Sweet Tooth: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

  “You know, Jeffers…she’s online somewhere. You can probably contact her right now, if you want.”

  I nodded. It was something I hadn’t thought much about, but he was right. “Mm,” I said, hesitant. I drank another swig of my drink. It didn’t help to clear my head.

  “Well?” he asked insistently. “Why don’t you go for it. Can’t hurt, can it?”

  “Maybe it could,” I said touchily.

  “Don’t see how,” he said equitably. The bowl of peanuts had arrived and he took a handful, crunching blithely.

  His geniality wore on my nerves. I drank down half the glass in one go, brooding. “Dunno either,” I muttered.

  “See?” Neville said cheerily. “You feel better already.”

  I groaned. “No, I don’t,” I said. “I’m still as confused as anything. I just feel irritated too now. With myself. With you. With everything, I guess.”

  He chuckled. “That’s my job,” he said. “Irritate the hell out of people so they do what I say just to get rid of me. Usually works.”

  I looked at him and couldn’t help laughing. “Neville.”

  “What?” he asked, smiling at me.

  “Times like this, I dunno if I hate you or love you,” I said fondly.

  “You love me, Jeffers,” he said with a grin. “Don’t doubt it for a second. Now, what do you think about this new trend in cardio boxing?”

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about work. I was still thinking about Macy, my mind somewhere between elation and terror. It was hard to bring myself down to the everyday world of training and guarding and training again.

  “Well,” I said, taking a handful from the bowl between us as I thought about his question, “I guess the benefits are that it’s something that you can adapt very easily to your client’s needs…”

  I found myself getting immersed in the conversation before I’d even really thought about it. That side of my work really interested me and Neville had chosen the right subject if his aim was distracting me from my worries. In fact, it was only after I’d been sitting there chatting with him about personalized workout strategies for an hour that I realized he meant to distract me.

  “So,” he said with a grin. “You gonna look this bird up or what?”

  “She’s not a bird,” I said testily. My response was immediate and it was only when I caught his low chuckle that I realized I’d let him push my buttons again.

  “You really like her,” he said, black eyes warm with a gentle teasing.

  “Yes,” I sighed, putting my elbows on the table and resting my forehead on my cupped hands. “I like her. I liked her. She’ll always be special.”

  “Well, then,” he said with that small smile lifting the corner of his mouth again. “What are you waiting for? Look her up. Or I will,” he added, pulling out his iPhone.

  I reached out a hand. “Don’t even think about it,” I warned.

  He laughed. “I don’t know her name, Jeffers. Relax, man. I wouldn’t do that to you anyway.”

  I sighed. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re a good friend, Nev. You are—even if sometimes I want to bust your nose for you. You’re the best friend I could ever want.”

  “I like my nose the way it is,” he said with a laugh. “I could put a handle on it and call it a blade. Now, while we’re on the subject of busting things, do you think management would mind if I reserved the punch bags this week?”

  I shrugged. “You can ask.”

  “You can ask,” he countered. “They like you more than they like me.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Nev, you know what…”

  We both ended up laughing. When I finally left, lightheaded after three beers and hoping I could find my way home safely, I felt better than I had for a long time.

  At home, after my safe and event-free arrival, I collapsed wearily onto the sofa. I guess maybe if I hadn’t been so sleepy, if I’d been thinking clearly and not been so hopelessly confused by all my emotions and Nev talking me in circles for the last two hours, I’d not have done it.

  As it was, I took out my phone and searched for Macy Trent. Found her profile online. Messaged her at the email address that was provided.

  Hey, Macy, I typed. It was nice seeing you. Like to meet for a coffee this morning? Maddox.

  I sent it without thinking about it. As soon as it had gone, I regretted it. Wished I could withdraw it. But it was too late. It had gone.

  “Oh, well,” I sighed. I put my phone in my training bag in preparation for tomorrow and dragged myself to the bathroom, putting my head under the shower as soon as I was undressed. As the bathroom filled with minty-flavored steam, I felt my muscles relax and my head started to clear.

  I can’t believe that I feel like this. That I still did that. Messaged her out of the blue like that.

  I felt mildly amazed by my own response to Macy, and my action in messaging her. But I’d done it now, for whatever outcome.

  As I slid into bed, it occurred to me that she was probably over me. She’d been the one who’d walked away without looking back this evening, I reminded myself harshly.

  “When she finds my message, I doubt she’ll even bother to send me a reply.”

  If I was honest with myself, that was what bothered me the most. All my inadequacies still lurked down there, still coming from our time together all those years ago.

  I remembered back to that day when I’d finally decided I was no good for her—the day at the family dinner when I’d embarrassed myself so outstandingly.

  I had been seated beside her, my chest tight in my new suit, clean linen napkin perched awkwardly on my knee, hands rigid at my sides.

  My leg, in a habit that had grown over our months of dating, was pressed to her own leg, our knees touching. We always sat like that. I don’t know why. I guess the contact was necessary and comfortable.

