Frenched Series Bundle (51 page)

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.

My heart fell. I’d known that would probably happen, but I still felt let down. Immediately I looked at my phone. I wanted to call Nick so badly—he was the only one who’d understand why I was so sad about it. I bit my lip…should I do it? I’d have to call Sitty and get his number, which was pretty pathetic. She’d probably gloat. But the phone was in my hand before I decided against it.

No. He has to come to me.
Flowers and lunch and whiskey and cinnamon buns (damn, the guy understood me) were all well and good, but I still needed more.
What is essential is invisible to the eye.

Still, on Friday morning, I woke up excited, wondering what today’s surprise would be. And would he finally show up with it himself? The delivery guys were a nice touch and all, but I was ready to see him again, especially since I was leaving the following morning for France. Did he realize that? While I was in the shower, I tried to remember if I’d told him when I was going, and I wasn’t sure I had. What if he was planning some big romantic dinner or something to cap off the week? Should I somehow let him know I wouldn’t be around? Undecided, I left the house, half expecting to see a horse and carriage in the driveway ready to take me to work.

All day long I waited for the next offering. Each time the phone rang, I jumped. Each time I heard voices down the hall, my ears perked up. Every hour that passed had me scooting a little closer to the edge of my chair.

But the day passed, and nothing happened.

By five o’clock, I had to admit that he probably wasn’t coming here. Maybe he was planning to come by my house tonight? Or maybe he’d already left something for me there. Smiling, I set up an out-of- office auto reply for the next week, tidied up my desk, and locked the door.

When I got home, though, there was nothing waiting for me. No flowers, no meal, no Nick.
Well, it’s early yet. And maybe he had to work all day so he could get tonight off.

I began packing for France, called Erin to remind her I’d pick her up at three tomorrow, and around eight, I gave in to my growling stomach and stuck a frozen pizza in the oven. Four slices and just as many glasses of wine later, I fell asleep on the family room couch with my phone clutched in my hand.

At some point, Sitty must have turned off the television, because the room was dark when I woke up. I checked the time—after two in the morning. Groaning at the crick in my neck, I stretched and rose to my feet. The wine had my head a little foggy, but as it cleared, I realized that Nick hadn’t called. Or come over. Or sent me anything.

Well, fuck. What an anti-climactic finish to the week. And I was leaving in twelve hours.

After taking some ibuprofen, I went upstairs, brushed my teeth and fell into bed, missing him beside me like I had every night this week. Where was he?

Was he thinking about me? Was this stupid of me to wait around when I wanted to see him so badly?

Maybe it was. The next week of my life was all about Mia, but when I returned I’d reach out to him, even if I had to deal with Smug Sitty.

I drifted back to sleep, content for the first time all week.

#

The next day, I woke up at eight and took a run.

My head ached from too much red wine the night before, but I made myself do it, thinking about all the tasty meals I’d eat in France this week. I hadn’t packed any running clothes, but I planned to eat ALL the things.

After a shower, I put on a simple white cotton sundress that would be comfortable to travel in and added the final items to my suitcase. Mia had made me a list, of course, and I dutifully crossed off each item listed as I surveyed the contents before latching it shut. I had everything I needed. When I was ready to go, I looked longingly at the roses I’d brought home from the office.
Damn you, Nick. Why won’t you call? Did you learn your lesson or not?

I picked up Erin, grateful for her excited chatter about our trip and the wedding and the prospect of hot groomsmen or wedding guests. I needed the distraction. But eventually she asked, “How are things with Nick?”

“Fuck if I know.” I settled into a chair at our gate. “He said Sunday he was going to fight for me, and then after all the hoopla last week, nothing. No surprise yesterday, and no phone call.”

“Maybe he lost his phone,” she said, laughing as she patted my arm.

“Ha. Right.” I opened the bottle of water I’d just bought and guzzled it, still a little dehydrated from all the wine plus my morning workout. “Honestly, I have no idea what he’s thinking. Half of me likes the anticipation and the other half can’t stand the suspense. Are we back together or aren’t we?”

“So you
do
want him back.”

“Yeah. I do.” I glanced at her. “Crazy?”

“Not at all. Especially since he gave me this to give to you.” Pulling an envelope from her purse, she handed it to me and grinned. “I’m the messenger pigeon. He told me to say that.”

Jaw open in disbelief, I screwed the cap back on my water and stared at the envelope. “What is that?”

