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  But he was going to have to take up yoga or meditation to help with his anxiety. Maybe Delia would have some tips for him.

  He shook his head at Gus. “You don’t need any more excuses to stop working.” He looked at Delia and muttered into his glass, “And I don’t want my little sister seeing what you’ve been painting on my ceiling.”

  “She’s eighteen.”

  Gus leaned forward. “Now I have to see what is on the ceiling.”

  His mother said, “I hope it is cherubic angels peeking out from behind clouds.”

  Delia said with a voice full of conviction, “It is. Jack thinks he can see things in the shadows.”

  Gus said, “And that’s so like him.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows at Delia and she mouthed silently, “It’s not you.”

  Her face said, Oh, it’s you.

  He smiled at her, slow and long. He knew it was him, he knew it was her, and one day she would admit it. And then…

  And then heat rushed into Delia’s face and she looked away from him.

  Gus rolled her eyes and smiled, all at the same time. “Googly eyes.”

  Catherine silently studied Jack and the woman sitting beside him.

  She said, “Hmm.”

  She turned away from them, dismissing something she didn’t want to think about. She said to her daughter, “Tell me about this man you’ve made forget his name. He doesn’t sound like he’s firing on all cylinders but at least he’s gainfully employed.”

  Monday morning, Delia was back in her paint-stained jeans and wild hair. Jack watched it bounce around her head and he sank into his chair. Everything was right with the world.

  At noon, he helped her put her coat on and said, “I canceled lunch with Gus today.”

  “You didn’t cancel lunch with my stomach.”

  “We’ll grab something on the way.”

  “On the way to where?”

  He smiled. “You’ll see.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll go, but I want you to know it’s under protest.”

  “Duly noted.”

  First order of business was a stop for hot subs around the corner from his office and Delia said, “There’s a little less protest now.”

  Jack ate leaning over the counter, juice dripping from his sandwich, his tie tucked into his shirt.

  Delia watched him eat with his hands and said, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “I wanted to get you something for putting up with my mother.”

  “I thought she was remarkably calm considering you brought home a fiance you hadn’t bothered to tell her about.”

  She had been calm, though not remarkably. Catherine Lowell Cabot Bradlee was always calm.

  Gus had spent the rest of dinner explaining to Mother how a woman could make a man forget his name and how Gus was practicing. Delia had pointed her finger at her and Gus said, “Responsibly. I’m not going around robbing every man of his ability to think.”

  Catherine Lowell Cabot Bradlee had looked at Jack and Delia again and said, “Ahh.”

  Jack hadn’t told his mother that while Delia had made him forget his name, it had been after he’d already wanted her.

  Jack snagged one of Delia’s chips. “My mother wouldn’t have cared if I brought home an undisclosed fiance as long as it was Diane Evans. She wants me to marry her.”

  “Eek. And you, the perfect son that you are, can’t come up with any other way out except a fake fiance?”

  “I could tell her no. I just don’t want to have to.” He sucked at the last of his Coke. “I don’t want to see who else she’d bring home.”

  They walked through the Common, the trees bare of leaves, the grass lightly dusted with snow, and headed toward Beacon Hill. When they emerged from the park, surrounded by historic row houses and brick sidewalks, Delia sighed.

  Jack smiled, and when he stopped in front of a shoe boutique, Delia’s breath caught.

  She said, “This is a bad idea.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “It’s impractical. And you shouldn’t be encouraging my vice.”

  “I’ll encourage your vices as much as I like.”

  He cupped her elbow, propelling her into the store. He whispered into her ear, “I want you to pick the most expensive, most impractical shoe they have here. And wear them tonight for me.”

  She walked slowly to a display, looking at the shoes, running a light finger along the material. She’d gone straight to the heels, her eyes wide and sparkling, and said, “I can be bought. My whole life I thought I had principle but no. I can be bought for a sparkly pair of shoes.”

  She picked one up gingerly, a silver strappy heel that looked like it would fall off with every step. “A pair of shoes I will never be able to wear anywhere but at home.”

  He told the saleswoman what size to bring and Delia turned to him. He said, “Gus told me.”

  Gus had told him what size dress as well and it was waiting for Delia in the trunk of his car. A dress for dancing, a dress for wooing. A dress for saying yes.

  The saleswoman brought out the shoes and Delia sat, stripping off her real Italian boots.

  She slipped her feet into the heels, standing slowly and walking carefully back and forth in front of the mirror.

  She stopped in front of another pair, her eyes widening in horror when she saw the price tag. “What exactly do you think you’re buying with these shoes?”

  “Just dinner. Anything else you care to give me will be entirely on the house.”

  She picked it up, a dark green open-toe ankle boot. “I can’t go to dinner with you alone. We all know where that would lead.”

  He sat down, making himself comfortable. He figured they would be here awhile.

  He told the saleswoman, “Any shoe she touches, any shoe she looks at, bring out.”

  When the saleswoman had left to get the green ones in Delia’s size, he said, “Dinner tonight or no shoes.”

  Delia whimpered, clutching the shoe. She looked at it with lust, with want heating her eyes to glowing green glass, and whispered, “I hate you.”

