If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  “Thanks. We were just checking out our work on the cabinet doors. Didn’t the stain come out beautifully?” I stepped aside so she could admire them.

  “Mmm, nice.” She gave them a cursory glance and beamed at Theo. “What do you do, Theo? Are you a builder or something?”

  His cheeks colored. “No.”

  “Just handy, then?” She winked at me. “That’s always helpful. Your father is a disaster in that area. I practically have to call someone every time I need a picture hung or a light bulb changed!”

  “Dad’s a judge, Mom. He’s good at other things.”

  She waved a hand in the air. “I suppose. Anyway, Theo, are you a teacher, then?”

  Theo, who was looking a little panicked, threw me a look that I recognized as a question. Oh, right. He wants to know what to say. I hadn’t thought about this yet—what was our story? I decided to go with something close to the truth.

  “Theo owns his own business.”

  “An entrepreneur! How nice.” Her eyes drifted over Theo’s face, his broad shoulders and chest. “And so handsome.”

  Theo’s face turned a deep shade of purple. He seemed completely unnerved by my mother, which I found kind of funny. He was so cool when playing a role, but being himself around people was a challenge. Poor guy.

  “How cute, he’s blushing!” My mother’s tinkly laugh rang out. “Claire, he’s too adorable for words. Where have you been hiding him, you silly girl?”

  “Mom, that’s enough. I haven’t been hiding him anywhere.” I tried to meet Theo’s eyes to reassure him, but he wasn’t looking at me. And was I imagining things, or was he slowly inching toward the back door?

  “Well, how long have you been dating?”

  “Not that long.”

  “A month?”

  “Something like that.” Flustered, I tried again to make eye contact, but he had this strange blank look on his face as he stared at the wall behind me.

  “Theo.” She turned to him, her hands clasped. “What are you doing tomorrow night for Christmas Eve?”

  “Uh.” He swallowed. “I’m not sure.”

  “You must come by the house. Claire can tell you where it is.” She gestured toward me. “Claire’s father and sister would love to meet you, and I make a delicious glazed ham.”

  “Mom, don’t pressure him.”

  She dismissed me with a click of her tongue. “Nonsense, I’m not pressuring him! I’m simply extending an invitation. It’s not often you have a boyfriend to bring to Christmas dinner.” She turned back to Theo. “Au gratin potatoes. French bread. Onion tarts. Candied pecans. Sound good?”

  Oh, Jesus. “OK, that’s enough.” Taking her by the shoulders, I turned her around and marched her through the dining room into the living room. “I’m sure you have to be on your way now. Lots of prep to do for tomorrow night.”

  “OK, OK, I’ll leave you two alone.” She called out to Theo. “Nice meeting you, dear. Hope you can make it to dinner.”

  “Nice meeting you, too.” Theo came into the dining room and lifted one hand in farewell.

  I walked my mother to the door. “Thanks for the groceries.”

  “You’re welcome.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “He’s so good-looking!”

  I frowned at the surprise in her tone. “Does that shock you or something?”

  “Well, he’s much better looking than anyone else I’ve ever seen you with.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the front door. She was right, I should keep it locked.

  “Where’s his family from?”

  “Connecticut,” I lied. It was surprisingly easy.

  “Connecticut!” Her eyes lit up. “What about college? Do you know where he went? Was it somewhere out East? Yale’s in Connecticut. Was it Yale?”

  “Bye, Mom.” I practically pushed her out. “Thanks for dropping by.”

  “Bye, dear.” She blew her air kisses at me and pulled on her gloves. “I’ll let dad know you might be dating a Yale man. His alma mater—he’ll be thrilled!”

  “Night.” I shut the door. I think she was still talking.

  When I turned around, Theo was standing in the living room too.

  With his coat on.

  “Are you leaving?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yeah. I can’t—this was—” He stopped, his lips pressed together, one leg twitching restlessly. “I have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t do this. Sorry.”

