by Elise Faber
But it was still a precious gift.
Because it was a promise. And I’d had far too few of those in my life from this man.
“Won’t hurt you again, baby girl.”
The engine turned on as the impact of those words hit home. I stepped back so they could close the doors, watched as the van drove away, tears dripping down my cheeks.
Then I paused, knowing I should head to my car, but unable to make my feet move.
Warm arms around my middle, gentle hands turning my body into his.
“It’s okay, Peaches,” Aaron whispered into my hair. “It’ll all be okay.”
“He said he loved me.”
Aaron froze.
“He said he was sorry.”
Silence, then a slightly rough palm on my cheek. “Did it give you what you needed?”
I shook my head. “No,” I admitted. “But I think it gave me some place to start.”
He dropped a soft kiss to my lips. “That’s something then.”
“Yes.”
Arms banding tight, he held me to him for a long time, but even with the warmth of his chest, eventually I began shivering. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go get pancakes.”
“Pancakes?”
It was three in the afternoon.
“They’ll help,” he said. “I promise.”
And he was right.
They did help.
Seventeen
Aaron
I’d expected a protest when Mags saw me pull in to my parent’s house.
Instead, she just walked quiescently beside me up the walkway and into the warmth of the house.
My mom had a bottle of cleaner in her hands, a towel tossed over one shoulder, but when she saw Maggie, she set both down, right in the middle of the floor, and rushed over, hugging Mags tight.
“Oh, babes, I’m so sorry,” she said, releasing Mags and shepherding us into the kitchen.
Maggie followed without protesting, didn’t say a word when she was nudged into a stool. Nor when I mentioned to my mom that I’d promised her pancakes. She was silent. Quiet. Reduced.
Not. Maggie.
Alarm bells blared to life in my brain.
My mom didn’t seem panicked, however. She just nudged me to the fridge and ordered me to start pulling out ingredients. Oranges for fresh juice. Berries to be washed and placed in a bowl. Milk and butter for the pancake batter. I did each task as commanded, but my instincts were screaming.
I didn’t like the blank look on Maggie’s face.
“Patience,” my mom whispered.
And then I got it, then I understood instinctively why I’d brought Maggie here instead of the winery.
Because my mom was giving her something only she could.
I didn’t notice it at first. But eventually I did clue in to what she was doing.
Every time my mom moved around the space—to the pantry to grab flour, to a cabinet for glasses for the juice, to the hallway so she could retrieve the bottle of cleaner and the towel she’d left on the floor—she made sure to pass by Mags, to touch her.
A stroke on the arm. Brushing her hair back. A gentle pat on the shoulder.
Grounding her in the here and now.
This wasn’t about pancakes. It was about family. About having a parent who could show her what it was like to be part of one, to enfold and hold her tight when things were tough.
This was about my mom giving Mags some Mom Powers.
“Using those powers for good,” I whispered, still squeezing oranges and not making much progress to filling up the pitcher as my mom had commanded.
“It’ll be okay, honey,” she whispered back, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Trust me.”
“I don’t want her hurting.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t protect her from all the hurts of the world.”
I knew she was right. I still hated it, though.
But instead of moping about it, I kept juicing oranges, continued keeping an eye on the woman I loved, and I learned. I took over on the touches. I took over on grounding Mags here. I brushed a kiss on her cheek. I stroked my fingers through her hair. I whispered I was there if she needed anything. I made sure she knew I was her family and that I wasn’t letting her go.
Even with all of that, she was still quiet and withdrawn.
Not catatonic, as she seemed to be tracking everything, but just in shock, retreating from the pain, and scared.
Enough.
I dropped the orange I was juicing, crossed over to her, and pulled her into my arms. “I’m here,” I told her, nuzzling at her throat. “I love you.” She shuddered. “I’m not leaving and I’m going to keep pushing you until you realize that none of this is your fault, until you realize you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known, until you realize I’m not going to stop pestering you until you’re my Maggie again.”
Brown eyes cleared, focused on mine, and she lightly ran her fingers over my jaw. “I would have thought you liked quiet Maggie.”
Relief rippled through me at the gentle teasing. “Peaches,” I muttered, banding my arms tighter around her. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I had a lot to process.”
I leaned back, cupped her cheeks in my palms. “Well, next time process it with me.”
Her lips twitched. “Is that Maggie Logic?”
“It’s Aaron Logic,” I growled, dropping my hands and yanking her against my chest again. “I fucking love you.”
She sniffed. “I love you, too.” A beat. “You can let go now. I’m okay.”
“No fucking way.”
“Language!” my mom interjected, pulling a pack of bacon from the fridge, a cookie sheet from the drawer, and bringing it over to where Mags had been sitting. “Now time to stop woolgathering and earn your keep,” she snapped, even as her eyes danced.
Mags blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Bacon on the sheet. Sheet in the oven.”
