Over the Fence Box Set

by Carrie Aarons

  You can hear a pin drop. I swear my father’s jaw is on the floor, and I think mine might be right there with his.

  “What did you just say to me? You ignorant, Guinea. Do you know who I am? I run this town. You can’t outlaw me!” My father tries to pull all of his five-foot-nine frame up high and puff his chest out, but he’s no match for Tony’s six-foot-four height.

  “Get out of my restaurant. Now. And never come back,” Tony all but growls at him. People are watching the exchange, I think someone is even videoing it over in the corner.

  “You’ll regret this. Fuck this piece-of-shit restaurant anyway!” Charles storms down the aisles and out of the restaurant, his little business associates toddling in his wake.

  I turn to Tony, unable to wipe the shock off my face. “You didn’t have to do that …”

  “I think I did, son. Your father is an ungrateful, hurtful person. No one should ever be subjected to that, especially by their own father. And you handled it with grace and dignity. You should be proud.”

  “Well … thank you, sir.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve been trying to get his ass out of my restaurant for years. You did me a favor. Say, do you have plans tomorrow for Christmas Eve? We always have a big family dinner at the house. Why don’t you come?”

  At this moment, I don’t realize just how much of a saving grace Tony will be in my life. But by treating me like a part of his family, inviting me in so warmly and openly, he will only set my life further on the right path. And I would never pass up a chance to spend time with Chloe. Plus, I have been trying to figure out a way not to intrude on Owen’s Christmas plans.

  “If you’ll have me, I’d love to be there. With bells on. And I can even bring the mistletoe.”

  Tony scowls at me. “You’re allowed to come. But in no way have I given you permission to do whatever you’re thinking about doing with my daughter.”

  I smile sheepishly and tiptoe toward the kitchen.

  21

  Chloe

  Baked cod. Clams casino. Deep fried calamari. Linguine with anchovy, clam, and lobster. Marinated eel. Shrimp cocktail. Stuffed-baked lobsters. Whiting.

  Our Feast of the Seven Fishes is typically a to-do, but Mama has gone all out this year.

  The twenty-six-person dining room table is covered in dishes small and large, all of them wafting fantastic smells throughout the house so that you were drooling in anticipation.

  And when the house doesn’t smell like the heavenly meal my mama, nonna and zias have prepared, it smells like fresh cinnamon, Christmas trees, and warm pumpkin pie.

  And it isn’t just the smells that make this night feel so special. It’s the noise, the warmth of our big Italian family crowded into the large rooms of our house. All smiling and laughing and telling the same stories that they do every year.

  This year though, feels different. In a good way. Because Miles is coming to dinner.

  When I watched the altercation go down last night in the restaurant, I didn’t think I’d ever seen my father so angry. Or Miles look so small. Both frightened me to the point that I had to rush to the employee bathroom and break into a fit of sobs before anyone could see me.

  How could any father speak to their child like that? It all clicked for me then, why Miles has seemed so angry at the world all semester. He hasn’t told me specifics, but I know he’s trying to break free of that awful man’s clutches, and I have faith he would.

  We would do it together.

  Because after yesterday, I’ve abandoned my promise. Miles is a good man, a great man. He was who I originally thought he was, he’s just gotten lost in the dark fog, trapped by the monsters in his life that haunt him. But he’s fighting those now, owning up to the ways he’s done wrong. And if he can face his fears, so can I.

  Like being afraid to walk out onto that open ledge again to be with him. I’ve done it for so long with no returned feelings, and I was afraid I’d open myself up only to be disappointed once more.

  But he’s right, we’ve been dancing around these feelings for far too long, not acting on them properly. Both hurting each other. I’m willing to wipe the slate clean.

  We never got the chance to have our talk last night, my father told Miles to go home straight after the fight, while I had to stay and clean up. Hopefully, tonight we’ll get some alone time.

  I walk into the kitchen to Mama and the zias surrounding the island, chattering away, several wine bottles in the middle of their powwow.

