I look at Mac—really look at him—for the first time. He’s dressed in black jeans and a perfectly fitted white tee, his leather jacket unzipped and hanging open. His hair is mussed, face covered in scruff and jaw set in a tight line.
He reaches for the last painting, the self-portrait of Kevin crying, then pauses. Ignoring Kevin, he turns to me. “I think this one should stay up. What about you?”
“I…” I gulp. “Mac, what are you… I’m… I don’t…”
“I’ll give you a moment to decide.” He walks to the paintings tossed on the floor and picks them up under an arm. They’re so big they brush the ground as he carries them toward the back door.
I follow him, mute, as someone opens the door for him to step through.
In the back alley, a big green dumpster looms. Mac slings the three canvases over the lip and brushes imaginary dust off his hands, then turns to me. “That fourth one. You want it in here with the others, or you want everyone to see an accurate representation of the kind of man your ex really is?”
Oh. My. God.
I gulp, trying to find my voice. “Leave it up,” I finally croak.
Mac nods, his face remaining grim. Determined. He pats the pockets of his jeans, front and back, then his jacket, and finally reaches into his breast pocket to pull out a silver Zippo lighter. He flicks it open and lights it. It flickers in the gentle breeze, and his eyes return to mine. “Your choice, babe. Say the word, and those pieces of trash are going up in flames.”
“Trash!” Kevin splutters behind me. “You can’t do this. You can’t ruin them. That’s my art! I haven’t even had time to have these recorded and photographed for my catalogue raisonné. If you burn them, it’s like they don’t even exist. That’s my best work!”
The gallery owner clears her throat. “Mr. Paulson, you signed the papers, which means—”
“He can’t do this!” Kevin marches out, red-faced, hurrying to the side of the dumpster.
Mac’s eyes are still on me, and I feel something beautiful and warm spread through my body. This is the feeling I had when he showed up to take me home when my car broke down after Fiona’s wedding. This is what I was missing at the airport, when I had to say goodbye to my kids.
It’s someone in my corner. Someone who stands up for me. Someone who isn’t afraid to fight for me.
I know I’m able to stand on my own. I know I can navigate this world without anyone by my side…but do I have to? Do I have to make my own way when there’s someone who could be my strength when I feel weak? There’s power in being alone, but being with someone else doesn’t mean I have to give that up. I can be in a relationship without abandoning my sense of self.
I know myself now, probably better than ever. And I know that Mac is nothing like Kevin. He’s willing to burn fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of art—for me. He’s willing to erase these pieces from existence—for me.
Tears welling in my eyes, I give Mac a watery smile, and I nod. “Burn them.”
He tosses the lighter, and Kevin shrieks. “There’s still time—they’re flame-resistant! We can still get them out.”
The fire whooshes, and the smell of burning garbage fills the alley.
Mac closes the distance between us and hooks an arm around my waist. He tugs me close, his eyes never leaving mine. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl. “I’m in love with you, Trina. If you want to wait until Katie’s out of my class, I’ll wait, but I just need you to know that as soon as that last bell rings, I’ll be heading straight for you.”
Tears are flowing freely now, and I barely even hear Kevin’s pathetic wails. All I see is Mac, the firelight from the burning dumpster flickering over his face, the soft leather of his jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, his tousled hair, and the expression on his face that tells me he’s telling the absolute truth.
He’ll wait for me. He loves me. He’s in love with me.
“I don’t want to wait,” I tell him.
Then Mac Blair, master potter and motorcycle enthusiast—teacher, lover, protector—kisses me like his life depends on it. I lose myself to him, in him, and I finally let myself fall.
“You,” Kevin says, marching close to us. “You’re the soccer coach. You’re the biker. You’re Katie’s teacher.” He rears back, staring at me. “You fucking whore.” He whirls on Mac. “I’ll have you fired. I’ll place a complaint.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Mac tells him, then slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my woman and I have somewhere to be.”
“No!” Kevin screeches again. “I’m calling the police! This is assault.”
“Let’s go, babe,” Mac says, his lips close to my ear, and my lips twitch.
When I glance at the crowd spilling out of the gallery’s back door, it only takes me a moment to find my new girl gang, my mother, the ladies from the hotel, and my face splits into a smile.
All of them throw their hands up and scream in delight, which causes Kevin to wail louder.
I laugh, hook my arm around Mac’s waist, and let him walk me down the alley and onto the street. His motorcycle is parked near the curb, and I arch my brows. “I thought you put this thing away for the winter.”
“Weather’s been nice, and I needed to ride tonight, especially since I knew there was a chance I’d see you. I was planning on the fact that I’d need to clear my head.”
My eyes flick up to his, and I find myself reaching up to brush my fingers over his cheek. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
He turns his head and kisses my palm, then speaks against it. “I’m glad you did,” he says, turning back to face me while I run my palm over his jaw. “It made me realize how much I care about you. If you hadn’t pushed me away, I probably would have sabotaged what we had and hated myself for it. I think I needed the time apart to reflect.”
I blink back tears. “Me too,” I whisper.
