He was peckish but didn’t want to eat if she was feeling nauseated. When she’d suggested smoothies he’d leapt at the idea. It concerned him that she’d thrown up both her breakfast and brunch. How the hell did pregnant women get any nourishment if they were vomiting up everything all the time? He didn’t want to have to explain why his new bride had been hospitalized on their honeymoon for fuck’s sake.
Their honeymoon. Grey wanted to groan out loud but managed to suppress the urge. What in hell would they do all week? He’d toyed with the idea of dropping Maggie off and letting her have a week of vacation on her own, but he knew his mother well enough to know she’d check up on them. She’d expect to see on their bill that they’d eaten at the restaurant and visited the spa and ordered lots of poolside drinks and room service, lots and lots of room service for two. And with the way Maggie could barely manage to even eat like a bird he figured he’d better stick around and do his part and order the appropriate amounts of food and drink and other things that would help their mini vacation pass, on paper, as a romantic getaway.
His mother had winked and told him that the Manager of the resort was an old friend of hers, as was the Daytime Concierge, so he shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything his heart—or Maggie’s heart—desired. So he was trapped. He needed to go, and stay, and be there, and pretend to be having a great little honeymoon. For his mother’s sake.
He felt a powerful surge of rancor toward Maggie that seemed to make his bones vibrate. He could use a drink.
He saw the sign for the next exit and quickly glanced over the advertized eateries.
“The next exit has a smoothie place.” He felt triumphant. He hadn’t been confident that they’d be able to locate one and the sight of the pink and yellow sign served as a balm for his stormy mood. Maybe he was hungrier than he thought.
He glanced at her and she gave him a sweet smile. His brain seemed to slow down, jam-up. How could such a life-sucking bitch be so fucking adorable? He dragged his eyes from her earnest little smile and made himself focus on driving.
What the fuck were they going to do with themselves all week?
He checked the gas gauge. He’d filled up at the last stop and he still had just over half a tank so he decided to head right for the smoothie place. “The bathroom’s probably nicer here.” He commented as they pulled up to the brightly colored little building.
She laughed. “It would almost have to be.” She said playfully.
He got out and went around to open her door for her but she was already stepping out. He offered her his hand, a gesture which gave her pause. “I’m not that pregnant yet.” She said with a small laugh. “I can manage.”
He pulled his hand back awkwardly. He hadn’t been doing it because of her condition, he realized, he’d been doing it because it was the right thing to do. Because his father never failed to do it for his mother. He shoved his hand into his pocket and silently cursed himself and his Dad with equal venom.
“Thanks though.” She said as she closed the car door. She looked like she regretted saying anything.
“No problem” he covered smoothly. “Do you know what you want? I can order while you’re in the rest room.”
“Um.” She looked thoughtful as they walked to the door. Automatically he moved ahead and pulled it open for her. They looked at eachother for a minute and she laughed. “Thanks.” She said and crossed into the smoothie shop. Fuck. He liked the sound of her laugh. He didn’t want to like it at all. “No, I can’t decide.” She said, a little antsy as she stared at the overwhelming menu that hung over the smoothie bar.
“Go ahead,” He said, nodding toward the sign for the restrooms “You won’t be able to think about it with a full bladder.”
She flashed him a genuine smile and scooted toward the bathrooms. He watched her disappear behind a bright pink door before turning his attention to the menu above the counter. He stood there, running his eyes over the cutesy names of blended drinks and sincerely wished they might add vodka or rum to his.
“D’you know what you want?” Piped a high, sweet voice from behind the counter. Grey’s eyes fell from the description of a “Funkee Munkee” and he saw the teenage girl to whom the voice belonged. She was smirking at him and her eyes were rapacious. He swallowed. His pulse quickened. And he smiled a very charming smile.
“What do you recommend?” He asked in a liquid baritone, his eyes narrowing just a little his smile deepening handsomely.
The girl tossed her hair over one shoulder and then the other, arched her back to better display her small, perky tits and bit her lower lip in an exhibit of deliberative pondering. Grey’d put her at about seventeen. At most. Maybe sixteen. But he knew immediately that she wasn’t a virgin. And he knew she wanted him. Which was appealing.
“Do you like cherries?” She asked doing a slow blink and fixing him with a meaningful stare.
Oh, subtle, he thought and squashed his instinct to roll his eyes. “Very much.” He answered smoothly, but lightly. He stepped toward the counter as she leaned over it just enough to show what cleavage she possessed to better advantage.
“There’s a Berry Cherry Surprise that’s really really good.” She said in a kittenish purr.
“What’s the surprise?” He heard himself asking her reflexively, in a low, playful tone.
“Maybe you should taste it and find out.” She said brazenly and smiled wickedly.
He knew, in that moment, that he could have her. That she would take her fifteen minute break on the spot and let him fuck her in the back of his BMW or up against the wall in the rest room.
She looked him up and down and then cocked an eyebrow at his hands. “Is that a wedding ring?” The idea seemed to enflame her open desire rather than douse it.
He looked down at his hands and was a little startled to see he’d been absently spinning the band on his left ring finger with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He wasn’t used to jewelry.
“It is.” He said, more to himself than to her as he gazed at the plain gold band. It wasn’t at all to his taste, as far as wedding rings went. He’d walked into the jewelers asked for a standard pair and walked out with this traditional thing and the smaller, matching one for her finger. He’d had to guess at the size on hers.
