by L. D. Davis
I almost laughed. “You don’t have to call first. You know I don’t go anywhere. I’ll be here.”
“Maybe you should go out.” She sounded a lot like my own mother. She kissed my cheek and gave me a hug. Before releasing me, she appraised me carefully. “You look…healthier. You’ve put on a little weight, I see.”
My brows rose. “Thanks?”
She laughed softly and rubbed my arms. “I’m just saying that you’re looking better, sweetie. I’m glad.”
I met her blue eyes that were so much like her son’s, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you.”
She kissed my cheek again and got into the front seat beside her husband, Cliff. He waved at me, and a moment later, they were backing out of the driveway. I waved again and stood there, watching until they were out of sight.
It always made me nervous to be away from my kids for more than a few hours, and they would be with my in-laws for the whole weekend. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them, because I did, just as much as I trusted my own mother, but it was just another consequence of the accident. Last year they had lost their dad, and I had still been in the hospital and couldn’t be home to comfort them. That stuck with me, as I’m sure with them as well, but I think they were more resilient than I was.
I went back inside and started to clean up the kitchen. I’d let Cora help me make breakfast this morning, and there were flour and bits of egg shell all over the place. I smirked, though, as I remembered her going on about all the ideas she had for breakfast, like cricket pancakes…with actual crickets. My kid really loved watching those cooking challenges on TV.
For the first time in a couple weeks, I was going to be completely alone for the day. My mom left with—ahem—a guy about ten minutes before the kids. His name was Wesley, but he wasn’t a stranger. He and Mom went to high school together and had always stayed in touch, but Wes—as Mom called him—got divorced a few months ago. So now they were “just hanging out.” I snorted to myself as I thought about drilling my mom about Wes the way she’d done to me about Marco. I was definitely going to do that later, just to be a pain in the ass.
As I mentally went down the list of things I was going to do for the day, I added a phone call to my sister to it. I wanted to nag her about her wedding. Yes, her wedding. Kyle had proposed to her about a week after I’d left them. Lily insisted the event would be low-key and without all the fanfare, but I at least wanted her to wear an actual wedding dress. One of us should get a real wedding. My hasty nuptials with Gavin had been in a courthouse, with only his parents as witnesses. I’d worn the only thing I could fit in, a stretchy summer dress and sandals. I was never getting married again, so I at least wanted my sister to have something nice.
When the doorbell rang, I figured it was my in-laws again. They usually had everything my kids would need in their own home, but occasionally, something needed or wanted by one of the children was left behind. I dried my hands on a dish towel as I went to the door.
“Who forgot something this time?” I asked with an amused shake of my head as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
It wasn’t my in-laws on the stoop. I stared stupidly at the new arrival.
“You’re here.”
There was a nod as he rocked on his heels. “Yes.” He peeked over my head into the house. “Am I allowed to come inside, or do you have another boyfriend in there?”
That snapped me out of my stupidity. “You say ‘another’ like I have one to begin with, which I don’t.”
I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. With an attractive curve of his pretty-boy mouth and a wink, Marco Mangini walked into my home.
I put my hands on my hips, glaring at him even as my mind was still processing his presence. “What are you doing here? I thought you had another business trip.”
Gazing around, he said, “No, I said I was going on a trip. I did not say it was a business trip.”
His eyes settled on me finally, and my breath hitched. I couldn’t believe he was standing in my house, and he looked amazing. Jeans, sneakers, a black sweater layered over a white collared shirt, a black leather jacket, and the ensemble was complete with a pair of sunglasses that were settled atop his dark-haired head. There was a little bit of black and gray hairs on his jaw, as if he had skipped shaving for a couple days, but that only improved his whole look.
And there I was, in a pair of old faded-purple sweatpants, a shirt that used to be white that read “I Love Beer,” and a pair of those slippers that were like boots, except mine were beat to all hell. My hair was pushed back with a plastic headband, and I had flour all over myself. I’d seen Marco when I first rolled out of bed a couple times, and I doubted that I had looked like a freakin’ princess or anything, but I didn’t look like trash like I did now.
Marco’s gaze traveled up and down my body as if I were in a ballgown though, judging by the way his eyes glittered. I stood there, stuck to the floor as he walked the few steps between us.
“Hello, Lydia.”
His hands were on my waist and his body was close as I struggled to find the two words I needed to say. “Hello, Marco.”
His arms circled me and, without thought, mine went around him in an embrace.
“I’ve missed you, Tesoro,” he murmured.
I missed him, too, but I couldn’t make myself get those particular words past my lips. “I didn’t think you would come.”
He held me tighter. “I would’ve come sooner if I could have.”
Hell, he smelled good. I could’ve stood there all day smelling his masculine scent and letting him hold me, but then I wised up and pushed myself out of his arms.
I turned my back on him and headed for the kitchen, giving myself a few seconds to recover. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“You would have told me not to.”
I glanced over my shoulder, eyebrow up. “So, you think this was the better idea? How did you know I’d be home? Maybe I had somewhere to go.”
