Home for a Spell (9 page)

“Oh, thanks, Uncle Lou. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still want you to take a look at what can be done to upgrade my beast of a system.”

Marcus looked amused. “I didn’t say anything earlier because you were in a hurry, but . . . are we talking about the same beast that you bought circa 1998?”

A sheepish grin pulled at Lou’s lips. “Well . . . er, yeah.”

“Hm.” Marcus pretended to think. “I’m sure I can make a recommendation . . . for an entirely new system. Ah-ah,” he interrupted when Lou started to protest, twitching a held-up finger back and forth, “I’ll make sure it’s very affordable. Besides, think of how happy Aunt Molly will be when you finally finish those video projects you’ve been claiming to work on for years now.”

Lou sighed. “You’re probably right. But ouch—my bank account.”

“Sometimes,” Marcus sympathized, “you just have to suck it up, man. Take one for the team. Open up your wallet and let the sun shine in.”

“You know, your distorted proverbs are even more painful than the probable assault on my paycheck. Maggie, I don’t know how you put up with this guy.”

I let my eyes flirt with Marcus from beneath my lashes, taking him all in: from his worn but beloved chunky boots, up lean legs encased in distressed denim, and a plain old-school-style white T-shirt with navy arm and neck bands, to the braided leather wristlet with a single turquoise stone for protection and the dark curls pulled back at his nape with a strip of suede. “Oh, I don’t know. Somehow, I manage.”

Lou laughed. “Well, I can see when I’m not wanted. Marcus, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your dinner. And Maggie can tell you all about the apartment she just took a gander at.”

Marcus’s dark brows shot up as I winced. So much for my plans of feeding him chocolate to soften him up before any discussion took place. His brows were still parked midforehead when, without a single clue as to the gaffe he’d just let slip, Lou turned on his heel and waved over his shoulder to us. “Cheerio, you two! See you Saturday, if not sooner.”

“
Soo
,” Marcus drawled, “what’s shaking, sweetness?”

I dared to peep into his eyes, wondering why I was feeling so awkward. To hide it, I reached out and scratched Minnie behind the ears. “Oh. Nothing too much.”

“Which would be why Uncle Lou out of the blue decided to come on down to the store and give you a ride home, huh?” he said gently. He opened the screen door and set Minnie down just inside with a soft pat to her rump to set her in motion. She chirped a meow in protest as her feet touched down and immediately stood up on her hind legs to peer out at us, disapproval and concern mingling on her furry face.

Not even Minnie could keep this conversation from happening. I cleared my throat. “Well . . . he
kind of
did it as a favor. To me.”

“A favor for what?”

I knew I was going to have to tell him. I had been planning on it . . . but now that the time was at hand, all I wanted to do was postpone. “Maybe we should sit down.”

I could feel his gaze on me, unrelenting, serious. “That bad, huh?”

His voice was so quiet, but it carried easily to my ears, even on the open air with the breezes and the voices of distant lawn mowers buzzing. “What? No! No,” I hurried to say, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Gosh, it’s nothing bad or anything. In fact, it could be a very good thing, I think. For both of us.” I lingered there for a few extra moments while I breathed him in.

He smiled down at me, nuzzling back, already relaxing. “Why don’t we sit down over here, then?” he asked, putting his arm around me to guide me over to the old-fashioned porch swing, his arm taking the place of one of my crutches. Was it a wee bit on the clumsy side? Sure. Did I prefer it over the old crutch routine? You bet your booty.

I sank into the swing while he held it steady for me, and sighed. My ankle was starting to complain about the long day, but I still had plenty of time to keep my promise to Dr. Dan a little later. Marcus sat next to me, but instead of sinking into him as I usually would, I kept my distance, leaning as far away from him as I could while still maintaining closeness.

My efforts did not go unnoticed.

“So.”

“So,” I said, trying to keep my voice conversational.

“You were saying.”

“Yes. Yes, I was saying.” I took a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.