“I don’t know. But it’s for you. He got in touch with me earlier this week and asked when we were leaving. Then he dropped this off at my apartment yesterday and told me to say nothing to you until we were here.” Her green eyes lit up. “He’s gorgeous. Gor- geous. Now open it. I’m dying!”

“Me too.” Sliding my finger beneath the seal, I tore it open and pulled out a hand-written note.

Black ink on a white handkerchief.

I smiled as I began to read his small, neat printing.

Dear Coco, I’m sure the red lipstick had more effect, but my black pen will have to do. Just wanted to tell you I love you and I miss you and I hope the surprises made you happy this week. I want to make you happy every day for the rest of your life if you’ll let me. See you soon. Love, Nick

“What does it say?” Erin demanded. “You’re killing me!”

I read it again to myself before reading it aloud to her, struggling to get the words out when my throat began to close.

“God, that’s so romantic,” she gushed. “But what’s with the handkerchief?”

I told her the story and she pounded the chair arm between us. “That’s so cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” I fanned my face. “I think I might cry. God, I wish I could have seen him before I left. Why didn’t he bring this to me himself?”

As I read the note again, a deep voice came over the loudspeaker at the gate. “Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention please?” I was so swept away by my feelings, I didn’t even realize the voice was familiar.

“Oh my God.” Erin’s hand gripped my wrist. “Coco.”

“What?” I glanced at her.

“Look.”

I looked up. Straight ahead, standing at the gate and speaking into the microphone (the man could charm anyone into anything, I swear), was Nick. And he was looking right at me as he repeated his request.

“Thank you,” he said as the buzz in the terminal quieted. “You see, I have to impress this woman over here.” He pointed at me. “The gorgeous woman in the white dress.”

Chills swept down my body. Heads looked back and forth from him to me, and a few people giggled in the crowd.

“I’ve been madly in love with her since I was nineteen, but I made a mistake back then. I lost her, and I didn’t fight hard enough to get her back.” The giggles quieted, and my stomach flip-flopped wildly. Tears filled my eyes. “But there’s never been a day where I haven’t thought about her and wished she were still mine.” His voice cracked on the word “mine,” causing the first tear to slip down my cheek. “And she told me to stop proposing to her out of the blue, but some habits are hard to break.” He set the microphone down and walked toward me, and the silence of the crowd made my heartbeat deafening. I was frozen stiff in my seat. What the hell was he doing?

When he reached me, he got down on one knee, and gasps echoed through crowd.

Erin stood and backed away slightly, her hands over her open mouth.

When Nick pulled out a ring box, I put my hands over mine too.

“Coco,” he said quietly, his dark eyes serious. “I married you before because I loved you enough to promise forever. And even though things went wrong, I never doubted you were the one. So I want to do it right this time. Maybe you think I’m crazy, but I think we’ve wasted too many years apart already. I want you back. I want you forever. Marry me again?” He opened the ring box, and my heart stopped. Inside was a gorgeous diamond and platinum ring in an art deco setting, a large emerald cut center stone surrounded by delicate filigree work.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, my entire body shivering.

“It’s a replica of the ring my Papa Joe gave to Tiny.” Nick’s eyes were shining too. “I wish it were the real thing, but my Aunt Vinnie wouldn’t give it up.”

“Oh, Nick.” I wanted to do a dozen different things at once. Say yes. Kiss him. Hit him. Melt into a puddle. Jump up and down. Squeal. Tell him I loved replicas of vintage things. Hear him ask me to marry him again. But I couldn’t do anything, could barely even breathe.

“What do you think?” he whispered.

I smiled. “I want sixty-seven years, at least.”

“You’ll have them. You’ll have everything.”

“Did she say yes?” called a voice from the crowd.

“Yes,” I whispered to Nick. Then I let my head fall back. “Yes!” I shouted to the roof.

The crowd erupted in applause and Nick slid the ring on my finger. I blinked at it through tears before he pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in his arms. Whoops and whistles rang out as we kissed long and deep, Nick lifting me right off the ground.

When he finally set me down, Erin tackled me, alternating hugs with wide-eyed staring at my hand. Nick accepted handshakes from the crowd before giving Erin a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She fanned her face, which, like mine, was dripping with tears. “Me! What did I do?”

“Gave me the flight information. How else would I have been able to book a ticket?”

I grabbed his arm. “You booked a ticket?”

“I had to. They don’t let people through security who don’t. Not even handsome devils like me with a ring in his pocket.”

I slapped his shoulder. “But are you really going? To France, I mean?”