26. Third Time’s the Charm
26
THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM
Ford
When I pulled up in front of Mara’s place the following afternoon, I spotted four preteens—a girl and three boys—standing in front of her store. They held dripping ice cream cones as they stared into the display window filled with comic book figurines.
Despite the heat of the afternoon, they seemed more interested in the store than in eating their ice cream. A boy pointed at one of the statuettes. When he touched the window, he left a smudge of ice cream.
I sat in my car and closed my eyes, savoring this perfectly vibrant moment. Anticipation filled me with warmth and light.
Waiting like this, the tension between us tight as a bowstring, made everything sharper, more electric. I thrived on anticipation—it was a drug, one I couldn’t get enough of.
For me, anticipation was like a drug. I strove to ratchet it up in my movies. Sexual attraction stretched between me and Mara as tight as a bowstring. At any moment, it could explode. As I imagined how tonight would unfold with her when we were finally alone together, my imagination ran wild.
I pulled myself out of the reverie. Now was the time for action, not fantasy. I catapulted from the car, startling the kids by the store window. Their gazes followed me as I strode to Mara’s front door and pushed the bell.
“Give me two seconds—don’t go anywhere.” Her voice crackled through the intercom, playful yet edged with a hint of something more, something that sparked a fresh jolt of anticipation in me.
Feet clattered on the interior staircase with her rapid descent. I stepped back just in time to avoid a collision as she burst through the door.
Her smile hit me like a punch to the gut—bright, effortless, and filled with a kind of electricity that made my pulse stutter. She linked her arm through mine, the contact sending a surge of heat up my arm. “Let’s do this,” she said, her voice filled with mischief, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
I laughed as I playfully dragged my feet. “Not even a hello?”
She grinned as she whirled to face me. The woman absolutely glowed with vitality. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her, but the group of kids openly gaping at us made me hesitate.
Her grin was infectious, but it was the way her eyes lingered on mine that sent a shiver down my spine. She stepped in closer, her hand resting lightly on my chest, her fingertips barely brushing my shirt, but it was enough to make me lose my train of thought for a second. “Careful,” she whispered, her voice laced with a challenge, “pre-teens are notorious passion-killers.”
I smirked, leaning in closer, letting my lips brush her ear as I whispered, “Good thing I’ve got a stronger constitution than that. But, what about your reputation with the middle-school crowd? Would kissing their comic book purveyor gross them out so much that they stop coming to your store?”
She glanced at them. “Possible. Hard to tell. My supply of comics might not be a big enough enticement to overcome their horror at seeing us in a lip-lock.” She grabbed my hand and tugged again. “Come with me if you want to live,” she said, loud enough for our audience to hear. She shot me a saucy grin.
I ran alongside her, and we threw ourselves into my car. I revved the engine and took off, making my tires squeal for effect and drawing cheers from the little passion-killers.
Mara tossed her head back and let out a throaty laugh. “That was fun.” She slouched into her seat, completely relaxed. “I’ve always wanted to say that. I bet they’d be disappointed if they found out we weren’t running from killer robots.”
“How about you? Is the Phipps an acceptable alternative?” I’d texted her earlier in the day suggesting it, and she’d seemed enthusiastic in her reply, but text messages could be deceiving.
“Abso-tively, poso-lutely. I’ve been wanting to go there for ages, but every time I make plans, something happens, and I have to cancel.”
“Nothing’s stopping us now,” I said. The day seemed full of possibilities.
We chatted about nothing and everything for the next twenty minutes. I liked this easygoing version of Mara. It was as though she’d let go of some heavy weight. She was lighter now.
Effervescent.
Alive.
Had yesterday’s outing helped her relax? She’d mentioned things had improved with her store recently. If I could do anything to keep her looking and feeling this way, I would in a heartbeat.
Soon, Mara and I were stepping into the lush green world of the Palm Court. Various palm trees filled the room and smaller, variegated plants dotted the garden with splashes of color. Low brick serpentine walls delineated the pathways. A rich, loamy scent infused the glass-domed room, and Mara hummed her satisfaction. “Just smell all that fresh air. I swear I can feel my brain cells jumping for joy.”
