Page 31 of My Dearest Mackenzie

Turning to face Frances, I stared at her for a beat or two. “No, I can’t. But that’s what is frightening about you. You make me think I can care for someone like that. You may be small, Feisty Frankie, but you are brave and hopeful and full of passion and optimism. It’s a cocktail I want to get drunk on.”

“I’m not…optimistic,” she countered.

My fingers grazed her cheek. “So beautiful,” I whispered. “I’m going to be honest. I don’t fucking know what I’m doing right now. I can’t—won’t—spend my life chasing something that doesn’t exist for me. Yet here you are, and you make me feel like it does. It’s your optimism, raining over me. No one chases down their grandfather’s love story if they’re not a believer in all things positive. That’s you, Frances.”

Her hand came to my thigh again and I wished I wasn’t in track pants. Shorts, boxers, anything where there could have been skin-to-skin contact would have proven better.

“I’m not—” she started to argue.

I interrupted. “I’m going to kiss you, and then we are going to brunch. Because if we don’t…I’m going to say something brutally honest here…I’m going to fuck you. Hard and fast and furiously.”

My hand guided her face toward mine and our mouths crashed as violently as I wanted to be inside her. Last time, our kiss might have been gentle. This wasn’t. Twenty-four hours of want and need were bound in one long-ass meeting of the mouths. We didn’t break for air to slow the pace. We went at it, gasping all the way. My tongue slid in her mouth, hers meeting mine. I couldn’t get enough of her taste—minty and tainted with the hope I saw in her eyes. I wanted to swallow the feeling and all that was Frances.

For five, ten, fifteen minutes maximum, I wasn’t jaded-and-cynical Mack, but a believer in peace, love, and destiny.

“I’m not going to break if you fuck me.” That was what she broke free to say…

“Don’t ever, ever say fuck again near me.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Because I’m trying to do the right thing, and hearing that kind of language from your Smurfette mouth does things to me.”

She broke out into laughter. “Smurfette…that’s funny,” she said in between giggles.

“Come on,” I said, standing, hoping my dick realized it wasn’t getting involved with the blondie.

She took my hand, smoothing her tank with her free fingers.

“Brunch or bust.” I had to get out of here.

“The pink shirt looks handsome with the navy striped suit. Exquisite, if I may.”

“Not as exquisite as it would if you joined me in a dress, on my arm, and attended the event with me. One of these days you’re going to say yes, my darling.”

He winked at me from the three-way mirror, and I pretended to coyly shy away from his attention.

“You know I can’t, Baron,” was what I said.

I don’t want to, was what I whispered in my mind. Especially now…

Baron Andrews was a notorious flirt with extremely deep pockets. I mean, with a name like Baron, you had to be swimming in deep money and deeper family history, right?

He’d been one of my first customers, rushing in for a tie one rainy, slushy Tuesday. I’d only been working in the job for a few months, and I remembered the rain pelting and the slushy ground chilling me as I made my way into the store, thinking no one was going to shop today.

Right before lunch, Baron came storming in. He had a luncheon nearby and forgot a tie, and his assistant hadn’t refilled his office with shirts and ties—whatever that meant. I had no clue back then.

I’d found him a dark green tie—it was holiday time—and noticed a snagged stitch on his shirt. We got him set in a new shirt, tie all centered and ready to command attention, “Little Drummer Boy” playing in the background, and off he went. The following week he was back to buy a few suits, asking me to play our song. What song? I hadn’t a clue what he was going on about until “Little Drummer Boy” came back on, and he took me in his arms and swung me around.

Until then, Baron had been buying his clothes at another notable department store, he remarked, but he liked working with me. He’d been shopping and flirting exclusively with me for the last decade plus.

Which was why I couldn’t afford for the other man striding into the department to mess up the arrangement. I still had to pay bills.

“Frances!” His voice rumbled through the air and tickled my nerves.

Baron’s head perked up and he looked in the mirror at the spectacle behind him. Mack was approaching as fast as anyone could possibly do while weaving through a labyrinth of clothing racks and mannequins and displays.

“Frances!”

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