Fall In Love Again (Serendipitous Love Book 3) Page 8

  For a while, neither of us said anything. Nixon bobbed his head, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the beat of the music, and I pretended to be busy on my phone until finally, I dropped it into my lap and turned to face him.

  “Why did you do that?”

  Nixon’s eyebrow hitched upward, just slightly, but he didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Do what?”

  “Buy those expensive plates, even though I said the other ones were fine.”

  “Who said I did?”

  “Really Nix?” I asked, folding my arms. “Fine. Did you purchase the plates that were over budget?”

  He turned to me for just a moment, flashing his dimples with a smile before he looked back to the road. “Yes. I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  I groaned. Did we always have to go back and forth, instead of just giving a straight answer to a question?

  “Because they were over budget.”

  “And I told you I had it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is, Charlie? Are you really sitting here getting upset with me because I made sure we got the plates you wanted?

  “No, I’m getting upset because I told you the more expensive plates weren’t necessary.”

  “Necessity doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I bit my lip and took a deep breath, trying to reign in my quickly rising anger. “Well then,” I said, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “Can you tell me what “it” is about?”

  “Making you happy. Doing something nice for you, that’s all. For the amount that we need, the difference in the order total on those plates was only a couple hundred dollars, and I paid the difference myself.”

  “Why though? Why did those plates even matter?”

  “Because you matter.” He glanced at me again, his face pulled into a scowl as we turned off the highway, and onto the quieter streets of our neighborhood. “You may not talk about it, not with me, but I know the last year has been crazy for you because of that shit with your husband. You may hide it well, but you’re hurt, and you’re angry. It’s in your voice, and in your eyes, and I know that because I’ve seen it firsthand, because I’ve caused it before. I hate seeing you like that.”

  “So your grand plan is to fix me with plates, Nix?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? I know how important food presentation is to you. I know that you weren’t happy with the plates we’ve been using, and that’s part of the appearance. I take you to pick out new plates, purchase the ones that make your eyes light up, even if it means I have to come out of my own pocket. Because when you put the dish that you labored over with love on a plate that you love, it’ll make you feel good. It’ll make you smile, and that’s all I really want to do, Charlie, is make you smile.”

  … Oh.

  I turned away from him to look out the window on my side as my eyes pricked with tears. It was easy to keep things cold and professional, push old feelings to the side when we were thousands of miles apart, but with Adrian acting stupid, and Trent maybe acting a little silly too, the sweetness of Nixon’s actions and words were amplified. It was so like him, to have turned plates into an act so deeply personal, that no one else would have the knowledge or desire to do for me.

  “Hey,” He said, grabbing my hand once he pulled into a parking space in front of the building. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been funny, snarky, outgoing, and bubbly. You’ve always had a magnetic energy. But since you’ve been back, I’ve noticed that you’ve seemed kind of … closed off. Or… maybe that’s just with me. And I guess with our history I can understand that, but if that’s not the case, I’m gonna keep doing whatever I can to get that fun girl that I knew back.”

  I shook my head, pulling my hand away from his. “You don’t think I’m fun? I’m very fun.”

  “Yeah… let me walk you up to your apartment.”

  Nixon was out of the car before I could protest, and was already at my door before I could undo my seatbelt.

  “I’ll have you know,” I said, accepting his hand to help me out of the car, “That I am tons of fun, I have a great sense of humor, and… I’m cuter than you, so there’s that. Hmph.”

  I turned and started toward the building, with Nixon chuckling as he followed behind. Because I knew he was watching, I put a little extra swing in my hips as we entered the building and headed up the stairs.

  “Charlie, quit playing. You keep slinging it in my face like that… don’t be surprised if I take a bite.”

  Glancing over my shoulder at him, I winked, then continued slowly up the next flight, hanging on to the stair rail like it was the barre in a burlesque theater. If I had any hair, I would have swung it as I swayed in Nixon’s face. At first, he was half a flight behind me, presumably keeping his distance, but when I looked back again, he was jogging up the steps that separated us with a grin on his face.

  I laughed, turning to bound up the next flight as fast as I could, pulling my keys out of my purse on the way. I was pushing the door open when I felt Nix’s arms around my waist, and before I could say anything, he’d turned me around, picked me up, kicked the door closed, and draped me over his shoulder with little to no effort.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stop playing?” he asked, smacking me on the butt before he sat me down on the counter in the kitchen, then stood between my legs.

  “You also said I was no fun, so… I don’t know what this playing that you speak of means.”

  Nixon smiled as he ran his hands up my thighs, sending pinpricks of heat racing over me as his warms hands connected with my bare flesh. “You don’t, huh?”

  “Uh-uh. Never heard of it.”

  His eyes, sparkling with amusement, traveled over my face, down to my lips, then back up to meet my gaze. “You looked good as hell today.” He bit his lip. “I mean… you always look good, but… this damned dress… what were you trying to do me, wearing this to go look at plates?” He fingered one of the thin straps, then pushed it down, leaving my shoulder bare to his touch as he ran his fingers over my collarbone, up to my neck, then back down over my shoulder.

