Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MARY

On the way back to Roger’s apartment, I fill our street team in on the situation (i.e., I both thank and dismiss them) and send a group text to Molly and Maisie to confirm that Cleo has been found. Molly texts back: There’s more to this story, and you’re going to tell us. Hell, even CAL wants to know what’s going on with you and hunka-hunka burning love, and his gossip button isn’t screwed on right. YOU NEED TO TELL US TONIGHT. Unless you’re getting laid. If you’re getting laid, it can wait. Just know that if you flake on our plans, we’re going to assume you’re getting laid.

There’s a text from Nicole too, but I’ll check it later. I’m sure she’s just touching base about her latest challenge, or giving me another one. From what I understand, the original Bad Luck Club has a very defined schedule—meetings every other week, one challenge per meeting—but Nicole’s version has proved to be the opposite of organized.

Actually, on second thought, that could be something she’s doing to torture me into being less predictable. The messed-up thing is that it’s sort of working.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket so quickly that Jace’s eyes immediately gravitate toward it—or maybe he’s just looking at my butt.

Roger is waiting at his small kitchen table, right by the door, and the way he lights up at the sight of Cleo…

This is why I became a lawyer. Sometimes I get to do good things. Sometimes I get to fight for people who have been wronged, or unfairly maligned, or manipulated because of their ignorance of the legal system.

Sometimes I get to add some balance to the ledger.

One of the things I love about Hilde is her insistence that each of the lawyers at the firm do ten hours a month of pro bono work. It’s my favorite part of my job.

But it’s not Roger who’s making me feel like a superhero. The way Jace stood back at that house, letting me deal with the situation but making it very clear that he would step in if that man was foolish enough to lay hands on me—no one’s ever shown that much faith in me. Although I don’t lack confidence when it comes to my ability to put wrongdoers in their place, I’ve never felt like this .

Jace is doing something to me. He’s helping me tap into the parts of myself I’ve lost along the path of life. It’s a foolish thought, but I can’t quite quell it—or maybe I don’t want to.

Earlier, in his apartment, I had half a minute to look around while he got changed. In spite of what his sister did, there’s a picture of her and Ben on the fridge. I know it’s her because of her eyes—that same ocean-water blue as Jace’s. Her little boy is staring at something off camera, not smiling, but she is looking at the photographer.

How could someone like that, someone who looks so nice, do something so terrible? She knew Jace’s crime was more than ten years in the past, yet she cut him off anyway.

Then again, everyone who knew my father thought he was the nicest man alive. The Blarney Stone, if it were a man , someone said in a comment on his obituary. Everyone thought that he was the beautiful one, the standout, and that my mother was lucky to have caught a man like him.

And it turns out he was cheating on her.

She didn’t know that, of course—they both died before the truth came out—but she knew something wasn’t right. I was the one she confided in.

She’d seen the way women flirted with him, and the way he flirted back, and it made her feel a bone-deep inadequacy.

I shake those thoughts away, though, because they have no place in this happy moment.

“You got her back,” Roger says in wonder, his eyes filling with tears. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who cries often, and answering tears well in my eyes. He tries to get up and stumbles a little, and Jace places a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. The cat is cuddled in Jace’s other arm, as if she has very wisely decided she’d like to stay there.

“Mary got her back,” he says. His voice is firm, like he won’t hear of anyone else taking credit. Crouching, he places Cleo at Roger’s feet. “She was remarkable.” There’s a throb of longing in his voice, of admiration, and I consume it like a feast.

Cleo, being a cat, merely weaves herself around Roger’s legs and then pitter-patters off to another room without a care, as if she both runs away and is kidnapped several days a week.

Mrs. Rosa enters after us, her eyes dancing as she follows us into the apartment, closing the door behind her. “The boy who took her was a big brute covered in tattoos.” Her mouth ticks up into a wider smile. “He looked about as tough as our Jace, but this fine woman marched right up to him, bold as you please, and demanded he give Cleo back. Told him that Cleo was worth twenty-five hundred dollars, and he’d get arrested for felony theft if he tried to keep her.”

“She what?” Roger asks, just as I say, “Oh, no. That man had nothing on Jace. I was never in the slightest bit of danger.”

The words came tumbling out, and I feel myself blush slightly. I can sense Jace watching me—along with everyone else in the room.

Mrs. Rosa pats my arm. “You’re right, I do have a tendency to exaggerate.”

“So she didn’t say that darn cat was worth as much as my medical bills?”

“I shouldn’t have lied,” I admit, “but the gentleman did need some convincing. And I didn’t want…” I let myself sneak a peek at Jace. His ocean eyes are on me, just like I thought, and the warmth in them makes my breath catch.