  “There’s our ballerina bella!” Zia Sophia’s cheeks are pinker than usual, her beautiful auburn curls swimming around her petite face. “Do a twirl for us! I am going to tell everyone you’re my niece when you’re famous.”

  She kisses my cheek as I sidle up to her and break into their circle of gossip.

  “Did you know that Maria from the hair salon is having an affair with her nephew? Or at least that’s what I heard!” Zia Theresa takes a long swallow of her red wine.

  My mama is one of five girls, and my papa one of eight brothers and sisters. The family is huge, with cousins and husbands and wives and children of various ages always running around.

  “No, but she needs to focus on her haircuts if you ask me. I saw her turn this woman into a poodle last week!” Zia Sophia laughs. She’s my favorite of the bunch, always stopping to ask me about my dancing.

  Tony barrels through the door, a scowl on his face, and in walks Miles behind him. And my mouth starts to water for a totally different reason.

  He’s so tall he almost hits the top of the doorway to our high-ceilinged kitchen. His blond curls have been slicked back, but a couple errant locks protest, sticking out this way or that. His blue eye and green eye twinkle in tandem and he hasn’t shaved, leaving more than a dusting of blond hair across his strong jaw. He’s gone casual with his look, but still looks the picture of a high-class Christmas catalog with his khaki slacks and red V-neck sweater.

  He smiles at me, and I’m instantly in tune with his every motion. I want to run to him, have him wrap me up in those big arms of his and carry me somewhere we can be alone.

  “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Trabucco.” He hands Mama a small bouquet of Poinsettias from behind his back, and it’s then that I notice the entire room has gone silent. All of my aunts and cousins are staring at this hunky creature invading their gossip room.

  “Oh, thank you, Miles! But, please, we’ve been over this, call me Isabella.” She kisses him on the cheek.

  “If you insist.” He gives her one of his dazzling smiles and starts to walk around the island. He stops when he gets to me, and bends down to whisper in my ear, “Merry Christmas, beautiful.”

  He places an identical bouquet in my hand, and I know my face is bright red I’m so smitten and embarrassed.

  I hear Mama clear her throat. “Miles, the men are in the living room watching basketball if you’d like to join them.”

  He looks up at her but runs his hand down my arm, leaving sizzling tingles in his wake. “Sure thing, Isabella.”

  He bows and is out the door. The minute he’s gone, the females in my family break out in giggles, shrieks, and gossip.

  “Who was that?”

  “Chloe, your boyfriend is some kind of god!”

  “Does he have any older brothers?”

  “Look at her face! She’s so red!”

  “You loveeeee him!”

  Their taunting causes me to turn such a shade of red that I probably match the flowers he’s given me.

  “Enough, you nosy people. We like Miles very much, and what Chloe chooses to do is her business.”

  I give Mama a grateful look.

  “Now, wrangle your men so we can start dinner!”

  Dinner flashes before my eyes in a flurry of excitement, chatter, and my family stuffing their faces.

  My uncles are starstruck with Miles, a top prospect for the MLB draft, which I heard from Minka he finally entered. They were asking him who he wants to sign him, whether he knows Carl
Axel, how he hits so well. Miles is happy to indulge them. Talk about anything baseball with him and his whole face lights up like a kid on … well, Christmas.

  The men clean, it’s always been a rule, but when Miles gets up to start help clearing, Mama scolds him. “Miles, honey, you work for us enough in the restaurant. Take a break tonight.”

  He looks hesitant, but one look at me, and he puts the plate of dishes he’s holding down.

  He leans over from where he’s seated next to me, thanks again to Mama, ever the matchmaker. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  I nod, dropping my napkin on the table. I peer at Mama, who shakes her head in approval. “Let’s go up to my balcony,” I say as we make our way through the foyer.

  “Your balcony?”

  “Every princess needs a balcony, doesn’t she?” I tease, and he chuckles.

  “Touché.”

  I grab my winter coat and gloves, slipping a scarf around my neck as we go. Miles mimics me and grabs his outside gear.

