“That was fun,” Skylar said when we were seated at O’Malley’s twenty minutes later. She was across from Jillian and me, sitting cross-legged in the booth.
“That was absurd.” I picked up my water and chugged, although I was kind of tempted to order another drink. “She doesn’t really know what’s going to happen with any of us.”
“She might!” argued Jillian. “Look how she guessed all that stuff about us.”
I turned to her. “Come on, you’re a doctor. You believe in science, not magic.”
“Can’t I believe in magic too?” she asked wistfully. “I’d like to. She really nailed all our personalities.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, “but she knew you were the oldest, so she could have just spewed a lot of stuff about first-borns at you. And how hard is it to tell Glowy McSparkleface over here that she’s beautiful and happy?”
Glowy McSparkleface wadded up a napkin and threw it at me. “Party pooper. Come on, we’re supposed to be celebrating tonight.”
I sighed. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.”
The server arrived and set down three plates loaded with fat, juicy cheeseburgers and thick, hand-cut fries. My mouth watered.
“I’m thinking of trying a paleo diet this summer to lose weight for the wedding.” Skylar announced this right before sinking her teeth into the doughy white bun of her burger.
“Ha! You’ll last less than a day.” Jillian poured ketchup onto her plate. “Trust me. I tried it last week. I didn’t even last the morning.”
“Why would you need to try it?” I looked at her incredulously. “You don’t have a spare ounce on you.” Skylar and I were always so jealous of Jillian’s naturally skinny frame. I swam endless miles every week to keep extra pounds off my short, curvy body.
“To feel better.” She shrugged. “I’ve heard people say they feel amazing on a paleo diet, but it was not realistic for me. I like bread too much. And pasta. And wine.”
“Yeah, the wine thing could be an issue for me, working for a winery and all.” Skylar set down the burger and dipped a fry in Jillian’s puddle of ketchup. “Maybe I’ll rethink it. So let’s talk about Natalie’s handsome stranger.” Her eyes went wide with delight. “Who could it be?”
“She didn’t say it was a handsome stranger, she just said it was a stranger.” I reached for the mustard and squirted some on the top half of my bun. “And it was a load of horse shit anyway.”
“You don’t know that. What if it isn’t?” Skylar waved a fry at me, a blob of ketchup dropping onto the table. “Everything else she said about you was spot on.”
I replaced the bun and took a big bite, chewing slowly as I mulled that over. Was it true what she’d said about me? That once I make a decision I follow it through to the end, whether it’s right or wrong? And wasn’t that admirable, anyway? Why was it stubborn to see your goals through? I was where I was in life because of determination and hard work. At twenty-six, I was a successful entrepreneur who’d started my own small business and managed it daily; a loyal girlfriend to my very first love; and a homeowner thanks to my wise investments and frugal living.
So why were Madam Psuka’s words so unsettling?
“Maybe ‘upended’ isn’t a bad thing,” I said hopefully. “Maybe it’s just big changes coming.”
“That’s true.” Jillian nodded enthusiastically. “She didn’t say the chaos was bad or anything. And no one can sort out chaos like you, Nat.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a grateful smile.
“Good chaos could even be fun,” Skylar put in. “Like getting engaged and planning a wedding. Or renovating your new house—that’s gonna be a huge project.”
I frowned at her. “It doesn’t need that much renovating, not really.”
Skylar’s eyes bugged out. “Natalie. You have a sponge painted dining room. No.”
“And that wallpaper in the guest bedroom is horrible,” Jillian added. “Sorry if I’m meddling.”
“And that ivy stencil in the kitchen.” Skylar shuddered.
“That doesn’t bother me so much. The master bedroom and bathroom are perfect. And I don’t have money to redo everything at once anyway.”
“What about Dan? Shouldn’t he be helping you with these costs? Assuming he ever moves in,” she muttered under her breath.
“He’ll move in, eventually.” I shrugged. “But he has to sell his condo first, and he’d remortgaged it to buy into the marina. Money is tight for him right now. Plus, I kind of like having the place to myself for a while. And I can afford it. I feel good about that.”
Skylar splayed her hand over her chest. “OK, but please let me help you in that kitchen. We’ll strip that paper and paint it. I cannot handle the ivy.”
Jillian laughed. “I’ll help too, when I can. My hours will be so much better than before. Almost human, I think.”
“Good. Then you can sign up for that online dating thing I told you about.” Skylar gave Jillian a smug look before polishing off her burger.
