Finding the Magic (Tom Kelly's Boys Book 1)

by McMillin, Casey

  "He's showing me some furniture pieces at five o'clock," I said. My expression made it clear that even I didn't believe it. Her eyes were already huge, but they widened, looking like they might pop out of her head at any second.

  Just then, a text came through on my phone. I was glad I'd told her the truth, because when I looked down at it and saw that it was Drake, I couldn't contain the smile that spread across my face. There was nothing there besides his address—just the street name and number, but I still smiled at the sight of it.

  "What?" she asked.

  "That's him texting me his address."

  She shook her head and stared at me with that same disbelieving grin. "I can't believe you're really going through with it," she said. "Do you want me to go with you?"

  And there it was—the million-dollar question. I could say yes and have the beautiful Megan with me when I went over there or I could say no and be awkward with my friend. Clearly, the latter won out.

  "I think I got it," I said. "Thank you though."

  "Are you scared?" she whispered.

  I shrugged. I was scared, but probably not for the reasons she was thinking or for the reasons I should be. "Not really," I said, knowing that was the easiest answer. I stooped down to peer through the hole again. "I wish this thing wasn't so close to the ground," I said, grunting quietly with the effort.

  She giggled. "If it was easier to see through, they'd probably notice it was there." I focused for a few seconds on the backyard, but couldn't see any movement. There was quite a bit of yard out of my line of vision, and I wasn't going to sit there and wait for him to reappear. I would see him up close in a few short hours anyway.

  I stood up and dusted off my shorts. Either out of guilt or simply wanting to fill the silence, I almost invited Megan to come with me, but I made the choice to keep my mouth shut and go by myself.

  I started getting ready at three o'clock since I didn't have anything better to do. I washed, dried, and styled my long wavy hair and put on make up and perfume and all the other good stuff girls do when we're trying to be irresistible. I was going to need all the confidence I could get with someone who looked like Drake. That is, unless of course by some fluke he wasn't nearly as good looking up close as he was from a distance. I really doubted that, though.

  Megan was in the living room when I left, and I was a little embarrassed when she noticed my efforts, but she was really sweet about it and said I looked hot. Hot was a bit of an overstatement, but I was as tempting as I was gonna get without the help of a professional.

  "You sure you're good alone," she asked just as I was about to leave. "I can ride with you and just wait in the car if you want." I could tell she was genuinely concerned for my safety.

  "I'll be fine," I said. I pointed to the back of the yard, "and if I don't come back, you know where to come looking for me." I laughed a little to prove how not-worried I was.

  "All right," she said, "you call me if you need anything."

  "I will. I'm sure I'll be right back."

  I smiled as I shut the door behind me. It was a gorgeous day, and the small, white VW I bought when I moved back down here also happened to be a convertible, so even though my hair was freshly washed, I put the top down.

  Most of my closet was black. As a concert pianist, I had lots of black dresses, but also I just liked black and wore a lot of it. I knew it sort of looked morbid compared to all these beach bunnies in Miami, so I'd started to incorporate more colors into my wardrobe. I had on skinny denim capris and a sleeveless black top with delicate ruffles down the front. I added a pair of casual canvas flats that were red with white stripes and a floral scarf, which I tied around my head to hold my hair down while I drove. It wasn't colorful by Miami's standards, but it wasn't all black either.

  I listened to music through my earbuds since I wasn't the type to broadcast my music when the top was down. It took me ten minutes to make my way around to the other side of the island where I could access the front of his house. I realized as I pulled up that Steven had been right about it being gated and virtually inaccessible from the front.

  I parked in front of the gate and got out of my car to check out what looked like some sort of intercom station with a keypad on the side of the gate. I walked over to it, not knowing what in the world I would do once I got there. Then I remembered that I had his phone number and should just call to let him know I was there. I started back toward the car to get my phone, but stopped when I heard a voice come out of the box by the gate.

  "Come on up," he said. "Park by the grey car and come to the front door."

  The gate was already opening by the time I made my way back into the driver's seat.

  The house was gigantic, enormous. It was so big that I honestly didn't know which door could possibly be considered the front. I drove slowly past the front of the beautiful home until I reached a row of parking places There were places for about eight or so cars, but only two of them were occupied, and sure enough one of the occupants was a grey BMW, all tricked out like it must have cost a fortune. I pulled into the space beside it, and put the car in park.

  I adjusted the rearview mirror and took a second to make a few necessary tweaks. I got out of the car, feeling so nervous that it put me in an almost surreal state. It felt like I was moving in slow motion and the front door seemed like a mile away. I walked slowly so that I wouldn't be out of breath when I finally got there. I was halfway up the giant, stone steps that led to the front patio when I noticed the door opening.

  I closed my eyes briefly before I saw who it was. I had to remind myself that this was just some good clean, pirate spying fun, and there was no need to get my nerves and feelings all wrapped up in it.

  And there he was.

  Well over six feet of perfect, male surfer wonderfulness propped casually against the doorframe, watching me approach. He had on faded jeans that rode low on his hips with an off-white, linen button-up shirt that was, you heard me, all the way unbuttoned. Holy moly. His shirt was completely not-connected down the front, and I could clearly see the ripples of his abdomen.

