Unlikely date a grumpy h.., p.14
Unlikely Date: A Grumpy Hero Single Parent Romance, page 14
“You have nothing to be ashamed about.”
“Says the CEO who drives the Range Rover.” Her head shakes back and forth. “I can’t believe I’m serving you cheap wine and macaroni from a box. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life.”
“Maddie, I’m serious. It’s fine.”
“I’m calling NDA on this one. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Why would I tell anyone?”
“Right. Yeah, you wouldn’t. Why would you?”
We eat in virtual silence unless Gigi asks a question. Which she does. A lot. Why do they call it mud if it’s not mud? Who do you think will find the bag in the wall? Do you think they will be aliens? Why do you smoke? The man where Mommy fixes her car smokes, and he has black hands. Will your hands turn black? Aren’t the flowers pretty? Which is your favorite? You gave Mommy flowers; does that mean you’re her prince?
It’s the last question that has wine spurting from Maddie’s mouth. “Hasn’t it been about twenty minutes?”
“Close enough,” I say, standing and taking my plate to the sink. “I’ll just go put another coat on.”
“Why are you putting a coat on?” Gigi asks. “Are you leaving? Is it cold out?”
“Coat of mud,” I say. “It means I have to apply another layer. Put more on.”
I don’t miss Maddie’s smile. She’s amused that I’m explaining things to Gigi.
I slather the compound onto the tape and smooth it out as Gigi watches. It occurs to me that I don’t hear the rattle of dishes. When I look over my shoulder, I see why. Maddie is sitting at the table, nursing another glass of wine. And she’s staring at me too. Only not the same way Gigi is. Not with innocent curiosity. No, Maddie’s stare is anything but innocent. Her eyes smolder. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth. Her finger traces the base of her wine glass like I wish it were tracing the base of my cock. Is she thinking about our kiss? And if so, which one? Or maybe she’s thinking about more.
She stands and goes to the sink when she realizes I’ve caught her ogling. I try to compose myself as well. Having a stiffy with a five-year-old three feet away is just goddamn wrong.
I slough off the excess mud and clean up my supplies. “This will need to dry completely before I can sand and paint it.”
Dishes are now being washed. Maddie is busying herself so I don’t catch her staring. Daydreaming. Fantasizing. “Did you say something?”
“I’ll come back tomorrow to sand and paint it. Do you have paint that matches?”
“Ha! I seriously doubt fresh paint has touched these walls in fifty years. Gran doesn’t have the best eyesight, so she never really cared much about how it looked. And me, I just figured I’d get around to it someday.”
“Well, that day is tomorrow. Since you don’t have matching paint, we’ll have to do the whole thing. The entire room.”
“We?”
“It’s a big job, Maddie.”
“You know, it’s fine. The hole is patched. We can just leave it like this for now.”
“I have paint. Gallons of it. And drop cloths and brushes, too.”
Lie. Lie. And another lie.
“You’re okay with a cream color, right?” I ask.
“I can’t let you do this.”
“The paint will just go bad if it doesn’t get used. After work, then?”
She looks at the wall. At Gigi. At me. I can see the battle going on in her head. Not about the wall. I’m sure she couldn’t care less about it. The battle is about me. Letting me back into her house. Because she knows every time she lets me in, her resolve crumbles a little more. Every time she sees me, her body hums, her blood pumps, and her panties moisten.
And even though I know I shouldn’t play this game, not with her, I can’t stop. I can’t stop until I have her. The question is, what will I do after?
What you always do.
But even knowing I’ll most likely burn the girl who’s already been on fire, I press on. “So? What’s it going to be?”
“After your work,” she says. “The shop is closed on Tuesdays. It’s my one day off.”
I gather my supplies and tuck them in a corner. Might need them tomorrow. “Great. See you then. I’ll bring food.”
I’ll bring food? Since when do I ever bring food?
“You don’t have to do that. I can make sandwiches or something.”