Jillian sighed, picked up her water glass, and put it back down. “Anyone ready for another drink?”
“Yes,” Skylar and I said together. We ordered glasses of wine from Abelard Vineyards, where Skylar worked and was planning to be married, and toasted our successes once more.
“To Skylar, may your wedding be the most beautiful event this town has ever seen,” Jillian said, glass raised.
“To Jilly Bean, may your future patients appreciate how lucky they are to have the best doctor in the world,” I said, clinking my glass to hers.
“To Natalie, may she always open the door of her new house to handsome strangers.” Skylar’s eyes glinted mischievously as she touched her glass to ours. “Sometimes a little chaos is a good thing.”
• • •
A few days later, I was getting ready for work when my phone vibrated on the bathroom vanity. Surprised, I glanced down at it as I finished winding the elastic around my ponytail. It was four in the morning. Who did I know that would even be up at this hour?
Miles Haas calling, read the screen
I blinked.
Miles Haas was awake right now? He’s probably hammered, on his way home from a bar or a party or the bedroom of some girl who thinks he’ll call her tomorrow. I bet he drunk-dialed me by mistake. He’d done that the last time we’d talked, about a year ago, but he hadn’t admitted it until we’d been on the phone for almost an hour. Plus I was running late already, I was short-staffed today, and I had to make muffins for the coffee crowd and get the salads going for lunch. Tourist season was in full swing, and diners had cleaned me out yesterday. I did not have time for an early morning chat with Miles Haas.
Still, I took his call. I always did.
“Hello?”
“You married yet?” The gritty yet playful sound of his voice unlocked twenty years’ worth of memories. Treehouse, mud puddle, sticky cotton candy memories of summers he’d spent at his family’s summer house on Old Mission peninsula, where I grew up.
I smiled. “No.”
“Good. That guy was a douche. He didn’t deserve you.”
“We’re still together, Miles.”
“Still? Jesus. That’s even worse.” Miles and Dan shared an intense mutual dislike for each other, which I’d never fully understood, since there had never been anything romantic between Miles and me.
Well, except for that one night.
The almost night.
“So what’s up? Did you drunk dial me again?” In the mirror, I noticed my cheeks had gone pink.
“I’m perfectly sober, thank you.”
“Then why are you calling me at four in the morning?”
“I’m bored with the girl blowing me.”
“Oh my God.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please tell me there is not actually a girl blowing you right now.” It wasn’t totally out of the question—Miles wrote an insanely popular blog called Sex and the Single Guy as well as articles for men’s magazines, pieces with titles like “Should You Bang the Boss’s Daughter? A Flowchart” and “Butt Stuff for Beginners: A Field Guide.” Occasionally he wrote about topics other than sex, but his brand was built on his devil-may-care, hipster playboy approach to life. And that approach included a lot of banging, butt stuff, and blowjobs.
“No, I’m just teasing you.”
“Good.”
“She’s tied up in the basement now.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“You heading to work?”
I sighed. “Yes. I should be there already.”
“I’m in town.”
“You are?” I turned around and leaned against the vanity. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Miles in person—maybe two years ago? He’d gone to college and grad school out East somewhere and then moved around a bunch, but he hadn’t come back up here very often. Last time we’d spoken, he was living in Detroit. “To your family’s place?”
“Yeah. You busy later?”
I had to think for a second—today was Thursday, which meant Dan had his tennis league after work and I swam at the gym, but after that we always met up for dinner. We hadn’t really seen much of each other this week. Could I break a standing date—for Miles—without causing tension? “I’m not sure,” I hedged. “What time?”
“Whenever.”
“Let me check on something. I’ll text you this afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll have another round with Svetlana here, and I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Svetlana?”
“Yeah, she’s Ukrainian, some kind of acrobat. I don’t know what the fuck she’s saying half the time, but goddamn she’s flexible. Maybe I’ll send you a pic.”
“NO.” He’d done that before, and I’d had to quickly delete the pic before Dan discovered it. “Don’t you dare. I’m hanging up.”
I ended the call and quickly finished getting ready for work. On the ten-minute drive to Coffee Darling, the small shop I’d opened downtown three years ago, I reminisced about those us-against-the-world summers when Miles and I had been close. His family’s property bordered my family’s cherry farm, and for as long as I can remember I’d looked forward to those eight weeks we’d have together while his family visited from their home outside Chicago. An only child, he was a year older than me, but about five years less mature, and growing up in a house with only sisters, I’d liked the idea of hanging out with a boy.
