But she was too broken to not let him be, at least for the moment. Then she had to fix herself, become her own rock, and make some of those hard decisions she liked to lecture the kids about. If only she knew how.
…
Marshall stumbled through his door after another hellaciously long day at work. One more new hire meant that things were almost in line for him to move Claudette to a management position. Unfortunately, after three days, the new guy still sucked. He’d mistakenly thought hiring someone who had worked at a competitor before would put him ahead of the game, but obviously, the idiot had been let go for incompetence. As much as he didn’t want to fire the guy, he wasn’t sure he was going to have a choice. To make matters worse, things were starting to go to shit at the Bean Counter in general. Wrong orders, miscounted drawers…all the mistakes were costing him money he couldn’t really afford.
Right now, the bigger question was whether he was moving Claudette to manage the night shift or keeping her on days where her artistry would be seen by the most people.
It was a stupid question, but it gave him something to focus on when he wasn’t behind the counter, screwing up every aspect of the business he’d worked so hard to build. Far too many of his hours the past few weeks had been spent thinking of Alexa, and that really needed to stop.
Which would have been the perfect reason to ignore his phone when it alerted him to a new email from Brendan. For several minutes, he stared at the phone, not dismissing the alert or opening the message. She’d left him because he got too close to her kid. He should let it go now. Ignore the message and move on.
But he couldn’t. Maybe it was just girl trouble or extracurricular stuff, but the risk that it could be more drove him to finally swipe open the message.
I know I’m not supposed to be emailing you anymore. Mom made that really clear. But she’s a mess, and I don’t know what to do. I colossally screwed up by inviting you to the game, and I’m really sorry. I had no idea she’d get so pissed about it. Not to butt in, but I think she misses you more than she even misses working at the coffee shop. Now, it’s like she does her job and she makes us dinner, but the rest of her life is just being sad. She started doing her weird dating thing again, but it’s actually making stuff worse. I told her we just want her happy. But it’s like she has a plan, and it’s that or nothing. If you care about her…help, because I can’t stand seeing her like this. Especially since it’s my fault. Brendan.
Fuck.
He had to respond. He couldn’t let the kid go on blaming himself.
And he couldn’t let Alexa go on like that, either.
This breakup was wrecking them both—for no good reason. She’d gotten furious at him because he hadn’t respected her wishes the first time around, so he’d been trying to do that now. To stay away because it’s what she said she wanted. But life had thrown him a curveball in the form of this email, and damn if he didn’t intend to take a chance and catch the thing. But if he had any hope in hell of getting her back—getting her for real this time—then he needed the one thing he hadn’t tried to create in years.
He needed a plan.
First, it’s not your fault. It’s 1000 percent mine. I screwed up, but I screwed up by ever agreeing to her original, stupid plan in the first place. I want to make things better—get her back to smiling like she couldn’t stop if she tried. The problem is, she’s made it crystal clear that I’m to stay far, far away. She hates me now because I didn’t respect her wishes the first time around. She’ll hate me more if I do it again. I’m sorry you’re going to have to live through it, but she’s insisting on working it out on her own. We have to let her.
Hitting send on that message was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Every single part of him wanted to rush over to their house and do whatever he had to in order to fix this. But she didn’t want his help and probably wouldn’t take any from her kids. They all had to just let her figure her shit out, and unfortunately for Marshall, that likely meant accepting she was gone, until maybe, hopefully, she would decide that she wasn’t.
But apparently, that wasn’t what it meant for Brendan. Because Marshall’s phone buzzed a second later.
Like hell, I do.
Chapter Eighteen
“What is this all about, Brendan?” Alexa asked, following him down the basement stairs and wishing she could just curl up with an enormous glass of wine and forget the world existed.
“It’s about you facing reality.”
He turned the corner into a darkened room where they normally stored holiday decorations, but the way he walked through made it clear everything had been moved. One more thing on her never-ending list of stuff to deal with, but at least all the to-dos had kept her occupied for the last month. Suddenly, a flashlight illuminated him standing next to a poster board on a stand.
“Since the only way I know to make you understand things is to show you the data, here’s a few facts you’re not going to be able to ignore.” He tapped the chart. “We’ll start with the money, since I know that worries you. Here is what you get paid by each of the companies you work for.” Tap. “And here is how miserable that company makes you.” Tap. “As you can see, while Marflow and Rath make up a substantial source of income, you also hate working for them, which brings me to our second display.”
He turned, and another light flashed on. Beau waved at her, and the flashlight in his hand bobbled. “Dude, keep it steady.”
“Sorry.”
Alexa cleared her throat. “This is great, but how, exactly, do you know what I get paid?”
“It’s in the filing cabinet in your office.” Brendan tapped the chart.
What? “We’re going to have a nice chat about privacy.”
“Sure thing. You can start by telling me all about why you’re logging onto my computer.” As she gaped, he tapped the second chart. “I also discovered that you make significantly more money than you spend every year. And you still make more than enough if you ditch Marflow and Rath. More than you need for your retirement fund and vacations and everything.”
