“Sure. I probably had a thousand cups there. The place was always packed.”
“Do you remember having coffee there with me?”
“With you?” she said. “Except for Roxanne, we didn’t exactly travel the same circle.”
“I came in once, you were there—alone. I wanted to buy you a cup of coffee, but you already had one. I helped myself to a seat anyway. I commented on the number of empty sugar packets.” There was a hum of agreement from Mia. It was a likely scene, but she didn’t recall Michael being present in any one of them. “You laughed, said it was habit; that your boyfriend drank seriously strong coffee and the sugar counteracted it.” Her gaze tied with his trying to recall the moment. “You don’t remember?”
“I’m sorry, Michael, I don’t.”
He nodded. “I said I was sorry to hear that, about your boyfriend, because I would have liked to ask you out.”
“That’s not true,” she said, a smile curving around her mouth. “I’d remember, Michael, if we’d had that conversation or a cup of coffee.”
“No, Mia, you don’t. And it’s the reason I’ve never asked. But I remember,” he said, offering a level of detail she couldn’t fathom. “You were wearing a pale blue sweater; it went with your eyes. You hardly had any makeup on—your hair was damp, you had it piled up in a clip . . . so incredibly pretty,” he said, shaking his head. “It had rained earlier that day, and you had on bright yellow rain boots. After I sat, your leg kept kicking, like I was making you uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong there.”
I remember the sweater; I threw it out after I dripped mustard down the front . . . I remember the rain boots—Flynn found them provocatively amusing . . . I remember that on Tuesdays they gave away free refills. But I don’t . . . God, I am so horrifically sorry, Michael... I don’t remember you. They traded awkward stares, Mia at a loss for a comforting remark.
“The next thing I knew, you were thanking me for coffee I didn’t buy you, then disappearing into the crowd.” There was another low hum from her throat. She guessed she’d been waiting for Flynn. Michael leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together.
“Michael, I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing, Mia. It’s . . .” He looked at her, swallowing hard. “It’s not your fault.” She was surprised by his calm voice. It was something she’d heard during conference calls from his study, wrapping up long negotiations. “And neither are a few other things. I saw Roxanne last night—late. We talked. She told me about the letter, what she’d done.” While she kept focused on Michael, Mia’s hand inched to the right, her fingers curling around the letter that had spent the night with her. His eyes followed, and he breathed deep as she pulled it close. “He, um . . . he never left you.” Mia shook her head, her mouth bending to a frown. “And you would have never left him—no matter what the circumstances.” There wasn’t even a gesture, just a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I tried to tell you,” she said, her voice frayed. “It’s complicated. The reason Flynn spent all those years—”
He held up a hand. “I don’t need to know. I know you. And you wouldn’t fall in love with anyone who wasn’t one of the good guys.”
She smiled at him. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Back then, if you’d read the letter . . .” He stopped, as if searching for a scenario that fit a might-have-been past. “Over the years, I could have seen you at a dozen reunions or hired you to design my entire house—bought you a million cups of coffee. Nothing would have come of it—ever.”
“The truth?” she asked, achy and tired from hurting him.
“Please.”
She nodded, looking around. “The inside of your house would be as beautiful as it was meant to be.”
He snickered, a hand scrubbing around the back of his neck. “I often suspected my ambition might cost me. Getting everything you want doesn’t necessarily make you the winner, does it?” Mia said nothing, her gaze focused on the letter. “I can’t tell you that it’s close to anything I wanted to hear—but it’ll make a few things easier.” Mia looked, watching him suck in a man-up breath, the kind that Michael Wells kept in good supply. He stood, moving toward her. From inside his jacket pocket, he pulled a piece of paper, handing it to her. “This is the name of a good attorney. He’ll be fair, reasonable—quick. You’re right, Mia. We both deserve something better.”
Flynn eased out of a large SUV, partly because he was stiff as hell from two days on a bus, and mostly because he wasn’t too sure how to react to white-collar suburbia. Now that he thought about it, he’d never been there. Julia, on the other hand, seemed eager to acquaint him.
