Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mandy
He catches me in the driveway as I’m heading to my car. The moon hangs high above, casting a soft glow across the landscaping and illuminating the edges of the clouds. A perfect evening that should inspire peace and contentment.
Instead, my fingers tremble slightly as I grip my keys. My heart thumps against my ribs, knowing he’s only a few feet away. Barrie’s words play in my mind. I owe it to myself to be honest, to see what happens. So when he says my name, quiet but clear in the evening air, I stop.
My body seems to have a mind of its own around him, responding to his nearness before my thoughts can catch up. The familiar warmth spreads through my chest as he steps closer, his tall frame blocking out some of the moonlight.
“Want to meet me at the boathouse?” he asks, his deep voice carrying easily in the quiet night.
I wet my lips, trying to steady my voice. “Will Harris be there?”
“Definitely not.”
He offers to drive, but I shake my head. If this conversation goes badly, I want the freedom to leave quickly. Plus, the drive will give me time to collect my thoughts.
The entire way to the boathouse, I argue with myself. As soon as he said “Definitely not,” my mind wandered to dangerous territory. All the places we could kiss under the moonlight. The end of the dock. The shadows against the building. Even those metal chairs inside suddenly seem appealing.
“Self,” I say out loud to break through my spiraling thoughts, my voice firm in the quiet car. “There’s a lot to talk about. This man is not necessarily the one for me. He showboated his wealth like somehow that would win me over. That says something about character.”
Yes, but he’s got a heart.
“Pfft. Everyone has a heart.” I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, trying to ignore how my inner voice speaks the truth.
The caring way he looks after others. His gentleness with the kids in my art class.
“But, he hasn’t talked to me in about two weeks.
A poor communicator.” You haven’t really reached out to him either.
“Oh, brother. Just enough of the kissing scenes.”
But my mind betrays me with an image of us at the dock’s edge, feet dangling in the water, his lips finding mine.
The thought stays with me as I pull up behind his car.
I take a deep, shaky breath. Talking to Seymour right now is like sitting down at a blank canvas.
If I go into a painting session closed off, unwilling to be vulnerable, it’s never good.
The painting lacks emotion and depth. I bet the same goes for a relationship.
Great. I have to be vulnerable.
He meets me at my car, and my breath catches.
Even in the dim lighting, he cuts an imposing figure.
Tall, dark, handsome. But I need to know the real Seymour beneath that perfect exterior.
I need to know if he’ll be vulnerable too.
When he offers me a shy smile, I notice the slight tension in his shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for what’s coming.
We make our way down to the boathouse, our footsteps quiet on the wooden planks.
The boards creak softly beneath us as we walk along the side to the end of the dock.
Of course we end up here. It feels right somehow.
The moonlight catches the water in silver ripples, and my fingers itch for a paintbrush.
I want to tell him how that night changed everything.
How it sparked inspiration for a whole series of paintings.
One painting especially captures the night sky with all the depth and richness I haven’t been able to produce for five years.
We settle at the dock’s edge. I close my eyes briefly, taking in the night sounds. The steady chorus of crickets in the distance, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The quiet between us is charged with anticipation.
“I feel like you said yes to wearing a wire just because I objected to it being dangerous,” he says, breaking the silence. “If that’s the case, I feel terrible.”
I turn to study him, taking in how the moonlight carves shadows across his features.
Half his face is illuminated, the other half in darkness, but his eyes are intense as they meet mine.
This is the Seymour I’ve missed. The one who speaks from the heart, the one very few people get to see.
My breath catches in my throat, not that I’ll admit that to him.
“Maybe. But I would have done it anyway,” I say, letting my legs swing gently over the water. “So if I die you can walk away with a guilt-free conscience.”
“Not funny,” he practically growls.
Just kiss him, my traitorous mind whispers.
Geez. Absolutely not.
He shifts beside me, drawing in a deep breath.
“I’ll admit this is the hard part for me.