  It was simply too much to take in. His face was so beautiful that I wouldn't hesitate to use the word angelic to describe it. He had a strong nose and jaw with full lips, and gorgeous, stormy-blue eyes that had a natural squint and could pierce like a knife. Add the long, dirty blonde surfer hair and three days worth of stubble on his jawline, and it was all I could do not to crack up laughing out of nerves at the sight of him.

  "You should have told me you looked like this. I would have told you to come over at eight instead of five." He smiled when he said it, and I was so completely distracted by his gorgeousness that it took me a minute to figure out that he was paying me a compliment.

  "I can come back," I said turning as if I was about to head back down the stairs. I looked back at him with a little smirk, expecting him to laugh or at least say something in response to my joke. He didn't smile. He just regarded me with an expression I couldn't figure out.

  "I'm just playing," I said.

  I assumed he'd invite me in as I continued to walk, but he didn't move when I approached, so when I was only a foot or two from him, I stopped walking and looked up. He just stood there casually and stared at me like he had all day.

  I was nervous and flustered and didn't know what to say. I wondered if he could tell how bent out of shape I was.

  When it was obvious that he wasn't going to move, I took a step back. "Are you bringing the furniture out here?" I asked.

  "No," he said, smiling casually.

  I just looked from side to side as if I must be missing something. Finally I looked back at him and was floored at how comfortable he seemed to make eye contact with me.

  I wasn't comfortable with it at all. His gorgeousness was mesmerizing, and I thought I might just be put under some sort of spell if I looked right at him.

  "What's your story?" he asked. He cocked his head in a curious expression as if the question was seri
ous. I giggled and he narrowed his eyes, offended. "What's your story?" he repeated. "Tell me something about you."

  I shook my head, smiling and unable to believe he was going to stand there until I thought of something to tell him. "I was a famous pianist until a few months ago, and now I'm going back to school to become a teacher."

  He studied me as if my statement had genuinely surprised him. I hadn't planned on telling him the truth, but I had an uncontrollable urge to use the word famous about myself after I realized he was even more gorgeous than I thought.

  "Why'd you quit being famous?" he asked, crossing his arms.

  "That wasn't my plan," I said, giggling a little bit to keep it light. "That part sort of just happened."

  "What happened?" he asked.

  I gave him a frustrated glance as if I shouldn't have to answer that question. "I should have probably told you my name when you asked for some information about me. Let's start over. My name is Addison. Addison Connor."

  He made a shocked expression. "Addison Connor? The Addison Connor? I didn't know that's who you were." He shook his head in disappointment. "We were big fans."

  I put my head in my hands. "Seriously," I asked weakly. I was so humiliated.

  "No."

  I glanced at him. "What? Do you really know who I am?"

  "No," he said, laughing. "I'm just messin' with you." He reached out and ruffed my hair like I was his little sister, and I glared at him for tricking me like that.

  He regarded me with an expression that turned from smiling to serious. He seemed so comfortable standing in the doorway that I wondered if we'd ever go inside. "Did you choke in front of a huge audience?" he asked. I stared at him for a few seconds, contemplating lying before I responded.

  "That's exactly what I did. I was playing with the London Phil, and I completely forgot the piece. It just inexplicably left my brain. Anyway, it's over now and I'm going to be a teacher. Life goes on. Can we go inside and look at the furniture?"

  He regarded me patiently as if wondering why I was in such a hurry. "What is it you're wanting to have built?"

  I knew it would be ridiculous for me to go there without having decided this, so it was a question I had already thought through. It was a question I was glad to answer since it meant getting off the subject of choking on stage.

  "My grandmother used to have a little half-table that I remember and wanted to see if you could do something similar."

  "You mean something to go against a wall?" he asked. He had a very slight foreign accent that I couldn't identify. It sounded almost Jamaican, but I didn't let myself get too caught up in trying to guess.

  "Yeah, a little half circle that fit up against a wall. She used to keep a wooden box on it that looked like a treasure chest and I loved to dig in it when I was a kid even though it only held things like letter openers and scissors and stuff."

  It was a true story. There really was a little table at my grandma's that I used to go to all the time when I was a kid, but it didn't hit me till after I said it that I just said the words treasure chest to a pirate.

  Chapter 9

  Drake didn't flinch at the treasure chest comment, thank God, but I still reprimanded myself and vowed to not let out any other stupid remarks.

  "I can build whatever you want, but it'll be a while since I have a few jobs ahead of you."

  "That's fine."

  "And I'm expensive as hell," he said. "I won't even quote you a price. I'll just keep track of the hours I worked on it and let you know how much it is when you pick it up. Does that work for you?"

  I smiled. "You sure do your best to encourage people not to buy from you," I said.

  "I just wanted you to know what you're in for," he said. "I'll show you a few of the pieces I've done and you can choose your wood and what type of finish you want on it." He turned to go in the house, and I followed him.

  "Where are you from?" I asked.