  “I… I didn’t wear this for you,” I managed, barely breathing as he pulled me closer to the edge of the counter, so that our bodies were pressed together.

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t.” My heart was pumping so fast that I panted a little as he ran his hands up my back. “That’s the—“ Nixon interrupted my statement by lowering his mouth to mine with an insistent press of his warm, velvety soft lips. I kept my hands down, gripping the sides of the counter as he pulled me closer, tracing the seam of my lips with his tongue. I whimpered, then opened my mouth to his request, a little moan escaping my throat as he dipped his tongue into my mouth, massaging it against mine.

  “…truth,” I whispered when he finally pulled away, barely giving me a chance to catch my breath before he dove in again, exploring my mouth with deep, slow licks as his hands slipped under my thighs, groping and massaging as he looped my legs around his waist. Nixon’s body was firm against my skin as I pushed my hands underneath his shirt, gliding my fingers over the muscled flesh of his stomach, then around to his back. The feeling of him, hard against my moisture soaked panties shot my already rocketing arousal into overdrive, and I pushed myself against him, not caring what signal it sent. I would go with whatever route he took.

  “So. Damned. Sweet,” he murmured against my lips, punctuating each word with a kiss before he pulled my lip between his, gently sucking before he nibbled it, then pushed his tongue into my mouth again. “Just like I remembered.”

  My eyelids fluttered shut, and I let out another moan of pleasure as he dropped his mouth down to my neck, kissing and sucking and biting and kissing a little more before he brought his lips to my ear, kissing me there before he spoke again. “I wonder if the reason I started calling you honeybun still applies.”

  I let out something betwe
en a gasp and a whimper, and a moment later, he was kneeling in front of me, kissing his way from the inside of my knee, and up my thigh, and yes, please—

  “Knock knock!”

  The sound of my mother’s voice, inside the apartment brought me out my arousal-induced euphoria immediately. Nixon’s eyes met mine, and he quickly moved to the side and flung open a cabinet, while I hopped down from the counter and pulled down my dress just in time for my mother and aunt to turn the corner into my kitchen, and… know exactly what was happening.

  Or not.

  But Morgan and Melissa wore identical grins as they looked between me and Nixon, who had his back turned and was rattling around in the cabinet like he was looking for something.

  “Well… what have we here?” my mother asked, her face spreading into a full-on smile as Nixon finally turned around. “Is that my former almost-son-in-law?”

  I rolled my eyes, running my tongue over my teeth as she stepped right past me to give Nixon a big hug when he stood. The way she fawned over him, one would think he was her child, and I was the unrelated extra whenever he was around.

  “How you doin’ Ms. Bennet?” he asked as they parted.

  None of us said anything about his mouth — and my neck — being shiny and pink from my lipgloss.

  “Oh, I am wonderful baby.”

  “Good, good. And you Mrs. Lambert?”

  Aunt Morgan smiled. “Je suis bien, merci. Don’t I get a hug too?”

  Nixon’s eyes flicked toward me for a second before he nodded. “Of course.” He moved close to her for a hug that she extended longer than necessary, with her hands splayed across his back.

  “Oh, you’re happy to see me, huh?” She looked pointedly at Nixon’s crotch, then turned to me with a knowing smirk. “Son pénis est énorme , non?”

  “I have no idea what that means, Aunt Morgan,” I said, with a tight smile that I hoped would give her the hint that the size of Nixon’s dick wasn’t a discussion point we would be entertaining.

  “So you have forgotten your French lessons then? It means you are a lucky girl, because his—“

  “Well Nixon has to be leaving now, he was just showing me the difference between a sauté pan and a sauteuse, but now I know, so he can leave, right now.” I gave everyone a bright smile, then began pushing Nixon toward the door.

  “You know I know French, right?” he whispered, grinning as I shoved him outside.

  “Hush.”

  “Hey.” He caught the door before I could close it, then reached out to run a finger over my shoulder, causing me a brief moment of weakness in the knees. “You know I’m not done with you, right?”

  “Hush,” I repeated, batting his hand away. “Yes you are.”

  That time, I closed and locked the door behind him, then turned and drooped against it, letting out a heavy sigh as I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the orgasm-saboteurs were standing side-by-side, arms crossed, both giving me their signature “I’m about to be nosy as hell” grins. I groaned, then shut my eyes tight, hoping beyond hope that just maybe they wouldn’t be there when I looked again.

  Damn.

  “Mom… Aunt Morgan… I didn’t expect to see you beautiful girls so soon.”

  nine.

  charlie.

  “So are you ready to talk yet?”

  With a quiet sigh, I peered over my water glass at my mother and aunt. I’d listened to them chatter about their trip while I prepared lunch for the three of us, about men while we ate, and now they both had glasses of wine in the middle of the day, and were waiting for me to spill the beans about Nixon. My mother brushed my complaints about them waltzing into my apartment without knocking off with a quick “girl I made you, this is my apartment”. I just shook my head. It was much easier not to argue — and lock the damned door next time.

  “Talk about what?” I took a long sip from my glass, ignoring the biting stares from the sisters as I stood to take my plate to the sink. They followed shortly behind me, first my mom, then Aunt Morgan, cornering me in the kitchen.