Again, Marcus took notice. He let me stew a moment and then finally took my hand. “You might as well just come right out and say what’s on your mind, sweetness.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. “Well . . . I was thinking today . . . about what we had been talking about earlier. You putting off going back to school the way you’d planned, I mean.”

“And what were you thinking?”

The time had come.
Spit it out, Margaret. Keeping it all in never helped anybody. It only draws out the misery
, I heard in my head in those familiar, gratingly unyielding tones. And while I was grateful that Grandma Cora (aka the voice of my conscience) seemed to have my back, I couldn’t help wishing she (it?) would pipe down and butt out. For. Just. One. Second.

But in the end, I did just what she suggested. I blurted. Actually, this was more than a blurt. This was a blurt that could rival Tara’s or Evie’s in tandem. This was a blurt of epic proportions.

“Well, see, I was thinking that you were making all these decisions about your future with an eye toward helping me out, but you are doing it without even asking me my opinion, and really, I don’t think that’s right, I mean, I think I should have some say in this, because really, it affects me, too, right, and shouldn’t I feel free to give my input on things that I am involved in, because I really feel that I should, and I don’t want you to put off your future, not even for a second, and especially not if your reason behind putting it off is me, taking care of me, because I can take care of myself, you know I can, and I think that’s more than obvious, and my ankle is no excuse for thinking otherwise because obviously my ankle was a freak accident and freak accidents don’t count for a hill of beans, in other words, at all, because, well, they just don’t, and, to make this short, I don’t want you to put off going back to school, I just don’t, because honestly, I couldn’t bear it if something happened that would make me responsible for you never getting your degree, that would be just awful, I mean, can you blame me, you have to admit, the guilt would just kill me, I’m sure you can understand why that might be, and ... I said I was making this short, didn’t I? Huh?”

Marcus took this all in like a pro, his expression slightly stunned but still standing. Er, sitting. “So I’m to understand that you don’t want me to put off going back to finish my degree.”

“Exactly!” I said brightly, relieved that he understood.

“And . . .
how
. . . does this involve Uncle Lou bringing you home?”

Oh. I didn’t quite cover that, did I. “Well . . . I was looking at apartments. Because,” I continued quickly as he opened his mouth to protest, “I just found out that Steff and Dr. Dan will quite probably be moving away before the end of the year, once his residency is done. And if she’s not there, then I just don’t see any sense in staying there myself. I think . . . maybe it’s time for me to move on. To forge a better way. A nicer place for myself. A better life. And yes,” I hurried to say, when he’d opened his mouth again, “part of it is to make sure that I can take care of myself and get around easily so that you can feel free to do what you need to do in your life without me hanging like a stone around your neck. But that’s not the only thing weighing in on my decision. I want you to know that. And that’s why the apartment I was looking at is on the ground floor and easily accessible for me. And, it’s only a few blocks from here.”

Marcus waited for several moments with his eyes on mine before he spoke at last. “Are you finished?”

I blushed, realizing he’d been waiting for me to cut in on him again. “Yes, I am. You can go ahead now.”

“Thank you.” He shook his head, the quirk at the corner of his mouth telling me he wasn’t mad. “Maggie. You don’t have to apologize or explain or feel guilty for anything. I hope you know that. I’m touched that you are worrying about me. Thinking about me, and about my future. That speaks volumes as to the kind of person that you are. Not that I didn’t know that about you already. Steff will be leaving, you say?”

I nodded, but I was determined not to let the glumness I felt about losing my best friend settle in for a good, long stay. “I’ll miss her,” was all I would allow myself.

He didn’t say anything for at least a minute, and I knew he was taking it in, all of me, feeling me out through all of his senses, and not in a physical sense. I let him, opening to it, enjoying the feeling of the energy flowing freely back and forth between us. It was so easy with Marcus. So easy to open to him without feeling naked and vulnerable. “That’s not going to be easy for you, letting go. But it’s her path, and you’ll honor it.”

“Yes. I’ll honor it.” I closed my eyes and breathed deeply to find my inner peace. To release any longing I had to control or manipulate the outcome. “There’s always Facebook and Skype chat and texting.”

“And long weekend visits.”

