by Kelly Moore
“What? Are you crazy? I don’t even know you.” I can’t keep my eyes from rolling.
“When is the last time you took a chance on something?”
“Never.”
“Then do it. Don’t think about it.”
“I can’t.”
He crosses his arms this time exposing more of his tattoo. “I bet you plan everything out, even sex.”
He keeps saying things to make my jaw drop. “I do not.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I dare you to come with me.”
“I’m not some second grader that needs to accept a dare.”
“But you want to — don’t you?” He wags a finger at me.
There he goes, smiling at me again. I do want to. “No.”
He moves next to me again. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Now he’s pouting like my school kids, and it’s charming. I reach down into my bag sitting on the floor and take out my laptop. I open it, turn it on, and connect with my hotspot.
“What are we looking for?” He slips his arm around my shoulder.
“I’m Googling you.”
“I like kink, but I don’t put any photos on the internet.” He laughs, and I know he’s teasing me.
“I want to make sure you haven’t escaped from an insane asylum,” I poke back at him.
He takes his arm from around me and leans over, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. I get the sense that he’s feeling vulnerable. I’m curious now as to what I will find.
I type his name into the search bar. Several William Taylors pop up. He puts his finger on the pad and scrolls down. “It’s actually, Wills Taylor, not William.”
He stops on a link titled addictedtohealing.com. I take over and open the link, and his handsome face pops up in the corner of the screen. Pro bono attorney and volunteer services, is what it says under his name. I place my finger on volunteer services. “What exactly is it that you volunteer to do?”
A deep chuckle rumbles through him, and he clicks on a photo. “I volunteer at an addiction center. I help men and women get back on track with their lives. Actually, I do more than volunteer. I own the center. I hire doctors and teachers to come work with each individual. Most of them are kids who’ve had a hard upbringing and need a way back. They need to know someone cares to give them hope for a brighter future.”
Hope. The word rings through my ears and vibrates in my soul. I’m not sure why, but the word pierces me. I want to hold on to it, but the feeling passes as quickly as it ran through me. I look back at him, and I swear his eyes have a glistening of tears behind them. I’m betting he started this for his brother, but he couldn’t help him.
I slowly reach over and lay my hand on his. “So, you are a good guy.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I’m sorry about Patrick.”
He sits back and blinks rapidly, trying not to let his tears fall. I now, more than before, want to go with him to Savannah. Not only do I feel the need to comfort him, but I want to get to know him.
“I’ll go with you to Georgia.” His face shows as much shock as I feel about doing something totally out of the ordinary for me — completely unexpected and unplanned.
Chapter 2
I feel utterly nervous as Will takes my hand, leading me off the train, even though we have done nothing but talk for hours, sharing things about our lives with one another. I’ve learned that Will grew up here in Savannah. I’ve never been here before, but through his eyes, it’s a place that I could fall in love with. His parents own eight large bed and breakfasts scattered throughout the town. His dad is a land attorney and acquired land and property over the years. His mom is a Southern belle and loves the hospitality business.
Will went to law school in New York and never moved back. His brother Patrick, who was only a year older than him, went to law school too and they shared a dorm. Patrick was smart, but he never really wanted to be a lawyer, according to Will. He struggled with wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps and trying to find the man he was supposed to become. Will says that’s how he got caught up in drugs. He had always been on the introverted side and never knew how to deal with the sternness of his father. Will said his father is a good man, but he ran a tight ship at home. He was always harder on Patrick than him. Will swears it was because his father loved Patrick more. I can already tell by the way Will talks about his mother that he adores her — a good old mama’s boy.
Will releases my hand when a loud squeal comes from a beautiful, curly blonde-haired older woman a few feet from us. Her arms fly around him, and she kisses him on the cheek.
“I’m so glad you’re home, Son.” She rubs her red lipstick from his face with the tips of her fingers.
“Me too, Mom. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
She wipes away tears when I stand next to Will. “Who is this pretty young lady?”