“I bet this place has a high oxygen content with all these plants busily photosynthesizing.”
“Nerd,” she shot at me.
I flashed a smile. “Pot, meet kettle.”
She took my hand as we wandered around a bend in the path. With a gasp, she came to an abrupt halt. “Sweet Ada Lovelace. Is that glass sculpture by Dale Chihuly?”
Confused, I glanced at the sinuous, plant-like tendrils of glass and then back at Mara again. “That sentence requires translation. Sweet who?”
“Ada Lovelace. Daughter of Lord Byron. She was a mathematician and was widely considered to be the first computer programmer because she wrote the first algorithm.” Mara spouted this off as though everyone already knew it, and I was just a bit slow on the uptake.
I looked at her skeptically. “Lord Byron? From the 1800s? If she was his daughter, how could she be a computer programmer? Computers were invented back in—what? The 1950s?”
“Actually, Ada Lovelace worked with Charles Babbage on his Difference Engine back in 1822,” she said pertly. “Unfortunately, they weren’t able to finish building it. The first one that worked was built in Germany in the 1930s, although that one was soon surpassed by Alan Turing’s work on the Turing machine.”
I gaped at her, amazed by the profusion of information she’d just spouted. This girl was hot! “And you called me a nerd? You outclass me by lightyears.”
Her cheeks turned a bit pink, recognizing my words as the compliment I’d intended them to be. “What-ev’s,” she said, not bothering to hide her grin. She stepped closer to the nearest piece of Chihuly glass and peered at it.
“If you’re a fan of Dale Chihuly, you’re in for a treat. They have a lot of his artwork here.” I swept my arm, taking in the large domed space.
She turned in a slow circle, searching for more pieces hidden among the greenery. “This place is amazing.” Her eye caught on something, and she pointed toward a disk embedded in the wall. “1893. Is that when they built the conservatory?”
“Sounds right. It was built when steel was king, and the big magnates were all trying to outdo each other with philanthropic gifts. Carnegie had his libraries and Phipps had this conservatory.”
“And Pittsburgh was the beneficiary.”
“Pittsburgh and the rest of the world. Carnegie’s free libraries are everywhere. Europe, South Africa, New Zealand. It was a pretty impressive feat.”
The formal low brick walls transitioned to more rustic stacked stone ones, and Mara made appreciative sounds as she discovered more Chihuly pieces. When we finally moved on to the next room, her eyes widened with delight at the waves of tulips.
“They change the plantings with the season in here,” I told her. “In a couple of months, everything will be different.”
“I like the repeated patterns and the colors. The combination of order and variation reminds me of an elegant, well-written piece of software.” She moved through the space a bit more quickly than the previous room since this section of the conservatory served more as a connecting corridor. She paused at the far end and looked back at where we’d been a moment ago. “We need to come back in a few months to see the new display.”
Exhilaration filled me, tinged with hopeful expectation because she was making plans for us.
I took her hand, and she didn’t let go as we entered the next room. We eventually made our way to the South Conservatory, where an enormous display with a miniature train took up the center of the large room. The three-inch-tall train trundled its way through a scaled-down version of Pittsburgh.
She slowly approached it. “This is impressive.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d love it. This shows Pittsburgh’s history. As you move around the train track, you’ll see the city go from its founding days to the present.”
Mara marveled aloud over the lights inside the buildings, the miniature version of the Phipps Conservatory, and a little trolley in front of Mr. Roger’s castle from the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. “I loved that show when I was a kid,” she said. “I’d forgotten it was from Pittsburgh.”
Toward the end of the display, we came to a spot where the three rivers converged at Point Park.
“This is just like the view we saw from the restaurant last night,” she said. “Except there’s one minor flaw. Last night I didn’t see an enormous rubber ducky floating in the Ohio River.” Her eyes danced with delight.
I laughed as I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against my side. “Didn’t you hear? Pittsburgh was invaded by a giant rubber duck back in 2013.”