“And holidays where we blend our families together. Someday.”

“Yes. Someday.”

It could be good. It would be fine. We would be fine. Distance didn’t mean separation, not of heart and spirit, and that’s what really mattered.

“Is this really something you’ve been thinking about a lot?” he asked, playing with my fingers. “This apartment thing?”

Well, I couldn’t exactly say “a lot” . . . “It’s something I think I’m ready to consider.”

“Something that’s important to you. To be on your own.”

He didn’t say it in an accusing way, more as though he was trying to feel things out, trying to understand. And yet I felt an overwhelming need to make sure he understood. “It’s not that I don’t like staying here with you,” I told him, running my thumb in circles on the inner flesh of his palm. “Honest. It has been . . . wonderful.
Really
wonderful.”

“But . . . ?”

“No buts. None. I just really want you to have the freedom to move within your life, Marcus. To do the things that are important. And I don’t want to feel like I’m holding you back from doing those things.”

He nodded sagely. “I know. You’re right.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re seeing reason. Of course I’m—wait, what?”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re always underfoot. Always making me wait on you. Always wanting me to get you water . . . run your bath . . . rub your feet . . . rub your back . . . I guess I should have expected you to take advantage of me. It is so like you to be unscrupulous and devious that way. Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder where I’d smacked him.

“That’s not very funny,” I sniffed.

He laughed and tweaked my chin. “You do like me to rub your feet. Admit it.” He reached down and pulled my legs up over his lap, bracing them there with his arms.

I blushed as he slowly slipped my only shoe, a ballet flat, off my left foot and let it fall to the painted wooden floorboards of the porch. “Well . . . maybe a little . . .”

“A little.” His hand closed over my foot, putting delicious pressure on my instep with his fingertips. I gasped. “Uh-huh.”

My mouth had gone dry with the jolt of pleasure that had weakened my knees. I licked my lips. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I’m not?” He pressed again, digging in a little deeper and adding a sinuous little glide to the movement.

This time I managed to resist the knee-buckling sensation. But only barely. “Ahem. You still haven’t said what you think about the whole apartment thing.”

Marcus leaned over purposely until his lips hovered just an inch from mine. “Hm. You’re right.”

I would not cave in, I would
not
cave in. “And, we’re on your front porch.”

His gaze flicked left and then right, but he didn’t withdraw. “Uh-huh. We do appear to be on the porch.”

“And your neighbors are out.”

He squinted at me. “I’m thinking you probably have a point to all this.”

“I do.”

“I’m thinking you’re probably going to tell me what that is.”

“Marcus Quinn, you are incorrigible, did you know that?”

“I might have heard that a time or two before.”

“Just once or twice?”

“That’s probably not going to change, you know.” He dipped in for one, quick, warm, wet kiss, and then, just as I was starting to think maybe it wasn’t so urgent to address the apartment issue right at this moment after all, he pulled away abruptly and I was left blinking into space.

Once I came back into myself, I stuck my lip out in a pout. “
So
not playing fair.”

“Haven’t you heard? All’s fair in love and war.”

“And it was a man who came up with that particular sentiment,” I complained.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed. “One who had a very good idea just what he had to do to please his woman.”

Somehow, when he put it that way, it didn’t seem quite so bad.
Focus first
, I reminded myself.
Fun later
. I cleared my throat and my spinning head, all at the same time. “So, what
do
you think?”

He sighed and leaned back, reconciled to the knowledge that I wasn’t going to give up. “I think you are one stubborn woman.”

“About the apartment.”

“I rest my case. And,” he continued before I could interrupt, “if it’s important to you, having this sense of freedom and independence . . . then I will support your decision.”

I smiled and melted for him. He had such a lovely way of saying the simplest things. “Thank you.”

“So long as you let me buy you a security system. No buts!” he said when he saw my mouth open to object. “I would have gotten one for you for your current place, but somehow you seem to have ended up at my place far more than at yours, thanks to this little lovely.” He rapped with his knuckles on the cast and laughed when I made a face. “Hey, don’t knock it. I’m certainly not complaining.”