by Kara Hart
I knew he was rich, but I never thought he was that rich. Bezos, Zuckerberg, and… Marc? My bank account is at a whopping thirty-seven-fifty. It almost seems impossible I could even brush against someone with that much wealth.
Amanda is loving this, but I don’t date men for their money. I date them because a clear connection sets off a spark inside the mechanics of my beating heart. Just because Marc has wealth, doesn’t make him a saint. For all I know, he could be some evil genius.
I bite my lip. “Do I even want to ask you what he does for a living?”
“He owns some magazines,” she says, shrugging.
“Like... Playboy?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “You wish.”
I really don’t. “I’m just curious. We had a decent conversation the other day.”
She raises a brow, causing me to blush. “You think he’s interested?”
“He offered me a job,” I say.
“Not a bad start.”
“And then he asked me out to his company holiday party.”
Her smile turns into a wavy set of lips. “A little tacky.”
“Thing is, on paper, it makes sense to go out with him. He’s rich, funny, and he’s sweet with his daughter,” I say.
Amanda nods along. “Perfect, perfect.”
“He’s handsome, makes me laugh, and has offered me gifts,” I say.
Amanda blinks. “What’s the problem, again?”
Once the filter has popped, I can’t stop talking. “He’s just so nice to me,” I say. “And I want to be nice to him, but we got in one stupid fight about a cute dog that led to us making an impossible bet.”
“A bet?”
“It’s a long story,” I say.
As we walk, the silence is deafening. We come to the same realization at the same time.
“Sounds like you’re the problem,” she says.
It’s hard to hear, but she’s right. There’s something I need to settle with myself. A deep fear that the person I fall for will leave me forever. “I got burned by someone a few months ago,” I admit.
She flattens her mouth. “I hear ya,” she says. “But I still think you should go for it. There just aren’t that many good men out there.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m taking my time.”
We round the corner to find the path continues around a shimmering lake. Rowdy’s nose is picking up on something, so we stop to let him sniff it out.
A breeze rushes by us, and Amanda does a little twirl. “Who needs men when you have a view like this, right?”
There’s something to say about getting outside first thing in the morning. It restores your spirit. But all that new energy can leave faster than it started.
We get to the hill, headed toward the lake near the bottom. I hear a familiar bark echo across the park, causing me to turn my head. Out of nowhere, the cutest puppy with soft bronzed patches runs right past me, catching me and Amanda off-guard. I’d recognize those floppy ears anywhere.
“Ragamuffin,” I whisper.
“Rag of what?”
The tiny puppy turns and instantly locks eyes with Rowdy. Eyes narrowed, the two dogs stare each other down. Rowdy drops his paws and digs into the grass.
She barks.
He barks louder.
It’s a standoff, and I’m scared of who might draw first.
Oh, no.
Marc comes into clear view, teeth whiter than his stupid dog’s ivory fangs. He must’ve got a new haircut, or maybe it’s his five-o-clock shadow that gives him a serious hot-dad vibe. He’s paying attention to his daughter Sammy, kissing the top of her head before she runs toward a group of ducks near the water.
Before Marc can turn to see the chaos build, Rowdy drives forward with all his might, pulling the leash so tight and with so much force, my heels start to dig within the grass. Soon, he’s dragging me forward. It’s slow at first, but then Marc makes a crucial mistake. He sees me, and he waves.
My dog turns into a bulbous jerk again.
Barking, his pull turns into a full-on run. I let go of the leash to protect myself. Fate has other plans for me, however. The leash whips round my ankle, twisting into a knot.
“Be a good boy,” I scream.
When a dog feels the primal impulse to pounce, nothing can stop them. In this case, the urge is strong, and his heavy heels bring up mud and bits of dirt onto my dress. His barks make him look like he’s a natural born killer. It feels as though I’m being spat on, and though I’m locked in shock, I can feel my anger rising inside my chest.