“I am just so happy you’re here,” she said, for at least the tenth time, rushing around to the passenger side. “I would have much preferred putting you on an airplane. The first thing we’re doing is getting you a driver’s license, some kind of identification.” He was only half listening, mesmerized by the sheen on her happy ending. He smiled, looking toward a fine house, a manicured yard. She deserved every bit of it. It sure as hell beat the memory of a paint-peeling bungalow in the middle of Indiana. “Hal will be home in a little while. He’s anxious to meet you.”
“Are you sure about that?” Flynn asked again. Having your brother come for an extended stay was one thing. Having a brother with Flynn’s past land on your doorstep—well, it might just muck up the finish on that happy life. “Because if it’s any problem at all—”
“Nonsense,” she insisted. “Hal knows the whole situation, nightmares included.”
“About that—the nightmares—you don’t have to worry. They’re not a problem anymore.”
“That’s good to know,” Julia said, a hand rubbing his arm. “Anyway, you’re going to like Hal. He’s a good person, no judgments.”
Flynn nodded, though he wasn’t convinced. “If you say so. It’s just that . . . well, who I am—”
“Listen, who you are is my brother.” Her hand clasped his as Flynn looked into eyes similar to his own. “Alec and I survived our childhood because of you. Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten that.”
He nodded again, wanting to tell her there was no debt involved. But he was having trouble focusing, organizing any thought that didn’t gravitate back to what he’d left behind. It had ridden on that damn bus with him, all the way to Texas, like a bad case of motion sickness. He sighed, a bead of sweat gathering on his brow. The blistering midday sun caused him to squint with his sunglasses on. Christ, he still hated hot places. “Okay, we’ll just take it one day at a time, see what happens.”
“And I want you to think about what I said. Mom left the insurance policy to all three of us, equally. Spiting yourself with stubbornness isn’t the answer. It’s not a fortune, but Hal invested your share wisely. Given some time to focus on your future, I can imagine what you’ll make of it.”
“I told you, Julia. I don’t want it—any part of it. Put it in a college trust for your kids.”
“Put it in one for yours!” she fired back. He had no response for what he deemed an impossible notion. “You never know,” she quietly added.
He started to walk toward the house.
“Oh, did I mention that the apartment is above the garage?” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “It’s cute as a button—Hal fixed it up. He was going to use it as his office, but then his business took off and it was too small. Maybe you want to take your things up, take a nap or a shower before dinner?”
Two days on a bus. Maybe she had a point. “Yeah, sure . . . This way?” he asked, as she headed to the front door.
“Right up those stairs,” she said. “You don’t mind, do you? I left a roast in the oven and I’ve got a million things to do before dinner.”
“Uh, sure. I’ll see you in a while, I guess.”
The small apartment was about what Julia had described: brand-new, partially furnished, private, home. The last one would take some getting used to. He had no concept of
the word. He only knew the empty ache in his gut was worse than the one he’d carried through prison. Flynn cleared his throat, thinking that he could talk himself into forward motion. If nothing else, for Julia’s sake, he would try. On a small table were some framed photographs—Julia’s family, the two sons he’d yet to meet, his nephews. That sent his mind in a zigzag direction. And Julia had said that Alec’s wife was pregnant, due any day. They’d come for a visit just as soon as they could. It was a circle he was supposed to be part of, but really, he couldn’t have felt more on the outside. The void was overwhelming, and Flynn turned back, ready to bolt. He could go wherever he wanted, no looking over his shoulder. He could keep moving—if not forward, at least in some direction that led him away from her. He huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Like there’s a place on earth,” he muttered, moving toward what he guessed was the bedroom.
He pushed the door open. In an instant home and earth collided, crash landing together onto a pin size spot of Texas. On the bed was a satiny cream-colored comforter, begging for someone to fall into it. Propped against a mountain of pillows was a dirty lavender envelope.
