by Elise Faber
“Um,” I began when it seemed as though she was going to beeline us right into them.
“Shush.” A slight shift of our bodies, and I saw that the row of hedges had a small break in them, leading to an enclosed . . . paradise. I couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. The walls of greenery completely boxed in the space from the ground to several feet over my six feet. A large tree planted in the center had grown tall enough to cover the square with a canopy made of branches and leaves, strands of lights woven between them. As I marveled at the walls and roof made from nature, I missed what was on the ground. Soft grass, a large blanket and pillows, electric candles interspersed and giving off small, intimate glows.
“This is . . .”
“I know,” she murmured, tugging me forward, leading me to the blanket. “Artie and Pierce aren’t much for nature, so they let me play with this space when they had the hot tub removed a few years ago. “I added the lights, picked up some outdoor blankets and pillows, candles, flowers.”
My gaze followed her when she pointed to something else I’d missed, boxes of bright flowers lining the walls. “Luckily enough, the sun sneaks through in the mornings to allow them to grow. I modeled it after this tiny church in France that Artie’s company filmed at a few years ago.” She glanced up at me. “I was still just an assistant then, in charge of managing her schedule, making sure she had what she needed so she could focus on the production.” Her voice dropped. “I stumbled into an older section and fell in love. Those walls were made of stone, covered in ivy, but I wanted to have the same feeling of being completely wrapped in nature, in quiet, as I felt there.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, slipping my hand free from hers so I could slide an arm around her, tug her close.
She smiled up at me. “In the end, they didn’t even end up using that corner for filming, but I’d seen enough to fall in love with it anyway.”
“And is this your way of telling me that France was your favorite?” I asked, letting her lead me over to the blanket, taking her glass from her fingers when she lay down so I could lie next to her, so I could gather her against me and hold her tightly.
“One of them.”
I nuzzled her neck. “That’s cheating.”
“I also love Scotland and Australia. New Zealand holds a special place, as does Mykonos, and Iceland, and—”
I laughed, cutting off her words with a kiss. “Tell me, is there any place you don’t love?”
Mags froze, head tilting to the side as she considered. “I wasn’t a huge fan of Costa Rica.”
That surprised me.
“I know,” she said with a laugh. “It was beautiful, without a doubt, but it was humid and the bugs . . . Hey!” She smacked my chest lightly when I snorted. “You weren’t there, mister. They were big and hairy and—”
I kissed her.
Long and slow, with plenty of tongue and plenty of wandering hands.
When we broke away, chests heaving, I rested my forehead to hers, “No bugs.” Another press of my lips to hers. “Got it.”
“I—” She shook her head. “You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?”
I grinned. “I’ll protect you from the bugs, I promise.”
“You’re terrible.”
“No,” I murmured. “I’m the man who wants to kiss you all over.”
“A-aaron.”
“It’s true.”
“I know it’s true.” She wiggled closer. “Because I want to kiss you all over, too.”
I brushed her hair back from her face, rubbed my nose against hers. “I’m glad.” A beat. “But we’re not going to, Peaches.”
She froze, leaned back. “We’re not?”
“No,” I murmured. “We’re going slow and steady. Taking our time to get to know each other again.”
“For how long?”
My response was delayed as I considered that, trying to reconcile what I felt for Mags with what I’d had with the other women I’d dated. There had been the rare one-night stand, but that wasn’t something I did when I wanted to build a future with a woman. It was more . . . the mutual scratching of itches. “Four more dates.”
Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “Why four?”
“It gives you time,” I said, “and it shows you this is something more than sex.”
“That’s stupid.”
I blinked. “What?” I was trying to be respectful, to give her a chance to come to terms with us, with the future of us, without muddying the waters with sex.
“That’s stupid,” she said again. “I want you. You want me. We’re two consenting adults. We’ll use protection and common sense, not some arbitrary number of dates to tell us when it’s acceptable to have sex.”
Put it that way, and I did feel a bit foolish pinning a number on future intimacy, but . . .
She shifted, pushing me to my back, straddling my waist then leaning forward to cup my cheeks. “I’m not trying to make fun of you, baby.” Mags bent so her lips were very close to mine. “I just— I’m attracted to you. I’ve liked spending time with you, exploring this, and I want to do more of it. Am I ready to jump your bones here and now?” A shake of her head. “Unfortunately, no. Though I’d be down for some heavy petting and groping through our clothes.” She bit the corner of her mouth, mischief dancing in her eyes, and that paired with her words had my cock hard and pressing against the zipper on my jeans. The mischief dimmed, the soft fingers of one hand tracing along my jaw. “But do I want to tie us down to a particular date before we can sleep together? No, I don’t.”
“I want you to be comfortable.”
“And I want you to be comfortable,” she said, lying across my chest, arms slipping under my shoulders to hug me close. “But I also don’t necessarily want to use Aaron Logic to get there,” she added lightly.
“What’s Aaron Logic?”
“Maybe Spreadsheet Logic is more accurate.”
