ADAM
Madeleine is avoiding me; she has been all afternoon. We’re all sitting in my living room, and she’s positioned herself in a chair across from me. She won’t meet my eyes, won’t look my way, won’t address me when I talk to her. I’m about to call her out for it in front of everyone.
“So then I pulled up and saw Madeleine’s car stuck in the mud and I figured she was in there, probably hysterical from being alone overnight…”
Carter is retelling the story of Madeleine’s rescue for the hundredth time. My mother is enthralled. Madeleine is staring out through the French doors, watching Molly and Mouse play.
“Why did Olivia leave Molly here in Texas?” she asks, interrupting Carter’s story. Thank God.
It’s a good question, and one I hadn’t thought to ask yet.
My mom shrugs. “I think she’d been holding her for a kind of ransom, or bait. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to get Adam back, I guess Molly became worthless to her. Which is good, because Adam always loved that dog.”
Madeleine’s face contorts in confusion, probably because she can’t imagine doing something so vicious to another human being.
“You’re going to keep her, right?” Madeleine asks me.
“Of course.”
There’s no question. Molly is my dog, and I’m happy to have her back. The fact that she and Mouse get along so well is an added bonus.
“Good.” She nods. “We’ll have to set up regular playdates for them.”
Everyone in the room goes silent because of what her statement implies: if we’re dating, Mouse will be around Molly all the time; if we aren’t, we’ll have to schedule times for them to play.
Daisy gets to her feet. “Y’know, I think it’s time to head out. Carter, could you walk us to our car?”
He seems confused. “It’s just right down the driveway—”
“Carter, in this uncertain world, we would really feel better with a police escort,” she bites out, nudging her head toward the front door. He finally picks up on her not-so-subtle hints and jumps to his feet. His fellow officer joins him, and then my mom starts to trail out after them.
Madeleine has the audacity to put her shoes on, like she’s leaving as well. I thank everyone for helping with the search and promise to have them over again soon, and then as Madeleine tries to slink through the door, I hold my foot out and block her.
She nearly trips, but I take hold of her arm before she goes tumbling down.
“Excuse me,” she says, calm and resolute.
“Enough. They’re gone and it’s time we talk.”
She crosses her arms, holds her head high, and shrugs. “Fine.”
We head back into the living room and I take a seat on the couch. Madeleine sits across from me, her legs crossed, her gaze right on me. I think I see a smile waiting to be unveiled, but I don’t push it.
“You look cute in my shirt,” I say, smirking.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, trying, trying to restrain that smile. “Obviously.”
“Olivia is gone.”
“So you’ve said.”
“She and I are done.”
“Did she come down here for closure like you assumed?”
“No. She came to Texas with plans to reignite our relationship, but that didn’t happen.”
She looks down at her nails, feigning indifference. “Oh? Well that’s sad about you and Olivia. But that does nothing to explain what’s going on between us.”
“Well I’m so glad you bring that up. Because I want you to know I’m seeing someone.”
A smile breeches her fortress, but I blink and it’s gone.
“Huh. She must be pretty great if you walked away from the effervescent Olivia for her.”
“She’s…”
I glance away, trying to come up with an adjective to describe Madeleine, but nothing stacks up. Funny, amazing, great—they’re weak. I’ve used those words to describe women in the past, and Madeleine isn’t like any of them. She’s in a league of her own.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Madeleine is rounding the coffee table and stalking toward me. She has on a pair of my athletic shorts and a t-shirt, both of which hang off of her.
“Extraordinary,” she says, bending low and setting one of her knees down beside my hip. The other follows and then she’s straddling me on the couch. I lean back against the cushions and stare up at her, tugging the loose strands of her brown hair away from her face. Her freckles are sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes shine with mischievous intent.
“Breathtaking. Ridiculously good-looking. Smart enough to join Mensa—but she would never, because she’d probably think that’s pretentious.”
I laugh and tug her toward me.