“Sandwiches and six-dollar wine. I can’t wait.” I was being sarcastic, but when she frowns, I feel guilty. Wait, guilty? “I was kidding, Flower Girl. Sandwiches are one of my favorite food groups.”
I start down the stairs. “Bye, Smokey the Bear,” Gigi calls after me.
Right, I didn’t even acknowledge the kid before leaving. “Uh, bye.”
I reach the bottom and call up. “Maddie, I might need my toolbox. Can you bring it down?”
She comes down the stairs and hands it to me. “Thanks for what you did today. I really appreciate it.”
I put the tools down. “Yeah, I don’t really need these.”
“What? Then why?”
I take her into my arms, once again, not asking permission. And once again, she doesn’t move to pull away. My mouth covers hers. I run my tongue across her lower lip, then I kiss the upper one. Then I press my closed lips fully to hers. It’s not like the kiss from last night or even the night before. It’s more of a see-you-later kiss. Not that I know what that even is. I’ve never given one before. But if I were to, this would be it.
“Bye, Flower Girl,” I say, stepping away.
If I had eyes in the back of my head, I’m fairly sure I’d see her slumped against the doorway. Wanting more. Needing more. But I don’t look back. Because I know a guy like me can’t fulfill both. I can give her what she wants. But I’m fooling myself to think I could ever be what she needs.
Chapter Twenty
Maddie
I pull into the retirement community for our weekly trip to see Gran. She loves it here. Even more so lately. I guess it took her a few years to really establish friendships outside of those she had along McQuaid Circle. I drive around the central lake with a fountain in it. There are VIP homes that back up to the lake, some bigger than Blake Montana’s parents’ house. Gran, however, lives in the more modest apartments along the back woods. She’s still very self-sufficient, barring the arthritis that came from fifty years of trimming flowers, and the mild COPD that was the result of years of smoking.
Smoking.
Don’t think about Tag. Don’t think about Tag.
We park in the lot and take the elevator to the second floor. Gigi loves elevators. The only time I’ll let her inside of one is when we visit Gran. I despise them, avoiding them whenever possible. They’re death traps if you ask me. But since we’re only going one floor, I surmise it’s not that great a risk.
Gran doesn’t answer the door. She knows we’re coming. We’ve been coming at the same time every Tuesday for three years. “Gran!” I yell, getting worried.
A neighboring door opens. “She’s not home,” the older woman says. “Mind keeping it down? Some of us still got our hearing.”
She’s new. I know all Gran’s neighbors. I want to ask what happened to Mrs. Garfunkel, but I’m afraid of the answer. She either died or had to be moved to the assisted-living building. Neither is something I want to think about.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for my grandmother.”
“Ahh, so you’re Maddie. And this must be Rose’s namesake.”
Most people think I named my daughter after the flower shop, but the shop was named after Gran. Rose Gianogi grew up with the nickname Gigi. Gigi was named after her. Rose just seemed too old fashioned and ‘Titanic.’
“So you know my grandmother. And you are?”
“Delilah Duncan. My husband, George, lives here too. He’s asleep on the couch. All that old man does is sleep on the couch.”
“I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Duncan. Do you happen to know where my grandmother is? It’s unusual for her to miss one of our weekly visits.”
“She said she was going out for lunch. Reckon she just let time get away from her.” She opens the drawer of a table inside her front door and sorts through it. “I have a key. I could let you inside.”
“You’ve only just moved in, and Gran gave you a key? She must really like you. I don’t even have a key.”
“This is an old folks’ community, dear. People drop like flies around here. Everybody has a key to their neighbor’s apartment, because you never know.” She motions to the door across the hall. “Except for him. That old geezer is meaner than a skunk. Smells like one too. And he’s still alive.” She chuckles. “Rose tells me nobody likes him, and he doesn’t like anyone. It’s just my luck to live across the hall from a dud. Anyway, let’s get you inside, and you and this precious little girl can get yourselves a glass of water while you wait.”