  “Can’t do what? Look at tiles?”

  “No. Date you.”

  I stuck my hands on my hips. “I never said we were dating.”

  “You mother said it. You didn’t correct her.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What was I supposed to say? ‘No, Mom. We’re not dating, I hired him to pretend to be my boyfriend for Elyse’s wedding. Now we’re just fucking and painting cabinets.’ It’s just a word, Theo. It means two people are spending time together, that’s all.”

  He struggled for a reply, his entire body jittering with urgency. “What was all that stuff about Yale?” he finally blurted. “And your dad’s a judge? You never told me that.”

  “Because it never occurred to me that it would matter! What difference does it make what my father does? You don’t have to date him.”

  “There’s that word again,” he accused, his hands curling into fists. “I told you from the start, I don’t date. I don’t date, I don’t do mothers and Christmas Eve dinners, and I sure as hell don’t do judge fathers.”

  “I never asked you to! My mother was the one who invited you to Christmas Eve dinner, not me!” I exploded, my arms flailing. This was unbelievable! He was ruining the perfectly nice day we’d just had and treating me like I’d done something wrong. “You know, you’re the one who came here saying you need me. I was fine with one night only.” It was a complete lie, and my ears started to tingle, but I kept going. “What did you even mean by that? Need me for what?”

  His jaw was clenched tight, his neck muscles taut. “I was wrong. I don’t need you or anybody else for anything. This was a big fucking mistake.” He stormed past me and out the door.

  I was bursting with fury, my blood boiling. He was lying! He was a horrible actor when he wasn’t playing a part, but what good would it do to chase him down and call him out on it? He was so damn stubborn—he’d never admit he was wrong or tell me the truth about why he was so freaked out.

  “Fuck you, Theo MacLeod!” I yelled at the door he’d slammed behind him. A moment later, I heard his car start and the engine revving. “I don’t need this in my life! Take your secrets and your lies and your big dick and get out. And stay out!” I finished loudly before turning on my heel and bolting up the steps.

  In my bedroom, I threw myself face down on the sheets that still smelled like him, and screamed into the mattress. This was so unfair! I’d played by his rules! When he’d showed up at my door with sad eyes and grasping hands and searching lips, I hadn’t questioned it one bit! I need you, he’d said, his voice raw with emotion. I’d never heard him sound that way. But did I ask why? Did I ask what happened to make him change his mind? Did I lay out a bunch of conditions for sex? No! I’d pulled him in out of the cold and done my best to take away whatever hurt he was feeling. I thought I’d done a pretty damn good job of it, too! I’d never heard a man moan so loud before.

  And I hadn’t asked about a next time, either—all I’d done was suggest pancakes. It was Theo who’d offered to help me with the house and take me shopping, Theo who’d said I’m all yours today. Had the appearance of my mother really spooked him that much? Did the word date trigger some sort of instinct to run, like prey flees from a predator? It wasn’t my fault she was excited to meet him. She was only trying to be kind inviting him to dinner. And why the hell did he care what my father did?

  I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling. If he’d been moody and sullen all day, I might think the panic had been building in him and my mother had caused it to
burst. But he hadn’t—he’d been relaxed and happy. Smiling. Laughing. A little sad when he’d talked about his brother, but he hadn’t gone into a funk about it. What was I missing? Where had I gone wrong?

  This is bullshit. I didn’t do anything wrong.

  Tears slipped from my eyes, making me angrier. I didn’t want to cry over him. I’d known him for less than a week, for God’s sake! Why did I always have to be so damn emotional?

  But the loss of him cut deeper than it should have, because when he left, he took more than just himself. He took away hope. He took away possibility. He took away a little piece of me that still believed in the fairy tale.

  There were only so many of those pieces left.

  Twenty-One

  Theo

  * * *

  Yale?

  Fucking Yale?

  Panic had been rising in me like helium fills a balloon, and the word Yale popped it wide open.

