My Curvy Valentine: A Perfect Fit Novella (12 page)

His ear was pierced!

What the hell?

The man who had inspected their clothing before they went out to school looked like a reject from a biker bar. “There’s a hole in your ear,” she said by way of greeting.

“Tina thinks it makes me look like Harrison Ford. Do you like it?”

“I hate it,” she said honestly. “So incredibly hard.”

“You’re brother isn’t a fan either.” He smiled softly at her. “He told me I could find you here. I called him this morning. I miss you, honey. I would like to see you.”

She said nothing to that. Her mind and her mouth wouldn’t work together, one going much too fast for the other.

“I really would like you to come to my birthday dinner. If you can’t make it, then we can go out to lunch somewhere. Just me and you. We can talk.”

No
, her brain shouted at her.
No. No. No. No. No
. She couldn’t wrap her head around what she was seeing or hearing. Her straitlaced, mean, critical father was calling her honey and telling her he missed her. He said they needed to talk and he had the nerve to do it standing there in a leather jacket and motorcycle boots.

“She’ll be at your dinner, sir. She’s bringing the cake. Clayton said you liked chocolate.”

“Yes, son. I do. You can come along too if you’d like. You’re important to both my children.”

“Thank you, sir. I might tag along with Maggie.”

He nodded once and took his leave, leaving Maggie feeling completely out of sorts.

“Why the hell did you say I was going to be there?”

“Because if I didn’t, you would be having lunch alone with him and really having a heart to heart, and you sure as hell aren’t ready for that right now.”

“No.” She rubbed her eyes, feeling a sharp pain beginning to form behind them. “Did you see what he was wearing? Can you believe that? I can’t deal with this right now. I need to lie down.”

“Wait, what about dinner?”

“I’ll see you on Tuesday at seven. Don’t be late.”

Chapter 7

Alex walked up to his childhood home later that evening. Physically it hadn’t changed much since he moved out at eighteen. Hell, it hadn’t changed much since he was born. He thought it might after his mother died and his Yaya moved into her retirement community. But not one thing was different, from the flower boxes that hung in the windowsill to the old-fashioned mailbox that was shaped like a house. Some people thought it was good that some things never changed, but as he knocked on the door he wasn’t so sure about that.

“Alexei!” His father came to the door and greeted him with a smile, as if they never had that argument the other night, like there was never any tension between them and he was just happy to see him.

That was the thing about his father. No matter what happened Alex believed he was always happy to see him.

“Hi, Dad. Can I come in?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?” He gripped his face and kissed both his cheeks. “Get in here. You don’t have to ask. Anytime you want to stop by, you come. You’re my boy.”

He walked inside seeing that the house was exactly like his mother had left it, the same 90s-style furniture, the same peachy-colored paint on the walls. Even the photographs were the same. Nothing updated since the year she got sick. None of his school pictures were hung since he was thirteen, the year she got sick. It was almost as if all their lives had stopped then.

But they hadn’t. He lived. He went on. He moved on, but his father seemed to be at a standstill, living in a shrine to a wife that was no longer here.

“I brought you some baklava. I know your doctor said you should watch your sweets, but a little won’t hurt.”

Ambrose took the pink bakery box from him and sat down in his easy chair that always held the spot of honor in front of the TV. Alex had vivid memories of his father sitting there after dinner, while his mother sat on the couch and crocheted. Now it seemed like part of the picture was incomplete. His mother had been gone for sixteen years. He carried the loss with him every day, but somehow being here, seeing his father sitting in the same spot, in the unchanged room made him feel the loss even more.

“You came here for this?” He lifted the box to his nose and inhaled.

“Partly. We live close now. We should see each other more.”

His father nodded. “We can eat together. Steak and cheese and all the things my doctor don’t want me to eat.” He picked up a piece of the decadent Greek pastry and inhaled, a small smile creeping across his face. “You eat real food, right? Not just the stuff you bake?” He took a bite and closed his eyes. The expression on his face was good enough for Alex to ignore his father’s little jab. “This tastes like the baklava your mother makes.”

