Chapter 21
Alec waited, but by the time Marisa came out of the coffee shop with her hands freshly washed, his mood hadn’t improved much, nor had his relationship with Hugh. He’d just finished texting Cal this very thing when the damn dog started whining again at her approach.
“The closer I get to this stupid Ball, the more I think I’m not cut out for any of this,” Marisa said, twiddling with her hat’s tassels and looking anywhere in the fucking universe except at him.
“Any of this?” he said slowly, not liking the way his heart clenched with the same vigor as his fist holding Hugh’s lead.
Marisa’s hand flew out in exasperation toward the direction Phoebe had fled.
“She seems like she’s ten steps ahead of me, when I was foolish enough not to keep tabs on her.
That was my fault. And now she’s got this volunteer payment scheme that’s a complete blow out of left field.
I feel like I’m back at zero again, especially when I can’t even deliver the cookie I promised to everyone. ”
“You were too busy with your own life to worry about hers, as you should be. The woman meddles far too much in other people’s affairs.”
“But it’s working for her. This whole competition just to win Monica’s favor? This isn’t business. It’s blood sport. I never intended to go along with all that. All I wanted to do was to craft candy and make people smile.”
“Do you regret it, what we agreed to do?” Beneath the words he said were the ones he couldn’t bring himself to truly ask. Do you regret me?
Marisa twisted her lips and sighed, then looked at him, her expression softening.
“No. Not in the least. Let’s face it. If I weren’t begging Monica, I would have been trying some other scheme to make Sweetest Heart’s Desire work.
It would have been a cruelly unfair pill to swallow, not being able to quit my catering job after I worked so hard to do so, but I would have kept going and found a way.
Resilience is in my DNA, after all. Well, that and high cholesterol. ”
Alec chuckled, relief sitting high on his heart at her ability to still crack a joke after what he’d witnessed.
“So, what you’re saying is that Hugh was actually doing a good thing by trying to save you from coming into close proximity with the cinnamon bun.
Fending off all those triglycerides in the icing and whatnot. ”
Her spirited smile returned, warming him against the chilly air. “A true mitzvah.”
“It was a sacrifice of mastiff proportions, you might even say.”
“Oh my God, stop.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t take the groaners.”
“I’ll stop when you realize that Phoebe’s got nothing on you. She may be the Plant Nanny and can diaper a fern while her customers are down the shore or whatever the fuck it is that people with more money than sense pay her to do, but she doesn’t know what makes people happy this time of year.”
“How can you be sure?”
Then he pulled out his phone. “Because she doesn’t sell Christmas. She sells anxiety. Look.”
Marisa came near him, and he had to resist leaning into her subtle scent as she read the screen.
On the Plant Nanny’s home page were scores of services ranging from the Weekender’s Weeping Willow package to the Vacationer’s Violet Indulgence à la carte offerings, all words he’d never thought a grown man like himself would ever read in that order.
He was already itching to clear his browser history, but he held his phone steady so Marisa could see more of the ridiculousness Phoebe was offering.
The one common facet pasted all over the Plant Nanny’s website was her abundant use of scarcity marketing tactics.
There wasn’t a single product image or graphic that didn’t have the words Time is running out!
or Limited quantities available! plastered across it.
Phoebe even had an auto-play video banner at the top panning through calendar pages, each one filled with angry red Xs, presumably crossing out another open service slot a customer narrowly missed out on.
And the same thing went for her Christmas confections, which she’d yet to fully show off in detail, choosing to create an air of mystery around what she’d be revealing at the Ball.
That didn’t stop her from blanketing Preorder now, because when they’re gone, they’re gone! all over the fucking order buttons.
“She’s afraid,” Alec said, hoping his words could soothe some of the tension that had tightened Marisa’s jaw. “Just plain running scared. That’s all any of this is. As long as I’ve known her, she’s always been a driven woman, not always in a healthy way.”
Marisa drew closer, bumping her shoulder against his, as if trying to keep him warm, when her touch alone turned his body into a fucking furnace. “I see what you mean. The color scheme by itself tells the story pretty succinctly.”
Again, she wasn’t wrong. Everywhere over the screen, he was assaulted with shades of fluorescent orange, fire-engine red, and lime green—that last one not even fitting the usual calming verdant hues he associated with most flora. Odd choice for a supposed plant enthusiast.
“Holy hell,” Marisa said, squinting and waving her fingers in front of her face in mock offense. “It looks like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles convention. All that’s missing is the . . .”
She scrolled down farther and abruptly stopped when they were both assaulted by a collage of what Alec could only describe as aggressively toned pansies in shades of McDonald’s Grimace purple and that electric blue raspberry color one could only usually find in convenience store slurpy dispensers.
“Ah, there it is,” Marisa said, nodding sagely. “For a second, I was worried we weren’t going to see any Leo or Donnie representation.”
“I was always partial to Splinter myself.”
“Hmm. I’m not really getting rat sensei vibes from you.”
Alec shrugged. “Well, you haven’t seen me attack a frozen pizza yet while Hugh’s breathing down my neck. It makes you appreciate the kind of patience that rat had for mealtimes with animals. It was a wonder Splinter got fed at all.”
And just like that, her smile returned in full force. Unfortunately, his chest didn’t even have time to expand from the joy of seeing it before it deflated.
Because a text from Brennan popped up on the screen, and he wasn’t able to swipe it away fast enough before Marisa read it.
“Am I allowed to ask what that’s about?”