She opens the door for us, then goes back to her apartment.
Gigi runs to the recliner near the large picture window. She loves how it raises you up and lowers you down. Gran doesn’t need such a fancy contraption yet, but all the units come furnished with one. Gigi is playing with the chair when she squeals, “Gran!” She hops off the recliner and knocks on the window. “Gran!”
I go over to see Gran strolling with a man along the walking path. She doesn’t look up. She can’t possibly hear the knocking from where she is. She doesn’t look anywhere but at him. She’s smiling and laughing and leaning and… completely smitten.
Oh, my gosh. Gran has a boyfriend?
“Who’s that man?” Gigi asks.
“I’m not sure.” I squint for a closer look. I blink twice, certain my eyes have betrayed me. Because if I’m not mistaken, the man who just kissed Gran on the cheek is one of the richest people in Calloway Creek. And he’s also a legendary player.
I’m stunned. No wonder Gran didn’t roast me when I told her about Tag. She’s dating someone who is exactly like him, only fifty years older. The Casanova of their generation.
They part ways, him walking toward the VIP homes and her coming around the side of the building. I sit on the couch, crossing my arms, waiting for her to arrive.
She swings the door open, humming a showtune. She stops when she sees us. “You’re here. Wonderful. I take it you met the Duncans, then?”
“Tucker McQuaid, Gran?”
She blushes. I’m quite sure I’ve never seen my grandmother blush. She goes to her kitchenette and fills a kettle.
“Tucker McQuaid?” I say again, more forcefully this time.
“Shush now, you’ll scare Gigi.”
“Gran, do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
She puts the kettle on the stove and looks me in the eye. “Do you?”
~ ~ ~
Patrick picks his jaw up off the floor. “Tucker McQuaid? As in the eighty-four-year-old billionaire who owns a dozen car dealerships?”
“I saw them with my own eyes. He kissed her cheek, Patrick. And she looked like a schoolgirl in love.”
“I heard that he moved into the retirement community after his wife died a few years ago.”
“And I heard he paid to expand the largest VIP home into something fit for a king. The King of Calloway Creek, so to speak.”
“He had four mistresses,” he says. “At the same time. No wonder his wife died prematurely. She was probably sick and tired of him to the point that death was more appealing than dealing with all his indiscretions. Rumor has it that after his wife died, he paid off his mistresses and never saw them again.” He shakes his head. “Rose and Tucker. That’s such an unlikely pair.”
I stretch my neck and make sure Gigi is busy playing on Patrick’s Xbox. “They’re not the only ones.”
“No.” He inches closer. “Girl, have you been holding out on me? You’ve seen him again?”
I hold three fingers up then hide my face in my hands. “Three times actually.”
“Three? But it’s Tuesday morning. I saw you on Sunday.”
I explain how Tag came to the shop, paid me back (inside flowers), stumbled over drunk later that night, and then showed up yesterday to fix the wall.
“You mean the hole you wouldn’t let me fix? And he kissed you again?”
I glance at Gigi. “Patrick, you do too much for me as it is. And yes, he kissed me again. Twice.”
He blows out a low whistle, and his body shivers. “This is as exciting as when the firehouse found out Captain Crawford had two wives. No, strike that, this is more exciting. I mean, this is you and Tag Calloway.”
“It’s ridiculous to even think it, Patrick. What could he possibly want with me other than to add me to his list of conquests?”
“I’d happily be added to that list.”
I swat his leg. “Shut up.” I sit back and close my eyes. “What if he just wants to see me—all of me—out of morbid curiosity?”
“He told you he saw the scars already. He knows what’s under your robe, so to speak, and he didn’t go running for cover like you think every man will. I’m not sure I get your point, Maddie. You were willing to be some random guy’s one-night stand three days ago. Why not his? You could do way worse. And the man is right. The whole town thinks you’re shagging already.”
“What if I changed my mind? What if I don’t want a one-night stand?”
