CHAPTER 31
Harper
“Your favorite boy band is The Beach Boys? You’ve got to be joking,” Aiden says, sounding grumpier than usual. I just laugh. He adds, “I suppose I could have guessed.” We look around us and he says, “No, no I could not have guessed.”
We’re in some kind of tropical…bar…cafe…
cabaret hole in the wall. It’s like it wanted to be a Jimmy Buffet Margaritaville but couldn’t get approved as a franchisee.
There are plastic plants and tiki torches everywhere.
Photos of the beach and surfing. A small stage lit with multicolored spotlights. It’s so bad it’s wonderful.
“This isn’t even them, it’s a cover band?” Aiden balks when he looks at the program. “No wonder the tickets were so cheap.”
“There’s a two drink minimum,” I remind him.
He deadpans, “Oh no, you’ll bankrupt me.”
I laugh again.
“At least I got to take you for a Michelin star meal before…this,” he says.
That he did. I got the full Aiden Vanderwell experience.
We flew into the city on his jet, which looked like a designer living room inside.
We took a chopper to Manhattan. We were whisked through the restaurant to a private corner table covered in tea light candles.
A string quartet played pop songs in the corner, waiters wore tuxes, and everyone hung on Aiden’s every word.
Wine was presented, and my date ordered multiple appetizers and entrees, since he wanted me to taste it all. And the food...the food!
I close my eyes and moan, “Ugh, it was so good.”
I open my eyes and find his staring back at me, dark and heavy lidded. Hungry. I blush and try to play it off, “What?”
“Trying to decide if I want to buy the restaurant for you so you can have it again or kill that chef so you can never have it again.”
I playfully shove a shoulder into him and sigh, “Don’t be jealous of Marcus.”
“I’m definitely jealous now when you say his name like that.”
“He’s like seventy years old!”
Aiden harrumphs.
But then I make a squeaky sound and sit up when I see the band moving toward the stage. If they even remotely sound like Brian and the boys, I will die. I will die a happy, weird little baker girl who never even learned to surf, right here in this surfer bar.
They start to a half empty audience that is not nearly excited enough.
Because
They
Are
Amazing!
I can’t look away. I can’t stop smiling. I dance, I have my two drinks, I laugh at every single bad joke. I hum along. When they finally get to Don’t Worry Baby, I cry. Aiden tucks me into his side and kisses my head, probably concerned, and I don’t even care.
The night goes on to be a couple of the absolute best hours of my life.
_____
“We were on that California road trip, without Gran, so Mom was nicer than usual. The sun was shining and the windows were down, that song came on and Dad locked eyes with me in the rear-view mirror, since this was during my non-speaking years, he winked and then cranked that song way up and everything was okay. It was all going to be okay…I’ve dreamed of moving to California and becoming a surfer girl ever since. ”
“I suppose I can understand that,” Aiden says, grabbing my hand as we walk down the busy street.
Electricity shoots up my arm, buzzing like the energy around us, even though I’m still a snotty, weepy mess.
I look down at our fingers. “This is for your safety as your friend,” he says, squeezing my palm in his. “It’s New York, after all.”
“Isn’t Renaldo, like, right back there?” I ask.
“Who?” He smiles. I still can’t believe it when he does this. How absolutely gorgeous he is when his face lights up. He’s suddenly so unexpectedly bright and fun and warm. Like a mug of warm cocoa in the dead of winter.
“Where are we going?” I ask, willing myself to look away.
“We’re just walking, it’s a Saturday night in New York.”
It is. It’s a sparkling, not-too-hot, bustling, totally awesome night in the city. We’re off-off broadway somewhere, a street lined with trees and brownstones and small venues like the one we just enjoyed. Up ahead, skyscrapers glow above and the noise of Times Square rings out.
I’ve been to New York before, of course, since it’s less than two hours from home. But it was always to do some specific, touristy thing. Never just to walk and take it in. I look around, fighting a smile. I know Aiden is watching me.
“You’re not walking me to your apartment here, are you?”
He stops us, “Wait, is that an option?” He starts to pull me in the other direction dramatically.
“No! No, we need to go back. I have to be back in the store tomorrow.”
“Fine,” he slumps playfully. “Let’s just walk a little while longer.”
I don’t respond but I start walking again.
He’s looking at the upcoming intersection, so I take the moment to study him for a change.
He fits here. His clothes, his dark, perfect hair, chiseled jaw and fearless posture.
It’s not like he was made for the city it’s like New York was made for him.
