Petite Madeleine: Drew's Story (Meadows Shore Book 3) (10 page)

Cassie’s back was to the kitchen door when it swung open. She was busy kneading the dough for the next morning’s pastry, and swaying to the sound of Adele on her iPod. “Is it still busy out there?”

“Not too bad,” he said, kissing her neck.

“Drew! What are you doing here?” She leaped into his arms, being careful not to get flour all over his navy shirt.

“Came by to see my girlfriend.”

“I thought you were on your way to Atlanta?”

“Forget your geography? Baltimore’s on the way to Atlanta,” he said nuzzling her neck.

“You didn’t need to be on the plane with the team?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think they would have been happy chilling at the airport while I came by to say hello.”

“How long do you have?”

“An hour.”

“You went so far out of your way to say hello for an hour? You’re nuts.”

“Nuts about you. I needed a kiss. A few kisses. So get your hands out of that dough and put them to better use. And then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Let me cover this, and we can grab some drinks and walk over to the park across the street.”

“Beat you to it. Lindsey’s getting drinks for us.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself. You were always confident, but you’ve gotten downright bold.”

“Age will do that to you.”

“I like it.”

“We better go get those drinks. Otherwise I’m putting this counter to good use.” He ran his hand along the smooth stainless steel. “And it’ll be damn cold against your gorgeous ass.”

“That would pretty much freak out my employees.”

“I don’t know, I think Lindsey would love it. She likes me.”

“She does. Let’s go before you get me into trouble.”

They grabbed the drinks and took them over to the small park across from Lola’s, settling into a couple of unoccupied swings in the shade.

“Doesn’t it raise eyebrows that you’re not around as much as you used to be, not on the team bus on the way to the airport?”

“Probably a few. Mainly because, well, they don’t want me talking to any other teams, and they don’t know where I’ve been spending my time. But the team’s winning, and that’s the bottom line.”

“Are you talking to any other teams?”

“No. I’m talking to you,” he said taking a sip through the straw.

She rolled her eyes. “How long do you think you’ll be with the Blues?”

“Before they fire me, you mean?”

“Or you decide the circumstances are better somewhere else.”

“I’ll be with Blues for the rest of my career.”

“You’re a long way from the end of your career, isn’t that kind of optimistic?”

“You’re writing my obituary, too?”

“Never.”

“Cassie, I love my job, but part of the reason I love it so much is that it’s in Boston with the Blues. I’m hoping to settle down at some point, and I don’t want to live a life where I’m on the road so much. I want to raise a family, sleep with my wife most nights. I’ve never told anyone this, but when they’re ready to kick my ass out of there, I’m done. I love the Blues, and I hope there will be room for me with the organization in a different capacity. If not, I’ll consult. It might involve some travel, but nothing like what I do now.”

He shrugged. “Despite what you read in the papers every time we lose two games in a row, my position with the team is secure for now. And when it’s not, maybe I’ll write, coach high school baseball—it’s not like I need the money. I’ve been smart about finances. My apartment’s my one big splurge. They pay me well, and, except for school, I haven’t touched the money my parents left.”

“What if your wife doesn’t want to live in Boston?”

“You mean what if you don’t want to live in Boston?”

She toyed with the lid from her cup, but didn’t say anything.

“Would you consider moving to Boston?”

“Boston?”

“You could open a tearoom there. Boston has a long, distinguished history with tea. And that wasn’t some little local award you won.”

“How do you know that? You googled me.”

“No. Lindsey told me all about it one day when I was hanging around waiting for you. And then I researched it—the award, not you. I didn’t know James Beard from Joseph Moustache, and I wanted to understand more about it.”

She shook her head. “I suppose now you’re conversant on the subject?”

“Pretty much. It wasn’t an award, it was
the
award. You can go anywhere and start over.”

“The award was for a rising star in the field, it’s not really
the
award.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Boston?”

“I just hired a baker, and my employees have been with me since Lola’s opened its doors.”

“Cass, you have a half dozen employees. You’ve more than outgrown the space, and you could help them find other jobs. You have connections in Baltimore’s food industry. Talk to your
friend
Peter. Heck, I’d be more than happy to split the cost of opening a tearoom in Boston with you.” He moved his swing closer to hers and nudged her foot with his. “I’d even be happy absorbing the entire cost.”

“No. No, the bakery, and someday the tearoom—they’re all mine. Something I need to do, that gives me purpose, and brings a measure of comfort and peace to my life.”

She twisted her swing from side to side, biting down on the straw in her iced tea.

“If you don’t want to move to Boston, then we’ll live in Baltimore, New York, wherever you want. My first priority is you. If I have you, everything else will fall into place.”

He got up and put his drink down on the top of the slide, and then placed hers there too. “Hold on tight.” And he swung her high until her toes almost grazed the lower branches of a hulking beech tree nearby. And for a short time, they laughed and played like they hadn’t a care in the world.

* * *

Drew was on his way home from Blues Park when he stopped in front of a small shop he’d passed dozens of times called Satin and Lace. He opened the door and was instantly assaulted by lingerie. Nothing but skimpy lingerie, as far as the eye could see. He’d never stepped foot in a place like this, and even growing up with the females next door hadn’t prepared him for the onslaught of femininity that smacked him in the face. It was like opening a girl’s underwear drawer by mistake.

There was something mildly arousing about it, but there was also the overwhelming feeling that you needed to close it quickly, before anyone caught you and accused you of being a pervert. But even with that you couldn’t look away.

