Rusty Nailed (17 page)

I’d asked her once what made them finally decide to go ahead and set a date. We’d been sitting in the conference room, sampling cakes the baker had brought by one morning, trying to decide which one would be the wedding cake. I caught her looking down at her ring, smiling a secretive smile, and I asked her.

“I don’t know. One day I just looked at him and knew I was ready to be his wife. I’d built my business, I’d accomplished all of the goals I’d set in my twenties and a bunch I’d set in my thirties, and it just felt like the right time.” She grinned, pulling the chocolate buttercream with raspberry filling back toward her for
another taste. I had a feeling this one was going to be the winner. It was. “Plus, have you seen his ass? Oh, look who I’m asking, the president of the Benjamin Fan Club,” she joked.

“I’ll have you know I won that election fair and square. It’s not my fault Mimi and Sophia didn’t know we were voting that day. Fair and square,” I explained.

Speaking of my friends, all was quiet on the Sophia and Neil front. They hadn’t seen each other since Game Night, and Mimi was planning to try again before Christmas—something I was trying to talk her out of. But when she invited them both to her Christmas party, neither one tried to get out of it. In fact, they both seemed to be looking forward to it. Who knew who they’d bring this time? They both continued to date, and often, but it rarely went beyond to a second date.

Color me surprised.

In order to jet off to Philadelphia for an entire weekend in the middle of one of my busiest seasons, I worked practically round the clock, evenings, and Saturdays to clear my schedule enough so that I could leave everything behind and just be with Simon. It was never a question of not going; there was no way on earth I was going to let him do this alone.

He was so nervous.

The night before we left he had a nightmare, and today on the plane he barely spoke. When he did speak, he was curt and quick. When the plane touched down, he turned to me and said, “I’m going to apologize right now for being a dick this weekend, in case I am. I’m not planning on it, but if it does happen, I’m sorry.”

I patted his hand, and kissed his nose. “Apology preaccepted. Now show me your hometown— I can’t wait to see your Liberty Bell.”

He half smiled, and took my hand as we left the plane.

•  •  •

P
hiladelphia was a city I’d never been to, and I wished I had even more time to explore. But this weekend wasn’t about indulging my reenactment of the Rocky Run up the steps of the art museum, but more about me being wherever and whatever Simon needed. Besides, apparently they moved the Rocky statue from the top of the stairs off to the side anyway. Pffft.

We picked up the rental car, threw our bags into the back, and headed to the hotel. With the trip cross country, it was already dark by the time we got to the part of town Simon grew up, but he lit up when he began to call out places he recognized. And places he didn’t.

“When did that bike shop close down? Oh man, this was the place I got my first bike without training wheels. Why is a minimall there; when did that go up?”

“When’s the last time you were here, Simon?” I asked.

“Um, a few weeks after graduation, I think,” he said distractedly, his eyes going back and forth on both sides of the street.

“You really haven’t been here since you were eighteen?” I asked, astonished.

“Why would I have been back?” he asked, making a turn and taking us right into the middle of the town square.

When Simon said he grew up in Philadelphia, that wasn’t technically true. He grew up in one of the many feeder communities, the smaller townships that made up the outlying areas. I knew he came from money, but I didn’t know he came from Moneyville, USA.

His hometown was plush. And darling in the way all northeastern towns looked to anyone who grew up in California. There was something to be said for growing up in a town that was almost three hundred years older than the one I grew up in. Most of the houses we passed could only be described as estates.

The town square was quaint, with tidy little shops framing
City Hall in the center. Two story mostly, with a few turreted three stories on each corner. People were shopping as the lightest dusting of snow fell, sparkling on the wrought-iron railings and—oh my God—honest to goodness real iron horse head hitching posts! Like, where people used to tie their horses to! Like, in olden times!

“Simon, we have to walk around a little, look how cute your town is! Look at all the shops, and, oh, look at the Christmas tree in the middle!” I cried, pointing. In front of City Hall was a large tree, bedecked with red bows, gold ornaments, and white lights.

