The Real Deal

Heath shakes his head. “Nope. We’re settling this, and there’s no need to take off.”

Or maybe we’re not settling it. Because one minute passes. Two minutes. Three. Four. Five. Heath paces on the stoop, Lacey fiddles with her bracelet, and I stare at the glass window on the door. What I don’t do is check my phone. I need to finish this before I even see if April has responded to the letter I left her with the money.

My fingers itch to grab my phone from my pocket.

Slide my thumb across the screen.

And look for her name.

My heart aches with the wish that I’ll find her words on the other end of the line. She doesn’t seem like a woman who takes kindly to being hoodwinked, and I can’t say I blame her. But I’m hoping she’ll give me a chance when she reads what I wrote. I want to get to the next phase of my life, and I’m dying for her to be a part of it, but I need to finish this chapter first.

Six minutes later, footsteps sound in the foyer, and Addison appears at the door, unlocking it. She’s freshened up, I suspect. Her hair is looped into a ponytail, and her lips are slicked with peach gloss. Her eyelashes are long, mascara combed through them.

“Good evening,” Heath says.

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Huh,” he says, acting surprised as he checks his watch. It’s only ten. We made it here in one hour and forty-five minutes. Heath doesn’t exactly honor the speed limit. “Hope you don’t mind taking a big fat check at this late hour.”

She crosses her arms and stares at Lacey. “Will it even cash?”

“Yeah, it’ll cash.” He reaches into his pocket and hands her the check he wrote on the drive.

She unfolds it, eyes it like it’s something dirty. She stuffs it into her bra.

Next, Heath removes a sheet of paper from his pocket. Lacey jimmied up the contract on her phone on the way in, sent it to a copy shop, and picked it up during a four-minute pit stop. “And these are the terms saying the personal loan between you and me is paid, free and clear. Sign it, and we’ll be done.”

He pats his pocket for a pen.

Lacey laughs softly, dips her hand into her purse, and fishes out a pen. “Here you go.”

“She speaks,” Addison says cruelly.

Lacey smiles at Addison. “Yes, I do speak. And I believe I speak for all women when I say, you have very lovely hair. It’s quite pretty.”

I wrench back and stare at Lacey. What the hell was that? Then it dawns on me. She’s not using the same weapons as Addison. She’s not fighting fire with fire. She’s disarming her with kindness. And I’m reminded once more why Lacey is the one my brother has always loved.

Because she loves.

Addison’s jaw hangs open. She has no clue how to respond to someone like Lacey. Instead, she huffs, grabs the pen, scrawls her name, and thrusts the paper back at Heath.

He holds it up in the air, and Lacey shines the flashlight from her phone on it. I snap a photo of it.

“I’ll send this to you, Addison. So we’ll all have a copy,” I say. Then I extend a hand. I’m dying to say something biting, like Wish I could say it’s been nice doing business with you. Instead, I take a page from Lacey’s playbook and say, “Thanks for the help when we needed it, and best of luck in all your ventures.”

We leave, and the debt is paid.

Sometimes things are easy when you stop hiding the truth. I wish I’d known sooner how easy it would be like this. But I suppose we don’t really learn until we’re ready.

Or maybe until we meet the one person worth telling all your truths to.

*

As we walk to the car, I take a deep inhalation of the New York night. This is what I want. New York. With her. This life.

“So tell me, O Oracle, what do I do now to get the girl back?”

Heath cracks up. “Are you talking to me or are you talking to the expert on all things lady-related?” He tugs Lacey in and gives her a NSFW kiss.

I groan. “No PDA, please.”

He breaks the kiss. “More? You said you wanted more?”

Lacey laughs and drops a kiss to his lips. When she breaks apart, she says, “You need to try again.”

“And what exactly does that entail?” I ask, dropping my hand into my pocket, eager to check my phone.

Heath says three words, and I know that’s what I need to do.





Chapter Forty-one

April

I imagine he wrote this note on the Sunnyside notepad while I was down at the docks, swiping tears from my face. I picture him leaning over the bureau, writing it standing up, concentration etched in his brow.

Trying to find just the right words.

I still can’t believe he returned the money.

Maybe that’s why I’m still in shock a couple hours later as I sit curled up on the red couch, running my hand over the note.

In my defense, I haven’t been sitting here staring at the paper for two hours. I did manage another shower. Showers have a wonderful way of resetting your mind, and I needed that. I needed to feel the water streaming hot down my body, as I thought about what to do.

Now here with my damp hair, sleep shorts, and T-shirt, I know what to do.

I read the note one more time.

April,

When I first met you in the park, I knew I was screwed.

You were the toughest client I ever worked for. Not because you’re hard to get along with, but because I was attracted to you from the second I saw you.

It was instant, sort of like how you felt for my T-shirt.

But even though we started as a made-up couple, concocting fables and telling tales, that spark between us was always real. And then, as I got to know you, it turned into something more. It turned into the real deal. That’s what you are to me, and that’s what I want to be for you.

Maybe that’s why this job has been the hardest one of all—because I had to pretend the whole time that I wasn’t falling in love with you.

I am completely in love with you, and that’s why all the stories I’ve told you about us feel true. They’re true to what I want with you. I want a real future. I want to keep creating stories to tell. Real stories of us. I want you to know who I am, and I want to know who you are. I have a past, yes. But I have a future, too, and I want you in it. You know how to find me.

Theo

I’m dying to call him. I’m longing to reach out to him. But I have to take care of something else first. Something that’s stood in the way since we started. Time to knock it down.

I stand, leave my phone behind, and exit the room.

The door clicks shut, and I raise my chin up high. It’s nearly midnight, and I suspect my father is asleep. I don’t relish waking him up, but I need to talk to both my parents. I pad quietly down the stairs, then through the quiet living room. Sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drift from the back porch. I’m pleasantly surprised to find him there, parked in an Adirondack chair, my mom cuddled on his lap, the two of them staring at the stars. He tells her something I can’t hear, and she laughs.

I push the door open wider, so they hear me. “Hi.”

They turn their heads to me. “Hey, little puppy,” my father says.

“You’re up late, Dad,” I say as I grab a chair across from them.

He shows me an empty glass of wine. “Your mother lured me out here with wine. I was powerless to resist her charms.”

She smiles at him. “You always have been.”

He dots a kiss on her forehead. “I always will be.”

I could gag if it weren’t completely sweet.

“But how are you?” my mother asks. “Do you still have a headache?” She popped by when I first returned, and I waved her off, claiming a malady I didn’t have since I couldn’t deal then. “Do you need anything? What happened to Theo? He rushed out in a flurry with his brother and that woman.”

A flock of nerves descends on me, but I tell it to scatter. I am strong. I am tough. I am confident.

“I hired him, Mom.”

She knits her brow. “Hired? What?”

I steel myself to tell the truth. “He’s not my boyfriend. I found him on GigsForHire.”

My father blinks. “You can find men on GigsForHire?”

My mother gives him a look, chiding. “Joshua. You can find anything on GigsForHire. Especially men.”