23. Maddie
Chapter twenty-three
Maddie
“I only thought of you.”
I splash my face because it feels hot.
Even though I should have been terrified when Nick woke me up, his solid presence was so comforting that I only focused on getting out.
And when he hugged me, it felt right.
I like him so much. I’m done pretending that I don’t. He didn’t even grab his guitar.
“You’re a very good kisser, Maddie. I don’t want to stop.”
“But just kissing?”
Why am I turning him down and taking it slow? For what reason?
Nick and I could date now. If it doesn’t last, I’ll survive. I’ve survived worse. At least I’ll have experienced dating Nick—I like him more than any other guy I’ve ever dated.
If I’m honest with myself, the reason I haven’t been dating much the past few years is that whoever I meet won’t compare to him. Not in my heart.
“Are you okay in there?” Nick asks on the other side of the door.
I’m more than okay. I’m going to go for it with Nick.
I come out of the bathroom, and Nick takes in that I’m now fully covered.
There’s a knock on the door, and the police officer says, “We’re done. We fingerprinted the place, so we will take your fingerprints to confirm. You can go back.”
My apartment looks like it has been hit by a tornado. My desk drawers are strewn on the floor, with papers littered about.
The officer shows us a photo in an evidence bag. “The suspect left this photo of you two, with Maddie crossed out, so it could be a stalker fan, but…”
“But then why go through my desk?” I ask.
“Exactly,” he says. “They were looking for something. Unrelated to Mr. Devlin, is there anything somebody could want from you? Or a reason to target you? You’re a reporter with The Intelligencer , right? Are you working on a story?”
“I’m always working on a story,” I say.
But does this mean that the suspect thinks I’ve figured something out? What clue do I have that triggered this? Did the suspect recognize us in the library?
I sit down as a wave of exhaustion suddenly overtakes me . I don’t want to stay here tonight, in this apartment invaded by some malevolent force.
Nick pulls up a chair next to me and holds my hand.
“Well, it’s late now, and obviously you can’t stay here with the broken window, but maybe you can come down to the station tomorrow if you want to give us any further information,” the officer says.
“Let’s go to Luca’s apartment. He replied to my text and said we could go over there,” Nick says. “I’m not sure my apartment is even safe enough.”
The officer starts to leave but then turns back around. “This isn’t exactly protocol, but can I have your autograph?”
“Sure.” Nick stands.
“No, Ms. Hughes’s,” he says.
Nick steps back.
“I’ve always been impressed by your reporting.
Your article on that police investigation last year—my colleagues thought you handled that fairly and got the facts right.
That’s rare, unfortunately. I’m sorry this happened to you.
We’ll keep an extra eye out around this building until the window is fixed. ”
“I’m honored.” I sign yesterday’s copy of The Intelligencer right next to my article.
Nick butts me with his shoulder. “It looks like I’ll have to get used to having a famous girlfriend.”
I’m making the bed in Luca’s spare room as Nick puts the pillowcase on my pillow.
This room has a queen bed and a luggage rack.
Not even a dresser. Luca must subscribe to the philosophy that guests shouldn’t get too comfortable.
But it did have an amazing shower in the bathroom with jets from all directions.
I’d put on my sexiest lingerie. And a sweatshirt because I don’t want to be completely obvious.
Sherlock is curled up in his cat bed that I brought from my apartment, along with all essentials. And this time, Nick left with two of his guitars.
“We can stay here,” Nick says. “Luca is going on an assignment for a month, and he said the apartment is ours. We can outfit our apartments with proper security in the meantime.”
“Let’s think about it. I didn’t want to sleep there tonight, but I’m sure after a thorough cleaning, I’ll be fine. It is my home.” Why do I feel like I’m trying to persuade myself too?
Nick puts the pillows on the bed as I spread out the comforter.
“So…” He shifts his feet. “Sleep well. I can turn out the light as I leave.”
I gaze at him. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
His brow furrows. “Right. I can understand that. I can share the bed with you. We’ll sleep.”
I take a step closer. “No, actually. I want you. Not just kissing. All of you.”
I touch his arm, and he looks down at my hand on his arm. I feel the tremor that goes through his body. His glance meets mine. The look of tenderness in his eyes almost makes me tear up. He puts his hand gently on my waist.
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
“Yes.” I brush that curly lock of hair that always falls down on his forehead away from his eyes. Both his hands now encircle my waist.