“This is Maggie Harper. She’s a friend of mine. I hope it’s okay that I brought her with me.”
I’m surprised when she hugs me to her. “It’s so nice to meet you, Maggie.” She’s squeezing me so hard I can’t respond.
“Mom, let her breathe.” Will pulls us apart.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Please, call me Caroline. Mrs. Taylor makes me sound old and stuffy.” She fluffs her hair with her hands. “Come on you two. The car is waiting.”
“The car?” I whisper as I grab my luggage.
“My dad insists on having a driver. Mom hated it at first, but I think she’s grown accustomed to it.” He laughs.
Will puts our luggage in the trunk of the black stretch limo as I slide into the back seat. His mother sits next to me, and Will gets in beside her. She talks our ears off on the short ride to town. I’m only half listening to her talk about all the family that is in town. I’m looking out the window, admiring all the old historic buildings. I even saw an old plantation house on the drive.
There was a sign as we entered the peaceful town that boasted, “Savannah is the oldest city in Georgia.” The architecture and the cobblestone streets are a charming touch. Small shops line the street opposite of the Savannah River, and tables with red umbrellas run along the riverside. Lamp posts are just starting to turn on as dusk is settling in for the night.
“This place is absolutely beautiful.” I glance over at Will, and he mouths, “just like you.” I look up at his mother to see her reaction, but she didn’t see what he said. I smile at him, and he shrugs one shoulder.
“Where are you from, Maggie?” his mother asks.
“New York City.”
“This has to be a big change for you then?”
“Actually, I love small towns with lots of history and charm. I’d like to one day move away from the busy city.”
“If you can stick around for a while after the funeral,” she sniffs, “I’d love to show you around.”
Before I can respond that I’m only here for a few days for Will, the limo stops in front of a three-story white house that looks like it’s something out of a fairy tale. The limo driver places a keycard in the box at the gated entrance and the large wrought iron gate sculpted with lion heads, slides open. He circles around the long, curved driveway and stops in front of a statue of an angel that has water pouring out of a bucket into a pool beneath it. The fountain is captured by a round wall of white concrete with more angels dancing on the outside of it. All kinds of colored flowers are covering every inch of one corner of the perfectly manicured lawn.
Will gets out and opens the limo door for me and his mother. “Is this where you grew up?” I ask, gawking at the beauty around me. The smell of fresh cut lawn and flowers fills my nose. The only sounds I hear is the birds chirping around the fountain and the water splashing into the pool beneath it. The white stucco walls of the mansion are lit up by the many floodlights casting gray shadows toward the third story.
“This is home sweet home,” he s
ays as he pulls the luggage from the trunk. I follow Caroline to the massive double front doors. Even the door knocker is the face of an angel. As the doors open, my sandals click across gray marble flooring. There is a mighty staircase in the middle of the room with a shiny polished wood banister leading the way.
“Are you guys hungry? Several neighbors have brought over food.”
“I’m starved, but I’d love to get cleaned up first,” Will tells her. “When will Dad be home?”
“He’s making the last of the funeral arrangements, but it shouldn’t be too much longer. How about I give Maggie a tour of the house?”
“I’d love that, but I’d like to freshen up a bit and maybe change clothes.”
“Sure, sweetie. Will can show you to his room.”
“I…we…” I stammer.
“We are just friends, Mom. New friends at that — I’ll show her to one of our guest rooms.”
She winks at him. “Whatever you say, darling.”
I start to say something but Will grabs my hand and leads me across the marble floor up the stairs. “Your mother seems very sweet.”
“She is, but she’s been trying to get me married since…”
“Since what?” I ask when he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Never mind. This is your room.” He opens the first door we come to. “This is the pink room.”
He isn’t kidding; it looks like Pepto was spilled on the walls. A grand four-poster bed with a canopy sits in the middle of the room. I swear the house I grew up in would fit inside this bedroom.
