“I like having you here with me like this,” he says.
I’m charmed by the sincerity in his voice. “I like being here.”
“Good. Keep liking it,” he says, sipping his coffee. “We’re supposed to head over to the bakery about four. They’re giving out free cookies from five to seven and trust me, it’s a madhouse.”
“They do this every year?”
“They did it last year and I wasn’t here, but they sent me photos of the line-up. And this year, we’ll both find out firsthand.”
“I finally get to meet Jerry.”
“Yes, you do. You’ll like him. He’s a good match for Jenny.”
We spend the next two hours just talking about everything under the sun, including that text message, which I still do not believe came from Gio. “I remember exactly who was with me during that trip. I sent the names to Blake yesterday on my way to see Mark.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And I remember everything about that trip. Gio was actually on a school trip for most of my visit. I think I saw him once. And yes, I told Blake when I gave him the names. Could Gio want me away from you for fear I’m after the formula? Yes. If he came home and found us together, I could see that. Did he push us together? Doubtful.”
Eventually, the conversation moves to other topics, and we eat Rice Krispies while laughing about our childhoods. We end on the topic of the holidays. “Mine were on the road,” he says, “usually performing.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was my life and I enjoyed the audiences. Plus, I didn’t know anything different. I want to now.”
“And yet you’re performing in Paris this year?”
“Not on the actual holiday and if you go with me, we can make it special. I can show you Paris.”
“I want to. You know I want to.”
“But?” he prods.
“But we’ll see. I need more time to find Gio.”
“Staying here won’t make him materialize. It will torture you.”
“I know. And I keep feeling like he’s not coming back. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I know that text wasn’t from him. I’d feel him if he were alive. I know I would.”
“That could be nothing but fear. Let’s get back on topic. Tell me about your holidays.”
“Mine were always traditional until my mother died. Church on Christmas Eve. Gifts on Christmas morning. Since she left us, not so much. Gio spent the last two Christmases in bed with a different woman each year.”
“And you did what?”
“Went to the movies by myself. I haven’t put up a tree in years.”
“I’ve never put up a tree. I’m never home to do it, but this year is different. Starting with Halloween.”
His phone buzzes and he glances down at a message. “We have a delivery on the way up.”
“We?”
“That’s what Steven said.”
“His wife was baking for us. I’m going to need another workout.”
He stands and leans in close, his lips close to mine. “I’ll step up and offer myself up as your next workout.” The security buzzer goes off. “More on your workout soon.” He kisses me and heads to the door.
Smiling, I stand up and load our bowls and cups into the dishwasher, remarkably comfortable in Kace’s home. I believe that’s because I’m remarkably comfortable with him. Kace returns with a bag in hand that reads Jerry and Jenny’s Cookies. “Please tell me they didn’t send us cookies to eat before the cookies this afternoon.”
We convene at the island and he pulls out what appears to be shirts, one pink and one blue. “I do believe we have a uniform for tonight,” he says, holding his up to his chest, for me to read. “Cookies, ghosts, and goblins, oh my!” And there are ghosts and goblins eating cookies.
“That’s cute.” I laugh. “It might not fit your tattooed, leather, and biker boots image, though.”
“But you do, baby, and that’s all that matters.”
“I’m the opposite of leather and tattoos.”
He sets the shirt down and steps into me, his hand branding my hip. “And yet here you are with me. Care to rethink that?”
I offer him a defiant tilt of my chin. “Not at all. If the leather and tattoos are on you, I’m a leather and tattoo girl all the way.”
His eyes light with mischief. “Is that right?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Show me,” he dares.
I’ve never been bold sexually. Or at least, I’ve never explored myself sexually, but then there is Kace, and now I’m a different me. I step back from him and pull my T-shirt over my head, tossing it away. I immediately reach for my leggings. Kace steps into me, his hands sliding under the cotton to cup my backside. “I like how you show me.”
The next thing I know, I’m on top of the island and he’s inside me.
By the time we’re in the shower together, I’ve decided Halloween is my favorite holiday ever.
***
Kace and I spend the afternoon in my new office. He settles in a cozy chair by the bookshelves to write music, while I claim the desk to get some work done. It’s a unique experience for me to share every moment with Kace, but I like it. I like it probably too much. If we fizzle out, I will hurt. I hurt just thinking about it, which is why I remind myself to live in the moment.
I focus on my work. I pay Nancy and the bills, and while I survived this month, that six thousand I have coming from Riptide will be welcomed. I also text and email with a couple of customers about a few Riptide items. It’s later afternoon, and close to the time to head out to help Jerry and Jenny, I’ve lined up a viewing of a painting at Riptide Monday morning. If the sales happen, I’ll be set for the month of November.
About three-thirty, we change into our shirts and I can’t stop smiling at him in his. And how does he make ghosts and goblins hot? I don’t know but he does.
On our way out of the apartment, Kace pulls on his coat and helps me with mine. “You need a casual coat.”
“This coat is warm. I love it.” I turn to face him. “Don’t go flexing your wallet. I am closing a big sale on Monday.”