“You seem kinda young to be married.” She flirted shamelessly. He heard another girl giggle in the back where she was wiping down surfaces with a damp rag. On another day he might have tempted them to put out the “Back in Ten Minutes” sign and had a quickie threesome with them both right there in the store. He stared at her, his smile lopsided now.
Had she seen him come in with Maggie? He believed she had seen, had watched him walk in with someone, and yet she still came on to him relentlessly. He realized he behaved the same way when he saw something he wanted. He’d walked out of parties with other men’s dates more than a few times in his life and hadn’t given it a second thought. He enjoyed it, in fact.
The girl looked over at the sound of the squeaking hinges of the pink bathroom door and then flicked her eyes back at Grey suggestively. “So what can I get for you sir?” She asked, not bothering at all to change the bedroom quality of her little-girl voice.
Grey stared at her for a long moment, even after he felt Maggie approach and come to rest by his side. He openly ran his gaze down her slim, barely-ripening body and had a fairly good idea of what she’d look like underneath that horrible pink polyester uniform that she’d pulled tight and pinned in the back in an effort to make it look more stylish, more cute. He lifted his eyes back to her face then and decided she was wearing far too much eye makeup. Decided that the fuck would be quick and eager but not terribly satisfying. Decided that there would be nothing remotely surprising or even interesting about her when she spread her legs for him. He might as well jerk-off if he wanted that kind of release.
Still holding the girl’s gaze he spoke to Maggie: “Anything look good to you here?” He asked.
Maggie didn’t speak right away. “Does anything look good to you?” She responded in a tight voice.
“Not as good as I thought it would.” He said with a smirk at the girl across the counter. “I’m not sure the fruit is fresh enough here.”
The girl’s mouth dropped open.
He smiled charmingly and then turned to Maggie. “How does a milkshake sound instead?” He asked her. He wanted to get out of there.
She looked at him for half a moment, then looked back at the girl. “Do you have milkshakes?”
“Yeah, we do.” The cloying little voice answered a tad flippantly.
“Maybe a vanilla milkshake.” Said Maggie uncertainly.
“You should add the protein shot for fifty cents.” Said the girl in a tone that made Grey’s skin crawl.
“Oh, should I?” Asked Maggie artlessly, turning to look at Grey.
“Yeah, every woman should get a good protein shot.” Said the girl snidely.
Grey reached over and took Maggie’s hand firmly in his own. He couldn’t say why the girl’s heavy-handed innuendo had made him so angry but it had. “I saw an ice-cream parlor a block back.” He said decisively. “Let’s go.” He shot a brutal glare at the little slut when he reached the door—he was inexplicably furious with her for speaking that way to Maggie and it took all his self control not to say something insulting and he held the door open for his wife. Maggie sailed by him with a murmured ‘thanks’, an expression of mild bewilderment on her face.
“Have a nice day.” The girl said in a tone that belied the sentiment.
Grey exited without another word and lengthened his stride so that he would reach Maggie’s car door before she did. He held it open for her and closed it gently after she’d settled herself within. He groaned quietly as he walked around to the driver’s side of the BMW. What the fuck was he going to with himself for a week?
Maggie’s class schedule left Fridays free. Her friends had been envious until she told them she intended to use the open time slot to pick up an extra day at the Wine Shoppe. They’d been fairly disgusted that she’d waste such a miraculous boon by choosing to spend it working.
She failed to mention the schedule change to her father. If he knew she had an open day she knew she’d end up at the restaurant. So she didn’t lie precisely, she’d always had difficulty lying to her father; she simply omitted that piece of information. He didn’t need to know.
Maggie enjoyed Friday mornings at Delaney’s Wine Shoppe. She opened alone and the mornings were always slow and relaxed. She enjoyed pricing bottles of wine, enjoyed dusting, enjoyed having the time to daydream; daydreaming and quiet moments were a luxury in her normally busy life.
Admittedly she felt guilty at first, when she’d been hired and begun work there. It was too quiet. Too slow. She was concerned that she wasn’t doing enough, that somehow she’d missed something in the training, because surely there must be something more to do, to get done.
She took it upon herself to reorganize the stock room, mop the sales floor, tidy the office, wash and re-wash the wine glasses used for bi-weekly tastings. She’d never known a job where bringing a crossword puzzle or a book to be appropriate. She took to quizzing herself on wine varieties to improve her sales. She felt on-edge because of the quiet of the shop.
Every time Mr. Delaney stopped by she would nervously ask if there was anything else she could help him with. Was she supposed to be doing the books as well? Should she be placing purchase orders? Would he like her to pre-set gift baskets in case there was a rush on them?
Nolan Delaney had smiled his very warm and charming smile and reassured her that she was doing a fabulous job, he appreciated all she’d been doing and told her to relax.
He’d also told her that a lot of his regular customers had been highly complementary about her service. She’d blushed. It was a lot different than working for her father.
Today as she turned her key in the lock and slipped into the still-dark shop she smiled. After she entered the security code she took a moment to look around. She’d only been working there since the beginning of the summer, just after her high-school graduation, and already she loved the place. She said a small prayer of thanks again for Nolan deciding to hire her for the position despite her lack of knowledge about the product and despite her relative youth. She knew he was taking a bit of a chance on her, and she was grateful.
She hummed a little to herself as she set about her opening duties. She counted the money in the register and entered the amount in the computer. She turned the lights on and put out the adorable “OPEN” flag outside, she changed the a-frame blackboard information about the upcoming wine tasting, and headed to the back to make sure everything was in order out there.
