5. Miguel
MIGUEL
NOW
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No, Andrew. As we’ve already discussed, a curved wall isn’t functional in a standard apartment.”
“It would help with acoustics.” The whiny voice on the line belongs to an architectural engineer who forgets space planning is not his area of expertise.
Andrew Dupont has been a thorn in my side since college, and I avoid him at all costs. Lucky for me, he avoids the long commute to the office in LA traffic, which means I rarely have to see him.
“It’s too late to make schematic changes. You need to finalize the technical drawings and get them to the contractor. She’s losing patience.” My smart watch vibrates, warning me it’s nearly time for my ten o’clock cup of tea and a pastry. “Gotta go, Andrew. We’ll talk soon.”
I lock my laptop screen and organize my stack of floor plans.
The architecture collective I work for rents a large conference room in a shared office space.
We use it for collaborative projects or if we need to escape our home offices for a couple of hours.
As the lead designer, I’m here on most weekdays because I like working with paper and need space to spread out.
Carmen suggested dating as a distraction, but sewing and work keep me busy.
The collective specializes in designing apartment buildings for underserved communities and has many projects in the pipeline.
My job isn’t lucrative, like the one I had at a private firm designing custom homes, but doing my part to solve LA’s affordable housing crisis is far more gratifying.
A woman in a black pantsuit follows me into the elevator. We claim separate corners and stare at the buttons. Everyone working on this floor keeps to themselves, which is fine by me. I may not like being alone, but that doesn’t mean I want to interact with other people.
Leaving the lobby, I slip through the revolving door and almost crash into a delivery guy with a large flower bouquet. Someone’s in for a lovely surprise. Yay them. Between his ball cap and having his head buried in a phone, the man misses my bitter eye roll.
I skirt around him and hustle to the coffee shop a few doors down.
It sells raspberry Danishes on Mondays, and they disappear fast. When I step inside, a long line of customers stands between me and sweet bliss.
I contain my frustrated growl and join the queue, peering between bodies to examine the remaining baked goods on display.
“Let me guess. Raspberry Danish.” The whisper comes from behind me. The same whisper that used to praise me in the dark and tease me in the light. “Meet me in the bathroom.”
My heart thunders as I slowly turn my head and catch him slinking into the men’s restroom, expecting me to follow. I slide my gaze to the display case and weigh my options: the pastry or the past. And god help me, I choose the latter.
As I push through the bathroom door, a hand clamps around my arm and drags me the rest of the way inside. The deadbolt clicks. Flowers land at my feet. Air gets trapped in my lungs when Graham cups my face in his hands.
Beneath the hat, haunted amber eyes suck me into their agonized depths—far deeper than I ever could’ve imagined. My trembling hands circle his wrists as threads of longing bind me to the moment, stitching my eyelids shut.
For weeks, I’ve asked Maisy to send me candid photos of Graham on the down-low, but she refuses. Now he’s here, in the flesh, and a glimpse of him could never satisfy. I’m aching for everything I forfeited the night I walked away.
“Darling, look at me.” His voice cracks, and the broken plea stabs me in the chest.
I wince, shaking my head. Part of me wishes he would disappear and spare me from facing the damage I’ve caused. I’m a bigger coward than ever, and he’s to blame. His sweet, addictive love has made me weak. And the weakest part of me squeezes his wrists tighter, begging for more.
Soft lips brush the corner of my mouth, granting my unspoken wish. A pathetic whimper crawls up my throat, and my eyes open, meeting his gentle smile. And when he sighs, I breathe his air greedily like it’s the first full breath I’ve taken in a year.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, inching closer.
Our bodies connect as his thumbs graze my cheeks. “How else would I get your attention and beg you to come home? You blocked me on everything.”
Reality cuts through the temporary relief.
I let go of his wrists and spin away. The texture of my blazer feels rough against my palms as I smooth out the front and take a steadying breath.
