by Remy Rose
This woman...Jesus, I’m thinking she’s ruined me for anyone else.
Scariest fucking thought I’ve ever had. It goes way beyond spiders.
Some of Callaway’s hair is laying across her forehead in a coppery-brown tangle. I feel like I should push it away from her face, so I reach my hand toward her. But then it hits me that this seems like a boyfriend or husband thing to do.
Can’t do that. I bring my arm back fast.
So I’m lying here, still as stone, and I’m weighing my options—wondering if I can slide out of bed and slip out the door without waking her up—maybe leave her a goodbye note or text her from my truck. Nah, that’s bullshit, a total dick move. She deserves more. I’ve got to man-up and deal with this error in judgment.
While I’m trying to figure out how to wake her—whether I should clear my throat, or cough, or give her a little nudge—her cat takes care of it for me. Murphy climbs over me like it’s no big deal that I’m laying here and walks along the side of Callaway’s body like she’s a balance beam. She makes a little sound. I watch her eyelids flutter and then open. She’s in that hazy phase in between asleep and awake that I was in just a few minutes ago, but as her senses become clearer and she realizes that I’m beside her, her eyes widen and brighten, like she can’t believe I’m here.
That makes two of us.
I decide I’m going to do what I do best—play it cool, keep things light, smile. “It would appear that I, uh, spent the night.”
“It would appear that way, yes.” She’s blushing and so goddamned adorable and sexy, I want to have her for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.
Watch yourself, Big Deck. “Guess I liked your sheets.”
“Egyptian cotton, 800 thread count.”
“Nice. Although I think it had more to do with the woman in them.” Ahh, shit. Shit and shit and shit. What the fuck am I thinking, saying things like that, especially when I’m supposed to be easing up, backing away? Especially when I fucking spent the night.
I mentally gut-punch myself and toss off the covers like they’re suffocating me, because that’s kind of what’s happening right now. “So...I’m gonna get out of your hair, Callaway. Didn’t mean to sleep over—sorry about that.”
She sits up against the headboard, pulling the sheets up to her chest and blinking at me. Her voice is soft. “I’m not sorry, Jack.”
I get off the bed and go to find my clothes. I’m naked, and I don’t usually get self-conscious about being in my birthday suit in front of women—ever—but we’re talking about this woman, and seeing as I’m feeling like she can see right through me, I’ve got this need to get dressed and put some sort of barrier between the two of us. Real rational, I know. But I’m not feeling rational, and I haven’t had coffee, and I need coffee and I need to get out of here.
My plan to drive through Coffee Express on the way home is changed to me having coffee and a bagel at Madeline’s kitchen table, because Jesus, her face. She’s quiet, and I get it—I’m not feeling too talkative myself.
I’m dressed in last night’s work clothes; she’s wearing a short, silky-looking robe with flowers on it and her hair up in a loose bun. I watch her move around the kitchen: taking the bottle of creamer out of the refrigerator, opening the pantry door to get Murphy’s food dish, reaching up to get two mugs out of the cupboard, her bare, tanned calves flexing.
She sits down at the table and slides the container of cream cheese toward me. I slather some on my bagel. She has her fingers wrapped around her mug, staring down at her coffee like it’s got answers. A wavy lock of her hair falls forward, dangling over her mug, and without thinking, I do the thing I was debating doing before, in bed: I reach out and brush it away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She looks up at me in surprise and gives me the smallest of smiles.
“Jack...”
“I’ve come to a conclusion, Callaway.”
“What’s that?”
“Your husband must have been a total idiot.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Seriously, a complete moron. But I feel kind of sorry for him, because he gave up such a stunning woman. If I ever see him, I should say thank you, because without his stupidity, I never would have met you.” My throat gets a little clogged so I clear it, and damn, Callaway eyes are filling up, a tear sliding down her cheek. I reach over and give her arm a little squeeze.
“Hey, hey...no crying, okay? I don’t want to make you sad.”
She nods, picks up her napkin, dabs it at her eyes, tries to smile. My chest feels full and tight. It’s a weird sensation, and for a second I worry I’m having a heart attack. All of a sudden I’ve got this panicky urge to leave. I can’t drag this out for much longer; it’s too tough for both of us. I have a kind of goodbye gift for her, so I’ll get that and then go home.
“I have something for you, in my truck. And it’s not the bill.” I grin at her, hoping to lighten the mood. “Be right back, okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be pathetic.”
“You’re far from pathetic, Callaway. And don’t apologize.” My chair scrapes against the tile floor as I get up. I bend down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek on my way out.
I open the door to the breath of August, hot and heavy in my face. It’s the kind of day where around noontime, you’ll be able to actually see the heat, hanging shimmery over the pavement. The kind of day where you’d want to hang out on the edge of the ocean, sinking your bare feet into the packed wet sand, knocking back a few brews.
In other words, the kind of day that would be perfect to spend right here.
I take out the package from my truck. I only had single-guy wrapping paper—blue and white stripes—and no bow, but then again, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of giving her something since our alliance is over now. Over—that word kind of feels like an ice cube down my back.
