by Casey Hagen
She’d picked up the little black number a couple years earlier because she loved the Audrey Hepburn classiness of it with the high neck and simple cut, and the way it fell, it didn’t cut off any of her tattoos.
Then she’d made two albums in two years, effectively killing every last moment of spare time she might have had to wear it.
She had makeup made for tattoo coverage if that’s what it came to, but sometimes she wanted a dress that cut just right so either her thigh tattoos showed, or they didn’t.
The fabric landed just above her knee hiding the ladies inked there, but at the same time, the sleeveless cut let her show off her arms in their entirety.
Yeah, she’d made a good decision on the dress. She smiled at her reflection.
Her doorbell rang, and her heart pinched.
God, she’d missed him so damn much.
How was it possible that he’d gotten under her skin in just over a week?
Had it really only been a week?
Eight days.
Eight days since that fateful night when he’d stood at the end of a line full of giggling girls waiting to meet her.
She slid off her heels and ran for the door, anxious to get her arms around him again.
Skidding to a stop on the entry rug, she pulled open the door. “Hi,” she said, breathless. She perused his black suit, the way he hugged his wide shoulders and hips, igniting her blood.
Her fingers itched to peel it from him one article at a time, leaving a piece here, and a piece there, all the way to her bed.
Or the table.
“Wow,” he said quietly. “You, uh, wow.”
“You said that,” she said, grabbing his tie and pulling him through the door. “Now kiss me, dammit.”
She pressed herself against him in pursuit of his mouth and so help her if she had to climb him like a tree to do it, she would.
His lips crashed against hers, his hands going around her back, those palms of his drifting straight to her ass and pulling her against the growing problem in his dress pants.
He groaned and slid her arms from around his neck. “Be good. I have a surprise. We need to get going.”
“Where are we headed?”
“Stamford,” he said, taking her wool jacket from where she left it draped over the chair and sliding it over her shoulders.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re way too good at keeping secrets,” she muttered.
His deep laugh was his only reply.
Almost an hour later, they arrived on Bedford Street, and he pulled to a smooth stop at the north end where it met Main.
Corporate offices, restaurants, stores, and banks, with the occasional park filled the busy area, absolutely nothing gave her any idea what they were doing there.
“We’ll walk from here,” he said, opening the door for her and giving her a hand out.
The temperature dipped into the twenties, making her grateful she’d chosen the wool jacket over the shawl she’d considered.
He took her hand and led her along the way, their heels clicking in the night, the sound of traffic cutting through the occasional bouts of laughter as people left restaurants and a handful of teens skateboarded over the sidewalks.
They whizzed past, finding a home on the concrete sidewalks in front of corporate offices. At least until cops rolled through and made them move along.
“Here we are,” he said, gesturing to a door with a sleek, contemporary sign hanging over the opening that read Rhodes Galleries.
“I don’t get it.” She glanced at the picture window and the people milling about with flutes of champagne in their hands. Pictures hung on the walls, veiled by curtains...for now.
Aiden’s love of photography.
The pictures he took.
The pictures of her. “Oh God, you didn’t.” She choked on a breath and took a step back.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He reached for her, and she yanked her arm away.
This was her home, where she felt safe, where no one recognized her. And here he put their trip on display for everyone to see.
What if the people their took pictures and plastered them on social media. It would only be a matter of time before someone figured it out.
Before her privacy disappeared for good.
“You put me on display in there? How could you?” she said, her throat thick with hot tears of betrayal.
Her skin flamed, and her heart broke. Turning away, her heel caught in the sidewalk and she stumbled.
His arms came around her, both a relief and a painful reminder that she’d let this man in, let him see her in a way she’d never let anyone see her.
Anger at him fueled her, and she struggled. Against him, against the fact that despite her anger and hurt, she still loved the way his arms held her.
“Dammit, will you stop for a minute and listen?” he said, carefully letting her go while keeping his arms up to catch her if she fell.
His authoritative voice left no room for refusal, and she swiped away angry tears, refusing to speak, maybe because of the anger, maybe because if she stayed suspended in this dark moment, at least it wouldn’t get any worse.
“You’re not on display in there,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “Well, you are, but not the way you think.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are two showings in there tonight. The invitation only one you just saw,” he said, catching his breath.
“And?”
“There’s another gallery in the back, just for you and me,” he said.
She closed her eyes as mortification slid through her. She slapped her hands over her face and shook her head. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“Well, you were bound to have a turn at it,” he said with a relieved laugh. “I should have warned you, but I had no idea how without spoiling the surprise. Clearly, I underestimated just how much the idea of being on display would hurt you.”