When I turn around, he’s leaning against the pedestal sink in a casual stance, but his fingers curled around the edge betray his desire to reach for me.
He’s lost weight. Not much, but enough to sharpen his cheekbones and give a looser fit to the khakis I tailored for his long legs.
Black sunglasses rest on top of his hat, and I’m tempted to rip them both off and run my fingers through his thick hair.
And those lips…god, they’re sinful. His beauty is absurd, unfair, and way too much to deal with this early on a Monday.
Taking another step back, I bump into the stall and tug the bottom of my blazer. “How did you find me this time?”
He drags his gaze from my polished Oxfords to my shorter, spiky hair. While he mentally undresses me, I shift from one foot to the other and piece facts together.
“Maisy. It had to be her. Carmen would never betray me like this.”
“Maisy didn’t betray you. I begged her for a clue then did the legwork myself,” he says.
“It’ll take a lot more than an undercover sting operation and some wilted flowers to change my mind.” I point to the bouquet on the floor. “They’re not even roses!”
I’m whisper-shouting in a coffee shop restroom.
My face heats at the thought of someone listening outside the door.
I’d die if our private spectacle became public, but Graham loves to push my buttons and wrestle me out of my comfort zone.
From the smirk on his face, he knows I’m on the brink of losing all decorum, and I’ve never wanted to punch someone in the mouth so badly in my life.
Pushing off the sink, he closes the distance.
“Then what will it take? If you want roses, I’ll buy you roses.
You know I’ll do anything for you. I’ve never shied away from your challenges, and I have no plans to start now.
” He pinches one corner of my striped bow tie and brings his mouth to my ear.
“And once you’re back in my arms, and in our bed, you won’t be leaving again. ”
Goosebumps. They’re everywhere. Even in the forbidden places. I ball my hands into fists because they have a mind of their own. They want to latch on to him and see how this hostage fantasy plays out. But the mind in my head understands that’s a bad idea and steers me toward falsehoods.
“You’re too late. I’ve moved on.”
“I can’t accept that.” The finality in his tone makes me bristle.
I draw my shoulders back and raise my chin, standing my ground on this slab of lies I’ve built. “This is what I want, so you don’t have much of a choice.”
Graham’s need for physical touch wafts from his pores. If I were to move forward a few inches, our lips would meet. I wish he’d toss aside his newfound restraint and kiss the fucking life out of me, but he knows when I’ve drawn a line he’s forbidden to cross.
His voice strains when he speaks again. “You shut me out, Miguel. All the way out, with no warning. You didn’t consider what I wanted before choosing to leave.”
“Yet you chose to wait a year before coming after me.”
In hindsight, walking out on him in the middle of the night might’ve been a rash decision, but it wasn’t a cry for attention. I meant to leave for good. Even though I knew he’d show up someday, I’m surprised he waited this long.
“For weeks, I tried getting through to you. The only reason I gave up is because you asked me to give you time, and I thought backing off would speed things along. It didn’t.
” An invisible weight presses on his shoulders as he runs a finger down my lapel.
“Work with me, darling. Tell me what has to happen for you to come home.”
Work with him? His inability to be a team player contributed to our downfall. He made unilateral decisions that affected our relationship, and my voice got lost.
“As I’ve said, you’re too late.” My hand pauses on the lock, but I let the urge to steal a few extra minutes with him pass. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s his persistence. So, with the firm belief I’ll be seeing him soon, I flip the deadbolt. “Go. Before someone recognizes you.”
As he tugs the cap lower on his forehead, he says, “You know this isn’t over.”
“May the most stubborn man prevail.” My stare never wavers from his, but it takes a vast amount of willpower to stop myself from glancing at his mouth.
“May the most stubborn man lose. See you soon, my darling.” He winks, sliding the sunglasses on his face while backing out the door.
Adrenaline works overtime, filling my chest with pounding anticipation. Graham’s not a quitter once he sets his mind on something. I can thrash and wail to my heart’s content, but I’ve never been able to resist him.