“And your college education?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Didn’t Dad tell you? Great-Grandma took care of that in her will. Even if we don’t get a single scholarship, there’s money to pay for our educations. So, no excuses. Bail on the company you hate, because it’ll make you happier and a better mom. Because three out of three kids who live in this house prefer being around you when you’re not miserable.”
Statistics. He was going to kill her with statistics. She had to give him credit for knowing exactly which buttons to push. And honestly, for knowing her better than she knew herself. M & R had been making her miserable for a long time even before that party and the extra work they kept piling on. It had never been a good fit, just a lucrative one. “Okay, I can’t argue with any of that. Done. I’ll put in notice tonight. I’ll finish up the projects I already have going, but Marflow and Rath needs to find a new actuary. As your charts show, the rest of my contracts aren’t nearly so stressful.”
“Cool. Which brings us to our final point—what makes you happy.” At that, both lights turned to a third poster board, this one facing the wrong way. “I get that you didn’t want us to notice. We all understand you don’t want to bring some jerk into our lives just to mess everything up. But there was an exponential increase in happiness during the time you worked at the Bean Counter, and we all noticed it.”
She’d noticed, too, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Even taking another waitressing job wouldn’t be the same, and they couldn’t understand that. They just had to accept—
“In case there was any question, this is the reason you were happy.”
Brendan flipped the poster over, and every plan she’d ever had came crashing down on her.
…
“What the fuck?” Marshall slapped the towel on the pastry case as Alexa approached the Bean Counter. She was dressed like she used to for her speed dates
. There was no way that shit was happening, not at his café. Not after everything that had happened between them.
She strode through the door like the past few months had never happened, acted completely oblivious to his irritation as she ordered her muffin and double-double, and then took a seat at the table she’d used all those weeks ago.
He followed right on her heels, yelling back to Claudette. “That last order is to go.” Alexa was busily digging in her bag, not even looking at him. “You don’t get to do this here. My place is no longer available for your one-stop dating.”
“If you’re right, I’ll be gone in about twenty minutes.”
“If I’m right?” But she was ignoring him in a way that signaled dismissal. He stormed back to the office.
“I can’t fucking do this.” So much for coming up with a plan to win her back. He paused before shutting the door and banged his head against it softly instead. He could have done it as hard as he wanted, and it still wouldn’t have hurt as much as her bringing her crazy dating scheme back here, flaunting it right in front of him. “No. She can’t fucking do this. Not here. She can fucking go to Starbucks to find her Mr. Perfect.”
“Uh, Marshall.” Claudette stood next to the hook where Alexa’s apron still hung, stupidly waiting for her to come back. Like he’d been stupidly waiting. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Yeah?”
“You need to come see this.”
“I know. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Maybe make it twenty, if you’re going to wait.”
“What?” But she was gone already, back to her job. How the hell did she know about Alexa’s twenty-minute thing. He sure as hell had never mentioned the specifics of it to her. “Damn it.” He stormed through the work area and out into the café, only to pull up short when he saw her table.
She’d hung bright and elaborately decorated posters all around her table.
Need a date? There are three simple rules…
1. Be willing to teach me how to let my hair down and have a little fun. I need more laughter in my life.
What was this? These weren’t her rules. They were nothing like her rules and plans.
2. Love me and love my kids as if they were yours—someday I hope they will be.
And three? Where the hell was number three?
Directly in front of her on the table, almost lost in the barrage of color, was a small, tented card that read:
3. Your name must be Marshall Calloway.
“What the hell is this?” He blurted it out just like she used to blurt out stupid things around him.
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was almost like she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I’m waiting on my date. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”
She expected him to just sit down, like she hadn’t left him hanging for weeks without a word. He’d had more contact with her kid than with her. As much as he wanted to take the chance and slide onto the chair across from her, it felt like he was mired to this singular square of tile, unable to do or say anything, much less move.
Alexa sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly as she shoved her phone aside. “Did you know that eighty percent of post-divorce relationships fail?”
“What?” Sure, numbers were her thing, but these numbers? Now? Had he misread her signs—again?
She nodded, seeming to be buoyed by the return to her comfort zone. “Eighty percent of post-divorce relationships fail. Isn’t that crazy? You’d think that people who have been through the ringer would do a better job of choosing the next time around. But they don’t. They think they know what they want, which tends to be anything that isn’t what they had before. And I think a lot of times if something reminiscent of the past comes along, people are scared away, which only results in a higher failure percentage.”
“Why are we talking about failed relationships?”
Alexa smiled at him. Not her tight-lipped, fake smile or her toothy, contagious grin. This one fell somewhere in between, and if he were forced to name the lipstick color that framed it, Marshall would have called it Hope. “Because there’s twenty percent that don’t fail. Twenty percent that work. And I think that’s because those people choose to confront their fears and to stop dwelling in the past. They decide to embrace the now.”