“No, it’s not your fault. I screwed up. I’m sorry,” she said, folding her hands and touching them to her mouth. She’d put the wounded look in his eyes with her outburst. “I’m so embarrassed. I—”
“Shhh,” he said, taking her hands and pulling her into his arms. “We still have things to learn about each other. This was just one more lesson.”
“There you go showing off those brains of yours,” she muttered against his chest. She clutched at his lapels as relief slid through her. “Shit, my eyes must look horrible.”
“You’re beautiful. When I introduce you to Oliver, I’ll say they’re tears of joy,” he said as he snickered against her temple.
“Please. I would love to say there was some sort of hormonal reason for my overreaction, but I’ve got nothing,” she mumbled.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “He’s waiting for us.”
She fanned her face on the way to the door. “Do I look okay?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead before pulling open the door.
He led her into a narrow entry where a redheaded, slight man with thick-rimmed glasses stood.
“Natalie, so very nice to meet you. I’m Oliver Rhodes, your host for the evening,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
“Thank you,” she said while keeping a firm grip on Aiden’s hand. Forget butterflies. She had crows in a midair duel in her stomach.
“If you’ll follow me,” he said, leading them down the hall to an opening closed by a curtain. “Allow me to introduce...Natalie’s Heart,” he said, pushing a button to retract the curtain.
Fresh tears rushed up, clouding her eyes as she stepped in and turned in a slow circle to see their adventure played out on the four walls.
Staring out at the sea. The air teasing her senses, making her long for a time machine so she could go back and sail like a pirate on the open seas.
Propped against the rough-hewn wood of a covered bridge, a tumble of f
eelings all wrapped in Aiden rushing her so fast, she struggled to capture them all.
Her forehead pressed to Burt’s, that devilish closed-mouth grin as they danced, and memories of the love of his life tumbled in the space between them.
Then the fourth...bigger than the others, hanging with a veil draped over it.
“The featured piece for this evening is She Talks to Angels.” Oliver lifted the silk off the corners of the frame and stepped back.
“How did you do this?” she asked, pressing a hand to her chest to catch her galloping heart.
“This was all you,” Aiden said, lifting his chin, his gaze locked on the picture.
“Surely you made some adjustments—”
“Not a one,” he said quietly.
Adrenaline pumped through her, leaving her dizzy. Her hands shook as she reached out to run her fingers along the frame. “Aiden, it looks like they were there, reaching for me,” she whispered.
“It does. The same feeling wells up inside me seeing this as when I heard you sing ‘Hidden Heart.’” His voice went quiet with reverent emotion that had her skin breaking out in goose bumps. “Pain...longing...rebirth...but most of all, hope.”
“You see so much in me,” she whispered.
“I do, and when I saw this picture, I knew this was the best way for me to show you. Even the professional agreed,” he said, casting a glance to Oliver.
“He’s right. I saw this and tried to talk him into letting me feature it tonight in the other showing. I finally offered him an obscene amount of money, and he said no. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to give you a bit of privacy.”
Oliver stepped away, and the curtain fell back into place.
“How much money did he offer?” she asked, her lips twitching.
Aiden shook his head. “It was a gross display of his success.”
“How much, Aiden?”
“A hundred thousand.”
She swallowed. “I’m impressed.”
“It’s just money.”
“I meant you. You turned it down,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I wouldn’t sell you out; I don’t care the amount. I just wanted to show you the part of you you’re unable to see,” he said, his fingers trailing over her temple and capturing an errant curl.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you how much I love you,” she said quietly.
“You already have,” he said, pressing his warm lips to her forehead.
She glanced over at the picture hanging there, and an idea forming in the back of her mind. “Is it too late to take that offer?”
“I doubt it. They haven’t started in the other room yet.”
“Tell Oliver it’s a deal. Take the money and put it toward your father’s care,” she said.
He blew out a breath and pulled her into his arms, his shoulders shaking as he held her. “I’m in for a lifetime of surprises from you, aren’t I?” he said, his throat thick with tears.
“A lifetime sounds glorious,” she whispered against his ear as he tucked her face against his neck and smelled...home.
Epilogue
A COUPLE MONTHS LATER, on their first road trip since moving in together, with a hand on Natalie’s lower back, he guided her into the Barbed Wire Bar and Grill.
A live band played from the stage, while a crowd filled the dance floor in a sea of bodies moving separately, but together.
The room swayed with infectious energy to the beat of country rock pounding from the amplifiers.
“Do you see him?” she said, pushing up on her tiptoes, searching the crowd.
Aiden pointed over her shoulder at the bar. “Right there.”
“Oh, yes!” She took his free hand. “Come on.”
“Lead the way,” he said, following her as she dragged him through the crowd.