He picked up an orange from the fruit bowl on the table and brought it to his nose. “You don’t leave the house unless you are going to the grocery store. What happened in here?” He seemed to take in the mess for the first time.
My mouth widened into a grin. “Chef Cora let me assist her in making breakfast.”
“Cricket pancakes?”
“She told you about that?”
“Yes, when I spoke to her the other day. She also told me she would like to try a reindeer hotdog.”
I laughed. “Other kids associate reindeer with fluffy, bearded men in red coats, but not my child. She wants to eat Dancer. We did have pancakes, but no crickets. She was very disappointed.”
“If this is her at four, what will she be like at fourteen?”
“I’m trying not to think about it. Do you want some coffee? Anything to eat?”
He tossed the orange up and down as he watched me. “No. Actually, I would like you to stop what you are doing and go get ready.”
I turned fully to stare at him. “Get ready for what?”
His smile was crafty, making me wary. “Our date.”
I leaned back on the counter and responded quietly. “I never agreed to that, to any of it. Besides, as you can see, I am a little busy.”
The orange went up into the air and came back down, landing in his hand with a light smack. Up, down. Up, down.
“I stayed up all night working, so I wouldn’t have to work while I am here,” Marco said, using the same quiet tone I’d used. “After I landed, got my rental, and got settled in my hotel, I slept only two hours before I got myself dolled up to come here. I didn’t come to play games, Lydia. So, let’s not even start. You can go change, or you can go out in what you are wearing. Those are the only two choices I am giving you right now.”
For some reason, I found it hard to breathe and had to take a few deep breaths before I could speak. “And what if I tell you to get back in your rental car and drive straight to hell?”
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br /> The flash of orange went up and down several times before he finally responded. “You could say that, but you would have to mean it. Will you mean it?”
We stood there for almost a full minute staring at each other while he tossed that damn piece of fruit in the air. When I managed to speak again, I had to stop, clear my throat, and start again. “I don’t know if I can do this, Marco.”
He caught the orange and put it down on the table. It took him a few more moments to speak. “Is it me you are afraid of, Lydia? Or yourself?”
I couldn’t hold his gaze, but I felt compelled to answer. Swallowing hard, I crossed my arms and stared at the table. “Both.”
He thought about that. I wished I knew what was running through his head, but I found out a few seconds later. He spoke carefully, as if he were speaking to an injured animal, which was rather true. “He hurt you? Gavin?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Marco came to me, his steps slow and casual. He left barely an inch between our bodies. I didn’t move when he stroked my cheek.
“I think he did hurt you, but not here…” He touched my face again. “Not physically, but here.” His palm splayed out over my chest, making me inhale a ragged breath.
My voice came out raspy and shaky, despite my attempt to steady it. “There you go again, thinking you know me so well.”
The corner of his mouth lifted just a little bit, solemnly. “And I do. You have never once flinched when I raised a hand to touch you, but you do flinch away at my words. I do not know what he did to you, Lydia, but I would never hurt you on purpose.”
The breathy laugh that escaped me as I pushed him away had no humor in it. It was as sharp and cutting as my words. “Yeah, I don’t think he hurt me on purpose, either, but it didn’t hurt any less because of his lack of intentions. I’ll go out with you today if we can just stop talking about this.”
I started out of the kitchen, but he caught me by the arm and carefully pulled me close again. His fingers lifted my chin, and I reluctantly met his eyes. I thought he would say something profound, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled the headband out of my hair. When my hair fell forward onto my face, his fingers slowly pushed it back behind my ear. Then he released me and reached for the orange again.
“I will be here waiting.”
In a bit of a daze, I turned and shuffled out of the kitchen.
Chapter Fifteen
After a quick shower, I opened my closet and stared, not knowing where to start. I hadn’t seen my “nice” clothes in over a year. My current selection mostly consisted of sweats, tights, and basic jeans—none of that skinny crap. I couldn’t pull it off anymore. I had capris for the summer, and a couple long maxi dresses, but that was it.
If I knew where we were going, I would’ve had a better idea of what to wear, but then I considered the outfit he had on. I decided on my nicest jeans and dug out a nice teal button-up blouse that I hadn’t worn since before Mandy was born. As I looked in the mirror and saw how loose it was on me, it really made me realize for the first time how thin I was, how much weight I’d lost and failed to gain back. It was almost as if I had attempted to disappear. Maybe that was rather true.
After I put on tennis shoes and dressed up the outfit with a scarf, I took a final appraisal of my reflection. I looked…different, like I was in transition from the old Lydia to the Lydia I’d been since Gavin’s death. Caught in the middle between the two women. Admittedly, it felt good to dress up a little bit, to wear my old clothes, but I knew my attire changed nothing about the person I was inside.
With a sigh, I walked out of my room. I expected to find Marco lounging in the living room, but he was in the kitchen, standing at the sink. I hadn’t been in a humorous mood when I’d gone to get ready, but when he turned around, I let out a surprised laugh. He was wearing my mom’s hot-pink apron that had a pair of big red lips on the front with “Kiss the Chef” in red cursive letters across the top. It was frilly and beyond girly, and Marco looked absolutely ridiculous in it, making me laugh.
