11. Hutton

hutton

. . .

“Tell me a secret,” Felicity said, snuggling up to me in bed.

“A secret?” Lying on my back, I put one hand behind my head and wrapped the other around her shoulders. I could still smell the lavender and vanilla on her skin—pretty sure I was never going to find those scents relaxing, especially now that my brain would associate them with what had just transpired in my bathroom. But at the very least, they’d bring back a nice memory.

“Yes. Or a story from when you were little. I like those.”

I thought about it for a moment. “When I was young, I thought I had magic powers.”

“Oooh! What kind of magic powers?”

Her reaction made me smile—I loved that she was more interested in the nature of my otherworldly abilities than in laughing at the idea. “I thought I could control the outcome of things—favorably for me, of course—or prevent bad things from happening, with certain actions.”

“What would you do?”

“Small rituals like always putting my right sock on first, always sitting on the right side of the car, touching my nose as I entered a room, counting things.”

“Did you have OCD?” She was playing with my chest hair again. I loved when she did that.

“I don’t know. If I’d been evaluated back then, they might have diagnosed me that way, but I never told anyone about my powers.”

“Why not?”

“Because then they wouldn’t work.”

“Ah.” Her fingers moved in slow, relaxing circles. “When did you stop believing in them?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “When my grandfather died.”

Her hand stopped moving. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

She propped her head on her hand and looked at me. “Is this the grandpa that gave you the signed Ray Bradbury paperbacks?”

I smiled—she remembered. “Yes.”

“Tell me more about him. What was he like?”

My head filled with memories of the brilliant, fun-loving grandfather I’d known. “He loved puzzles, and we used to work on them together all the time. He loved baseball and never missed one of my games. He wore Pinaud Clubman aftershave, and sometimes I catch a whiff of it in a crowd and it’s like he’s right there.”

“Maybe he is.”

“Now you sound like my mother.”

She laughed. “Do you still have the books he gave you?”

“Yes. They’re not in pristine condition or anything—he read them over and over again, and I did too—but I’d never sell them anyway.”

“Of course not. That kind of thing is priceless.” She put her head down again. “I’m sorry you lost him so young.”

“His death hit me hard. It wasn’t sudden—we knew he was sick—but I was so sure of my ability to prevent anything terrible from happening that I was totally unprepared when it happened.”

“Did you blame yourself?” she asked softly.

“Not exactly, but I started to doubt myself in every way. Soon after that was when I struck out three times during my baseball team’s championship game. I remember thinking then that it was clear—I wasn’t magical. I wasn’t even that special or talented. And everyone fucking knew it.”

She kissed my chest, then pressed her cheek against it, wrapping her arm around my waist.

“I remember coming home and lying on my bed, just staring at the ceiling and thinking, I’m not who I thought I was . The world didn’t work like I thought it did. And maybe everyone else had known this all along, and I was just an idiot.”

She hugged me tighter.

“We moved right after that. My parents wanted a change of scene, and I think they even thought it would be good for me. They could see something was off. I’d gone from a cocky, smart-mouthed fifth grader who only came home to eat and sleep into a kid who hated leaving the house.” I exhaled. “But I think the move made it harder. I had to start over—without my magic powers.”

“But then you met me,” she said brightly. “And that was a good thing, right?”

“That was a good thing.”

“Until I made you pretend to be my fiancé. Attend social gatherings. Host dinner parties.”

“Yes, but...” Rolling over, I covered her body with mine, eager to lose myself in her again. “It also has its perks.”

The next morning, I woke up early and headed to the park for my run. I was hoping it was early enough to avoid the Prancin’ Grannies—and I even parked in a different spot—but no such luck.

“There he is!” shouted one of them as I got out of my car. Before I could get my earbuds in or make an escape, they came prancing over, wearing bedazzled pink and indignant expressions.

“Hello, ladies.” Reluctantly, I faced them down, reminding myself they were not lions, just old ladies. Ignoring the itch under my skin, I forced myself to ask the polite question. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine. We were hoping to catch you,” said one with a head full of curls the copper color of a penny. “We want to hear all about your big news!”

“We know her.” A granny wearing lipstick in the same shade of pink as their shirts nodded excitedly. “We’re friends with her grandmother.”

“Oh. You mean Felicity.” My mind worked overtime to think of something more to say, and nothing came.

“Yes. Her grandmother is Daphne Sawyer,” put in a granny with a neon yellow sweatband around her head. “She and her husband John own Cloverleigh Farms, but their kids run it now.”

“I heard the wedding is going to be at Cloverleigh Farms.” Another granny, this one with seriously thick penciled-in eyebrows, pushed her way to the front. “Is that true?”