  We ascend the spiral staircase to the second floor of my family home, and he’s laughing at pictures of me as a kid. My mother has hundreds of pictures tacked up on this staircase wall, and plenty of embarrassing ones of me grace the stucco.

  Walking into my room, I make a display wave with my hands. “Here we are …”

  I stare at the pale pink walls, the pictures of famous ballerinas hung in frames around the room. My lamp made out of pointe shoes. It’s every little dancer’s dream room. But with Miles standing in here, it just feels childish.

  “Oh, this is so you!” he exclaims, racing around the room examining things. “And I thought I had a lot of trophies.”

  Miles whistles, walking over to the glass cabinet that holds all of my trophies, certificates, and medals. It’s actually atrocious now that I think about it, all of that bragging hanging right there for everyone to see. I didn’t even dance for those. I dance because I love it.

  “It’s obnoxious, I’ve been meaning to take them out and pack them away.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s like … if you love something, you shouldn’t have to display these for people to know you’re good at it.”

  It’s freaky how well he can read my mind sometimes. “Want to go sit?”

  He follows as I open the French doors to my private balcony. When Papa built the house, he had this specially put on for me. Said his Juliette would need a balcony, that someday her Romeo would come for her. Ironic how very Shakespearean my reality is turning out to be. I slip my knitted pink mittens on, shivering as I button up the white pea coat against the cold December air. The balcony is draped in twinkling lights and holly wreaths, just like the rest of the house.

  I loved it out here all the time, but especially this time of year. The twinkling lights make everything look magical, like I’m tucked away in some magical nook all by myself. I can see everything from the top of the hill where our house sits; the dense forest, the shimmering lights of the shops downtown, the cars making their way into town.

  We sit on the outdoor couches Mama picked out for this space, not close enough to touch, but close enough that I feel the heat coming off of his giant form. It crackles in the cold air between us, and even though I know we are only supposed to be talking, that my family is less than a hundred feet away, I can’t help it when my nipples harden, when I get lustful stirrings down below, my red sweater dress and stockings feeling prickly on my over-heated thighs.

  “So, I know I have a lot of stuff to tell you. I’m not really a sharer, or I never have been before …” Miles trails off, looking lost and found at the same time.

  “Just start at the beginning.” I put my horniness aside and focus all of my attention on this beautiful man in front of me.

  “Yeah. So … I told you about my brother. Jason. How he died, and how he left me alone. Jason was my rock, he was my brother, but also my parent. He made sure I was fed, that I got to school on time. That I had a bath every night, he read me stories. Our parents, they were never around. I honestly don’t even know why they had kids because they didn’t seem to want anything to do with them. Still don’t. Except to use them as heirs, robots who would dutifully fulfill anything thrust upon them.”

  He clenches his fist at this, the anger evident in his expression. I reach out my mittened hand and lace it through his own glove. Miles looks down, focusing on our fabric-covered hands now intertwined.

  “Jay, he was supposed to be the rightful heir of Farriston Aviation. My family’s company, although growing up in this town, you have got to know what my father does. He was going to be given the keys to the kingdom, become CEO. And he wanted it. But when he died … my father expected me to just mold into that role. As if I didn’t have my own dreams, my own aspirations. I’ve never had the head for business, and I never wanted to. I want to play baseball until it’s not physically possible for me to play baseball anymore.”

  I know exactly what he means, because all I’ve ever wanted to do is dance. I send up a silent prayer to God that I have the kind of parents who support my dreams wholeheartedly.

  “He’s been manipulating me for years. Giving me just enough of a taste of baseball to assuage my thirst, while at the same time exchanging those good favors for factory tours, media days for the company, making me declare as a business major. Every reward had some kind of punishment. And then, at the beginning of last summer, I’d let slip that I was planning on entering the draft. He went ballistic. Almost didn’t let me go back to school, but what good would a CEO without a college degree be?” Miles stops, laughing without a trace of happiness in his tone. “He’s been hounding me all semester, threatening unspeakable things to get me to come down and do a tour of the newest facility, all while some journalist waxes poetic on my takeover. Fucking hell, if you ask me. I couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t interested in my happiness, in my life or how I felt. I am a pawn to him, a chess piece in his stupid goddamn company. And I’m tired of it. Tired of having no one in my life that cares about me. That’s why I was so nasty to you in the summer. I owe you the biggest apology of all.”

