Hot Maine Men Boxed Set (Hot Maine Men Series, Books 1 & 2)

by Remy Rose

  But he doesn’t push it, and I appreciate that. Maybe, though, he just wanted to bring it up—have me think about it.

  Something tells me that Ed King knows exactly what he’s doing.

  I stay for an hour or so—bag up some leaves and put them by the curb. Before I leave, I tell Ed I plan to come visit at his new place, once he gets settled. We’ll stay in touch, I assure him.

  “I would enjoy that, Mr. Decker,” he says.

  I stop in at Lowe’s to get some supplies for Monday’s job and catch up with Owen. He and Dayna are going out tonight for her birthday, which is just as well since I’m not really in the bar mood. I head home, do some laundry that’s been piling up, run the vacuum around the living room. I’m making myself a grilled cheese sandwich when the phone rings.

  It’s my brother.

  If I hadn’t talked to Ed today, I would have ignored the call. But I did talk to Ed, and talking to Ed puts things in a sort of perspective for me. So I answer it.

  “Hey...Jack. Is this a good time?”

  I put down my sandwich. Might as well get it over with. “It’s fine.”

  A pause. A sigh. “I know that Dad talked to you a couple weeks ago. I meant to call before this, but I guess I needed to get my head together and figure out what I wanted to say.”

  “Okay.”

  “Look...I don’t expect you to forgive me, ever. I was wrong. I never should have gotten involved with my brother’s fiancée.”

  “We don’t need to go over this, James. In fact, I’d really rather we didn’t.”

  “Just hear me out. Please. I wasn’t in a good place. Lydia had just dumped me, and Dad was on my ass about the expansion plan not being what he expected. Telling me I needed to be more innovative like my older brother.” He laughs dryly. “Comparing me to you, like he always has. He hinted that I might not keep my position for long if I couldn’t produce. I guess I panicked a little. The night you went to the sales meeting in Providence, Brianne shows up at my place. She gives me this big sob story about how you’ve been neglecting her, and said you were trying to convince our father to replace me.”

  So this is news. The bitch. “James, I never did that. She was lying.”

  “I know that now. But I believed it at the time. I got paranoid, started to stress out that I’d lose my position in the company. I knew I needed to come up with something, and then Brianne tells me she can help me—only she wants me to sleep with her first. She starts coming on to me, we’d been drinking, and...well, I was weak. She tells me your idea about how to acquire competitors. And you know the rest.”

  “Yeah. I sure do, little brother.”

  Another deep sigh. “I’m not trying to make excuses here, Jack. Just trying to give you a little perspective. Bottom line, I was totally wrong. I know Dad told you I’m not with Brianne anymore. It took me a while, but I figured out what a conniving bitch she is. And I’ve been applying for jobs. I’m planning to leave the company. I hope that might help improve things between you and me. Dad’s heart attack shook me up and made me think about family. You’re the only sibling I have, and I want to fix what I’ve fucked up. If that’s even possible.” His voice breaks a little then, and I shift in my chair, feeling a little zinger in my chest. “Anyway...I won’t take up any more of your time. Thanks for hearing me out. I hope we can somehow get back to being brothers.”

  He ends the call. I put down my phone and go to the fridge for a Guinness. I don’t know what the fuck to think. About James, about anything. I’m not going to rush things. I feel like I’ve got time to figure everything out. But then I flash back to Ed’s philosophy about how you shouldn’t take things for granted, and his butterfly story about how life goes by in a blink.

  So there’s that.

  I toss the rest of my now-cold grilled cheese in the trash, feeling more like drinking than eating. Taking my beer into the living room, I sink into the couch and ignore the jabby-type of feeling that’s demanding I open the drawer of the coffee table and look at her picture again. Clench my fingers in fists to fight the urge to pick up my phone and text her.

  I know I’ve got some serious thinking to do. And I will, so I can get myself back on track. This feeling of floundering sucks. It’s not how I roll. I’ve got a lot of projects coming up to keep me busy and grounded—laying tile in Trenton, building a closet for an elderly woman in Blue Hill, turning a basement into a man-cave for a guy in Bucksport.