“I got your letter.”
He turned, staggering back a few steps. The voice, the sight, that powdery scent, it filled him. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom wearing a simple summer dress, pale pink. She looked as astonishing as she did crossing that street all those years ago. “My letter . . . I see,” he said, his eyes engaging all brain function, drinking in the curves of her body, the hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her eyes—those sparkling doll’s eyes. “Mia, how did you . . .?”
“I have a couple of ins at the hospital—your billing address, one phone call. That, and your sister’s a lovely person. The resemblance is remarkable—same smile.”
“You shouldn’t be here. When I left—”
“When you left, you lied to me. You’ve never lied to me. And you know what, Flynn?” He shook his head, wondering if he’d downed one too many pain pills. “You’re a horrible liar. Really, didn’t you learn anything in prison? So I came for the truth. I came all this way to ask you a few things, to tell you a few things. Face-to-face, no interruptions, no candy-coated nurses . . . and no soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“Soon-to-be . . .?”
“Former husband,” she said quietly, as if not to disturb a delicate fact. “Michael’s a good man, a dogged fighter when need be. But in the end, he realized that circumstance wasn’t any kinder to him than to us.” Flynn nodded, listening. “But first things first, I’d like to answer your question.”
“My question?”
“The one you asked twelve years ago. The one I haven’t had a chance to answer until now. The answer is yes. Yes, I’ll wait for you,” she stated, firm and determined. “Twelve years, twenty years, whatever it takes. I’ll wait until we’re both so old and decrepit that all we can do when you get out is hold hands and put our teeth in the same glass.”
“That long?” he asked, touched by a prediction she wouldn’t have to prove.
“Yes, that’s what I would have told you if I’d had the chance. It would have been miserable, and endless, and at first I would have been furious with you for doing it. But now that I’ve had a little time to mature and think about it . . . Well, like you said, by the time the letter was in my hands, the hardest part would be over. And,” she said, a flutter in her voice, “here we are.”
“Here we are,” he said, just staring, thinking if she took one step closer she was going to be between him and that satiny cream-colored comforter. He edged toward the safety of the door. “Mia, there are a lot of things you need to think about. Your career especially. You don’t understand—”
“I understand everything. There are two things I’ve spent the last twelve years wondering about: One required hard work and perseverance; the other a miracle. Hard work and perseverance I can do, I’ll continue to do. Miracles I have no control over. When I first saw you in the hospital, in that bed, really, it was just that much more torture. But the whole time I kept telling myself that miracles don’t come gift wrapped. Sometimes they’re bloody and beaten and they don’t necessarily resemble anything you’d expect. But eventually you’d wake up and tell me . . . well, tell me exactly what you said in that letter.”
“But what I said, I had no right to ask you that. I still don’t have any right to your future. It was a desperate man’s attempt to hang on to the one good thing—the one perfect thing he had.”
“You still have it.” The sky is blue. It was that kind of a declaration, obvious and understood, a clear disinterest in discussing various interpretations of color. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question: What are you going to do with it?”
On occasion there are moments where careful thoughts convey perfect words. After a second, Flynn realized this wasn’t one of them. In one fluid motion, she was in his arms, the two of them sinking into that thick comforter. A first kiss was never so sure, as his lips hungrily met with hers. It was an inexhaustible passion that filled sentences and years and the hope for whatever came next. Mia tore at the buttons of Flynn’s shirt, her mouth pressed hotly to his neck, his chest. Her fingers fluttered over every unclaimed muscle. He wanted the same, wandering the soft curves, his hands slipping beneath the dress, skimming along her skin, remembering how to touch every part of her. The achy groan from her throat told him he hadn’t forgotten a thing. Their bodies twined together, but every few moments he’d pause to look at her.
“What?” she finally asked.
“Get used to it. I am never going to be able to stop looking.”
In between the kisses that anxiously met his, she murmured, “Flynn?”
“Yeah,” he said, his mouth moving along the line of her throat, breathing her in.