“Make yourself at home. That door is the closet, and the one over there is the bathroom. You will find it fully stocked with everything you need.”
I suddenly feel lost in this big room. “Where is your room?”
He steps up close to me. “I will gladly let you stay with me,” he says in a seductive voice.
“I only wanted to know where you would be.”
He laughs as he walks to the door. “Two doors down on the right, in the shower if you would like to join me.”
He shuts the door behind him, and I explore the room. Even the deep chocolate dressers are exquisite. Pale gray curtains cover the double-pane windows. I pull them back to see that the property borders the Savannah River. It’s absolutely stunning.
I unpack a few things and head for the bathroom. A double vanity lines the wall and a shower the size I’ve never seen before fills the room. If this is the guest room, I can’t help but wonder about the master suite. I pause in the mirror at my reflection. My big, round, brown eyes take me in. I try for a moment to see myself as beautiful as I unbutton my blouse. I brush my hand down my long, lean neck and rub my collarbone that sticks out more than I would like. I continue to unbutton my blouse until it fully opens and my white lace bra is what I see. The swells of my breast fill it. The girls are the one thing I do like about my body. They are perfectly round with proportionally shaped nipples. I have a lean stomach with a heart-shaped belly button. My long hair falls in my face as I shrug out of my blouse, exposing my arms. The one thing I hate the most. I rub at the scars like I could make them go away, but they never do. I turn away from the mirror and shimmy my ass and long legs out of my lacy underwear. Opening the glass door to the shower, I turn on the water and wait for it to warm up. Even though it is hot outside, I hate taking a cold shower. We never had hot, running water in our house growing up, so the warmth soothes me and keeps the memories at bay.
Stepping into the marble shower, I notice the expensive shampoo bottles, and I’m hesitant to use them. I slowly twist off the cap and the fragrance of lilacs drifts into the steamy air. I use only a small amount, then rinse out my hair. Even the soap is expensive and in the shape of a seashell. The coconut oil infused in the soap glides over my body. Its silkiness feels elegant and all thoughts of showering quickly disappear. I linger way longer than I need to.
I dry off with the soft fluffy towels that smell of springtime and head over to the dresser where I laid out my things. I know no matter what I wear, I will feel underdressed in this fancy house. I slip on a pair of white cotton shorts, a long-sleeved navy-blue blouse, and a pair of blue sandals adorned with an anchor on top.
I cover my shoulders with a towel and brush out my long, brown, wet curls. I apply eyeliner and mascara along with a nude-colored lip gloss. I’ve never been one to wear too much makeup, mainly because I couldn’t afford it. Now that I can, I don’t see the need for it. I’m plain and painting my face up isn’t going to change who I am. Of course, I did tell Will earlier that I don’t know who I am. I only know that I don’t need a lot of things to be happy. I like the simple life that I lead. I like my small apartment in New York, and I love teaching young minds. It may not be much, but those are the things I know about myself.
My silence is broken by a knock at the door, causing me to jump. “Are you decent?” Will asks, peeking his head in the door.
“Yes, come on in.”
He walks through the door, and I can’t help but admire him. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans that hug his body. My gaze travels to the bulge in his pants. He smiles when he catches me. “See something you like?”
I swallow so hard it makes me cough. “Do you like embarrassing me?”
“Yes, I do. I love the warm pink in your cheeks.” He steps closer. “And I don’t mind you gawking at me.”
“I wasn’t gawking,” I protest. “I may have lingered a moment too long, but I assuredly was not gawking.”
He takes my hands and faces me. “Then let me gawk at you.”
My entire body feels like it’s on fire under his stare.
“Do you always wear long sleeves?”
