Chapter Twenty-One Madison
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Madison
This morning I met James in his driveway bright and early, nervous today might be awkward since we hadn’t seen each other since he kissed me. Since he awoke something in me that I’m scared will never go back to sleep.
He came down the porch stairs with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, wearing jeans, a cream-colored shirt, and no hat. His dark brown wavy hair casually styled. But it wasn’t the lack of a hat that had me staring.
“What are those?” I asked, stunned.
He followed my gaze down to his feet. “My . . . shoes?”
“No, shoes are what people call the generic, everyday things they wear. Your boots are your shoes. Those are sneakers. And they’re stylish sneakers too! You’re going rogue on me again, Cowboy.”
James rubbed the back of his neck, caught between amusement and annoyance. “I don’t see why this is such a big deal. I’ve worn other shoes before.”
“I’ve never seen such a thing,” I said as he gently nudged me aside. “I assumed you never took your boots off. Slept in them. Showered in them.”
He tossed his duffel into the back of my truck. “Naked except for boots. Now that’s a look.”
I did not allow myself the privilege of picturing James, butt naked, standing at the foot of his bed in only his boots.
Fine, I did.
It shouldn’t have been hot. Why was it so hot?
His sneakers—not boots—entered my vision again. He held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m driving.”
“Again . . . why?”
His mouth tilted. “Because you’re clearly in no state to be behind the wheel, what with all your blood rushing away from your brain like that.”
I gasped, delighted and scandalized that he’d call out my lusting so easily. Maybe that kiss didn’t make things awkward. Maybe it did the opposite.
“So, New York, huh?” James asks now from his seat beside me on the plane while we wait for everyone to finish boarding.
Once again, I’m struck by how big this man is—his wide shoulders spilling into my seat, his knees jammed against the back of the seat in front of him. And I really wish I didn’t find that sexy. I’m a short moth sitting next to a tall flame.
I nod. “The Big Apple.”
“Are we returning Sammy to his home?” he asks, because Sammy is, of course, in my lap, safely enclosed in his mobile home. He was a big hit at security, like always. People love a tortoise.
“No.” I clutch the enclosure tighter to my abdomen. “He’s not ready yet.”
James stares at the shell, now bandage-free. “I mean . . . I don’t want to tell you how to parent, but he looks ready to me. Shell seems pretty solid.”
“Physically, yes. The vet says he’s ready. But emotionally? No way.”
“Emotionally? The vet diagnosed his emotions?”
“Of course not. I did that.”
Laughter fizzes behind his eyes. I poke him in the side with my elbow and he arches away.
“I know you think I’m ridiculous,” I say.
“Madison, I already told you: I never think you’re ridiculous. Big-hearted, yes. Never ridiculous.”
How does he do that? Effortlessly make me feel so . . . important.
Sometimes I think no one sees me for who I really am. My quirks distract people, and they miss what’s happening beneath the surface. But when James looks at me, it’s like he sees the whole picture. I don’t have to try so hard with him—he just understands.
When I put my sex life on hold to pursue something more emotionally intimate, I never expected it might be with James. Not that he’s offering—I mean, he hasn’t said anything like I like you. And maybe he shouldn’t be the first person I try an actual relationship with.
What if I’m terrible at it?
What if I’m not built for commitment?
What if I get bored and want out?
Then I’d have to keep seeing him—at work, around town, at family functions—and it would be torture.
He’d hate me. And I can’t stomach the idea of James ever hating me now.
I glance toward the airplane door. The plane hasn’t taken off yet. Is it too late to get off?
This was a terrible idea, bringing him along.
The woman in the seat next to me, however, seems like a nervous flier and might fully spiral if I jump up and demand to be let off. She just popped a Xanax and her leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since she sat down. She’s also reading a book titled Calming Mantras to Repeat While Flying.
I stay on the plane for her.