“Oh no!” she gasps. “What would this mystery woman think about you holding me like this?”
I press my lips to hers and she sighs into me, finally giving me the kiss I’ve been after all day. It starts so innocent. She’s hovering just above me, wearing loose clothes and no makeup, but then I taste her and hear her moan. She sinks lower and our hips connect. I break our kiss and wrap my hands around her back, pulling down until she’s flush with my chest.
“I’m sorry about the last few days. I could have handled it better.”
“Forget it, Foxe.” Her breathing is labored and we’ve barely begun. “Believe me, I have…or at least I’m about to.”
She’s rolling her hips, anxious to continue, but I hold her there against me, trying to get a grip on my emotions. I close my eyes and the last twelve hours flash through me—the fear that seeped in when I arrived at Madeleine’s apartment to find her missing, the elation and envy when she stepped out of Carter’s cruiser, wrapped up and safe in that gray blanket. Now, I can feel her heart beat against my chest, and I have the urge to confess my love for her. It’s only been a few weeks and now suddenly, I want to fast forward and ask her to move in, to convince her that Mouse needs to be here at the farmhouse, that she needs to be with me.
It’s a crazy notion, so I stay silent and wait for the feeling pass.
Except it doesn’t.
I take hold of her cheeks and angle her face back so I can see her eyes. She’s in a dreamy state, staring up at me with unspoken words.
The emotion bubbling up inside of me is a completely new feeling. I fell in love with Olivia slowly, over years. It was a love based in comfort and routine. This thing—Madeleine—is a new kind of love, a scary kind of love. It feels precarious and fragile, like if I’m not careful, I could lose it as easily as I found it.
“Your hands are shaking,” Madeleine says, reaching up to cup my hand against her cheek.
I laugh and glance away. “It’s nothing.”
“Adam.”
She doesn’t continue until I turn back to her.
“I’m feeling what you’re feeling,” she admits, leaning forward and pressing her soft lips to my jaw, my cheek, my mouth. They’re short, reassuring kisses, and I pinch my eyes closed, wondering if what she said could be true. “I promise, I feel it too.”
But we don’t say it. Not yet.
Instead, I tug her t-shirt over her head and toss it behind the couch. The shorts go next, and there on the couch, with the sun streaming in through the window, we have the slowest, most intimate afternoon of sex. I roll her on her back and hold my weight above her, desperate to remember the bits and pieces that seem so fleeting: the feel of her fingertips skating down the backs of my arms, the delicate softness of her neck as she arches up and whispers my name, her heels digging into my lower back, her skin so flushed that she looks almost burned by our lovemaking.
“Madeleine?” I whisper her name.
She’s collapsed on top of me, napping, and I don’t think she’s awake, but I want her to be.
“Hmmm?” she hums lazily.
I love you.
Move in with me.
Marry me.
The silence drones on and she blinks her eyes open, folds her hands, and props her chin right there on my chest.
“You know you haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet.”
I laugh at the absurdity of it considering the thoughts spiraling through my mind. “I haven’t?”
“No. You announced it to your mom, but you never asked me.”
My fingers are tracing a loose pattern on her naked back. “Madeleine, c’mon. You’re my girlfriend.”
She smiles, and maybe for right now, this is enough.
“They’re going to miss me at the singles events. I was the life of the party.”
“I bet.”
“And I’ll have to cancel my accounts on all the dating apps.”
“I want to see your profile first.”
“Why?”
“So I can judge your pics and your bio. What did it say?”
She looks away. “I don’t remember.”
I grin. “Yes you do.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Buxom brunette bombshell seeks billionaire to fix her financial woes. Millionaires need not apply.”
“Madeleine…”
“Sexy real estate agent wants to show you her 1-bedroom.”
“These are coming too easily to you.”
“Sex robot seeks first real human emotion.”
I groan.
“Okay fine, here’s the real one: Adorably dysfunctional twenty-something seeks handsome veterinarian. Serious offers only.”