One Last Time: A Second Chance Romance

by Roxie Noir

  Also a no sex in the brewery discussion. Health code, et cetera.

  After a few minutes he runs his hand down my arm to my wrist, circles it lightly with his fingers until his thumb is right on my star tattoo. He looks at it, then lifts his arm, looks at his.

  “You like it?” I ask.

  “I do,” he says, rubbing his thumb over my wrist. “Thanks.”

  “I should bandage it,” I point out.

  He pulls me in, gives me one more long kiss.

  “Love you,” he says.

  “Love you too,” I say, then give him a quick kiss on the forehead and stand.

  “Last week, someone brought in a beautiful, solid oak hundred-year-old table that had been plastered over with superhero stickers in the seventies,” Charlie says. “And not even real superheroes. Knockoff ones I’ve never heard of, like The Bulk, who’s purple and wears green shorts.”

  I laugh, beer in hand, feet up on the deck railing.

  “I’ve never heard of The Bulk,” I say.

  “I’m sure there’s a reason.”

  “Who thought that was a good idea?” asks Caleb, sitting on my other side.

  “The table, or The Bulk?”

  “Either. Both,” he says.

  “Maybe the table was owned by whoever created The Bulk,” I say. “Otherwise, why would they have all those stickers?”

  Charlie just sighs.

  “I had to do things to that table,” she says, taking a sip of her beer and gazing over the back yard. “Things I’m not proud of.”

  I sigh sympathetically.

  “It’s all right,” I tell her. “We’ve all had to fuck the furniture now and then.”

  To my right, Caleb makes a surprised noise, then starts coughing.

  “Dammit, Delilah,” he manages to get out. “I was drinking.”

  “Sorry,” I say, as Charlie laughs.

  “I was just surprised,” he says, still clearing his throat.

  “That she said fuck?” Charlie asks.

  “No, I was not surprised that Delilah said fuck,” Caleb says, as if that’s the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. “It was the whole thing. It’s over now. Carry on.”

  “I think we should keep talking about fucking the furniture,” Charlie says. “Which piece of your dining room set do you find most erotic, Caleb?”

  “I hate this conversation,” he says, but he’s grinning.

  “Tables do have those nice… legs,” I say, trying to think of something slightly sexy about tables.

  “Sure, that’s a word,” Caleb teases.

  “That’s why tablecloths exist,” says June’s voice behind me.

  I tilt my head back and there she is, holding a glass of water.

  “Because table legs are erotic?” Charlie asks. “This is really making me look at my job from a new angle.”

  “It’s from Victorian times, and you know how they were,” June says, pulling up a chair.

  “Secret perverts?” I say.

  June points a finger-gun at me as she sits.

  “Bingo,” she says. “I read once that tablecloths were to cover up scandalous table legs because men simply couldn’t control themselves otherwise. Dunno if it’s actually true.”

  The three of us all happen to glance at Caleb at the same time.

  “Okay, I hate that you all just looked at me,” he says. “I’m not even the one who started this conversation about fucking furniture.”

  Now June starts laughing.

  “It’s a long story and I don’t think I can trace it back,” Caleb tells her.

  “I don’t think I want you to,” she says, still laughing. “I think this is perfect and delightful just like it is.”

  We all go quiet for a moment, facing out into the yard where Seth and Thomas are playing kickball.

  Or, rather, Seth is slowly and carefully rolling a big rubber ball toward Thomas, who is watching it with all the seriousness and intensity an almost-three-year-old can muster, and then wildly swinging one leg several moments too late.

  Then, he chases the ball and throws it vigorously, with both hands, sort of in Seth’s direction.

  I’ll just say it: Seth is hot with a toddler.

  “Someone’s gonna sleep well tonight,” Charlie says.

  “Yeah, kickball really tuckers Seth out,” I say, and she laughs.

  “I have to admit, now I understand why some people choose to have their kids when they’re twenty-two,” she says. “He just runs. All day. His two modes are sleeping and sprinting. I’m tired.”

  Suddenly, Thomas is sprinting toward us, something in his hand. He stomps up the deck stairs, then runs over to us.

  “It’s a pinecone!” he shouts.

  Charlie sits forward and holds out her hand.

  “Ooh, how exciting,” she says. “What’s it —"

  “It’s for Caleb,” he informs her, and goes straight for his uncle.

  “Wow, thank you,” Caleb says, as Thomas deposits his prize. “You know what kind of tree this comes from?”

  “He just runs,” Seth says, coming up the stairs behind Thomas.

  “Yup,” says Charlie.

  “Did Rusty just run?”

  “I think she did a little more sitting still,” Charlie says, fondly watching Caleb and Thomas discuss the pine cone. “It’s hard to compare, though.”

  Behind us, the sliding glass door opens, and Levi walks over to June, puts his hands on her shoulders.

  “You need anything?” he asks.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “Thanks.”

