The One Love Collection Page 30

  He chuckles, then squares his shoulders. “Of course they do.”

  Nicole casts a doubtful look his way, and Gabriel places his hand on his chest as if to say who me? “I’ve changed. I’m not the idiot I was when I was twenty-four.”

  Nicole rolls her eyes then waggles her fingers, dismissing him. “You’re disqualified. Be on your way.”

  “As a matter of fact, I will. I’m heading to my restaurant. Where I will create a delicious dessert for my lovely fiancée.” He roams his eyes over Penny possessively. “Something I would have done for her years ago, and I do now. Perhaps some things don’t change.” He winks and kisses Penny good-bye.

  Penny turns to us. “He wants me to have something when I get home tonight from our night out.”

  I sigh happily. “He’s so sweet.”

  “And sexy,” she adds, with a naughty glint in her eyes. She gestures to the store. “Are we going in, girls? Or are we going to stare at the leprechaun wig in the window all night? Incidentally, if you can get Tyler to wear that wig I will buy drinks forever and ever and then some.”

  I yank open the door. “Don’t leprechauns have red hair, though? Isn’t it more a Jolly Green Giant wig or an Emerald City wig?”

  Nicole pipes in. “Or a Wicked Witch wig.” Nicole taps her finger on her chin. “Hmm. Now that I realize we can truly torture your ex by making him wear any wig we choose, I might actually approve of this date with him.” Nicole spins and points to Penny. “I know I’ve already lost your support.”

  Penny laughs as she fiddles with a cherry-red hairstyle. “I just don’t happen to agree with your more—how shall we say—strident position?”

  Nicole spots a long blond wig. “I’ve always wanted to see if you blondes have more fun,” she says to me, then asks the shopworker if she can try it on. The woman brings us thin nylon caps to cover our hair under the wigs. As Nicole adjusts the blond locks, she says, “Look, I don’t know if people can change. I just worry. I know you all think I’m a hard-ass—”

  “Gee,” Penny interjects, placing her index finger on her temple. “Why would anyone think that?”

  Nicole sighs. “And I don’t deny being a practitioner of tough love. But the reality is this—I’m a witness to the hazards, pitfalls, and potholes of dating in this decade, and I’ve seen much more of the bad and the ugly than the good. I don’t want to see Delaney get hurt, and I’m not convinced men can change.”

  She peers into the mirror, tugs the bangs down lower, and spins around, showing us her new look.

  “But hairstyles can definitely change,” I say. “And you look good as a blonde.”

  Penny fiddles with her new fire-engine ’do and meets our gazes in the mirror. “But see, I do think people can change. Maybe it’s because I work with animals, but just hear me out. I’ve seen what adopting a pet can do for a person. How it can soften hearts and change priorities and turn you into someone who loves another creature nearly as unconditionally as that creature loves you.”

  I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. I adore the dog-loving heart of my bestie. “You’re right.”

  Nicole tilts her head back and forth, like she’s weighing Penny’s observation. Then she utters a quiet, “That’s true.”

  “Why don’t we let Delaney find out for herself?” Penny asks us through the reflection. “Go out with him and see how much he has changed.”

  As I adjust a sapphire blue wig, I don’t just marinate on Penny’s questions about Tyler. I turn them back on myself. Sure, I want to know how he’s different, but I already see signs of that. What I also want to know is this—how have I changed?

  I’d like to think I’ve changed for the better. I want to believe that my career shift from the sharp edges of law to the more peaceful waves of massage made me a better person. But, did it? A pebble wedges into the corner of my heart. Irritating and completely unpleasant, it’s a reminder that I didn’t tell Tyler the whole truth about my change of heart regarding my career. I didn’t open up fully to him about the phone call with my dad, even though Tyler seemed patently honest with me.

  Do I need to share that detail with him? It’s not like I hid something terrible from him.

