by Jiffy Kate
Honestly, the thought never crossed my mind…or maybe it did, but I shot it down like a rogue missile.
It’s one thing for him to take me home to Dallas. But for me to bring him here, that’s entirely different. However, the thought of Shep standing in the middle of my mother’s double-wide trailer isn’t as foreign as it would’ve been a month ago, especially after last night. I expected him to seem out of place in my small apartment, too large for my life, but somehow, he fit, and that made me both happy and scared. Happy because I love having him in my life and scared because I don’t know what will happen when he’s not.
She lets my hand go and takes a step back, turning to walk inside. “I think you’ve lost your mind…am I close?”
Huffing out a laugh, I roll my eyes and follow her back in the house. “It’s complicated.”
Much, much more complicated than I ever dreamed it would be.
“I was hoping you were going to tell me it’s a ring out of a Cracker Jack box you decided to wear to keep men from hitting on you at the bar.”
For some reason, her response makes me go on the defensive. “Again, it’s not what you think it is.” I know it’s definitely not what I thought it was going to be, that’s for sure.
“Why don’t you help me understand,” she says with a lot more snark than I’ve heard from her in years, if ever.
Sighing, I sit down at the kitchen table and continue flipping through the papers I dug out of the spare bedroom. She swears the original hand-written will is in here somewhere with a letter from my uncle dated just a week before his passing. If I could find both, they’d be great pieces of evidence in my case against Theo.
“It’s temporary,” I finally tell her, hoping it’ll end this conversation and I can take care of business and get back to the city in time for dinner…with Shep…my temporary husband. “His name is Shepard Rhys-Jones and he’s best friends with Maverick. He needed someone to marry and I volunteered.”
Her mouth drops and she stands to pace the small kitchen. “Is he…paying you? Like a hooker or something?”
“No, Mama!” I exclaim. “It’s nothing like that.” Rubbing my temples, I curse myself for not remembering to take my wedding band off. It was very foolish and reckless of me. “It’s a mutual agreement between two consenting adults.” I don’t even mention the money because it does make the agreement sound more tawdry than it is.
Actually, it’s probably good she’s grilling me on this. I need a good dose of reality because the last week or so has felt a lot like a fairytale—me married to Shep and actually enjoying our time spent together…forgetting we’re only in this for a short time. Last night, and the one before that, felt very real and raw and like something I could get used to.
But when I really start to think about it, my stomach drops and my palms get sweaty.
How can I allow myself to fall for someone like Shep?
How can I allow myself to fall for anyone? Period.
“You really did a number on me when it comes to relationships, you know,” I mutter, feeling the weight of my emotions come crashing down. I turn to her as I brush the hair out of my face and cross my arms. I feel like a petulant child, but I’m frustrated over the entire situation and she’s going to get the brunt of it for now. “You never gave me advice on boys…or men.” Her expression is stoic as she waits for me to finish. “I feel like I’m driving blindfolded,” I confess.
“I raised you to be capable enough to take care of yourself so you wouldn’t have to worry about marrying a man,” she confesses. “I didn’t prepare you for marriage because there’s no guarantee in it. I prepared you for yourself… I made you strong and confident and capable. I never wanted you to grow up and be attached to a man, look where it got me.”
I remember exactly where it got her.
My mom was a pathetic mess when my father left. I took care of Rory and the house for weeks while she moped around and felt sorry for herself. We were all sad for a long time, but if I had to guess, she still is.
“How temporary are we talking?” she asks, pulling me out of my memories.
“A year.”
She laughs, but it holds no humor. “A year? Well, I hope he doesn’t break your heart and crush your dreams before time runs out.”
“He won’t,” I tell her, but I’m not so sure about that. I was in the beginning. I had no plans of getting attached and giving him that kind of power over me, but I feel myself slipping with every passing moment.
Too many more nights like last night and I’ll be a goner.
Looking up, I see the hard set of her eyes—eyes that have been there and done that, eyes that see my deadbeat dad in every man—and that protective streak over Shep rears its head and I balk at her disapproval. “He’s not Dad.”
“A lot of men seem great until their feet are put to the fire, and then they run. It’s in their DNA.”
“You don’t know him,” I defend. “He’s…good.”
When she rolls her eyes, I turn back to my stack of papers. I’ve got to find what I’m looking for and get back to New Orleans before we both say things we’ll have a hard time coming back from.
As I thumb past an old receipt for car repair, I stop on the next piece of paper. It’s a letter with an old, battered envelope stapled to the top. “What’s this?” I ask, pulling it from the stack and flipping it over.
The envelope was addressed to a Cynthia Rawlings and there’s a return to sender stamp on the front, along with a few notes from the post office. Switching back over to the front, I start to read the letter as my mama comes up behind me, reading over my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah,” she mumbles. “I forgot about this…Cynthia is Theo’s mother. When I was going through his papers that were in the safety deposit box, this was in it.”
“And you didn’t think it might be important?” I ask incredulously. My mama is a smart lady, but sometimes she just doesn’t use all of her brain.
Going back to the letter it’s stapled to, I read that Uncle Teddy tried to contact Cynthia to get in touch with Theo sometime after he turned eighteen. He thought since he was now an adult, he’d like to meet his father.