“Burt!” She tapped him on the shoulder where he sat at the bar picking at the label of his longneck bottle.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said, sliding off the barstool and taking her in his arms.
“We brought you something,” she said, keeping her one arm around him, a bright smile on her face as she leaned her head on his shoulder.
He gave her a quick squeeze. “You did now?”
Aiden held up the framed photo that had hung in the gallery.
“Look at that,” he said, the words quiet as they rode on a whoosh of air. “My god, who’s that young guy with you there?”
“Isn’t it great?” she said.
“How did you do it?” Burt said, glancing between them.
Aiden smiled and handed him the picture. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The rest was all you two.”
“Well, I’ll be. Thank you. I’ll cherish it,” he said, taking the frame. “Jake,” he called to the bartender. “Can you keep this safe back there for me?”
“Sure can,” the bartender said, taking the frame from him.
“I’ll tell you what, you save a dance for this old man tonight, would ya? But in the meantime, you might want to get out on the floor and get warmed up. I’ll be along,” Burt said with a nod in the direction of the crowd and a sheen of tears in his clear blue eyes.
Aiden led her to the one empty table he could find in the corner. The crowd shifted into line formation as a popular song came on.
“You mind ordering me a beer?” she asked, her feet already stomping along with the beat.
“Not at all,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. “Go, have fun.”
“I’ll be right back.” She jogged over to the group and jumped in on the edge of the closest line.
Burt joined him and nudged his elbow. “You’re going to marry that girl, aren’t ya?”
Aiden slid his hands in his jean pockets and rocked on his heels. “You bet your ass I am.”
“Good boy,” Burt said, clapping him on the shoulder. “She was born to be a mother. Mark my words, no child of hers is going to wonder if they’re loved.”
Aiden’s breath caught. His heart pounded against his ribs. How the hell did Burt know just the right thing to say?
Maybe, just maybe Burt was one more of the many angels that flocked to Natalie.
She threw back her head and laughed even as she swayed and clapped her hands.
“No one in her orbit ever has to wonder,” Aiden said.
It had only taken an afternoon with her parents to know just where she’d gotten it from. They doted on their daughter while giving her the room to fly. They’d instilled wisdom and bravery in her and did so with a fierce love and respect.
They’d worried...probably for years, considering her career. Definitely when she flew a man she’d only known for a month to Florida to meet them right before they started living together.
But the concern he’d read in their eyes fell away shortly after they met, telling him that he’d won them over
Her dad revealed, while manning the grill the night before they left that they suspected their girl would fall in a whirlwind.
It was her grandmother though, that really threw him for a loop. She knew her girl the best and the minute she laid eyes on him, she cupped his face and said, “There you are.”
As if she’d known all along that he was out there, just stumbling through life until he found his person.
“Looks like trouble is moving in on her,” Burt said, pointing with his beer in his hand.
“You mind ordering us a couple of beers while I go take care of that?” Aiden asked.
“Not at all, my boy. Go get her.”
A guy in a cowboy hat standing at the edge of the dance floor, a beer in his hands, kept trying to bump and grind on her whenever she turned her back to him.
Aiden stepped up next to her, giving the cowboy a pointed look, thus forcing him out.
He slid right, then slid left, before he tapped out the beat and rolled his hips.
Natalie bit her lip, her gaze dropping to his hips. “Oh, you do know
how to dance, don’t you?”
He dropped his hands to her hips and turned her so she stayed in line with the group. “Of course. You don’t think I watched those videos all those years and didn’t pick up a few moves, do you?”
“Then why didn’t you dance with me the first night here?” she said, glancing over her shoulder, catching up with the tempo.
He slid right, then slid left again. “You had a different purpose that night, and I was happy to watch you fulfill it. I think I got the better end of the deal,” he said, giving her a wink.
The End
Casey Hagen pens her snarky, passionate stories from the salty air of Kennebunk, Maine. She’s a born and raised Vermont native, a New England girl to the core, with Ben & Jerry’s in her heart and real Vermont maple syrup pumping through her veins.
She’s the proud mother of three girls and a new, first-time grandma with an insatiable addiction to Fall Out Boy, and a new, rather concerning obsession with tattoos and piercings. Can you say “cool grandma?”
The inked and pierced grandma spends her time tucked away in her office, coated in cat hair, alternating between tearing her hair out trying to find the perfect words and being one step ahead of her three scheming fur babies she is positive are plotting her demise with every swirl around her ankles at the top of her office stairs.
She loves writing stories about real people, with complicated histories, relatable everyday problems, and giving them the hard-won happily-ever-afters they deserve.
And she thanks every last one of you who picks up one of her stories.
Casey is done talking about herself in the third person.
*Casey out*
You can find me online at
www.CaseyHagenAuthor.com
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