  But even so, I didn’t tell him the full truth at the time, and I haven’t told him now either. I know why I hold back—if I don’t share everything I might not be fully hurt. By keeping parts of myself just for me, I like to think I can guard them from hurt.

  I know that’s not true though.

  We can’t ever protect ourselves from hurt, from broken hearts, from damaged love.

  But we can try to live our lives differently.

  If people do change, I sure as hell ought to be looking at myself first. It should start with me.

  As I run my fingers through the blue hair, I vow to tell him the full story about why I didn’t go to law school, even if I feel like I’m taking off all my armor with the mere mention of my father’s words—words that had sent my future into a whole new direction.

  This chance with Tyler isn’t only a romantic one. It’s an opportunity to face the past and deal with the future.

  I raise my chin and stare at my friends. “One week. I’m going to give it a week.”

  Penny shrieks and claps. Nicole nods solemnly then drapes her arm around me.

  “Group hug,” Nicole says, and we all join in, setting aside our differences and coming together.

  They might come at my love life from opposite sides, but in the end I have what any girl wants from her friends—solidarity. Maybe it’s odd, maybe a tad controlling, that my friends have so much say in my love life. But they’re my family, we’re as close as sisters, and I need them in the same bone-deep, always-there-for-me manner. We stick our noses into each other’s lives more than most, but we do it out of love.

  Theirs is a love I never worry might leave. That’s why they are my inner circle. That’s why they have my unconditional trust.

  “One week,” Nicole echoes. “You have my full support. But you need to decide at the end of the week. If you keep giving him more and more time, then you’re giving him the keys to breaking your heart, and trust me on this—a broken heart the second time around doesn’t just hurt twice as much. The pain is exponentially greater.”

  Human beings always have the keys to breaking each other’s hearts. One week, one year, a lifetime—doesn’t matter. We can always hurt the ones we love. Even so, I do understand why she wants me to be wise, and on this time limit, I have to agree with her. “I’ll give it a week.” Then my tone lightens, and I shrug like this is no big deal. “What’s the harm in a week?”

  Neither replies, and I hope I don’t answer my own question the hard way.

  “We’ll be here no matter what.” Nicole grips my shoulder, then whispers, “Especially if you decide at the end of the week you really want Trevor instead.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, about Trevor . . .”

  Nicole arches a brow. “What about him?”

  I update my friends on the latest as we find a perfect wig for my ex-boyfriend, who’s now jostled his way to the front of the dating pack. I buy the wigs and drop them in a canvas bag, then we head to our Girls’ Night Out, enjoying dancing, drinks, and friendship, as I reflect on whether people can change.

  I think about my mom and how strong she was after my father left. She was always a tough woman, but she had to shore up that foundation when she became a single parent, remaining sturdy for us. That’s change, too—it’s the kind that intensifies your core. I think of my brother and how easy it would have been for him to turn into a fuck-up, a messed-up teenage boy who skipped school after his daddy left. Instead, he doubled down on his studying and, like me, he won a scholarship to college.

  We were forced to change.

  But do we only change when we have no choice? A fault line had split our lives into before and after, and we had to shed our old selves. Can men and women, wanting to win back an old flame, choose to change in a deep and true way?
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  I don’t have the answers to that, but as I rewind to the morning, and the night before, and the massage table earlier in the week, and the phone calls, I know Tyler and I are more than two elements in a beaker that combust on contact.

  We are more than the physical.

  We combust for so many reasons. Because of history, of emotion, of connection, of respect, of need, of understanding.

  Because of a once-great love.

  And because of who he is now, the man I’m spending time with these days.

  That’s why at the end of the night, after I find my way home and settle into bed, I write back to Trevor.

  Dear Trevor,

  Your trip sounds amazing, and I know you’re going to have a great time. I want you to know that while I’m confident we would have a fantastic date, I need to cancel before we even start. In the last few days, after we went out, someone has come back into my life, and I’m going to explore what’s there. It wouldn’t be fair to keep you both in play.