He catches the lapels of my coat and pulls me to him. He smells good, all spice and maybe cinnamon? “You eventually have to get used to my money,” he says.
“How about I just focus on you, Kace?”
“It’s a part of me, Aria. You have to know that.”
“There are many things to love about you that are not your money, Kace.” It’s out before I can stop it.
His eyes narrow and soften. “Is that right?”
I don’t back down. I’m all in with this man. “Yes. Starting with you wearing that shirt and handing out cookies. Take me to the cookies. We didn’t eat lunch.”
“Because you wanted to wait on cookies,” he reminds me.
“I can’t be rude.”
A deep rumble of delicious laughter escapes his perfect chest. A chest made this night for ghosts, goblins, and my hands and mouth. “That’s a good excuse,” he says. “I’ll let you use it.”
We’re still smiling and laughing about random things as we make our short walk. In the back of my mind, Gio is always there, or rather not here, but the laughter is the medicine I need; sanity in fact. We arrive at the cookie shop to find a crazy long line of ghosts and goblins, oh my! Kace catches my hand and we zigzag through the crowd for him to knock on the door.
Soon we are inside and Jenny, who is wearing a good witch costume, is hugging me. “You made it. How is your hand?”
There is a pinch in my chest with her mothering that is bittersweet, considering the loss of my own mother. “Much better. I forgot about it most of the day. And you look amazing. We’re underdressed.”
“Nonsense. You rock that shirt.”
I swear, she’s funny and hip and younger than her years.
“’Bout damn time you make it for a holiday,” a bellow
ing male voice blasts, and I turn to find a tall man with thick gray hair, fit, too, in a way that screams willpower considering the sweet smell of cookies teasing my nostrils right now. He’s also rocking his ghosts and goblins T-shirt.
Kace points to his shirt. “If I would have known there was a T-shirt in it for me I would have come sooner.”
“You do look pretty, boy,” Jerry says his attention turning to me. “And who might this be?”
“Hi Jerry,” I say. “I love your cookies.”
“Hello, Aria,” he replies, glancing at Kace. “She’s a pretty one, Kace. Prettier than your ugly ass deserves.”
I laugh, which gains me Jerry’s attention again. “Thank you for getting him here.”
I hold up my hands. “He invited me,” I say. “I take no credit.”
“You don’t get enough credit, but we do. You give him a reason to stay home, a feat no one else has achieved.” The alarm on his watch goes off. “Doors open! Let’s do this.”
For the next few hours Kace and I hand out endless cookies, and it’s a complete blast. When the event is over, Jerry and Jenny leave the staff to clean up with a generous bonus for doing so that has them grinning from ear-to-ear, and we head next door to a cozy restaurant. It’s not long before we’re sitting at a high table across from them, with dim lights, orange cushioned seats, and a fun mix of the eighties, nineties, and two-thousands music. Soon we have wine and fried mozzarella, all of us enjoying tonight’s stories involving the kids enjoying their cookies tonight.
We order food, and I behave quite nicely, showing restraint by ignoring all forms of pasta which is rough considering they have mac n’ cheese. I choose a salad, while Kace orders a chicken sandwich that makes me feel a little better about my choice. The comfortable chatter continues and I decide Jerry and Jenny love this man like a son. And he loves them. And I kind of love them all right now. We eat and I’m into another glass of wine that I shouldn’t drink because I’m feeling tipsy when the inevitable happens. “Aria,” Jerry says. “Tell us about yourself.”
The dreaded question that breeds lies I don’t want to tell.
Kace’s hand catches mine under the table, his touch remarkably steadying even with wine on the brain. “My brother and I own a collectibles business,” I say. “That’s how I met Kace. I was trying to buy a violin for a client.”
“She saved my ass,” Kace says. “It was a knock-off. She told me not to bid. And it turned out she was right.”
“Are you a fan of Kace’s, Aria?” Jenny asks.
“I’m a huge fan of the man now, of course,” I say, “but when I met him I was a fan of his music. Skill doesn’t mean the man is likable. In fact, sometimes it means he’s unbearable.”
“She speaks the truth,” Jerry agrees, speaking to Jenny and then to me, “You speak the truth, Aria. We told him we’d beat his ass if he became a pompous arrogant ass.”
“You told him that,” Jenny says. “I promised to protect him.”
“I protect him,” Jerry assures us all. “From everyone but me.”
Kace laughs and sips his wine. “See what I put up with.”
“Seems pretty perfect, Kace, especially considering—you know, I ah—” I grab my wine before I start talking about his parents. “You shouldn’t have given me this,” I add, indicating the glass.
“Interesting,” Jenny says, eyeing me. “You know about his parents.”
“I do,” I say, and I glance up at Kace. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, baby. They know you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t important to me.”
I’m stunned that he says this in front of them, but before I can really recover, Jenny asks, “Where are your parents, Aria?”
