The One Love Collection

by Lauren Blakely

  I swallow hard, the pleasant balloon of our conversation now popped. “Sabrina, I think he knows about us.”

  She cringes. “What?”

  I tell her what happened in the hall after she hightailed it from the party, wishing I didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news. “He asked me for an interview too. I held him off, but he called Jennica and is trying to weasel his way in.”

  “That’s why he said I stole his scoop. Which is ridiculous. But are you going to do one with him?”

  “He’s determined, and Jennica convinced me since he’s becoming quite a playmaker in this space. But I won’t be talking to him until we’re done.”

  She fidgets with her earring, twisting a daisy-petal stud back and forth. “What if he knows Bob Galloway? What if he says something to him about what he thinks happened with us at the party?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Fear seems to flash across her eyes. “He’s Evil Kermit.”

  “That was just a part he played,” I say, trying to reassure her, though I’m not entirely sure there’s nothing to worry about.

  “I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone.”

  And that—that I understand. “We’ll deny it. He has no evidence. All he knows is I had your halo, and that doesn’t prove anything. I don’t want you to lose this chance with the article and Up Next. I know how much it means to you.”

  Her lips quiver, then she presses them together. Her voice is a feather when she speaks again. “Stop it. Stop being so sweet and thoughtful.”

  “I’m not being sweet and thoughtful. It’s just how I feel.”

  “And how you feel is because you’re good and generous, and I wish I didn’t have a job on the line.”

  “Me too.” As I glance at the field where Carson tosses the softball to Jennica as they warm up, I know we all have something on the line.

  I do my best at Haven to take away my employees’ worries by treating them well, treating them like family. I wish I could take away Sabrina’s worries. I wish I could do something to make her life easier. I don’t know what it would be though.

  Grabbing my glove, I vow to try and figure it out as I play the game today.

  “Wait.” She reaches for my shirtsleeve, her voice dropping to that low, sultry tone that absolutely obliterates my resolve. “Do you want to know how I could tell you and your brother apart?”

  “How?”

  She zeroes in on my face, her voice barely audible. “Your lips. I’d recognize them anywhere.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because they drew me to you. They’re the reason I talked to you that night. I wanted to kiss you as soon as I saw you.”

  I ache with desire. It fills every cell in my body. “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted it so fucking much.”

  And God, I want it again.

  I want it again so badly that I strike out all three times I’m at the plate, because my mind is on what I can’t have.

  The woman I’m falling for.

  When the softball game is over, we head to a café. Ostensibly, she wants to talk about the future of tech, and we touch on that briefly, but mostly we just chat. She tells me more about her mom. She talks about Ray too, how devastated she was when he left her but how her work as a reporter was critical to her moving on. She poured herself into her job, and as she tells me this, I understand even more of what makes her tick—who she is beneath the mask she wore the night I met her.

  “Remember the dress I wore to the costume party? The angel wings?”

  “Yes. They were satin or something soft.”

  “Chiffon. That was my unused wedding dress. Everything was ready, then he called and said he was leaving the country.”

  My jaw tightens. “Do you think he was cheating on you?”

  “It’s possible. He might have been lured by gambling, by another woman, or by his own unhappiness. I don’t actually know.”

  “Do you want to know?”

  She pauses, seeming to consider the question. “For the longest time, I did. I wanted to understand. But ultimately, I had to accept that maybe this is one of those things I won’t ever have an answer to, just questions. So, I’ve learned to let it go. It’s an unsolved mystery, and I learned from it.”

  “What did you learn?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t say that she never wants to get involved with a man again.

  “I learned I won’t always have the answers, and that’s okay.” She offers a small smile. “What about you?”

  “I learned to be cautious about who I trust.” I take a breath and tell her about Annie, and how the end of that relationship hurt but how I walked away from it knowing that leaving was the only choice.

  Sabrina meets my gaze, her hazel eyes fierce. She stabs the table with her finger. “She did not deserve you. I mean that, Flynn. She didn’t deserve you at all. No one does unless they love you for you. Unless they love you no matter what you have or don’t have.”

  When she says that, I start to believe we could be that way—we could be a no-matter-what. That’s what scares me and, honestly, kind of thrills me at the same time. A no-matter-what with her—I feel the potent possibility in my chest, thrumming in my veins.

  As we drain our iced coffees, her phone rings. It’s FaceTime. She glances at the screen, and her face lights up. I’ve never seen her like this. Absolute delight spreads across her features as she declares, “It’s Kevin!”

  I tip my chin to the phone. “Answer it.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I can call him back later.”

  “Sabrina, you can talk to your brother. It’s totally fine. I get it.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks nervously.

  The phone rings again. “Answer it, or I’ll answer it for you.”

  With a grin, she slides her thumb across the screen and says, “Hey, Kevin. I’m here with Flynn.”

  The fact that she didn’t need to introduce me says she’s already told him about me. That has to be a good sign. I sit a little taller. She shows me the phone, and I say hello to her brother, a baby-faced blond with a straight nose and kind eyes.

  “Hey, Flynn. Nice to finally meet you.”

