And since I know the owners, I’ve been known to have my morning coffee spiked once or twice in emergencies. Actually, that’s probably more Gigi and her gang than me.
Placing my bike on the rack, I tighten my ponytail. Dang thing, I’m sure my “koala ears” look more like Minnie Mouse ears after the ride. I glance up at the sky, and it looks like a storm could be heading our way. I should’ve checked the weather before I decided to ride my bike.
Opening the door, I find the coffee shop pretty full, and the smell smacks me right in the face. I love the smell of coffee. I don’t actually like the taste of it, but I love the smell. It reminds me of my dad. My mom was always a tea drinker, but he drinks straight up black coffee, no sugar, no cream, and none of that frilly stuff, as he calls it. The smell of coffee filling the house in the morning always meant dad was home. Even though he wasn’t on the frontlines most of my childhood, when you grow up with a father in the active military, you live with the fear that something could happen. You know kids who’ve lost parents, so coffee meant he was home, he was safe. It’s funny how something so simple as a smell or a sound can bring back memories like that.
“They’re in rare form today,” Timothy whispers, nodding in my grandmother’s direction and handing me my usual, an entire mug of homemade whipped cream. Yep, I just eat the cream that comes on top of the coffee—a whole mug full. “Everly will be here in a bit.”
Timothy gives me a little wink before disappearing behind the counter. He’s adorable, a total hipster in his glasses, which he doesn’t need because he has perfect vision, and his knit beanie. I think the only time I’ve ever seen Timothy without a beanie was on their wedding day. Everly told him if she started down the aisle and saw that on his head, she would turn around. So Timothy got beanies for the all the wedding guests instead. When the doors of the church opened, Everly saw a hundred and fifty beanies, but Timothy’s dirty blonde hair wasn’t covered. She laughed the whole way down the aisle. It was classic.
Sticking my spoon in my mug, I spot Gigi and her crew. They are at their usual table in the back corner. There’s about a dozen of them here this morning. Get this—my grandmother started a variety group called the Silver Sirens. They do comedy sketches, dances, all kinds of things. Gigi had several friends that were widowed pretty young. They had a lot of living left to do, so Gigi decided to help them do it. At first, it was just four of them. They did some singing at local churches, nursing homes. Before she knew it, membership grew, and they started getting requests for gigs. They even went to Mardi Gras this year and marched in a parade and performed at a ball. All the money they earn, they give to different charities. Since women usually outlive men, they are mostly a female group, but there are a few older gentlemen, as well.
Two years after she started the group, she lost my grandfather. The Silver Sirens were all there for her. They even sang at his funeral. They took turns staying at her house for weeks after his death. That’s what they do for each other. It’s an amazing group of women. They are spunky as the day is long. Some have taken to dyeing their hair purple, blue, or pink. Others think fishnets are a wardrobe stable. And we won’t even talk about their choice of undergarments.
“Mae!” Gigi calls out to me, as if I didn’t know where she was sitting. All the other ladies wave to me. They are my self-appointed grandmothers.
“We were just discussing your grandmother’s birthday,” one of them says. “Come on, Imogen, tell us how old you are.”
They’ve been trying to figure out Gigi’s age for as long as I can remember. Her birthday is coming up, so I guess that has reinvigorated the debate. I doubt her doctor even knows it. Whenever she’s asked her age by anyone or on any form, her reply is always the same.
“Vintage,” Gigi says. “I’m not one hundred years old, so I can’t be classified as an antique, but I’m over twenty, so I’m vintage.”
God, I love that crazy lady.
She pulls out the seat next to her, the one she always saves for me. One look from her and I know she recognized my caller from last night. She doesn’t say a word, simply giving my hand a little squeeze.