And unlike my bookworm sister Jillian or pageant queen Skylar, I’d loved nothing more as a kid than running around outside and getting dirty, climbing trees, swimming in his family’s pool or the bay. As grade schoolers, we’d played pirates or spies or zombies. As pre-teens, we’d had swimming races and fishing contests and went to the county fair together, gorging on sticky carnival food and riding the Zipper or Round Up until we were sick and dizzy. And the weird thing was, as close as we were all those summers, we never talked during the school year. But when he arrived in late June for vacation, it was like we’d never been apart.
Things changed a little the summer after he turned sixteen, when he was suddenly tall and deep-voiced, and his body had acquired the muscular curves and lines of a grown man’s. His face had changed too—it was more angular, stronger in the jaw and cheekbone, fuller at the mouth. Miles is so handsome, isn’t he? my mother would remark. I’d rolled my eyes, because she wasn’t the only female who’d noticed. Miles was suddenly every girl’s crush, a role he relished, hooking up with every pretty girl with a pulse, including a bunch of my friends.
Secretly I agreed with my mother—Miles was handsome, but his ego didn’t need any boosting from me. When we hung out as teenagers, I endured his dirty, juvenile sense of humor and turned up my nose at his flirting, letting him know I was not impressed. Then I fell in love with Dan, which Miles did not understand at all—not only did he think Dan was an ass, but he thought relationships in general were stupid and told me repeatedly that I was missing out on all the fun.
As I pulled up behind the shop and parked my car, I recalled his last summer up here, after he’d graduated high school. He’d been moody and distant toward the end, not like himself at all. When I’d asked, he’d just said he had a lot on his mind, what with leaving for college in only a few weeks.
On his last night in town, he came over to say goodbye, and the memory of that hot, humid night returned to me with startling clarity. For several seconds, I held my breath, remembering how he’d come to my window in the middle of the night, how the wet heat blanketed my skin when I went outside to talk to him, how the air crackled with the electricity of an approaching summer storm. Nine years had passed, but I remembered every single word he’d uttered there in the dark, could still hear the low, raw sound of his voice, the thunder rolling softly in the distance. I’d never told anyone about that night, nor had Miles and I ever talked about it again. Not that anything had happened…
But we almost.
We almost.
I walked around the block to the front of the store, and stopped short at the sight of someone leaning against the door. My heart immediately pounded harder in fear—the street was still dark at this time of morning, and I wasn’t used to seeing anyone but the occasional jogger. This was a guy in a hoodie and jeans.
“It’s about time,” he said.
I knew that voice.
“Miles? What the hell?” Hand over my heart, I resumed walking toward him. “You scared me half to death. I thought you were going to strangle me or something.”
He came off the door and stood tall, feet apart, hands in his pockets. “Hey, I’m willing. If you’re into that sort of thing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Um, no.” But for a crazy second, I pictured him with his hands around some girl’s neck as he fucked her. I bet he’s done it. He’s probably into that stuff. It didn’t repulse me or anything—in fact, it sort of turned me on—but Dan and I were pretty vanilla, and I was OK with that. He knew how to make me come, at least. Orgasms were orgasms, weren’t they?
Not that I’d had one in a while. One that wasn’t self-induced, anyway.
Stop thinking about orgasms.
When I reached Miles, I stood in front of him. He was tall and trim, with brown hair that was short on the back and sides, a little longer and messy on top. Still boyishly handsome, he wore black eyeglasses with thick frames and a satisfied smirk. “You’re late.”
“Yeah, somebody called me at four this morning and kept me on the phone for ten minutes.”
“What an asshole.”
“Totally.” I smiled, reaching for him. “C’mere, asshole.”
It was just a hug, and I’d meant it to be one of those friend hugs where just your shoulders touch, but as soon as his arms came around me, he pulled me close so my breasts pressed against his chest, and our torsos touched. Something fluttered again inside me, setting off a warning bell in my head.
Back off—it’s dark and he’s cute, and if someone sees you embracing out here like this, word could get around. Plus it feels kind of good, and how would you feel knowing Dan hugged women like this and got turned on by it?
I released him and took a step back, fumbling with my keys. For some reason I couldn’t recognize the right one, even though I’d opened this shop practically every morning for the last three years. Finally I managed to get it in my fingers, and I unlocked the door. “Come on in. I’ll get some coffee going.”