The temperature on the walk-in was fine—they’d been having trouble with that lately—the restrooms had sufficient toilet paper and paper towels, and Maggie saw Mr. Delaney had left her several cases of wine to be priced and shelved.
Then she froze. Resting atop one of the cases was the biggest, angriest, most dangerous looking hornet she’d ever seen in her life. Or maybe it was some kind of wasp. She couldn’t be sure, but one look at it and she was sure it would hurt when it stung her. She eyed it, trying not to panic, and it seemed to be sizing her up as well, its antennae twitching, its mean little eyes unnervingly un-blinking.
She backed away from it very slowly and tried to determine the best course of action. She knew it had to be dealt with, and right away, because she couldn’t risk the thing finding his way out of the back and into the main body of the shoppe—what if he stung a customer?! And it was her sole responsibility. She was the only one there. At her father’s restaurant there was always someone there to take care of this sort of thing, always a cousin or an uncle or some other employee to call on for these tasks.
But this little drama was hers alone to handle, and though that was alarming, it was also sort of empowering. She stared the hornet down, silently asking St. Francis to impel the creature to remain still, keep him there on the cardboard case because she knew he’d be a lot easier to deal with on a surface than if he took flight. At the restaurant someone always rolled up a newspaper and bludgeoned any flying insects and that always made her vaguely upset, though she told herself it was necessary. Now she wondered if there might be another way.
Because she wasn’t terribly confident in her ability to aim and strike true on the first try and she did not want to miss, knowing full well that all hell would break lose if she swatted and he yet lived; her cousin Hugo had had quite a nasty episode like that the previous summer, and not only had he been stung mercilessly but he’d wreaked havoc in the kitchen, upturning pots and pans, breaking plates and spilling containers in his mad flurry of flailing arms. She swallowed and looked around at cases of very expensive wines and thought about the racks and racks of even more expensive wine bottles laid out like dominoes in the shop beyond. No. A rolled up newspaper was not a wise option here.
But what then? She cast her glance around the back room hurriedly, not really wanting to take her eyes off the hornet for too long. With a leap of excitement in her breast, her eyes fell on one of her other tasks for the day: An entire stack of clean wine glasses that needed to be brought out front in preparation for the wine tasting that evening. An idea formed in her brain and she prayed for the courage to follow through.
A few minutes later, shaking but triumphant, she was walking very slowly and carefully out of the back room and into the store with an irate hornet securely imprisoned in an upturned wineglass atop a manila envelope. Her knees tickled a little, thinking of how close she’d had to creep and how careful she’d had to be in order to secure him in this makeshift cage. She tried not to think too hard about how angry he was going to be when she released him outside. She prayed he’d fly away instead of turning on her, but she planned on running either way.
She kept her eyes fixed squarely on the furious insect as she navigated her way around a long row of wine racks and halted tensely when the electronic tone of the Shoppe door sounded. It was early for a customer, but the shoppe was technically open. She groaned inwardly at having to be caught in this predicament, but she was past the point of no return now so she checked that the manila folder was pressed firmly to the rim of the glass before looking up with a smile to say “Good Morning—“
And she wasn’t able to finish the greeting, wasn’t able to manage ‘Welcome to Delaney’s Wine Shoppe’ because she was staring at the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in real life. And she really was staring too. Openly. Like an idiot. He had these big, pale green eyes and perfect, dark stubble and an amazing smile that honestly clouded her thinking. He was gorgeous. Tall, and lean, and well dressed, and she felt ridiculous and embarrassed for gaping at him.
“Good morning.” He responded smoothly, smiling that dazzling smile at her. His green eyes flicked to the makeshift contraption she was holding out before her and he cocked an eyebrow. “For me?”
She looked down and blushed. It did look as though it were some kind of offering, the way she was holding it so carefully and so far away from her body. She laughed nervously. “No, no, um” Oh saints-in-heaven her voice sounded so strange and she couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say to him. “I just didn’t want to kill it.” She said lamely and frowned at her own dullness.
But he smiled. “I’ll get the door.” He said after a moment passed with her simply standing there, staring at him.
“Oh, oh, thank you.” She said, finally mobilized by his gentle suggestion. She moved a little more quickly than she had been, but cautioned herself not to be too hasty, lest she trip and spill the hornet into the store. As she approached he moved to hold the door open for her, but he did it in such a way that she almost had to squeeze past him on her way through the threshold, at least it felt awfully close when she moved past him and smelled his cologne and heard a soft chuckle rumble in his throat. She didn’t brush him, but she was afraid she might, might make contact with his chest as he held the door open with one long arm, might graze the fabric of his expensive looking shirt. Lord in Heaven, he looked like a movie star or something.
Once out in the sunshine of the quaint downtown she felt able to breathe a little better and then glanced around, looking for a place to set the hornet down. She didn’t want to just lift the wine glass and hope for the best; a mother was strolling down the sidewalk with a toddler hanging onto her hand and across the street an elderly couple was window shopping. Worse than getting stung herself would be causing these innocents to meet that unpleasant fate.
She heard a chuckle beside her and turned to see that the handsome customer had followed her out of the shop and was watching her moral dilemma with amused interest. She swallowed and managed a small smile at him. She wished he’d stayed inside. She felt like a complete fool with him watching.