Mags studied the items in front of her before her gaze drifted to the oven and she nodded. “Okay.”
My mom snapped a towel at me. “More orange juice, peon!”
Mags giggled.
And just like that, she was back.
The numbness had faded, the pain receded enough for her to be here. With me. With us. I knew it wouldn’t always be that way, that there was too much pain in her past for everything to be easy and smooth sailing. But I also knew now what to do.
I knew how to be her family.
I knew how to be stubborn.
I knew how to use Maggie Logic to never let her go.
So, using the instincts that logic had honed, I ignored the orange juice. I ignored the bacon.
I held her tighter, and I kissed her with every ounce of love I had.
And then I made the orange juice.
Epilogue
Part One
Maggie, Five months later
I was sprawled on my stomach on a blanket, the spring sunshine filtering over my shoulders.
I was supposed be reading a book, but I’d given up on that a few hours ago in favor of letting the sun’s rays warm my back. It was May, so the temperatures were mild and in the low seventies. Perfect weather to sleep away a sunny afternoon while one’s boyfriend was working.
Grinning, I nestled into the blanket, letting my eyes stay shut, enjoying the first bit of rest and respite I’d had since December.
Christmas had been spent in Utah with Aaron’s family, after having made sure my dad was settled and taken care of in the facility. It had meant working remotely, coordinating with Sam and giving my assistant some herculean tasks.
But the internet hadn’t failed me.
And neither had Sam.
After the holiday, we’d flown back to L.A. and traded nights between the winery—where Aaron was overseeing a large construction project—and the guesthouse at Artie and Pierce’s.
Then had come awards season.
My busies
t time of year, and with complete and utter shit timing, the studio had stacked one of Talbot’s releases to come directly after that.
I don’t think I saw Aaron awake for more than a couple of hours a week for the last three months.
But I saw him asleep plenty.
No matter what hour I crawled into bed next to him, he never failed to wrap an arm around me and pull me close, to hold me tight, to show me I was important and precious and valuable.
And yes, that was Maggie Logic.
Trust my instincts. Just live.
Yeah, I’d been doing that.
And now, we got to do a little living in Italy.
I barely felt the air shift before soft fingers traced the curve of my smile, before I smelled the scent that was solely Aaron, before I felt the man I love lie down next to me and tug me close.
See?
He loved me.
“I thought you were supposed to be reading,” he murmured.
“Mmm,” I said, stretching against him, not oblivious to the erection poking into my backside. “I decided to nap instead.” I rubbed closer, nuzzled against his chest.
He groaned when my hips brushed his. “I like sleepy Peaches.”
I snorted. “That sounds like a bad name for a bar.”
“Hmm.” A chuckle, a nip on my jaw when I rubbed against his cock again. His fingers slipped under the hem of my skirt, pressed against bare skin, dipped between suddenly trembling thighs. “Yes?” he asked, sliding them higher until they reached the damp heat of my pussy.
I bit my lip, glanced around.
“We’re alone,” he said. “I told Carlos to send everyone home early.”
My pulse leaped, and I let my legs fall open. “Did you now?”
“Yes.” He kissed me, unfurling heat in my stomach, driving me crazy as he filled me with pleasure, wound my desire tight. A thumb circling and pressing against my clit, warm kisses on my throat, rough fingers pushing the straps of my dress to the side, nipping at my skin and soothing the slight stings with his tongue.
And all the while the sun shone, the wind blew, the smell of the earth and vines surrounded us.
It was peaceful. It was perfect. It—
“Oof!” I gasped when Aaron suddenly covered me with his body.
“What—?”
I’d missed the footsteps.
Because aside from the sun and wind and plants, there were footsteps, too. I glanced up to see Carlos, who I’d met all of three times, stumbling away from us with his hands clamped over his eyes. “You said you were going to feel the earth, to talk to the vines with your bare feet, not your bare—”
“Finish that sentence and you’re in charge of spreadsheets,” Aaron growled.
Carlos kept his eyes covered. “So, you don’t need my help to talk to the grapes?”
“No!” we both exclaimed.
“Fine,” Carlos said, hands still up as he made his way back down the hill.
I sat up, bit my lip to keep from laughing as I straightened the straps on my dress, smoothed down the skirt.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said, tugging me close and kissing the top of my head.
“Think of the story we’ll have to tell.”
He froze, mouth dropping open. But his eyes were warm and full to the brim with love. “Yeah, Peaches,” he whispered, leaning down so the words puffed against my lips. “Think of the story we’ll have to tell.”
He kissed me, and I felt the love, felt the ties of family, felt them down to the very marrow of my bones.
But I still had Maggie Logic.
I could still surprise this man.
Which was why I broke the kiss and leaned over to pick up the box that I’d hidden under my book.
I held it out. “I know it’s ten years past due, but will you marry me, Aaron Weaver?”
