Soaring (9781311625663)

by Ashley, Kristen

  I slid onto a stool and, on command, shared a long, hopeful story with my new friends.

  * * * * *

  I sat in my nightie on my bed, knees to my chest, one arm around my calves, phone in my other hand.

  It was late. I was tipsy. Josie and Alyssa were gone.

  And I thought it was time to call Mickey.

  My mother would disagree since it was well past nine. In fact it was well past eleven.

  But if I were him, I wouldn’t want to have to go to sleep not knowing.

  Maybe he didn’t care that much.

  But it seemed he did.

  So he should know.

  I activated my phone and slid my thumb over the screen. When I found his contact, I hit go.

  I put the phone to my ear.

  It rang once and then I got sweet and low, “Hey, Amy.”

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “Your posse hit the road?” he asked.

  “Were your ears burning?” I asked back.

  “Can take it,” he muttered.

  I drew in breath.

  “Mickey,” I called.

  “I’m here,” he replied.

  “I like you,” I whispered.

  “Fuck.” It sounded pained.

  “Mickey?” I called again, more urgently.

  “Here, Amy, and I’m glad, baby, ’cause I hope you get I like you too.”

  “So maybe we should go to dinner?” I suggested.

  There was no pain in his voice but a smile when he replied, “Yeah, maybe we should.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly.

  “Okay,” he returned. “You goin’ to bed?”

  “I’m in bed.”

  There was a pause before he said, “Let you go then, Amy.”

  “Okay, Mickey.”

  “Later, babe.”

  Something about this ending wasn’t right. It was abrupt, not soft and sweet and gentle like it had started.

  I felt funny about it but I replied, “Later.”

  He hung up.

  I took the phone from my ear and stared at it.

  God, I hoped he wasn’t one of those thrill of the chase men who caught their prey and lost interest in it.

  But I couldn’t jump to conclusions. He had kids. They were still with him. School didn’t start until next week so they could still be up and something could have happened to take Mickey’s attention.

  I put my phone to my nightstand, got under the covers, turned out the light and pulled the covers up to my shoulder, snuggling in.

  I was wide awake.

  And I was thinking I’d agreed to have dinner with Mickey but then he’d ended the call before we’d even made plans.

  “Oh God,” I breathed.

  My doorbell rang.

  My head shot off the pillow as a shiver stole over my skin.

  The doorbell rang again.

  My hand threw back the covers as my feet threw themselves over the side of the bed.

  I hit the floor and started running. Running in my little navy satin nightie with its plum lace (an Alyssa choice, no skank, all class, very sexy) right to the front door.

  The motion sensor light was activated.

  Mickey was shadowed through the glass.

  I unlocked it, threw it open and looked up just in time to find myself in the strong arms of Mickey Donovan, his mouth on mine, and he was kissing me.

  I let him, pressed close to his heat, held on tight and kissed him back.

  We made out, wet and sweet and hard and wild, on my landing in the open front door and we did it for a really long time.

  I loved every fucking second.

  Arm tight around the small of my back, me up on tiptoes, Mickey mostly supporting my weight, his other hand in my hair, my arms wound around his shoulders, Mickey ended it.

  Slowly, my lips bruised and tingling—lots of things tingling—my eyes drifted open.

  “Lobster Market tomorrow night at seven?” he asked, his voice thick, his eyes through the shadows I could actually feel were heated.

  I felt a giggle of pure joy bubble inside of me, forced it down to a smile and breathed, “Works for me.”

  “No kids,” he said. “Just you and me.”

  I nodded, holding on just as he kept holding me. “Just you and me.”

  He dipped so close that his nose brushed mine. “You made the right choice, Amy.”

  Current evidence was strongly suggesting I did.

  “Not certain there was another choice, Mickey,” I admitted and he grinned.

  I had it back.

  I loved that too.

  He bent to put my feet on the floor and started to let me go. I figured it would be a little clingy at this juncture to hold on tight, so I let him.

  With one arm still around me, he lifted his other hand and brushed my bangs out of my eyes.

  “See you tomorrow, baby.”

  He would.

  And I’d see him.

  I was standing in his arm and still…

  I couldn’t wait.

  “You will,” I confirmed.

  He grinned again, bent and kissed my nose this time and then let me go.

  “Don’t be polite, wanna hear the locks click behind me,” he ordered.

  God.

  Mickey.

  “All right.”

  I went to the door and held the edge as he walked out.

  I started to close it when he turned and called, “Amy?”

  “Yeah?”

  That was when I got a grin and a look in his eyes I’d never seen.

  A grin and a look that foretold what he had said earlier.

  When he had me, and he was going to have me, he was going to wreck me.

  Then he said, “Nice nightie.”

  I held on to the edge of the door tight so my legs wouldn’t fail me.

  Mickey turned and walked away.

  I forced myself to close the door and lock it without chasing him, or alternate scenario, melting in a puddle.

  On shaking legs, I walked back to my bed.

  I got in it knowing I’d never fall asleep.

  I slept like a baby.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Everything about Me

  The next night I sat beside Mickey in his truck, nearly paralytic with agonizing.