Her arm snaked around me and she nuzzled closer. “You’re such a goof. Some poor kid is going to be upset when he remembers he left his duck there.”
“No.” I smiled down at her as I looked into her eyes. This woman was a delight. “Really. Pittsburgh was invaded by a giant rubber ducky. It was part of an art exhibit that traveled around the world. Pittsburgh was its first stop in the U.S. I flew out to see it.”
“Seriously?” She frowned at me, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Do I look that gullible?”
“You have a smartphone. Look it up.”
She slid away from me and flourished her device like a weapon as she raised an eyebrow in a playful challenge.
A moment later, her eyes went wide. She held up the screen to show me a crowd of people gathered on the shore of the Ohio River gazing up at an enormous yellow rubber ducky. “That’s totally flipping awesome. I wish I’d seen it in person.”
“Everyone was sad to see it leave.”
She stared at the display, a look of consternation on her face. Then she shook her head, obviously confused. “I’m sort of identifying with my dad right now, which is something I never expected to have happen today. I’ve always judged him harshly because he’s never appreciated Chance’s graphic novels. He said he didn’t understand them and couldn’t connect with them. Right now, though, I don’t get how a giant rubber-ducky even qualifies as art. What am I missing?” She looked at me as though she honestly wanted an explanation.
“That’s a really good question.” I laced fingers with her and headed toward the conservatory’s cafe. “In my opinion, it’s art because of the way it shaped the mood of an entire city in a shared experience. The duck was evocative of childhood and innocence and joy. That’s something special, don’t you think? I love it when the entire country is talking about a movie. Being part of creating a piece of art that shapes the conversation of an entire nation? Of the world? It’s heady stuff.”
She pursed her lips, pulling them to one side. “I never thought of it that way.” She seemed to consider the idea for a moment. “I suppose comic books and movies do the same sort of thing, but on different scales.”
“I like where you’re coming from. There’s definitely a similarity. Movies are different from books or comics because they’re a communal experience. You read a book alone, but a movie is typically first shown in a theater to a group. After it ends, you immediately discuss it—share your opinions and impressions. Even if you see a new movie alone, you become part of an ongoing wider conversation about the film, and it gives you a way to connect.”
“Books don’t do that?”
“They aren’t as widely consumed all at once. I’m sure you’ve met lots of people who claim not to read, but I doubt you’ve met more than a handful of people who don’t watch movies. Take The Handmaid’s Tale , for example. It was a highly acclaimed book, but the country didn’t talk about it until it was made into a series. Same with Game of Thrones .” I gestured toward the cafe. “Want to grab a bite to eat? This place has great food.”
Mara examined the cafe’s display board. “That’s an impressive menu. No burgers and fries. No boring salads.”
“During the summer months, they grow a lot of their food on their rooftop garden. The menu changes regularly, and they locally source as much as they can.”
“Plus, they have wine,” she said. “Nice touch.”
We placed our orders and carried our food to a nearby table.
Mara took a bite, and her eyes went wide. “This is amazing. The menu calls it a Congo stew. Want to try it?”
“Sure.”
She lifted a spoonful, so I opened my mouth and let her feed me. “Peanut butter?” I asked, surprised. “It’s savory with a hint of sweetness. I like it.” I lifted one of my sliders, suddenly wishing I’d ordered something other than some little sandwiches so I could feed her too. “Want a bite?”
At her nod, I handed her one of my pulled pork sliders.
“Mmm.” Her soft hum of approval echoed through me. “Delicious. Toasted buns. My favorite.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking if she was trying to talk dirty to me. “Nice touch,” was all I managed to say. All this pent-up anticipation was going to get me in trouble.
“Have you made a final decision about McCormick’s movie?” she asked.
I met her gaze. “Not yet. I need to speak with him in person first. I owe him that much.” I still hadn’t decided which choice was better for my career, but knowing Mara’s brother had written Ghost was a huge point in its favor—as was the fact that the story was set in Pittsburgh.
“How about you? How’s business? Those kids out front were glued to your window display.”
