by Amelia Wilde
“Because you did deserve it. You are the best man I’ve ever met,” she said. “You’re kind and funny and gentle and strong. You are compassionate and caring and sexy as hell and the only person who has ever made me feel so completely…at home.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting a wave of emotion Mason could sympathize with completely. He was about two seconds away from crying like a baby, and probably would be weeping already if there weren’t so many people watching.
“You are my best friend and my only love and…” Lark took a breath and continued in a shaky voice. “And I don’t want to live any more of my life without you. So I came here this morning to ask you if you’ll marry me. So…will you? Marry me?”
Mason smiled so hard his entire face hurt, so damned happy he didn’t care that his eyes were filling with tears in front of half the neighborhood. “Yes,” he said.
“Yes?” Lark asked, smiling her light-up-the-world smile.
“Yes!” Mason reached out, but instead of grabbing the ring, he grabbed Lark under the arms, lifting her into the air with a speed that made her squeal and wrap her arms around his neck as he hauled her over the gate and into a hug so tight he could feel her heart pounding behind her ribs.
“Yes,” he whispered into her hair as the other customers began to applaud. “I will marry you, Lark March. I will marry you and work my ass off to make you the happiest woman in Georgia, or anywhere else.”
“You already have,” Lark said, pulling back to look into his face. “I’m so sorry for the way I acted. I was being an idiot.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was,” she said. “I know that now.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect,” he said. “But you’re pretty damned close.”
And then he kissed her, summoning another wave of applause and happy laughter from the rest of the restaurant, but after a moment, Mason could barely hear them. He was having a hard time paying attention to anything but the feel of Lark’s lips warm and alive against his own, the sweet taste of her filling his mouth, and the love of his future wife swirling in the air around him, making him feel like the luckiest man in the world.
Lark pulled away with a giggle. “You should put me down,” she whispered. “Before this turns too PG-13 for a Sunday morning brunch spot.”
“This is the best Sunday morning brunch spot,” Mason said, setting her down and taking the ring box from her hand, grateful that most of the other brunch patrons had returned their attention to their cooling breakfasts. “You’re going to love it.”
He pulled the ring from the box, glancing at the inscription—Betting on You, Now and Always—with a smile.
“You like it?” Lark asked as he slid it on his finger.
“I love it,” he said, taking her hand. “Now we just have to get you something big enough to blind people at fifty feet and we’ll be set.”
“I don’t need a diamond big enough to blind people,” Lark said, squeezing his hand. “I just need you.”
Mason leaned in, unable to resist pressing another quick kiss to her lips before spinning to grab his paper and notebook. He dug a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table, but when he turned back to Lark, he found her pulling out the chair across from his and picking up one of the paper menus tucked between the salt and pepper shakers.
“What?” Lark’s eyebrows lifted at his surprised look. “You’re not going to leave that omelet uneaten, are you? It looks amazing. And I smell pancakes. Really good pancakes with real syrup.”
Mason smiled, wondering how it was that he could keep loving her more. “You want me to order you some pancakes?”
“I wouldn’t turn up my nose at a pancake,” she said, lifting one bare shoulder. “That’s all I’m saying.”
Mason sat back down, scooting his chair next to Lark’s, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. She leaned into him with a happy sigh; he kissed the top of her head.
“All right, how about you help me eat this omelet before it gets cold, and I’ll split a stack of the harvest pancakes with you,” he said. “Sound like a deal?”
“Sounds perfect,” she said, tipping her face up to his, practically glowing with happiness.
“And then we’ll go ring shopping and find something you won’t mind wearing for another fifty years or so.”
She smiled. “That sounds even better.”
“Yes, it does,” Mason agreed.
It sounded pretty damned perfect, in fact, like the beginning of the life he’d always wanted, a life filled with love and laughter and a beautiful girl who was his very best friend.
“And then we’ll go back to your place,” Lark whispered. “I want to see that new bedroom furniture your letter said you bought last week.”
“If you don’t like it, we can take it back,” Mason said. “I saved the receipt.”
Lark rolled her eyes and laughed beneath her breath. “I couldn’t care less about the furniture, Mason,” she whispered. “I only want to see the bed. And you in the bed. And me in the bed with you.”
Mason’s heart started racing all over again as he pulled her closer. “Have I mentioned that you are incredibly sexy and I love you so much it’s probably illegal in some parts of the world?”
“Not today,” Lark said with a grin, before turning to the waiter who had appeared at their table and proceeding to order twice as much food as they’d agreed upon in a very assured, very sexy voice.
Mason watched her with a smile, loving her more with every passing minute, certain he’d already won the prize, no more betting required.
Need more bridesmaids in your life? Of course you do!
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A KISS TO TELL
W. Winters
A Kiss to Tell
W. Winters
I didn’t need anyone to tell me; I knew he was forbidden with a single glance.