She’s wiping the table when I come back in and shakes her head when she sees the gift. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jack. I feel guilty now that I didn’t get you anything.”
“Are you kidding me? The dinners you made me, the snack breaks, the great company? Not to mention the...um, you know.”
I’m glad to see her eyes sparkle a little at that. “That was a mutual gift.”
“Anyway—here. Open it.” I hold out the package and she takes it, sliding her finger underneath the folded edge and unwrapping it carefully. Her lips part—God, that mouth—as she makes this little surprised inhale and looks up at me. “You took a picture of me?”
I’m not going to tell her that this is another mutual gift—so I can look at her anytime I want.
“Yeah. It was that day I met you down at the water—when you explained what that stack of rocks was. Hope you don’t now consider me some kind of creeper.”
“You mean more than I already do?”
I chalk her up an air point. “Ha. Score for Callaway. Just so you know, the photo was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I was heading down to see you, and the scene looked like a painting: glittery water, bright sun, girl rocking an orange bikini...the closer I got to it, the more awesome it looked. I had to capture it.”
“It’s a beautiful shot. I mean, not me—just the scene.”
“You are what makes it beautiful, Callaway.”
Shit. There I go again, letting the words out of my mouth before I analyze what impact they might have. The way she’s looking at me, I have to bring this train back to the station before it gets totally derailed. “Anyway, I think it came out really nice. I like the contrast in it—the gray of the sand with your orange bathing suit, the wildness of the ocean with the solid vibe that rock stack gives off.”
“Cairn,” she says, the ghost of a smile flickering on her lips.
“Right—cairn. I still need to look that up.” I’m staring at her, wanting to memorize the little dent between her eyes she gets when she’s troubled or concentrating hard, wanting to remember the renegade pieces of her
hair that are always sneaking out of captivity.
This sucks, because I’m really going to miss her eyelashes. And the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
Whoa. Jack, buddy. Time to get off the train. “Hey, I really should be getting home. But thanks for the coffee. And everything.”
Callaway puts her hand on my arm. My heart feels like I’ve got a woodworking vise clamping down on it. “Jack—before you go, I just want you to know that being with you has been the most intense five weeks of my life. I’m glad you were the first person I was with after my divorce.” Her words sound choked. “And it wasn’t just about the sex. I hope you know that. I—I really like you.”
I respond slowly, carefully. “I really like you, too, Madeline.”
“Remember when I told you what I was afraid of? Being betrayed again?”
“I remember.”
“I’m changing it.”
I want and don’t want to hear this.
Madeline’s holding me with her eyes which are big and dewy, like a doe’s. “My biggest fear is losing you.”
I don’t know what the fuck to say. I just stand there, looking down at her, hoping by some miracle I’ll come up with a few words that might make this easier. They don’t come, but luckily she saves my ass and brings this scene to a close by reaching out to shake my hand. This definitely doesn’t feel like enough, so I bend down, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair and pulling her in to me for a tight hug.
It was at least ten seconds.
Chapter 26 ~ Madeline
September 5
“Okay, everybody’s done.” Delaney is sitting cross-legged, rocking from side to side to scoot herself farther back against the couch. “Read the answers, Kel.” We’re playing Loaded Questions. It’s not even the adult version, but we’re making it inappropriate whenever we can, because that’s what we do. Be crude, eat, and drink.
Kelly peers at us sternly from behind her sexy librarian glasses. “I will, but guys, we have to watch the noise level. It’s a bitch trying to get Maura back to sleep when she wakes up.”
“We’ll be good,” Amanda assures her, holding up two fingers in the sign for peace. “Lesbian’s honor.”
“Did you seriously just make a vag symbol? Like V for vagina?” Laney is incredulous.
“I totally did.” Amanda flashes us a triumphant grin, and we all burst out in the kind of snickery giggles that even the threat of waking up toddlers can’t suppress. Kelly tries to glare at us, but even she can’t keep from laughing.
It hits me that this is the first time I’ve laughed, really laughed, since Jack. I’ve been in survival mode these past few weeks. It’s like I’m in a time warp—not moving forward, stuck in what feels like a big pile of sludge, my senses dulled so that food is tasteless, music doesn’t move me...I’ve been going through the motions with no real sense of what day it is, hoping my mechanical smile at work will be convincing. I’m quite confident Angie and Jordan are on to me.
Kelly leans over in her chair to the end table so she can see the video baby monitor and then clasps her hands in mock prayer. “Thank God. They’re both still sleeping. I know this is a sucky place to do a girls’ night, but with Scott on his business trip and me not being able to find a sitter...”
Delaney shushes her. “No need to explain. I think it’s great that we’re all here, except for Jordan, who ditched us for her title attorney. Again.”
“Ah, she’s in love,” smiles Kelly. “You’d do the same thing.”
“Well, we’ll never know, seeing as that’s never going to happen.”
“Never say never, Laney,” Kelly winks. “Someone might come along and sweep you off your feet.”
“Nope. I like my feet on solid ground, thanks. Can we get back to the game?”
