Chapter Twenty-Five
“Marcee, time to wake up.”
Something soft flicked her nose, so she rolled over, dragging the covers across her head. A week after Eli’s texts and the article, she was still having trouble sleeping. Her brain wouldn’t shut off.
“Get out, Freddie! Shoo!”
The mattress sank next to her. That was not Freddie.
“Wake up, beautiful. We’ve got a whole day ahead of us.” Remy’s deep voice was close, skimming over the back of her neck.
She rolled over and peeked out. “What are you doing here? Not that I object. Damn, you look good.”
His lips were achingly soft as she pulled him in for a kiss, hormones going wild at his body so close to her in bed. It was the perfect wake-up call.
“Okay, none of that,” he murmured. “I’ve got a day planned for just us, so you’ve got to get up.”
“How about,” she countered, hooking her leg over his waist, “we stay under the covers all day naked?”
“A tempting offer, but I’ve made plans. Good ones.” Grinning, he rolled out from over her and sprang off the bed. “Meet me at the car in fifteen minutes. Wear a pretty little dress showing off those legs, hmm?”
Marcee hadn’t seen him so chipper in weeks, what with them both being under so much stress as their teams fought their way to the district tournament and the article from the Daily Mail coming out the week before.
She’d been waiting for the shoe to drop at work, expecting a call at any minute to Wilkes’ office, but it was as if no one had read the piece.
With everything going on, she hadn’t found the right time to tell Remy about the job offer from Eli.
Frankly, she had no idea how he’d react.
As far as she knew, he was still planning on going back to London and his team in a few weeks.
One positive was that she and Bill had managed to convince Cope to see a specialist about her disorder. She’d been going twice a week, much to Marcee’s delight and relief. The days following her hospitalization had been tense, but there was hope.
Pemberton’s last game played on a loop in her head as she got ready, despite her monumental effort to chill and disconnect from coach mode, and even though they’d won, it had been close.
Too close. She couldn’t help but replay what went wrong and what she needed to adjust for the next if they wanted to have any prayer of making the final game and winning the district tournament.
Eighteen minutes later, she skipped out of the front door in a yellow sundress that’d been in the back of her closet for years. It was a little girly for her tastes, but something about the color reminded her of the flowers on campus the day she first met Remy.
“Perfect.” Remy held the car door open, ushering her into the passenger seat and checking out her ass.
“I saw that.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” he replied, shutting the door.
“So, where are we going, man with the plan?” The seats were warm from sitting in the front yard under the sun and the desire to lay back and bask in the rays made her feel like Freddie.
The car rumbled to life and Remy directed them down the driveway at a snail’s pace.
“How do you feel about brunch?” he asked.
She slipped her hand over his, resting on top of the gearshift. “Confused. Is it breakfast, is it lunch? Nobody really knows.”
“How do you feel about brunch with a little alcohol involved?”
“Remington Lockley! Trying to get me tipsy before noon?” Marcee leaned over and kissed his cheek, smitten with the light blue shirt and khakis he was wearing. “In that case, brunch sounds delightful.”
Whatever restaurant she had in mind disappeared as they pulled into a space at the park.
“Not any old brunch,” he said. “A picnic brunch. To celebrate.”
Marcee could count on one hand the number of times she’d been on a picnic, and the last was before college. She didn’t even know it was a thing people did any more.
“This is so sweet, but what are we celebrating?” She climbed out of the car and waited beside the trunk as he took out a blanket, honest-to-God picnic basket, and a small cooler.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Coach. Follow me!”
“But what are we celebrating?” she called out, jogging to catch up.
It was a perfect day. Blue skies with fat clouds floated by and a nice breeze tickled the leaves on the trees. She soaked it in like steam in a sauna as Remy led them to a clearing, spreading out the blanket on the freshly mowed grass.
“I hope you like crepes,” he said, opening the basket.
The smell reached her before she saw them and the moan she let loose turned his cheeks pink.
“Are you serious? You made me crepes?”
“Not exactly.” He handed her a plate, piled high with the blueberry and cream cheese treats. “I ordered and picked them up, but the sentiment is the same. Strawberries?”
“Yes, please.”
It was an enchanting moment, like something you read about in a Regency novel.
Man escorts woman on a promenade around the park before hand-feeding her strawberries and cream as she titters behind her fan at the intimate gesture.
Remy’s accent practically screamed Jane Austen.
All they needed was a chaperone seated nearby to complete the picture.
Not that she’d read many of those novels, but she was certain the very same scenario played out in one. Regardless, no one had ever done something like this for her before. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away. She loved, loved this man.
“You’ve been breaking your back at work and with your training sessions. Today, you deserve a day of fun and relaxation. I don’t want you to even think of soccer.”
The drinks were mimosas, really ramping up the relaxation vibes. Always classy, she downed hers in one long gulp.
“Another?” she asked sweetly. If she was supposed to be relaxed, then relax she would. In her book, that involved more than one mimosa.
“And to answer your question,” he said, leaning back on one elbow with his drink in hand, “we are celebrating a small victory. I called in a favor and had the article about us removed. It took me a few days, so I don’t know how many people actually saw it, but it’s no longer out there.
I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you. ”
“Are you serious?” Marcee asked, relief flooding her system. “How?”
“I know a guy at the paper, and we worked something out.” Remy shrugged, smile tightening ever so slightly.
“Tell me you didn’t pay him off.”
“Not with money.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Jesus, Marcee,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not like that either. I told him I would give him a one-on-one interview at some point in the near future. Something to clear the air about everything that went down before I left London.”
She smoothed out her dress, blades of grass beneath the blanket poking into her legs. “That’s a big deal.”