There’s another letter behind the first one that’s from Cynthia and her reply is that Theo didn’t want to meet Uncle Teddy and he asked her to return the letter.
“You’ve never opened the letter?” I flip the envelope over and sure enough, it’s still sealed.
“I told you, I forgot this was even here,” she defends. “At the time I found it, I thought it was none of my business. Your Uncle Teddy had just passed away and it all felt too fresh and like an invasion of privacy. This was the only thing he ever kept to himself. He and I were alike in a lot of ways,” she says thoughtfully, more to herself than me. “After Cynthia, he never loved again, and I think Theo not wanting anything to do with him hurt more than he ever wanted to admit.”
Holding the unopened letter in my hand feels like more like a grenade with the pin pulled.
What if this is something stating how Uncle Teddy wanted Theo to have the building and shop?
Will this trump his handwritten will?
What does all of this mean?
Why does my life suddenly feel much too complicated?
It’s all too much and I feel the urge to get the hell out of here, leaving all of this for another day. Worrying about things that are out of my control is a constant battle in my mind. I can easily take an average issue and flip, turn it, and reverse it—thinking about every scenario: good, bad, and everything in between.
Exhaling loudly, I set the letter and unopened envelope to the side, deciding to open it later.
Maybe I should talk to Jules first and see what he thinks? He might be able to shed some light and give me some advice on whether or not it can hurt or help our case—my case, because let’s face it, when all of this is said and done, it all falls on me.
No one else.
That’s how it’s been my entire life.
Why would this be any different?
Chapter 21
Shep
This all feels so familiar, like Déjà vu, except CeCe isn’t standing across from me, she’s entirely too far away—on the other side of Carys, while Carys and Maverick say their vows.
“Do you, Maverick Kensington, take Carys Matthews as your bride? To have and to hold from this day forward?” the minister asks, looking up at Maverick expectantly.
When I glance over at CeCe and catch her gaze, I can’t help but smile while my heart squeezes in my chest. The feeling is overwhelming as I stand there, realizing if, given the chance, I’d marry her again today…and the next. And all the days after that.
This realization has me feeling like I want to shout my feelings for her from the rooftops again. If we weren’t standing in the middle of our best friends’ wedding, I might do just that.
I need to talk to her. I need her to know what I’m feeling, and I need to know she’s feeling the same way—that this is real. We’re no longer faking or pretending, and I have zero intentions of letting her go at the end of a year.
She’s mine.
To have and to hold from this day forward.
She must be feeling at least a fraction of what I am because I feel it—every time she kisses me or touches me or fucks me. The same intensity coursing through my veins is reflected back through her actions.
Then there’s the way she looks at me, like right now. She can’t take her eyes off me and I fucking love it.
When she swipes her fingers under her eye and blinks up to the heavens, I realize she’s crying and I want to go to her. Even if they are happy tears, I want to be there for them. Every tear she ever sheds, I’ll be there to wipe them away. I want to carry her burdens and make her life easier and I never want her to feel like she has to do everything on her own ever again.
I love that she’s strong and brave…tenacious and stubborn…so, so stubborn. And I never want her to change, but I do want her to let me be by her side along the way.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister announces. “You may kiss the bride.”
The small group of friends and family cheer louder than a stadium full of fans as Maverick dips Carys deep and kisses the shit out of her. She wraps her arms around his neck and falls into it and for a minute, I think I’m going to have to break it up and tell them to get a fucking room, but Maverick stands, bringing her with him, but not letting her go.
The smile on his face when he turns to look at all of us is huge. I’ve never seen my best friend as happy as he is today, and it might sound sappy, but it makes me fucking happy too. And it makes me want what he has…true, unconditional love.
I think it’s what I always wanted; I just didn’t know it. I’d never had a taste so I didn’t know what I was missing out on. But now, I have CeCe and there’s something evolving between the two of us that I can’t describe any other way.
After Maverick and Carys make their way down the makeshift aisle in the middle of the courtyard, CeCe and I follow suit. She smiles at me again, making my chest feel tight. “Hey,” I say, my voice sounding weird even to my own ears, so I clear my voice and try again. “You’re stunning…it’s actually frowned upon to outshine the bride…very rude of you.”
“Shut up,” she says with a soft giggle, swatting at me with her bouquet, and I don’t miss the faint blush on her cheeks.
Leaning over, I nuzzle her neck and make her squeal. That particular sound goes straight to my dick. Thankfully, I’m saved from an impending hard on by Jules throwing himself at us, pulling us both into a tearful hug. “I’m just so fucking happy that all my bitches are happy.”
CeCe gives into the hug and I slip my way out of the mix and over to the bar, pouring myself a drink. Before I can even get two sips, I’m ripped away from the bourbon and forced into the streets of New Orleans in, apparently, what’s called a second line.
Jules yells, “Condragulations,” as instruments begin to play and a hankie is thrust into my hand.
Where the fuck is the first line?