  Suddenly I couldn’t remember why I was there or what I was doing or how I was going to get out—but I knew that I had to.

  From the moment Claire’s mother had walked in, I’d felt on edge. I didn’t do mothers. What mother wants her daughter dating someone like me?

  An entrepreneur? Fuck me!

  And her dad was a judge. A goddamn judge. In my experience, judges weren’t particularly fond of people who’d committed a felony, even if it was almost ten years ago and I’d ostensibly served my time. That was such bullshit. I might have spent only one year in a cell, but those fucking bars followed me everywhere and they always would. People would continue to judge me for that mistake for the rest of my life. I’d never be free of my past—never. Not to mention insurance fraud and money laundering. My present wasn’t too shiny either.

  “Fuck!” I banged a hand on the steering wheel as I sped away from Claire’s house.

  Why couldn’t Claire have just said we were friends, like she’d said to me at breakfast? I was fine with being friends. If she hadn’t confirmed her mother’s belief that we were dating, I might not have bailed so fast. But I didn’t date anymore. Ever.

  Dating meant a relationship. A relationship meant you had to be honest with someone. You had to let them in. You owed them the truth. You owed them time. You owed them trust.

  I couldn’t do it.

  So then why the hell did you go there last night?

  I squirmed in my seat. I didn’t want to answer that question. I just wanted to go home and forget about this.

  Forget about her.

  Twenty-Two

  Claire

  * * *

  The morning of Christmas Eve, I met Jaime and Margot for coffee.

  “How’s Jack holding up staying at your parents’ house?” Jaime asked Margot.

  She smiled. “He’s OK. Muffy keeps asking him questions about the layout of her garden, even though I told her he’s a farmer, not a landscaper. In her mind, dirt is dirt.”

  Jaime laughed. “At least she’s trying.”

  “She is. And Jack’s a good sport about it.” Margot tucked her blond hair behind her ears. “He was more put out by the custom suit fitting.”

  “I bet. But at least he agreed to wear it.”

  Margot sighed. “I think he’ll be very glad when the wedding is over. He is not enjoying the planning that much. Sometimes I feel like he’s dreading the whole thing.”

  “Because he’s a guy,” Jaime said, rolling her eyes. “And he’s not social, so he’s probably nervous about being the center of attention that day. Just tell him all eyes will be on you.”

  She laughed. “He says that all the time when he’s trying to get out of wearing the fancy suit and shoes.”

  “He’ll be fine. Everything coming together like it should?”

  “Yes, although I’ve redone the seating chart a thousand times. It’s amazing how many people aren’t speaking to each other in that crowd.” Margot sipped her coffee and gave me a funny look. “Claire, is everything OK?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m just tired.” That was true—I’d hardly slept last night.

  “How did it go with the rent-a-date the other night?”

  “It went fine. Better than fine, actually.”

  “Turns out, they were very compatible,” said Jaime, her lips twitching.

  Margot’s brows arched. “Oh?”

  “Yes. We had a good time that night.” I paused. “And the next night.”

  Jaime almost spit out her coffee. “The next night! You didn’t tell me about that.”

  “I haven’t really had a chance.” I shook my head, staring into the foam on my latte. “It was the craziest thing. On Friday night, he made it very clear that we were a one-night-only thing, even though we’d had an amazing time. Then Saturday night, he shows up at my house and says ‘I need you.’”

  “What?” Jaime set her cup on the saucer with a clank. “That is crazy.”

  “But really sweet,” said Margot.

  “It was. And he said he didn’t know where this could go, and I said I was OK with that, and we had another great night. Then yesterday, he offered to take me shopping for tiles and to look at options for counters. Apparently he used to work for this stoneworks place. And he also has his own carpentry business.”

  “Does he have a last name now?” Jaime’s eyes were wide.

  I almost smiled. “MacLeod.”