“Yes, I like the way it feels on my skin,” I lie. He’s wearing a mustard-colored T-shirt, and his sleeved tattoos down his arms are mesmerizing. “These are a beautiful work of art.” I take one of his arms and hold it out to get a better look. On his forearm is a large tattoo of a clock with Roman numerals on it. It has cracks in the face and long delicate arms set at 8:42. There are intricate designs surrounding it. It’s all done in black and white. On his upper arm is an open eye with each lash perfectly designed. In the iris, there is a reflection of a woman’s body. She has a paintbrush in her hand and in the mix of all the darkness, there is a splash of red paint dripping down the corner of the eye. Swirls of white drop down into the clock, creating depth.
“What does all this mean?” I point to the time.
“Eight forty-two was the time I graduated from college. There was a time in my life that I never thought it would happen.”
My brows draw together. “Why not?”
“I’m dyslexic, and I struggled for years learning to read and how to process what I was seeing. It all came so easy for Patrick, but I had to fight to get what I wanted.”
Sadness fills his eyes as he says his brother’s name. I wonder if that was an issue between them.
“I know what you’re thinking. I loved my brother, and that was never an issue. He always supported me and tried to teach me to read. He used to do my homework for me and read to me so that no one would know.”
I move my finger further up his arm to the patch of red. “What does this mean?”
“The red is for love, the blood that runs through my heart. One day, I will find the woman that is my other half. I’m always looking for her.”
“You know, sometimes when you look too hard, you won’t find it.”
“I do know. I had all but given up on finding her.”
I take his other arm and hold it out. On the forearm is a large skeleton key surrounded by roses. On the upper arm is a compass that covers the entire arm, wrapping around the back.
“This has meaning too?”
A knock at the door stops him from answering. “Come in,” he says.
His mother, dressed in a light blue dress, comes bouncing in the room. “Your father has made it home. Please come join us for dinner.”
Her southern drawl
is so inviting, you can’t help but like her. She’s so pretty, but there is a deep sadness etched into her face. Losing a child has to be the worst thing in the world. I don’t know how you ever get over that loss. Even through her sadness, she is kind and sweet.
She takes my hand and places it on her elbow. “Come on, sweetie. I can’t wait for us to be friends.” Will shakes his head and follows us down the stairs. We walk to the back of the house into a grand dining room. The table alone seats twelve people, which every seat but three are filled. She introduces me to her family, most of which are her siblings. There is another room off to the side filled with children sitting at an equally large table. At the very end of the adult table is a man with a solemn look on his face. He’s dressed in a black suit with a matching tie. He swirls a glass of amber fluid in front of him.
Will walks over to him and shakes his hand. It seems rather formal. “Hi, Dad,” he says. I see the resemblances in their eyes, but his father’s eyes lack the joy and freeness I see in Will’s. I’m sure it has to do with losing his son. According to Will, his favorite son.
He shakes Will’s hand, but there is a coldness toward him. Will waves me over. “I’d like you to meet Maggie. She’s a friend of mine that will be staying with us a few days.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor.”
He nods and gives a brief smile. He’s quite the opposite of his Southern belle wife. Will pulls out a chair next to his mother for me to sit in between him and her.
The food is served on silver platters, which is funny because it is all Southern food filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and biscuits. Not something I would think would need silver, but it fits both of their styles. It does not escape me how lovingly he looks at his wife periodically. She’s very touchy-feely with him, and she seems to adore him.
The room is filled with chatter and a million and one questions being thrown in my direction. Will tries to deflect most of them. I’m so engrossed in his conversation with one of his uncles that I don’t even know when he put his hand on my knee under the table. I find it very comforting and don’t want him to move it. His fingers toy with the inside of my leg, which makes it very hard to concentrate. I hear people’s voices, but all I can do is feel his touch. I let it soak in. The feel of his fingers on my bare skin is causing goose bumps all over my body. My breath hitches as I imagine his fingers gliding upward, skimming across my skin, burrowing underneath my cotton shorts, and pushing my panties aside to gain entrance to my core. My heart starts racing at the thought. I pick up the glass of water instead of the red wine in front of me and gulp it down, hoping that it cools me off and the slow simmer of my blood.