep it to myself. It’s enough that Barry’s finally coming around.

  But Mandy … I’m going back to Mandy, if she’ll still have me.

  Barry leans forward and braces his forearms on his thighs. Then he looks at me, and it’s almost as if we’re in our college apartment again, planning big things, knowing we’re going to conquer the world.

  He grins that stubborn, devilish grin, and I start to smile until he holds up a finger. “One condition.”

  Oh, great. “What?”

  “Don’t ever go to someone else again before you come to me. Got it?”

  Now I smile. “If you unplug your donkey ears and listen to what I have to say, then I won’t.”

  With the tension broken, we shake hands. I pat him on the arm before he gets to his feet.

  “I swear, Hamilton,” he says, “I’d better fucking survive the cultural wasteland known as Cherry Valley or I’m going to throttle you.”

  “Conundrum. How will you throttle me if you don’t survive?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m going along with this. Are there any more Mandys in that town? Maybe I’ll get lucky next time.”

  “She has a sister.”

  “She does?”

  I push him out the door. “Forget about it. Just suck it up and enjoy your date.”

  As he leaves, I know he’s going to be there every step of the way from now on. Barry likes to grouse and give everyone a hard time, mostly because he got a lot of that growing up and he doesn’t know how to deal with life any other way. But he’s the most loyal bastard I know.

  And we’re going to Cherry Valley.

  For the next several days, Barry, Dawson, and I work our asses off to put together that funding, make quick moving arrangements, and quietly book Miss Carney’s Airbnb rooms so we can go to CV and secure that old grain warehouse on the edge of town, along with everything else we’ll need.

  Then, as we prepare to close up shop here, I contact Abby Peters with the good news, ordering her to keep everything a secret until the day she posts her blog.

  Chapter 30

  Mandy

  One more day, one more slog at Screaming Beans.

  Another barista is scheduled to come on shift in an hour, and things are slow enough so that we don’t need two servers right now. We’ve got the usual crowd here this morning — Gwen and Grace sitting down for pie and decaf coffee before they open Milton’s Diner for lunch; Abby at the counter with her laptop and iced coffee; Cleo Atwood with her cowgirl hat and latest pulp book from the secondhand store drawing her attention away from her chai tea; and Jesse Herrera, who’s got his deputy cap on while he pours loads of sugar into his black coffee at the condiment counter. All of them, and a few more, are real quiet, maybe because I have some K.D. Lang on extra soft volume or maybe because rain has been tapping away at the windows off and on.

  Right now, the rain is off, and I’m messing around on my laptop, way too aware of the fact that no one is sitting at Zach’s table today. I run my hand over the computer casing as if it’s him, then pull away with that familiar tightness in my chest and throat.

  I could text him. Should text him. But I never do. At the same time, I can’t stand the thought that he’s out there, probably with that other, better city girl by now. And I’m here, wishing I had the guts to tell him that what I must be feeling is love. It hurts too much to be anything else, and I messed things up far too thoroughly to ever get it back.

  As Jesse comes by the counter
to pick up the boxed slice of cherry pie that’s been waiting for him, he slides me an it’ll-be-okay-Mandy smile. I’ve been getting a lot of those, and every one of them makes me want to cry, because it’s not going to be all right. Every day that goes by is worse, wracking me with remorse and regret.

  Jesse tips up the brim of his cap. “Is the weather affecting your mood?”

  “Maybe that’s it.” I put on the determined smile everyone gets from me these days. “But usually I like the rain. I like to stay inside and read.”

  “Well, Mandy, you just let me know if you get bored of reading. I’ve got a cousin coming into town from Florida and—”

  “Thanks, Jesse, but no thanks.”

  He seems to realize that he’s just offered up another out-of-towner to me, and he frowns. But at least he isn’t hitting on me to make me feel better. He’s tried before in his charming, casual way, but I don’t think he’s serious. He likes a bit more flash and flirt from his girls, and he’s just about run through all of them here in Cherry Valley, including Grace Milton, who won’t even look at him from across the room.