  He leans down and plants a kiss on the top of her head.

  “I need that,” I hear Thomas say, and then a second later he’s full-bore toddler sprinting to Levi.

  “This is a pinecone!” he shouts.

  “Hm, let’s see,” Levi says, crouching next to June. “You know what? You’re precisely right.”

  “It’s got seeds,” Thomas informs him.

  “I feel like my thunder’s been stolen,” Caleb says, and Charlie laughs.

  “I gave him life and he didn’t even look at me,” she says. “Savage.”

  Dinner is macaroni and cheese, prepared by Chef Rusty under Eli’s guidance, along with salad and collard greens and succotash. It’s all very Southern, and Rusty is positively delighted when everyone says they love it.

  After dinner, she and I sit on the front porch, watch the stars come out, and I get a full rundown of what’s going on in sixth grade at Sprucevale Middle. In brief: the science teacher, Mr. Albertson is the worst, her friend Kimmy has really been on her nerves lately, her new friend Megan is just the coolest, and eeeeveryone in her grade has a crush on this boy named Dale, but Rusty doesn’t see the appeal.

  I strongly suspect she’s got a crush on someone, but she’s not naming names and I’m not that nosy.

  We talk for a while about the robotics camp she’s starting next week, and then it’s time for dessert. Everyone eats pie and does some more shouting and laughing, and through it all, I keep catching Seth staring at me.

  We head out a little while later, and when we get into the car, Seth casually looks over at me, then clears his throat.

  “Mind if I run a quick errand on the way home?” he asks.

  “Sure, where to?” I ask, leaning back in the passenger seat.

  “Frog Holler,” he says, and flips on his turn signal. “You know how we’re doing that hopped cider collaboration? There’s something I have to go pick up over there. For that. It won’t take too long.”

  I give Seth a searching look as he checks the road and then pulls out of the driveway, picking up speed. After a moment, he glances over at me.

  “What?” he asks, a strand of hair coming loose over his forehead.

  He’s going to propose.

  I don’t know how I know, but I do. I’m instantly and completely certain, and I try not to laugh.

  “Nothing,” I say. “It’s a nice night for a drive over there.”

&nb
sp; We talk as we drive: about the fact that June is probably pregnant, about whether Rusty has an adolescent crush on Silas, about whether Victorian really wanted to fuck tables or if that’s a weird myth.

  There’s a part of me that wants to tell him to pull off to the side of the road so I can lean over, kiss him, and tell him yes. As different as things are now than ten years ago, I can tell he’s still nervous.

  He doesn’t need to be. We live together. We’ve talked about getting married and having kids, because we’re adults and partners who talk about major life events. He already knows what the answer is.

  But when he turns into the Frog Holler driveway, he shifts into neutral instead of second and then curses when the engine roars.

  “Sorry,” he says, and then shoots me that charming grin.

  “Need me to drive?”

  “I need you to keep your commentary to yourself,” he says, and this time I do laugh. We’ve got the windows down, and the warm breeze comes through and tosses my hair around. It’ll be a nightmare to untangle later, but right now, it feels free and wonderful and I don’t care.

  The barn comes into view, all the lights off. No cars in the parking lot, but the floodlights on the mural are all lit. Seth pulls up carefully, parking his car as precisely as if he were in a tight spot between two minivans.

  Before we get out, I do lean over and kiss him. He pauses a moment, then sinks his fingers into my hair, kisses me full force.

  “What was that for?” he asks, thumb still on my jaw.

  “I can’t just kiss you?” I ask.

  “You can kiss me, and I can be suspicious,” he says, pressing his lips to mine again.

  “Come on, you’ve gotta get the… whatever you said,” I tease, and we get out of the car.

  It’s dark, the moon nothing but a sliver in the sky, the stars out in full force n the warm summer night. We link hands as Seth leads me away from the front door and toward the rise overlooking the barn.

  I know exactly where we’re going. We stop at the same spot where we kissed after our last first date, and Seth turns, looks at me.

  His face cracks into a wide smile, and he starts laughing.

  “Did I fool you for a second?” he asks, and I bite my lips together, trying not to laugh myself.

  “With your story about having to get cider on a Sunday night?” I ask, tilting my head to one side.

  “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Seth,” I say, and take his face in my hands. “You’re not a good liar. I love you so much, but you can’t lie.”

  He’s still smiling, and he leans in until our foreheads and noses are touching, his fingers in my hair again.

  “Marry me anyway?” he asks, softly.

  I feel like I’m soaring. Even though I knew what was coming, I’m instantly giddy, lighter than air.

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, of course.”

  I kiss him fervently, feeling like I might bubble over. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he lifts me up, and we laugh and kiss and he swings me around and I yelp, then laugh some more.

  Finally, he puts me down and reaches into his pocket. I’m expecting a box but the ring is just in his fingers, glinting in the light.