Me
Come straight to my place after work. Bring the crisis wine.
Carmen
What happened?
Me
I’ll explain later.
Bring two bottles.
Carmen bursts through the door with a grocery sack and a to-go bag from a restaurant. “I brought Moscato, chocolate truffles, and spicy pho.”
“You’re the only person who knows how to love me the right way,” I murmur. Talking hurts when I’m lying face down on the sofa with a beaded pillow embedded in my cheek.
“Oh, shit. The wallow hasn’t been this bad in months.”
She dumps everything on the coffee table, including half the contents of the slouchy tote that slides down her arm. A tube of lip gloss rolls across the distressed wood, destination unknown. I relate to its journey while she kicks off her shoes and gets comfy on the chaise.
“Tell me everything, starting with who sent you those flowers.”
A pretty bouquet of not roses fills the crystal vase on my dining table. After Graham had left the coffee shop, I salvaged the flowers that didn’t touch the bathroom floor and tossed the rest in the trash.
“A ghost gave them to me. He popped up out of nowhere, like Casper.” I frown at the beige wall behind the TV. “Casper would be a cute baby name.”
An open bottle lands in my direct line of sight before Carmen says, “You’re not making any sense, Miguel.”
“Graham came to see me. He dragged me into a bathroom and stole a kiss. That has to be a misdemeanor, right? Petty theft, at least.”
“Wait. Back up.” Her hands flap, warding off evil spirits and my wayward thoughts. “Start from the beginning.”
I prop myself on an elbow and recap the eventful morning as we share the first bottle. We’re swapping germs—gag—but I’m too miserable to care. By the end of my sordid tale about trespassing, impersonation, and hostage negotiations, Carmen’s fanning her face.
“Damn, he’s fearless. It’s kinda hot.”
Something between a growl and gargle rumbles in my throat as I swallow a mouthful of sweet Moscato. She heeds the warning, shifting her focus away from his romantic prowess and back to my distress.
“If I remember correctly, you swore on your sewing machine that you wouldn’t speak to him when he showed up. What changed?”
I fling an arm out. “I’m an addict, okay? A graham cracker junkie. Which is why I had to cut myself off!”
“Calm down and drink your wine.” She pats my foot, and I kick at her hand. My effort is feeble, barely making contact.
Sitting up, I swig from the bottle and examine her outfit from the corner of my eye. Her hair is swept up in a high, sleek ponytail, and her open trench coat reveals sheer pants and a sparkly crop top.
“Why are you dressed like a detective genie?” I ask.
She glances at her generous cleavage and shrugs. “I’m going out tonight. Thought I’d find a lonely soul and grant them three wishes.”
“You’re so freaky.”
“Thanks.” A proud grin accompanies her chirped response.
Men and women flock to Carmen’s beauty and whimsical aura. I shared a wall with her for years and know exactly the kind of whimsy she’s into.
Her smile fades to a small, sympathetic one. “How did it feel, seeing him again?”
“Painful.” I slump on the sofa and hug the wine to my chest.
While I haven’t fully processed my feelings about Graham’s surprise visit, there’s no question seeing him again felt like pouring salt and acid on open wounds.
His absence from my life burns, but knowing I’ve caused his suffering eats at my soul.
A whimper spills out of me, and I press a hand to my stomach. Maybe the wine wasn’t such a good idea.
Carmen gathers her ponytail over a shoulder and pets the glossy strands. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you miss him and want to be with him.”
Admitting either of those things would be the same as saying the breakup was a mistake. The grain of that truth planted itself in my mind the night I left him. But all the other grains, truths and lies alike, are the ones I nurture and cling to.
My head falls back on a defeated sigh. “We don’t work as a couple.”
“Keep lying to yourself.”
“We want different things.”
“Errrr.” She mimics a game show buzzer. “Try again.”
I aim an unforgiving glare at her. “You’re welcome to leave at any time…without the truffles.”