If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  Things had gone pretty damn near perfectly.

  I’d told her exactly who I was, admitted all the shit I’d done, and warned her it wasn’t easy to get close to me. But actually…it had been kind of easy. Or maybe she just made it feel easy. She didn’t judge me, didn’t tell me I was damaged, didn’t insist I fix X,Y, and Z about myself before she’d consider giving me another chance. I’d known from the start she had a heart big enough to let me in, but I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to be there. Or how quickly I’d want her in mine.

  I loved hearing about her family, her students, her memories at “the cabin.” Laughing, I shook my head. Calling that log palace a cabin was like calling Mount Everest “the anthill.” But even though she’d grown up privileged, she wasn’t spoiled. The things she enjoyed most in life were not luxuries. She wanted to inspire and be inspired—that mattered more to her than anything. She wanted to take care of people and things. She wanted to feel good about herself.

  She was pure gold, and no way in hell was I good enough for her. But if she was willing to put up with me, I’d do everything I could to make her happy, things I’d never done for anyone before.

  Work hard and work honestly. Meet her friends and family. Introduce her to Aaron and Josie and the girls. Stay.

  For her, I’d stay.

  Twenty-Eight

  Claire

  * * *

  On the drive home, I called Margot.

  “Hello?”

  “I owe you a hundred bucks.” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

  She gasped. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I went up to the cabin for some time away, and he showed up.”

  “Oh my God. And?”

  “And apologized, just like you said. Told me he’d panicked. Asked for another chance.”

  “It’s like I wrote the script!” she said happily.

  I laughed. “It is.”

  “So things are good?”

  “So far.” I hesitated. “He’s kind of…a complicated guy. One of those guys who has a lot of baggage and doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Oh. Believe me, I get that. That’s Jack to a tee.”

  “He was really open with me over the last couple days, but that was sort of my condition. I told him if he wanted another chance, he had to let me in.”

  “Good for you,” she said firmly.

  “And he did,” I said. “It’s crazy, Margot. For the first time, I feel really good about someone. Hopeful, but not in a rush. I’m just excited to see where it takes us, you know?”

  “Perfect. Enjoy this stage of it—that newness is such a thrill. I will even let you keep your hundred bucks.”

  I grinned. “I’ll buy you a nice wedding present.”

  “So when do we get to meet him? Before the wedding, I hope?”

  “That would be fun. I’ll get in touch with Jaime, and maybe we can find a date sometime this month.”

  “Sounds good. I’m really happy for you, Claire.”

  “Thanks.” My stomach fluttered. “I’m happy, too.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Claire

  * * *

  Good things happened in January.

  Theo and I finished my kitchen restoration—he even got me a discount on the gorgeous granite countertop I chose since he’d started working at the stoneworks again. We pulled up the old floor, laid the new travertine tiles, refinished the table, and above it we hung a fantastic vintage light fixture Theo found at a salvage shop.

  We had dinner downtown with Jaime, Quinn, Jack, and Margot, and Theo charmed them just like he’d charmed me the first time we met.

  “Oh my God, he’s adorable.” Margot grabbed my elbow the moment we got into the ladies room after dinner. “And you guys look so cute together—he’s so tall!”

  “He is.” I giggled. “Sometimes it’s a challenge.”

  “So how are things?” Jaime asked, taking her lipstick from her purse.

  “Good.” I shrugged. “I mean, it’s only officially been a couple weeks, but it feels really good.”

  Jaime nodded, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve got the vibe about you guys. I don’t know what it is, but it seems right.”

  “It’s chemistry,” said Margot. “Did you see the way he looks at her? I thought he was going to eat her for dessert.”

  Jaime smirked. “The night is young, Margot. Give him time.”

  Later, we got in the car and Theo exhaled. “Fuck. I was nervous.”

  “You were?” That surprised me. “It didn’t show.”

  “Good.” He turned the key in the ignition. “I like your friends. I can tell they’re protective of you.”

  I smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “They are, so watch your step. Margot throws a mean scone.” We’d laughed over that story at the table, and Jaime and had I exchanged a wink.

  The following weekend was Margot’s surprise shower, and it went off without a hitch. She cried (no one cries more elegantly than Margot Thurber Lewiston, with her delicate sniffles and monogrammed handkerchiefs to dab at tears), she laughed, she opened an endless number of china settings, and we all got a little tipsy on champagne.

  Theo took me over to his brother’s house and introduced me to his family—his brother Aaron, an older, stockier version of Theo with a warm handshake and quiet demeanor. Theo’s sister-in-law Josie was a petite brunette with a lovely, welcoming smile and obvious devotion to her family. And three adorable little girls, who attacked Theo as soon as he walked in the door, hanging on him like little monkeys. Honestly, it had kind of surprised me. I hadn’t imagined he was so good with kids.

  “Your nieces are adorable,” I told him on the ride home.

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  “They’re crazy about you.”

  “Isn’t everybody?”

  I punched him on the arm. “You’re so good with them. How did that happen?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re immature. I’m immature. It works.”

  “It’s more than that, silly. You’re genuinely good with them. Do you like kids?”

