Dad laughed, snapping me back to attention.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“Natalie King.” He held my gaze, head bobbing, waiting for me to get the joke.
I didn’t. “And?”
“Cole.” He lifted his hands to the sky, like the answer was obvious. “Nat King Cole.”
“Jeez, Dad. Really?”
“You know, your grandparents were huge Nat King Cole fans. Dad had all his albums. He used to dance your grandma around the kitchen, singing all those oldies to her.”
The weight on my chest lightened. “He used to sing to me and Cadence, too. All the damn time.”
Dad laughed, highlighting his wrinkles. “He was the only one could get you to sleep sometimes. You’d cry until you were purple-faced. Your gramps would come over, take you out of your mama’s arms, shut himself in the bedroom with you, and start crooning. You’d be out cold in no time.” His eyes shimmered. “God, I miss him.”
“Me, too, Dad. Me, too.”
I stood outside the bank, feeling every bit the jackass, but determined to right my wrong.
At five thirty-five, a scrawny security guard escorted Natalie though the door. Her smile fell from her face when she saw me, that disappointment a sledgehammer to my chest.
She turned to her friend and said, “See you tomorrow, Tim,” then came my way.
Though we stood mere feet apart, miles of wrong separated us. Her red-rimmed glasses matched her floral blouse and red wool coat. God damn, the woman must have stock in an eyewear company.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, staring at my chest.
Black slacks covered her legs, thank God. Made focusing on the task at hand easier. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Okay.” She moved past and headed toward the intersection. “Apology accepted.”
I followed a pace behind. “I was rude and insensitive.”
“No,” she said over her shoulder, her steps hurried. “Just honest. I like that about you.”
I reached for her, then reconsidered. That should’ve been the end of our convo. I apologized; she forgave. But my conscience wasn’t eased, so I asked, “Can I walk you home?”
“Sure. On one condition.” She reached the street corner and pounded the crosswalk button.
I stood at her left, an arm’s length away, giving her space. Or giving me space. I wasn’t sure. “What would that be?”
“No flirting.”
“Fine.”
“No smiling either,” she said, staring across the street.
“Seriously. Why?”
“You have dimples.” Her lips curled. “Dimples make me stupid.”
“See. I feel like that was a flirt.”
The signal changed and Natalie stepped off the curb. “No. Not a flirt. A fact.”
“Okay. Christ. Can we start over?”
“Sure.”
“Listen. I was talking with my Dad yesterday. He mentioned an incident in high school—”
She threw up a hand, cutting me off. “That’s very personal.”
“I need to know, friend to friend, was Victoria involved?”
“Cole. You’ll have to ask your fiancée. Will she tell you the truth? I don’t know, but that’s between you and her. It’s not my business.”
“You’re going to therapy because of her.”
A huff. “Yes.”
“Would it help you to know that Victoria’s been in therapy as well?”
“Help me? No. Surprise me? Yes.” She did a little hop to avoid a crack in the sidewalk.
“How horrible was she exactly?”
“Oh, my God.” Bringing her hands to her cheeks, she shook her head. “Can we not with this conversation? Please?”
I smiled, hoping to break the tension.
Lips pursed, she shook a pointed finger at my face. “I said no smiling.”
“I can’t help it. You’re kind of funny when you’re mad.”
“Don’t make me angry, Cole Adams. You won’t like me when I’m angry.”
“Okay, Bruce Banner. This is me backing off.”
Natalie stopped in front of a hipster boutique, shoulders slumped, handbag dangling from delicate fingers. Worried eyes met mine, a trace of sadness leaking through. “What do you really want, Cole?”
“Truth?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her gaze floating over my shoulder, then settling back on me. “Let’s just get it out in the open so we can move on.”
I moved closer to block her from the biting winter wind and shoved my hands in my pockets because, fuck me, I ached to touch what wasn’t mine. “We’re attracted to each other, no sense denying it.”