“I was closed yesterday and today, so no big changes. Fingers crossed tomorrow will be a good day.” She looked down at her plate, moved her food around with her fork, and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been frustrated by some ongoing problems. I think I mentioned I started having trouble getting stock a few months ago. Not having the newest comics and collectibles for sale hurt business.” She glanced up at me. “I had a breakthrough a few days ago, though. One of my vendors decided to extend me credit again. I was finally able to place a big order, which is why my display window is full.”
I wished I could help, but I wasn’t sure what I could do. At least she’d opened up to me. “That sounds like a difficult position to be in. What caused all your trouble?”
She tossed back the rest of her wine and then looked down into her empty glass, avoiding my eyes. “Not what. Who. The guy I started dating after I moved back here. I trusted him and he betrayed me. I was totally gullible, and I’m really trying to move beyond it. I try not to think about him. I hate rehashing past mistakes. I guess it goes back to the whole perfection thing we were talking about.”
Anger against this faceless, nameless guy flared in me. How could he betray such an amazing woman?
She finally met my eyes. “Let’s not talk about him right now. We’re having fun, and I refuse to let him spoil things. Give me a moment while I clear him out of my headspace.” She picked up her tray and headed toward the recycling area. This was clearly a difficult subject for her.
I hated the idea of some jerk taking advantage of her. It brought all my protective instincts to the surface—ones I hadn’t even realized I had.
I could tell there was more she wasn’t telling me, and after all of Chelsea’s secrets, knowing Mara was withholding information would normally get to me. I let it go, though. Getting to know someone took time. Mara was so open—I knew she wasn’t hiding who she really was.
I headed over to where she stood, all crossed arms and tight shoulders. I wanted to comfort her. Wash away her hurts and pains. Make her feel appreciated and valued.
“I know something that will make you feel better,” I said.
Her shoulders tightened even more, and she shot me a sidelong glance. “What? Talking things over with someone?”
I shook my head. “Although that probably would help, I was thinking more along the lines of offering you a massage. I bet I could make you forget all your troubles.”
She let out a surprised laugh. “A massage?” She sounded intrigued as she relaxed a bit. “I haven’t had one of those in ages. Are you any good?”
I gave a shrug. “You’ll have to be the judge.”
Arousal flared deep in her eyes, igniting it in me as well. “You’re on.” She grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me toward the exit. Sparks of excitement fired between us.
I had to force myself not to speed as I drove to her place. The sexual tension between us took on a physical presence in the car. Hot. Pressing. Imperative.
The moment I pulled into the spot in front of her apartment, Mara unbuckled her seatbelt. She turned to me with that playful come-with-me-if-you-want-to-live gleam in her eyes from earlier today. This time she said, “Massage time?”
“As you wish,” I replied, my voice husky. Would she recognize the line from The Princess Bride ?
An odd expression crossed her face as she opened her mouth, but then she apparently decided not to say whatever had been on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she glanced down and bit her lip. Then she seemed to gather herself, and she met my gaze with her determined one. “Just to be clear… ‘massage’ is code for ‘sex,’ right? I wouldn’t want any misunderstandings between us.”
I was out of the car in a flash. She stood as well, and we stared each other down from across the too-vast expanse of my car’s roof. “As you wish,” I repeated. “Which do you want first?”
“Take one guess.” She gave me a devilish grin. “Race you!”
We both darted to her door, arriving at the same time. She fumbled while punching in the code and had to start over, but that was probably because I couldn’t keep my hands off her. Trembling, she muttered a frustrated curse before the code finally worked and she shoved the door open.
The instant we stepped into the stairwell, she pulled me to her, pressing her body against mine. I reached around her and slammed the door, plunging us into relative darkness with only faint light illuminating us from the transom window.
Our breathing filled the silence. I could barely make out her eyes, her pupils large in the low light. I held her close, our bodies pressed together, and savored her, slowly lowering my mouth to hers, teasing her with one of those soft kisses that seemed to drive her wild.
Her body trembled against mine, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she whispered, “Ford, you’re killing me.” The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, heat pooling low in my stomach. “I can’t take another second of this.”