by Vi Keeland
“I have a friend who would get a kick out of this one. Do you think the artist would mind if I snapped a picture?”
“No, not at all. There’s a sign near the door that says the artist appreciates sharing, but not reproductions.”
I dug my cell from my purse and took a few pictures, intending to send them to Hunter later. I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling the entire time until Marcus brought me back to reality.
“Your smile is contagious. What does that one remind you of?”
“My friend H…” I stopped short of saying Hunter’s name in the nick of time, remembering that Marcus had pointed out my talking about him the last two times we were together. “…my friend had a bad experience with a birdhouse,” I said instead.
After that, my shoulders slumped for the rest of the time we looked at the exhibit. I needed to throw in the towel with Marcus. No amount of forcing it was going to make me attracted to him. A certain someone had ruined that for me. Plus, he was too nice of a guy to disrespect. So I waited until the end of the art show. He’d offered to walk me home, knowing I had plans to go to my weekly dinner at my mom’s.
“You’re a really nice guy, Marcus,” I started.
His smile faded. “Uh-oh. As much as it sounds like a compliment, that’s never a good line to hear on a date.”
I felt bad, but it was for the best. “I’m sorry. I really am. You’re a great guy who deserves a woman who’s excited to be with you and wants a relationship.”
“And that woman’s not you?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. It’s not.”
“Is there someone else?”
At least I didn’t have to lie about that. Not in the physical sense anyway. “No.”
Marcus ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay.” He looked down at the ground. “Friends, I guess?”
“I’d like that.” We hugged and said goodbye. Since it was a beautiful day, I decided to walk home to clear my head. I hadn’t had sex in almost two years and just dumped a willing participant because I knew he was interested in more than just sex. I’d rebuked Hunter, who was also a willing participant, because I was afraid I couldn’t keep it to just sex. Basically, I’d just turned down two chances to satisfy my libido because of fear of relationships. At this point, I’d be better off going to a bar, picking up a handsome stranger, and having minimal conversation that could fuck it up before getting to the dirty deed.
***
My mother was relentless when she was on the trail of a fresh bachelor who could possibly give her more grandchildren. But when Mom and my sisters were all on one side, it was more than I could handle. Slipping out to the yard by myself after Sunday night dinner, I sat on the swing on the back deck. I wasn’t surprised when Mom followed me.
“Hey. You don’t seem like yourself tonight.”
“Well, you guys aren’t exactly an easy crowd.”
“We only want what’s best for you.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I know, Mom.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. Her voice was softer than usual when she started. “I regret never getting married again.”
That caught me by surprise. “You do?”
Mom nodded.
“So why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid to trust anyone. You know the old saying that hindsight is twenty-twenty?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it wasn’t for me. For years I looked back at my relationship with your father for signs that I’d missed. But even in hindsight, I couldn’t see any. Same goes for my friendship with Margie, too. To this day, I don’t know how that woman looked me in the face and never showed any signs that she was sleeping with my husband. I think if I’d been able to see it after the fact, it would’ve been easier for me to trust again. I could’ve chalked it up to missing the signs. But without that, I was afraid I’d be blindsided again.”
I understood that. I’d looked back for signs that Garrett shouldn’t have been trusted a million times—not to mention that I hadn’t seen what’d happened between my parents coming either.
“It’s hard to move on from a mistake without knowing what your mistake was.”
My mother shook her head. “The first step is not thinking it’s your mistake, Natalia. It took me years to stop thinking, if only I’d been thinner, or fixed myself up more before he came home at night, or even been more adventurous in the bedroom, maybe he wouldn’t have cheated. But you know what?”
“What?”
“None of that would have changed anything. Because it was never about me. It was about him—his own inadequacies that made him need to prove something to himself. I was a good wife.”
My chest felt like there was a weight sitting on it. “I’m so sorry he did that to you, Mom.”
She smiled sadly. “Likewise. I hate what Garrett did to you. But the greatest gift a mother can give is teaching her child. I want you to learn from my mistakes, sweetheart. Move on. That’s why I push you so hard to find someone new. When you spend too much time looking back and trying to figure out what went wrong, you’re missing out on moving forward.”
“I just need to focus on my career and Izzy right now, Mom.”
She smiled. “Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say. Although those things are doing pretty great, if you ask me.”
My sisters blasted through the back door, effectively ending our conversation. But Mom had given me a lot to think about.
She was right that I’d also spent a lot of time focusing on missed signs that my husband wasn’t the man I’d thought he was. Maybe it was time to focus on finding peace with who he is and move on.
But it was easier to admit that I kept people at a distance because I was afraid of getting hurt by the same thing, than to admit I was just afraid of getting hurt.
Chapter 18
Natalia
Hunter Delucia.
That’s what the return address read on the package I’d been staring at since the mailman delivered it. Just seeing his name, looking at the heavy ink of his slashy handwriting, made me happier than I’d been in the last week-and-a-half.