“Babe, they put up a Christmas tree in front of City Hall in San Francisco every year.”

“This is different; this is so stinking
cute
! Everything is so old! What’s that?” I asked, pointing to an old Gothic house with a plaque outside. Each window had a wreath; the windows upstairs even had candles too. It was so pretty, it must be of some historical significance.

“It used to be . . . Yep, it’s still a Subway.”

“Station?” I asked, confused.

“No, like the sandwich shop,” he replied, laughing at my fallen expression. “I can’t believe it’s still open; no one eats there. Not when there’s Little Luigi’s. You still want a cheesesteak?”

“Am I breathing?”

“One cheesesteak coming up,” he said, turning the car down the last corner of the town square. “You gotta understand, everything here is old. Every building used to be something else; every building gets reused for something else,” he explained, pulling into one of the parking spots that was diagonal along the square. “Except for that stupid strip mall where my bike shop used to be.”

He turned off the car and walked around to my side. Stepping out, I breathed in the snowy air, feeling it prickle in my lungs. The cold felt good after the long plane ride, and it was nice to stretch my legs a bit as we walked down the block.

As we walked, he pointed out the different shops: the bakery
where they made the best sugar cookies, the place where he got his new shoes every year for school, and as we walked and he talked, he seemed less and less nervous.

“Thank God, it’s still here. Little Luigi’s,” he said, where there was a line out the door into the cold night. It moved fast though, and soon we were inside. It was a hole in the wall, with only three tables and a counter. They were grilling the steaks on a big black griddle, peppers and onions sizzling. People were barking out orders, wrapping sandwiches, and the smell was heavenly.

When it was our turn, Simon ordered for both of us. Two steaks, cheese, onions, mushrooms, with both sweet and hot peppers on the side. And the funniest thing happened. When he ordered? This accent came out of nowhere. I’d never heard it before. Not New York or New Jersey; this was very specific. As I listened to everyone around me, they all had it. Some thicker than others, and Simon’s was fairly light, but it had definitely popped up. Huh.

Grabbing a handful of napkins, he spied a family leaving one of the tables and was able to nab it. Leaving me with the table, he went back up for the sandwiches. I’d seen Simon order from a man with ten baskets of spring rolls on his head in Saigon. I’d seen him order sausages from a giant woman in an apron in Salzburg. And nowhere had I ever seen him more at home than he was in this sandwich shop in suburban Philadelphia.

With a wide grin, he returned to the table. He showed me how to spread out the paper to catch the drips, added salt and pepper, then how to hold it so it didn’t spill out over the sides. Then he bit down, and pure bliss came over his face. And he made a sound I’d only ever heard him make once. And he was very happy when he made it.

•  •  •

“S
imon Parker?” a voice said from behind, and he turned with a mouthful of cheesesteak. He quickly swallowed, and stood. An
older woman with a sleek silver chignon and a strand of pearls that could choke a horse was looking at him in amazement.

“Mrs. White?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh my goodness, it
is
you! I never thought we’d see you around here again!” She pulled him into a hug. “Where in the world have you been? Last I heard, you were off to Stanford.”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m still out on the West Coast—San Francisco, actually. How are you, how’s the family?”

“Oh fine, fine! Todd’s with the firm now and practicing corporate law. He’s married, with their first little one on the way, and Kitty just got married last summer, and— You must be here for the reunion; I just can’t believe it’s you!” she said again, hugging him tight. He rocked forward on his feet, off balance, while I looked on, grinning.

She spied me over his shoulder, and looked me up and down with shrewd interest. “And who might this be, Simon?”

He ran his hand through his hair nervously again. “This is Caroline Reynolds. Caroline, this was our neighbor from next door, Mrs. White.” He patted me on the shoulder so hard that I almost took a nosedive into what remained of my cheesesteak. Which was basically just a grease stain.

I reached a hand out to her. “Mrs. White, it’s lovely to meet you. You must be the one to go to for stories about how much trouble Simon used to get into, am I right?”