  First, because this was happening. I was in Mickey’s truck and he was taking me to a restaurant for a date.

  In all that had already happened, this was our beginning.

  But there were no kids, no house sale and we weren’t fighting.

  What if we had nothing to say?

  God, what if he didn’t find me interesting?

  It was funny (not in a ha ha way, in a terrifying way) as well as very telling that I hadn’t cared one bit about whether Boston or Bradley had found me interesting.

  But I needed Mickey to find me interesting.

  And I was terrified he wouldn’t.

  Second, in a frenzy that was the beginning of my agonizing, nearly upon waking I’d gone through all my new clothes and found I didn’t have a single thing to wear for our date.

  So I’d gone out shopping.

  In store seven at the mall, I decided on a caftan dress that I thought was stunning. It looked made of scarves with a nearly Pucci print in robin’s egg blue and lavender. It had a straight hem that cut at my knees, had a tight waistline under my breasts and full three-quarter sleeves. Most importantly, through a deep V that went to the waistline, it had cleavage. I’d paired this with t-strap, light taupe suede sandals that had a high, thin, stacked wedge—four inches, no platform.

  Very sexy.

  I bought this because it was clear Mickey liked the dress I wore on my date with Bradley.

  But the Lobster Market was not The Eaves. I’d been there for lunch with Ruth and Dela. A little black dress was not appropriate. I needed something more casual but I also needed it to say I felt this date was a special occasion because I didn’t want Mickey to think he wasn’t getting the
best of me.

  The good news was when he’d showed at my door his eyes had dropped to my cleavage and I saw them flare.

  But then he’d just grabbed my hand and tugged me out of my house, waiting only briefly for me to lock the door before he quickly guided me to his truck that he’d driven across the street and parked in my drive so I didn’t have to walk all the way to his place.

  Which was sweet.

  But he didn’t say anything about the dress.

  And last, I was agonizing because we were on our first date, but with all that had happened—fights, barbeques, Frisbee playing, family dinners—it felt more like a fourth or fifth date.

  This, back in the day, was when I would start considering having sex.

  And this, right then, might be when Mickey thought we should start having sex.

  I had not had a lot of partners before Conrad, but I also wasn’t a virgin. And Conrad and I had had a healthy sex life. One I enjoyed. One I thought we’d both enjoyed. One that continued not only from start to finish but didn’t wane when I was pregnant or even after my pregnancies when I carried baby weight. And although during those times Conrad encouraged me to lose it and “get healthy,” that didn’t seem to affect his attraction to me.

  And it was safe to say I wanted to have sex with Mickey.

  But I was terrified because not only might he not find me a good conversationalist, worse, it had been a long time for me. I couldn’t imagine you could forget how to do it but I was concerned I’d get tense or worry too much I was giving him what he needed and he might find me a terrible lover.

  Then where would we be?

  I just stopped myself from wringing my hands and wondering hysterically if I should have slept with Bradley just to get back in the saddle when Mickey called, “Amy.”

  “Yeah,” I answered the windshield.

  God, even my voice sounded tight!

  “Ash is with some girlfriends. She’ll be home by ten.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled.

  “And on our way back from the restaurant, we gotta pick up Cill, who’s hanging with some buds.”

  “All right,” I kept mumbling.

  My head twitched and I looked down when I felt Mickey’s hand at my elbow. I watched and experienced the tingles when it trailed down, at the same time tugging until he folded his big hand around mine.

  “What I’m sayin’ is, you need to relax,” he went on gently. “My kids’ll be home tonight so, seein’ as when I have you, I intend to take my time doin’ that and not fuck you on your couch and do it quick so I can get back to my kids, this is just dinner, baby. You and me and some alone time. When I can concentrate on just you, that’s when we’ll take this there. Until then, just sit back and enjoy.”

  How did he know what I was thinking?

  Likely because he was thinking of having sex with me.

  Just not tonight.

  That was one relief.

  Though, it didn’t help, his comment about “taking his time,” which made me want to start having sex with him immediately.

  Unfortunately, that new urge was added to the other things I continued to worry about.

  “You hear me?” he asked on a hand squeeze when I didn’t answer.

  “I heard you.”

  “You gonna relax?” he pushed.

  “We’re not fighting,” I blurted, looking to him to see his eyes aimed at where we were going.

  “No,” he agreed.

  I stared at his handsome profile.

  No five o’clock shadow, he’d shaved for me.

  I liked the whiskers.

  I liked it more he made an effort for me.

  The rest was him. Faded jeans, a lightweight cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up.

  But the jeans were less faded and the shirt was an attractive plaid in beige and light blue against white that was a tad bit nicer than what he usually wore around me.

  Yes, he’d made an effort for me.

  This meant something.

  So I decided to put it out there.

  Tightening my fingers around his, I turned my body his way. “What if, no kids, no fighting, you find I’m not interesting?”

  His hand convulsed in mine, nearly causing pain his strength was so formidable, and he did this bursting out laughing.

  My comment was hardly funny.

  “Mickey,” I snapped.

