Chapter Eighteen

Maren

Mac didn't tell me where we are going. His only command was to wear something elegant and warm. So I slip on a slinky black dress I usually pair with combat boots, opting for a pair of stiletto heeled boots instead. Over my dress, I wear a black faux fur wrap that is deceivingly warm. I glam it up with dark eye makeup and candy apple red lips that make my pale skin appear that much more dramatic, and I wear my dark hair straight and long with fringe bangs in front. I know I hit the right notes when I open the door and Mac sucks in a hard breath.

"Damn, girl. Maybe we should stay in." He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me in his arms, his hand resting on the curve of my hip as he tilts his head in an attempt to taste my mouth. I turn, laughing as I push him away.

"You should know that it took a long time to look like this. So yes, we're going out, and no, you're not ruining the look by messing up my makeup."

His laugh is a hearty rumble, vibrating against my hands as he releases me. I take a moment to appreciate the man standing before me. He's in a different suit this time, a little less stuffy than the other one, and it hugs his frame in a way that has me recalling what's underneath. His beard is trimmed and shaped, his hair in casual curls over his forehead. I bite my painted lip, hoping that whatever we're doing, it will end with my naked body pressed against his. By the way he's looking at me, I can pretty much guarantee it.

When I turn for my purse, Nina is there, her eyes like saucers. I offer a crooked grin, knowing she's also picturing him with a lot less clothes, and maybe a coffee cup in his hand.

"Nina, this is Mac."

I don't get a chance to say anything else before she stumbles toward him in an effort to shake his…hand? Shlong? Mac catches her, and I see Nina turn a shade of pink her hair has never reached.

"I'm Nina, your biggest fan. Would you like some coffee?"

I groan as Mac glances at me quizzically .

"I'll explain later." I shoot Nina a stern-eyed glare, noting that she seems to have recovered. She's staring at Mac like he's a snack, but when she finally looks my way, she offers an angelic shrug.

"Have fun, you two," she says, patting Mac on the bicep, pausing, then looking at me with appreciation. "Lucky bitch," she hisses under her breath, but not too quiet for Mac to hear judging by the way he's holding in his grin.

"All right, what did your roommate mean," Mac asks once we're in his car, "Biggest fan? Is it my coffee order?"

I start to laugh, but then see he's dead serious. "You honestly have no idea?"

"Idea about what?"

"About the stir you've created in the neighborhood because of your daily walks. There's a whole topic dedicated to you on Nextdoor. There's even a TikTok that just passed four million views. Surely you know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

I turn in my seat, my mouth dropping. "Mac, what did you think would happen when you walk the neighborhood barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts? There are a lot of lonely housewives living here, and I guarantee they all set their alarms to see your morning stroll. Let's just say you have everyone's full attention at a very early hour. "

He tilts his head at me with a smirk. "Do I have yours?"

I swat his arm, refusing to answer. He barks out a laugh, and I know he sees right through me.

"Seriously, though. Why walk barefoot? I know you own shoes, and that can't feel good."

"I'm used to it by now," he says, "You could say it's like a meditation. I do it after my run because it's grounding. It helps me feel like part of the earth."

I'm immediately brought back to that first night we met—our shoes off, the way he held me on a rooftop bar under a starry sky. We were stories above the earth, and yet I'd never felt more grounded.

We're standing on holy ground.

Which brings me back to our connection—the one he doesn't know. I quickly brush it aside.

We take the highway into the hills bordering Sunset Bay, and he lets me play DJ during the drive. As the scenery fades to black, our headlights casting twin beams into the night, I set the mood with a mix of my favorite artists. First it's retro Gwen Stefani with No Doubt that kicks off the vibe. Then Florence and the Machine, which always brings out my inner free spirit. Which is why when Paramore fills the car, I sing on full blast, letting my voice mingle with Hayley Williams. Mac stays silent, but he takes my hand, squeezing it when I belt out the chorus.

"Have you ever thought about doing this professionally?" he finally asks, and I duck my head with a grin.

"What, you don't like the Hillside concerts I hold?"

He gives me a sideways smirk. "Well, I'm sure you're great when you're not mocking me in front of a whole crowd."

I shoot him a dirty look, but then take his hand back. "Well, show up with another woman at any other one of my performances, and I'll sic the crowd on you."