“Want some help?” He asked. His voice was warm and velvety and she liked it. She liked it more than was healthy to like a complete stranger’s voice. He didn’t wait for her answer, which was probably for the best because she was having trouble finding her voice. She stood, nibbling her lower lip as he strolled toward her and examined the hornet’s containment. He was very close to her now and she realized she was holding her breath. “May I?” He asked, lifting his bewitching green eyes from the hornet to meet her gaze.
She didn’t really know, one hundred percent, what permission he was seeking, but she nodded her consent anyway. He smiled and she thought he was the sexiest thing alive. Then she said a quick prayer of contrition for allowing herself to think like that.
Carefully but confidently he moved his hands toward her and placed one hand under hers where she pressed the manila folder up to the wineglass, and his other covered the bulb of the glass. Electric tingles erupted along the length of her arm from where his hand was covering hers and she knew she was blushing furiously. She hoped he was sufficiently fixated on the task at hand to fail to notice this embarrassing fact.
“Ok, you can let go, I’ve got him.”
She lifted her hand from the upturned base slowly, but he did seem to have the situation well in hand. Next she needed to deal with the hand that was trapped between his own and the folder. That would be more tricky.
He chuckled again. “Just do it slowly.” He warned, and shifted his hand a fraction to allow her room to slide hers out without upsetting the precarious little prison too much. Every centimeter she moved her hand felt exhilarating as it slid against his skin and she admonished herself roundly for being so silly. But he smelled so good, and his hands were strong and large and he was so good looking and he was helping her with the hornet and that smile was enough to make her a giddy mess.
When she finally managed to extricate herself she took a few steps backward and forced herself to breathe. She felt like she was in some intense bomb-defusing sequence in an action movie, and she felt ridiculous because it was so much fuss over such a little creature.
“Ok, now, maybe you can be ready at the door?” He suggested as he moved several paces down the block away from her.
She nodded vigorously and manned her post by the door, ready to open it at his command. She had the absurd urge to call out ‘be careful’, just like the damsel always did in those summer blockbusters, but she managed to keep her mouth shut and spare herself the embarrassment that such an impulse would doubtlessly yield. She watched him crouch down and couldn’t help admiring the athletic curve of his backside before forcing herself to look elsewhere. He cautiously laid the manila envelope across the top of a squarely trimmed hedge that graced the entryway of the neighboring store and he freed his one hand with a triumphant little smile.
Next he flashed her a grin and nodded, indicating that she should be alert, this was the moment. He turned back to the bush, and her eyes widened as he flicked the bulb of the glass a few times. What in heaven’s name was he trying to do? Make the thing even more irate? Then he seemed to tense his muscles momentarily and then ripped the wineglass off the folder and scooted back toward her, laughing a little, and she managed to open the door and rush inside just in time. He pulled the door shut behind them and tried to peer down the block. “We made it.” He said, making a play at sounding a bit like an action star and she grinned. He looked down at her where she was standing a little too close, and his grin softened into a different sort of smile, the sort that made her knees tingle and her belly flip over and her lips part just a hair.
She blinked rapidly and stepped back, stepped away from his heat and his subtle cologne and his perfect stubble and away from that dangerous smile. “Thank you so much.” She said, taking the now hornet-less wine glass from him and moving toward the counter and the cash register. She felt the sudden need to put some kind of barrier between herself and him. “Sorry about all that. Can I help you find anything?” Her quick and determined retreat to behind the sales counter belied her helpful offer and when she finally reached her safety zone and looked once more at him she thought his smile was a knowing one. He knew the effect he’d had on her.
“I was glad to be of service.” He said amiably, moving into the store. “I think I’ll browse around a bit.”
She huffed quietly. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of this god-like specimen hanging around for too long. She felt jittery and silly and not quite herself. “Of course.” She said automatically. “Let me know if I can help.” But please don’t ask me to help, she thought desperately.
She watched him and tried not to watch him as he wandered the store. She tried to busy herself with things around the counter, but most of her duties, most of the things she could be doing, would necessitate her leaving the safety of the sales counter and venturing closer to him. When she’d just rearranged the pens in the pen-cup for the third time he spoke.
“How long have you been working here?” He asked conversationally. She was asked this question fairly frequently. Mr. Delaney was a very popular fellow and he had a loyal customer base. Maggie often found customers were outright disappointed to see her behind the counter instead of the owner and she couldn’t really blame them. Although she’d learned quickly and was able to make some solid recommendations, she was still a novice when it came to wine; and though she did her best to field questions about vintage or region or various lines that they carried she often came up frustratingly inadequate when customers wanted Nolan Delaney’s affable expertise.
“Only since the summer.” She apologized with her tone.
He nodded thoughtfully. “But Friday mornings?” So he was a regular enough customer to know she was new to Fridays.
“Yeah, I just started Fridays last week. I’m usually in on Wednesdays and Tuesday nights as well as Sunday afternoon.” She willed herself to shut up. He didn’t need her whole life story for God’s sake; the first part of the answer would have sufficed.
He smiled lightly. “Nolan won’t be in this morning then?”
Inwardly her heart sank a little. She hated disappointing customers just by virtue of being the new girl, just by being anybody-but-Nolan. “I’m afraid not.” She said sweetly. “Maybe I can help?” Even she sounded doubtful.
“Oh, of course,” he said graciously. “I was only curious.”