“Sorry, yes.”
“Maddie’s guessing who said what. Here’s the question again: what’s your favorite kind of candy?” Delaney picks up the slips of paper with our answers and begins to read each one. “Suckers...anything chocolate...cream-filled...and eye.”
We start giggling again, I match all of the answers correctly, the girls give me high-fives, and we take a snack and beer break in the kitchen.
“I am so glad I took the night off,” Amanda sighs, sliding onto a stool at the high-top table and reaching for the peanut dish. “I’ve been working way too much. My new assistant manager is young and eager—it’s so sweet, really—and you woulda thought I was signing over the restaurant when I asked her to cover for me.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” says Kelly. “Take full advantage before she becomes jaded like you.”
“Oh, don’t worry—I plan to. And speaking of the restaurant business...Mads, I know I’ve said this before, but you’d kick some major ass as a chef. You’re fucking slaying this party with the apps you brought. Butternut squash apple bruschetta...mmm, I wish you were mine,” she says, waggling her thick eyebrows.
“Don’t forget her pumpkin pie dippers.” Kelly takes one off the plate. “When I said bring a snack to share, Maddie, I meant one. Uno. Singular.”
“You know how I like to cook. No big deal,” I tell her. “Plus, I need the focus.”
“I’m still mad at that handyman, but the silver lining is more food for us.” Kelly is smiling until she realizes I’m not. “Oh, fuck, Madeline—that was mean, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“Get me another Pumpkinhead and I’ll forgive you. No rum this time, though.”
Kelly blows me a kiss as she takes my glass, rubs an orange slice around the rim and then turns it over in the plate of cinnamon sugar. She hands it back to me, refilled, her eyes soft with sympathy that I really don’t want. I can feel the others looking at me, unspoken questions and comments glittering in the air like dust in sunlight.
Oh, what the hell. I’ll go there. It’ll be less painful if I initiate it.
“So first of all, I’m okay, I’m functioning. People have been through a lot worse. And it wasn’t even like I was with him for six months or anything. I mean, technically, I wasn’t even with him, right?”
They are nodding hesitantly, not sure if I want them to agree or disagree with me. I don’t know, either.
“Right,” Kelly says slowly, as if she’s measuring her words, “but it was intense, and there was a lot packed into that time. So it isn’t surprising that you’d be really affected by breaking up. And you said the sex was amazing.”
“Yes. But it was more than sex.”
They slide knowing glances toward each other. I probably shouldn’t have said that. “The whole thing, though—it wasn’t rational. Relationships should unfold more gradually, shouldn’t they?”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true, sweetness,” Amanda says, her round brown eyes warm and kind. “There are all kinds of relationships—whirlwind, slow burn, friends to lovers...who’s to say if one is better than the other?”
“’Manda’s right,” Laney nods. “My grandparents have been together almost sixty years, and my grandfather proposed three weeks after they met. So it can happen.”
“When you know, you know,” Kelly adds, giving me a gentle, anxious smile.
“I thought I knew with Paul, and look how that turned out.”
Laney holds up her hand. “As your BFF from college, I have to disagree. You were on the fence even a few days before your wedding, remember? Your cold feet must have been trying to tell you something.”
“You’re saying that I should have listened to my feet?”
“Yup.”
“I think she’s saying that if you had really loved him, you would have felt it everywhere.” Kelly’s eyes mist over. “That happened when I fell in love with Scott. I loved him with every part of me.”
Delaney grins, her blue eyes lightening with mischief. “Does that include your shinbones? Ear lobes? Armpits?”
The rest of us are snickering, but Kelly is undaunted. “Yes, beeyotch. Every molecule of my being fell totally in love with him. And he
can still make me weak in the knees, when he winks at me or puts his hand on the back of my neck or whispers dirty things to me, and believe me, when you’re knee-deep in potty-training and Play-Doh...”
Play-Doh. Jack.
“...you need to be totally in love, so it can pull you out of the day-to-day stuff and remind you of the nights.” She sighs. “Fuck that he’s on the business trip, because I’d be going upstairs right now and riding him like he was a stallion.”
“Bottom line, you got rid of Paul who turned out to be a prick, and you enjoyed getting hot and heavy with your handyman.” Delaney smiles at me encouragingly. “You’ll always have those memories.”
“Yes on the memories, but sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of Paul.”
“Wha-a-t? Don’t tell me he’s still contacting you.” Kelly looks indignant. “He’s got some nerve, seeing as it was him who wanted to end the marriage in the first place!”
“My God, he’s like a shit that won’t flush,” Laney exclaims.
Amanda flexes her left arm and smacks her bicep. “Just say the word, Maddie. I’ll pound the crap out of him.”
“That’s tempting, but it’s not like he’s stalking me or anything—just texting and calling me every so often and saying he wants to talk. He doesn’t seem to get that I don’t care what he has to say, that I’m over him. I think it’s partly due to the fact he’s no longer with his mistress, and he doesn’t do the alone thing very well. Hopefully he’ll stop soon, or find someone else. It’s not going to be me.”