“I won’t deny it.”
“But it’s more than physical. There’s something about you I can’t shake. I feel like fate brought us together for some reason. And that’s why I tried to be friends.”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming on.” Chin tucked into her coat, she stared at my chest.
“I abhor cheaters.”
“So do I. What’s your point?”
I would burn in hell for saying so, but heaven help me, I needed to purge. Natalie deserved the truth. “I’m cheating on Victoria every time I close my eyes and see you instead of her. I’m cheating every time I wake up in the morning and wonder what you’re doing before I realize her side of the bed is empty.”
“Stop.” Liquid eyes met mine.
“I’m committing adultery every time I remember the taste of your lips or get fucking hard thinking about that kiss.”
“That’s not fair, Cole,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I didn’t know you were with anyone when I kissed you.”
“I’m being unfaithful every time I get jealous listening to Martin talk about you. How he loves falling asleep at your side, waking up with you. When he complains about being exhausted because the two of you were at it all night.”
“Stop, Cole.” Brows pinched, she stepped back, bumping into the shop window.
“You’re all I see, Natalie. Every time I close my fucking eyes. I need you to know I’m not just being an asshole when I shut you out. It’s just that… Fuck, this isn’t coming out right.”
“Oh, you’re on a roll. Don’t stop now.”
Christ. I needed her to understand.
“I can’t like you and I can’t ignore you, so I’m trying to hate you, Natalie King. Because hating you is still a feeling, and I’d rather have that than nothing.”
Natalie stared long and hard. Her tears were like acid, a slow IV drip straight into my chest. What a fucking disaster.
“Say something.”
With a nod, her eyes met mine. Then she swung, her designer bag hitting my shoulder. With her free hand, she struck my chest. Again with the bag, the strike aimed at my face. I dodged but didn’t counter. I deserved her wrath.
The little seductress exploded, her cheeks flaming, her finger poking at my sternum. “Fuck you. Fuck you and your dimples. Fuck you and your name. Fuck you for looking at me the way you do. For being everywhere all the fucking time. And fuck you for being in love with the devil.” She raised her chin, challenging. “Yes, I said it. Your fiancée is Satan’s spawn, and she’s going to drag you to the pits of hell. Have fun on that ride, by the way.”
Two angry strides announced her farewell until she stopped and turned. “I don’t know what line of bullshit Martin is feeding you, but that lying bastard has never stepped foot inside my apartment. We’ve never spent the night together. Hell, since we’re dropping confessions, Martin and I have never had sex. Which means, he’s probably getting his rocks off with someone other than me.”
Jesus. Fuck. What have I done?
She took another step back, another agonizing six inches between us. “Thank you for walking me home. Thanks for showing me what kind of man you are. Thank you for giving me a reason to dump your philandering friend.”
A warm breeze blew hair across her face, a mask. A shield. “Yeah. This is good. No more re
ason for us to hang out. Your conscience can be clear. This is me, bowing out gracefully.” She bent at the waist spreading her arms, mocking, then stood straight, an ice-cold fucking statue. “But know this, Cole Adams. We bump into each other again? I’ll be throwing all my hate right back at you.”
Natalie
“You dumped him?” Lacey whisper-yelled, her eyes going wide.
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.” She leaned her hip against the counter, crossed her arms, and scowled. “Last week we were considering a couples trip to Aruba. You seemed happy.”
“There just wasn’t any spark.” I stuck my head in the fridge, pretending to search for something.
“What happened? Did he hurt you?” she asked my back, her breath blowing my hair.
The truth would upset Lacey, which in turn would upset Ellis, who no doubt would have a talk with Martin. And who knew where that would lead? They were best friends. I wouldn’t be the cause of a rift between those men.
I grabbed a bottle of ginger beer and turned to face my friend. “Lacey, I wanted to like him. I really did. I gave it a good shot. But like I said, there wasn’t any spark. Wasn’t fair to waste his time.”