“So this crush you said you’d be over by lunchtime…?”
I shake my head. “Not just a crush, apparently.”
“Can I give you a bit of advice?”
“That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“He doesn’t want a one-night stand either,” he says. I go to speak, but he shushes me. “Maddie, the guy is seriously working for it. The flowers, the stare in the courtyard, the hole in the wall, the ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll paint it together.’ Do you not understand that Tag Calloway could stand in McQuaid Circle, snap his fingers, and a dozen women in heat would come running? Without him so much as lifting a finger?”
“I thought you said he snapped.”
He laughs. “The man ate macaroni and cheese—from a box—with you and your daughter. He wants more than in your pants.”
“But why?”
“You’re looking at this the wrong way.” He stands and then pulls me up. He forces me toward his front door. “Instead of asking yourself why, you need to ask why not.” He shoves me through and closes it behind me. “Now go home and shave!” he shouts through the door.
I don’t tell him that I shaved my legs in the bath last night. The bath I took after Tag left. The bath where I worked out all my pent-up frustrations.
I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Gigi. I know they had this whole day planned together, but still. I knock on the window and get Gigi’s attention. I blow her a kiss. She blows one back, and I plant it on my lips like always.
It’s a short drive home. Normally, I wouldn’t even drive to Patrick’s, as he lives down one of the closest residential streets, but since we were already in the car coming from Gran’s, it was easier. I love living in a town where you can walk everywhere. Sure, the newer part of Calloway Creek isn’t walkable like McQuaid Circle is, but I rarely go to that part of town. Who needs Target, Home Depot, and McDonald’s when you have a convenience store, a hardware shop, and five small-business eating establishments all within an area the size of a football field? Not to mention the train station, bank, pub, movie theater, bowling alley, and gym. McQuaid Circle is a town within a town. And I love my little town.
And now, how convenient that Tag’s house is just a short walk around the corner.
Tag. I stop well short of my usual parking place behind the shop when I see a familiar car, or should I say SUV, parked in the spare spot.
My heart thunders. It’s barely noon. He said he would come after work. I’m not ready. There are things to be done. Floors to be cleaned. Toys to put away. And damn it, Patrick was right—things to be shaved. Well, more things anyway. I did all the usual places last night. But this afternoon, with Gigi out of the apartment, I’d planned on googling ways to trim down there. You know, just in case.
Warmth floods through me as I think about all the just-in-case scenarios. Just in case he feels you up. Just in case he feels you down. Just in case you get naked together.
It’s the last just in case that has me terrified. I don’t care what Tag said about seeing some of my scars peeking out from under my robe. Until you’ve seen me naked—fully naked—no one can understand the totality of it. Some days I can barely look at myself in the mirror. As soon as I moved into the main bedroom after Gran moved out, I took down the full-length mirror on the back of the door. The small vanity mirror in the bathroom is all that’s left, and often I feel even that is too much.
Tag doesn’t see me. He’s perched on the back bumper of his car. And he’s smoking. I observe for a minute. He’s casual. Confident. He doesn’t look around like I do when I’m in public, always wondering who could be watching. He regards his cigarette, then looks up at my bedroom window. Does he know it’s mine? Then he stomps out his smoke before he’s even halfway finished and pops a piece of gum into his mouth.
I pull into the space next to him and get out. “I thought you were coming after work.”
“I got to thinking what a big job it is, and I had a pretty light afternoon. We can probably finish by dinnertime if we work fast.”
He’s missing work for this? Or maybe he just didn’t want to risk having to be here for Hamburger Helper night.
He holds out a bag for me. “Do you mind?”
I take it and walk for the door, wondering if he’s watching me. Wondering why I’m so darn nervous when I’m around him.
“Aren’t you missing something?” he asks.
I turn and wait, wondering if he wants me to carry more.
“The small human you’re normally attached to. Where is she?”
“Gigi is with Patrick today. They’re going to the park.”