After locking the door again behind us, I turned on all the lights. Normally I didn’t do that until closer to opening time, but the prospect of being alone with Miles in the dark or even the dim made me feel a little edgy. We hadn’t been alone in the dark since—
What the hell? Knock it off. He’s your friend. Yes, he’s a flirt, but he flirts with everybody.
No, he has sex with everybody! And writes about it!
Right. Miles Haas was not for me.
Dan was for me. Good old familiar Dan, the boat salesman. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. Our lives were in sync. Our goals for the future aligned.
Wow, that sounds really unsexy.
Frowning, I put the coffee on, preheated the ovens and started mixing up a batch of strawberry muffins in the kitchen while Miles wandered around the shop. It wasn’t very big—I could seat eight at the counter and sixteen at small tables lining the opposite wall. Long and narrow, the shop was the right side of a century old storefront that had been split in two. I’d kept the old wood floors and high tin ceiling, and lucky for me the place had been a cafe before I’d purchased the business, remodeled and revitalized it. The woodwork and wainscoting were painted a soft gray-green, the walls above it were a creamy white, and the counter top—my big splurge—was a gorgeous silver-veined marble.
“Congratulations, Natalie.” Miles appeared in the open archway to the kitchen and leaned against it. “This is a beautiful place.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of it.” I poured batter into two muffin tins. I forgot how blue his eyes are.
“You should be.”
“Make yourself useful and pour us some coffee, huh? Then you can come sit back here while I put together the lunch menu.”
“You change it every day?”
“Not every day. It varies.” I stuck the muffin tin in one oven and pulled two trays of unbaked cinnamon rolls out of the fridge. Normally I had a pastry chef/assistant manager here in the mornings, but he’d asked for a long weekend and would be gone today and tomorrow, so I’d stayed late last night to make up the dough and get the rolls ready to bake. “I use a lot of local produce and ingredients, so I change up the menu based on what’s in season and available. Right now it’s strawberry season. And rhubarb! I’m making a rhubarb pie later today. You like rhubarb?”
“I don’t know.” Miles set a cup of coffee near me and leaned back against the counter, lifting his to his lips. “But I love to eat pie. Can I taste yours?”
I stopped unwrapping the plastic sheet from the trays and glared at him. Over the rim of his cup, his eyes danced with glee. “You better be talking about rhubarb or I’m kicking you out.”
“Sheesh. So sensitive.” He sipped again. “I like the photos on the wall in there. The ones with the text overlaid? Is that Skylar?”
“Yeah. I took those.”
He paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “Shut the fuck up. You did those?”
Pride made me smile. “I did. I was shopping with Skylar at this old antiques barn last fall and I found this old magazine from nineteen thirty-eight that had all these dating tips for girls, like ‘Please and flatter your date by talking about his favorite subjects’ or ‘Never sit awkwardly or look bored on a date, even if you are.’ We were cracking up.” I stuck the two trays of rolls in the second oven and set a timer. “I’d always loved taking pictures, and I had the idea that it would be funny to create a series of modern photos with a quote from the advice on top.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten how you liked to take pictures. You used to make those slide shows of us.” He took another sip of coffee. “Those are great in there. Do you sell them?”
“Sell them?” I made a face. “Nah. It’s just for fun. But I found this other article from eighteen ninety-four on advice for brides, and I want to do another series. It’s unbelievable what people told women, like ‘Clever wives are ever on the alert for new and better methods of denying their amorous husbands.’”
Miles chuckled. “Amorous. Great word.”
“I wish I had a husband for that photo series but I doubt I could get Sebastian to do it.”
“Who’s Sebastian?”
“Skylar’s fiancée. They’re getting married this fall.”
He nodded. “So why haven’t you and the overly amorous Dan tied the knot yet?”
“Dan’s not overly amorous,” I said defensively. It was supposed to be a compliment to Dan, but it didn’t come out right. And it reminded me again about the lack of sexual heat in our relationship—in fact, we hadn’t had sex in two months. But this was not a fact I wanted to share with Miles.
“Ah. The fire’s gone out, huh?” He nodded knowingly and sipped again.
“No, there is still plenty of fire, not that it’s any of your business.” My tone had gone snappish. “I just meant that things are fine. Comfortable.”
“Comfortable?”
“Yes. That’s what happens when two people are committed and together for a long time, which you wouldn’t know.”
“Got me there,” he said easily.
But I was agitated. “Look, just because you make a living writing about your insane sexcapades doesn’t mean everyone else’s sex lives are boring.” With jerky movements, I began pulling out ingredients to make chicken curry salad, slamming things onto the counter. “Dan and I have great fire, if you really want to know.”