“Waste whose time?” Mom came around the corner, folded dishtowels in hand.
“Martin.” Lacey pulled a drawer open, then snatched the towels from my mom and started her ritual of arranging them two across and four high.
Hands to hips, Mom prodded, “Who’s Martin?”
Lacey gasped, clutching her chest. “You didn’t tell Linda about Martin? Oh, Nat Brat. You really don’t like him.”
“I tried.” I moved from the fridge to across the room, a nice buffer but still stifling considering the topic.
“Well, good for you, Nugget.” Mom pulled a dryer sheet off her pant leg. “You’ve put yourself back out there. That’s great. Mike Harkness said his son is moving back to town. He’s—”
“No!” Lacey and I shouted in unison.
Mike Harkness Junior was handsome and likable as long as he kept his lips zipped and shoes on his feet. They guy was smarter than sin, but cited oddball facts nonstop and had an unfortunate and seemingly incurable case of smelly feet.
“Okay. Okay.” Mom, the perpetual matchmaker, surrendered with a laugh. “So who’s Martin?”
Lacey’s brows pinched. “Ellis’s best friend.”
“Is that going to be awkward when you all get together?” Dropping her arms to her sides, she hit me with a worried glare.
“No.” I shook by head too hard and too fast. “Our split was amicable.” Hell, Martin had barely blinked an eye when we met for coffee and I gave him the, it’s not you, it’s me spiel.
Hunched over his phone before he stood from the table, he’d left me sitting with two full coffees and a half-hearted, “See ya around, kid.”
I could handle a run-in with Martin. He meant nothing to me.
But Cole? Mister I can’t like you, and I can’t ignore you, so I’m trying to hate you. Blah, blah, blah. Well, he’d already decimated me with his cruel, yet beautiful, confession. Another encounter with that man, I’d be ground to dust, my honest intentions the mortar, my sinful desires the pestle.
Cole liked me. And that sucked. Because I liked him, too. Too much. Only, I couldn’t like him. How foolish to think I would’ve been okay being part of their group, watching from the wings, while the one person I hated in the world lived her happily ever after with the man I had an agonizing crush on.
So I took myself out of the picture. Easy-peasy. Problem solved.
“You girls staying for dinner?” Mom asked.
“No,” I grunted, throwing all my muscle into popping the lid on my drink. “Just here to pick up the suitcase.”
To which she replied over her shoulder, “Dad set it in the hall for you.”
I turned to my best friend. My happy, giddy, so-in-love sister. “So, where is he taking you?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I love surprises,” Mom said from the refrigerator.
Bottle to my lips I asked, “How do you know what to pack?” I chugged, then winced, the ginger burning my throat.
“He gave me a list.” Lacey’s cheeks blazed, meaning juicy gossip was in my future.
Mom’s head popped up. She whipped around to face us, cauliflower in one hand, a bottle of IPA in the other.
“Come on, before Mom goes Katie Couric on you.” Hooking Lacey’s elbow, I made for the front door. “Bye, Mom. See you Sunday. Love you!”
“Bye, Mama King,” Lacey yelled, her sandals scuffing along the hall. “Thanks for letting me borrow your suitcase!”
“Bye, girls.”
Safely inside the car, I begged. “What’s on the list? What’s on the list?”
“Nothing,” she said with a shrug and an evil grin. One thing I hated about my best friend? Although she wore her heart on her sleeve, she was a master at feeding you juicy details only a nibble at a time, making you drool for more.
“Lacey. Come on.” I squeezed her wrist. “You can tell me. You know I keep a secret better than anyone.”
“That’s why I love you. But seriously. The list was blank. Well, except for the picture he drew at the bottom.” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her handbag, carefully straightened the page, then handed it over. The header read: What to pack for our trip.
Below was a numbered list, one through five. Each number read NOTHING.