Fortunately, a saleswoman in her early forties wearing a modestly cut dress rescued him before he ran out of the shop to grab a beer and some wings at a bar. Shoot some pool. Scratch his balls, adjust his dick. Do something—
anything
—decidedly male. Now he appreciated sexy underwear as much as the next guy, but he liked it covering soft, sweet-smelling skin, liked peeling it away slowly, leaving a trail of kisses along the bare flesh, or yanking it off in one quick tug because he couldn’t wait another second to have a taste. This stuff on hangers…

“May I help you find something?”

He nodded, still studying the room, not wanting to be caught lingering in one place too long.

“Just relax and go with the flow,” she whispered with a wink.

Good Lord
, he must look as uncomfortable as he felt. “I’m looking for a present for my girlfriend.”

The saleswoman nodded. “What do you think she’d like?”

Drew scanned the room again. “Something pretty.”
God
, he sounded like a moron.

“Well then, you’ve come to the right place.” She led him around, pulling flimsy things off the rack, one after another, but nothing seemed quite right. It all screamed
fuck me
,
and that wasn’t what he was looking for, not today anyhow.

“I was thinking of something that was beautiful and feminine.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe not so blatantly sexy.”

“Something that tells her you want her heart as much as her body.”

He nodded.

“She’s lucky to have you. Most young men don’t come in here with that in mind.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but I’m the lucky one.”

She smiled. “I have just the thing.” She took him over to a section of the store and held up two outfits, one ivory, and the other a color that was sort of pink, sort of peach. Wisp, the saleswoman called it.

Wisp. The panties were made from lace and silk, held together by a satin ribbon on each side. If you pulled on the ribbons, the panties would fall right off. He didn’t need a saleswoman to explain how that worked, and he got hard imagining Cassie in those panties, with him tugging on the ribbons, watching the lace slide down her legs. The top was made of the same fabric, with ribbons laced up the front. His mouth tasted like mothballs, and the moisture was beading at the back of his neck.

He pointed to the set in her left hand. “I’ll take it.”

After pulling out his credit card, he thought better of it, and made the purchase with cash, hoping he might avoid reading about it in tomorrow’s paper. The press hounded him about his personal life, turning meaningless dates into romances. They’d have a field day if they knew he’d bought lingerie, and they wouldn’t stop until they traced it to Cassie, and then all hell would break loose.

“I think she’ll love it,” the woman assured him.

He knew she’d love it, but not as much as he’d love seeing her in it. “Do you ship?”

“Yes, of course. Here’s a card to enclose, if you’d like.”

* * *

Smiling, Cassie opened the package from Boston—
Gee, I
wonder who this is from?
Satin and Lace was scrolled on a cream-colored box in swirly black font. She pulled off the lid and lifted out the card.

Cassie, This reminded me of you—of the first time we made love. You were wearing underwear that was just this color, and thinking about it now makes me ache to touch you. It was beautiful, almost as beautiful as you. This isn’t for today, or tomorrow, or even next week, but I hope one day, when you’re ready, you’ll wear this for me. I want to see how gorgeous you make this pretty lingerie look. I love you—D

Cassie clasped the card to her heart before opening the tissue paper and lifting the camisole and panties out of the box. For as long as she could remember, she’d loved lingerie, loved everything about it. While Drew had indulged many of her whims when they were together, this was the first time he’d bought her lingerie. She turned the pieces over, admiring every detail, smiling at the satin ribbons holding the panties together. The set was exquisite, and just the right size.

Tears welled up, not sad tears, but hopeful tears, as though maybe she had a real chance for a full, happy life, as though maybe their love had another chance.

She’d been hiding since the diagnosis. First she hid her body, and then she hid the fears that visited regularly, taunting her when she was alone. Later, she ran to Baltimore and hid here, too. Hiding had become a coping mechanism, a way of life, protecting her battered ego from any more rejection.

She ran her hand over the silky fabric—she was through with hiding, especially from Drew.

But the only way forward was to share everything with him, and for him to share everything with her. She needed to show him her scars, the ones on the outside, as well as the ones on the inside—there simply was no other choice.

She sighed and picked up her phone.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy…”

“Never too busy for you.”

“Your package just came. The lingerie is stunning.”

She could hear a little
hmm
on the other end of the line that made her smile.

“I’m happy you like it. I don’t want to rush you—well, mostly, I don’t want to rush you,” he chuckled. “I’m going to push you, even when I don’t mean to. I can’t help myself. But you need to know that I want you to set the pace. We’ll build a relationship on your terms.”

“On our terms.”

“On our terms,” he repeated softly. “Us, building something together. I like the sound of that.”

“I’ve been thinking about coming to Boston on Saturday after the bakery closes, maybe stay through Monday. I know the Blues are home this weekend. Are you around for dinner?”

“I need to be at the park for the games, but otherwise I’m around every minute you want me. Stay with me.”

“I don’t…”

“In my guest room. I promise I won’t pressure you, but I can’t promise I won’t look at you with puppy dog eyes, silently begging for a belly rub.”

She laughed softly. “I’m leaving my new lingerie at home this weekend. I was hoping we could talk, so I can finish telling you about everything that happened while we were apart, and you can tell me everything you went through. Not just the details and the facts, but how I felt, how you felt during that time. I think we have to do this. Our experiences were significant, and they’ve changed us.”