I’m so worried about Kace, that the question takes me off guard. My lashes lower with the emotional hit, no doubt, punching harder as I see this little family together while drinking wine on top of it. Kace wraps his arm around me and comes to the rescue. “Her mother was killed in a mugging.”
I open my eyes. “Ten years ago. My father disappeared when I was eleven.”
“She was in Italy,” Kace adds. “She moved here shortly after with her American mother.”
Jenny reaches over the table and squeezes my hand. “Sounds like you need to inherit a pair of godparents to me.”
Tears threaten but somehow I manage to joke. “Do I get cookies?”
Jerry laughs. “Yes, you get cookies.”
At this point, the dance floor is packed and Kace stands up and rounds the table to offer me his hand. “Let’s go dance.”
My eyes go wide. “You dance?”
“Don’t look so shocked. Music is my life.”
“We shall see,” I tease, thankful for the escape, he’s offered me. I place my hand in his, the tingling up my arm shockingly profound, his eyes laden with nothing but me.
He folds our elbows, pulling our bodies tight together as we walk through the crowd and to the other side of the dance floor. The music shifts and the song “Can I Be Him” by James Arthur begins to play. Kace folds me into his arms, leans in, his breath warm on my neck as he sings the first two lines to me.
You walked into the room and now my heart has been stolen
You took me back in time to when I was unbroken
He pulls back, his eyes meeting mine and I can barely breathe for what I find in those baby blues. He means these words. He nuzzles my neck and we sway to the music. And when the song is over, he leads me toward a back room. We cross under a doorway and I have no idea where we are but he turns me and presses me against the wall, out of sight of the dining area. “I don’t want you to go back to your apartment. Ever. Move in with me.”
I blanch, stunned. “You want—”
“Yes. I want. You’re already living with me and I don’t want you to leave. I know it’s fast. You don’t have to tell me now. I know there is Gio and—”
“Gio makes decisions for Gio. He does.” My hand flattens on his chest. “Yes. Yes, I will.”
“You will?”
“Yes. I just I have to figure out my place and—”
“I’ll pay it off and when Gio gets back—”
“No, Kace. You are not—”
He lifts me off the wall and molds me close, body to body, his chest to my chest. He makes me stronger. “I am paying it off,” he says. “Then you always know you’re not captive to my money like my mother was to my father’s. You will always feel you have a place to go, but home is with me now. Say it.”
These words about his mother is another peek into his past that he’s allowed me. He’s inviting me to live in his world. And I’m inviting him into mine when I thought I’d never open that door to anyone. “I already feel like you’re the only home I’ve had in a long time, Kace.”
“As you are for me. The only home.”
My fingers find the rough stubble of his jaw. “The one true daisy in the wind.”
There is something warm and yet dark in his eyes with those words that I cannot name and I don’t even try. He kisses me then, deep, crazy kisses, and then we go back to the table to share the news, but in the back of my mind, I feel like I’m forgetting Gio. I’m giving up on my brother. And I silently vow that is not true. I will never give up on Gio.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I wake Monday morning to Kace wrapped around me and the sound of his cellphone vibrating on the nightstand. Somehow I’m on his side of the bed, and with a groan, he reaches over me and glances at the number. With another groan, he rolls to his back and answers the call.
“It’s six AM, Mark. Why are you calling me?” Whatever Mark says has him sitting up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Holly hell. Now what?”
Nerves erupt in my belly and I scoot up against the headboard, knees to my chest, waiting for him to hang up. When he finally does, I pounce. “What is it?”
“The L.A. event center for our performance burned down last night. We’re moving t
he San Francisco event to a museum that can accommodate tickets for both events.”
“It burned down.” My throat goes dry. “Kace, that feels funny to me. Is that—could that be—”
“No. It was electrical.” He pulls me down and under him. “Stop worrying.”
“It feels off.”
He pulls me down on the mattress and slides between my legs. “I’ll have Blake check into it.”
“Yes, but—”
He slides down my body and about the time his lips touch my belly button, I stop talking. When his tongue follows, I have no idea what we were talking about. I now share a home with Kace. My bed is no longer cold or lonely.
By Monday evening, he’s managed to get movers to my apartment. I don’t even want to know how much a rush service cost him.
By Tuesday, he’s paid off the building Gio and I own and I’ve left the documents on Gio’s desk. By Wednesday, I’ve made three sales for Riptide and involved Nancy in the process with great success. Kace has also filled my closet with clothes and shoes and my head is spinning. I try to slow down his spending, but he declares, “I’ve decided you’ll get used to my money with exposure. So here we go, baby.”
I fight, but not hard. For some reason, Kace needs to do these things for me, but I also know he needs to know I’m here for him, not for a luxurious lifestyle. I don’t know how to do that but I’m determined to figure it out.
A declaration that proves it’s not done easily or quickly.
Thursday morning, we’re having our morning coffee at the kitchen island, when he slides a credit card onto the counter. That’s where I draw the line. “No.” I slide it back to him. “No. And no.”
“So you can pick things you want rather than settling for what some personal shopper buys for you.”
A Wicked Song Page 18