There’s a lot I need to explain to you. About me.
” His voice grows quieter, more hesitant.
“It’s not an excuse for my bad behavior.
But maybe you’ll understand me and if you want to walk away from this, whatever we have, then I get it. ”
The realization hits me square in the gut, spreading through my chest until my heart aches.
Seymour is like me.
Someone I never thought I’d relate to on anything.
He’s been hurt. I can hear it in the careful way he chooses his words, see it in how he won’t quite meet my eyes.
It’s hard for him to be vulnerable and share those wounds.
Suddenly I want to know everything about him.
From the first scrape on his knee to the latest hurt that almost killed his heart and ability to be open with people.
My heart cracks open, flooding with compassion. The space between us feels electric. I can’t take it anymore. I need to feel the softness of his lips, breathe in the minty scent of his breath. My fingers itch to touch him.
“About three years ago—” he begins.
“Nope.” I interrupt him, my voice stronger than I feel. “I want to hear whatever you have to say. I’ll sit here all night if that’s what it takes, but I need to get something off my mind.”
He blinks, taken aback. But his eyes fix on me with such intensity, such focus, like I’m the only person in his world right now. The weight of his attention makes my skin tingle.
“I didn’t like being treated like some prize doll the other night.
I felt like you were trying win me over with your money.
” My voice wavers slightly, but I keep going.
“It was so different than the way you’d been with me.
I was confused.” I meet his gaze directly, refusing to look away even as my heart pounds.
“None of that matters to me. I don’t care if you’re a zillionaire and it rains gold coins over your house every day. ”
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he says softly. The admission seems to surprise him as much as me. “And I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. I would never want you to feel anything but cherished and loved.”
The words settle over me. I can’t take it anymore. The space between us feels too large, too empty. I lean forward, watching his eyes widen in response. “Come here,” I whisper, my voice barely loud enough.
He raises an eyebrow, uncertainty and hope warring in his expression. Then, he inches closer, the boards creaking softly beneath his shifting weight.
“Closer,” I breathe.
“Any closer and I’ll be on your lap,” he jokes, but his voice has grown husky. The air between us crackles with tension, tiny sparks of electricity seeming to dance in the space between our bodies. He leans over until we’re inches apart, and I can see the flecks of darker green in his eyes.
I stay in that moment, savoring it. The sweet anticipation makes my skin tingle.
His eyes hold so much. Curiosity dancing behind the uncertainty, caring wrapped in caution.
Pain and fear hover at the edges, but there’s something else too, something warm and inviting.
My gaze traces the slope of his nose, settling on his mouth.
He remains perfectly still as I move closer, his breathing shallow.
When my lips brush against his, it’s gentle, loving, barely there.
A promise. His hand finds my waist, fingers pressing lightly through my shirt.
I kiss him again, deeper this time, and he responds with equal fervor, pulling me closer.
The kiss intensifies, becoming desperate, needy, filled with weeks of longing.
His other hand tangles in my hair as I clutch his shirt.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing heavily.
I rest my forehead against his, trying to steady myself.
Once I can form coherent thoughts again, I pull back just enough to look into his eyes.
“You’re safe with me. I want you to know that.
” My voice comes out stronger than I expect, despite my racing pulse.
“Whatever we need to say to each other, let’s say it.
I won’t hold it against you. I won’t use it against you. ”
We stay frozen like that, the sounds of the night wrapping around us. The gentle splash of water against the dock. The distant call of a night bird. The soft whisper of his breath mixing with mine.
“I thought you deserved to be spoiled,” he says finally, his voice rough with emotion.
“I don’t like surprises.” I stifle any memories of Todd trying to surface.
“Noted. No surprises.”
“Maybe if I had known it was coming. Maybe if you’d asked me.” I wince at how whiny I sound. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”
“You’re not. You’re being honest.” He takes a deep breath, then another.
I watch his chest rise and fall, notice how his jaw tightens slightly before he continues.