She did the same thing the first time Knox Merrick broke my heart. We were fifteen. I hadn’t seen him since we were around eleven. My grandparents always came to visit us at the base, so we hadn’t been back to Colorado. Knox was my best friend. Though the extent of our communication was exchanging cassettes, he still knew me better than anyone, and I was thrilled when my parents had agreed to let me spend the summer in Colorado with my grandparents. But my trip lasted only a week.
Knox ignored me, barely even looked at me. I remember sitting in Gigi’s window seat. I wasn’t crying, but she knew how I felt. She sat with me and held my hand, just like she’s doing now.
*
Cassette
Knox to Mae
Age Fifteen
I came by to see you today, but your grandmother said you’d flown home. I thought you were staying all summer? She gave me the cassette you left for me. I couldn’t understand most of it. You were crying so hard. I caught the “I hate you” part. Please don’t hate me. I was a jerk. I know. Shit! I was so looking forward to this summer, to seeing you.
I know what heartbreak feels like now. Listening to you cry. I am your constant friend. No matter how many times you move. Please believe that. It kills me you don’t believe that now.
I hope you’re still listening. The last day of school, I knew you’d be coming, you’d be at my house when I got home. When I walked off the bus and saw you, I immediately knew it was you, even though we haven’t seen each other for four years.
God, I’ve never wanted to turn the tape off like I do right now, never wanted to lie as much as I do right now, but we promised we wouldn’t ever do that, and I don’t ever want to hear you cry like that again and know I’m the reason.
I saw you, and suddenly I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to you that wouldn’t sound stupid. I’ve been talking to you for years through the mail, but one look at you in person and I was struck dumb.
Mae, you went and got beautiful on me—and suddenly, I didn’t want to be your friend. I mean, I wanted to be more than that, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Shit! I can’t believe I’m telling you this.
Now you’re gone, and I’ve screwed it all up. Our friendship and . . . It’s a lot easier to talk to this damn machine than look into your blue eyes. I got lost, Mae. It sounds stupid, but I got lost in you—how beautiful you are, how deep your eyes are, how soft your hair looks. That’s the only explanation I have.
I got lost.
*
I forgave him back then. I was young, and I’m glad I did, because we fell in love. I think we’d been falling for years. And I don’t believe in regretting love.
Love is not something to regret.
Even if it doesn’t last, you should never look back and wish you didn’t love someone. Even if they hurt you. Because taking the risk to love is an act of bravery.
Over the next year, our tapes to each other changed. Now people sext, have phone sex. Knox and I invented cassette tape flirting. We were inexperienced teenagers at the time, so it was pretty PG. It wasn’t until a few years later that things turned X-rated!
“Don’t look up,” Gigi says, tightening her hold on my hand.
Of course, that makes me look up, right into the sexy blue eyes of Knox Merrick. He’s standing by the entrance door, staring right at me, like he’s just as shocked as I am. It must’ve started raining, because his dark blonde hair is slightly wet. The storm I thought was coming has arrived.
“Breathe,” Gigi says, reminding me of what should be instinctive.
Five years. It’s been five years since I’ve laid eyes on him. Five years since he broke my heart – the second time. What is he doing here? First, he calls my show, and now this? After all this time, why would he make contact? And he could’ve emailed or sent a . . . cassette. My heart warms at the thought. I used to love getting mail f
rom him.
He smiles first.
He’s a total scene stealer with that smile. That smile has made him one of the most sought-after actors on the planet.
A woman has two choices in this situation. She can completely freak out, or she can act totally unaffected. My heart, my stomach, my mind are going for the first option, but I’m not going to let them win. Freaking out, yelling at him, or crying means he still gets to me, and I will not let him get to me.
Totally unaffected coming right up.
I smile back. He takes a step my way, and I get to my feet. Refusing to reach for my hair to try to straighten it, I can’t help but wish I’d put a little more effort into my tank top and athletic shorts.
His blue eyes leisurely stroll up and down my body, meandering, like he’s got all the time in the world. The muscles between my legs clench like my vagina is literally calling out for him. Damn it!