Hunter had kept to his word of not making contact, leaving the ball in my court. And even though I’d thought about him more than a few times each day, I still hadn’t taken the initiative to reach out.
I sat at my desk in my home office, typing up notes on Minnie Falk, a patient with a severe compulsive counting disorder. Unlike many patients, she didn’t have a specific fear of what might happen to her if she didn’t perform her counting rituals. Nonetheless, she suffered a profound sense of incompleteness when she didn’t do many of her tasks in sets of four.
I sat back into my chair with the package still in my hands and took a deep breath. My fears of Hunter were really no different than Minnie’s fears. I obsessively thought about the man, felt the compulsion to talk to him each day, and had a profound sense of incompleteness when I didn’t.
What had my advice for Minnie been this week?
We’d been working on interrupting her pattern. She’d quit smoking a few years back and had recently started again when her sister passed away. Although I would’ve loved for her to quit altogether, my job was to work with her on her OCD behavior, so I focused on her four-cigarettes-in-a-row habit. Today we’d worked on changing that pattern as the first step in changing her compulsion. While she still smoked her four cigarettes in a row, I had her wait sixty seconds between smokes rather than light one cancer stick off another. And after the third one, I’d had her eat a quick snack—just a piece of cheese—to break the pattern a bit more.
Maybe this contact, a package, would give me some relief from the unsettled feelings I’d had as of late, yet still keep some distance between Hunter and me. Anxious for relief, I ripped into the box like a kid on Christmas morning.
Inside was what looked like a black wrist brace of some sort. King Wrap Strap. Below the name was a description of the product. Comfortably
stops wrist and thumb from off-hand shot veer. Underneath it was a note on a piece of Khaill-Jergin stationery, the firm where Hunter worked. The handwriting fit the man—very dark, as if he was heavy-handed with a pen, and tall, slanted downstrokes, masculine-looking. Was I insane to think his handwriting was sexy? The note itself was short and sweet, but boy did it hit the target.
Now you have a reason to think about me.
I smiled from ear to ear like an idiot. It was so sweet that he’d sent Izzy the shooting strap he’d told her about. In fact, overall, since the day I’d met him, Hunter had been nothing short of sweet. Sure, he was forward and crude, but even that had an odd sweetness to it.
It was nearly impossible to get any work done for the rest of the afternoon. I picked up and put down my phone—deliberating over calling him—ten different times.
I should call him to say thank you.
No, I should have Izzy call.
But it would be rude of me not to call. After all, he sent the package to me.
Although the contents was for Izzy.
I’m going to call.
Picks up phone. Puts it down thirty seconds later.
This is ridiculous. Where are my manners? I have to call.
Eventually, after debating with myself for upwards of a half hour, I settled on a simple text:
Natalia: Just received the package. Izzy is going to be so excited. That was very sweet of you to send. I might even get a smile from a fifteen year old this evening.
The dots started jumping around almost immediately. My heart rode along in anticipation.
Hunter: Excellent. And is her stepmother smiling these days?
I had no idea how to answer that. The truth was, I really missed being around him. As I sat at my desk, contemplating my response and chewing on my bottom lip, another text came in.
Hunter: Stop thinking of how to respond and go with honesty.
Natalia: Busy. I’ve been busy.
Hunter: That doesn’t answer my question, Natalia.
I don’t know why I decided to text what came next.
Natalia: I ended things with Marcus.
His response was immediate.
Hunter: Have dinner with me.
Natalia: Just dinner?
Hunter: Well, I’d rather eat you. But if that’s not an option, I’ll take sharing a meal.
The familiar flutter swarmed in my belly. He was so straightforward and unlike any man I’d ever dated.
Natalia: When?
Hunter: Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Natalia: Okay. But it’s not a date, right? We’re just two friends having dinner.
Hunter: Put whatever label on it that makes you happy, sweet pea. But wear something sexy.
***
“You smell so fucking good.” I nearly whimpered at the sound of his throaty voice in my ear. True to form, Hunter pulled me against him the minute I opened the front door. Wrapping me in a hug that bordered on crushing me, his hot breath tickled my neck as he spoke.
Jesus Christ. Have the four cigarettes in a row, Minnie, if it gives you this type of relief.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out and then cleared my throat. “Come in. You’re a few minutes early, and Izzy hasn’t gotten home yet. I don’t like her to come home to an empty house if I can help it. She isn’t usually this late. I’m sure she won’t be long.”
I closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen, needing a little space. Looking over my shoulder, I turned back to ask if he’d like a glass of wine and found Hunter’s eyes glued to my ass.
I raised a brow in question when they eventually rose to mine. Of course, he didn’t bother to pretend it hadn’t happened. That wasn’t his style.
“You have a great ass,” he said instead.