“I couldn’t get dirty while I cleaned your kitchen.”
“You didn’t have to clean.”
I looked around, impressed. The kitchen was probably cleaner than it had been before Cora and I had started to cook. Marco put down the dishtowel I’d been using earlier and walked over to me. “How did I do?”
I reached for the straps of the apron. They’d been wrapped around his waist and tied in the front. Untying it, I gave him a nod. “You did great. I thought Dara said you were a pig, though.”
“I can be, but I know how to clean. I just don’t like to do laundry. I hate it.” His eyes roamed over me, head to toe and back up. “You look fantastic.”
Self-consciously, my hands fidgeted with the scarf and smoothed wrinkles in my shirt and jeans that weren’t really there. “I didn’t know what to wear.”
Marco reached for my hands and stilled them. “You could’ve worn those ugly pants and that old shirt and kept the flour in your hair, and you would have still looked fantastic.”
The compliment was perfunctory, but it still made me smile a little. Already, the sharp pain in my chest from our earlier conversation was beginning to dull.
We got into Marco’s rental a few minutes later. As I pulled my seatbelt on, I asked him where we were going. In response, he reached into the backseat and handed me a bottle of wine.
“Um.” I looked from him to the bottle and back to him.
He grinned. “It is a hint.”
My brow furrowed, but Marco just laughed as he started to drive.
Since Marco wasn’t familiar with Columbus, and insisted on surprising me, he didn’t program the location into his GPS. He said he had the directions memorized, but we ended up lost three times before he finally parked the car. Instead of that annoying the crap out of me, I just laughed, and although he was aggravated, every time he glanced over at me, he laughed, too.
When we got out of the car, Marco put the bottle of wine in a cloth shopping bag and took my hand.
“Are we having a picnic?” I questioned, though we weren’t anywhere near any parks.
“No. Too cold for that. We’re almost there, I think.”
A couple minutes later, we arrived in front of a glass door with the name of an art studio painted on it. I silently questioned Marco with my eyes, but he just smirked and held the door open for me. We took an elevator to the third floor, and when the doors slid open, I let out a small sound of surprise.
The space was vast, at least a few thousand square feet. Sunlight filtered in through windows that went from the floor to the ceiling, and as my gaze swung up, I also spotted several skylights throughout the room. Art hung on the walls, leaned against pillars and windows, and even the floor was painted with various designs. There were tables and tall shelves cluttered with supplies, and there was a pleasant but strong smell of paint and paper in the air. One corner of the room was set up for pottery and clay, and another section seemed to be for jewelry making, but the rest of the room contained easels and drafting tables.
There were about ten people over by the easels, and some of them held glasses of wine in their hands as they seemed to be waiting for something. Marco grinned at me. I grinned back and let him lead me across the room.
Marco helped me on a stool before taking the one next to me. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this.”
“I am glad to hear it. I racked my brain these past couple weeks as I tried to think of a fun first date.”
“Well, this is a good idea.”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “Wasn’t my idea. I had to call my sisters and ask for help. It took over an hour for the idea to come, though, because they were all talking over each other and drilling me about you.”
That made me feel nervous, but I didn’t mention it. “You mean grilling.”
“That is what I said. Drilling.”
“No, it’s grilling. They grilled you about me. And what did they ask about
?”
“They wanted to know what you looked like, and I told them you were a hairy troll.”
I punched his arm. He shrank away, laughing.
“Okay, not a hairy troll. Just a troll.”
I punched him again.
“All right, all right.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I told them the truth. I told them about your red hair”—he touched my hair—“your gray eyes the color of snow-storm clouds, and your beautiful smile.”
I tried to hide said smile but couldn’t. “Did you also tell them I was a bitch?”
He laughed. “Yes, of course. They thought it was hilarious.”
My mouth opened, but he just chuckled.
I wanted to know what else he told his sisters, but before I could ask, the instructor cleared her throat and began the class. Thankfully, taking into consideration the many skill levels—like mine, which was zilch—the painting we were doing was simple. If she would have Bob Rossed it, mine would’ve probably come out looking like Mandy painted it.
More relaxed than I’d been since the cabin, and holding a glass of wine in one hand and my paint brush in the other, I peeked over at Marco’s canvas. I was in the mood to poke at him, especially after the troll comments.
“That doesn’t look like a dragonfly.”
He paused, stared at his art and then at mine. “It does, too. Yours looks like it has a mental defect.”
I was all aghast. “She’s smiling. Yours doesn’t even have a mouth.”
“Dragonflies don’t smile,” he said snidely.
“How would you know?”
“Yours looks like a turd with wings.”
I gasped. “She’s beautiful. Yours looks like a cat’s nasty hairball.”
“Shut it, woman.” He dabbed my cheek with his paintbrush.
My gasp was real this time, with indignation. I retaliated by doing the same to his face. That’s where things got a little out of hand. Like school children, we fought to paint each other’s faces, necks, or wherever skin was visible. I knew we were making a mess and annoying some of the others, but I didn’t care. I was giggling and happy, and I didn’t have enough laughter and happiness in my life.