From the street, I worry my lip between my teeth. It isn’t until I get out of the car that I realize I crushed my front wheel against the curb. In all fairness, I’ve never really needed to parallel park until now. I resist the urge to fix it. Time is already ticking on the meter, and this spares me the agony of hunting for a parking garage. I tuck Mr. Whiskers in my purse and head inside.
The clothes are sorted in tidy little rows. As thrift shops go, this one is well organized and clean. The purple one in the window is what I really wanted to get a look at. The color is sweet and pretty, and in a size that might be roomy enough for my hips. With some doing, I could cinch her in at the waist.
From the window, I hoped I had a good sporting shot. Up close, it’s clear there isn’t enough Vaseline in all the world to squeeze my ass inside this dress.
“Looking for something?” a deep voice grumbles.
I jump. It’s Leo. “Don’t you have anything better to do than scare the bejesus out of me?” Breathing hard, I clutch my chest.
“What’s a bejesus? Is that slang for Baby Jesus?” Confused, he tilts his head. “Why would anyone be scared of Baby Jesus?”
I look at him sideways. “Bejesus is not Baby Jesus. It’s how we avoid swearing.”
He nods. “So, instead of saying scared the fuck or shit out of me, you thought up a word that sounds an awful lot like an infant savior.”
I browse through a nearby rack. “Just to set the record straight, I did not come up with this word.” I turn, fully facing him. “What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps I’m here to annoy the bejesus out of you.”
“You’re doing a bang-up job.”
“A bejesusing awesome job, I know.”
I give him the hairiest eyeball in history, which is totally wasted on him. He’s too busy studying the dress I was eyeing. “It won’t fit,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“I know,” I say through gritted teeth. He’s carrying a package roughly the size of a shoebox. The return address is front and center on the label: D’Angelo Holdings. “What’s that?”
“Guy stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Is that code for porn?”
“Maybe.” He peruses a few dresses, holding up a dark green satin one to me. The puff sleeves and high collar neck make it a great contender for a Christmas tree. I deadpan his annoyingly gorgeous face. He returns it to the rack. “Nope.”
The nerve of this ass. This isn’t some hand-me-down dress he’s dismissing. It’s me. I come unglued and bolt out the door.
Heavy footsteps follow me. “I need to talk to you,” he blares.
I pick up my pace.
“Stop running away.”
“Stop stalking me!” I shout. Pedestrians move at a snail’s pace when I’m trying to get to my car. It takes me another minute to fish my keys out of my purse. Poor Mr. Whiskers falls out. Before his beautiful nose dives face-first onto the pavement, Leo grabs him, an inch from the ground.
I hold out a hand expectantly.
Leo takes Mr. Whiskers hostage, lifting him high in the air and out of reach. “You’re not leaving,” he says like a jerk. “Not until we talk.”
My sanity snaps, and I let him have it. I shove him. Hard. Again. And again. Like an ant moving a mountain, his body goes nowhere. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to talk to you?”
“Why? Because you ghosted five voicemails, twelve text messages, and didn’t bother to say thank you for the three dozen roses? No, the thought never crossed my mind.” His words drip sarcasm, but there’s something pained behind his eyes. He’s hurt. He lowers Mr. Whiskers and slips him into his pocket. His furry little face peeks out. “Five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it, but there’s something I have to tell you, then I’ll go.”
He makes five minutes sound small and insignificant, so why does it feel so much bigger than that? “Five minutes,” I repeat and take a seat on the hood of my car.
Leo slides in beside me. “I want to tell you a story about a wolf and a crane.”
I huff out an agitated giggle. “I know Aesop’s fables, Leo. They were always Aunt Grace’s favorite stories.”
He turns beside me so his eyes connect with mine. “I’d love to hear the Aunt Grace version,” he says with sincere interest.
“Okay. A wolf had a bone stuck in his throat when a crane came along—”
“Probably a bird bone.”
I hush him and nudge my elbow at his. “Shh—”
He locks his lips with an imaginary key, then flicks it over his shoulder.
I continue. “The wolf offered the crane a handsome reward of gold if he removed the bone. Of course, he does. He holds his feathers out, requesting the reward, and gets stiffed. When the crane protests, the wolf smiles hungrily and says he’s been given his reward. He didn’t get eaten.”
I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but Leo’s hand has been holding mine. It’s like his touch is an extension of my own. We look at each other, and I don’t pull away. Between the heat of his body and the apology in his eyes, I know he’s sorry. And every part of my body aches with missing him.