Mac smiles, then produces a brand-new, robin’s-egg-blue helmet from one of the bike’s saddle bags.
I let out a happy little squeal. “I love this color. I have pants exactly this shade.”
“I know,” Mac says, slinging his leg over the seat and lifting the kickstand. “You wore them the first day of school.”
I meet his gaze, heart thumping. “You remember what I wore that day?”
“You looked beautiful. The moment I saw you in my doorway, deep down, I knew I loved you.” He says it matter-of-factly, as if telling me he loves me for the second time ever isn’t completely earth-shattering.
Then I glance down at the helmet. “You must have been awful sure that I’d come back to you when you bought this.”
Mac gives me a half grin, eyes glimmering. “A man can dream, can’t he?” When I plant my hands on my hips, helmet still in hand, Mac jerks his head. “Woman, strap your helmet on, get behind me, and wrap those arms around my waist. I’m taking you home.”
So, lips twitching, I strap my helmet on, get behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, and I let him take me home.
Epilogue
Trina
That evening, Mac and I make up for lost time. We’re barely through the door and clawing at each other, frantic. We have sex right there on the living room floor. Then again in his bed. Then a third time in the shower.
I’m going to be sore tomorrow.
When I’m sprawled on top of Mac’s chest, my mind flits back to those gorgeous vases. After I ask Mac about his inspiration, he hums, fingers sifting through my hair. “Originally, I was only going to do the night sky.”
“Like the one I broke,” I cut in.
Mac chuckles. “Like the one you broke.” His fingers keep moving through my hair as he inhales. “But the evening after I dropped you off at your place when you needed a tow, I started thinking about our time together. The sunset we watched when we had ice cream. The daylight streaming through the windows when we—you know.”
“Hooked up?”
“Yeah.
” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You were inspired by…me?” The question comes out small.
Mac’s arms tighten around me. He curls a finger under my chin to tilt my head up, his eyes soft. “Every damn day, Trina.”
I didn’t think I had it in me, but we end up going for round four.
As much as I want to stay the night, when I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself, I let out a long sigh. “I need to go home to my kids. My mother is there, but I have to be there when they wake up.”
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, and Mac sits next to me. He places a kiss on my neck. “I’ll get dressed; we can take the truck.”
We decide to take things slow for the next six months. He’s still Katie’s teacher, and we still need to be discreet. I need to make sure my kids won’t freak out about me dating anyone, and the last thing I want to do is have men in and out of their lives.
But when we pull up outside the house and Mac gives me a sweet, lingering kiss, I know in my heart he’s here to stay.
“We’ll have one weekend a month to ourselves,” I tell him. “Is that enough?”
“Every single night with you wouldn’t be enough, Trina, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I put a hand to my chest, because my heart just exploded. Then we kiss some more, until I tear myself away and sneak back into my own house, a big smile painted across my face.
Kevin does, in fact, complain to the school, but since there’s no rules against Mac and me dating, and we agree to keep things discreet until the end of the year, there’s nothing that can be done. I have a feeling that if it came down to it, Mac would quit before breaking up with me, and that is truly an amazing feeling.
Not that I’d want him to lose his job, but just knowing that he’d actually put me first. He’d value our relationship more than anything else.
So, we spend a few torturous months stealing moments together, spending weekends alone when Kevin has the kids, and trying to do our best to keep our hands off each other when we need to. It’s hard, but it also feels a bit scandalous and hot.
I focus on my business, and by the time a few more months have passed, I’m making a pretty steady income. Not much, but enough to make ends meet. The business is growing, though, and I pour my heart into it. I love being my own boss. I love helping other women feel better about themselves. And most of all, I love that I did this.
From January till June, I feel like I’m going to burst—but the time is welcome, and it lets me broach the subject of me and Mac with the kids. It gives me time to make sure they’re okay with me dating, they’re adjusting well, and they won’t freak out when Mac does start showing up at home.
On the last day of school, Toby and Katie come home high on life, happy to be done with another year, and I ask them if they’d be okay with a friend of mine coming to dinner.
We’re in the living room as Katie greets Mr. Fuzzles. Toby flops down on the sofa and frowns. “What kind of friend?”
I take a deep breath. “A special friend.”
“Your boyfriend?” Katie asks, eyes wide. Mr. Fuzzles hops onto her lap, curling into a ball on top of her.
My heart thumps. I’ve spent months getting ready for this conversation, but it still feels so, so difficult. I nod at my daughter. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”
She exchanges a glance with her brother, then looks at me. “What’s his name?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” I bite my lip and let out a little awkward laugh. “It’s Mr. Blair. Mac.”
Katie’s brows draw close together, that wrinkle in her nose on full display. “Your boyfriend is my teacher?” She glances at her brother, then bursts out laughing. She picks up Mr. Fuzzles and lifts him up so the cat’s face is in line with hers. “Did you hear that, kitty? Mommy and Mr. Blair are dating.”
Mr. Fuzzles flicks his tail, and Katie glances at me. “He says it’s okay with him.”
Toby snorts and rolls his eyes.