Alec pocketed his phone and started walking them through the parking lot, letting Hugh freely sniff now that they were away from people. “I’ve got an offer.”
“From Argentina?”
“Aye.”
“Is it something worth considering?”
“Honestly? I’d be foolish not to consider it. They want me to coach, though, and they’ll pay me well for it. Far better than I can reasonably hope to get out of Great Britain or any other team that would have me as a player.”
He briefly filled her in on the details of what he was coming to suspect might very well be his reality once the season was over.
After he’d gone through laying out all the terms, he wasn’t sure what he expected to see on Marisa’s face.
Pity, resignation, perhaps some eye contact avoidance, especially given the verbal lashing Phoebe had handed him in front of Marisa.
Instead, what he got was a stony look of determination.
It was the same look she wore when she’d instructed him to meet her at Sal and Enzo’s, where they initially mapped out their battle plan for how they were going to sort through all of this mess and persevere.
God, had it only been a few weeks ago, if that?
It seemed like he’d been devotedly following his general’s orders ever since he’d marked her at the cocktail party and bothered to listen to his curiosity for once.
“Sounds like your heart’s not in it, Alec.”
He shrugged. “Not sure whether I have the luxury of—”
The backward tug on his arm was the only indication that he had been mindlessly moving down the walkway.
Alone. However, the vise grip Marisa held his wrist in was anything but mindless.
Nor was the stern, rather drastic slant of her brows, or the shards of accusatory shame dancing in her eyes she seemed about ready to slash him with.
“Sounds like your heart’s not in it, Alec.” The words were slow to come, with each syllable stomping its emphasis into the frigid pavement. But his name landed like a crater and had her voice wobbling with the sheer force of her insistence.
“No,” he admitted. “My heart’s not in it.
” There. He’d confessed his fear, and the unfortunate reality that Phoebe had shone a spotlight upon for Marisa to see and judge.
“I wish I could be as brave as you, sometimes,” he whispered, scratching at his scar so his free hand had something to do other than punch out the nearest car window.
“I don’t think I can live with the scrutiny of my choices the way you can.
It seems like a learned skill that a brute like me could never have much of a knack for. ”
“You’re wrong.” Marisa moved closer and kicked her chin up with practiced precision, as if it were the blade by which she held all other threats back.
“Choices are options. Sometimes they’re favorable, and sometimes they’re nothing but dilemmas, but they don’t have to be permanent.
Sometimes, they just need to be a stopover on the path you’re meant to take later on.
” She slashed her eyes down at Hugh, but Alec didn’t miss the sheen that had begun to form there.
“I wasn’t meant to be a librarian, and I’m sure as shit not meant to be a cater waiter.
I’m not meant to be a disappointment or another failing business owner who can’t get her life off the ground.
I’m not meant to be any of those things, but that doesn’t mean I avoid choosing them if I have to, if I know that those choices, incredibly sucktastic as they may be, will eventually lead me toward my goals.
And that is the business I stand on.” She brought the shimmer back to him, her eyes like warm chocolate with enough bitterness to give the sweetness backbone, and he wondered why he ever bothered thinking he could fake this.
Because there wasn’t a chance in hell he could. Not anymore. And maybe he never had.
Alec cradled Marisa’s head in his palms and kissed her, wrapping himself in whatever beautiful, drugging essence she possessed.
He smiled against her surprise, especially as her lips softened and she wrapped her hands around his neck, molding her body to his, somehow making him feel lighter despite her added weight.
Rather than fighting for every extra hour he could have with her, he finally let himself wonder what it would feel like to just . . . be.
It was strange and not entirely comfortable just yet, but he desperately needed more.
Alec moved to deepen the kiss, not giving a ripe fuck how many teenagers had stopped to gawk at them, when Marisa groaned into his mouth and pulled away.
He liked it not one bloody bit.
“Get back here. I haven’t decided whether I prefer the blueberry flavor on your tongue more or the peppermint. I have many more choices to make. General’s orders and whatnot.” He dipped his head down, chasing her mouth, and was rewarded with a half-hearted feint on her part.
“As much as I’d love to continue making good choices with you, I have to get over to the boys’ warehouse. These treat boxes aren’t going to put themselves together, and Captain reorganized part of the facility’s kitchen space so I could use it for the next few days.”
“How long will you be there until?”
“Late. But if I can get over there now, it shouldn’t be too bad. The ribbon candy will be the trickiest to get right, but once it’s all pulled out and shaped, the hard part’s over, and things can move more quickly from there.”
“Text me once you’re home. And I promise not to be an arse about it this time.” He meant it as a joke, something to pull her smile out, but an unfamiliar expression flitted over her features, one he’d never seen in person but had dared himself to imagine last night.
Marisa pulled away from him. “No.”
Alec’s body revolted, responding to the betrayal on an elemental level. He nearly lunged for her, but Hugh chose that moment to get up and stretch, his elongated barreled body blocking Alec’s way.
A fine fucking time for that beast to be making bloody choices, too.
“No?” A wellspring of hurt began to scratch beneath the delicate hatch he’d only just begun to latch down.
Had the kiss backfired and instead of drawing her closer to him, it’d only succeeded in giving her more time to mull over Phoebe’s antics? Had he fucked this up just like everything else?
He tried to swallow against the torrent of emotions and fear, wracking his brain for how to make her believe that he was more than the venom Phoebe spewed about earlier. “Marisa, I—”
“I don’t want you to text me, Alec,” she said firmly, freezing him to the spot. “Because I want you to be waiting for me in my apartment when I get home.”