“You should know, if . . . if you keep doing this—just this—for the rest of my life . . .” She kissed him again, her hands moving hard over his body. “I’d die a completely happy woman.”
He laughed, his forehead bumping against hers. It was an honest thought but unrealistic. A dozen years of desire couldn’t fit into the confines of a kiss. His hand raced along her skin—just touching her for now. “Give me a chance. I have a few things in mind that may make you reconsider. Everything that I’ve thought about doing to you—with you . . .” He slowed down for a moment, looking hard into her eyes. “Mia, I . . . I need you to know something.”
“Right now?” she asked breathlessly.
“It’s important. Where I was, that place, all those years. It was very dark, very loud.” Her eyes closed, a tear seeping from beneath the lid. “Mia, look at me.” She did, and the tears spilled faster. “But the whole time, your voice, it was the loudest, the brightest thing in my head . . . more intense than any of it. Whether you were waiting for me or not. It’s the reason I came out on the other side. Every day, for all that time, I’d breathe out and you’d breathe in.”
She nodded, her fingertips trailing along. “I know. I know that because I was doing the exact same thing.”
His hand reached to her face, brushing the tears away. He shook his head. “This, you’re done with. Everything I promised us, Mia. I want to spend every day making you believe, making it happen.”
“Well then,” she said, pulling him into the kind of kiss that only led to pleasurable forward motion. “I predict a very easy, very happy forever—I’m already there.”
Epilogue
SIXTEEN MONTHS LATER
“Mia, try to think ahead. It’ll be over soon. We can take a vacation. That’s it; we’ll take a really nice trip—maybe somewhere tropical. Would you like that, sweetheart?”
“You want to go to the beach? Oh, that’s just perfect, Flynn! But hey, I’m a little busy right now. Maybe you could pack my bikini for me. On second thought, don’t bother. I’m sure I’ll never fit into it again.” The words trailed off as she grimaced. “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve decided I don’t want a baby. I want to go home.”
“And di
sappoint Dr. Logan?” he asked, clearly going for distraction. “He’s so looking forward to having the designer of Maryland’s first totally green hospital give birth here.”
“It seemed like a better idea before we got to this part,” she said, squeezing his hand—hard.
“The Lincoln Montgomery Holistic Birthing Center,” the nurse calmly added.
“Maybe we can chat about this later . . .” She gulped, glancing between Flynn and the nurse. “But, um, I think right now . . . this is . . .”
“Okay, Mia, one more big push and we’ll be there,” the doctor instructed.
She tried, but she just couldn’t do it, her head flopping back against the pillow. She looked at Flynn. “Are you smiling? The last thing you’d better be doing is smiling!” she said, half laughing, half crying.
“No, of course I’m not smiling,” he said, his expression going stone cold sober.
But he couldn’t completely hide it; Mia caught the slightest glimmer of a smile beneath the beard. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment they were married, the second she’d asked him if he’d rather paint the spare room blue or pink. It ended up a soft yellow, as they decided to leave it a surprise. In a few minutes they would find out; that’s what the doctor had told them. Three hours ago.
The nurse who appeared tickled at first, managing the care of the hospital’s widely acclaimed holistic designer, had transgressed to pushing Mia’s leg behind her ear for the last half hour. She patted her shoulder. “Try not to be snappish, dear. He’s just trying to help. I’m sure he’d do this for you if he could.”
Narrowing her eyes, Mia snapped right back, “He’s done quite enough already, thank you!” It was the spark of energy she needed, the final push resulting in the sound of a newborn cry.
The nurse smiled at Flynn. “Gets them every time.”
Hours later, afternoon sunlight streamed in but could add nothing more to the happiness that filled the room. Mia, who was tired but content, was sitting up in the bed, holding a tiny bundle of pink blanket. “Flynn, did you see? Did you see her fingers? They’re so long like yours. And her eyes, I just know she has your eyes,” Mia gushed.
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