  Jack didn’t know if she was talking to the shoe or to him. Probably both. She hated both of them because they made her want something she didn’t think she should.

  She turned to him, the shoe still clutched to her chest. She looked at him, her eyes still glowing with want. “You’re pulling out all the stops.”

  “I’m pulling out some of the stops. I’ll pull them all if I have to,” he said and she whispered, “Duly noted.”

  She looked down again. “If I let you buy this shoe, then we’ll go to dinner–”

  “–and dancing.”

  Her shoulders fell, her resistance melted. “And dancing. And then we’ll go back to your place and burn up your sheets. We’ll burn up you and me and leave nothing behind.” She walked toward him, her jeans rolled up to her calves. “I’ve already done it once, Jack. Once is enough for most things.”

  “What if the fire doesn’t burn us up, what if it makes us stronger? Unbreakable. You haven’t done that yet.”

  She sat in the chair next to him, perching on the edge and staring into space. She finally said, “Would you want that? With me?”

  He didn’t say anything until she looked up, until she met his eyes in the mirror.

  He said, “Yes.”

  She whispered, “You fight dirty.”

  “It’s in my blood.”

  Her head jerked, her eyes narrowed. “That’s what Gus said.”

  “Then it must be true. It must be why no one ever says no to me.”

  A different kind of fire entered her eyes and she blew out her breath. “I wish I had been the one to end that streak.”

  “You were.”

  The saleswoman walked over carrying a new box and Delia shook her head. “I’ll take the silver ones.”

  Jack said, “You don’t want to try on any more? We can take as much time as you’d like.”

&nbs
p; Delia lifted a leg, moving her foot back and forth and making the shoe sparkle. “They’re impractical, I can hardly walk in them, they cost more than my rent. These are the ones I want.”

  He laughed and she turned to him. “You’re a perfect asshole, I stop thinking when I look at you, you are an uptight workaholic. You’re the one I want.”

  He took her hand in his and said, “We’ll take the silver ones.”

  They walked back through the Common, this time her arm entwined with his, her new shoes swinging by her side.

  Jack steered her toward his car when she tried to head back to the office.

  He said, “We can go to Maine, we can go to dinner and dancing after work, or we can go back to my condo.”

  He pulled the dress box out of his trunk, handing it to her. Delia lifted a corner of the box, peeking at it, then pulled out a swatch of silky dress. She said, “It’s pink.”

  “I’ve been told redheads can wear pink.”

  A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Maine’s too far away.”

  He opened the car door for her, saying, “So is dinner and dancing.”

  She stepped in close and said, “We will not ever do this in your office. We will be civilized.”

  “You’re not civilized, Delia. You’re wild and carefree.”

  “Wild and carefree got me nowhere.”

  “Wild and carefree got you right here, right when I needed you.”

  “You needed me?”

  “I need you, Delia. Right here, right now.”

  She leaned in, sliding her fingers through his, feathering her lips softly across his.

  She sighed his name and Jack wanted to tuck his hands into her hair, pull her into his car, and surround himself with her scent. Paint and lilacs.

  She murmured, “I think your condo is too far away.”

  “We’ll make it. We’re civilized, after all.”

  “You just said I wasn’t.”

  “You aren’t. We are. We’re civilized and careful and wild and carefree, all at the same time.”

  She pulled away from him and he followed, taking her mouth with his, coaxing her to stay near with every pull of his lips. Her eyes closed, her head fell back, and he kissed her chin and down her throat.

  She mumbled, “I bet you sixteen dollars and fifty-eight cents we’re not making it out of this parking garage.”

  He closed his eyes, his mouth still pressed to her skin, and he stopped.

  He stopped because he was forty and he’d learned a thing or two. He’d learned how to wait, how to savor, how to show a woman just what it meant to couple, to become one.

  You couldn’t become one stuffed inside a two-seater in a parking garage in the middle of the afternoon.

  He wanted Delia to have that, he wanted to have that. With her, this first time.

  They would do this right.

  He pulled back from her, pushing out his breath, pushing down his want.

  Delia’s face glowed. Her eyes said, I want you. Now.

  And if ever a woman had looked naked while fully clothed, Delia did at that moment.

  Jack looked away from her, he didn’t say a word. He stuffed her in her seat, peeled out of the parking lot, and didn’t look at her again until he was parked at his condo.

  When he turned to her, she was watching him, trying not to grin. She said, “Focused.”

  He said, “In danger of losing.”

  She carried her new shoes and her dress up, refusing to let him help and clutching the bags.

  He unlocked his door, holding it open for her and saying, “We’ll still do dinner and dancing.”

  After.

  Tomorrow.

  Maybe next week.

  Delia dropped her packages inside the door, sliding her arms around his waist, tipping her face up to him.

  Jack slid his fingers through her hair, sighing with relief that he’d finally got his hands in it. He massaged her scalp and walked her backwards to the bedroom. Delia closed her eyes, holding onto him, following his lead.

  “You hear it, don’t you, Delia? The music?”

  He heard it whenever she was near. Music, happiness, freedom.

