Writing Mr. Right

by T. K. Leigh

  “When did you come back?” I followed him toward one of the few vacant tables in a hidden corner.

  “About eight years ago.” He pulled out a chair for me, then sat in his own across the small table. “I’d just finished up my residency and was offered a geriatric neurology fellowship at Tufts Medical. That prompted me to make Boston my home again. When my fellowship was over, I joined a neurology practice that was looking to expand into the degenerative disorder field. I’ve been there ever since.”

  I offered Noah a tight smile, not wanting to prod any further. I didn’t want to be reminded that he was my father’s doctor. For just one night, I wanted to pretend he was a handsome stranger who had no connection to my family whatsoever.

  A young woman dressed in black approached our table and placed a cocktail napkin in front of each of us. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Noah looked at me, allowing me to order first.

  “Manhattan. Up.”

  She nodded, then turned to Noah.

  “Scotch. Neat.”

  I had to bite back my laugh. Of course he ordered a scotch.

  “How about you?” Noah asked once the waitress left to grab our drinks. “Have you lived here all your life?”

  I rubbed my clammy hands on my dress, fidgeting with the hem. Noah’s inquisitive gaze rattled me. I’d never felt comfortable talking about myself. Typically, I’d find a way to change the subject. Everything was different with Noah. He already knew about my father. I felt like he already knew me, too.

  “I grew up just outside Boston in Somerville, but I feel like I grew up in the North End.” I placed my hands on the table and toyed with the cocktail napkin. “My dad owned this café that’s been passed down through the generations. When he got sick, Drew bought it from him. I practically lived there when I was a little girl.”

  “So you’ve always lived in this area?”

  “Yes. Apart from the four years I spent at NYU.”

  His interest piqued a bit, his eyebrows raised. “NYU? What was your major?”

  I lowered my eyes, shrugging sheepishly. “Journalism.”

  “That’s a great school for that.”

  “I guess.”

  He tilted his head, studying my expression. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” I recovered quickly. “NYU has a great journalism program. People I graduated with have gone on to write for the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Washington Post. It’s very prestigious to have a journalism degree from there.”

  “But it’s not what you wanted, is it?” He narrowed his gaze at me.

  Chewing on my lower lip, I slowly shook my head, surprising myself with my honesty. Hell, most of the guys I’d dated never even knew where I went to college, let alone what my degree was.

  “I wanted to study English literature, but my dad steered me in a different direction. He didn’t see how a degree in English would be useful. Don’t get me wrong,” I added quickly. “He loved to read and truly valued the importance of books at a young age. He just didn’t see how anyone could make a career out of studying it.”

  Avoiding Noah’s eyes, I scanned the lounge. It was relatively dark, muted lights illuminating the few dozen tables. In the center was a small stage that could only fit five musicians. The walls were exposed brick, displaying prints of famous jazz musicians, some signed. The entire place couldn’t have been bigger than my apartment, but I liked it. It was small and intimate.

  The clientele spanned all age groups. There were some who appeared to be on death’s door. There were others I assumed attended one of the many colleges that made up the city of Boston. Regardless, everyone seemed to be enjoying the music, the atmosphere addictive. Every other bar in this city seemed to be the same…the same people, the same drinks, the same thumping music you could barely discern because of how distorted the speakers were. Not here. The music was the reason people came, not the promise of finding someone drunk enough who’d be more than willing to make a really bad decision.

  When Noah remained silent, I turned back to him. “It was certainly a bone of contention between us.”

  “I thought you had a good relationship with your father.”

  The waitress approached with our drinks, Noah smiling in thanks. She placed them on the table, then retreated. Grabbing my martini glass, I raised it to my lips. I needed the alcohol to settle the nerves in my stomach. I didn’t know which set me more on edge…sharing some of my innermost secrets with Noah, or the fact that I wanted him to know this side of me.

  “I do,” I said, taking a sip of my Manhattan. “Or I did when I was younger. As I reached adolescence, it was difficult for him to find things in common with me. He tried, but there are some things a girl doesn’t feel comfortable sharing with her dad.” I tapped my fingernails on the table. “He usually spent all this time and effort helping Drew with his hockey. I guess I just felt left out. So when he finally took an interest in what I was going to study in college, it just felt too little, too late, ya know?”

  “Yet you still visit him every day? If you ask me, that doesn’t sound like someone who has a bad relationship with her father.”

  “I guess.” I fidgeted with the stem of the martini glass. “I just hate the idea that he’s all alone in a nursing home. When I was younger, I was forced to sing in my church choir. During Christmas, we’d go around to all these area convalescent homes and sing carols to the patients there. They all looked so sad and alone. When Drew and I had to make the decision to put Dad in a home, I swore he’d never become like all those people I saw when I was younger.”

  “What about your mom?” Noah pressed. “I’ve never seen her stop by.”

  My eyes locked with his. “She left when I was four.”

  Understanding mixed with sympathy washed over his expression. He reached across the table, grabbing my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  “It’s not that big a deal. I was so young, I can’t even remember what she was like. It’s kind of hard to miss someone you never knew.” I pulled my hand away and took another sip of my Manhattan.