Makes. Not made. He never talked about her in the past tense. Only as if she had simply gone to the store and would be back any minute now.

“You like it?”

He nodded. “You made it?”

“No, I got it at the gas station. They do a good job there.”

Ambrose opened one of his eyes and looked at him. “I was going to ask you who you learned to be a smartass from? But I know.”

“You?”

“Joe.” They named Ambrose’s brother, Alex’s uncle, at the same time and Ambrose grinned at him.

“Maggie tells me you are building condos in town.”

“Beautiful girl. How is she?”

“She’s fine. She tells me Clayton is the foreman at your site.”

“He is and he’s doing a good job. Looks like something I scraped off my shoe, but runs his crew better than anyone I’ve ever seen. The building is turning out damn fine. We’ve barely broken ground and they are sixty-five percent sold out. It was a good move.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re interested?” He took another bite and shook his head. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with my business. There was no reason I thought you should know.”

“I’m interested because you are my father and I am your son. Just because I don’t want to work for you doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you and know what you’re up to. You could talk to me about other things too. About your life, the ladies you are seeing, about the plans you have for this house.”

“What ladies? What plan?” He frowned at him. “Nothing has changed.”

“Maybe it should. Why are you keeping this house, Dad?”

“This is my house. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“It’s empty. I left. Yaya lives in her retirement home. Mom is gone. You don’t need a four-bedroom house anymore.”

“I’m comfortable here.” He folded his arms across his chest, his face taking on a mulish expression.

“Really? I’m sad here.”

“What?” His father blinked at him.

“You keep the house just the way she left it. You haven’t even canceled her magazine subscriptions. She’s not coming back, Dad.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I’m not reminded of that every time I get into bed alone? I know she’s not coming back. I just wish she was, damn it!”

“Me too,” he said softly. “But it’s been sixteen years and I want you to be happy. I want you to move on and find another woman to spend time with. Mom wouldn’t want you like this.”

“How would you know what your mother would have wanted?”

“Because I was close to her, Dad. Much closer to her than I’ll ever be to you.” Alex walked toward the door then, ignoring the stricken look on his father’s face. “I’m going to go, but I want you to think about what I said. I want to see you happy again. And if you stay like this, I’m afraid you never will be.”

It was still early when he left his father’s house. He thought about calling Clayton or stopping by a bar for a quick beer, but he decided against it because there was only one place he wanted to be in that moment and that was at home.

He knocked on Maggie’s door forty-five minutes later, finding her still in his sweater, but instead of it covering the clothes she wore this morning, it was covering a simple blue nightie. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, her soft lips were parted slightly and she looked so lusciously beautiful that he wanted to push her against the wall and make love to her right there.

But he didn’t come here for that.

“I’ve got more greasy Chinese food than one man can eat. Eat with me.”

She stepped aside, allowing him in. “Of course I’ll eat with you. You’re saving me from frozen pizza.”

He followed her to her small kitchen, placing the bag of food on the table as she reached for plates. He had to force his eyes off her long body as it stretched to reach the top shelf. She wasn’t trying to turn him on, but lately it didn’t take much for her to do just that.

He looked around her apartment instead. He had only been here a handful of times. He saw her every day, but it was in his bakery. It was when he was at work. He rarely got to just spend time with her like this. To do nothing with her. Tonight he needed that. He needed to feel the hominess her apartment provided with its throw pillows and chenille blankets and a couch so comfy looking that it made him want to take a nap just looking at it.

It smelled good too. Like scented candles and shampoo and her. Being here made him feel the opposite of how he felt when he went to his childhood home. It made him feel lighter.

“You aren’t one of those people who insist on using chopsticks?” she asked. “Because I don’t know how to use them and frankly I can’t shove enough food in my mouth with them.”

Or maybe it was her that made him feel lighter. “Give me a fork. The bigger the better.”

