But my contract is up at the end of the year, and I’ll be done with it.”
“Fine,” I snapped, annoyed that he appeared to have a decent excuse for all those photos. “That still doesn’t change the fact that you up and left in a heartbeat and didn’t call me all week long! I get that you lost your phone, but friends have phones, Nick. And there are Internet cafes. Post offices. Fucking messenger pigeons.”
“I’m sorry…I don’t know what else to say. You’re right, I should have tried harder.”
“And you said you were going to be home Wednesday.”
His cheeks colored slightly. “I had to do something else, and I didn’t end up getting home until Thursday. I just figured I’d see you when I got back, but now I realize that’s not good enough.”
“Hell no, it’s not. You don’t fight hard enough for me, Nick. You never have.” I tried to get around him again, but he grabbed my upper arms.
“Listen to me. I’m not perfect, and I don’t claim to be. I’m going to make mistakes, and you will too. But I love you. And I know you love me. Give me another chance, Coco. Let me make things right.”
I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. “It’s too late for that.”
He stared hard at me. And then, unbelievably enough, he smiled. “No. It isn’t.”
I blinked. “What?”
The grin widened. “It isn’t. You’re going to give me another chance. Maybe not right now, maybe not even tomorrow, but you will. Because we are good together, Coco. This is it for me, and for you. You’ll see.” He planted his lips on mine, and I was too stunned to resist, not that I’d ever resisted Nick’s kiss before. And this one was different somehow—I felt it from my scalp to my toes, a new charge in the air between us.
Then he let me go. He smiled at me, looking so happy I had to wonder if he was sane, and took off toward his car. It was the quickest I’d ever seen him move when he wasn’t on a run.
“Wait,” I said, flustered and hot in the shorts. “You can’t just—what are you doing?”
He turned around, jogging backward a few paces. “I’m fighting for you!”
“From over there?”
He grinned and got in his car without another word.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Confused, frustrated, and totally turned on, I went in the house and slammed the door before screaming at it. “And stay out!”
The next day, he sent me flowers at work. Two dozen breathtaking scarlet roses wrapped in green tissue paper, nestled in a box tied with a ribbon. The sight of them moved me a little before I came to my senses and blew a raspberry. Big deal, he sent flowers. He’s too late.
I opened the card, which said, “There’s a flower…I think she’s tamed me…” It took me a minute to realize he’d quoted The Little Prince, which I had to admit won him a few points.
But not the game.
On Tuesday, he had lunch delivered to me from The Burger Bar, complete with a slice of cheesecake from the Astoria Pastry Shop, a Corktown bakery. The note said, “Wish I were there to have a picnic with you.”
On Wednesday, he sent me a bottle of Auchentoshan Virgin Oak Scotch whiskey along with a card that read, “To my favorite virgin. Let’s go to Scotland someday. Distillery tour?”
On Thursday morning I arrived at my office to find a tray of cinnamon buns on my desk, huge and warm and scenting the entire floor. Next to them, he’d scribbled a note on a piece of white printer paper. Made these for you this morning. I miss you in my kitchen (and in my shower, my car, and my bed).
I sank into my chair, dropping my laptop case at my feet. I’d like to say I considered giving the buns away or even throwing them in the trash, but of course, I dug right into one, savoring every sticky delicious bite and licking the icing from my fingers when I was done. After that I took the tray across the hall.
“You bake, too?” asked Lindsay Burns, one of the two interior designers whose offices were on the second floor. Eagerly she picked one up and took a bite.
“No. They were on my desk this morning. A little surprise.”
“Oh my God.” She crossed her eyes. “It’s so good,” she said with a mouthful. “Who made them?”
“Actually, my ex. He’s trying to win me back.”
“With food?”
I smiled ruefully. “He knows me. And he’s a chef.”
“Is he hot?” She took another huge bite.
“Yes,” I said, sighing. “Ridiculously hot.”
“He’s hot and he cooks and he sends you food at work?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, listen.” She licked her fingers. “If you don’t take him back, will you give him my number?”
“Sure…although I’m thinking about taking him back. But I have to make him work for it.”
Lindsay nodded and polished off the rest of the bun. “Smart girl.”
After taking the tray up to the third floor and down to the first to offer all the employees in the house a roll, I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at my desk. Finding myself in a really good mood for the first time all week, I opened up my email inbox and started going through it. Mostly I had inquiries from brides, which were a good thing, but I also had a note from Linda, my real estate agent, with a few more listings in my price range. At the end of her email, she mentioned that the house on Iroquois had sold to the family who transferred here.