“When does Sasha get back?” Marc was in the kitchen while Antony stared at his laptop on the dining table.
“Next week.” Antony ran a hand over his face, feeling the new stubble. He’d forgotten to shave in the shower. “You need to decide so we can line someone up before I go.”
Marc went to the fridge. “This wouldn’t be problem if you organized someone when you got your schedule in September.” There was the clink of a glass on the counter.
“I did,” Antony felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. “But you fired her.”
“The bad breath one?”
“Oui.”
It continued until Antony at last found a caregiver who Marc didn’t despise. Antony knew he was enabling him, but it had gone on for too long and there always seemed to be a reason to keep the status quo. Marc should have started his own life by now, and Antony had initially thought he’d find something to do in Toronto, or if he didn’t he would at least move back home, closer to their parents. But he didn’t. He was attached to Antony at the hip, it seemed.
Antony grabbed his keys and said he’d be gone for a few hours. He ended up circling Maxine’s apartment building until he’d found the first spot and parked. A silent debate began. He imagined a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, battling to own his conscience.
Call her. Forget about her.
Go up to her apartment. Drive Away.
Seduce her. Love her.
Tell her the truth. Keep lying to her.
Kiss her. Use her.
Flatter her. Leave her.
“Shit,” he whispered in the car.
He wanted to see Maxine, he knew that for certain. Last night he’d stared at his phone wanting to call her, but Marc had slipped in a splinter of truth, and it irritated Antony—got under his skin and wouldn’t let him rest.
Good fuck charm.
Antony had wanted to punch him in the face for that, but as much as he wanted to play dumb, he knew that Marc was partly right; Maxine was his good luck charm.
Maxine.
At once there was a pull deep inside as his pulse picked up speed. Antony opened his eyes and watched people come down the sidewalk, bundled up against the weather. Florida would be a nice change. He sat in a daze, watching the snow flurries. The crystal flakes swirled in the air, spiraling down until the wind changed direction, sweeping them up again. Antony felt like he was caught in the same breeze.
“Damn,” he picked up the phone and called her again.
“Hello?” she sounded out of breath.
He pictured her running from the shower with only a short towel wrapped around her. Every cell had woken up at the sound of her voice, sending a disorienting buzz across his nerve endings. He cleared his throat. “Bonjour, Maxine. Comment allez-vous?”
There was a pause and he was almost certain she’d given him a fake number. Then she said, “Um…it’s nice to hear your voice.”
He chuckled, hoping it hid the tremor in his voice. “I’m not working,” he said. “No towing today.” He rolled his eyes at how stupid he sounded.
“Oh?” Her tone was vaguely despondent.
He felt like he was on a sinking ship. Then Antony said, “I’m going to Florida tomorrow.”
“You’re lucky,” she said. “Is it vacation?”
“Non, um…towing convention. For a few days. I’ll be back Friday.” He licked his dry lips and sent up a quick silent prayer. “And I very much want to see you before I go.”
There was the muffled creak in the background, and he thought he could hear someone else talking. He glanced up at her apartment building. Antony considered telling her he was out front, but that sounded too much like a stalker.
“I’m on my way to Carmine’s,” she finally said. “I’ll be there all afternoon if you want to drop by.” Then she gave him the address and hung up.
Antony repeated the address until he punched it into his phone. Then he pulled into traffic and looked for the closest coffee shop. She sounded upset, like she was mad and trying not to get angry over the phone.
Maybe she Googled his name. Oh shit. He should have called her last night.
By the time Antony pulled up outside the shop on Kincourt Street, he was sure she had given him the wrong address, intent on sending him on a wild chase across downtown to get back at not calling. It looked nothing like the Italian restaurant he was picturing.
He stepped over the snow bank and stomped his boots on the salted sidewalk. The sign to Carmine’s swung in the bitter wind, squeaking on its rusty hinge. Some of the paint had worn off.
With the small paper shopping bag from the coffee shop in one hand, he pushed through the glass door. A brass bell above his head announced his arrival. He blinked a few times, taking in the area. There were props of beaded handbags and fur stoles along the shelves and on top of the circular racks. The walls were decorated with vintage posters of pin up girls and Broadway musicals.
His eyes lingered on a particular cigarette ad with a voluptuous redhead in a cropped blouse and short shorts. There was a stirring in his chest as a memory from long ago surfaced. It felt like a puzzle piece clinking into place.
In the middle of the floor space, between racks of clothing, Maxine stood by a pile of boxes, staring at him with large eyes. A dress covered in red cherries reached the top of her thighs. She’d paired it with a black leggings and a green cardigan. He was beginning to appreciate her unique fashion sense. An elderly man wearing a silk scarf and a tweed jacket was beside her, also looking at Antony as if he had two heads.
“Bonjour,” Antony said, uncertain. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark waves off his forehead.
The elderly man dropped something. It hit the floor with a metallic clang. Maxine retrieved it and passed it to him, but he kept staring at Antony. There were a few more seconds of silence.
He knows who I am. A jolt went through him. This was another complication he hadn’t counted on. He was so intent on seeing Maxine again, he never considered someone would recognize him.