She wanted to believe that, but her brief history at the shoppe had taught her to expect him to browse around for a few more minutes, inquire as to the next time Mr. Delaney would be in, and then leave with a polite smile but without a purchase. At least this young man was being kind to her. Some customers treated her with outright disdain, like she’d been an inkblot on their day.
“Yeah, Mr. Delaney knows everything about wine.” She said glowingly. “He makes wonderful recommendations.”
The customer nodded but didn’t comment beyond a grunted agreement. He strolled along the American Reds section thoughtfully and she decided she liked the cut of his pants very much. “There’s a wine tasting tonight.” She offered. “Mr. Delaney will be here then.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Will you? Be here then?” He moved away from the California wines and toward the Italian section, closer to her.
Her mouth opened and she stared. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed. She shook her head for a moment before she could answer. “No, no, not tonight, no, um, sometimes I help with the tastings, but not tonight; I’m working—my other job I mean—so no, not tonight.” She took a breath. “But you should come, you’d probably enjoy it.”
“I’ve been.” He said. “They’re alright.”
She bristled a little. Most people raved about the wine tastings that Mr. Delaney held every-other-Friday evening. She felt a funny sort of resentment at his non-committal remark.
He was looking at her somewhat shrewdly, she realized, and blushed. “Are you looking for anything specific?”
His smile took on a wolfish quality for a moment and she felt her heart beat just a little bit faster. Who was this man? “Yes and no.” He replied charmingly. “Have you tried this one?” He asked, gesturing lazily to a bottle near him.
“Which?” She asked, stalling.
His smile deepened and his light-green eyes narrowed some. “This one here, I’m hopeless at Italian.”
She licked her lips. Somehow she doubted his claim very much. He looked like the sort of man who’d attended an elite private school. He looked like he was probably well traveled and spoke several languages. He was luring her out from behind the counter.
With a deep breath she put a friendly smile in place and moved around the counter toward him. When she got close he gestured again at no wine in particular and she guessed at a bottle. “This one?”
“Mmmhmm.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, he had no idea which bottle she was referencing.
“This one is very popular.” She told him, determinedly fixating on the bottle instead of meeting his eyes. “I understand it to be delicious.” She lifted it up from its resting place a little to examine the label for any helpful buzzwords, like ‘dry’ or ‘full-bodied’, but the entire label was in Italian.
“Delicious?” He chuckled. “But you haven’t tried it?” Something in his tone made her feel light and nervous all at once.
“No, sadly, I haven’t had the opportunity.”
“If I bought it now would you open it with me?”
She blinked at the bottle, unsure of how to respond. She’d seen Mr. Delaney open bottles with customers, have a taste and discuss the vintage, but she’d never done it. She wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to do it. “Ummm.”
“You’re not old enough, are you?” He asked with a gently teasing tone.
She flushed and squared her shoulders. She was not, actually, old enough to purchase alchohol. But Mr. Delaney had assured her that she was welcome at tastings and always had her try wine whenever she was working and he happened to open a bottle to taste. Tasting wine, he’d assured her, was nothing at all like drinking at a bar. And he encouraged her to develop her palate at every opportunity.
“I’m not, really.” She confessed, hoping it would dissuade him from his current pursuit.
“How old are you?” He asked in a low voice that made her pulse thrum.
“Eighteen.” She said and finally looked at him. Eighteen was old enough to sell the wine—she hoped he wasn’t a narc.
He smiled warmly but there was something a little more edgy in his eyes that made her eyebrows crinkle up. “How old are you?” She countered, not sure at all what had made her say it.
He laughed out loud, surprised by the sudden inquest. “Twenty three.” He answered cheerily.
He seemed older than that. He seemed like he’d been drinking wine for years. Maybe he had. Maybe he’s gone to a boarding school in Switzerland… she shook herself and made herself stay in the present, focused.
Without looking he reached over and slowly pulled the bottle out of her hands. “I think I’ll take this one.” He said quietly.
“I think you’ll enjoy it.” She responded, a little dismayed by how breathy she sounded. She seemed to be rooted to the floor.
Hi eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t worry, I won’t have you open it just now.” He teased her charmingly. “Wouldn’t want to get you in any trouble.”
Her lips twitched. She called on all her inner strength to move her feet away from him and back toward the register. She really did not trust herself when in close proximity to this man. She felt him following behind her.
“Will that be all today?” She hoped she sounded pleasant and not as dismissive as she felt.
He cocked an eyebrow. “I think this will do for now.” He said, placing the bottle on the counter and spreading his hands across the surface casually. She noted that he still had yet to so much as glance at the label he was purchasing.
She scanned the bottle, told him the total, and set about carefully removing the price sticker with a razor blade. Her fingers were shaking. In her peripheral vision she surreptitiously watched him retrieve a handsome bill fold and a pair of bills from among many large denominations.
He waited until she’d finished removing the price sticker and had bagged it to hand her the payment. She didn’t know precisely why, but she always preferred customers who handed the money or the card to her over those who put it on the counter.
“Thank you.” She said, taking the bills and entering the amount into the register computer. She counted his change and extended her hand toward him but he didn’t reach for it. “Your change.” She prodded politely.
“You can keep it.” He said, his tone perfectly friendly.
She furrowed her brow. It was far too much money for a tip. “Thank you, but we don’t accept tips.” She lied. She watched his eyes flick over to the brandy glass next to the register that had change and dollar bills stuffed inside it. She swallowed. “Anyway, I should be tipping you—the way you helped me with that bee.” She laughed a little and moved her hand insistently, pushing his change further toward him.