He brings my hand to his lips, pressing gently. "There's no other woman but you, Maren," he says, his tone serious, "And I'd like to keep it that way."

I bite my lip and look out the window. My heart is bursting, but I don't want to tell him. I don't want to jinx this. For some reason, Mac Dermot likes me.

As for me? I don't even care that he was the one who sold my apartment, because if he hadn't, I wouldn't be sitting in his car, ready to go wherever he wants to take me.

"Well?"

I turn, tilt my head in confusion. Then I remember his question.

"Professionally," I repeat, "Of course I've thought of it. It's honestly all I've ever wanted. But it seems so far away. Between working all day and performing small gigs, I'm beat. I send out singles and I hear nothing back. Sometimes there's a nice form rejection letter, but mostly it's crickets. I don't know if I have much more to give because loving this music dream means I hate every other part of my life. And honestly, I'm tired of being disappointed."

My eyes fill with tears as I'm talking, and I discreetly swipe them away while looking back out the window. It's more than I've ever admitted to anyone, even Claire. I'm embarrassed by how much I want music to be my whole world. I don't need to be rich, but I'd like to be able to quit my job because music pays the bills and affords me a comfortable life. I'm tired of watching every damn penny, knowing that I'm just one disaster away from being back on the street. To be able to work on my music all day wouldn't even feel like working.

Just thinking about this while traveling in Mac's luxury Jaguar makes me feel even more embarrassed. Silly even. I've played music all my life and been more serious about it ever since I got sober. But I make double digits at every show, which is barely enough to afford a meal out. Thank goddess for my tips at Insomniacs, because it's the only way I've paid my bills.

"You're really good," Mac says, cutting into my thoughts. I wipe the last tear, offering a grateful smile, hoping he can't see my shiny eyes in the darkened car and that my makeup has stayed intact.

"Thanks," I say, and leave it at that. Because good is subjective, and I can be good all day long and still fail to get anywhere with this damn dream.

We finally reach our destination, which is basically a large parking lot lit by streetlamps with a dome-like stone building at the far end. It looks kind of like a…

"A cave?" I ask, peering closer. It's large—definitely man-made—and it offers a warm glow, though I can't see anything else inside. I turn to Mac, who still isn't saying a word about what we're embarking on. He gets out of the car and jogs to my side. I feel more grown up and elegant than ever as he opens my door and holds out his hand. Have I ever been on a date before? Looking back, I realize this could be the first. I didn't think I had many firsts left in my life.

I take Mac's hand, and he pulls me to my feet. Even in my heels, I have to look up at him, and I warm at the way his blue eyes watch me, as if he can see inside my soul. This is different. How have I never experienced this before, any of this? The sexual energy between us is electric, but it's more than that. I can see myself in the reflection of his iris, and it mirrors the connection I'm feeling with him…as if my whole being has been breathlessly on pause until Mac stepped into my life.

It is said that time is irrelevant, that everything that has ever been or will be exists in a sphere without beginning or end. It's a complex theory I never understood until this moment now. In Mac's arms, my whole life making sense. I have always known this man. I just hadn't met him yet.

"Ready?" he asks. He's talking about whatever lies beyond the threshold of that cave. But he could also mean whatever is in store for us, whatever this is, and whatever will happen to my heart as a result.

"I don't even know what to be ready for."

He leads me to the cave, which is glowing from soft artificial lights, and we pause at the entrance so the attendant can scan the tickets from Mac's phone. I peer ahead of us, curious at a stairwell within the cave that appears to curve into the earth without giving anything away.

"Always looking ahead," Mac murmurs, his hand at my back as his lips brush the side of my ear. "Trust me?"

The warmth of his breath travels through me, bringing me back to the first night he said those words. On a night like this, under a scarlet sky lit by the city lights, barefoot and on top of the world via a rooftop bar—before I knew his role in losing my apartment. It seems like ages ago, including all the reasons I was once mad at him. I'm no longer mad. I'm grateful.

"I trust you. "

He stays close as we walk down the stairwell, as if to protect me from hurtling to my death as I navigate the stairs in six-inch heels. I'm perfectly capable of walking down any stairs on stilts, and yet, I find comfort in letting someone else take charge in my safety and care.