The expression on Marc’s face is priceless. I’m sure mine is even worse. Rowdy is pulling me toward him, and it doesn’t look like I can stop him now. I’m getting closer and closer, until it’s too late.
Oh, shit.
I smack right into him, laying him flat on the ground like a linebacker at the Super Bowl. Thick earthy chunks of mud slide down Marc’s suit. Rowdy’s licking his face, but I’m on top of him. Not just on top of him. My legs are twisted around his torso, my arms are clamped around his neck, and my groin is crushing his dick.
This is not where I thought I’d be this Wednesday morning.
Ragamuffin barks and circles around, bouncing near Rowdy’s sniffing nose. She gives him a kiss and bends her butt up to him.
“Your dog might be developing a crush on mine,” he groans.
“I, uh...”
Cat got my tongue.
His eyes are deep and wondrous, honest, with a dark streak. And when the light hits the surface, I can count every ridge that makes up the iris. Something tells me he’s felt pain because his eyes are filled with a deep longing for someone to see the real him.
He’s nothing like me. I’m normal and boring. He’s rich, handsome, and everything else great. In any case, normal comes with a caveat. In the end, we’re all varying degrees of crazy.
With my hand flat against his beating heart, I feel a little out-of-my element. It’s in this moment I wonder why I’ve been running from him for so long. Why I’ve sworn off men for so long. What is in my head that won’t allow me to trust?
My heart is racing with excitement and fear, panic at embarrassing myself around someone who feels so put together. I’m a teacher, but I feel like a schoolgirl around him. I think I want him to touch me, to coil his fingers around my waist.
Then again, I’ve felt these feelings for other people before him. Just last month, I was still receiving texts from another guy. I’m a woman who used to get wrapped up in people, especially if that man acted like the one. You never know what you’re going to get with a person, and taking that next step can be the scariest thing you can do.
Worrying I might fall into his persuasive eyes forever, I try to spring up quickly. Except, it’s not as easy to untangle myself than I thought. Tightly wound around him, I fall back against him for a second time.
“Rowdy,” I groan. “He’s got us all tangled up.”
I look away, but I feel his eyes staring at me, drinking in every part of me.
Choking on my breath, I give an awkward smile. When he doesn’t return it, everything feels heavy. It also feels good. Really good.
Can he see the worry in my eyes?
“Here,” he says, reaching for Rowdy’s collar. “I’ll help you.”
“Wait,” I say.
I didn’t expect to stop him, but I push my hand around his wrist and tangle my fingers through his. My heart is still pounding as he pulls me closer. I can’t believe this is happening, in front of so many people.
Our lips touch, and my eyes close. I feel my knees getting weak.
There’s no use hiding it, though, not when it’s easy for me to take my other hand and place it on his chest.
No men until Valentine’s Day. That was my rule.
“Guess we both lost the bet,” he says.
Oops.
Amanda walks up and clears her throat loudly. “Guys, I hate to interrupt your little mud wrestling competition, but class st
arts in less than twenty minutes. You might want to get changed.”
Sammy points at her dad, laughing harder than ever before, which is saying something. “Daddy made a mess with Ms. Greenwald.”
Sammy, no…
Marc undoes the leash, but there’s no undoing what just happened. I broke an oath to myself by kissing Marc’s sweet lips.
I’m covered in mud, and I’m mortified. Not only did I not bring a change of clothes, but everyone is staring at us like we’re indecent. I recognize some of the gawking faces from the school drop-off zone. This sucks.
Backing away from the situation, I look for an exit. I take Rowdy’s leash from Marc, who lets go of my hand and braces himself against a nearby tree. Motioning for Amanda to follow, I head to the changing station near the entrance.
Marc wipes a glob of mud from his cheek and gives a shallow wave. “See you after school?”
I stop and turn, heart resuming it’s excited rhythm. “Only if you’re waiting for me.”