He made one, throaty ‘hmm’ sort of laugh and reluctantly reached for the money. “That was my pleasure.” He told her in a smooth voice. “Certainly spiced up my morning.” He slid the money into his pants pocket in an almost disappointed way.
She met his eyes and his gaze sent a sort of warm shiver down her spine.
“It’s not every day I get to play the hero.” He joked modestly.
“Oh.” She laughed a little, though amusement wasn’t quite what she was feeling. “Thanks again.”
He nodded. Then he extended his hand toward her confidently. “I’m Grey, by the way.”
She hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before clasping her hand into his. “Maggie.”
“A pleasure to meet you Maggie.” He said and shook her hand pleasantly.
“You too.” She responded as their hands parted. “Have a nice day.” She added after a moment spent staring at one another wordlessly.
He grinned and chuckled and shook his head a bit. “You too, Maggie.” He finally took the bagged bottle and, giving her a courteous nod, he strode out of the Wine Shoppe.
When the electronic ding-dong had sounded and the door closed behind him, Maggie let out a long exhale and sank to the floor behind the counter. Mother Mary help her, but she had never met anyone like that. Sitting there on the floor she crossed herself and said a prayer before she felt ready to get back to work. Thank goodness the Wine Shoppe was slow in the mornings.
She sat in the passenger seat of his BMW feeling numb and overwhelmed and tired and faintly queasy.They were driving upstate.To a resort.For a honeymoon.
Both Grey and Maggie had protested, tried to get out of it, but his parents had insisted.“It’s already paid for! I’ve made all the arrangements!Let us do this for you, let this be a wedding gift!”His mother had gushed with such joy, such enthusiasm that both of them had crumbled.Grey had finally smiled and kissed her on the cheek and thanked her.Shook his father’s hand and solemnly thanked him too.
Then she’d had to say goodbye to her father, without a moment alone to speak with him privately, because Mrs. Delaney insisted they hit the road right then in order to arrive in time to see the spectacular sunset view from their honeymoon suite.Maggie didn’t want anything to do with that honeymoon suite but she’d smiled and feigned blushing enthusiasm.Grey remained fairly stoic in the face of all the romantic innuendo and she thought he kept sparing sideways glances at her father.
“I’ll be back soon Papa.”She told him as she hugged him goodbye.“Just a week.I’m so sorry, I know you’ll have to cover my shifts—“
“Goodbye Magdalena.”He’d cut her off gently.“Try to enjoy yourself.”He said.“The restaurant and the wine store and school and your family will be here in a week.”He joked lightly.
He was smiling but he seemed very, very saddened.It made her chest ache to know that she’d done this to him.“Oh, Papa—“She gasped, “Essie! I won’t have a chance to see her before I go--”
He cupped her cheek in his rough palm affectionately.“I will tell your sister when she gets home from school.You can call her tonight.”
Maggie had nodded, in acquiescence, but she felt terribly guilty.She knew he didn’t support this marriage, not until it was performed before a priest, and now he was being somewhat strong-armed--by the delicate arms of Velvet Delaney—into letting his daughter go off for a week with a young man who may have been her husband by law, but not in the eyes of the church.“I will talk to Father Ruiz as soon as I’m back.”She promised in an urgent whisper.
“I will speak to him this afternoon.”Her father replied darkly.“Buena suerta, Hija.”He said gruffly.“Sea feliz y sea segura.”He looked grimly toward Grey, who was accepting another adoring kiss on his cheek from his mother.“I hope you know what you’re up against.”He added, and Maggie couldn’t be sure if he intended the comment for herself or for Grey.
“Goodbye!”Grey’s mother had called after them as they rushed through the rain to the car.“And we’ll take care of everything while you’re gone!”And she’d waved that perfectly manicured little hand and squeezed her husband’s suit sleeve and looked for all the world like she might float away on bubbles of joy.
The mood inside the BMW was quite the opposite.They’d been to the wine shoppe so she could ask for time off, they’d been to her home so she could pack a bag and they’d been to his apartment so he could do the same.All of which had been done with stiff civility and barely concealed detestation.
Maggie figured Grey had been polite and respectful for such a long period of time that he was about due for some time to brood.To her enormous relief he’d been a gentleman to her father, and even been cordial to his Uncle Nolan at the wine store.She hated Grey, but she couldn’t have been more grateful for how he’d handled himself today.She wanted to thank him, felt guilty that she had not yet done so, but everytime she peeked over at his profile as he drove them upstate she lost her nerve to speak.He looked so dark and brooding and violent.
The first time she spoke to him after leaving the Cedar Falls city limits was about two hours into the drive, and that was only because of an unavoidable imperative.
“Can we stop?”She’d finally said, after sitting in near agony for the better part of a half-hour.
He seemed almost startled by her voice, as if he’d succeeded in forgetting she was in the car with him.“Why?”
She bit her lip and breathed out slowly.“I need to use the bathroom.”She admitted, feeling a furious blush bloom all over her body.She couldn’t care, she had to go.
He didn’t say anything for a minute.“There’s an exit in two miles.”
She thanked him.The silence in the car seemed heavier, now that it had been breached, and the pressure to say something else nagged and pushed at her.
“Your mother is very sweet.”She said, deciding to give into the urge to chat and also try to take her mid off her bladder.
Grey looked at her for a moment and then returned his eyes to the road.“She is.”He agreed.