“That night, I knew I’d messed up. I thought I’d rescue the date and include Silvano, but then you left.
I knew it was bad. I never should have listened to Harris. ”
“What do you mean? What did Harris say?” My body tenses, preparing for whatever comes next.
“The whole date was his idea. He calls it the Pretty Woman test.”
I feel my defenses rising, my spine stiffening. “Explain.” The word comes out sharper than I intend.
“The idea is to shower your date with money. Give them the luxury. Show your hand. Don’t hide the wealth.”
I pull away slightly, the very idea of being tested making my skin crawl. Different kinds of sparks race through me now. Angry ones.
“I know,” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes hold regret, shame. “It’s as horrible as it sounds.”
“Then why?”
“Because I liked you a lot. It scared me.” His eyes stay locked on mine even as he admits his shame. “I’m sorry I did that to you. You can walk away from this if you want. I’d understand. But I want to explain.” Then, he waits, barely breathing.
A part of me, the furious part, wants to stand up and storm off. The anger simmers beneath my skin. I want to hold onto that anger, let it protect me. But curiosity wins out. I want—no, need—to understand why he would resort to such a ridiculous plan. “Keep talking.”
“When you left me in the parking lot, I realized how much I cared. It terrified me.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “It’s been a while since I’ve wanted to be with a woman like I want to be with you. Like I don’t want this to end. If you’ll give me a second chance.”
My heart flutters against my ribs. He doesn’t want this to end?
The words repeat in my mind as I process their meaning.
The admission of being terrified resonates deep within me.
Once again, it hits me. We have more in common than I ever imagined.
We’ve both been hurt, betrayed, left wondering who to trust.
Tell him now. Tell him about Todd. But the words stick in my throat.
He had started confessing and I don’t want to steal this moment from him.
Instead, I reach out, my fingers trembling slightly.
“Now, talk to me.” I trace my finger down his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath my touch. “Who hurt you, Seymour Black?”
“It was a long time ago. If you really want the details, I’ll tell you.” His voice catches slightly.
“I want to know.” I let my hand drop back to my lap, giving him space to share.
“About three years ago, I was almost married.”
Married? An unexpected surge of jealousy courses through me. Some woman had managed to break through his defenses, to get close enough for marriage.
“Her name was Anna. We were in love. We were serious for about year. I proposed. She accepted.” He pauses, swallowing hard.
He was in love. Actually capable of loving deeply. My chest tightens, knowing this story won’t end well. “Did you give her the Pretty Woman Test?”
“In a way, yes. At the advice of Harris, I asked her to sign a prenup. I didn’t want to, but he said it was ridiculous not to with the amount I was worth.
” His fingers drum against the dock. “She signed it. Then, the night before our wedding, she broke up with me in a letter. She couldn’t marry me if I didn’t trust her. ”
I understand her reaction. A prenup feels like a slap in the face, a declaration of mistrust before the marriage even begins.
“A prenup isn’t about trust,” he says, reading my expression. “It’s reality. Marriages don’t always work.”
My mind drifts back to that night with Todd. The big reveal of his painting. Our future together. The crushing weight of his betrayal. Back then, I would have sworn with absolute certainty that I could trust him.
And I did.
Not with a massive bank account, but with my recent paintings. My art. My soul.
Now I wish I had made Todd sign some form of contract before I showed him my painting, something to prevent him from stealing my idea and breaking my heart. The realization settles over me. I can’t hold this against Seymour.
“It was after that I came up with my rules for dating. I figured I’d never be able to fall in love again, because I’d never know if it was about the money or not.” He lets out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly.
“Go ahead. What else?” I keep my voice soft, encouraging. It would be so easy to walk away now. Protect myself. But that would be dishonest to both of us.
“That’s why after our date, I made Harris come with me to the gallery. I didn’t trust myself around you.” His voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Because all I wanted to do was tell you I love you and make you mine.”
“What?” The word escapes in a gasp.