But we’re more than a one-night stand. I need to know that he believes that.
His thumb rubs mine. “You forgot the moral,” he says softly. “Don’t expect a reward when you serve the wicked.” His shoulders slump, and his grip tightens. “I’m sorry, Ivy. So fucking sorry. I wish I could take every word back…”
I hear the but coming and hold my breath.
“But I can’t let anything happen to you. Like I’ve said, bad things happen to the people I care about.” He releases his hand to show it to me. “Even your Aunt Grace saw it. She read my palm.”
I shake my head. “Tell me she didn’t.”
He nods and balls his hand into a fist. “She said that I’d have to choose duty or love.”
Is that why he said what he said? Telling me we weren’t anything more than a few one-night stands. He wanted to push me away. “Hey…” I put my hand right back in his and tighten the grip. “I love my aunt, but you can’t listen to her. This is the same woman that predicted that one day, I’d be royalty.” I motion to my hair. “See a crown?”
Horns blare down the street as a small commotion erupts. We both look over. A car has stopped short of hitting a small girl. Her father scoops her up protectively and whisks her to safety. A minute later, the traffic resumes, and pedestrians move on as if nothing has happened.
Leo turns to me. “Trinity doesn’t have a father to whisk her to safety. I can’t leave her. Antonio’s gone—”
“And I’d never ask you to. Trini means more to me than you could ever understand, and you should be the one protecting her. You’d do anything to keep her safe, and not because she’s your job. Because she’s your family. As much as—” I stop myself from saying as much as they are my family.
“As much as what?”
“As much as Aunt Grace is mine. Would you ask me to abandon Aunt Grace?”
“Not in a million years.” He takes my hand in his and kisses it. “Not with how she bakes.” His smile is heavy.
I want to erase his worry, his heartache…every damn thing that ever caused him all this pain and doubt. “How about we take it slow? There are things about me you don’t know, and things I don’t know about you. I know you’re scared—”
“Scared?” He blows out a breath. “At the thought of losing you, I’m scared fucking shitless. Pardon me, I mean bejesus bejesusless.” He hops off the car and places both hands on either side of me. His blue eyes darken. “No matter what, I’ll always protect you.”
I nod, believing him.
“And since you said slow, Ms. Palmer,” he says with a Rhett Butler southern drawl, “I will not kiss you.”
I said slow, not parked with the emergency brake on. But maybe this is better. It lets me work out everything I need to tell the D’Angelos before I’m too far gone over Leo.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” he says and helps me off the car.
“But I have to find a dress.”
“Lucky for you, I know every store in the city.” He opens the passenger door to my car. “Keys,” he demands.
“I can drive, Leo.”
“Obviously.” His cheeky grin assures me he’s assessed my horrendous parking job. He takes the keys from my hand, not that I put up much of a fight. “But if I drive, you can tell me what you imagine in a dress, and I can take you to the exact spot you’ll find it.”
“What if I want easy? Off the shelf and…” What’s another word for inexpensive? “Understated.”
“By understated, you mean—”
“Dirt cheap,” I say without an ounce of shame. “It’s a one-night event. I don’t need fancy. I just need passable.”
“Passable and dirt cheap, huh? I’ve got just the spot.” He fires up the engine. “Oh,”—with a quick tug, he frees Mr. Whiskers of his captivity and lays him in my hands—“don’t forget this little guy.”
Embarrassed, I slip him into my purse. “You aren’t going to ask what a grown woman is doing toting around a toy?”
“Not unless you want to tell me,” he says as we pull into traffic. “There are so many things I want to know about you, Ivy. The reason Mr. Whiskers is so important to you is just the start.”
He does? “Like what?”
“Like why are you always reading textbooks? Why is it you smell like seductive vanilla and citrus, but almost every product you own is unscented? Do you want children, and if so, how many? How many of your aunt’s recipes can you make? Why it is that you love tomatoes and spaghetti sauce, but hate ketchup?”
“Bleh. Because ketchup is disgusting.” Obviously.
The light turns red, and we roll to a stop. He pulls me in for a kiss. A soft, tender kiss that deepens as he takes my face in his hands and, damn, can he kiss. He tears away and we’re both left gasping for air.
“The point is, Ivy Palmer, I want to learn everything about you. Things beyond how many times a night I can make you come.” I giggle softly as he kisses me again. “I’m dying to know everything there is to know about you the second you’re willing to share them.”
And just like that, I know…when it comes to Leo, I can’t be worried about getting so wrapped around this man that I’m too far gone.
I’m already there.