The more I try to run from this, the more entangled I’ll get. There’s no stopping this now.
All bets are off.
“Deal,” he says.
Ali
Only if you’re waiting for me?
What on Earth was I thinking?
The kiss, that was nice. The rest of it, horrendous.
With my day starting out with a splash, I grab a spare dress from Amanda, wipe off my face, and barely make it to class. Despite going through the motions with relative ease, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. It wasn’t a simple kiss. It was intense, and it unlocked a deeper part of me. It also broke my free-fall.
Everything adds up into this package of obviousness, and now I can’t stop beating myself up for acting so childish.
After a brutal timed math test, I give the kids a little break. They’re pretty burnt out from a month of so many changes, so, despite my deep hatred for these Hallmark holidays, I’m offering a truce to St. Valentine.
That’s right. I’m opening my mailbox for candy hearts, sweet suckers, and vows of adoration. But this comes with a warning. If he does me wrong, there won’t be anything he can do.
I’ll be gone.
“Okay, my little sweeties,” I announce. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Do you know what that means?”
Sammy darts up her hand. “Cooties!”
Damn straight, girl.
I bend forward, hands fastened to the patchwork skirt Amanda lent me. “No, silly. Cooties are not allowed. You hear that, boys?”
She giggles, fingers pressed to her face.
Someone else raises their hand, a young boy in the front row. “Candy,” he says.
“Yes, candy,” I say. “And?”
A girl near the back raises her hand. “A cute little mailbox with a bird on the top, with hearts that go all around the sky!”
I’ve got them riffing now. “Yes, Susie. Someone else take a shot.”
“Cupid with his bow,” someone shouts. “Naked!”
The entire class bursts out in uncontrollable laughter. A few of the boys exaggerate and fall out of their chairs.
“Okay, guys,” I say. “Simmer down. Back in your seats. Those are all good answers.”
Xander timidly raises his hand.
“Yes, Xander,” I say. “Do you want to share what Valentine’s Day is to you?”
Gentle, he lowers his arm. “A nice letter for a nice girl.”
Somehow, I think I know who that nice girl is.
Sammy twists in her seat, and eventually she raises her hand. “Ms. Greenwald. What if you don’t want any letters?”
Crap.
“We want everyone to be able to give and receive a letter,” I say. “So that other children don’t feel left out.”
Sammy stares at her desk. “Well, I don’t want any letters. I don’t want to go to Valentine’s Day.”
It’s like I’m staring into a mirror, except my reflection is a seven year old girl. I take a deep breath. “If you don’t want to participate, then you don’t have to. But feel free to write your own message to your classmates if you want to. You can just make a letterbox for yourself.”
Sammy looks in her peripheral before nodding. “Okay.”
After class, Sammy waits for me at the door. I pack my things and do a double-check to see if I left anything behind. The first thing I see is Sammy’s letterbox. It’s underneath her desk, and the corner is bent as if someone stepped on it.
I head toward her. “Ready to go?”
She nods, eyes facing the hallway.
“You want to grab your letterbox before you go?” I ask.
She stares at the ground, shaking her head.
I sigh, wondering what I should do. On one hand, this is what kids go through. On the other, maybe it’s something deeper. Is this because I kissed her dad?
“Sammy, I thought we were friends. What’s wrong?” I ask.
Without wanting to open up, she just shuts down. It’s like a light goes off. The door is shut, and I’ve been denied access.
She whips her hair over her shoulder. “We are friends. Can you take me home now?”
I come to her side. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The second car ride to Marc’s house is one met with a very uncomfortable silence. I keep grasping for topics to bring us closer, but she doesn’t seem at all interested in engaging. Rounding the corner into their neighborhood, I head toward the source of my newly felt butterflies. Still, I worry about losing a connection with his daughter.
Everything just feels a little off.