His smile was huge, spreading through his body as he launched himself at me, kissing every inch he could reach. “You drive me crazy, you know that, right?” He nipped my nose. “I had this all planned out. A sunset stroll, romantic words, a giant diamond ring, and you had to go and just hand me a ring?”
I grinned. “You know you love it.”
He grinned. “Yes, yes I do.”
“For the record,” I said, ignoring the way his hand was sliding under my skirt again, “I don’t need the stroll, though the words would be nice.”
He shifted to nudge one strap of my dress back down then the other. “And the ring?” he murmured against my throat.
“Meh—” I began but broke off with a peel of giggles as he tickled me. “Okay, yes. Yes! I want the ring.” He stopped and I touched his cheek, making sure he saw the truth of my words. “But more than any of that, I want you, baby. I want us. I want forever.”
“Maggie Logic,” he whispered, his eyes shining.
“Maggie and Aaron Logic,” I countered.
“The best kind.”
“Agreed.”
He pressed a hard, fast kiss to my lips. “So, about that talking to the vines with our bare—”
“Aaron!”
But then he kissed me again, kissed me so intensely, with so much desire and temptation and need, with so much love that suddenly I forgot about Carlos, about being out in the open.
I forgot about everything except Aaron.
Well, everything except Aaron, and our naked, bare-skinned communication with the vines.
Funny story, but as time went on, as days turned to years turned to decades, every wine critic always said that year’s Lakeside Lucha vintage was the best.
I always smiled when I heard that, held the truth close to my heart.
Because I’d found out that, every once in a while, if you talked to the vines, to the earth with bare—
Heh.
Well, anyway, I’d discovered that, every once in a while, the vines could talk back.
Epilogue
Part Two
Talbot
I listened to the sounds of the party on the other side of the hedges, and I knew I should be out there, schmoozing and charming and making sure everyone was happy and having a great time.
This had been my idea, after all.
To surprise Maggie and Aaron with an engagement party after their return from Italy.
I’d helped Aaron pick the ring, plan the words he was going to say.
Then I’d helped Maggie do the same.
A race down the aisle, that Mags had won.
Not that it was a surprise. She was the smartest, most beautiful, most alive person I’d ever met.
If only there’d been a spark between us.
But that was the problem.
I didn’t feel sparks. I didn’t feel much of anything. I poured everything I had onto the screen. I worked until every emotion in me was gone . . . and then when they came back, I did it all over again. And again.
And again.
But even giving everything I could, the itchy sensation never went away.
I was FOMOing. I was missing out on something more.
But what?
I’d climbed from obscurity to leading roles. Most even with great scripts . . . or at least feel-good, fun storylines that were a blast to make. I had several houses and cars. I was the face of multiple products, including a delicious Chardonnay.
What could I possibly want or need or be missing out on?
A woman.
Unfortunately, as much as I tried to pretend that wasn’t the issue, deep down it was at the crux of everything. I had friends, good friends, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted what Mags had, what Artie and Pierce had, and what Eden had.
More. Everything.
But it was elusive, that everything, especially when I couldn’t walk down the street without being photographed, when I couldn’t be certain that someone in the business wasn’t using me to move up, or worse, would sell me out to the tabloids.
I was one of the most successful men in the world, and I was lonely.
Sighing, I pushed off the tree
I’d been leaning against—hiding behind—and knew this wasn’t a problem I could fix tonight. I needed to leave my safe little enclave and put myself back out there.
Even though I’d given myself the mental pep talk, I hadn’t so much as taken a step toward the exit, when the woman walked in.
Or rather, limped in.
She walked right over to the tree and placed a pal against it, using her free hand to yank off her heels. “Ow,” she muttered, chucking one at the hedges. “Fucking heels.” She tore off the other. “Stupid, fucking death traps.” The heel sailed through the air, bouncing off the leaves and landing with impressive accuracy near its partner. Then she started lifting the edge of her skirt, muttering about “Stupid pantyhose,” and I realized my mistake.
I should have announced my presence before the disrobing began.
I should at least do it now.
But I found myself frozen, arrested by the golden skin revealed as she peeled down the stockings inch by inch, the glimpse of black lace when the hem of her skirt slid the wrong—or rather, the right, in my opinion—way.
Curves I could hold on to. Softly gilded skin. Ass. Hips. Breasts. Face. They were all incredible, but it was her legs that made my mouth go dry with the need to trace my tongue over. Every. Single. Inch.
In fact, I was so focused on the sight of her legs that I missed her arm moving behind her, missed the fact that one of those shapely thighs had a black holster strapped around it, that her luscious curves hid a gun.
A gun that was now pointed in my direction with rock-steady hands.
“Who the fuck are you?” she snapped.
Meet Cute
Coming 2021
Love, Camera, Action
Dotted Line
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Action Shot
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Close Up
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End Scene
Love, Camera, Action