“You didn’t want me to get myself into any trouble,” he finishes. He’s right, and I don’t deny it. Although getting caught in a lie could get me disbarred, the thought of Jace getting arrested for assault…

I couldn’t let that happen. He already has a felony conviction, and although I doubt anyone would take the word of a man like Hugo Sylvan, I wasn’t willing to take that risk.

Mrs. Rosa pats my arm again. “Don’t you think of leaving, honey. I’m bringing over a cake to celebrate. Apple spice or gingerbread?”

I’m a bit thrown by the revelation that this woman has multiple flavors of cake at her disposal, but I don’t want to imply I’m ungrateful or suspicious, so I gesture toward Roger.

“Let’s let Roger decide. He’s had a very stressful afternoon.”

“Gingerbread,” he answers at once, smiling. Jace looks a little taken aback, although whether it’s because of the speed of his answer or the smile, I don’t know. “Been a while since I had any. My wife used to make it every Christmas.”

“Can’t argue with that reasoning,” Mrs. Rosa says. “Gingerbread is a good celebration cake.”

“I took you as more of the bah humbug type,” Jace interjects. “Actually, I think you said those very words to me last Christmas. And then there’s your place.” He waves his hand, indicating the décor of the apartment, which is as lacking in holiday merriment as his own home.

Maybe I’ll buy them a couple of little trees like the one at the office.

The thought is there and gone before I can question why the heck I’m thinking about buying people trees, when I’ve only decorated a tenth of one of mine. But something about Jace and the recovered cat and his two friends, both of whom are decades older than him, is so charming that I feel a wave of something suspiciously like Christmas spirit.

Hilde would be proud of me.

“Sure,” Roger says. “If you ask me, the whole thing’s a lot of wasted effort. But I would have hung the moon for that woman.”

Mrs. Rosa beams at him, as if he just revealed he’s been a secret romantic all along. Actually, I guess he has. “I’ll be right back,” she says. “Save your appetites.”

She closes the door behind her, and my stomach responds by rumbling, reminding me that Jace and I never had those pancakes, or anything else.

He swears under his breath and takes a step toward me. “I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t know what I was thinking. You must be starving.”

“What about you? You must have worked up—”

Oh, God. I almost told him he must’ve worked up an appetite last night, and Roger is right there, leaning forward as if hanging on to our every word. He doesn’t look upset, though. If anything, he looks like he has half a mind to pull his chair closer lest he miss anything.

“I mean, you must be hungry too, is all,” I say.

Jace guides me to the chair next to Roger, and I sit, noticing it feels rickety beneath me.

“I’m used to going without,” he says offhandedly, as if it’s no big deal, but I’m hit again with the fact that he went to prison . That still scares me, to be honest. Back when he told me, it made me scared of him—and the pull I felt to him—but now it’s like I’m scared for him. Which is stupid, of course. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself, and that time in his life is over.

He’s still living with the consequences, though.

Still living without Ben.

Still working in a job beneath his talent level, according to Cal.

There’s more to his story, and I want to know it because I want to help him. Not because he needs my help, and definitely not because I feel sorry for him. It’s simple really: I like him, and he’s done a lot to help me. I’d like to return the favor. There’s nothing friendlier than that, is there?

“Thanks again for finding Cleo,” Roger says, turning toward me. “That cat’s about all I have left.” He shoots a glance at Jace, who sat down across from me. He’s so tall, his legs are practically beneath my chair, and I give in to the urge to let our legs touch.

But Roger’s not done. “This boy’s a good friend to me, and I know spending time with your son means a lot to him. Excuse me for being blunt”—Jace grunts; Roger ignores him—“but I hope the fact that you’re here means you’re going to let him spend time with your boy. There’s no one I’d sooner trust with my children.”

“You don’t have any,” Jace says.

“He has Cleo.” I smile at them. Turning to Roger, I add, “I feel very lucky to have Jace in our lives. Everything has gotten better for us since we met him.”

And it’s true. In this moment, I’m feeling like more than just a friend.

Because his leg is pressed against me, the solid heat of him like a furnace.

Because there’s literally nothing I’d like more than to eat gingerbread cake with Jace and these two charming neighbors he’s made his family.

When I look up, Jace is staring at me again. Our eyes lock, and a feeling like electricity sizzles through me, from his eyes to mine, from the place where our legs touch to my newly cobweb-free core. “I can say the same,” he says, his voice deep and sure.

I don’t know what all this means, or if it even should mean something, but I’m enjoying myself.

Mrs. Rosa’s cake is as professional and delicious as one of the confections Cal’s father makes, and his father owns a bakery. Although I felt certain I couldn’t possibly eat the piece she cut for me, which was as big as Cleo’s head, I’ve finished every bite. I’ve laughed so hard that my belly hurts, or maybe the cake’s to blame.