  He’s about to say something else to me but decides against it, then goes out the door to patrol the mean streets of Cherry Valley.

  Time crawls by. Cleo gets a refill on her tea. A few people come in and out for to-go orders. Gwen Milton returns her and Grace’s plates to me just as they’re getting ready to leave.

  When the door opens again, I don’t even have it in me anymore to feel my heart jump at the possibility that it might be Zach. Which it never is.

  But when I see who’s strolling into the shop instead, I blink.

  My eyes are seeing Barry, who’s wearing a New York Yankees tee under his sport jacket. His dark hair is longer and more careless than it was the last time I saw him, and he goes right to his and Zach’s table as if he owns it. As he starts to set up his computer there, I glance at Gwen, just to check if she too has spotted something strange, like a Barry in our midst.

  She’s staring at him, just as every other person in the place is, except for one.

  Abby is working away at her computer with a small smile on her face.

  “What the everlovin’ …” Gwen starts to say.

  Then the door opens again.

  At first, I think that I’m seeing another ghost who’s just sauntered into Screaming Beans with the same easygoing attitude as usual, but today he doesn’t have his computer with him.

  It’s Zach, with his adorable gelled hair, glasses, field jacket, fancy jeans, and sneakers. And his tee shirt …

  I swallow hard when I see the faded image of a sad bulldog on it.

  As he slips his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and tests me with a smile, I blink again, but this time it’s because there’re tears beginning to pool in my eyes.

  It can’t be him.

  But my heart is telling me it is. It’s busting to get out of me, flailing and beating and asking me why I’m just standing here acting so cool.

  “Mandy,” Zach says.

  I nod at him. “Hey there, Zach.”

  Yeah, hey there. Like I’ve been expecting him and he’s just a little bit late is all.

  Behind Zach, someone busts into the shop. It’s Dirk Molony of the mountain Molonys, and he cluelessly raises his hand in a hi to me and everyone else, then bobs over to the counter.

  “Black coffee, if ya please.”

  I slowly, methodically get it for him as my blood pumps. My skin heats up, feeling Zach’s gaze still on me. I give Dirk his coffee, and on the way out the door, he punches Zach in the arm.

  “See ya ’round, hoss?”

  Zach doesn’t say anything. He’s still watching me. Barry has stopped setting up at the table, and he’s watching, too, but with something like an amused gaze.

  Everyone looks at me, then pretends to return to their business. Even Gwen wanders back to the table where Grace is waiting with her eyes on Barry.

  Zach walks closer, and with every one of his steps, my adrenaline tears through me all the faster.

  I finally find my voice. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Just passing through.”

  Barry chuffs, but Zach doesn’t mind him. He only comes closer.

  My pulse throbs in my neck, in my ears. He’s so close now that I can look right into the piercing blue of his eyes and imagine sliding off his glasses, then pulling him to me so I can feel him against me, just to make sure he’s actually here.

  Is he really just passing through to see me? I doubt it. So what is he doing here?

  He jerks his chin toward Abby but talks to me. “Have you seen the latest ABCs of Cherry Valley?”

  “Wait,” Abby says. She presses a button on her keyboard, then gives Zach a thumbs-up. She sends me a sweet smile. “Now it’s posted.”

  When I look back at Zach, his smile has turned a little bit uncertain. Or maybe it’s just something I see in his eyes.

  “You should look at it, Mandy,” he says quietly.

  “Why?”

  From the other side of the room, Grace Milton says, “Just look at it, for heaven’s sake!”

  So I do, and I don’t absorb anything at first. It’s only a jumble of letters that slowly circle one another, then finally come together.

  Just when you think nothing happens in Cherry Valley, we get another sharp turn on the Full Circle Technologies rollercoaster. They’ve had a change of heart, folks, and they’re coming to town after all! Their spokesman, Zach Hamilton, had this to say:

  I stop there so I can look at that spokesman himself. My heartbeat is clamoring now. There’s a wad in my throat that barely lets me speak.