  I’ll be fine.

  Chapter 32 ~ Madeline

  October 15

  It’s Thirsty Thursday so I am out with Delaney, because as she says, this is what people do. They go out. Last night, she persuaded me to go to Zumba with her. I both love and loathe her for pushing me, because there have been days lately that just getting out of bed is an effort.

  Everything has a sense of hollow automaticity. Get up, shower, make coffee. Feed Murphy. Pet Murphy. Get dressed. Put on a smile at work. Come home. Feed Murphy. Pet Murphy. Lather, rinse, repeat. On better days, I pull on my lined windbreaker and fleece headband for a five mile run, putting one foot in front of the other in a dull, joyless rhythm, counting the telephone poles as I pass and focusing on each frosty breath so I won’t think. Even baking feels mechanical. I made homemade cinnamon rolls for the office yesterday, and there was no usual pleasure when I peeked in the oven door and saw them puff up into thick golden spirals, no little burst of mouthwatery satisfaction when I drizzled homemade icing over the top.

  But I keep going, keep doing, because it’s all I can do.

  And despite my best efforts, I keep missing Jack.

  Laney and I are at New Moon in downtown Ellsworth, listening to a local country rock band and drinking margaritas. The lead singer is undeniably attractive, with thick brown hair to his shoulders and muscles bulging beneath his tight white t-shirt. Laney keeps nudging me whenever he looks over at us.

  “Not interested,” I tell her.

  “How can you not be? Look at him. Even I have to admit he’s sex on a stick. And he’s in a band.”

  “If you’re so into him, why don’t you go for it?”

  “You know I don’t get involved with men. I’m not as brave as you are.”

  “I think you mean not as stupid.”

  “No. I mean brave. You took a risk, but you had every reason to think it would be a good thing. No strings-sex with your insanely attractive carpenter? I want to be you when I grow up. If I grow up.”

  I smile in spite of myself and tilt my head in the singer’s direction. “You can be. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

  Laney giggles, shaking her head. Her curly blonde hair is pulled back in a high, breezy-looking ponytail, and with her red flannel shirt and snug jeans, she looks like a teenage girl. She’s both gorgeous and adorable, and I’m not the only one who’s noticing. A tall, blond man in a rugby-striped sweater and jeans sitting at a high-top across from us is looking at her. “Looking” is really too mild of a term; this guy is staring like he’s trying to memorize her cell structure. He’s even better-looking than the country singer: catalog cover-worthy, broad-chested, with his sleeves pushed up to reveal strong biceps. Golden is the word that comes to mind as I study him: his skin, like he’s been somewhere tropical; his hair, a shade darker than Laney’s.

  He is clearly into my BFF, who is clearly not aware he’s watching her as she sways back and forth in her chair to the music.

  “Hey.” I poke her gently. “You seem to have a fan in Golden Boy over there.”

  Puzzled, she wrinkles up her nose at me. “What are you talking about?”

  I tilt my head slightly in his direction, and Delaney turns to look. Her reaction is immediate. A vivid pink blush races up her neck to her cheeks. I’m instantly intrigued, because Laney doesn’t get flustered over guys. Ever.

  “Jesus, Maddie.” She sweeps her gaze back to me. “Give a girl some warning next time, will you?”

  “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

  “I didn’t kno
w he was staring, and I didn’t know he looked like that.” She seems to be struggling to compose herself. “I mean, he’s not really my type. If I even had a type, which I don’t. He looks too—too perfect. Like a walking Malibu Ken doll.”

  “I wonder if he’s anatomically correct. Maybe you can take him out to play.”

  “Ughh, stop! Seriously.”

  I am grateful for this distraction, to be focusing on something other than my aching heart. “Why are you so keyed up, Lane?” I tease.

  “I don’t know. I’m not,” she snaps. “Look away. Nothing to see here.”

  “I beg to differ. This is a first.”

  “Well, it’s going to be the last. This is fucking ridiculous. I don’t even know him. It’s just some weird, exaggerated reaction, I guess...probably because I haven’t been with anyone in so long.” Her eyes are round, anxious. “Do you think that’s it?”