That’s a question I’ll have to consider later, because right now, all I can do is fall in line and be in the moment. When I turn to look at CeCe, she’s holding a white parasol and smiling from ear to ear, her dark hair a bit of a mess in the humid New Orleans day. Somehow, I don’t notice the heat or the humidity, even though I’m in a fucking tuxedo. I just notice her and how beautiful she looks. The way the sun hits her hair and shows all the hidden hues of brown.
As a brass band plays, everyone dances their way down the street, newcomers joining as we make our way to St. Louis Cathedral, around Jackson Square, and finally ending at Come Again.
We’re all hot, sweaty messes, but there’s not one person who doesn’t look like they just had the time of their life, my wife included. She turns to me, obviously caught up in the moment, and wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me with everything she’s got.
I lift her off the ground and hold her to me, giving it all back.
When she breaks the kiss, our eyes meet for a second and something passes between us that I can’t quite read. As she slips down my body, she swallows and bites down on her bottom lip, but doesn’t say a word, just takes my hand and leads me into the bar where there’s enough food and drink being served to feed an army…or half the city of New Orleans.
“Look at you,” Avery says, beaming at Carys with a hand resting on her overly-large belly. A belly that’s entirely too big for her petite frame. From behind, you’d never know she’s pregnant, but then she turns around and it’s like BAM. Pregnant. “Married…both of you,” she says, reaching across for CeCe’s hand.
CeCe glances over at me, that same peculiar expression on her face from earlier. I can’t help but hold her stare, wanting to know what it means and make sure she’s okay. I can’t tell and I don’t like it.
When the women go back to gushing over Carys and then Carys and CeCe turn their attention to Avery and her belly, I excuse myself to find another drink.
Maverick walks over to the bar, meeting me there as we wait on Paulie to hook us up. “Who’d have thought the two of us would be in a bar in New Orleans, both married?”
“Life’s crazy, man,” I agree. “But I have zero regrets.” Glancing back over to where I left CeCe, I have an overwhelming desire to sweep her up into my arms and carry her to my townhouse and remind her why this is a good arrangement…why she wants to be married to me and why we make a good fit.
He turns around, leaning against the bar. “I can’t think of a fucking place I’d rather be…best day of my damn life.”
“I’m happy for you,” I tell him, slapping his shoulder as Paulie sets our bourbon down on the bar.
“Congratulations, Maverick,” he says. “Poured y’all the good stuff. Nothing but the best on your wedding day.”
“Thanks, Paulie.” Mav smiles and we both lift our glass, clinking them together before taking a healthy drink and letting the warmth slide down as we both let our new lives sink into our souls.
I’ve never really considered myself lucky. It’s always seemed like a falsehood. My father raised me to believe we all make our own luck and with enough money, anything can be bought. But standing here, in the middle of Come Again with all the important people in my life and a beautiful woman to call my own, I feel pretty damn lucky, and money didn’t play one fucking part in any of it.
Chapter 22
CeCe
When my phone chimes with an incoming text message, I don’t look at it. I know it’s Shep. I’ve been avoiding him the past week and he doesn’t like it.
Truth is, neither do I, but I’ve been in a state of mental overdrive the past couple of weeks. Between my trip home, my mother’s words lingering, and Maverick and Carys’s wedding, I haven’t had time to get a grip.
My heart is falling for Shepard Rhys-Jones, but my brain is doing what it does best and scrambling for the nearest exit.
There�
��s been an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach and I can’t shake it. It feels a lot like doubt and distrust and I know it stems from my mama’s reaction to me being married, mixed with my own stupid fight or flight mechanism.
I thought I could do this—be married to Shep, help him out, make it a year, and get out.
I thought I could keep my emotions and feelings out of it, but I was wrong.
If Shep had turned out to be what everyone expects—a spoiled rich guy who never has to answer for his actions—I would’ve stood a chance.
But he’s nothing like that. He’s caring and thoughtful. He’s protective and chivalrous. He goes out of his way for people who have nothing to give him in return. And he doesn’t expect it. Actually, he shies away from praise, even though he comes off like a cocky bastard. The outside is chiseled features and perfection. The inside is soft and flawed. And that’s the part I love the most.
Yeah, I said it.
I. Love. Shep.
Like that overwhelming, all-consuming love you only read about or see in cheesy romance movies.
And I haven’t the slightest clue what to do with that.
Even though the shop is closed, I don’t startle when I hear the chimes come alive as the door opens. “Hey, Jules,” I call out. The man is punctual, if nothing else.
“Hey.” He walks over and props a hip on the counter beside me. “What are you doing standing in the dark all by your lonesome?” he asks. “And I don’t mean to go all mama bear on you, but you really should lock up when you’re here alone. You just never know what kind of riff-raff will walk in.”
Leveling me with his stare, he pauses and examines me intently. When I don’t give him anything, he continues. “Besides, it’s very film noir of you and it’s not becoming. You’re light and color, hunty, so wipe that solemn look off your pretty little face and let’s get going.”
I smirk, unable to hide my chuckle. Leave it to Jules to pull me out of my lovesick funk.
“Let’s go. Maybe we can beat Mr. Terrell to the restaurant and have a drink before he gets there,” I tell him, walking to the door and holding it open for him. “Ladies first.”