The old man’s gaze went back to Maxine. “I think you can handle the store for the rest of the day,” he told her.
“Wait…what?” Maxine sounded alarmed.
The man came up to Antony, holding out his wrinkled hand. In the other, he clutched an electric cigarette. “You must be Antony,” he wheezed. “I’m Carmine, Max told me all about you.”
Antony shook his hand gently; the man’s fingers seemed so brittle.
“But she left out the part about you being the size of a monument.”
“Carmine!” Maxine blushed.
Antony laughed as the old man continued to stare up at him. “You look familiar,” he said, now a little more reserved.
His pulse moved up to his throat. Antony shrugged. “Maybe a monument you saw.”
The man laughed, then he turned to Maxine and winked. “Lock up whenever you feel the urge,” he told her. “Don’t forget to turn the lamp off in the back room. I was reading on the couch earlier.” He turned back to Antony, “It’s a very long and sturdy, well made piece of furniture that can withstand—”
“See you tomorrow,” Maxine interrupted, her cheeks were a bright crimson now. She was by his side, opening the door for him.
He held up the cigarette. “Not if I die from electrocution,” he said.
“Yes, you say that every time. Goodbye, Carmine.” Maxine closed the door and watched as he made his way to a side door.
She turned to Antony. “He…um, Carmine lives above the store.”
Antony stood there among the racks of dresses, skirts, and sweater sets, smiling at her. “He’s funny guy.”
“Yeah, my ribs ache some days I’m laughing so hard.” But she said all of this with a rushed annoyance.
Antony frowned at her.
“You’re right,” she resigned. “He’s a really special friend. He’s in remission from lung cancer. He made a full recovery. Shocked everyone. Especially his doctor.” He
r words kept coming in short bursts of quick sentences. “He’s Italian. He told me he was part of a biker gang when he was younger. The good kind…I think. And also a former drag queen.”
“And now he owns this?” Antony looked around the store again, pausing at the vintage ad of the redhead in the shorts.
“Yes.” Maxine pushed off the door and made her way back to the tower of boxes beside the long glass counter. “I like it here,” she said. “I feel like I’m at a perpetual slumber party from the past.”
Antony followed her, taking in the eclectic store. “It suits you,” he smiled, noticing her cherry earrings. Then he handed her the shopping bag.
She peeked inside, then a grin of surprise played on her lips. “You brought me Madeleine cookies and tea!” She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled the fragrant scent.
“Mint,” he said, pointing to the cup. “My new favorite. I already drank mine.”
“It’s hot,” she whispered, the steam seeping upward from the opening, curling and disappearing between their noses.
He leaned closer, the heady scent of mint swirled between their breaths.
“I thought you’d call last night,” she said, taking a sip of tea, her eyes never leaving his face.
Antony imagined running into a brick wall. He paused, but then reached forward and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Taking a step back, she put the cup down on the glass counter beside the cash register, then directed her attention to the top box of the pile. “I went to bed early,” she said. “And then this morning my sisters came over. One of them is auditioning for that reality show, Marry Me. I have no idea why because she’s super gorgeous and has a billion followers on social media. Crosby is determined to be on television.”
She continued this fast monologue while pulling out various shoes and belts from the box. Antony watched in amazed silence as she wrote on a clipboard, itemizing everything. She seemed like a robot.
“And so Rose—her twin, and my um…other sister—she’s trying to convince her that she’s taking the woman’s movement back decades, but I think Crosby should go for it. Who knows? She might be picked and find a husband. Oh! Not that getting a husband is what she should be concentrating on. And that’s certainly not what I’m thinking about.” She chewed on her bottom lip then gave him a quick smile. “So?” she started. “You have the day off?”
“Oui,” he replied, trying to digest everything she’d just told him. “Crosby is real name?”
“Our mom loves movies,” Maxine started. “She was watching one every time she went into labor. When she had the twins she was watching White Christmas and named them after Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney.”
“And baby Maxine?” he asked.
“She was watching Mad Max.”
“The road warrior?”
“Yeah.”
“I like it. Your mom sounds awesome.”
Maxine smiled at him. Then she opened another box and fished out a handbag. She cooed, clearly impressed. “This is Louis Vuitton.” She reached for a clipboard and started to write again.
“Is that good?” he asked. “I’m clueless with purses.”
She laughed. “Carmine has a lot of connections from his drag queen days. This whole shipment,” she said motioning to the tower of boxes, “came in yesterday from someone called, Ambrosia Dellagio. Carmine said he was one of the longest performers off Broadway.”
Maxine emptied the box, each time adding an item to the list on her clipboard. Then she started on the next container. Her eyes lit up, and she pulled out a red strapless floor length dress.
Antony studied the dress and then sized up Maxine. “Made for you,” he said.
She put the strapless dress on a hanger and added it to the clipboard. “Sure. Perfect for when I go grocery shopping.”
“I could think of better place.”
She smiled, but the dress remained on the rack.
“How often do you work here? I thought you had spa job?”