The staircase winds deep into the underground, lit only by sconce candles drilled into the stone walls. The air feels cooler the deeper we go, and I pull my wrap closer with my free hand, hoping wherever we're headed will have some sort of heat source. I'm not prepared when we finally reach the bottom, and I discover that, yes, there will be heat.

We're met by a large circular room filled with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny flickering candles on the ground and walls, creating a comforting glow. Even more, the thousands of candles make the underground warm feel almost toasty.

I'm so distracted by the candles, it takes me a few moments to notice the darkened shape of people sitting in chairs, and then the small stage at the center of the room, also covered in candles. I know better than to ask Mac what to expect, and instead submit to the surprise. He leads me to our seats, two solitary chairs in a private alcove, and I wordlessly take in our surroundings and the holy silence from everyone else. We're all waiting to know what's going to happen. And yet, I am perfectly content in this moment, warmed by the ethereal glow of candlelight, and completely distanced from whatever is happening above us on the surface of the earth. Here in this underground cave, my hand resting in Mac's on his knee, nothing else exists.

Just when I think nothing could get better though, it does. We watch as men and women dressed in black file into the room, holding various stringed instruments. My heart swells as the silence in the glowing cave is replaced with a cacophony of sound from the orchestra's warm up. Then the dissonance becomes one long, drawn out note, reverberating off the cave walls before falling into silence. But only for a moment, because the orchestra begins playing, sweeping us all away with them through a symphony of sound that echoes within this underground chamber.

I take in a deep breath, the passion of the music hitting me with such force I can't stop my hot tears from streaming down my cheeks. Makeup be damned. But in the midst of my emotional response, I realize I know the song I'm hearing. I wait a few lines, wondering if I'm imagining what I'm hearing.

Holy shit. It's "Still Into You," by fucking Paramore, but played as an orchestra. I turn to Mac, eyes wide and then narrowed as I take in Mac's shit-eating grin. He hands me a program and I look at the headline.

Candlelight Concert: Stay the Night with Paramore .

It's a whole concert of Paramore music, all with stringed instruments. I'm suddenly so grateful Mac kept this a surprise. If he had told me we'd be listening to an orchestra covering Paramore music, I would've declined because there is no way I'd listen to Hayley Williams be reduced to fucking elevator music. But this is not elevator music. This is my soul on fire. This is a new way to breathe. This is everything.

Mac doesn't move next to me for the firsts few songs, allowing me the moment to absorb the reverberation of the strings, to feel the pulse of the cello within my heart without any distraction. But around the fourth song in, I feel his hand snaking up my thigh. I close my eyes, the music traveling through me as Mac's hand travels to the top of the slit in my skirt, then coaxes its way to my inner thigh. His finger brushes against the hem of my thong, and I sharply inhale. My breath feels shallow as he nudges the material aside and slides one finger across my slick folds, then another.

There's no one sitting right next to us, but if the people in front of us turned around, they would see what Mac is doing to me. They would know by the flush in my cheeks, even in the dimness of this candlelit room. They would know by my spread legs, Mac's hand buried between my thighs.

I fucking love this.

I lift my hips and Mac pulls my thong down, then over my legs, and finally my stilettos. He looks at me then, bringing my panties to his face and inhaling. I watch his eyes close, as if he's savoring the most heavenly meal he's ever tasted.

No, I'm mistaken. Because next he takes his fingers, the ones that have been inside me, and he brings them to his tongue, delicately licking them in the same way I wish he was licking me.

"Mac," I whisper. That's when he plunges those same fingers, now moistened with his spit, into my waiting pussy, showing me no mercy as the orchestra reaches a crescendo. I silently release around him, feeling my juices pour over his hand as he thrusts into me. My body is on fire, and as much as I love that we're here, I also wish we weren't. I need him inside me, to take me completely. I want to come undone.

His hand, my orgasm, the orchestra. All of it slows at the same time, and I eventually come back to earth. My neck is damp with sweat, and the cool air of the cave teases my wanting nipples. Mac leans in as he withdraws his hand, his mouth landing on mine in a soft kiss. His fingers explore my lips, and I can taste myself mingled with the warm honey of his mouth. It's a recipe I could never grow tired of.

"How do you like the concert," Mac whispers into my ear. He leans back, and I bite my lip at how sexy he looks in this moment, desire dripping from his face. I tug his beard, then pull him closer until I have his ear.

"It's the most explosive thing I've ever experienced."