Okay. “I believe a wise man once told you something very much like that.”
“He did, but I can’t pretend I’m not afraid of repeating my past. It’s there, hanging like a shroud, coloring everything I do, whether I want it to or not.”
Holy shit. This is an apology. He’d been prepared to beg for her to take him back if she ever showed up, but instead, she was here, trying her damnedest to explain her overreaction. He rapidly scanned the signs she had posted. While he had number three covered, he still had a couple of things to prove. “The past can hurt. But you can either—”
“Don’t you dare quote The Lion King to me.” The hint of a smile poked through as she said it.
Screw her carefully concocted speech about relationship statistics. He was going to work with what he knew, and what he knew was that as much as she hated his movie quoting, she also loved it. She couldn’t plan for it—she could only react. “Say that again. I dare you. I double dare you.”
“Stop it.”
“I know, I know…” He put on his best Arnie impersonation. “Stop whining!” There it was. Her lips were pressed in a tight line, but this time it was to keep a laugh inside. He could see it—the awkwardness of the moment, the tension, had been broken, and they could both breathe.
Stepping forward, he pulled down the sign with rule number one and handed it to her. “Check.”
She snorted a laugh as he handed it to her.
“As for this one…” He yanked down rule number two. “I think your kids are awesome. And I don’t need more than three awesome kids in my life. More than them and you would be too damn much awesome for any single person to handle. I am not your ex-husband. I’m not going to run.”
“I know that now. And I love you for that and so much more. I’m just still terrified that I might push you away.”
“Then I’ll bounce back to you. I’m flexible like that. Benefit of youth.”
Instead of inviting him to take the seat across from her, Alexa stood and stepped toward him. Close enough to touch, if only he was willing to reach out and take a chance. “And what if something awful happens? I’m going to get old first, really old. What about then? Will you still want me?”
That was it. The real fear. Not now, but later. He moved forward and took both her hands in his. “The truth is, I haven’t been myself since my parents died any more than you’ve fully been yourself since your divorce. Those things broke both of us. But the magic of it all is that I’m myself when I’m with you. I’m finally in balance, without the fear, without the panic of what-if. And if you look deep inside, I’m pretty sure you’ll have to admit the same thing.”
Claudette cleared her throat and pointed to a beeping timer in her hands. “I hate to inform you, but your twenty minutes are up. Figure your shit out.”
She was so fired if she’d ruined this, but Marshall squeezed Alexa’s fingers. “You’re it for me. I love you.”
“And I love you, so screw my stupid plans and timelines. I want the next twenty minutes. And the next. And every subsequent twenty minutes you’re willing to give to me. I want them all, and I want them with you.” She moved in close and rested her hands on his chest, inching higher.
He tipped her chin up and looked into those deep, soulful brown eyes.
Before he could say another word, she popped up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Arms wound around his neck, she pulled him closer, and he obliged, closing what little distance remained between them. This. This was perfect. This was right. He traced her lips with his tongue, urging her to open for him, and her body melted against his—warm and familiar.
When they parted, his gaze was locked on her face. “You win. Twe
nty minutes…forever.”
Epilogue
Brendan stepped up to the podium, not a hint of nerves in sight. Alexa couldn’t help but smile. How the hell was he her kid? At his age, she would have been shaking in her boots and thanking her lucky stars that the gown covered her trembling knees.
“My fellow graduates, for the last four years, we’ve shared the highs and lows of high school life. When we cross this stage, we’ll be moving on to another chapter. Some of us will travel with others, while some of us will go it alone, striving forward without a familiar face in sight. But the truth is, none of us will go unprepared…”
He spent the requisite time talking about teachers and how the things learned in their classes would point them in the direction of greatness, if only they were strong enough to conquer their fears. It was a great speech. She’d worked with him on it for weeks.
Just as he was nearing the end, however, he went off script. Panicked, Alexa reached for the hands nearest hers and squeezed. Was he going to say something stupid? She’d seen the videos of other kids’ speeches being shut down when the valedictorian decided to take on some school injustice.
“We learned a lot at Rochester High. But the lessons taught in those walls aren’t the only ones I’ll take with me. In fact, they aren’t necessarily the most important ones. So please bear with me. To my friends who have stuck with me from the day I moved here until the very end. You taught me lessons about loyalty I will never forget. Ginny…you taught me that while first loves might not be forever, relationships based in friendship never end. I can’t wait to see you change the world. My father, who couldn’t be here today, taught me that every adventure is worth taking.
“And my mom…” He gave a deep sigh and smiled at her—the smile that had broken more than a dozen hearts in his graduating class over the years. “Mom taught me to plan for those adventures, no matter what form they take. She taught me that it never hurts to be prepared for the worst, because then all you have to do is worry about enjoying the best that life gives you. I love you, Mom. Thanks for always being my rock.”
Adventures in Online Dating Page 16