  “I like those kids.”

  “Do you want your own someday?”

  He gave me a frightened glance. “You’re not trying to tell me something, are you?”

  “No, no. I’m not pregnant.”

  He exhaled a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t think I’d make a very good father.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I said, “but I promise the question was purely out of curiosity and not necessity.”

  “What about you? Let me guess—you want a whole dozen of them.”

  “Maybe not a dozen, but yes. I do.” I sighed. “You’ll probably think this is stupid and boring, but I love the idea of a house full of kids, a swing on the front porch, bikes in the yard, finger paintings on the refrigerator, lemonade stand on the sidewalk…”

  “Wow, that’s really specific.”

  “I know. It’s just how my brain works—I picture all the details in the background.”

  “But it’s not stupid or boring, Claire. And I happen to love lemonade.” He reached over and took my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Hey, Peyton’s birthday is coming up. Want to help me shop for a gift?”

  I wasn’t sure if he’d intentionally changed the subject or not, but I let it go. It didn’t really matter. We’d only been seeing each other for a month, after all, and I was enjoying myself. For once, my present was as enticing as my dream about the future.

  But I warned my mother not to ask Theo a bunch of questions about the future when we met my parents for dinner. She seemed offended that I’d even make such a request, and I will admit that she behaved herself very well at the restaurant. Only once did I have to kick her under the table, when she sighed dramatically and lamented her lack of grandchildren: “It’s like my daughters want to punish me or something.”

  Theo had been a good sport, although unlike when we were at dinner with my friends, he was visibly
anxious—at least to me. My parents might not have noticed the jittering leg or the sheen on his forehead, but I did. Several times during the evening, I took his hand and held it beneath the table. Each time, he sent me a grateful smile.

  The night went well. Although my dad was slightly disappointed Theo hadn’t gone to Yale or Ohio State, they were able to talk a lot about football. And my mother was charmed by his manners, his smile, and his conversation skills. “You can just tell he was raised right,” she said to me in the ladies room. “Even if he didn’t go to Yale.”

  We spent most of our time at my house, but I did get to see his apartment one Saturday, a sparsely furnished one-bedroom with nothing on the walls, only the barest essentials in the kitchen, and a view of the parking lot from all the windows.

  “Think you’ll stay here?” I asked him, opening a kitchen drawer. “My God, Theo. You have plastic utensils. And they’re not even in trays, they’re still in the bags.”

  “Yeah, I meant to get some silverware; I just never got around to it.” He went into the bedroom to grab clean clothes for work the next day.

  “Please let me help you outfit this kitchen,” I called out. “And maybe put some pictures up. Or I’ll give you a painting. But all these white walls are so sterile. It’s creepy.”

  “I’d love a painting.” He came out of his bedroom with a bag over his shoulder. “And speaking of that, did you send the application today for the July art fair?”

  I blushed as I shook my head, my gaze dropping to the floor.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m scared.”

  “We talked about this. And the deadline is in two days.”

  I met his disapproving glare. “I know.”

  He grabbed me by the hand. “Come on.”

  Tugging me along like an obstinate child, he stuck me in the car, drove to my house, pulled me out again, and hustled me inside. “Get your laptop.”

  I dragged my feet, but I went into the spare bedroom I used as an office and unplugged it, bringing it to the living room where he stood waiting.

  He pointed at the couch. “Sit. Open it.”

  I did as he asked, biting my lip when I saw the online application still up on the screen. The Submit button taunted me.

  “Do it.” Theo stood over me. His height and broad chest were intimidating.

  My stomach churned. This was it. Once I hit that button, my artwork in the form of five attached images—would be out there for people to judge. I would be out there for people to judge. What if I wasn’t good enough? “I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “You are.”

  “No, really. I’m a good teacher, but—”

  “Claire.”

  I looked up at him helplessly, searching for sympathy in his brown eyes, but finding only defiance. “You don’t understand. You’re asking me to send my naked heart and soul, myself, out there in the cold, dark woods where wolves will be prowling.”

  “Claire.”

  “Maybe bears. And I’m naked.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Listen to me.” He sat down next to me on the couch. “You are good enough. Say it.”

  “I’m good enough.” But I didn’t believe it.

  “This is what I want.”

  “This is what I want,” I repeated, and it was. “I just wish it wasn’t so scary.”

  “I understand. I’ve felt naked and scared before too—like when I drove eight hours through a blizzard to ask you for another chance.”

  I swallowed. My throat was so dry.

  “But I did it. And it felt good. Even if you’d said no, at least I would have known that I’d tried. Walking away would have been the easier thing to do, but I didn’t want to wonder what if for the rest of my life. And you don’t either.”

  “No,” I admitted. My finger hovered over the mousepad.

  “Do it,” he urged. “Jump.”

  I held my breath. Counted to three. And hit the button.

  Success! said the screen.

  We’ll see.

  Theo wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. “I’m proud of you.”

  My heart was beating furiously, and my belly still hadn’t settled down, but I smiled. “Thanks. I needed the push.”

  “Feel good?”