  I could tell he was forcing his laughter to chuckles when he said incredulously, “You, the Calway heiress who’s busier than me, and I essentially got two jobs and am the only parent to my two kids, in that fuckin’ dress, sittin’ across from me with a million stories about old folks and what they get up to, not to mention what you get up to with Alyssa and Josie…not interesting?”

  He made it sound like that was impossible.

  “You’ve heard a lot of my old folks stories, Mickey,” I reminded him.

  “They all kick the bucket since you last told ’em?” he asked me.

  My heart clenched at the thought as I forced out, “Of course not.”

  “Then don’t worry,” he muttered, slowing the truck and letting me go to keep a hand on the wheel and flip on his turn signal.

  “I can’t regale you all night with stories of the residents of Dove House.”

  “You can crack my shit up by using words like regale,” he returned.

  I found that surprising.

  “Regale is funny?” I asked.

  “Amy,” he said as answer and said no more, but my name on his lips was uttered with a smile.

  So I queried, “That’s it? Amy?”

  He looked both ways and made his turn, saying, “I’ll confirm. Regale is funny.”

  “How?”

  “How is anything funny? It just is,” he replied.

  “I find that strange,” I murmured, not knowing if that stung or if it didn’t.

  He heard that too.

  I knew it when he said, “I’m not makin’ fun of you, babe. It’s just cute. Like you can be when you’re not being bull-headed and a pain in the ass.”

  God.

  Really?

  I glared at him. “You can be bull-headed and a pain in the ass too, Mickey.”

  He glanced at me and did it grinning. “See? We already got a lot in common.”

  It was in that moment I realized he was teasing and further realized it was funny and sweet. It also put us into a spot where we were familiar. This wasn’t a first date to be nervous about. This was Mickey and Amy going to dinner.

  That was when I felt complete relief and I was grateful to Mickey for giving me that.

  I didn’t share that verbally. I just rolled my eyes and faced forward but did it smiling.

  And when I did it, I saw we were on Cross Street. Mickey took us down to the end, by the wharf, and found a parking spot only two doors down from the Lobster Market. It was clearly a score since the street was busy, not only with cars at the curbs angled in their spots, but with people strolling.

  I figured this was an end of summer, use it before you lose it kind of thing. Living in La Jolla we didn’t have seasons, so I’d forgotten how you learned to pack it all in before you lost daylight and warmth.

  Once parked, Mickey got out and was at my door by the time I had it opened and had a foot to the runner. He helped me down, away from the door, which he slammed, and he beeped the locks as he led me to the sidewalk.

  He held my hand as we walked and again, I thought that was sweet.

  When we made it to the Market, he went in and the hostess smiled, saying, “Hey, Mickey. Got your table all ready.”

  She gave me a smile too before she grabbed some menus.

  But I was surprised that the Lobster Market took reservations (and I was surprised in a nice way at more sweet from Mickey that he took the time to make one).

  Still holding my hand, as Mickey guided us behind the hostess, I took in the restaurant and something settled inside me.

  Because the Lobster Market was perfectly Mickey.
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  And perfectly Magdalene.

  And maybe perfectly me.

  I’d never been there in the evening, but I saw the lights were dimmed. And as at lunch, on the tables they had the squat glass vases filled with short buds, only two or three stems each, but it brought a bit of class. They also didn’t change their blue and white checkered tablecloths for the evening. The salt and pepper shakers were glass, attractive, but not crystal.

  However evening meals, I saw, did not have paper napkins like at lunch, but blue or white cloth napkins and also small, lit candles.

  The view of the wharf from the big windows was amazing.

  Even though it was nice, it wasn’t exactly romantic.

  What it was was a place that could be for anything. A date. A family dinner. Whatever you needed it to be. It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t a burger joint you dropped by to grab a meal. It was a place you made special for whatever reason that might be.

  It wasn’t elegant and refined, however, the fare wasn’t cheap but it was delicious.

  It was just right for Mickey.

  And, I decided, walking hand in hand with Mickey, for me.

  The restaurant wasn’t full, though there wasn’t a lot of seating left, but the hostess led us right to a prime table at the windows so our amazing view was unadulterated.

  Perfect.

  Mickey seated me before he seated himself and the hostess gave us our menus. Before we could even glance at them, a busboy came with glasses of water.

  After he left, I put the menu down and looked at Mickey.

  “You’re the Maine man, show me how to eat at a lobster joint in Maine,” I challenged.

  As I spoke, Mickey’s eyes went from his menu to me and they were smiling.

  “Anything you don’t like?” he asked.

  “Not really,” I replied.

  “Then you’re on,” he muttered, looking back at his menu.

  The waitress came and asked for our drink orders. I ordered a sauvignon blanc and Mickey ordered a beer. We received our drinks and Mickey handed the menus to the waitress after ordering us both steamers, cups of New England clam chowder, dinner salads and full lobsters with all the fixin’s.

  When she left, I turned wide eyes to Mickey.

  “That’s a lot of food.”

  His gaze went guarded but even so, it didn’t leave mine when he replied, “Amy, you gotta eat more, baby.”