  She opened her eyes. “I hear it, Jack.”

  He peeled off her layers of clothing, stopping to anoint every patch of skin with his lips.

  She removed his clothing, sighing and rubbing her cheek against him, marking him.

  When they stood naked together, when nothing was left between them, he turned her, trailing his fingertips down her back. Jack kneeled, smoothing his hands across Delia’s buttocks, across her tattoo.

  Jack healed this scar from her last brush with fire with a reverent kiss.

  She turned, pulling him to his feet and kissing him. He pressed his body to hers, falling with her onto his bed.

  He leaned his forehead against hers, focusing on the flame in Delia’s eyes. When their breaths synced, when they breathed in the same air and breathed out the same desires, Jack entered her. They breathed, and Jack slid out. They breathed, and Jack slid in.

  Never breaking their rhythm, never breaking eye contact, they burned up and became one, together.

  Delia stared at the ceiling, unseeing. She finally said weakly, “I didn’t know there was a right way to do that.”

  Jack closed his eyes, exhausted, spent. She sighed, making herself comfortable, curling into him and propping her chin on his chest.

  He kept his eyes closed and murmured, “Delia.”

  She whispered, “What?”

  “Stop staring at me.”

  “I’m not staring. I’m drinking you in.”

  He opened his eyes to find hers warm and sweet and relaxed.

  He pushed her hair out of her face gently. “Are you going to show me your painting?”

  “Which one?”

  He smiled at her and she said, “Oh, that painting. When it’s done. After I get you to sign away your right to sue me about it.”

  “Am I going to want to sue you?”

  “I don’t see why you would. You’re wearing pants.”

  Her expression said she might have to paint a second one now and he wouldn’t be.

  He closed his eyes again, the smile still on his lips.

  She said, “I’m not just painting you. I have one of Gus, too. I call it Woman-Child.”

  “What’s mine called?”

  She fidgeted and he chuckled. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “I’m going to need you to sign a not-going-to-sue-me agreement.”

  He pulled her closer and scrawled Jack across her butt cheek with his finger. “I’ve signed.”

  Delia muttered, “I don’t think that would hold up in court.”

  Jack patted his invisible signature. “It’ll hold up. What’s it called?”

  She sniffed. “Master of the Universe.”

  He sighed, long and heartfelt. “I’m not. Just ask Woman-Child. Just ask Lady of the Ceiling.”

  She stroked his shoulder. “Don’t worry, everyone else thinks so. But I guess I could call it Fitzwilliam.” Delia sighed, “Oh, Fitzwilliam.”

  Then she snickered. “That’s a terrible middle name.”

  “It’s better than Sunshine,” he said and she gasped, pushing him.

  “You looked!”

  He had. “Bedelia Sunshine Woodson.”

  She groaned, flinging herself onto her back. “Amelia Bedelia. My mom loved that book. I ask you, why couldn’t she have named me Amelia?”

  “Because you’re not an Amelia.” He rolled over, trapping her beneath him. “You’re not really a Sunshine, either.”

  He looked at her hair, then bent to kiss a breast. “Wildfire.”

  He kissed the other breast. “Delia.”

  Belly button. “Wildfire.”

  Abdomen. “Woodson.”

  He rested his head on her belly and she said, “What were you just saying about not being the master of the universe?”

  “You know I’m right.”


  “You’re always right. That’s why Gus thinks you’re perfect.”

  “If I remember correctly, you think perfect is boring.”

  “It is. But you’re not perfect. You’re a bit of an ass.” She sounded as if she’d never want anything but a bit of an ass.

  He smiled against her belly and murmured, “I thought you were the ass.”

  She whispered, “I will never say it.”

  He ran his hand down her thigh to cup the back of her knee. “If you stay tonight, I can torture it out of you.”

  She played with his hair until he looked up at her.

  And then she said, “Just this once.”

  Megan BryceSome Like It Perfect

  Twelve

  Delia did the walk of shame early the next morning. Gus was sitting at the table eating cereal and when she saw Delia, she said, “Don’t even tell me you were at Justine’s.”

  Delia dropped her packages on the couch and flopped down next to them. “Okay.”

  She pulled out her pink dress and her silver shoes and thought she might have to try them on this morning. She hadn’t tried on her dress yesterday, although they had tried out the shoes, and yes, they worked.

  Delia wanted to see what they looked like together because Jack was taking her to dinner and dancing tonight. If they could get out the door.

  Gus came to inspect them and said, “Nice shoes.”

  They were nice. And so impractical that she knew she’d never wear any of it again after tonight. She should sell them. The shoes alone could pay for food for months.

  And she couldn’t. She couldn’t sell the dress. The softest, silkiest material she’d ever felt in her life.

  And the shoes? Please. She was keeping these shoes. She would be buried in these shoes.

  Delia said, “Jack found my weakness.”

  “Is that what you’re telling yourself? That you slept with him because of the shoes?”

  She’d slept with him because she couldn’t stand not to for one more minute. He’d bought her shoes. He’d sat there ready to spend the day watching her try on shoes and he’d looked like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.