  “Good to meet you. Sabrina has told me a lot about you,” I say. “She thinks you’re the cat’s meow.”

  Kevin meows. “And the pajamas too. Also, thank you. I’m glad to hear she said good things to you.”

  Sabrina peers at the screen. “Hey, can I call you later when I finish this interview?”

  “Sure.” Kevin scratches his head. “You’re doing another one?”

  Her answer comes at the speed of light. “Yes.”

  “How often do you guys do interviews? Hasn’t this kind of been going on for forever?”

  Sabrina glances at me over the top of the phone, a guilty-as-charged look in her eyes before she returns her focus to her brother. “Kevin, stop saying things you shouldn’t be saying right now. I love you, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  When she clicks end, I cluck my tongue. “We don’t really need to talk this much for the story. Do we?”

  Sabrina shakes her head. “I don’t think we do. I kind of have everything I need already.”

  “Really?” Perhaps she can hear the disappointment in my voice. If she can’t, she should have her hearing checked.

  “Well,” she says, tapping her chin, “I suppose there are a couple more things I wanted to ask you.”

  “I guess we should talk again tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.”

  We make plans for the next day.

  20

  Sabrina

  Since I’ve had so many interviews with other people, it’s only natural that I need to talk to Flynn after I speak with the others.

  To check for his reaction.

  To glean his response.

  Or, really, to spend more time with him.

  Flynn is a pattern I want to make over and over. He’s a word I never tire of using. He’s a song I can blast in my earbuds al
l night long.

  All day too.

  With Flynn, it’s like we have an endless well of topics for conversation. Dip a hand in it, pick another item, and chat, chat, chat.

  The next evening, when we leave the café where we’ve been talking, we wander past a store window display that catches my eye.

  A zombie mask. A gangster suit. A cheerleader. Dorothy, complete with her blue gingham dress and ruby-red slippers.

  I point to the glittery shoes. “I want the slippers. I’ll click my heels.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I would go back to the costume party.”

  His eyes lock with mine. His aren’t green now. Longing is their shade, and I want to capture the way he looks. He stares at me like I’m worth everything. Like I’m emeralds and rubies. God, how I want that. How I wish I could have it with him—everything in his eyes.

  He tips his chin toward the door. “We should see what masks are in the store, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We say hello to the shopkeeper who glances up from the counter and smiles, letting us know she’s here if we need anything. She’s dressed as Rita Hayworth, with a bust-exposing dress and a red wig.

  We head toward the masks.

  “Now that you’ve seen me, would you recognize me in, say, this?” He covers his face with a fox mask.

  “You’re foxy, but yes, I can tell it’s you.”

  “Good.” He reaches for a dog. “As Fido?”

  I smile. “Absolutely.”

  “What about this?” He tries to sound silky and sultry as he slides a pink pig mask over his face, adding a most unsexy oink, oink.

  “Still you.”

  He locates a mask of a clown with a tear sliding down its face and a big red ball for a nose. He positions it over my eyes then peers at me, studying me. “Yup, it’s you.”

  He holds the mask to his face. “And now? Can you tell it’s me?”

  I slug his arm. “Yes, yes, yes. Of course, I’d recognize you.”

  “Just like you ‘recognized’ me at The Dollhouse?” His tone is somewhat challenging.

  “I told you, I recognized you, but I didn’t want it to be you,” I say wistfully.

  He wraps a hand around my arm, and flames lick my body. “Sometimes I still feel that way. Sometimes I see you, and I wish you were someone else.”

  “Me too,” I admit.

  “Do you want me to be the duke?”

  I nod. “Yes, and we’ll go to costume parties. Maybe I’ll dress as Marilyn Monroe at one.”

  He groans and steps closer to me. It’s dark here in the corner of the shop—we’re out of sight of the windows. Red velvet lines the wall, and masks, swords, and shields hang from it. “You’d look so hot as Marilyn Monroe.”

  “I’d get a mask just for my eyes. You could cup my cheek while you kissed me.”

  “Fuck,” he says in a long, low rumble. “And what would I be?” He rests his hand on a rack of poodle skirts.

  “You’d be Joe DiMaggio, of course.”

  He pumps a fist. “I always wanted to be a star athlete.”

  I lift my hand and run it up his arm, grateful he’s wearing a T-shirt today. I trace a path to his bicep. His breath hisses as I travel higher then squeeze his muscle. “You’d wear your Yankees uniform, and I’d admire how it fits you. I’d admire your arms too. I’d touch them.”

  He swallows harshly. His eyes are fire. His voice is sandpaper as he whispers, “And I’d slide in for a dance and wrap my arm around your waist while you had on that white satin dress. And nobody would know who we were because we’d wear masks.”

  “We’d know.”

  “But we’d pretend.”

  “Can we pretend now? That we’re at a costume party?”

  He glances over his shoulder. Rita is on the phone. She’s looking the other way, and we’re partially hidden behind the racks. “Let’s pretend. If we pretend, it’s not really happening.”

  Permission. We’re giving each other the permission we both so desperately want.