“This isn’t starting out like two friends having dinner. You’ve been here thirty seconds, and you’ve already told me how good I smell while pressing our bodies together and commented on my ass.”
“Didn’t say this was a dinner as friends.” He shrugged. “You did. Besides, you’re wearing perfume and a dress that is sexy as hell. You’re ready for a date.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to put that distance between us. “Would you like a glass of wine or not?”
“Sure.”
He followed me into the kitchen. Standing across from the refrigerator, he leaned against the counter in a confident stance.
Lifting his chin toward the sink, he asked, “How’s the drain holding up? No leaks?”
I uncorked the wine I’d opened yesterday and poured two glasses. “Nope. All good.”
When I handed him a glass, he caught my eye. “Damon come around again?”
“No. I think you scared him away.”
“Good.”
I sipped my wine. “So where are we going tonight?”
“One if by Land, Two if by Sea.”
“On Barrow?”
“That’s the one.”
“I pass it all the time. I have a client nearby.” I squinted. “Looks romantic from the outside.”
“Saw it featured in Architectural Digest a few years back. Been meaning to go. But haven’t had the chance.”
“I thought you came to New York all the time.”
“I do. Meant there was no one I wanted to take there.”
God, he was sweet without even trying.
His words, coupled with that intense stare, made me squirm. I grabbed my phone from the counter. “I wonder where Izzy is. She’s not usually this late. What time is our reservation?”
Before Hunter could answer, the front door opened and slammed shut.
“I was beginning to wonde—” Her face halted my sentence. It was red and blotchy, and her eyes were swollen. She’d definitely been crying. I went to her. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she snipped.
Hunter and I glanced at each other. His carefree face from a moment ago was gone, replaced by lethal anger.
“Izzy,” I said. “You need to give me more than that. Did someone bother you on the way home?”
For the first time, she noticed Hunter was in our apartment. She also caught the look on his face and seemed to realize the man was ready to kill someone if she didn’t put his mind at ease.
“Oh. No. Nothing like that.”
I blew out a heavy breath. “Then what happened? You’re late, and you’ve clearly been crying.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”
Izzy slumped into the couch without removing her backpack. “One of the girls on the basketball team was talking about Dad.”
I sat down next to her. “Like what?”
“Apparently her dad was an investor of Dad’s, and when they sent home the player roster for the team, they listed both you and Dad as my emergency contacts. Her father saw the name, saw me at the game, and since I look just like Dad, he knew. Now everyone knows my father is a criminal.” Tears filled her big brown eyes. “And that’s not all.”
Oh God. More? I wasn’t sure my heart could take seeing tears spill over. Izzy was a tough girl. She hadn’t cried since her father’s sentencing hearing, and even then, she hid them from everyone.
“What else happened, sweetie?”
“Yakshit is going to the dance with Brittany.”
“What dance?”
“The Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“Isn’t that a dance where the girls invite the boys?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t even know you asked Yakshit to go with you.”
The tears spilled over. “I didn’t.”
“Oh, honey.” I pulled Izzy into a hug.
She tried her best to hide the sobs. There was no sound, yet her shoulders started to shake. We stayed that way for a solid ten minutes—her sobbing and letting me hold her. I hated the cause and her pain, but I was happy I could give her whatever comfort she would allow.
When she sniffled the
end of her tears, I pushed the damp hair from her face. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“I just want to eat and go to bed.”
Hunter had retreated to the kitchen. I assumed to give us some privacy. I looked over at him with an apologetic face just as he looked up from his phone.
“Hi, Hunter.” Izzy forced a smile. “I wore my J strap today at practice. Thanks for sending it.”
He nodded. “No problem. Hope it helps.”
Izzy noticed what I was wearing. “Are you guys going on a date?”
I answered no at the exact same moment Hunter answered yes. That made her smile.
She got up from the couch, finally removing her backpack before heading to the refrigerator. “What’s to eat?”
Hunter answered. “You like Italian food?”
Her spirit chirped up. “Nat made sauce?”
I walked to the kitchen. “No, sorry. I made you a turkey and avocado wrap.”
She tried to mask her disappointment. “That’s okay.”
“Come on. Leave that wrap for lunch tomorrow,” Hunter said. “Let’s go get some lasagna and meatballs.”
“Really?” Izzy’s eyes sparked a glimmer of happiness.
He looked at me while answering. “I don’t fool around about food.”
“Do I need to change?”
“Nope. You’ll be the prettiest girl in the room, even after basketball practice.”
Lord, I swooned. The only thing sweeter than his compliments to me was him giving one to my Izzy.
***
“These are as good as Nanna Rossi’s.” Izzy shoveled another meatball into her mouth and spoke with it full. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I won’t. As long as your room is cleaned every Sunday before we go for dinner.” Nothing like a little bribery.
“I’ll just deny I said it.”
I pointed my fork across the table at Hunter. “I have a witness.”
Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you say something, kid?”