  She is genuinely agitated about this—so much so that I want to comfort her rather than tease her. I’m just about to reply when I’m interrupted by someone approaching our table: Sean, our newly-hired agent at Maine Coastal. He’s extremely likable, tall and lanky with an easy smile and kind eyes. He has the perfect temperament for an agent—in tune to his clients’ needs and eager to help without being pushy. Angie has noted on more than one occasion that he seems to be “highly-appreciative” of me as a boss. I know what she’s trying to sell, and I’m not buying. Nothing against Sean—it’s just that he’s not Jack.

  No one is Jack.

  “Hey, Madeline.”

  “Hi, Sean. Great band tonight.”

  “I know, right? The drummer’s a buddy of mine.”

  I have the very distinct feeling that the tables have turned, and Delaney is now eyeing me with interest. I’m not flustered, however, because you can’t get flustered when your heart is closed. “Under construction” is what Laney calls it. Which leads me to think renovation, and then…

  A poke in my side from Laney. I introduce her to Sean, and he pulls a chair over to sit with us. It’s loud in the bar, people singing along to the band’s version of Margaritaville. Sean is saying something to me but I can’t hear him. I lean in closer, our heads almost touching, just as the last person I expected to see tonight walks in.

  Jack. Decker. Is. Here.

  My heart does a flip-twist, and then clutches as I realize he may not be alone. Within seconds, I can confirm that he’s with someone, but it’s a guy—short and rugged with a beard, both of them scoping out the place.

  He sees me. Recognition, surprise flashing across his face, and then a fierceness I haven’t seen before.

  What is that about?

  And as soon as I think the question, I know the answer.

  He thinks I’m with Sean.

  There’s a glowing in my chest from the realization that Jack is jealous. Because in order to be jealous, you have to actually care.

  He cares.

  “Um, Maddie?” Laney lifts one perfectly-shaped eyebrow and smiles at me anxiously. “Sean was just asking you a question.”

  I snap my attention back to Sean. He’s looking at me with puzzlement and a hint of embarrassment, since it’s obvious I haven’t been listening. I apologize without giving an excuse, thinking it might make it worse if I said something like, my former lover’s standing over near the doorway, and all I can think about is his mouth and hands and—

  “No worries, Madeline. I was just asking if I could buy you and Delaney a drink. Unless there’s something in my Maine Coastal contract that prohibits it.” He grins, and damn, I really do feel badly, because he’s so nice and eager.

  I laugh and tell him there’s nothing against it in the contract, but I’d feel like I’d have to pay him more if he starts buying his boss drinks, and I really don’t want to pay him more. He laughs, too, and I’m vindicated for not listening earlier.

  When Sean turns to look at the band, I get Laney’s attention. JACK, I mouth. Her eyes widen, and I’m trying to figure out how to discreetly let her know where he’s standing.

  Only I don’t need to worry.

  He’s not there anymore.

  Quickly, I scan the New Moon crowd, my eyes flicking over a palette of plaid shirts and fringe-y vests and fall-colored sweaters.

  He’s not there.

  A raw, gnawing ache begins to spread in my stomach. Did I imagine him? No. I couldn’t have dreamed up the way he looked at me, what I saw on his face. Did seeing me at a table with another man rattle him to the point of having to leave? Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe he didn’t like the band...it was too crowded...his friend suggested they check out another bar...or, more likely, he thought it would be too awkward with me here.

  Delaney and Sean are talking easily, comfortably—a good thing, because I can excuse myself to go use my phone and not feel like I’m being rude to my new agent for the second time.

  I push back my chair and sling the strap of purse over my shoulder as Laney looks up in surprise. “I’ll be back in a few. Just need to use the bathroom.” Not exactly a lie; I’m going to head over there to the dark little hallway outside the restrooms for some privacy. I’m feeling brave enough—or maybe it’s desperate enough—to call Jack.

  Approaching the restrooms, I weave past a stocky, thirty-something pseudo-cowboy in a Stetson. He’s weaving a bit himself, grinning at me like I’m a calf he wants to rope. I flash him what I hope is a friendly, non-flirty smile before stepping into the hallway and am just about to take my phone out of my purse when I feel a hand close around my wrist. It is not a gentle hand. And it belongs to the pseudo-cowboy.