I’m not used to this, to life feeling like a celebration.

Roger told me that he used to look a lot like Jace back when he worked construction, and Mrs. Rosa told him to hush because “you don’t want to scare the poor girl.” He pretended to be offended, but it’s obvious there’s a powerful affection between them, just like the bond they share with Jace.

Speaking of Jace. He’s been a little quiet, but not because he’s bored or checked out—he hasn’t once lifted his phone the way Glenn always did in situations like this one. No, he’s watching and listening. Soaking in the moment like a plant starved for water.

Which emboldens me.

I get my opportunity when we take the dishes to the sink to wash them, nearly tripping on Cleo, who finally made her reappearance a few minutes ago. We had to insist on cleaning up at least five times before Mrs. Rosa let us, but she seems to have forgotten all about it now that she and Roger are heatedly discussing the relative merits of A Christmas Story versus Miracle on 34 th Street . I must say, he has very strong pro- A Christmas Story opinions for someone who’s not very keen on the idea of Christmas.

I turn on the water, checking the temperature twice.

Jace smiles. “Let me guess, there’s a proper temperature for it to be?”

“Of course,” I say. “Sugar comes off best when the water’s hot.”

“I’ll have to remember that. In all honesty, Roger and I eat frozen dinners more than we should, but when we do cook, something inevitably gets stuck on the pan.” The confirmation that he is taking care of this man, that he has adopted him as a pseudo-father, sends a tingle of pleasure through me as surely as the touch of his strong, capable fingers when he passes me the first dishes.

We work together for a while, his hands caressing me under the warm water as he passes things to me, and that feeling inside me grows stronger, until, as we finish, I blurt out, “Can we talk in your apartment for a few minutes?”

Apparently, I said it too loud, because both Mrs. Rosa and Roger dart glances at us, clearly waiting for his answer.

Oops.

There’s hesitation on Jace’s part, and I remember his reluctance to let me into his apartment earlier. He’s embarrassed of his place, although he has no reason to be. It’s clean and tidy and well put together, and I frankly don’t care how much money he makes. Glenn made six figures, and he’s a garbage human being. Money doesn’t create worth, and neither does the kind of title that makes a man brag. Bottom line: I have the resources to take care of myself and Aidan, and I don’t need any man or friend with benefits ( fuck buddy , Nicole whispers in my head) to step in and take care of me.

So, no, that doesn’t matter.

The only thing is…

He told me that there wasn’t much of me in my house, and I took it to heart. I bought a painting, and a duvet cover, and whatever else is in all those Amazon boxes. But there’s not much of him in his place either—just that picture of his sister and Ben—and it makes me think we’re more alike than we seem on the surface, Jace and me.

I want to talk about him.

I want to know this man who befriends his neighbors and who can make me come multiple times in one night.

“Just for a few minutes,” I press. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable, but I do want to get my way.

“Did you hear her, Mrs. Rosa?” Roger sputters. “Just a few minutes. Can’t say no to an offer like that, Jace.”

My cheeks heat, but I don’t look away from Jace.

He gives a firm nod, then turns toward Roger and Mrs. Rosa. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Their nods confirm it’s a regular thing, and then Mrs. Rosa rushes up and gives me a hug.

“You give that cake to your sweet boy, now,” she says. Because she’s already given me a huge piece in Tupperware for Aidan.

“I will.”

I mean it. If anyone can get him to eat, it’s this woman.

Then we’re crossing the hall to Jace’s apartment in silence, my heartbeat in my ears, my confidence suddenly flagging, because it’s obvious he doesn’t want to bring me there.

But as we reach his door, he takes my hand and squeezes it, the sensation bolstering me.

He opens the door and gestures for me to go in first, which I do. I take a quick glance around while he closes the door, and just as I remembered, it’s a blank slate.

“What is it, Mary?” he asks, turning to me. He runs a hand through his golden-brown hair, the tips unruly and long. “I’m sorry if this was all a bit much. I know I agreed to your terms. If you’ve changed your mind, it’s your right.”

“No, no.” I hurry up to him, putting a hand on his arm, and I immediately know it’s a mistake, because his bicep under that thermal shirt is firm and perfect, and it gives me all kinds of thoughts that have nothing to do with why we’re in here right now.

“No,” I say again, more firmly, removing my hand. “I’m so grateful you brought me here. It’s just…I…”

You’re presuming. It’s not okay to ask him something so personal.

But I want to. I want to. And Nicole challenged me to stop apologizing for the things I want.

It’s just a hunch, but…

“Your sister doesn’t know why you stole that car, does she?”

He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d spontaneously turned into a jellyfish and stung him. His features dip into a severe look that would be a little frightening if we hadn’t spent the morning looking for his eighty-year-old best friend’s cat.