We start toward each other. I’ve got exactly fifteen seconds before I’m face-to-face with the only man I’ve ever loved—fifteen seconds to get my shit together.
“Holy crap!” Timothy cries, coming out from behind the counter, walking towards him. “You’re that actor. Knox Merrick.” He steps right in front of Knox, blocking his path to me. “You were awesome in that action movie with . . .” Timothy keeps talking, and Knox shakes his hand, being friendly, but he keeps looking over at me.
Despite what happened between us, I am proud of him. The little boy I met on his front porch has turned into a world-wide phenomenon. Timothy’s verbal distraction gives me a chance to really look at Knox. He’s tall, tan, with those blue eyes and dark blonde hair, but he’s a little more muscular than he was in his early twenties; he probably has a trainer. Of course, he has to show up here looking good. God forbid he let himself go. Nope, my ex has to be Hollywood’s hottest thing since Brad Pitt.
Knox always had an ease about him. The way he’d sit in a chair is a perfect example. Most people just plop their butt down, but not Knox. He tosses his leg over like he’s straddling . . . Well, better not think about that.
“Can you excuse me?” Knox says, motioning in my direction.
“Sure,” Timothy says, glancing at me, his eyes full of questions. Guess Everly never told him who my ex was. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, muffin?”
“No, thanks,” Knox says, looking at me and grinning. “Found what I was looking for.”
Obviously, he’s still a flirt, but I’m not going to fall for it. A couple other customers come up to him, wanting pictures and autographs. He’s friendly to all of them, but mouths sorry to me. I shrug like I don’t care.
Gigi appears by my side, handing me my purse. It’s raining outside now, but I don’t care. I’ll ride my cruiser through a tsunami to get out of here. She motions to her comrades not to even think about asking for an autograph, and I’m not sure whether that’s so I can get this meet and greet over with, or because she’s still mad at Knox for breaking my heart all those years ago.
Knox signs every autograph, poses for every selfie. Thank God the coffee shop isn’t that big, or we’d be here for hours. When his fan club has dispersed, Knox and I finally head toward each other. The closer I get to him, the harder my heart pounds, the weaker my legs get.
“You hung up on me,” he says with a grin, leaning in to hug me, but I place my hands on his broad shoulders, forcing him to give me one of those awkward side hugs.
“Technical difficulties,” I say with a smile.
He grins at me again, his eyes holding mine. “You look . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he reaches out, taking one of my crazy strands of hair and twirling it around his finger. He used to do the same thing when we kissed, and then later on when we were in bed together.
Taking a sidestep away forces him to stop, my gentle reminder that this isn’t who we are anymore. This time, there’s no grin on his handsome face.
“Ms. Imogen,” he says, as my grandmother appears at my side. “It’s good to see you again.”
She barely nods at him, giving me her silent support.
“Knox,” Everly says, appearing out of nowhere, standing at my other side.
I look over at her. She still has her keys in her hand and her purse on her shoulder. She must’ve just walked in, seen this train wreck in the making, and took her place by my side. At five-two, she’s even shorter than I am. Somehow, her red hair looks even brighter today, like a phoenix ready for battle.
I feel like I’m pretty strong on my own, but with these two women flanking me, there’s nothing I can’t do, including what comes next.
Adjusting the shoulder strap of my purse, I say, “I have to get going. Goodbye, Knox.”
CHAPTER SIX
Knox
I know when I’m outnumbered. Two women and me—that might normally be appealing, but not under these circumstances, especially when one of them is literally old enough to be my grandmother. Imogen motions to the group of women behind her. “Ladies.”
Like wolves, they descend upon me, all talking at the same time, asking for pictures, hugs, for me to sign their boobs. Imogen just sits back and smiles. This was her little trick to keep me from following Mae. She’s a sly one.