  “You don’t even know your mother?”

  “I haven’t seen her since she left.”

  Noah shook his head, licking his lips. “Why not? If I had kids, I couldn’t ever imagine abandoning them, even if I wasn’t on the best of terms with their mother.”

  “I don’t know a lot of the details. It was never really discussed much, at least not at length. All I know is my mom wasn’t happy with the life my dad gave her. One day, she decided to leave it all behind. She still sends me a pair of slippers every year for my birthday. I have a box full of them.”

  “You’ve kept them?”

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t throw them out. This is a woman who’s never made any effort to be in my life, in any of our lives. I should hate her, but a tiny part of me feels sorry for her.”

  The band finished playing, the crowd applauding their incredible talent. I took the opportunity to look away from Noah and joined the audience in clapping. I could feel the heat of his gaze burning my skin for a moment. Then he joined in, as well.

  When the applause died down, the sax player counted off, then started playing a slower tune. It was one I recognized from the music Aunt Gigi liked to play in the café in the morning. Jazz standards consisting mostly of Frank Sinatra and his contemporaries.

  A few couples got up from their tables and headed to a bit of free space in front of the stage. They swayed to the melody as a young black woman sauntered up to the microphone and sang the first line of the song.

  “I put a spell on you…”

  The soulful voice definitely put a spell on me, on everyone here.

  His eyes glued to me, Noah stood up and extended his hand. “Do you want to dance?” He licked his lips, hope building in his gaze. “It would be an awful waste of such a stunning dress if I didn’t ask.” He winked.

  Nothing good could ever come
from dancing to such a soulful, sensual song with a man as attractive and endearing as Noah. I simply couldn’t bring myself to say no. Not saying a word, I placed my hand in his, rising from the chair. My skin prickled with heat, Noah’s wanton stare making my heart speed up.

  I’d always been in complete control of my faculties around men. I’d been the one in charge, the one who decided whether we danced or went back to my place. I made all the rules. With Noah, I was out of my element. This man was off limits, but dammit if I didn’t want to feel his body sway and move next to mine.

  Once on the small dance floor, surrounded by a handful of other couples enclosed in each other’s warm embrace as they moved to the slow tune, Noah placed one hand on the small of my back, linking my hand in his free one. Draping my arm over his shoulder, I met his eyes and allowed him to lead. I could sense there were a hundred things he wanted to say, but his brain wouldn’t allow it. I knew exactly how he felt. We were walking a fine line of integrity.

  I liked to think I had principals, despite my pattern of using my past flings as unknowing muses for my books. I didn’t see the harm in it. I’d never made any promises to take out a mortgage together and live happily ever after. There were no discussions about commitment or relationships. There were no labels. For the most part, they had been more than content with our arrangement. There was something different about Noah.

  I didn’t even realize when I began toying with a few tufts of his hair that hung over the collar of his shirt. It felt so normal, so perfect, so right. I could dance with him for hours and never tire of the way his body moved with such fluidity against mine. Dancing was screwing with your clothes on, an act of tantalizing seduction where the seducer gave a sneak peek of what awaited once they were alone.

  My body was a respectable distance from Noah’s when we started. As the song went on, his hand on my back tugged me closer and closer. His head lowered, our breath mingling.

  The music grew more intense, the singer belting out the lyrics with more power, more vigor, more fury. Hypnotized, we stopped swaying to the music and simply stared at each other, our bodies fused. I swallowed hard, my chest heaving, as Noah licked his lips and slowly leaned toward me. His eyes were compelling, vivid, bold, as if in a trance…as if someone had cast a spell over him.

  My lips parting, I lifted my chin. The hair on my arms stood on end, my skin tingling. I was lightheaded, breathless, warm, and a dozen other emotions I couldn’t articulate at that precise moment.

  Just as his lips were about to meet mine, a body bumped into me from behind, catching me by surprise. I teetered on my too-high heels, struggling to catch my balance. Noah quickly snapped into action and pulled my body flush with his before I fell to the floor.

  “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry,” a woman said. Judging by the black dress and small tray she carried, I assumed she was one of the servers. “Are you okay?”

  I offered her a tight smile as Noah released his hold on me. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. At least you didn’t have a tray full of drinks.”

  If hearing the theme from An Affair to Remember at the restaurant earlier was a sign I should go to Noah, I couldn’t help but think this was a sign for us to put on the brakes. As much as I wanted to know how his lips tasted, how he kissed, how his tongue would feel tangled with mine, I couldn’t live with the guilt if I pushed him into that unethical situation.

  I stepped away from him, studying his demeanor. His expression was difficult to read. “It’s getting late,” I said. “I should probably get home.” I turned and headed back to the table, the band now playing a more upbeat jazz number.

  “Can I give you a lift?” Noah caught up to me and threw a few bills on the table to cover our tab and a generous tip.

  “That’s not necessary.” I grabbed my clutch, smoothing the lines of my dress. “I can just take a cab.” I hurriedly skirted the tables and emerged onto the sidewalk, inhaling the fresh air. The temperature had dropped, my breath visible when I exhaled. I hugged myself, running my hands up and down my bare arms.

