Chapter 7
Without rhyme or reason, Gavin found himself on Interstate 12 going towards Sherwood Forest. He couldn’t keep going like this any longer. He thought he had moved on and was over Melanie, but deep down he knew he was still in love with her. Natasha knew it too—which was why she had left him. He couldn’t commit to her or anyone else because Melanie was still on his heart and mind.
That final argument had been an eye-opener. And with every accusation that Natasha rained down on him, he couldn’t defend himself. When she walked out of his home, he knew he wouldn’t fight to get her back. She was right. It had always been Melanie. It would always be Melanie.
Twenty minutes later, he was standing outside a tan brick house which held his the greatest highs he’d ever experienced and some of the lows as well. After three knocks, the door flew open.
“What did I tell you about opening the door without finding out who it is first?” he scolded. “Especially at night.”
Melanie locked the door behind him saying, “I looked through the peep hole. That’s what it’s for.” She frowned at him and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No, I just needed to talk.” He scanned the living room, and a slight bit of alarm coursed through him. “You going somewhere?” He pointed to all the boxes in the middle of the floor.
“No, just doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.” She went to an open box and placed a few items inside. “Getting rid of some things.”
“Oh, you’re spring cleaning?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “More like life cleaning.”
“Okay … You’re going to have to explain that one.”
Melanie taped the top of the box and was silent for a moment. Something about her was more … settled, almost peaceful.
When she stood to face him, she said, “I realized that my house represents my life, and until I can clean out my house, I’ll never be able to move on with my life.”
She motioned for him to follow her down the hallway and straight into her master bedroom.
“You changed your room, too.” He pointed to the bed, which was now facing the door.
“A fresh new start. Did you notice something else?”
He tried not to appear too delighted. “As soon as I crossed the threshold.” Did she mean that she was changing her life to make room for someone else? Could he dare hope that someone was him?
“I packed Aaron’s picture away, along with a few other things.”
Gavin placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”
“Me, too.” She placed her hand on top of his. “I feel like I’ve been carrying a load around for so long, and it does feel good to finally be able to let it go.” She turned and led him back into the living room, took a seat on the sofa, and gestured for him to join her. “So… what’s going on?”
He placed his head in his hands before finally speaking. “Are we going to talk about this, or should we just keep pretending?”
This time it was Melanie who lowered her gaze. “But there’s nothing we can do about that. You’ve already moved on, and maybe that’s a good thing.” She looked over to him.
“No, what it’s going to take is the two of us figuring out what we really want,” he said, moving closer so there were only a few inches between them. “I think I made myself pretty clear about my feelings for you.”
“Says the man who’s in a relationship.”
“That’s the thing,” he shot back. “I’m not in a relationship right now.”
“What? She couldn’t handle your workload either?” Melanie asked, raising an eyebrow.
“She couldn’t handle that my heart was with you.”
Melanie’s cheeks flushed a bright red, and she turned away from him. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”
“Don’t say anything you don’t mean,” he replied, taking her into his arms, grateful that she didn’t resist. “If you can look at me and tell me honestly that you’re not in love with me, then I’ll have no choice but to accept that. And I promise you I’ll never bring this up again.”
Melanie’s heart felt as though it would beat straight through her chest. Since her meeting with Mama Rosa, she held out a slim hope that there was still a chance for them to work things out. She sat in silence for what felt like eternity before she finally spoke. “I am in love with you, but—”
“No buts. Why is there always a but?” he asked, using his index finger to lift her chin so their gazes met.
“Because this is important. Why did Natasha really break up with you?” she asked.
“I was distracted. She didn’t feel like I was giving her the attention she needed. But how could I when my mind was always on you?”
“Was it really because of me… or because of this?” She picked up The Advocate and flashed the front page in front of him, SERIAL RAPIST STRIKES AGAIN, the headlines read. “You’ve been obsessed with this freak ever since this started, and the obsession only grew stronger when your cousin was attacked.” She placed the paper to the side. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t care, but finding him isn’t your job. You have very smart detectives who are more than capable of handling this case. I want to be with you, Gavin, I really do but when you had that criminal in your sights, even when you were off duty, it took up a great majority of your time.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I don’t want to go through the same thing all over again. We have to figure out how to make this work.”
“I don’t need time to know that I want to be with you. Come here.” He held his hand out to her. When she didn’t move, he pulled her up and placed her directly in front of him. “I want you to know that I hear what you’re saying. One way or another, I’m going to prove to you that all I want is to be with you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “All I need to know is that you want me, too.”
She laid her head on his chest. “I want to be happy.”
“And I want to make you happy,” he said softly. “I know you don’t believe me, but you’ll see.”
All he wanted to do was touch her and caress her soft skin. But of course he couldn’t do any of that. Instead, he gently kissed her forehead before leaving out the door.
Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER
Gavin walked Melanie to her door.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “And we were actually able to complete a whole date. Wow, that’s six weekends in a row. We’re on a roll!”
“You were right,” he said, smiling down at her. “I have to start trusting my men to do the job they signed up for. When I’m with you, you’re my focus. I hope you’re starting to see that now.”
She answered his smile with one of her own. “I am and I want to thank you.”
“For what? The date?”
“No, for your patience. Your love and support, but most of all … second chances. Most men would’ve been gone a long time ago.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he whispered, inching closer to her. “That moment in the cafeteria when you first shared your lunch with me, I knew you were someone special. I know that’s hard to believe considering we were so young, but when I finally figured out what love is, I know it had everything to do with you.”
Melanie took Gavin’s hand and placed it over her chest. “You feel that?”
“Your heartbeat?”
“You feel a heartbeat, but I feel life and that’s because of you. You’ve been there for me through all my ups and downs. You’re the one person I can always depend on no matter what. You gave me the desire to live again, and I don’t ever want to know what life is like without you in it.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. “Baby, I promise you I’m here as long as you’ll have me.”
“How does forever sound?”
“Sounds like heaven to me,” he said, answering her wide smile with one of his own. “I have something for you.” He pulled out a wrinkled
piece of paper.
Melanie crinkled her nose as she frowned at the sheet. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She unraveled the paper, read it, and laughed. “Will you be my girlfriend? Check one.” She looked at him, placed one hand on her hip and tilted her head. “Really?”
“Yes. Really. I wrote that for you one day in class, but I was afraid to give it to you. I found it the other day when I was at Mama’s house.” He grimaced as he added, “She had me cleaning the attic, the basement, the gutters—”
Melanie chuckled. “That sounds like Mama Rosa.”
“I was waiting for the perfect time to give it to you.”
Melanie opened her black clutch and pulled out a pen. “Close your eyes,” she told him, and he complied.
She placed a check in one of the two boxes on the page and pressed the paper into his hands.
Gavin looked at her before opening it. He peeped inside and smiled.
“Yes!” He pumped his fist like he’d just scored the winning goal.
After his celebration, he moved in closer, leaned down and kissed her soft red lips. Melanie placed her arms around his neck, and Gavin could tell, just by her kiss, that she truly belonged to him.
L. A. Lewis, a native of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, is the author of Dirty Little Secrets and Dirty Little Secrets II: Expect the Unexpected. She’s a contributing author to Motherhood Diaries, a literary award-winning anthology. L.A. Lewis is a member of M-LAS, Macro Literary All-Stars, a writing support group formed by National Bestselling Author, Naleighna Kai. Together they’ve published a reference book for authors and aspiring authors titled, Baring it All: The Ins and Outs of Publishing. M-LAS is currently working on several group and individual projects that they will release and market together. L.A. is currently writing her third novel, Wife Swap. Visit www.lalewisexpressions.com to learn more about L.A. Lewis and her upcoming novels and events.
You Can’t Hurry Love
by Susan D. Peters
Chapter 1
April Abbott sat at her mahogany desk looking out over the cerulean waters of Lake Michigan. She pondered the chaos in which she was immersed. Doing damage control for a local pastor and his wife accused of having a threesome with another church member had taken up more time than she could imagine. The media was having more than a field day with this one; they were running this revelation around the ball park.
She stretched her long, slender legs to the left of the desk, kicked off the four-inch black pumps, then sank her toes into the plush sand-colored carpet.
April retrieved her voicemails. The first was from the kinky pastor’s wife, another from their attorney, Channel 5 wanted a statement about the story, multiple contractors were vying to build her dream home, and Dr. Gill, her veterinarian, was reminding her to bring her cat, Precious, in for a checkup.
Just as she was wondering how she was going to get it all done, her long-time assistant swept into her office. “We need to cover a few things today,” Suri said as she kicked off her own shoes and sank her tiny frame into the large charcoal-grey arm chair. Then she gestured to the desk. “Are you sure you won’t take my suggestion about the positioning of this thing?”
April’s office had been arranged by a Feng Shui consultant who insisted that the desk face the lake. Ever the public relations protégé, this didn’t sit well with Suri. For her, it always about the photo op. April was often photographed in her office for newspaper and magazine articles, so having the desk centered in the massive office with Lake Michigan as a backdrop was more to the assistant’s liking.
“This office is arranged exactly as I like it,” April answered smoothly, knowing that her choice countered the predictability and the pace of her life. The water reminded her that life was random and rife with endless possibilities. She liked being able to look out at the waves and ponder that when things got a little crazy.
She pointed to the documents in Suri’s manicured hand. “What do we have?”
“It’s been three months of sorting through proposals and scheduling meetings,” Suri replied. “You need to settle on a contractor. We have two final interviews to do. That is, unless you want to start looking at yet another set of builders.”