“Carmine doesn’t pay me, well not in the traditional sense. He gives me discounts and first picks…and sometimes gin. I mostly help with inventory. Westley comes in sometimes, he’s more of an expert than me.”
“Westley?” Antony’s voice went up.
“My baby brother. He’s named after the guy in The Princess Bride. Anyway, he works at Henry Roman’s. I don’t think that was the plan when he left college with a business major, but he gets good commission.” She reached back to the counter and took a careful sip of tea. Her eyes met his over the brim of the cup.
Antony unbuttoned his field coat. “So,” he started. “Are your sisters beautiful like you?”
She almost choked on her tea. “Rose and Crosby are practically runway models,” she said. “So…no.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, frowning at her.
“They’re thin.”
Antony felt his shoulders slouch, worried he’d insulted her somehow. He looked at the generous bust of the dress and back to Maxine. “They couldn’t fill out red dress…non?”
Maxine took another sip of tea. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, like she was enjoying a private joke.
He motioned to the red dress again. “Try it on. Please?”
“I don’t think so, no. There’s hardly anything to hide behind.”
“You’re shy?” He took a step closer.
“About some things, yes.” She busied herself by taking a long sip of tea. The color was high in her cheeks.
Antony tilted his head down, getting eye level with her. “Je suis désolé, I’m sorry.”
She put down the tea and picked up the clipboard. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Your body is amazing, you’d probably look better in the dress than I would.”
“Excuse moi?” He half laughed, but the cheerless expression on her face made him suddenly self-conscious.
She hugged the clipboard to her chest. “Why are you here?” she asked.
A prickling sensation trailed down his spine. He felt like he was driving at night with no headlights on, just waiting for the next turn to send him careening off a cliff. “You invited me.”
“No, I mean, why do you want to see me? It’s obvious we’re in a totally different dating pool.” Then she cringed as if she’d said too much. “Sorry, I’m just trying to make sense of…well, us I guess.”
Antony’s heart was in his throat. “It’s not about wanting to see you,” he started carefully. “I have to see you.” It was the truth of course, just not the whole truth, but his genuine tone had struck something and soon he was spilling all his thoughts. “You live in Toronto all life, oui?” he asked.
“Oui.” She shook her head. “Yes, my whole life. Why?”
“I came last year. And in whole time, I never spilled drink on a woman.”
The tiniest glimmer sparkled in her eyes. “And?” she prompted.
He took a small step closer to her. “And in that whole time, I never jumped into cab with a woman already in backseat.”
She played with the bottom button of her green cardigan. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And?”
“And I never lost cell phone before…ever.” His shoes came toe to toe with hers. “Il n’y a pas de hasards. Il n’y a que des rendez-vous. There are no coincidences, only encounters.”
They kept eye contact, and soon his breathing matched hers.
The clipboard had started to shake in her hands. Antony noticed the soft green nail polish. “What is nail polish horoscope for today, Maxine?” he asked.
“Close encounters,” she breathed.
“Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
Antony took the clipboard from her hands and placed it on top of a tower of boxes. He stared at her, holding her gaze for several heartbeats. “I very much want to kiss you.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop kis
sing you.”
“I’m willing to risk it.” He leaned in, feeling the weight of her sigh in his arms. He kissed her like he was drowning and she was the air. It was more than a kiss with the mouth; it had passed through his muscles, his nerves, and every fiber until he was kissing her with his whole body.
When she leaned back, breathless and still in his arms, she motioned over his shoulder and said in a voice that made his blood rush. “Lock the door.”
Chapter Fifteen
Maxine watched Antony turn the deadbolt. In his field coat and plaid scarf, he looked like something straight out of a sexy Christmas ad—or at least the cover of a romance novel about a massive sexy lumberjack.
All at once, the enormity of the situation hit her. They were going to have sex in the store, probably on Carmine’s very long, and hopefully sturdy couch.
She silently cursed choosing the leggings with the hole in the thigh. My God! Her bra and underwear didn’t even match.
He returned to her, peeling off his coat and unwinding his scarf. Smoldering didn’t even begin to describe the gratuitous way his eyes raked over her. The tingles left over from their kiss began to grow and multiply. Maxine wasn’t sure how she didn’t spontaneously combust. It was like porn in slow motion. All they needed was the bad soundtrack.
Antony placed one hand at the base of her spine, the other on the back of her neck, firing up her whole spinal column. He brought his lips down, but his kiss only brushed against her mouth as his stubble rubbed her cheek. Then he traced her jaw, searching for the spot on her neck just below her ear.
“J’ai besion de toi,” he whispered. “I need you.”
Her knees almost buckled. Maxine remembered how amazing his hands felt and how easily she’d come. She wanted all of him this time. The thought of him thrusting into her left her defenseless. Antony had made her loopy, restless, and completely void of all reason.
And after everything Johnny put her through, Maxine rationalized she deserved an attentive lover. The freedom of this choice made her even more eager.
Soon both of them were kissing with an unchecked passion. His hands smoothed up and down her back, then squeezed her buttocks. She didn’t flinch this time, she wanted his touch.
The Right Fit Page 9