  That’s why I need to send this email now, before I give it a go with him. Rather than hedge my bets, even though I know you’d be a great guy to bet on and you’ll make someone ridiculously happy, I should say thank you and good-bye.

  My best,

  Delaney

  After I hit send, the stone in my heart shrinks, claiming less of my real estate. There’s more to say, and more to do, but I’ve taken one important step.

  I was patently open with Trevor. I need to do the same with my ex.

  The next morning, my phone dings with a jackpot full of notes. A sweet reply from Trevor, thanking me for my honesty. A Facebook message from Tyler, asking me if I’m free for lunch. And an email from Joe Thomas telling me my father now lives in Vancouver, Canada, that he’s still married, and he’ll have an email and a phone number for me shortly.

  Do I want the address, he asks?

  Nerves skate over my skin. I do, and I don’t. I don’t, and I do. But I also know if I have his address, I’ll just google it over and over.

  I tell Joe I’ll wait. I’ve been waiting for years.

  I make plans with Tyler, and I do the one thing that makes the most sense.

  Since I want him desperately, I decide not to sleep with him yet.

  To prove to myself that I can change.

  18

  Tyler

  She says yes.

  Hell fucking yeah.

  She adds just lunch, and I send her a GIF of a cartwheeling eggplant, because I understand what she needs—just lunch. She needs to know that the heat of the mailroom encounter isn’t all we still have in common. The passion between us is incontrovertible, but she wants to know we’re more than that.

  Over a pesto artichoke sandwich and fries at a sidewalk café in the Eighties, she gives me the details of her night out dancing with her friends.

  “We could have entered a dance marathon, it seemed.”

  “Did you do the Macarena?”

  “All night long.”

  “How about a conga line?” I ask, demonstrating the moves in my chair.

  She nods. “And then we did a square dance.”

  “Hope you wore your cowgirl boots.”

  She shakes her head. “I wore silver heels,” she says, with a strangely shy little smile. Then she’s not so shy when she meets my eyes and says, “And I thought of you.”

  Images flash before me that make my throat dry. I groan, then lean across the plate that holds my chicken sandwich and tell her in a rough voice, “I like hearing that. I thought of you last night, too, and then I did a lot more than think. And I’m also sure you’d look hot in cowgirl boots.”

  The next day I get my reward.

  She texts me a location for breakfast, and when I meet her there, she’s got on a short jean skirt, a red checked short-sleeve blouse, and cowgirl boots.

  “Fuck me now,” I mumble as I give her a kiss on the cheek.

  She laughs. “Maybe not right now . . .”

  “But later?”

  She shrugs, but the gesture comes complete with a wink that says we’ll see.

  We sit down and I order eggs, but no bacon.

  After the waiter leaves, Delaney tips her forehead in my direction. “No bacon?” She stretches across the table and places the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re not feeling so hot today?”

  I laugh. “Nope. I feel great. Just wanted to prove I can abstain.”

  “Prove to whom?”

  I point at the gorgeous woman sitting across from me. Her blond hair is swept up in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are morning-fresh and rosy. “You.”

  Her brown eyes seem to sparkle. “Your abstinence is impressive, but you do know you won’t offend me if you eat bacon?”

  I nod. “I know you’re not offended, and I appreciate that.” Delaney’s eating choices have always been for her, not something she tries to impose on others. “But let’s call a pig a pig. Bacon isn’t that good for you. And, truth be told, maybe some of your vegetarianism is rubbing off on me.” I hold up both hands. “Not saying I’m going the full nothing-with-a-face route. I just mean I’ve cut back. I’ll survive without it.”

  An eyebrow rises. “You sure?”

  I pretend to choke, then to cough, then I slump in the chair as if the last breath is fading from me.

  A few seconds later I sit up, and she asks me if I’m going to live.

  “It’ll be rough.”

  She pretends to toss her napkin at me. “You’ll learn to love fake bacon. With avocado and lettuce,” she says, then as if an idea has just taken root, her eyes light up. “Actually, I’ll make one for you someday. My veggie BLTs are six shades of awesome.”