  I took a deep breath, grateful for him. I tipped my head onto his shoulder. “Yes. I do.”

  Things with us had only gotten better. The magic grew stronger. The more time we spent together, the deeper I fell for him. I’d never fallen in love before, but I was positive this was it. There were times I looked at him that I felt like my heart was going to explode. I wanted to be with him all the time—he was the first thing I thought of in the morning, and the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep at night. He was all I wanted.

  Theo wasn’t the type to offer up his feelings in words, but everything he did for me told me he cared, from the restoration work to building my confidence about my art to tolerating my sappy movies to meeting my friends and family to printing a picture of us and sticking it to his fridge (held there by a magnet his nieces had given him for Christmas that said Best Uncle Ever). And I knew that he hadn’t grown up in a household like mine, where we expressed our feelings and said I love you and never worried that the people who loved us would leave us. I thought about what he’d told me about his mother’s note a lot—to him, words like I love you were probably empty and meaningless. What you did mattered more than what you said.

  Yet there were moments when I would have liked the words. It wasn’t that I needed those specific words, exactly, just…some reassurance that I wasn’t alone. That I mattered to him as much as he mattered to me. That we were meant to be together. I tried hard to make sure he knew he was enough for me, despite his initial misgivings that he wouldn’t be.

  But he remained silent on the subject of his feelings, and I didn’t push.

  When it came to sex, on the other hand, he was anything but silent. The things he said to me were shocking, but I loved every filthy word out of his mouth. And there was nothing he liked more than when I talked to him that way, telling him what I wanted him to do to me. Somehow our chemistry had gotten even hotter since New Year’s, and often I found myself fantasizing about him at odd times—during teacher meetings, in line at the grocery store, when stopped at a red light. People would have to honk to get my attention. “Sorry, sorry,” I’d mumble, giving an apologetic wave. But I wasn’t sorry. It was the best sex I’d ever had—the dirtiest, the daringest and the most intense.

  I felt like a different person. And I liked it.

  By the time Margot’s wedding day arrived, we’d been seeing each other for six weeks, spending almost every night together at my house. He was there when I received the notice in the mail that I’d been accepted at the July art fair, and didn’t even tease me about how much I cried with relief and joy. He just held me and said over and over again how proud he was. How this was only the beginning.

  I believed him.

  Thirty

  Theo

  * * *

  She was always beautiful.

  Especially first thing in the morning. I have no idea if sleep somehow erased the memory of just how lovely she was, but every time I woke up to find her sleeping next to me, I was amazed all over again.

  Or maybe I was just amazed she was still there.

  Frankly, I was amazed I was still there sometimes. I kept waiting for that restless feeling to kick in, that twitchy feeling in my bones that meant I was feeling trapped, it was time to pack up and move on, or at least change the routine. But it never did. For the first time, I found comfort in the routine. It didn’t feel like monotony, it felt like ease. It didn’t feel like a cage, it felt like heaven.

  Aaron and I had put out some ads for Two Brothers Carpentry with a discount for new customers. We were getting calls, slowly but steadily, and Zack was very accommodating with my schedule at the stoneworks. He’d even given Aaron a job as well.

  I’d survived meeting Cl
aire’s friends and family—actually, I’d even enjoyed it. Claire’s mom was slightly overbearing, but she was kind and inquisitive, and it was easy to see where Claire had gotten her beauty. Her father, as promised, was easygoing and friendly, and I’d enjoyed talking about football with him. It was no trouble at all to pretend I’d been born in Connecticut (I was more than happy to forget about my early life in Kansas City), and even though I hadn’t gone to Ohio State (Claire took the blame for that one, feigning confusion), I was able to talk college football with him. It was a little nerve-wracking when her father asked about my degree, but he didn’t seem shocked or disapproving when I said I’d left school before it was completed. I probably felt worse about it than he did.

  Meeting her friends was a lot of fun. I got a kick out of hearing stories about shy, awkward high-school Claire with braces, and the way they teased each other made it easy to see how well they knew each other. I had the feeling I was there under inspection, so I tried my best to be the kind of guy they’d choose for Claire while still being myself. If I felt less confident than I acted, I hoped it didn’t show.

  Aaron and Josie loved her, and my nieces kept asking me if she was my girlfriend. “I guess she is,” I told them one day when I was there alone. “Is that OK?”

  “Yes,” said Ava. “Should we call her Aunt Claire?”

  “I don’t think just yet.” Josie jumped in to rescue me. “Let’s give Uncle Theo some time to get to know her better before we start calling her ‘Aunt.’” But she’d winked at me. And later my brother had said, “That girl is the real deal. Don’t fuck this up.”

  I was doing my best. But this was a new world to me, and I wasn’t always sure I belonged in it.

  Most of the time, the magic between us was enough to allay the whispers in the back of my brain, the ones that said things like, Don’t kid yourself, asshole. You’re not what she wants and sooner or later she’s going to realize it. After I met her friends, the voice would add things like, You’ll never be able to give her the things a successful guy like Quinn would. Jack owns forty-four acres, a house, and six horses. What do you own?