  “Macy?” I’d whispered.

  She glanced sideways at me. “What?”

  “Why is your aunt staring at me?”

  She’d looked over and frowned. The other adults were mostly chatting among themselves, courteously ignoring me, but her aunt had fixed me with a baneful grimace.

  “Oh!” she said. “Maddox…that’s the wrong knife and fork. This is the fish. You’re supposed to use these ones…”

  I wanted to die of embarrassment as she passed me the right ones. I caught her father looking over at us with a frown. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be here, in this ultrachic environment in a suit that didn’t quite fit me and was overly starched, with people talking about the stock market. Now my girl had to show me which knife and fork set to use!

  Across the table, the aunt gave a sniff. It was a very small, very surreptitious sniff, but I still heard it. She looked away, turning pointedly to her son, who sat a few seats down the table from me.

  “Morton, could you pass me the salt, please? I would ask him, but…” she made a significant face. I swallowed. The him was probably me. Her son passed her the salt from further down the table—it was a long, thin table with about nine people per side. I wanted to vanish.

  Macy looked at me, her face tight with worry. I could only imagine what she was feeling. She must have wished I would disappear.

  “Macy, dear,” her mother, Mrs. Trent, a dark-haired lady with big earnest eyes asked tenderly. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”

  “I’m fine, mom,” she ground out. “Just tired.”

  We sat through that dinner somehow, with her aunt keeping an eye on me, her father silent and her mother concerned, and when I got out of there I’d sworn to myself it was the last time I was going to put her through something like that.

  I told my own mother about it, later, and she’d sympathized.

  “It’s not your world, Maddox,” she said gently. “I think it’s better to stick to your own world.”

  I nodded. Mom had married someone who wasn’t part of her world—she was the daughter of a professor and an artist. My dad
owned the corner café. I knew how tough it had been for her and so I took her word for it.

  She was right. It was better to stick to your own world. I couldn’t expect anything else to work.

  Not really.

  Which was why, as I fell asleep that night, I didn’t think that I would hear from Macy again. Mixing worlds just didn’t make sense, even when they, of their own jurisdiction, seemed hell-bent on wanting to collide.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Macy

  I sat up in bed, wiping sleep from my eyelids. I stretched and yawned. This was it. The day of the party.

  I slid out of the coverlets and tiptoed to the shower, feeling oddly excited. It was my last day at work without my dad being there too and I felt confident with what I’d managed to achieve during his absence. I noticed, as I slid under the warm stream of water in the shower, that I was quite cheerful.

  I guess it was odd, being excited about a party when it was the first party in a while I was going to attend as a singleton. But as it happened, going without Valery Olenov—handsome, charming, and ruthlessly unkind—on my tail was going to be a pleasant change. He never failed to pick apart whatever I’d said and done at a public event afterward. I was glad to be rid of him: if he hadn’t been a son of one of dad’s associates I would probably have ended it much faster. I was relieved to be free of him, I thought.

  I didn’t want to admit it was seeing Maddox that had done it.

  “You’re just pleased your stress levels can get back to normal,” I told myself severely in the mirror as I pulled on a pair of coffee-colored trousers and a cream-colored blouse.

  I sat at the breakfast table checking my phone. When I opened my work emails, I frowned.

  “Who is MNJeffers at Gmail?” Whoever that was, they weren’t on my list of contacts. Then I laid my phone down very slowly as recognition dawned through my brain.

  Maddox N. Jefferson.

  “It can’t be,” I told myself as my heart started to thud in my chest. “How could it be? It’s not like he has my contact details…”

  As I thought that, a voice in my head reminded me I was being silly. This was the twenty-first century. If I was online, he could find my details as easily as lifting a finger.

  The surprising bit is that he wanted to.

  I thought he hated me.

  I opened the mail.

  Hey, Macy. It was nice seeing you. Like to meet for a coffee this morning? Maddox.

  “No way.” I put the phone down, my heart thumping in my chest. “Actual no way.”

  I felt my cheeks warm. I felt like springtime was visiting my body, everything thawing from a winter I had no idea had lain on all my feelings. My heart pulsed and my nerves danced. I felt awake. Alive. Reborn.

  I replied without thinking about it. Sure. Eight thirty. Bagel and Buzzword’s.

  I sent it without wondering whether he would come. I sensed he would. After all, here I was, feeling like I was renewed inside. Did he feel the same way?

  I chuckled.

  Only one way to find out.

  I went back to my bedroom, brushed my teeth and stood back from the mirror, thinking hard. Should I change my suit? The brown one with the ivory shirt was okay. It suited me, bringing out the color of my hair and the dark rose of my lips. The woman I saw the mirror looked surprisingly girlish for all her elegant clothing—her eyes were shiny and her mouth a hesitant, smiling bow.

  “I’ll go like I am,” I decided, as the clock showed me it was 8:10 a.m. already. If I wanted to make it to the coffee place on time I was going to have to practically fly there.