  “Six shades? Not five and not seven, but six?”

  “Yes. Six shades just like six toes. And maybe you’ll get to experience all six shades of my world-renowned BLT.”

  “You mean FLT. Fake-on.”

  She laughs as she folds the napkin across her lap once more, “What do you most like to do outside of work?” Her eyes drift northward. “Besides . . . that.”

  “Besides that, I’d have to say rock climbing,” I answer. “Also, rafting and kayaking. And going to watch the Dodgers kick the asses of any New York baseball team.”

  “Some things never change,” she says with a smile.

  “And some things never should.”

  She holds up her water glass in a toast, and I clink mine with hers.

  The next day, we go for another run in the park in the early dawn. At the end of our five miles, we bump into Oliver. He’s stretching at the edge of the reservoir.

  “Nichols, how’s it hanging?” he says in his best imitation of an American accent.

  I clap him on the shoulder. “A little to the left, thank you very much.” Delaney snickers, and I turn to my running partner and make intros. “Delaney, this is Oliver. He works at my firm and pretends to talk American sometimes. Oliver, this is the lovely Delaney. We went to college together.”

  Oliver pushes his mess of dark hair off his forehead and smiles at Delaney. With a slight bow of the head, he reaches for her hand and kisses the top. “Charmed,” he says, this time in his proper accent.

  “I see you’re from Italy,” she jokes.

  Oliver laughs and points at me. “She’s a keeper.”

  I take her hand. “That’s the goal.”

  Oliver turns his attention back to Delaney. “I trust you demolished him on the running path?”

  “I did my absolute best to make sure he ate my dust.”

  I adopt an abject frown. “It was terrible to have to watch her backside the entire time.”

  On Wednesday, we plan a mid-afternoon coffee date. I wait for her outside a café on Columbus, shades on, head bent, answering emails on my phone.

  As I tap out a reply to a client, soft lips flutter across my cheek. Sweet and delicious, they light sparks down my spine. I stop writing, stuff the phone in my pocket, and cup her cheek in my hand.

  Tur
ning her face to me, I kiss her on the street, and we spend our whole coffee date like that. Sans coffee and with kissing.

  We walk and talk and kiss, like we’re practicing all the kinds of kissing in the world.

  There’s the street corner kiss, the nibble on the lips kiss, then the so soft it’s barely there lip-lock. Somehow, even that last one sets my bones on fire.

  But none more than the one I give her on Seventy-Eighth Street, as I push her up against the stoop outside a brownstone. Grabbing her jaw, I hold her face as I bestow a harsh, hungry kiss on those lips I fucking love.

  She moans so helplessly that I have no choice but to crowd her against the banister and kiss her more cruelly, using teeth, sucking lips, devouring her taste. Her body melts into mine, and her arms rope round my neck. Her every sound and sigh tells me she likes it like this.

  But I stop soon because the clock is ticking and I have a conference call at four. “I need to get back to work soon. I only have ten more minutes.”

  “Me, too. I need to return to work, too.” She drops her gaze to the sidewalk, then looks up. Gone is the dark desire. In its place is something I haven’t seen in a while. She looks like a deer. She looks scared.

  She swallows. Shit. Fuck. No. She’s going to end things, and they’ve barely started. My brain goes into hyperdrive, cycling back through the last few days to figure out where I’ve gone wrong. Did I say something thoughtless? Do something careless?

  She runs her finger over the collar of my shirt. “I made a mistake.”

  My throat clogs now. “What do you mean?”

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

  I furrow my brow. “About what?”

  She draws a sharp breath. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say this, but you know the other day when I said why I didn’t go to law school?”

  She takes a beat, and I’m finally able to take a breath. “Sure. When we went for a run last Saturday?”

  “Yes. I didn’t share the full story. I wasn’t sure how to say it all then, or if I was even ready to. But I want to be open with you even if it’s hard for me.”