  “We’re at a make-believe party,” I say, as we move closer to each other, and he glides his hand around my waist.

  I want to melt into him. My bones dissolve into honey as I raise my hands to his shoulders, sliding over them, looping around his neck, then drawing him near. “You never know what might happen at a costume party,” I whisper as we glide closer. Inches separate us. Inches and air and restraint that’s frayed so thin it’s unraveling at breakneck speed.

  “One dance, maybe more.”

  Music plays softly in the background, and I swear it’s Linda Ronstadt crooning the opening notes to “Someone to Watch Over Me.” Or maybe that’s how my body feels. Like it’s become a torch song. Like I’m living inside the lyrics to a smoky, sexy tune of desperation and wanting.

  My eyes flutter closed for a second, and warmth spreads from the center of my chest all the way to the tips of my fingers. A shiver runs through me as his hands tighten around my hips.

  Once again, we exist on two planes. We seem to slip back and forth in time like we did when we visited the subway station. Like we exist here as Flynn and Sabrina, and we exist in the past as Angel and Duke.

  I dance, though I shouldn’t.

  I sway, though it’s risky.

  I look into his eyes, though that only makes me want him more. Wanting is such a painful emotion. It aches and throbs and hurts even as it asks for more of the torture. More of the things that I can’t have. A real chance with this man. A real date. A real love.

  “Sometimes you look at me like you did the other night,” I whisper.

  “How did I look at you the other night?”

  “As if you liked being kind of dominant.”

  “I think you liked it when I was kind of dominant.”

  “I liked it when you raised my hands over my head.”

  “And you liked it when I hiked your legs around my waist.”

  “I did,” I say breathily.

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to worry. I could get lost in the moment.”

  “Do you want to get lost again?” he asks, in a voice that betrays his want for me. It makes me dizzy. It makes me high.

  I’m swallowed whole by a new kind of desire that floods my body. I want to lose myself in him. I don’t want to be found.

  “I do,” I whisper as my skin prickles with the clawing need to get closer to him. My pulse spikes. “I wish we didn’t have to pretend.”

  “So do I.”

  I stop pretending. I lean in, part my lips, and give in.

  He brushes his lips across mine and hums as he kisses me.

  It’s a soft, aching kiss. Like the song. Like my need for him.

  It’s sad and it’s intoxicating at the same time. It’s the way we kiss when we’re saying goodbye, when we’re borrowing time, when we know we can’t be.

  The kiss is born of longing, forged in a wish that can’t come true.

  I want it too much. I want to forget all the reasons why he’s a mistake. I want to be his Marilyn right now, and his Angel, and his Sabrina.

  “Say my name,” I whisper, breaking the kiss. “I want to hear you say my name.”

  “Sabrina,” he says. His voice is rougher than I’ve heard before, and it turns me liquid. I’m silver and gold, and I want him to kiss me forever and ever. This kind of bittersweet kiss, this kind of stolen kiss in a costume shop, hearkens back to our first secret kiss.

  But when Rita laughs loudly, the sound of her amusement is a sharp reminder that we’re playing with fire.

  We break apart.

  Because we have to.

  I clear my throat, trying to center myself. I can’t think. I can’t speak. “Maybe I should buy a . . .” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.

  “A fox mask?”

  “If it meant I could have you, I would.”

  But there’s no real way to hide who I am,
or what I need.

  I need a job, and if I’m in love with the man I’m covering, then my story goes up in smoke, and any possible future with Up Next turns to ash.

  21

  Flynn

  “Now, if we can just have this smart home make me eggs and toast in the morning, I’ll be all set.”

  The morning news anchor, Camilla Montes, smiles and laughs in that isn’t-it-amazing way that morning news anchors have.

  “We’re working on that, Camilla, and we hope to get there soon,” I tell her, since I’ve finished showing her all the cool features of Haven.

  “Thank you so much for joining us today, Flynn, and we are so excited that our homes are now becoming brilliant robots that can deliver whatever we need at the sound of our voices.” She flashes a lipsticked smile, with gleaming white teeth. “Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out you remain on our list of the most eligible bachelors in New York City. Any chance that’ll change soon?”

  I laugh lightly. Jennica briefed me that Camilla might toss a curveball with a personal question—the morning news show ran a list of eligible bachelors recently, so I’m not surprised.

  “Is there somebody on the horizon?” she adds.

  As I briefly consider whether I want to admit anything on air, I picture Sabrina, her sparkling hazel eyes; her mischievous smile; her wild, warm heart; and her sense of adventure. How I want her to be the one on the horizon. I do. I just do.

  Even if we hadn’t kissed yesterday, I’d want a chance with her with the same fierce desire I had when I first wanted to build this company.

  Just as I’ve marched my way to the top of the tech world with focus and rigor, I need to find a way to make that woman mine no matter what. I’m not someone who sits back and takes no for an answer. “There is someone on the horizon,” I say with a smile. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

  She smiles and speaks to the camera. “You heard it here first, folks. There is a lovely lady for Flynn Parker. Now, stay tuned for our next segment on how to make your own organic butter.”