  “Young lady,” my mother started, fixing me with a critical scowl, finger lifted in the air. “You tell me right now why you and Nixon Graham were wearing the same lip gloss, or I’m gonna…” She paused, her expression softening as she searched her mind for a way to threaten me. “You just tell me right now! Or… wait… am I finally going to get my grandbaby? Cause if so, go ahead and call him back!”

  Shaking my head, I pushed past both women, wielding a soapy washcloth to clean the table where we’d eaten. “You’re on a wild grandbaby chase, my dear. There will be no babies any time soon.”

  “Alright. But you still haven’t explained Nixon.” She smiled when she finished the statement, then glanced to her sister as she took another gulp from her wine. When we were together — and hell, even now— my mother was Nixon’s biggest fan.

  From the time I was sixteen, she’d drilled into me that the crowning jewel of womanhood was becoming a wife and mother. She herself had only ever done one of those, but she insisted on wanting “better” for me. Every boyfriend was a potential husband, and she never had a problem telling me when she felt someone wasn’t good enough for either role.

  She always told me that anything more than a year of my time was a waste if the relationship wasn’t moving toward a ring. Choose a man who’s older, already established. Choose a man with money, and connections, who could give me the type of life that I “deserved”. Choose a man who loved — no, worshipped me, who couldn’t do any better than me, who couldn’t see a life without me, who would never do anything to jeopardize the possibility of a future.

  All of those “rules” went out the door for Nix, and he was so damned charming that my mother didn’t even care.

  Melissa and Morgan had family money, and by extension so did I. Even so, she expected me to make a living on my own — until I got that husband. Nixon and I’d always been good friends, but the trip to culinary school — a major common interest we’d shared for a while — drew us closer, to the point that I considered him my best friend.

  We were the same age, working the same crappy line-cook jobs, trying to move our way up to better positions. No money, no connections, and the quality of life of a broke college student. But we had fun. Neither of us was thinking about each other romantically, at least not if anybody asked. But Nix was an appealing guy. Smart, funny, sexy, and he could cook his ass off. I was young, but I wasn’t blind.

  The shift in our relationship honestly snuck up on me. Nixon had finally snagged a job in the kind of restaurant that paid bills, so he threw a party. A small party, with ten or fifteen people, and we talked, and drank, and I stayed behind to help him clean up. One moment, I was stuffing pizza boxes in a garbage bag while I told him how proud I was, and the next, he’d hauled me into his arms and kissed me like it was the last time he would ever see me again.

  I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you in Algebra class. That’s what he afterwards, and that was the end of my control over my own heart. You know how people say they “fell” in love? Nixon and I didn’t fall, we plummeted. Every moment we had outside of work, we were together. Making love and plans for the future. We didn’t want to always work in someone else’s kitchen, at the mercy of short-tempered executive chefs who saw our younger generation’s outlook on modernizing everything from to food itself to the plating as degradation of the craft.

  Eventually, Nixon gained all of the qualities my mother recommended in a husband. He loved me, provided, and swore he couldn’t be without me, but truthfully, I would have married him in a heartbeat back when we were broke. He treated me as if he thought other mortals should bow at my feet. But… he shut down at even the mention of a ring. And when he did finally give me one… it was all just a disaster.

  “The answer isn’t gonna be what you seem to want to hear,” I said finally, pulling myself out of my musing. “You’re not about to be a grandmother or a mother-in-law. Nixon and I will not be gett
ing back together.”

  Aunt Morgan lifted an eyebrow at me as I passed her on the way into the kitchen to put down my towel. “Not what it looked like to me.”

  “I can’t tell you what to think.” I shrugged, then left the kitchen again. “But Nixon and I are not a thing. I’m actually dating someone else.”

  “Does he know Nixon was in your kitchen about to examine your pipes?” Melissa asked, sharing a wink with her sister.

  “Mom!”

  “What? I can’t imagine that any man would take kindly to a man like Nixon lurking around, but go ahead, tell me about him. What’s his name?”

  “Trent Ellis,” I said, taking a seat on the couch. The other women followed suit, my mom taking a seat on the couch beside me while Aunt Morgan chose the armchair.

  “You’re talking about that little nerdy boy who used to follow you home from school?” My mother sat back, her expression tinged with disgust as she took another sip of wine.

  “He’s not a nerdy little boy anymore. He’s tall, and handsome, and successful, and—“

  “Sounds positively boring,” Morgan chimed in, her lips twisted as if she’d swallowed a spoonful of castor oil. “I bet he’s a perfect gentleman too. Never an inappropriate word, or grope in public, or anything fun.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?”

  “Because you describe the man like you’re placing an ad in the classifieds. Even your adjectives are boring. Tall. Handsome. Successful. Merde.”

  “Seriously, Aunt Morgan?”

  “Yes, my dear. Do me a favor, close your eyes and describe Nixon to me.”

  “What?”

  She lifted a hand. “Please, just indulge me.”

  Rolling my eyes, I let out a heavy sigh, then leaned back into the cushions of the couch. I closed my eyes, and began to speak. “Nixon is… magnetic. And… stimulating, and passionate, and manly —“