He was a boy I should’ve been afraid of, and definitely a boy I should’ve never wanted. No matter how much neither of those statements were true.
From the first time I saw him, Sebastian had a hard stare that pinned me in place. And years later, it hasn’t softened.
We lived on the same street and went to the same school, although he was a year ahead.
Even so close, he was untouchable.
He was bad news and I was the sad girl who didn’t belong.
One night changed everything.
We both had secrets. We both saw the pain in each other’s eyes.
The gaze that gave me chills turned to a lust-filled haze that heated every inch of me.
But that didn’t change who he was. A man who would take everything from me.
Prologue
Chloe
The kiss was bruising, just like his presence always was.
On the last Tuesday before school let out for the summer, and my ninth-grade year was over forever, Sebastian Black kissed me. No. He devoured me.
He destroyed everything I had in that moment. He took every bit and he made it his. I was his for that all-consuming kiss. My first kiss.
I still remember it so well. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but let the heat and electricity rip through my body as Sebastian pinned me against the wall. The rough brick scraped harshly against the small of my back, but I hadn’t even noticed. I wouldn’t notice until hours later, standing under the stream of water in a scalding shower. The sting I felt proved his kiss had left more than one mark on me.
His tongue was hot, his grip intense and his presence dominating as ever. When he followed me outside as I tried to hide around the corner behind the school, I didn’t even see him coming. The chill in the air struck against my heated face as soon as the door swung open, and I could barely manage to feel anything but the cold sensation that flowed over my skin. I needed to hide. From the other kids, from the teachers who didn’t care… from reality. I was always good at that
.
I didn’t expect anyone to follow me. No one had for the past few days. Each day proved harder than the last, although the nights were the worst.
I was still carelessly wiping away my tears—they were an unwanted nuisance just like how everyone else saw me—when I heard his hard steps behind me.
The sudden spike of fear I felt, paled in comparison to the effect Sebastian had on me. The sound of my startled gasp was dwarfed by the feel of my heart racing rapidly against his as he pinned me where he wanted me.
He always took what he wanted.
But I’d never once thought he wanted me.
His warm breath flowed over my face, and suddenly the iciness in the air was nonexistent. Nothing existed but him. Not even the air that separated us.
If I hadn’t been stunned, the confusion would have shown on my face. I’d always wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a boy like Sebastian. I’d assumed it would always be nothing more than a passing thought. But every time he walked by me, every time I caught him staring at me, I knew there was something between us. His piercing gaze seemed to capture me in place while also looking right through me.
I was no one, but I wanted it that way. Not being noticed was the best thing that could happen when you lived where I did. Unless you were Sebastian, and then everyone noticed you and everyone feared you just the same.
He pulled away from me before I could react to his lips on mine, both of us gasping for air.
I’ll never forget that his eyes were closed, or how slowly he opened them to paralyze me with those steely blues of his. A mask of indifference slipped over his face, but I know my expression showed my awe, my shock… my lust that I had so painfully hidden since the first day I’d laid eyes on him.
“Stop crying,” he said, and his command was harsh as if my tears were an insult to him. As if my pain had anything at all to do with him. His nostrils flared and the rage he was so well known for was evident on his handsome features.
But just as it had never affected me before, it didn’t affect me then either. I knew he was forbidden. I knew I was supposed to be afraid of him. Maybe I was just stupid because I never felt anything but desire for him.
“Stop fucking crying,” he gritted out between his clenched teeth, “and don’t tell anyone I did this. Not a single fucking person,” he threatened. He brought his lips even closer to mine in a gesture that should have been menacing, but I’d be damned if it didn’t make me hot for him where I’d never felt heat before. His eyes searched mine.
“Or else I’ll make you cry those tears harder than you can imagine.” His words caused my gaze to move from his lips to his cold stare. He would never know how hard I had cried in the middle of the night. He didn’t know what had really happened and how guilty I was.
I shook my head gently and replied, “You can’t.”
His grin was accompanied by a huff of masculine laughter like he thought it was a challenge, but before he could say whatever was on the tip of his tongue, I cut him off.
“You won’t make me cry. I know you won’t,” I said and shook my head, meeting his gaze with every ounce of sincerity I could muster. “And I won’t tell anyone.” The last bit broke my heart in two, but I don’t know why when there wasn’t a single soul to tell anyway. There was no one I wanted to run to. No one but the boy who had lost control, kissed me, and obviously regretted it.
I watched as he swallowed, his throat tightening. The bit of stubble that ran up his neck tempted me to touch it. Whatever it was that had caused him to kiss me, whether it was only to silence my crying or something else, was gone. And I knew he’d never kiss me again.
Letting out a long breath, my lips still parted, I said nothing and let him walk away.