Maggie breathed.“Your father is too.”She added.“He was so kind to me today.”
“Let’s not do this.”Grey said coldly.
“I—“Maggie didn’t know what to say.
“Let’s not play this ‘getting to know you’ game.”He elaborated.Maggie thought he pushed the car a little faster and held her breath as he switched highway lanes without bothering to use his directional or even really spare a glance around him.
“I was just trying to make conversation.”She said honestly.
“How terribly polite of you.”He mocked.“Tell me then, as long as we’re making conversation, did you really intend to have me arrested on rape charges, or were you bluffing?”
Her mouth fell open.
“Oh, I’m so sorry—“He said, looking at her with an expression of mock-sincerity “Is that one of those awkward conversation starters?I’m hopeless when it comes to these social graces.”The edge on his tone went right through her.
“I wasn’t bluffing.”She answered him plainly.
He sniffed derisively.“And the other girls?”
“What difference does it make now?”She shot back.
The car veered toward the exit ramp and she clutched at the door to keep from leaning too far toward him.She said a small prayer to St. Christopher and then to St. Jude, deciding that if St. Christopher wasn’t a real saint anymore then she’d need back-up.Grey was a very dangerous sort of driver normally, and she was discovering that when he was in a temper he was ten times more frightening to be in a car with.
He pulled into a gas station, screeched to a stop and threw the car into park.She was almost afraid to get out of the car—she had a fluttering feeling in her belly that he might drive away and leave her there.With trembling hands she gathered her purse and stepped out without another word to him.She had a little money in her purse and she had her phone.She would be alright if he left her there.She could call someone to pick her up.It wouldn’t be the end of the world.She tried to assure herself of her independence as she located the ladies room and knocked.
Finding it blessedly unoccupied she bent the standard-issue handle down and pushed inward.The hum of the fluorescent light above her head was louder than the store’s radio and the effect of the flickering lighting was distinctly corpse-green.She pushed the little button to lock the door behind her and sized-up the toilet.It didn’t look too terribly filthy.It certainly didn’t look clean, either though.
When she’d finished she was surprised for the second time that day that Grey had waited for her.She found him idly spinning the sunglasses rack, a look a mild disgust on his face.
“Thank you.”She told him stiffly as she joined him where he stood.
“Do you need anything?”He asked casually, as if the last words they’d spoken before her restroom break hadn’t been about rape and blackmail.
“Maybe a bottle of water?”She said, aware that such a purchase would mean the inevitability of having to make another stop sometime before the resort.
“Nothing to eat?”
She felt her stomach revolt at the mention of food.“I couldn’t eat a thing.”She said.“Everything makes me want to throw up.”
He nodded tersely.“Any specific brand?”He asked in a lazy voice as he strolled to the large glass refrigerator doors along the wall of the convenience store.
Any specific brand of… water?“No.”She decided to keep her opinion on the absurdity of that question to herself and watched him with one eyebrow raised as he chose the most expensive brand of bottled water from the cool bowels of the refrigerator.He grabbed two of them and headed for the register.
“Want a magazine or something?”
She thought a magazine might be nice but shook her head.She wondered what aspect of his personality made him behave like this.Like a perfect gentleman.Considerate.Generous.She wondered if it had something to do with being in a public venue.But then, he hadn’t needed to get out of the car at all.But he had.He’d come into the little store to wait for her and offer her treats and she shook her head in confusion.
He paid for a pack of gum and the waters, handed her one and then walked to the door, which he held open for her.She felt a tugging in her breast and she attacked it with a savage force.‘So he held a door for you’.He was well bred, she told herself brutally, he would always hold doors for her, for any woman, because he’d been raised right, ‘not because he cares about you at all’.It was habit, nothing more.
When they reached the car he opened that door too and she chided herself for being pleased with the gesture.‘Get a hold of yourself Maggie’, she warned, As she thanked him and sat.
After unwrapping some gum he turned on the radio, searched for a station and offered her a piece, to which she had a peculiar aversion at present, and pulled out of the gas station toward the highway.They didn’t speak again for another hour and a half, and to her surprise it was Grey who broke the silence.
“Do you need me to find a rest stop?”He asked.
Gratitude swelled in her heart despite her best efforts to remain neutral.“Thank you, yes.”She had been prepared to wait, to hold it a while longer, but given the opportunity she would absolutely love to stop.
“Are you hungry yet?”
The mention of food didn’t immediately turn her stomach so she entertained the notion.“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”He asked, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s hard to be sure.”She said, feeling a bit silly.
“You didn’t eat much at brunch.”He observed, and she was surprised he’d noticed that.
“And I threw that up in the ladies’ room.”She confessed.She felt guilty about that, it had been an expensive meal.
“You should eat.”He said sternly.
“I think I’d like a smoothie.”She said after a minute.It was hard to think of any liquids at the moment though, because she had to pee pretty badly.
“It’s the middle of the winter.”He was almost laughing.She sighed.She didn’t want to be difficult.
“Maybe there’s a juice place?”She suggested half-heartedly.
“I’ll look for one at the next exit.” He answered.
“Thank you.”She said, not really believing that he could be so considerate to someone who had effectively ruined his life.
They fell back into a silence.She didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t seem to want to talk much anyhow.Her mind wandered and the questions she’d been trying hard to bury all afternoon resurfaced once more.What in heaven would they do all week?Because they certainly weren’t going to honeymoon in the traditional sense.She swallowed and blushed a little at the thought.