  I grabbed my suitcase and headed down to the garage.

  At eight thirty on the nose I strode into the cafe. I looked around, heart sinking. Where was he? I sighed.

  I guess he decided not to come. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Suddenly my eye caught a face I recognized. There, in the back of the stylish studiolike space was a man with blond hair, rugged good looks, and a wistful smile.

  My stomach tied itself in knots, and I swallowed, feeling the thrust and flutter of a thousand butterflies inside me.

  Even after all these years, I thought with utter amazement, he could still do this to me. I went across to the table. To my surprise, he stood up.

  “Macy,” he said. The brown eyes were lit up with a kind of shining amazement. He didn’t seem to believe I was really here. Neither did I, for that matter.

  “Maddox.”

  He shook my hand and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot down to my elbow from his fingers, warm and strong, gripping me. I felt as if something had shifted inside me. I was home again.

  I knew I was red in the face and I sat down, clearing my throat. “Thank you for the message,” I said wryly. “It was, um, quite a surprise.”

  It was his turn to blush. He did so, turning a beet-dark shade of red that moved up from his smile to his hairline. I hid a grin. He had always blushed easily. For such a rugged, handsome man it made him surprisingly vulnerable. I loved that about him.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said. His voice sounded tight. Not that different to mine. I felt as if I was trying to breathe through treacle as his eyes moved up and down me, making my entire body shiver with pleasure.

  “So,” I said as I flipped open the menu. “We have some long time to catch up on, right?” Looking at the menu was easier than looking into his eyes, where there were so many messages to read.

  “It certainly has been a long time,” he said softly.

  “I know.”

  We sat quietly a while, and I surreptitiously studied him while we waited for the wait staff to notice us. He seemed even more well built than the last time I saw him, if that was possible. His shoulders were massive with muscle, upper arms rippling under his T-shirt sleeves. His chest was flat and I could tell from the way the fabric hung against his side that his waist was as narrow and muscular as ever. I felt my body flush all over with heat as I remembered being under him on the bed, that sculpted artwork of a body pressing me onto the coverlet.

  He coughed and I looked up. A nervous college student was standing at the table, evidently our waiter.

  “Oh. Espresso, please,” I said. “Thanks.” I looked inquiringly across the table.

  “Me too,” he said quickly.

  I grinned. “I warn you, they’re pretty strong here.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  We laughed. It felt as if the ten years were nothing. It was an instant click between us, the way it was that day, ten years before, when we had met.

  I stared at him. “I can’t believe it,” I said. I chuckled. He laughed too.

  “I can’t believe it either,” he said gently.

  “Here you are. How long have you been in town?” I wanted to know. “Why did you leave?”

  He looked at his hands. “I’ve been in town a while, Macy.”

  I sighed. So many questions played through my mind. If he’d been here for so long, why had he only contacted me now? Why had he never thought to seek me out before? Why, for that matter, had he disappeared that day all those years ago and never contacted me again?

  “You were in this job long?” I asked. He wasn’t wearing his security-guard uniform today, I noticed. He was wearing a pale oatmeal tee and his hair was freshly washed, smelling of lemon and mint.

  “About a year,” he said. He shrugged. “Pays well. I had to do something with my life besides football.”

  “I guess so,” I nodded.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well, yeah?” His eyes drifted down my body again and I swallowed, feeling that fluttering in my abdomen again, creeping lower to places I wasn’t prepared to think about here and now.

  “I guess,” I said, shrugging. “I work for my dad now.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked down at the table, index finger wiping at some faint stain on the menu. I sat quietly a while, just drinking in the sight of him. It felt so, so strange to be sitting here. Y
et, as much time as my mind knew was passed, my body seemed unaware. It was responding as eagerly as it always had done. It was terrible, the effect he had on me! Delicious and naughty. Like double chocolate cake.

  “Espresso, and…espresso.”

  “Thanks,” I said as the waiter brought our order. I breathed in the delicious scent and lifted the small, delicate white cup, studying him as I did so.

  He looked back at me. His eyes, brown and level, held my gaze. It seemed as if the crowded, lively scene was suddenly mute, my whole world condensing down into the two brown pools of his eyes. Neither of us said anything, but I felt as if my heart reached out to his in that stare and, as his mouth pulled to a grin, he answered me.

  His foot moved under the table and lay beside mine. I jumped. It was how we’d always sat, our special secret, ankles touching, calves pressed together, knees cozy and resting on each other.

  My heart thudded and then stopped, missing a beat as the contact deepened. I focused on my breath. Made myself breathe in slowly, and out.

  “So,” he said as he lifted the espresso and tasted it, closing his eyes in mute appreciation. “I guess I have a few things to ask you,” he said.

  “You have?” I sipped my coffee, letting the roasted aroma fill me, giving me courage. Right now I needed it—I felt as if I was on uneven ground, the whole world shifting and changing under my uncertain feet.