“Good.”
“Hot, explosive fire.” I plunked down a mixing bowl.
“Brilliant.”
I turned to him and saw an amused expression on his face. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m happy for you and your fire.”
Parking a hand on my hip, I cocked my head. “Did you come here at five in the morning just to make fun of me?”
“No. But not gonna lie, it’s for sure an added bonus.”
“What are you doing in town anyway?” I pulled a knife from the block and began carving up chicken breasts I’d poached yesterday. “Aren’t there enough women to torment in the metro Detroit area? Or perhaps you’ve exhausted that supply and you’re on to another city by now.”
“I’m still in Detroit. And I don’t torment women. I adore them.”
“Several at a time, I bet.”
He shrugged. “Occasionally. But hey, they all know the deal. It’s just for fun.”
Having only been with Dan, I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have sex with random people outside a relationship, but Miles’s sex life fascinated me in a sort of gawkerish way. “Yes, I know. I’ve read all about it.” I dumped a handful of chicken in a large bowl.
“You read my stuff?” He sounded surprised.
My turn to shrug. “Occasionally. I particularly liked the one about going to a sex dungeon for your birthday.”
“I didn’t even have sex there.”
“I know but you—did other stuff. Crazy stuff.” I shook my head as I recalled reading what he’d asked the dominatrix to do to him. I’d been shockingly turned on when I read his account of it, and secretly I’d reread it a dozen times. Did that make me a pervert?
“It was slightly crazy. And a bit painful.” He shuddered and adjusted the crotch of his pants. “Don’t ever tie anyone’s balls to a hook on the wall and then crawl around naked in front of him.”
I snorted. “Please. I don’t do that stuff.”
“What do you mean ‘that stuff?’ What’s wrong with playing around a little?”
“Nothing, if you’re into that kind of thing.” I tried to sound dismissive.
“Jeez. So judgmental.”
“I’m not judging you, Miles, I’m just saying I’m not into the freaky stuff the way you are.”
“I bet you’d like it. I bet there’s a little freak in you just dying to get out.”
My stomach flipped. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a normal person.”
“Normal people can be kinky, Nat. I’m telling you. You’re missing out.” His voice quieted. “And I bet there’s a part of you, deep down inside, that’s curious.” He paused, moving closer to me, his tone low and serious. “I’d like to reach that deep part of you.”
I went still, my skin prickling with heat. What the hell was going on here?
He burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face right now.”
Pressing my lips together, I focused on chopping chicken again, but my vision clouded for a moment and I nearly took off a finger. “Enough. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
To my relief, he moved away and leaned against the counter again. “I’m working. I’m writing a piece about sex in haunted places, and I remembered that old asylum up near here. I drove up yesterday and snuck in there to get some pictures last night. Then I hung out a little to see if any ghosts popped up.”
“Looking for a supernatural sexual encounter, are you?”
“Not necessarily, but that’d be awesome. I’d totally fuck a ghost if she was hot.”
Shaking my head, I pulled a jar of homemade curried mayonnaise from the fridge and poured some over the chicken. “Sick. And ridiculous.”
“What, you don’t believe in ghosts?”
“No. But I did have a psychic reading a few days ago.” Mixing the mayonnaise and chicken with a large wooden spoon, I shook my head as I remembered our vodka-fueled Sisters Night Out. “From Madam Psuka.”
“Oh yeah?” Miles sounded interested. “What did she say?”
“A bunch of bullshit about my life being upended by a stranger. A man.”
“Maybe it’s me.” Miles sounded happy about that.
I rolled my eyes, elbowing him aside so I could get to the plastic wrap in a drawer. “It’s not you. She said it was a stranger. She said I didn’t even know his name.”
He paused. “Bet you don’t know my name.”
“What?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, perplexed. “Yes, I do. It’s Miles…” But I couldn’t think of his middle name. What the heck was it?
He shook his head. “Miles is my middle name. Do you know what my first name is?”
I gaped at him. “Wait. Miles isn’t really your name?”
“Nope. It’s Edward.” He looked smug.
“Edward?” I repeated, as if it were the most preposterous name in the universe. “I don’t believe you.”
Setting his coffee cup down, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his license. “Look.”
And there it was. His full name, address, and vital stats right next to his grinning mug. I shook my head. Who the hell smiles in their driver’s license picture?
Edward Miles Haas.
That’s who.