Pulling in their driveway, the garage door rolls open. Marc is holding Ragamuffin, stroking the pet’s long ears. A tight shirt hugs his chiseled torso, and his black slacks are tight in all the right areas. I try to focus my eyes on something else, but my pupils dart to him like a magnet.
This is the perfect picture. The single dad so many women find themselves daydreaming about. I have him right in front of me, but I’ve spent so much time pushing him away.
He gives a friendly wave and a wink, and I suddenly hear my voice again. Only if you’re waiting for me. Ugh.
I wish I had never said that. It’s so obvious that I want him now. I wish we could have a do-over. There’s no bet anymore. Nothing to get in the way. Everything is out in the open, so what’s stopping either of us from pouncing on top of each other?
I park the car and open Sammy’s door, biting my tongue as she runs into the house without saying a word to Marc. He watches her and laughs like he expects this kind of behavior.
“She’s not too thrilled about Valentine’s Day,” I say.
There’s like six feet between us. I think of running again. Running away from what I’m feeling. But I can’t run now.
He nods. “She’s like this every year,” he tells me. “You want to come inside, or...”
The sound of my heart resounds in my ears. “I don’t want to run again, if that’s what you mean.”
Marc’s award winning smile invites me to take the necessary steps toward him, but the hug I give him is awkward, and he seems a little tense.
“Do you need to talk to Sammy?” I ask. “I can wait outside.”
“Trust me. It’s not worth pressing right now,” he says.
Nodding along, I look at him with affection, but am still somewhat hesitant.
When I enter his house for a second time, an air of comfortability starts to sink in. I’ve been here before. It’s less foreign. But in the back of my mind is the fact that I still haven’t gotten to know him. All that quickly gets erased when my nose detects a delicious scent.
“Mm, what is that?” I ask.
“My peace offering.”
I follow him through the kitchen, and once again, my eyes are drawn to the bookshelf in the family room. Those books are some of my all time favorites. Sammy would probably love them. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to start my job today. Is this job thing even real?
Clearly, I can see why any girl m
ight hate this Hallmark holiday of high expectations surrounding love. It’s stressful, unnecessary, and if you don’t find someone to share it with, it feels downright evil. Then again, she’s a little young to care about it this much. “Does she hate other holidays?” I ask.
“Queen Samantha?” he asks.
Covering my mouth, I laugh and peer out to the living room to see if she heard.
“Don’t worry. She can’t hear us. She’s in her room, far down the hall,” he says, pausing for a moment to search for two oven gloves.
“She likes the other holidays,” he mutters. “This one is a sore subject.”
I look away, biting my top lip. “Any reason? I was hoping I could start to get to know her.”
Marc eyes me for a moment, considering my question. He goes to one of the cabinets, rummaging for something. “She had a bad experience one time.”
It sounds like he’s avoiding something.
“Should I talk to her?” I ask.
Shoulders bending, he shuts the cabinet. “I’ve got it.”
It’s not forceful, but it doesn’t need to be. I get the point. Whatever Sammy is going through is a little bigger than some crush. Whatever it is, Marc doesn’t seem ready to talk to me about it.
Avoiding conflict, my eyes follow the scent toward the oven, where a timer sits. Five minutes and counting. That gives me time to stand in the exotic room, to close my eyes and breathe in the ancient book smell. As soon as I do, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. When I was a girl, I invested so much time in these stories that I thought I might actually become one of the characters.
Everything changed after I finished my studies and attended University. I was taught to act with practicality. Finding a job was the goal, and to do that, I had to specialize my time. I couldn’t spend my hours fantasizing about stories with unrealistic outcomes.
My own story is changing. As unrealistic as this is, I’m in the house of a billionaire, and I’m pretty sure he’s into me. This is something that might happen in one of his books, not real life.
The kitchen sits like a void in the space behind me. There, in the glowing domain, Marc presents a plate of brittle chocolate. I can see why he uses this as a peace offering.
“Sea salt chocolate with peanut butter filling?”