  “Hey, little lady...where you off to?”

  Little lady? Who even says that? “The bathroom,” I say coolly, trying to slide my hand out of his grip and hoping he won’t actually notice.

  He notices. His fingers squeeze tighter, and now he’s backing me up into the end of the hallway, toward the men’s bathroom. I can smell the beer on his breath, wafting over me. I don’t want to struggle and let him know I’m scared, but I can’t just let him push me around like this. Fear creeps up my throat like bile, and I swallow, determined to stay calm—telling myself that I’m in a public place, that he won’t be able to do anything.

  “It just so happens that I’m going to the bathroom, too,” he chuckles. “Why don’t we go in together?” Now he has both my wrists, pushing them behind my back so that my arms are bent uncomfortably. He puts his mouth to my ear and drops his voice. “I can lock the door so we can have some privacy. What do you say? Just you and me.”

  This is getting a bit too real. I am just about to introduce my knee to his genitals when suddenly, it’s like he’s ripped away from me. His arms wave wildly, comically, as he struggles to keep his balance and then plops down on the scuffed floor with an astonished oomph.

  It’s Jack. Towering over the pseudo-cowboy, his face darkened with anger. The man scrambles to his feet, his boots slipping on the tile, holding up his hands and grinning nervously. “Hey, buddy...no harm done here...just trying to have a little fun. Wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”

  Jack grabs him by the shirt, shoves him against the wall. He’s easily a foot taller. “Hey, buddy... I suggest you get the fuck out of here before I decide to have a little fun with you. Only in this case, hurt would be involved.”

  Pseudo-cowboy looks terrified—to the point I’m almost feeling sorry for him. Almost. Jack steps back, and the guy stumbles out of the hallway and back toward the bar.

  “Fucking moron,” Jack mutters. Immediately, he turns his attention to me, his anger replaced by concern. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” I rub my wrists which still hurt a bit and shift my purse strap higher on my shoulder. “I’m glad you showed up.” I soak in the feel of his intense blue eyes, a rush of longing cascading through me. My God, just to look at him again, the strength in his handsome face making me feel weak in the knees...

  “I’m glad, too.”

  “Jack...I don’t even k
now if you were thinking this, but the man at the table with me...I wanted to explain—”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations, Madeline.” The muscles in his face seem to tighten with a sort of resignation. The intensity in his eyes cools and fades, until it feels like we are just two people who knew each other a long time ago.

  He called me Madeline instead of Callaway.

  Any hope that I had flutters and then stills, like a leaf in a dying breeze.

  I try to hold his eyes with mine just one more time before I manage a smile, whisper okay and return to my table where Laney is sitting alone.

  “Girlfriend! Everything okay? I was thinking I might need to send a search party looking for you.”

  “Everything’s okay. I just saw Jack, who apparently doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Ohh. Ugh. I’m sorry, Mads.”

  There’s a pit growing in my stomach. I want to fill it up with alcohol. Maybe lots of alcohol. “Where’s Sean?”

  “At the bar, talking to a girl he used to date. She called him over, but I think he’d rather be sitting here with you.”

  I shake my head. “He’s so nice, but number one, no office romances, and number two, I’m not interested.”

  “And number three, you’re in love with your carpenter.”

  Her words pelt me like hail. My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

  “When are you going to tell him, Maddie?”

  I don’t know how to respond, what to think. All I can do is feel: the burning in my eyes, the aching of my heart. The hopelessness.

  “Just think about it, Mads. It might be what you need to do.” Laney gets up, tightens her ponytail and bends down to give me a quick hug. “I’m going to hunt down our waitress and see about getting us a pitcher of margaritas. Be right back—love you lots.”

  “Love you lots, too.”

  There’s a vibration from my purse hanging on the chair. My phone. A text. Rekindled hope, bubbling up inside me as I fight to tamp it down with cold reality.

  Madeline, I know you’ve been resistant so far, but please say you’ll meet with me. All I’m asking is just for one meeting.