When I flew to Denver this morning, the only thing I knew was that I wanted to see Mae. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I had no real plan. I just jumped on a plane, rented a car, and drove to Haven’s Point. Mae isn’t listed in the white pages. It couldn’t be that easy. I could’ve called the radio station and asked, dropped my name and gotten her home phone number, her address. I could’ve had anyone on my PR team do this for me, but the fame, the business destroyed me and Mae, and I couldn’t use it to see her again.
But I had to see her again. Of course, I wanted more than the thirty seconds she allowed, more than that awkward, uncomfortable hug. She’s all I’ve been able to think about since I heard her on the radio a little over a week ago. I haven’t been back to Haven’s Point in a long time. My dad died from a heart attack when I was still in college, Mae and I were over, and my brother lives all over the damn place, so there was no reason to come back here.
That’s not entirely true. My dad and mom are buried here, and I pay to maintain their graves, but I’ve never really visited the cemetery. I don’t like thinking about them in the ground. I still talk to them, even to this day, but not there. That place represents their deaths, and they are very much still with me. Unfortunately, my parents’ headstones have also become sort of a tourist attraction. I’ve seen more than one fan post a selfie in front of my parents’ place of eternal rest. Makes my stomach churn and blood boil every time. The cemetery has been alerted to the situation, but one or two visitors seem to slip by every year.
I figured her grandmother was a real long shot to help me, and judging by the mob of women around me, I was exactly right. My only other option to find Mae was Everly. If anyone would know where Mae was, it would be Everly. They were great friends, and I figured they still were. I knew Mae’s show was based in Denver, so I guessed she still lived close. I wasn’t sure if Everly would help me, but it was my only card to play. So I just showed up here, hoping to talk to Everly, get whatever information I could. I didn’t expect to find Mae at the coffee shop. I wasn’t even sure whether Everly’s family even still owned it, or if she’d tell me where to find Mae.
I was shocked as shit when I walked in and the first thing I saw was Mae, as shocked as she clearly was to see me. Damn, she looked incredible—her brown hair even longer, her skin glowing, her curvy body still every man’s dream, her eyes looking even bluer than I remembered. I’m not sure what came to attention first: my cock or my heart. It was a close race.
The band of women Imogen sicced on me has finally started to thin out. I guess Imogen figures Mae has enough of a head start that I can’t follow her, so it’s safe to disband her army.
“You never told me you know Knox Merrick,” I overhear the guy in the beanie say to Everly. I’m assumi
ng he’s Everly’s husband based on their matching wedding bands and the little girl between them, holding one of each of their hands.
She’s a pretty little girl, blonde, with big beautiful eyes, and I’ve done enough charity work now to be fairly certain that she has Down Syndrome.
“I don’t know him,” Everly says, and everyone in the room except the little girl realizes they’re taking about knowing me in the biblical sense. “Now, Mae knows him.”
“Really?” the beanie guy says. “Mae and Knox Merrick?”
I walk over to the counter and extend my hand. “Knox.” He slowly reaches out to shake it. “You can drop the Merrick part. Just Knox.”
It’s funny when you become “famous,” people all of a sudden start using your full name. That’s one of the signs you’ve reached a certain status. I hate it, but oddly enough, I usually introduce myself that way. I’m not so conceited as to automatically assume that everyone knows who I am.
“And your brother is that country singer?”
“Ryder Merrick,” I say.
“Timothy,” he introduces himself. “And I guess you know my wife, Everly.”
I glance at her. “Know, but not know.”
“What are you doing here, Knox?” she says, full of attitude and clearly done with the small talk.
“Daddy, who’s that?” the little girl interrupts.
He picks her up. “Gracie, this is Knox.”
“He sounds like bear in the movie . . .”
“That’s right. He played the bear,” Timothy says, turning to me. “She’s really good with voices.”
Timothy boosts her up on his hip so we’re all on the same level. Gracie asks me. “Were you really him?”
“Yep.”
“The bear is my favorite.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Gracie. How old are you?”
Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel) Page 3