“I don’t believe in making excuses for myself.”

Something tells me his father taught him that, but I don’t say so. I just wait.

He throws his hands up. “I fucked up, Mary. Big time. She’s not obligated to feel a certain way about it.”

“But you had a reason for doing it,” I say, certainty pounding through me. “You didn’t just take that car out for a joy ride and decide to destroy it. I know you had a reason.”

That certainty thrums through my words. The look on his face tells me that I’m right and he’s not quite sure how to feel about it.

“Yeah, I had a reason,” he says, still gruff, still a little angry. “I doubt she’d be interested in hearing it. That car belonged to my godfather, the man who stepped up and took care of my mother and sister after my father died.” His words are shocking, but he says them with so much bitterness, so much hate , that I know there’s more to the story. The man I’m getting to know wouldn’t do something like that on a whim.

“What did he do, Jace?”

Of course, that’s when my phone rings with a FaceTime call. It could be Molly, tired of waiting for the story and determined to track it down, but I have to check anyway, because (a) it could be Aidan and (b) something terrible could have happened to him.

I nearly fumble the phone on its way out of my pocket, and I flinch when I see his name on the display.

Aidan will want to know where I am. He’s not the kind of kid who won’t ask, but I still have to answer his call. I have to. I could no sooner ignore him than I could stop breathing.

I glance up at Jace, taking in his drawn features and the severe line of his mouth. “It’s Aidan. I need to…”

And just like that, he softens. “You can take it in here. I’ll wait in the bedroom.”

I’m so flummoxed, so thrown, that my body doesn’t even remember to shiver at the thought of Jace waiting in his bedroom. At the thought of joining him there.

Actually, it does, but then he’s gone, and I’m answering, and Aidan is frowning at me.

My first reaction is, of course, thank God he’s okay . And then: this is not going to be good.

“There you are!” I say, peppier than I’m feeling. “Are you having a fun weekend with your grandparents?” I can hear them in the background, Ruth saying something about her readers, and Tom responding that she’s lost them so many times he’s going to buy them for her in bulk.

“Yeah. We decorated their tree.”

I feel slightly offended for our Charlie Brown tree, but before I can say anything, he asks, “Where are you, Mom? You’re not at Aunt Maisie’s or Aunt Molly’s. I’ve never seen that apartment before.”

“I’m at a friend’s place,” I say, turning away from the seating area.

“Which friend?”

Oh, God. Do I have to tell him? I’m about to say something about the new friends I’ve made—technically true, there is Nicole—when his eyes widen.

I glance behind me and see there is, in fact, one more personal item in this room—a framed photograph of Jace with Roger and Mrs. Rosa. (The fancy frame suggests it was a gift from Mrs. Rosa, unless Jace has a thing for frame shopping.)

Shoot.

“Mom,” Aidan says, his voice getting louder. “We discussed this. You shouldn’t spend time with Jace without me. He’s my buddy. Why are you in his apartment?”

The background noise on the other side falls silent, and I can practically see Ruth setting down her readers and Tom tuning up his hearing aid.

Shit. They’re going to pepper him with questions after this call, and given he’s been all about Jace lately, he’s likely to answer.

“I’m not going to say anything to make him stay away, Aidan,” I reassure him, hoping to God it’s still true.

“I want to go over there,” he says, his lip quivering. “You shouldn’t have gone without me.”

The guilt cascading through me would be powerful enough to supply the city’s electric grid. What am I doing here? Aidan needs Jace. Or at least he thinks he does. And I’m jeopardizing that for sex.

No, that’s not totally true, and if it were just sex, I doubt it would jeopardize anything. Even so, it feels wrong to put my needs before Aidan’s.

“When am I going to see Jace?” he asks, his face still pouty.

“I’ll talk to him,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll figure something out for next week.”

“Good.” He’s partly pacified, but from the look on his face, I know he’s still upset that he’s missing out. Then he passes the phone to Ruth without saying goodbye—not that I’m surprised—and she looks at me with a clearly manufactured smile.

“Found my readers!” she says perkily. “We were thinking of bringing Aidan to listen to carolers tonight.”

It’s not a great idea. He’s reactive to loud sounds and big crowds, something they should know, but when I open my mouth to say so, she smiles, a little sadly this time, and says, “We’ll bring his headphones, dear. He wants to go. Sometimes we need to take chances in this life, because it’s the only one we have.” Something sparkles in her eyes. “Now, you have fun with your friend . We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The phone disconnects before I can gather myself, and I’m left with the knowledge that she knows. It shouldn’t matter—Ruth is Team People Who Didn’t Abandon Their Family in this divorce—but it leaves me with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Then the door to the bedroom cracks open, and Jace is standing there, and I’m left with a decision that I don’t want to make.