At the bottom of the page, he’d hand drawn a beach chair, a beach ball, a pair of flip-flops, and an umbrella, indicating she only need dress for warm weather.
“Oh, my God.” I slapped a hand to my chest. “He’s taking you to a private beach. The two of you are going to be naked all day and all night, boinking on the beach.”
“Boinking on the beach?”
“You better stock up on sunscreen.”
“Oh, Natalie.” She dropped her head back on the seat. “I didn’t know it was possible to fall for someone so hard and so fast.”
“Love looks good on you, Lacey Lulu.”
“You’re really not sad about Martin?”
“Not even a little bit.” Truth.
“I’m sorry we didn’t make a love connection.”
I’d made a connection all right, just with the wrong man. But that was a burden I’d carry to my grave. “C’mon. Let’s go home and get you packed.”
God was testing me. He had to be. After my last run-in with Cole, I’d un-joined his gym to avoid any uncomfortable altercations. I’d managed one week without a glimpse of his smolder. I had even started driving to work rather than walking to avoid bumping into him on the street.
Yet, there I stood, peonies in hand, face-to-chest with the man I was supposed to hate, and I couldn’t rile one ounce of indignation.
Even when I asked, “What are you doing here?” with as much vinegar as I could muster, my voice sounded light and airy because every cell in my body sang for joy in his presence.
Wrong on too many levels.
With a shrug and a huff, he answered, “Buying flowers.”
“In my flower shop?”
“Technically”—he gestured around the space with a sweep of his arm—“it’s mine.”
I was done. “Give me a freakin’ break. You own this building, too?”
“No.” He unleashed a deadly dimple. “Not yet. Should be mine by the end of next week, though.”
“Seriously.” I poked his cheek, knowing full well I had no right to touch. “Put that thing away.”
The skin between his brows bunched. His dimple faded. “Since you’re here, and I’m here, can we talk?”
Another test.
“There’s nothing for us to talk about.” I stepped left to move around him.
Cole blocked my escape. “You ended things with Martin.”
“It was for the best.”
“Why?”
I pinned him with a challenging glare. “You really need to ask?”
&n
bsp; “No.” He looked over my shoulder. Scratched the side of his head. Dropped his gaze to my bouquet. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You left him because of me, because of what I said.”
Dear Lord, the room was hot. “I didn’t leave him, Cole. To be honest, we were never really together.”
“How do you mean?” He shifted the long wrapped box from his left hand to his right.
“He was never really with me, even when he was. His attention was always elsewhere.”
“Fucking prick.” With a huff, he shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy. I’d die for him, but he’s oblivious when it comes to relationships.”
“Well. That’s not my problem anymore.”
Cole stared long and hard, not his usual melt me into the tile stare, but more a probe.“I like your glasses.” His voice was gruff, hesitant almost. “How many pair do you own exactly?” There was no judgement or mocking in his question, only curiosity.
Some women loved shoes. I loved eyewear. “I like to match my outfits,” was all I offered. I would not, could not, acknowledge the wholly inappropriate butterflies in my belly.
I would not fail the test.
I reminded him there was no reason for us to be talking, or friendly, or in close proximity for any reason by bringing that one reason to the forefront of our conversation. “Are those flowers for Victoria?”
Cole lifted the box in his hand. Swallowed. Nodded. “She’s been under the weather.” Shoulders tensing, he shifted, putting distance between us. “Who are you buying flowers for?”
“My mom loves peonies,” I lied. It was me. I loved peonies. Every year on my birthday, Lacey bought them for me. Only this year, she was naked on a beach somewhere with the man of her dreams. So instead of pouting over my scrambled eggs, I walked to the floral shop, my floral shop, and bought my own damn flowers.
“Nats,” came an unwelcome voice over my shoulder, shooting prickly bites up and down my spine.
I whipped around, my back slamming into Cole’s front. Rock hard, warm, and not budging.
L.O.V.E. Page 9