  “Let me drive you,” Noah’s voice called out. I whirled around to see him approaching me, turmoil in his gaze. “It’s freezing out here and you don’t have a coat.” He shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over my shoulders.

  “I don’t have one that matches this dress.”

  He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity before his expression lightened. “You can’t visit your father if you get sick,” he reminded me.

  Being alone in close quarters with Noah was probably a bad idea, but the prospect of waiting for a cab or walking to the closest T station was much less appealing.

  “Fine,” I huffed after a brief moment of hesitation. “You can drive me home.”

  He offered me a tight smile. Once the valet drove up with Noah’s car, he helped me in. Within seconds, I directed him toward my apartment. We didn’t talk much during the short drive on the practically deserted Boston city streets at one in the morning. I considered bringing up our almost kiss so there wouldn’t always be this awkwardness between us. I had a feeling that would just make it worse. It was probably best we forget it ever happened.

  “You can just drop me off right here,” I instructed him once he turned the corner a few blocks from my apartment.

  He slowed to a stop and pulled off to the side of the road. “You live in a liquor store?” He cocked a brow, glancing at the building to my right.

  “No.” I laughed. “I live a few blocks up.” I opened the door, about to step onto the sidewalk.

  “Then I’ll drive you to your place.”

  I sighed, my expression turning serious. “I appreciate the offer, but I live across a narrow alley from my brother. It’s probably in both our best interests that I walk home myself. He shouldn’t see you dropping me off.”

  “We’re just friends, Molly. There’s nothing wrong with being dropped off by your friend. Who cares if I happen to be your father’s doctor?”

  “See, that’s the thing, Noah.” I bit my lip. “You don’t know me like my brother does. I’m not exactly the type of girl who hangs out with guys as just friends. Even if I were, it’s not worth the potential headache. This section of town is full of Italians who are notorious snoopers. Everyone here knows everybody else’s business.”

  He studied me for a prolonged moment, then briefly closed his eyes, his shoulders slumped. “Okay, you’re probably right. For the record, I’m only doing this under protest and out of necessity. I’d much rather drive you to your building and walk you to the door.”

  “Duly noted.” I winked, then shrugged out of his jacket, about to hand it back to him.

  “Keep it,” he said. “If I can’t drive you back to your place, the least I can do is make sure you’re warm. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I guess, technically, it’s today.”

  “I like the sound of today better,” I admitted, surprising myself. As much as I knew I should keep my distance, some outside force was at play, pulling me toward him every time I tried to back away.

  “Me, too.”

  I wrapped his jacket around my shoulders and stepped out of the car. Just as I was about to shut the door, I leaned down. “Thanks for tonight,” I murmured in a soft voice. “For letting me be me.”

  He offered a smile, a calmness washing over his face. “I like you as you, Molly.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WHY ARE YOU WEARING makeup?” Drew asked from behind the counter as I burst into the café on a warm Saturday in early June.

  The last several weeks had been the best I’d had in ages. I’d settled into a new routine, one that involved spending more time with Noah than I probably should. Each Thursday, I made a point to meet him at the cemetery, where we watched whatever classic movie they were showing that evening. Occasionally, we made arrangements to run into each other at the Common, where we would eventually end up at the same ice cream shop he’d taken me to
after heroically saving me from a criminal biker gang named The Mallards…as the story had evolved in my head.

  With each encounter, I grew more and more comfortable around him, almost to the point where I felt as if we’d known each other for years. He’d talk about what it was like growing up with four sisters. I’d share stories about my own childhood.

  Every afternoon when I read to my dad, I often held out hope Noah would surprise me with a visit. He’d done just that a few times. I’d smile as he sat beside me, listening to me read to my father. Whatever was going on between us had grown into something more than a friendship based on a shared struggle, although I kept reminding myself I only spent time with him because of my book.

  When I wasn’t with Noah, I was glued to my laptop, Jackson and Avery’s story bleeding from my fingertips. He’d become my unsuspecting inspiration for Jackson, and with each encounter, I wondered how Noah would influence the next part of their story. It was like someone had cut the chains that had shackled me to the same repetitive storyline. For the first time in years, I wrote the story I wanted to tell. I’d never felt so fulfilled and satisfied with my writing.

  “What are you doing here?” I stopped in the doorway, cursing my luck. Drew typically didn’t work on Saturdays. “Who’s watching the girls?”

  I had yet to tell Brooklyn or Drew about Noah. I hated keeping secrets from them, but they couldn’t know the truth…that I was essentially using my father’s doctor to write a heart-wrenching forbidden romance. For all they knew, things with Timothy had gone exceedingly well and he was my new inspiration. At some point, I knew I’d have to tell them the truth, but I wasn’t ready for that just yet. I didn’t need their reminder that I shouldn’t be playing with someone’s emotions. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t quit seeing Noah any more than an alcoholic could stop drinking.

  “Hiya, Auntie Molly!” A head with tight brown curls popped up from the other side of the counter. “We’re playing here before Daddy takes us to the aquarium!” Alyssa explained as a smaller, nearly identical head appeared beside her.