  It doesn’t look anything like my other rings. Not the one that he threw into the woods; not the one that Nolan gave me that I donated to an auction for a women’s shelter last year.

  This one looks vintage and art deco, the stone set deeply into the metal.

  I look closer, and realize there’s something in the stone. Seth clears his throat.

  “Maybe a year ago, I came across this jewelry maker who makes jewelry with carvings in the backs of the stones, so that when you look at it from the front, it looks like there’s something inside,” he says.

  I look closer and realize it’s a bird, wings spread.

  “I thought you’d like it,” he says, takes my hand, and slides it onto my finger.

  “I love it,” I say. “I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  We kiss. On the barn, the mural glows, and the stars shine above, and the breeze whispers through the lush foliage of the forest, through the grass below our feet.

  “I want to take back something I said once,” he tells me when we break the kiss.

  “About how I must have been raised by wolves if I think I can put a plastic bowl in the dishwasher?” I ask, gently.

  “Absolutely not,” he says, grinning. “I’ll stand by that until my dying day.”

  “It was on the top rack,” I point out.

  “About how I’d take anything back,” he says. “I told you once that if I could undo the past, I would.”

  He winds a curl around one finger, watches my face.

  “But that’s what it took to get here,” he says, simply. “And this makes everything else worth it. If changed that I’d change this, and I would never change this.”

  I swallow hard, because there’s a lump in my throat.

  “Me either,” I say. “You’re worth the fight, Seth.”

  He kisses me again: gentle and slow, full of promise, longing just below the surface.

  “I would do anything for this,” he murmurs. “Fight any fight. Climb any mountain. Sacrifice every valuable thing in my life. This is worth it. You’re worth it.”

  We stand there for a long time, on the grass, under the stars. We talk about love and we talk about raccoons and we talk about the past and we talk about whether we should rearrange the living room, all the lofty and banal things that make up a life together.

  I know it’s anything but easy, but standing here with him, I do know this: it’s simple. Love is simple. Everything surrounding it can be hard and messy and complicated, but at the center of it all, love is sweet, clear, and true.

  Finally, we walk back to his car, hand in hand. We drive home. We sleep in the same bed, wake up next to one another that morning and the next and the next, and it’s not perfection, but it’s always him, and it makes my heart leap.

  For Seth, my heart always leaps.

  The End

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  Eli Loveless was my nemesis from the first day of kindergarten until we graduated high school. Everything I did, he had to do better - and vice versa. The day he left town was the best day of my life.

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  Kostya’s quiet, serious, and straight-laced, the heir to a centuries-old throne.

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  I’m the ambassador’s daughter, backpacking Europe after dropping out of med school.

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  Reign

  A royal romance

  Roxie Noir

  Chapter One

  Hazel

  Something clangs right above my head, and I wake up with a snort.

  “Passport!” the uniformed man says.

  He’s very loud, very gruff, and staring down at me with the sort of flat, serious irritation only an Eastern European can muster. His accent is so thick that it takes me a moment to figure out what he’s saying, and I just stare up at him, mouth partly open.

  The customs officer puts his hand on the luggage rack above my head and leans in, just a little.

  “Passport,” he says, very slowly.

  “Right,” I say. “Yes. Of course. Da.”

  He steps back, I stand, and the papers that were on my lap slide to the floor.

  “Shit,” I mutter, but everyone else in the compartment is totally silent. “Sorry. Sorry. Prosti.”

  The uniformed man takes another step back,
this time to the door of the train compartment, and just stares at me. Totally stone-faced. The compartment is full, but no one moves to pick anything up.

  Thanks, guys, I think. I’m starting to sweat.

  First things first. I need my damn passport so Mr. Ice Carving over here can move on with his rounds, then I can pick up my shit.

  I grab my frame pack, sling it onto the seat, open the main compartment and slide my hand into the slim inner pocket. Then I fish around, feeling for the skinny booklet.

  It’s not there. I shove my hand in further. Nothing. I push my entire arm into my backpack, my hair falling in front of my eyes, sticking in the velcro fasteners.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Prosti, prosti...”

  Still nothing. My heart is doing flips, and I’m frantically trying to remember the last time I saw my passport.

  I had it when I got to the Ukraine four days ago, I think. I had it when I checked into the hostel in Kiev.

  Jesus, did I leave it there?

  Now I’m pulling dirty clothes out of my backpack and piling them onto my seat. The woman sitting next to me, who somehow still looks just as fresh and put together in hour thirteen of this train ride as she did at hour one, glares.

  Everyone’s glaring, but I don’t care, because I need my passport.

  Finally the bag is empty, and I peer into the entrance. My heart’s hammering, because not only is it very bad form to leave your passport god-knows-where, my mom might actually kill me if she has to bail me out of this.

  She’d be justified, though.

  “No passport?” the man says. His facial expression doesn’t change at all, but I smile at him desperately, my best I’m irresponsible, not a terrorist smile.