I bet London is the same. Makes me wonder why he’s been in little ol’ Juniper Falls so long.
I stop walking, “On one condition.”
He raises his eyebrows, “Oh, what’s that?”
“We only walk as long as you answer my questions,” I say.
“Deal, I’ll talk all night long.”
“Just like that?” I say, surprised.
He nudges me playfully, “Answering your questions is no hardship. I’m a grumpy arse, not an introverted one. Plus, who wouldn’t want to talk about me? I’m amazing.” He jokes.
“Uh huh,” I roll my eyes.
“You said it.”
“Your body! Your body is amazing!”
His smile grows, “Now you’re shouting about it to all of the city, you’re very passionate about this,” he calls over his shoulder to Renaldo, “We’ll have to up our routine, eh?”
We laugh and walk and talk for probably an hour, covering everything and nothing. It’s different, refreshing even, how sure of himself he is. He answers each question, from his favorite childhood nanny to his favorite ice cream flavor, with zero hesitation.
We talk about our friends and he surprises me by asking me to put in a good word for him with Janie.
It surprises me again to hear about his time in school with Benedict.
Apparently none of his little rich friends knew how to function away at school without an adult.
So at a young age Aiden became their adult.
He has hilarious stories about sneaking them snacks, bribing prefects and using his parents’ fleet of planes without permission.
He truly is a caretaker, even if his doctor manners are lacking.
We stop to get ice cream and I decide to finally ask what I really want.
“Okay. Time to tell me what your big dream really is and why my dad’s shop has to be leveled for it.”
“Damn,” he chokes on his rocky road as we wait at the crosswalk. “I am rubbing off on you.” He looks down and wags his eyebrows, “Not as often as I’d like, for the record.”
“Aiden!”
“Should you want to shout about my body, again, just saying,” he says.
I narrow my eyes, “You’re trying to change the subject.”
He dips his chin in agreement, “Perhaps so.” We walk a few feet and then he starts explaining, “I’ve been working toward one singular goal since I was about twenty.
” Fifteen years? “About fifteen years, yes. I forget I’m nearly a decade older than you.
Anyway, I have been working toward a certain portfolio size.
Real estate portfolio, that is. There’s a whole unofficial ranking system and we are not at the top. ”
“You’re not?” I ask, truly surprised. I feel like his last name is everywhere. I wonder who could possibly outrank the Vanderwells.
“The Rockfords,” he answers. “They’ve been a thorn in our side for decades. Centuries probably, if you ask Granddad.”
We walk a few more feet. I stop us, “That’s it? You’re tearing down half my town just to show that you’re, what, one million dollars richer than the other billionaire family? Seriously?”
He clears his throat and I think maybe blushes a bit as he pulls us along, “Yes.”
“No,” I stop and pull my hand from his. “That can’t be it.”
“It can and it is. Can you imagine working toward one singular goal for fifteen years?” I can’t, and my face must say so.
But I press him, “Why then? Why that goal? There’s no way it’s just ego.”
He gives me a sly grin, “You underestimate my size.”
“Aiden!”
He looks away, serious. “I’d like to negotiate,” he says quietly. Finally, I feel like we’re getting somewhere. Somewhere real. I cross my arms but raise my eyebrows and wait. “I will answer all your questions only if you’re holding my hand.”
“Ugh!”
“Come on, there’s dodgy people everywhere.”
I throw a hand back toward the men behind us, “Those are your bodyguards!”
He crosses his arms, “Those are my updated terms.”
“Fine, but your hands are sweaty,” I grouse.
“They’re not,” he says, and I can hear in his tone that he’s smiling in triumph.
I refuse to look up at him and get caught in the wonder of it.
I stop, look down at our hands and then glare at him.
“All right, all right. The truth is…” his voice trails off as he scans ahead into a small park we’re about to enter.
“Wait, was the Harry guy Harry Rockford? Did Marion run off with the Rockford heir?” I ask.
“Grace?” Aiden frowns.
“Grace Rockford…why does that sound familiar?” He doesn’t answer and waits for me to remember. Which I do. “The Great Grace Race! The heir is a daughter, that’s right! She had that whole rich bachelor fight for her hand thing. You weren’t invited! Is that it?”
He scoffs, “I didn’t want to be invited. And remember I said this feud goes back before I was even born, they never could have invited a Vanderwell to be a part of that.”
“How can you care so much if you weren’t even born yet?” He opens his mouth, then closes it. I decide to pull an Aiden on Aiden himself. “Come on, then, out with it, Mr. Direct.”