  “Full Circle is coming back?” I croak.

  “I never wanted to leave you in the first place, Mandy.”

  It takes me a moment, then my throat closes up all the way in a rush of aching heat.

  He came back.

  Something inside me opens with a poignant roar, and I don’t care who knows it as I clamber over the counter on my way to him, knocking everything to the floor. He meets me, pulling me into his arms, and as we kiss, the world swirls around me — cheering voices, clapping hands, colors expanding into a horizon that blinds me.

  I don’t care who sees us. I don’t care who talks about us.

  I don’t even know how we manage to get from the counter to the backroom, but we do. All I hear is Gwen Milton telling the room that coffee is on hold for a while, then the door slamming behind us. All I feel is Zach’s lips against mine, warm and wonderful. His fingers grip my hair, loosening my ponytail, loosening up everything in me that’s always kept me in a shell, and I let every piece of me fall apart because he’s here. He came back.

  For me.

  We crash against the supply shelves, but his arms cushion me. The shock is enough to break us apart for one breathless moment.

  “It’s like you never went anywhere,” I say, stroking his face, my fingertips whisking against the slight stubble that’s already burning my cheeks from his kisses.

  “I never stopped trying to find a way to get back here.” He runs his knuckles over my face as if he hasn’t seen me this way before — unprotected, unguarded. “I couldn’t give up, even when I thought you’d given up on me.”

  “I’m so sorry for that. God, Zach, I said things that I wish I could take back. I wanted to tell you that, but I was …”

  “Afraid.” He kisses my forehead. “I know.”

  Of course he knew, and that’s why he’s here. He never lost faith in me, even when he should have.

  I nearly trip on my words. “I was afraid to admit that I fell in love with you the first damned time you stood in front of me at the counter out there.”

  “I might’ve loved you even before I got in line.”

  I lower my head and smile against his chest, smelling the clean of his shirt and the skin beneath it. He holds me tighter, so tight that I can feel his hard body against mine. He’s already aroused, and it didn’t take a mov
ie to get him there.

  It only took me, and even though I still can’t believe it, I start trying to.

  I was enough to bring him back, and from now on, I’m going to make sure he never has a reason to go anywhere.

  He tightens his fingers on me, bringing me up for another kiss. He skims his hands over my hips, my waist. When he cups my breasts, I haul in a sharp breath, dizzy, needful, nearly running over with how much I’ve missed him and how much I want him.

  And love him. God, I love him.

  I’m thinking about how he really must love me if he returned here, but … odd. He’s not doing anything. He’s not even taking off my shirt. He seems to want me to tell him that it’s okay, kind of like the day we first got together, when he was so gentlemanly about letting me set the pace.

  “Tell me what you want, Zach,” I say.

  He laughs softly. “You don’t want to tell me?”

  “I want to hear you say it.” I want him to wheedle me, persuade me, even though I already know what I’m going to give him from now on, heart and soul.

  He whispers in my ear, and I suck in a breath as I go tight for him. Then I bite my lower lip, lifting my arms over my head in surrender.

  There’s heat in his gaze that turns up the fire in me, too, and when he eases my long-sleeved shirt over my torso, my head, then my arms, I shiver in front of him.

  “Your bra,” he tells me.

  I give him that as well, slowly unhooking it from the back, then baring myself to him.

  No dares this time, just an invitation. Just me.

  He hungrily takes me in with his gaze, and from there, we become a hot mess. I rip off my boots and everything else on my lower half. He barely gets off his jacket and shirt, then undoes his fly before I’m on him.

  But he’s on me, too, backing me against the wall as I jump up and hook my legs around his hips, feeling how ready he is as he presses between my thighs. I moan, then bite my lip again to keep the sound in, and then he takes himself out.

  “Tell me what you want,” I whisper to him as he fumbles in his pocket with his other hand.

  “Just you.” He takes out a condom. “Only you.”