“I remember everything, Caroline—my mind is like a steel trap,” she said, tapping her temple. “But tonight I forgot to remind Arthur to grab the chicken out of the freezer, so it’s hoagies in the TV room,” she said, waving at the counter man who was holding up two torpedo-looking bundles.

Looking at Simon carefully, she patted him on the cheek. “Simon, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. You’ll stop by while you’re in town? I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Well, Mrs. White, I’m not sure if we’ll have time since the
reunion is tomorrow night, and before that I was going to show Caroline around a bit more. We’re leaving on Sunday, so—”

“Lunch.”

“Lunch?” he asked.

“Lunch tomorrow. You have to eat, right?”

He nodded. I smiled. I liked her.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you at twelve.” She nodded, settling the matter. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Arthur you’re coming over tomorrow; he’ll be so pleased!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he agreed.

“I’ve got to run, see you then!” she called over her shoulder, heading out into the night.

“She’s great,” I remarked, watching as Simon balled up the remaining papers and napkins and threw them into the wastebasket.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That was good,” I said, patting my stomach.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“So what now?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at the sudden change. The nerves were back.

“What? Oh, um, let’s head to the hotel, get checked in? Yep, let’s do that,” he said, ushering me out of the shop.

We walked silently to the car in the lightly falling snow. This trip was a big deal for him, and I’d just realized what lunch meant: he was going to be next door to the house he grew up in. For the first time in ten years.

He reached for my hand, and into his it went.

•  •  •

I
took a few minutes to clear out my in-box when we got back to the hotel. I was trying really hard to leave the office behind, so I limited it to a few moments here and there, answering only the questions I couldn’t put off until Monday. Then I took a shower, wanting to get rid of the airplane and the cheesesteak smell, both
of which lingered. Still damp, I padded out to the bedroom in my towel with another on my head, finding Simon lying on the bed. Hands clasped behind his head, he was staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” I said softly.

“Hey, how was your shower?”

“Fantastic, they’ve got one of those rain showers? You should take one before bed.”

“I might.”

Silence fell once more, and I crossed to the bed, sitting down beside him.

“Thanks for bringing me here. It’s nice, seeing the place you came from.”

“Sure,” he said, looking at me for the first time.

I laid my hand on his chest gently. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispered back.

I leaned down slowly, watching his eyes. I gently grazed my lips over his, light and quick. When he didn’t pull away, I kissed him again. He let me, my lips taking his for a third time. I pressed a little harder, and he let me in. I stroked his tongue with my own, feeling him respond as we tangled and twisted. His breathing deepened, his pulse quickened beneath me, and I propped myself above. Not removing my mouth from his, I let my fingers undo his buttons, exposing the skin beneath. Kissing along his jawline, I let my lips tease just below his ear, feeling the sandpaper scruff. I knew what that scruff felt like on the inside of my thighs, and how great was that?

I felt him tense as I flicked my tongue against his earlobe, eliciting a hiss. His hands came up to my waist as I crept back along his neck, kissing lower along his collarbone. Pulling at his shirt, untucking it from his waistband, I threw it wide, pressing myself along his torso. His skin was warm; it felt divine against my own. I needed to feel more of it.

Standing, I kept my hands on him at all times while I gently
removed his shirt, then belt, then socks and pants, until I had him naked and wanting. Standing in the moonlight, I dropped my towel.

“Caroline,” he breathed, and I crawled back on top of him. Straddling him low on his legs, I took him in hand. His hands came up to my breasts, needy and kneading. I stroked him, grasping the base and working upward, swirling my hand over the head and letting his hips tell me what he needed.

He panted, his chest rising and falling as I worked him. Up and down and swirly twirly, he was hard in my hands and the single most erotic man I’d ever seen in my life. I gently grazed one finger along the underside, and he thrust hard.

“Not going to last long if you keep that up.” He groaned, his fingers teasing at my nipples.

“That’s not what this is about,” I answered, rising above him. I positioned him, and slid him inside. Slick from just the way he was looking at me, I sank down inch by perfect inch, slowly. Exquisitely so, as he strained to stay still.