*

Maggie hadn’t expected to see Alex again when she left him earlier that day. She hadn’t wanted to see him again. Between the bone-melting kisses he gave her and her father’s visit, her head had felt like it was going to explode. She knew it was him when he knocked on the door. She was prepared to send him away, to turn him down again for the dinner he wanted to have with her, but when he showed up at her door with the bag of greasy Chinese food and the exhaustion on his face she knew she couldn’t turn him away. She hadn’t wanted to turn him away.

She knew there was something wrong and she wanted to make it better.

He sat next to her on her couch, his long legs stretched out on her coffee table. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt tonight instead of his white chef’s coat. His strong forearms were showing, and for once he smelled more like soap than bakery. She still smelled the sugar on him though, knowing that even though he must have showered the sweetness lingered with him. It lingered on him and made her want to curl up against him, bury her nose in his neck and just inhale.

“Want another beer?” he asked.

“No thanks. Two is good. I’m in Chinese food and booze coma. I don’t know why you brought so much food. I mean, I’m glad you did. It was delicious, but I can barely move.” She forced herself to stop talking then. She wasn’t sure why she was so on edge when there was nothing to be jumpy about. He was slumped down next to her, his shoulder resting against hers, his hands resting on his stomach. He looked sleepy and relaxed, much different from the way he looked when he stepped through her door an hour ago. And he seemed to have no idea that she
was feeling a little like she was in high school and sitting next to the really cute boy in biology class.

“What’s the matter, Mags?” He reached over and took his hand in hers. “You seem like you can’t relax tonight.”

Okay. Maybe he did know how she was feeling.

“I’m relaxed,” she lied. “I was wondering what was bothering you earlier.” She took her free hand and touched his cheek. His skin was a little warm. “Are you feeling okay? I know you won’t take a day off, but maybe you should go to bed early.”

He shut his eyes and leaned into her hand. “I should, but I don’t want to leave right now.” He let go of her hand so he could run his fingers through her hair. “I want to stay here with you for a little while.”

She swallowed hard. The nearness of him, combined with the tenderness of his touch made her want to run away and get much closer at the same time.

It’s just a little crush
.

But she was afraid that maybe it wasn’t. She was afraid that it could be something more.

“I’ve got a booty call coming over here in fifteen minutes, but it’s cool. I can cancel.”

“Don’t say things like that to me, Mags.”

“Why not? We’re friends. We can talk like that.”

“We are friends.” He kissed her cheek and the continued to speak into her skin. “But I don’t want to think of another man touching your skin. Especially knowing that I can’t.”

He could touch her skin. In fact she would enjoy that very much.

“Stay.” It was a stupid, impetuous thing to say, but she wasn’t going to take it back. “Sleep here tonight.”

She knew if he left she would be thinking about him all night. If she had to think about him all night she’d rather him be in bed with her than an apartment away.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes roaming her face. “I didn’t come over here to have sex with you. I mean that. I don’t want to go, but that won’t be the reason I stay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, a little relieved that he’d said that. “But I would be totally flattered if you did come over here just to have sex with me.” She touched his warm cheek again, took note of the tiredness in his eyes. “Seriously, just stay here tonight. We can build a blanket fort and have a pillow fight. It will be fun.” She stood up, extending her hand to him. He took it, his thumb stroking once over the back of her knuckles, sending tingles along her skin.

No sex tonight
, she kept telling herself. It would change things between them. Mess things up. But as his large hand clasped with hers and he followed her to her bedroom she knew that if he wanted to, she wouldn’t stop him. If he wanted to make love to her tonight, she wouldn’t just let him, she would make love back.

She slipped his sweater off her arms and tossed it over the accent chair she kept in the corner. She knew that she should have given the sweater back, but she couldn’t make herself let it go. She didn’t want to think about why she didn’t want to let it go. They were just friends. It should have been easy to give it up, but she liked the way it felt against her skin. She liked the memory she kept locked inside, of him wrapping it around her shoulders for the first time. She liked that it belonged to him.