  "I lived in Jamaica until I was ten. Why, can you still hear an accent? I thought I'd lost it."

  "I thought it might be Jamaican, but it's really hard to hear for sure," I said.

  He stopped walking and turned to look back at me. "This is one of mine," he said. He reached out to touch a beautiful wooden chair. It was seamless and modern and beautifully polished, and I stared at it wondering how something that perfect could be built by hand.

  "You made that for real?" I asked. "Can I sit in it?"

  He smiled and nodded and then watched as I slid into it and wiggled around to get settled. "What else did you do?" I asked. I looked around the living room, trying to spot things that were made of wood.

  "The big table is mine, and the chairs, but that's just about all we have here. Like I said, most of my stuff is made to order. I have a few works in progress in my shop, but this is just about all we have in the house. I tried to hold on to a few other things, but I have a few collectors that won't take no for an answer. They make me offers I can't refuse. They've bought up everything except for the ones you see here."

  "And I assume it's just because you won't sell these."

  "Exactly," he said. "One of my dad's friends offered me eighty-thousand for the table the other night."

  I let out a laugh that I covered with a cough. "Maybe you should just give me a ballpark figure on that little table after all."

  He smiled reassuringly as if there was no need for me to worry, and then he grabbed my hand and took off, pulling me behind him. We walked down a long hallway hand-in-hand, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I should be afraid for my life. I was following a total stranger who was also most likely a dangerous pirate down a long, dark hallway.

  So far the furniture story was checking out. I was doubtful at this point that Steven had his story straight about this guy being a pirate. Pirates didn't have blue eyes and blond hair, did they? I thought the prerequisite for being a pirate was that you had black hair and bad teeth.

  At the end of the hallway was a door. He stopped and turned to face me before he opened it. "I don't usually let people in here," he said.

  "I don't have to go in," I said. "I like the stuff you have in there enough to know that I want to have you build—"

  "I want you to come in," he said, opening the door.

  I had no idea what to expect and the size of the room really surprised me. It was an absolutely gorgeous workshop. His tools and materials were neat and organized, and I looked around, imagining him at work.

  "It smells cool in here," I said, taking in a deep breath through my nose. That was a weird choice for my first observation, but it really did have a pleasing aroma. I could smell wood and maybe even the oil from some of the metal on his equipment, but there was also an underlying masculine scent like sandalwood. He smiled and watched me as I took everything in.

  "Do you party?" he asked.

  I smiled but narrowed my eyes at him slightly. "I'm not sure what that means exactly, but yeah, I guess so."

  No, no, no. I absolutely did not party. I was not a partier at all. My entire life had been devoted to memorizing piano parts, and never, ever had I been the type to go out and try to meet guys. Kade was a homebody too, so it worked out.

  "What's the matter?" he asked, drawing me from my thoughts.

  "Me? Oh nothing, I was just thinking."

  "You got that fifty yard stare when I mentioned partying with me tonight."

  Did he just say what I thought he did? Oh shit. The heart palpitations started immediately.

  "You didn't say anything about a specific person or time," I said. "You just asked me if I liked to party."

  He moved to stand next to me, and got so close that there was literally no space between us. I could've stepped back, but I didn't want to. I was overwhelmed by his proximity. I could see his beautiful, flat stomach under his unbuttoned shirt, and I felt like I might forget to breathe. He reached around me and placed his hand gently at the small of my back. He leaned in to speak near my ear, and his hair fell in front of my fa
ce. I was utterly defenseless. I did forget to breathe. I was literally holding my breath when he spoke in my ear.

  "I was thinking tonight seemed like a good option… unless you already have a boyfriend."

  I stayed quiet for a second, reminding myself to breathe and trying to figure out just how far I was willing to go with this guy.

  Normally, I was a pretty conservative person, but Drake Kelly seemed to be capable of making me do things I wouldn't normally even consider.

  "I don't have a boyfriend, at least not anymore. I used to. We broke up. And I'm good with hanging out tonight, but we need to establish what you mean by party," I added, cautiously, "because I'm not trying to get arrested or anything."

  He dropped his hand from my back and smiled down at me. "I'm not trying to get arrested either," he said. "Are you eighteen?"

  I nodded.

  "Are you a cop?"

  I shook my head.

  "Do you, Addison Connor who used to be famous and have a boyfriend, want to hang out with me, Drake, tonight?"

  There was just absolutely no way I was going to say no. I was officially smitten and was incapable of denying him anything.

  "What did you have in mind?" I asked, shrugging noncommittally.

  "My dad and brother are getting home in a little while and we have some friends coming over to celebrate."

  I felt a chill go up my spine. That whole statement sounded very piratey, didn't it? Had I just been invited to a pirate party?

  "What are you celebrating?" I asked.

  "Cash."

  "Cash?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're celebrating cash?"

  "Yeah."

  "Why?"

  "Because we have a lot of it."

  I smirked at him like he must be joking, but he just gave me a deadpan expression. Then, one corner of his mouth raised in an irresistible smile. "So whatcha say? Are you my girl for tonight?"

  I hesitated, figuring out how I felt about a one-night stand with Drake Kelly.