  His two-toned eyes lock on mine now, his expression stormy and apologetic. I just squeeze his fingers, urging him to go on. I know he needs to get this all off his chest if there is any way of moving forward.

  “I’ve lived almost my entire life without anyone ever caring about me. My parents never said I love you, no one ever made sure to be around on holidays. When I started dating Olivia, I thought she was genuinely into me, that she really, truly understood everything I’d gone through. I thought, ‘Finally, someone to love me.’ And she did tell me she loved me, but, Jesus, what a lie that was. She just wanted the money, or to be a WAG, or whatever the hell gold diggers like that want. When I found out she was cheating on me, fuck … it was like my whole world shattered. I really was fucking alone. No one cared about me. And because of that, I didn’t care about other people. I didn’t care who I hurt. And the number one victim of my shit-slinging campaign? You. You were always there, trying to talk to me, or help me or be near me. I think deep down I knew that you would help me, that I’d get in too deep with you. And that moment in my life, I wanted to surround myself in my dark cloud, drown in self-pity.”

  Miles scoots closer to me on the bench, taking a gloved hand and wrapping it around the back of my neck. An intimate embrace, but nothing hints at him taking this any further.

  “That night, after our freestyle, I wanted to hurt someone. And again, you were right there in the line of fire. I am so sorry for the things I said to you. Before that too. Chloe, you are so perfect, it’s hard for me to take my eyes off you sometimes. I’m jealous of everything you have; the family, the parents who support your dream, even your sunny optimism. But instead of wanting to resent you for that, I want you to make me that way too. Now I do. I couldn’t admit it before, was too fucking scared of losing yet another person I thought might care about me.

  “I know how much of an asshole I’ve bee
n, how much I’ve pushed you away. But I’m different now. I moved out of my parent’s house, for all intents and purposes. I’m staying with Owen anytime I need to come back to Mitchum. Coach got me a scholarship so that I don’t need to rely on my parents for tuition, and I’ve been busting my ass at the restaurant for rent money for next semester. That’s why I needed the job so bad.”

  His cloth-covered hand lands on my cheek, the soft material tickling my skin. I’m shivering, I can feel it, but it has nothing to do with the cold. I can’t believe what he’s telling me, how painful his life must have been up until now. And it was still going to be hard, so much harder than anything I’ve ever imagined. I never had to give anything up for my dream, I never had to really struggle to obtain it, aside from perfecting my technique and skills. Pride swells within my chest for this man sitting in front of me.

  “And I knew once I did all that, once I got my act together, that I’d come back for you. I didn’t deserve you before, Chloe. But now, maybe you can give me a chance to prove that I finally do.”

  I feel the unshed tears in the back of my throat at these words that I’ve been waiting months, no years, to hear. I’ve been infatuated with Miles Farriston since I was seven years old. I’ve daydreamed about the moment he would finally open up his eyes and set them on me. And this is so much better. Because I’m getting the better version of Miles. I’m getting the old, goofy boy, but I’m also getting the responsible, kind man. All the shame and iciness I’ve been carrying from our encounters since the beginning of the semester begin to melt away. If he can admit to his mistakes, and change so dramatically as I’ve seen him do the last month, than I can start fresh.

  Miles looks so nervous that I think he might be sweating in this thirty-degree weather. I should probably put him out of his misery, but it’s kind of fun watching him squirm for once. I did for years.

  “I … I don’t know where to start now.” We both smile sheepishly at each other. “I’m sorry, so sorry, that you had to go through any of that. Looking back, I can see why you thought I was such a princess. And I’m sorry that you couldn’t experience what I had. But just know, that my family likes you very much. I even think my papa looks at you like an adopted son at this point. I mean, he did invite you to Christmas.”