“Why are we going to New York?” he asks, surprisingly for the first time since our phone call. We drove an hour to the airport, waited through security, killed time at the gate buying overpriced gum, and he just now asks why he’s here. There’s a moral in there somewhere.
“Well . . . I’m meeting with a big-time chef.”
He sits back again, pleased grin on his mouth. “A chef? That sounds important.”
“Not just any chef. Zora Brookes.”
James humors me by appearing shocked, even though he doesn’t know who she is.
Honestly, this whole adventure came on so quickly I haven’t had a lot of time to consider if it will be important or not. Josie’s text completely surprised me last week. Turns out, she was serious about FaceTiming to catch up. And a few days later she just . . . called to talk.
We chatted for an hour. Gossiped about classmates. City life. James’s job offer.
When I mentioned the Greenhouse and the vibe I hoped to create, she offered me a chance of a lifetime: a meeting with Chef Zora Brookes.
I almost dropped the phone.
As everyone in the culinary world knows, Zora is a giant in the industry. A Black chef with two Michelin stars and a restaurant in New York. Her roots go back to one of the South’s most iconic farm-to-table kitchens in North Carolina.
“She could cancel at the last minute.” I damper my exceptions. “This entire trip might end up being a complete waste. I’m not sure yet.”
“How did you get the meeting?”
“Josie, an acquaintance from culinary school, set it up. She reached out to see how I was doing, and it snowballed from there.”
“You mean a friend?” he asks, one brow lifted.
“No. Not a friend. We talked sometimes, had lunch when schedules overlapped. She only wanted to check in.”
James cuts his eyes toward me. A smile hovers at the corner of his mouth. “Madison.”
“Why are you giving me the ‘monogamy face’ again?”
“Because that’s a friend. You have a friend.”
“No, friends are people you spend all your time with. You tell them everything. You’re not afraid to pee while on the phone with them.”
“Not always. And definitely not at the beginning. What you’re describing is a best friend, or . . . in your case, a sister,” he says gently. “It sounds to me like this person thought about you and wanted to know how you were doing. Friendship.”
Oh my god. I have a friend.
That had been one of my goals for living in the city that I thought I had failed to achieve. Make friends outside of my family. Something I assumed would be easy since I’ve always been social. But away from my hometown, I felt so small. Thrown off-balance. Like I had nothing to offer.
Between Chef Davis’s constant berating and Caden’s rejection after I laid my heart on the line, I felt worthless in every way.
Now that I’ve been coming back to life, I can see just how dried up my self-esteem had been.
There was no one around to combat the negativity.
And I was too embarrassed to share the pain with anyone back home.
I carried shame that wasn’t mine. I carried the insecurities of pitiful men.
It’s like I saw New York through dark, cloudy glasses. There was joy and friendship and potential all around me, but I couldn’t see it through the hurt.
Before I can stop them, my eyes are welling up.
“Uh-oh,” James says, studying my face. “You okay?”
I blink before any drops can fall. “I didn’t realize I had a friend in New York. I’m just happy.”
His arm settles against mine—warm, steady, intentional. “Are we going to see her while we’re there?”
“Um . . . I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” I fiddle with Sammy’s lid and then peek up at James. “But I guess we could?”
“Text her before we take off,” he says, nodding down at the phone in my lap.
“Okay . . .” And I do, not allowing myself to overthink it or worry she’ll reject me.
She texts back immediately: I’d love to! Text me when you land.
I can’t tell if the plane is taking off or if I’m just feeling the high of learning I have a gal pal. Either way, I’m in the clouds.
I turn to James, our faces close and my mouth humming with memory. “Thanks for coming with me. Truthfully,” I whisper, “I didn’t want to go back to the city alone.”
He smiles and faces forward again, but his eyes flick to me. “Even if I was busy, I would’ve come if you’d asked, you know?”
My heart stutters. “Because the trip might help the restaurant?”
“No.” His eyes snap to mine. “Because I’ll do anything you ask.”