  Margot pursed her lips. “Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. Is his family from around here?”

  “I don’t think you’d know his family. He was raised by his grandmother, but she’s gone now. A brother lives somewhere close, and he has a wife and three kids.” I kept the rest of the details about his family to myself—Theo had trusted me with them, and I wouldn’t feel right disclosing them, even to my friends.

  “Tile shopping, huh?” Margot’s eyes sparkled over the rim of her cup. “How romantic.”

  “You know what? Somehow it was.” I tilted my head. “Well, it was and it wasn’t. We didn’t hold hands or kiss or anything, but I love that he wanted to help me. He even stained the kitchen cabinets Saturday night and hung them back up yesterday.”

  Jaime blinked. “When’s he moving in?”

  “Never. Because my mother showed up as we were looking at tile samples for the floor, and he freaked the fuck out.”

  “Why?” they both asked at once.

  I shrugged helplessly. “Could have been anything. He seemed really nervous the whole time she was there, which was all of five minutes. I introduced him, and you know how my mother is, she was so excited to meet him and started fawning all over him. She scolded me for hiding him and asked how long we’d been dating and I made something up—I think I said a month. He didn’t like that, apparently.”

  “Didn’t like what?” Jaime asked.

  “That I let her assume we were dating. He doesn’t like that word.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What the hell were you supposed to say?”

  “That’s what I said. But he was all spooked by it. And by the fact that my dad is a judge.”

  “Why would that matter?” Margot wondered.

  “I have no idea. I asked him why he’d even come back, why he’d said he needed me.”

  “What did he say?” Jaime asked.

  “He said it was a mistake. He doesn’t need anything or anybody. Two seconds later, he was out the door.”

  My friends were stunned silent. But what could they say?

  “What’s wrong with me, you guys?” Out of nowhere, tears threatened, and I propped my head up at the temples. “Why did I get my hopes up after two stupid days? Why didn’t he feel what I did?”

  Jaime rubbed my back. “I don’t know, hon. But I don’t think he would have come back if he didn’t feel something. Let alone spend an entire day working on your kitchen. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You know,” Margot said slowly. “Maybe it wasn’t so much the word dating that freaked him out as the fact that he realized he likes you as more than a fuck buddy.”


  “Or he has a wife,” Jaime added. “I’m still not convinced he doesn’t.”

  “I’m not convinced of anything at this point.” I picked up my latte again. “I don’t think he has a wife, but he definitely makes it tough to get close to him.”

  “Jack was like that too,” Margot said. “It took him a while to open up, and even after he did, he tried to push me away. As soon as he realized he had feelings for me, he shut down.”

  I nodded glumly. “I remember that.”

  “I tried to push Quinn away too,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. “As soon as I realized I was in love with him.”

  “Theo’s not in love with me,” I said wryly. “Not even close.”

  “Maybe not,” she admitted, “but even the first little inkling of feeling might be enough to spook a guy like him.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think he’s just scared.” Margot’s voice was confident. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he comes back and apologizes within a week. By New Year’s.”

  “I’ll take that bet,” I said, thinking of the hundred bucks Theo had given back to me at breakfast yesterday.

  I’d gladly give it to Margot if she was right, but I had a feeling I’d be a hundred bucks richer come January 1st.

  * * *

  Christmas Eve at my parents’ house had all the usual sparkle, but I wasn’t feeling it.

  I ate all the traditional foods she served every year, the glazed ham and the potatoes au gratin, the caramelized onion tarts, the roasted brussels sprouts with balsamic, the freshly baked bread. But it was oddly tasteless this year. Even Grandma Flossie’s chocolate pudding lacked the usual flavor, and I hadn’t gotten the texture quite right.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled when my sister commented on it. Then I said what I was really thinking—a first. “You know, you could always offer to make it if you think you can do better.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, pushing the dish away from her. “I shouldn’t eat it, anyway. I need to lose some weight for a part I just got.”