He pulls me in tightly against his hard body. “Maddie. Do you know how happy that makes me?”
“Not as happy as it makes me,” I say with warmth in my voice.
He pushes my hair back from my face and kisses me hard, like he was afraid he was going to lose me—like he wants me to remember only this. And I hold him tightly. I want to block out everything else but Nick’s taste and touch.
We walk backwards to the bed without letting go of each other and sink into it. Only when I lie on the bed beneath Nick does he stop kissing me. He leans his forehead against mine.
“Oh, I’m going to make you very happy, Maddie,” he says. “But first, we really have to get rid of this sweatshirt. I didn’t have a chance earlier to admire your lingerie.”
He shifts to his side and unzips my sweatshirt. I watch his tan hand, his capable fingers, pull the zipper down, and my breath comes out in shaky gasps. He pushes the sweatshirt off my shoulders, and I help him pull it off.
“Maddie.” His voice is deep and gruff. “You’re sure, right? This isn’t some reaction you’re going to regret in the morning?”
I push him down onto the bed. “No regrets. Unless you keep talking.”
He growls and cradles the side of my face with his hand, angling his own head to tenderly kiss me again. My body melts as we show each other what it means to be alive.
No regrets. I still have a huge smile on my face from last night.
I must have looked like an insane person when I told my boss, Felicity, that an intruder broke into my apartment last night with a hammer, and yet here I am, buoyant—unable to stop smiling in delight.
The police officer whom I met today with The Intelligencer security said I was the most cheerful victim he’d seen.
My smile falters, though, as I approach my building and see the boarded-up window of my apartment. The street seems its usual self, except for the policeman on the corner.
I text Nick that I am here. He’d agreed to meet me at my apartment. I need to clean it up and take the rest of my stuff to Luca’s. My landlord called to let me know that he’d boarded up the window. But it’s best to stay at Luca’s for the time being.
I walk up the narrow stairs, the extra suitcase I borrowed from Iris’s parents banging against my legs. I angle the suitcase so we both fit around the landing.
Footsteps race up behind me on the stairs, and I flinch. I shrink back against the wall. What if…? Nick’s face comes into view. With pink tulips.
He bounds up the last steps and hugs me.
“I missed you,” he says.
“It’s been less than eight hours.” I laugh.
“You haven’t missed me?” he asks.
I kiss him on the lips. “I missed you.”
“What did your boss say?”
“She’s worried,” I say. “She talked to her contact at the district attorney’s office. The paper’s security team is also investigating it.”
Nick takes the suitcase, and I hold his hand as we walk up the last flight of stairs together.
Outside my apartment, I pause and take a deep breath but quickly open the door. I put the tulips in a vase with water, while Nick pulls on gloves and disinfects my counter and my bathroom. My heart feels full as I watch him doing his best to erase all traces of last night’s invasion.
He sweeps up the monitor pieces and bags them to be recycled, while I stack on my desk all the papers that have been thrown around and put back my desk drawers.
I pack my clothes in the suitcase. I leave most of my writing books, except for a few I use over and over.
On top of the essential supplies, I add the framed photos of my family and my friends and the clipping of my first published article.
Nick confirms I’m all right and then disappears into his apartment to pack more of his belongings, although his main priority is bringing the rest of his guitars to Luca’s.
I sit on one of the stools by my kitchen counter. What would have happened if I had been home alone and Nick had not woken me up? Would I have been able to get out in time once I heard the hammer banging? What did the intruder want?
I sort through the papers that were strewn on the floor: some newspaper clippings of articles I’m particularly proud of, my passport (thankfully, that wasn’t taken), and some travel articles or restaurant articles I’ve clipped.
Almost all my documents are electronic, so it’s not much.
I pack my felting kit for making minis and the cat I bought at the mini show.
Nick comes back in with a candle.
“Are we doing an exorcism now to get rid of the bad energy?” I ask.
“No. We’re burning our fake-dating contract,” Nick says.
Yes, we’re dating! For real! Nick felt invested last night, but I still worried that maybe he’d have second thoughts today.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t keep some terms—like the soundproofing?” I tease him.
“I’m still going to invest in soundproofing, but I don’t think I’m going to be keeping you up anymore by playing my music. I’ve found another means.” He grins.
“I’m all for this new approach,” I say.