“Eh, to them, maybe. Old news to me.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. He could say what he wanted, but she knew what talking about his job and Lola meant.
His hand reached across the blanket and crepes, sweeping over hers.
“I’m the one who barreled into your life wrecking everything. You’re risking so much by being with me. I would do that and more for you, Marcee.”
The weight of his words sank into her pores like the golden sunlight surrounding them, filling every dark crevice she ever had. To be loved so fully by someone who saw her—all the damaged, pieced-back-together, and beautiful bits—was a gift.
There was a comfortable silence between them as they ate, licking crepe filling off their fingers and feeding each other sugar-dipped strawberries, just as she’d imagined.
It was a new and unexpected feeling, the desire to want to stay in one place and just be.
She usually loved to run and move to the next fun thing, but not then.
She could lay on a blanket under the sun with Remy forever.
“My mum used to take me on picnics when I was little, before I decided I was too cool to be seen at the park with her.”
They stretched out after finishing the food, basking in the sunlight with her head on Remy’s stomach.
“That sounds lovely.”
He made a little noise in the back of his throat, one she’d come to recognize as his way of agreeing without actually saying anything.
“Maybe we can all go on a picnic when we visit your parents for old times’ sake.”
“Mum would probably love that,” he said, her hair sliding through his fingers, dark and light intermingling. “She’s going to love you.”
“And your dad?”
Remy sighed. “My father is a tough man. We don’t always get along, but he also works all the time, so we didn’t get many chances to really bond when I was growing up. He’s carried around a lot of emotional wounds from his childhood. He’ll like you, but it may be hard for him to show it.”
She rubbed the back of his hand, wishing they had met sooner and she could’ve been the person he’d needed to confide in. Things happened like they did for a reason, though, and they had that moment and more ahead of them.
“Well, I certainly hope he does. And your mom.”
“You’re lovely and kind and you love me. That’s all that matters. And it’s all they’ll care about, too. You already made a great first impression on my mum.”
It was exactly what she needed to hear.
“How are things with Cope?” he asked, deftly changing the subject.
Marcee remembered not long ago when thinking about Cassidy Cope brought her anxiety. For once, she was beginning to feel an inkling of peace within her.
“It’s okay. She texted me, the week after being in the hospital.
She said she was ready for my help, believe it or not.
I’m her… sponsor, I guess is the word. She’s going to a professional, of course, but I’ll be here for everyday stuff, helping keep her on track.
We aren’t sure she’ll be ready physically for the tournament, which sucks, but if she’s not strong enough, we can’t risk it.
” She smiled up at the clouds, searching for a cat or soccer ball.
“The miraculous thing is she understands and isn’t fighting it. I think that means she’s growing.”
Remy stroked her bare shoulders, stomach tightening beneath her head. “Good for you both.”
“What’s next on your agenda?” she asked, grabbing his hand and kissing his fingertips. She couldn’t get enough of him.
“Bored already?”
“On the contrary. This is the most present I’ve felt in a long time.”
She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Good, then we’ll pack up and head for the final destination on Remy’s tour of love.”
“You did not call it that,” Marcee replied, giggling and hiding beneath their interlaced fingers.
“Hop up, Coach. What I’ve got planned is really going to knock you on your arse. In the best possible way.”
“Figured out our destination yet?”
The telltale landmarks of Asheville flew by the passenger window as she peered out, looking for a store or park or something that looked like a spot for a romantic date.
“Uh, are we getting sushi?”
“Wrong. Come on, Marcee. You can do better than that.”
They made a right-hand turn and passed a sign for the botanical gardens. In a jiffy, it clicked.
“We’re going to the college?” It was one of the last places she’d guess. “The last time I was here was over the summer.”
It was a shame he looked so damn adorable when smug. “Right. At camp.”
They followed the traffic circle and went through the main entrance, climbing the hill. Memories of summer and dandelions and soccer turf overwhelmed her, putting her back in her worn-in sneakers of pre-season and pre-Remy.
It was the start of everything.
Remy pulled into a parking spot along the street, rushing to open her door.
“This way,” he instructed, taking her hand and leading her down a familiar concrete path. It was closer to dusk, the streetlights kicking on along the campus grounds. When they reached a brick archway, a very familiar and meaningful brick archway, Marcee’s chest constricted.
“Our beginning,” she whispered, turning toward him. She could still remember his taut muscles slamming into her face and chest, catapulting her to the ground, the butterflies dancing in her stomach as she realized the wall she thought she’d run into was actually a man—a beautiful, sweaty man.
“Our beginning,” he agreed, dropping her hand and walking up to the bricks.
“I want it to be more than that. I want us, our love, to be here so anyone who walks by will know in this spot, a man loved a woman so fiercely it marked the world forever.” At the center of the arch was a wooden platform encasing a light illuminating the path at night.
When Remy jumped up and caught the top, swinging his legs up and to the side like a gymnast, she let out a squeal.
“If you fall, so help me God…”
“I won’t fall, love.” His legs wrapped over the top and he pulled himself up, muscles straining beneath his shirt. “See? Just fine.”
Marcee tried not to be nervous as he produced a small pocketknife and laid flat against the bricks, reaching for the wooden platform. What was the sentence for vandalism? A year? Two?
Before she even had a chance to work herself into a proper frenzy, he was done. Getting down was a snap compared to going up. He simply dropped from the top, landing with cat-like grace on the path.
“Take a look.”
Marcee moved beneath the light, shading her eyes to concentrate. Carved into a delicate heart like some Fifties oak tree were their initials: RL + MA.
It was the cheesiest, most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for her. The small gesture was more intimate than any other lover’s embrace, more valuable than any gift of jewelry. There they were, carved into time for the world to see.
“I love you, Marcee Ackerman. Always and no matter what.”