The masculine scent of a boy I should have feared and a boy I should have never wanted, was all that filled my lungs as I tried to steady myself. I sagged against the brick building and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
I stopped crying that day and didn’t shed another tear. Not that week, and not at the funeral. Not when my uncle let me move in with him, so I would have a place to stay.
I never spoke of what happened and I started to question my sanity when he never spoke of it either.
Nothing changed in the way he acted, or in the way he looked through me.
But I remember the way I touched my lips as he stalked away.
I remember how it felt and how it was everything I needed in that moment.
He could never have known what he’d done to me that day.
But neither of us would ever forget.
1
Chloe
Five years after the kiss
Random streetlights going out is something that used to terrify me.
I hate the feeling that comes with the sudden flicker signifying what’s about to happen. Then the light burns out, and all you’re left with is darkness. Even just remembering how it’s happened before makes me shudder.
One night two years ago, it took place in quick succession, the bright lights flickering briefly and then suddenly there was no light at all. It happened on my way home from old man Bailey’s hardware store. I’d gone only an hour before sunset and spent longer than I thought I would. Some asshole had kicked in my front door the night before and there was no way I was going to leave the store without a new lock. I bought two just to be on the safe side.
And so, I was walking home alone in the dark when the lights went out, one after the other. I couldn’t walk fast enough to get to the next light that hadn’t burned out; I nearly ran to it.
I don’t like to be outside at night, not unless I’m on my porch. But even then, I’d rather stay inside, where the idea of safety used to mean something.
Either way, I’d spent too long at the store and with the plastic bag dangling from my wrist, I quickened my pace when the first bulb died. I remember how I stared straight ahead at the next one, praying it would give me light long enough to get home. As if it was listening to my fears and wanted to mock me, the light vanished before my eyes.
Fear of darkness is reasonable. But the kind of inevitable dread that lingers when a light goes out while you’re watching it used to follow me everywhere.
It haunted me during the day and never hesitated to steal my sleep at night.
I don’t know when things changed, but as I make my way down Peck Avenue, the light flickers on my right and I don’t miss a step, I don’t even dare to look at it. In my periphery, I see shadow consume everything behind me. My fingers wrap a little tighter around the strap of my purse, but it’s more instinctive than a conscious response.
My heart races and then steadies to the sound of my heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement.
One more block and I’ll be home. In darkness or in light, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been through both.
I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead and think about the mundane task awaiting me at work tomorrow. I spent all day organizing Mr. Brown’s new clients, and my back is killing me from leaning down to the filing cabinet and then looking at the computer, time and time again. A few more days and the new system will be in place. At least until he decides to change it again.
I used to think Marc Brown changed the system so frequently out of boredom, but after looking at his client list, I think the lawyer is a crook. Everyone in this city is, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d work for anyone else, doing anything else, but my options aren’t exactly overflowing.
I have my high school diploma, but after trying for the last two years since graduation to get into any college at all and being rejected, a diploma is all I have and all I’ll ever have. And that piece of paper is useless here.
My phone pings in my purse and I’m more than eager to pull it out.
I could use something to keep my mind from wandering back to the shit job I have. As I pull out my phone I see the old book I’d stowed in my purse earlier this week, ready to read the novel again. For the dozenth
time.
A court-mandated shrink gave it to me five years ago. She loved to draw, although I remember thinking she wasn’t really good at it. I used to have a picture from her of a duck she drew with a pencil. I don’t know where it’s gone, not that it matters much. I still have the books she gave me and, more importantly, a love of books. I wasn’t so much into the drawing, but that shrink—I think her name was Rebecca—gave me a handful of fiction. She gave me a way to get lost in someone else’s world. It wasn’t long before I started writing as well, trying to create an escape from this life. I couldn’t give two shits about her artwork, but I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me a love of reading and writing.
Forgetting about the book and everything that happened back then, I focus on the text message.
You’ll never guess what happened last night.
It’s Angie, a friend from work. Well, I think she’s my friend. She’s new and doesn’t do much but read magazines and chew gum while she tells off clients who want their paperwork faster than she can print it out, but she tells me all the details of her Tinder dates. I’m the only one she talks to at the office.
Mr. Brown exclusively hires girls in their twenties—and younger. Of the five of us, Angie likes to only talk to me. I get it, sort of. I don’t care for the other women either. For the most part, they ignore me, which I’m used to, but they also stop their hushed whispers the moment I walk into the room. At first, I thought it was all in my head, but no, they like to talk about me. About the rumors of what happened years ago. How sad it is. They can go fuck themselves.
My family has history here, but it’s no secret. Every person in this damn city comes from circumstances of shame. Luckily, I don’t work with them much; it’s usually Angie who I get paired with, and I should really be grateful to Marc for that.