She reprimanded herself for thinking about him that way.It would only hurt more.Because she had loved him.With all her heart.Had fallen head over heels in love.And he had been a complete bastard. The worst.
She needed to loathe him.She hated that she was still attracted to him.Hated that she wondered if he still felt attracted to her at all.
Because what was the point in wondering those things?In thinking about them?If he didn’t care for her before, then forcing him into a marriage wasn’t going to magically stir up affection in the man.He likely loathed her and resented her and she knew she’d better get used to that right away.Get used to a cold, passionless marriage with a man who could barely stand her.
She recited the Hail Mary in her head and tried to decide if she’d done the right thing.She’d had no choice.It had been the only way.She’d made mistakes, big mistakes with this man, swept up in the heat of passion, and this, as underhanded as it was, was the only way out.She sighed and resigned herself to an unhappy existence if it meant her child would be well provided for and that her father would not disown her.
It hurt too much to think of her father, of his disappointment, of his broken heart that morning over brunch.A broken heart would mend in time, especially when she delivered him a grandchild.She smiled a bittersweet little smile as she imagined what a wonderful grandfather he would make.
She thought Mr. and Mrs. Delaney seemed like they would be good grandparents too.Her child would be blessed and loved… perhaps not by its father, but by everyone else.She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“The next exit has a smoothie place.”He said, shifting the car over to the far right lane, a small triumphant smile on his face.
He glanced at her then and she smiled gratefully.His smile faded to a shadow.Reluctantly, it seemed, he dragged his eyes off her face and back to the road.
What in heaven were they going to do with themselves all week?
It was confusing. Seeing it. He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing at first. He’d always imagined it would feel different, walking in on something like that, seeing the betrayal, but Caleb felt largely bewildered. Initially. And embarrassed. Because he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. Walked in on something intimate and illicit and he felt ashamed, like a child might at glimpsing a graphic movie scene or accidentally catching his parents in a private moment.
And he apologized. He felt the imperative to speak, to make his presence known, and all that sprang to his lips was “I’m sorry.”
And everything started happening very fast. Gideon leapt up, the young man grabbed a pillow to cover himself, and Caleb started backing out of the room apologizing repeatedly. It took Gideon a moment to throw on his robe and chase after Caleb and he didn’t manage to catch up with him until the kitchen.
“Caleb, please, Caleb, stop.”
And Caleb did stop. He was dazed. And dizzy? He couldn’t really tell. Nothing made sense. He stopped beside the kitchen island and waited for Gideon to catch up.
“Honey, please—“ Gideon placed his hand gently on Caleb’s back and that’s when it started to hurt. That’s when the confusion gave way to sharp understanding, when the embarrassment shifted into grief, when the numbness was replaced by the burning, constricting agony of betrayal.
Caleb stepped out of Gideon’s reach. “No.”
“Caleb, honey, please just listen—“
“No.” What was there to be said? He couldn’t look at Gideon. He walked toward the entryway.
“Caleb!”
Caleb was dimly aware, as he opened the big yellow door, that this was his home, his townhouse and that he should be asking Gideon and the young man to leave, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He just needed to go. He needed to be far away from their bedroom and their picnic that he’d set out on their living room floor, and their life together. He needed to get the hell away from it all.
“I love you.” Gideon said, grabbing the big yellow door before Caleb could shut it in his face.
Caleb froze. His mouth was dry and his hands, he realized, were shaking, his thoughts were jumbled and he felt an actual, physical pain all over his body, as though he had been tortured on a rack or something. Were his lips numb? Jesus. He was dizzy. Lightheaded.
“I love you.” Gideon repeated, more softly, more urgently. “Please, please don’t go- please stay, please, we’ll talk—“
“I’m sorry.” Caleb said slowly.
Gideon paused, his mouth open, his face angst ridden.
Caleb looked at him and had the strangest sensation that he was looking at a stranger, or an acquaintance from some distant memory. He studied those deep concerned eyes, the proud nose, the chiseled jaw, and he didn’t see the man he loved, couldn’t seem to recognize the lover he had been about to ask to marry him. He didn’t know who he was looking at and he felt nauseated.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Gideon said, miserable.
Caleb winced and blinked rapidly. He was crying, he hadn’t realized that he was crying and wondered when the tears had started. He shook his head, trying to focus, trying to dispel some of the lightheaded fuzziness that was threatening to engulf his consciousness. “No.” He said softly. “No.”
Gideon reached out, maybe to be tender, maybe to help steady him, he couldn’t be sure. Either way Caleb knew he couldn’t let him touch him again. Not ever again. He dodged the outstretched hand and backed away. “No.”
“Don’t go like this.” Gideon begged. “Please, just talk to me, Caleb, you can’t go like this.”
Caleb backed slowly and carefully down the brick steps, shaking his head and keeping his eyes on that handsome but unrecognizable person by the big yellow door. His chest felt so heavy, he felt like he might be crushed under the weight of some invisible force. The pain of it stole his breath.
Caleb saw movement somewhere behind Gideon and knew the young man must have thrown some clothes on and come down stairs. He pressed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to know who he was. He’d seen more than enough already. “I’m sorry.” Caleb said desperately and, spinning on his heel, fled back to his car, fumbled in his pants pocket for the keys, threw himself behind the wheel and got out of there as fast as he could manage.
He was reckless and scattered and panicked and manic and he didn’t know where to go, but he needed to go. He had to.