April detected that look from Suri, signaling that she was anxious to get some closure, even if April was not.
Suri’s black hair was shaved on the left side but left long on the right. This long wisp was flung over her eyes and the copper streak accentuated the wave that loosely framed her face. On another person, the look would be too flashy, but Suri pulled it all off with confidence. What she wasn’t able to pull off so well was convincing April of anything if she was dead set against it.
“Get them set up the first of next week,” April said. “I’m tired of city living. By this time next year, Precious and I will have a little garden, a little countryside, and a whole lot of peace.”
Suri sighed as she leaned back into the comfortable chair. “I can’t believe you want to commute from the ‘burbs after living this close to the office for so long.”
“Believe it,” April shot back. “I’m tired of gang-bangers dictating where I can and cannot go. I’m finally going to have a life.” She scanned the press release she’d sent out to several news sources, in which she attempted to paint the Christian couple as virtuous instead of the fallen angels they actually were. “All I do is work and fix other people’s messes. I don’t even have enough energy to get into any trouble on my own.” She shifted another set of documents to the side. “I make too much money to be this unfulfilled.”
“I want your life. You get invited to all the best parties and you get paid the big bucks working for celebrities but—” Suri held up her hands in mock surrender. “Boss lady, don’t give me that look. I’m dropping the microphone—no more talking.” She whipped out an iPad and stylus. “I’m going to set Ace Construction up for this coming Monday,” she said and looked up at April, who quickly scanned her calendar and nodded. “You’re booked solid Tuesday, but I think I can get LC Construction set up for Wednesday. How’s that?”
“Works for me.”
Suri checked her watch. “Boss lady, are you going to that Museum of Contemporary Art thingy tonight?”
She called any social event on April’s calendar that was optional a “thingy.”
“Do I need to go?” April asked.
“Well—they are showcasing Jacob Lawrence’s work. Isn’t that why you have it underlined on your calendar?”
“I do love Lawrence,” she sighed, glancing at the wall over her credenza that held an expensive print of Lawrence’s The Seamstress. His work gushed forth with the sights and colors of Harlem. “Yes, tired or not, I’m going. So, what am I wearing, Miss Fashion Consultant?”
Suri shifted into high gear. April was glad the sound of her pacing was absorbed by the carpeting.
Suri’s penciled eyebrows drew in. “How about that sleeveless black dress—the short one—your orange Jimmy Choos, that big orange necklace and cuff bracelet you brought back from Panama? Oh, and carry the black suede clutch.”
“You don’t think that dress is too short?”
“Ooooh, nooo,” she crooned, waving off that thought. “Not with those long legs of yours.” Her eyebrows raised suggestively. “Besides, we single ladies need to put out a little bait.”
“Suppose I’m not trying to catch anything?” April asked, shifting in the chair.
“In a dress like that, you’re bound to reel in a big fish whether you want to or not.”
Chapter 2
Lance Crayton pulled his Diamond White Benz in front of the Museum of Contemporary Art and handed the valet the car keys along with a crisp twenty. “Be careful where you park my car,” he said with a stern look for the young attendant who had perked up at the sight of the vehicle.
“Yes, sir!” said the motivated attendant.
Lance grabbed the navy Armani suit coat from the back seat. He grimaced the moment the attendant
sped away. He was a lot more careful with his Benz than this kid was. It had been his gift to himself upon achieving a business benchmark—the Key Award from the Homebuilders Association of Greater Chicago.
After getting his bachelor’s degree in business and a master’s in architecture, he invested in the construction industry. Everything he earned went toward making sure LC Construction was rock solid. The Key Awards recognized excellence in everything from housing design to landscape and architecture. Now that he had reached a level of success where he could expand, he was doing so in phases, rather than going all out.
As he jogged up the museum’s front steps, a pair of young women scanned him with distinct admiration. Inwardly, he smiled. At six-foot-six and two-hundred thirty-five pounds, his build tended to catch a few eyes. Sometimes being noticed was an ego builder, but other times it was a distraction that he could not afford. With a divorce on the horizon, Lance was not going to allow himself to be distracted by another pretty face or by a woman who did not have her priorities straight.
He slid into his suit coat and adjusted the tie. The mere thought of the wonderful Jacob Lawrence art collection he was there to view made him relax after his grueling day. Sixty of the late artist’s paintings from The Migration Series, painted from 1940 to 1941, were to be on display. Lance loved how Lawrence’s paintings demonstrated the very fabric of African American life. His work spoke better than history books because the images touched the viewers on so many levels.
He walked through the gallery, vowing that he would purchase a couple of prints to hang in his new sanctuary.
“Lawrence’s wife was an artist in her own right,” he overheard a petite woman saying to her escort. “I hear Gwendolyn was something of a cougar, being five years older than him and all.”
Signed, Sealed, Delivered ... I'm Yours Page 24