I snorted, too busy enjoying the feel of her sprawled over me to be offended by her poking fun at me. “Spreadsheet Logic can be a good thing,” I said, my arms going around her, sliding up and down the lush curves of her. “It sets expectations, makes our responsibilities clear, allows for routine.”
Silence.
Then tinkling laughter.
“What?” I asked, hands pausing, albeit more focused on what was beneath my palms than what I’d been saying.
She stopped, burrowed into the spot where my throat met my shoulder, and spoke, hot words against my skin that raised goose bumps on my arms, sent sparks down my spine. “Think about what you just said and repeat it back to yourself—expectations, responsibilities, routine.” A flick of her tongue. “Not one of those things is me, Aar.”
“Are you saying I need to use less Spreadsheet Logic and more Maggie Peaches Allen Logic?”
“Yes.” Her tone was unyielding.
I started laughing.
She joined in, but after a few seconds her laughter trailed off, and she pressed a kiss to my throat. “But I also understand that Spreadsheet Logic is you, Aar. So, I promise you that I’ll get better at using it.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard sexier words come out of your mouth.”
She giggled. “Noted.” A pause, then she pushed up enough to meet my eyes. “So, in that vein, I’ll just say that tomorrow you’re taking me on date three—note: I’m giving you the number, so we have Spreadsheet Logic covered—and after which anything beyond heavy petting and copious amounts of groping is on the table—my logic.”
“Maggie and Spreadsheet Logic combined.” I slid my hand a little lower, the curve of her ass just at my fingertips. “I like it.”
“Maggie and Aaron Logic,” she corrected.
My hand slid a little lower. “I like the sound of that better.”
A grin before she lowered herself again, her next words against my skin. “One ring to rule them all, and all the other nerdy things?”
“Hmm.” I was
too focused on the curve of her ass so close to my palms, the scent of her in my nose, the feel of her against me.
“Aaron?”
“Hmm?” I repeated.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re ready for the wandering hands and heavy petting portion of the evening?”
My cock twitched.
She felt it, hips pressing forward against my erection, making stars flash behind my eyes, need pulse through every cell in my body.
Maybe I should have used Spreadsheet Logic, slowed us down.
But I didn’t want to.
Instead, bringing one hand firmly over her ass, cupping the curves, tugging her more firmly against me, I simply said, “Yes.”
Then I kissed her.
And then I let my hands wander.
Fourteen
Maggie
He’d surprised me.
I’d made the long drive from West Hollywood to Temecula this time, though I’d had less of a tussle with traffic, seeing as this was the weekend. After spending the morning catching up on emails, arranging some press tours and fine-tuning a lingerie brand Eden was developing, whose business model was to donate a set of undergarments to women in need with every item sold, I’d loaded up my podcast about home winemaking—I figured I had some knowledge to catch up on—and had headed out for the winery.
Now it was midafternoon, and I’d expected the restaurant and tasting rooms to be full of people eating and drinking, enjoying Lakeland Lucha’s wares.
And in fairness to all the wonderful things the winery had to offer, they might be.
But about ten minutes from reaching Aaron’s business, he’d called and given me directions to a different entrance, a winding road that led to a small cottage-looking building surrounded by grapevines.
Upon closer inspection, it was actually two small cottages joined by a single car garage in the middle. They were cute, Mediterranean inspired with orange stucco walls and red tile roofs, the windows rounded and trimmed with iron accents.
But that was all my mind had time to process.
Because Aaron was on the porch. From the way my heart accelerated, heat arrowing down between my thighs, one would have thought he was naked and glistening like a Greek god, or dressed to the nines in a tuxedo only Pierce could pull off, or maybe Chris Hemsworth in a loin cloth—
Maybe that should have given me a sign I was in deep, that this was too much, too soon, especially given the whole thinking a loin cloth was a good thing. Instead, I was arrested by the sight of Aaron on the porch.
Everything inside me froze for one long moment and then refocused.
Right.
This was what I’d been searching for over the years.
All the living, all the experiences, everything that had been perfect except for that tiniest little niggle . . . all of it circled back to Aaron.
I felt a wave of sadness rush over me, wondering if perhaps I’d been wrong all those years ago, thinking we would have never worked out. Maybe we could have beaten the odds, maybe we’d missed out on a full decade when—
My car door opened, even though I didn’t consciously remember parking.
“I—”
“Hush,” Aaron ordered, reaching over me and turning off the ignition, tugging the keys out and pocketing them.
My eyes stung, my throat burned, my stomach churned because driving up and seeing him waiting for me highlighted exactly how much I’d missed out on. A tear escaped, sliding down my cheek in a scalding trail of moisture, but when I went to wipe it away, he beat me to it, his thumb capturing it before he unbuckled my seatbelt and tugged me out of the car.
“B-baby,” I said and sniffed. “I—”
Solid arms banded around me, plastered me against his chest. “Hush now,” he murmured. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”
The reassurance made another tear fall, another, until they were coming in earnest, until I was sobbing against Aaron’s chest. I’d been strong over the years, pretending to be resolute in my decision, using Aaron’s mom telling me to go and not come back—in an encouraging, leave-the-nest way, not in a mean one—as proof I’d been right. I’d even convinced myself that Aaron had been the one who’d made the mistake in letting me go, and that it didn’t matter anyway because we’d been too young and, in the end, it wouldn’t have worked out between us.