I sit next to him. “If you don’t want him to come over for dinner, it’s okay, honey. He doesn’t have to.” The words are hard to say, because all I want is for my kids to spend time with Mac. After all these months, I want him to be part of my life—part of all of it. Not just weekends alone, or a few hours when Mom is watching the kids. I want him to be welcome here, and hopefully, eventually, sleep over.
Toby just pushes himself up and gives me a little grin. “It’s fine, Mom. Just don’t like, kiss him or anything gross like that.”
I let out a little laugh. “I’ll try not to.”
“I like Mr. Blair. I’m glad he’s coming over,” Katie announces, putting the cat down and standing up. She looks at me. “I’m hungry.”
Heart brimming, I stand up. “Let’s get you some food then.”
A few hours later, after coaxing my mother to spend the evening with her girlfriends, the doorbell rings. Toby changed into a button-down shirt and combed his hair. Katie put a dress on. Neither of them was asked to do this, and seeing them peer down the hallway toward the door makes my lips curl into a smile.
I open the door to see Mac on the doorstep, all jeans, motorcycle boots, and leather, and everything inside me softens.
“Hey,” he says, a question in his eyes.
“Hi,” I answer, then open the door wider so he can step through. “Come in.”
His shoulders drop, and a smile tilts his lips. “The kids were okay with me coming over, then?”
“Hi Mr. Blair!” Katie screams from down the hall. She comes tearing around the corner. “Mommy and I made cookies for you just now. They’re in the oven.”
“Is that your motorcycle?” Toby says, eyes wide. “Can I ride it?”
“Absolutely not,” I answer, while Mac says, “Sure, as long as your legs can reach the foot pegs.”
I glare at him, and Mac laughs. He looks at Toby. “We might have to work on your mom for a bit before she says yes.”
“Work on me, huh,” I say, closing the door behind him. Suddenly this dinner doesn’t seem like such a great idea.
Mac grins as he kicks off his motorcycle boots, and my heart seizes at the sight of them next to all our shoes. They belong there, I realize. Just like he belongs here. With me—with us.
“I can think of a few ways to change your mind,” Mac says, slinging an arm over my shoulder and pulling me close. “If it’s safe enough for Dorothy and Margaret to ride with me, it’s safe enough for a ten-year-old boy.”
“I’m not following that particular line of logic,” I grumble, but my lips betray me with a twitch.
Toby sees it, and his eyes sparkle. He glances at Mac. “It’s working.”
Mac just grins, and I roll my eyes.
But the truth?
Yeah, it’s working. And by the time we sit down at the table for dinner together and I see my kids settle into comfortable conversation with Mac, I know I’ll do anything to make sure this is how we stay for the rest of time.
Together. Happy.
A family.
Jen
This was a terrible idea.
I lock my apartment door and let out a sigh.
I should not be doing this.
Tossing a duffel bag into the back of my car, I lean against the back door and look up at the clear blue sky. In a few short minutes, I’ll be driving across town to the set of the hottest new televised baking competition. I’ll compete against five other teams for the chance at winning a hundred thousand dollars, some free publicity, and a bigger “profile” that Amanda insists I need.
I still don’t know how she convinced me to sign up for this. She said she had a young apprentice pastry chef lined up to be my partner, and laid out some pretty logical arguments about promotion, social media, and book sales. Not to mention a hundred grand to start my own bakery if I win.
But actually signing up for this crazy thing? I blame Fallon leaving. I was reeling, shocked, and I ended up hitting “submit” on the application for the TV show befor
e I could talk myself out of it. Then I had six months to agonize over the decision to compete while I missed Fallon day after day after day.
He left a hole in the kitchen at Four Cups, and it’s my own fault for pushing him away.
The drive is short, so I delay by taking the long way through town. When I turn onto Cove Boulevard, I frown at the sight of a familiar Jeep parked in front of the Four Cups Café.
That looks a lot like Fallon’s car. It’s black, just like his, and has that dent in the front bumper he never got fixed. I wish I remembered his license plate so I could check.
Is he back? After six months of radio silence, he’s at Four Cups right now?
Frowning, I slow as I look in the café windows, trying to spot a familiar hulking shape of the man who left half a year ago. Then, seeing no one, I shake my head and turn my face forward.
There are thousands of Jeeps around. Lots of people have dented bumpers.
Fallon left, and he never looked back. He told me he needed to do something bigger and better with his life, and can I really blame him? I’m here doing the same thing.
I check the rearview mirror and glance at that Jeep again. I could have sworn…
My turn comes up, so I take it, and the black Jeep disappears from view. It’s not him. Fallon left. He told me he wasn’t coming back. He had that tortured, sad look on his face, and he said the words, “There’s nothing left for me here.”
That includes me.
I wasn’t enough to hold him here. He wasn’t enough to risk the book.
Fair’s fair.
We kissed once over a year ago. Why do I even care?
Fallon’s gone, and I’m about to be on television with a co-competitor I’ve never even met.
It’s going to be a total shitshow.
Get Dirty Little Midlife Debacle by tapping HERE
(mybook.to/DLMidlifeDebacle)
In which Jen and Fallon collide once and for all…and things get out of hand.
Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4) Page 25