But standing there, my body pressed to his, I couldn’t help but wonder, what if?
What if we’d made it? What if he’d come? What if I had stayed or gone back or—?
So many questions I would never have the answers to. So many answers I was desperate to know. So many unknowns that sliced at my core and made me doubt everything we’d been through.
And I cried.
For those what ifs. For the lost past. For not realizing how precious this thing between us was.
Eventually, what felt like an eternity later, I managed to pull myself together. I lifted my head from Aaron’s chest, found he’d somehow carried me into the house, had settled us on a couch.
“I’m sorry,” I said, voice hoarse. “Some fun date three, huh?”
He cupped my cheek, stared deeply into my eyes. “I’m guessing this wasn’t because you had a bad day at work, or somebody honked at you on the freeway.”
My eyes slid to the side, and I shook my head. “No.”
“Then what, Peaches?”
Eyes back to his, knowing I needed to see him when I admitted, “Driving up and seeing you made me realize exactly what we missed out on.”
He sucked in a pained breath.
Tears threatened again.
He saw, the man who’d know I was upset from twenty feet away through a windshield, of course he saw the tears coming. Wrapping his arms around me again, he said, “Shh, honey. This is all that matters now. As much as it sucks, we can’t go back and change things.”
“I broke us,” I said. “I just took a hammer to our relationship and shattered us to pieces.”
He pulled back, captured my chin between thumb and forefinger and said firmly, “We both had our hands on the handle.”
“I—”
A slight jostle. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but what is this accomplishing, Mags? We both have regrets that we can’t do anything to change. How is beating yourself up benefiting either of us?” He released my chin, slid his fingers along my jaw to weave into my hair. “It pains me to see you upset, and you’ve cried yourself hoarse.”
I sighed.
Aaron brushed a kiss over my forehead. “We can’t go back, Peaches. We have to keep moving forward.”
I dropped my head to his shoulder, sighed again. “So, what you’re saying is we need to use Maggie Logic.”
Laughter that slid over my skin like a warm blanket.
“Yeah, Peaches. We need more Maggie Logic.”
I nodded, cuddled closer. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”
“Don’t apologize for showing me what’s in your mind and heart,” he said, and his tone was almost harsh. “The future I want to build with you, the one I hope you want to build with me, is about honesty, about truth, about you and me and never any secrets. I want you to feel safe to tell me anything. I want you to trust that I will never willingly hurt you.”
I’d be lying if I’d said I hadn’t waited my whole life to hear those words. But I was too touched to say that, to do more than stammer out, “A-aaron,” my eyes stinging again.
He lightly stroked my nape, murmured, “Cry if you need to.”
That had the opposite effect of what he probably assumed it would, because it made my tears dry, made laughter bubble in my throat. “I think I’m done.” I grinned at him. “For the moment.”
His sigh of relief had me laughing again.
But neither of us moved, and we just held each other for long minutes. For my part, I was thinking of how good it was with him, to be held by him in this moment, and I assumed he was feeling the same, especially since his next words were, “So lucky, Peaches.
”
“Yes,” I murmured. “We both are.”
His arms tightened, his lips brushed my hair, and the sun moved lower in the windows.
Eventually, it got dark enough to necessitate turning on a few lights, and I remembered the present I’d brought him that was sitting on the passenger seat of my car.
“My loaves!” I cried, in the middle of chopping an onion Aaron had directed me to dice. Apparently, he was cooking his secret pasta sauce recipe for me, and I was to play sous chef. Which, frankly, was fine with me. Baking, I enjoyed. Coming up with meal ideas that didn’t involve copious amounts of flour, sugar, and butter were less exciting.
“What?” he asked, turning from the pan where he was frying up some ground beef.
“My loaves!” I said again.
I set my knife down and rushed for the door, hoping it hadn’t been warm enough to melt the icing I’d topped them with. It had taken ages to get the right consistency.
“Where are my keys?” I called.
“On the table by the door,” he called back.
Nodding, though he probably couldn’t see me since he’d turned back to the pan, I hightailed it for the table, searching the cluttered top for a few seconds before locating and scooping up my keys. I’d just started moving again, anxious to rescue those loaves, when I noticed the candle and skidded to a stop.
Sweet Peach.
Fumbling fingers tugged the lid off, saw it had nearly been burned to the bottom. I noticed the peeling label, the slightly dusty ring on the table when I shifted it to the side.
Not something newly purchased. Something that had been around long enough to make a ring, to be burned nearly to the end of the wicks, to—
“Find them—?”
Aaron rounded the corner of the kitchen cabinets, words faltering when he saw me staring at the candle like a lunatic.
“Are you okay?” he asked carefully.
I put the lid down, nodded. Then because I had to know, inquired, “What’s this?”