“Uh, we hope so.”

There was a chorus of sighs and murmurs about what a beautiful place Cloverleigh Farms was, a few comments about other weddings they’d attended there, and a general air of smiling, nodding approval. They were also eager to establish their connections to the Sawyer family.

“I just love the Sawyers. So kind and welcoming.”

“And so generous. When Hank had gall bladder surgery last year, they sent a pie.”

“We always play in John Sawyer’s charity golf outing. Such good people.”

“Daphne still invites me to the annual staff Christmas party. We go every year, even though I haven’t worked there in years.” Copper penny curls paused. “I’ll probably be invited to the wedding.”

In the brief silence that followed, I could practically hear the ruffled feathers.

“Will it be a big wedding?” asked the one with the neon sweatband. “Lots of guests?”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Why not?” The smiling, nodding approval was replaced with narrowed eyes, hands on hips, and accusatory stares.

“We want to keep it small,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Small!” Copper penny curls was offended. “When you’re a local celebrity? That’s no fun!”

“You should do something spectacular,” said penciled eyebrows. “Like fireworks.”

“Oooh! My grandson flies those planes that tow banners,” neon sweatband told me. “You should do that.”

“My Alfred drives those horse-drawn carriages that take tourists around,” said a short granny in the back. “Something like that would be nice and splashy.”

“Yes,” added the one with bright pink lipstick. “Isn’t a small wedding just a bit selfish of you?”

“Selfish?” I repeated, dumbstruck.

“Everyone in town is so happy for you! We feel proud that such a brilliant, successful young man chose a hometown girl to settle down with!”

“It shows real character!”

“It shows that no matter how much money you make or how famous you get, what matters is family.”

“Yes! Friends and neighbors are an extension of family.”

“And in a small town, everyone is family.”

They all chimed in with agreement, like a gang of street urchins in an old movie. “Yeah! That’s right! You tell him, Gladys! Atta girl!”

“So if you’re not going to let us share in the joy of your big day, we just don’t know how to take it.” Neon sweatband shook her head and put her hands on her chest. “Our hearts might break.”

“You think about that, sonny.” Pink lipstick nodded once. “Come on, girls.”

They pranced away in a huff.

After my run, I went home to clean up and grab something to eat. I was hoping Felicity would be there so I could tell her about my encounter with the Prancin’ Grannies, but her car wasn’t in the driveway when I pulled in. It was funny how empty and silent the house seemed without her.

I showered and dressed, then discovered a Post-It note on the fridge. Eat anything you want in here! I’ve already photographed it! Beneath the words was a note in our secret code. Smiling, I puzzled it out— XOXO Felicity . I pulled the note off the fridge and stuck it in my pocket.

After I ate, I sat down at my desk in the downstairs guest room I used as an office to get some work done. I was sketching a rough outline for my testimony when my phone rang. Assuming it was Felicity, I smiled and answered it without thinking.

“Hello?”

“Dude,” Wade said. “You answered. Is that a thing now?”

Fuck. I rubbed my temples with my thumb and middle finger. “Not really. What’s up?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your engagement yesterday, asshole? I just read about it online.”

“I guess I forgot.”

He laughed. “What the fuck? Who is she?”

“Felicity MacAllister.” I knew I’d mentioned her to Wade before, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t remember.

“The girl from back home?”

“Yeah.”

“Kinda sudden, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I’ve known her since I was twelve.”

“You knock her up or something?”

“Fuck off. No.”

“Dude,” he said. “Doesn’t even matter. Don’t do it.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t fucking get married. It will ruin your life.”

“Is this the point of your call, Hasbrouck? If so, I’m hanging up.”

“I know it seems like a good idea now, but the shine comes off. As soon as the ink is dry on that marriage certificate, she will not be the woman you think she is. That’s what they do—they pretend to be cool so you’ll propose, and then they turn into crazy, controlling lunatics once they’ve got your last name. I’ve never been so miserable.”

“We’re different.”

He laughed again. “Truth, man. If I was you, I’d still be in L.A. fucking Zlatka in my Porsche.”

“I’m sure you would.”

“How’d you fuck that up, anyway? She was crazy about you.” He laughed unkindly. “Susie said she read somewhere it was because Zlatka didn’t like being submissive in the bedroom. She wanted to be the boss.”

“You’d have to ask Zlatka about that.”

“Dude, I’d totally let her tie me up and slap me around if she wanted to. You really broke it off because of that?”

“No.” My jaw clenched. “We fought all the time. It sucked.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “I’m stuck on this yacht in the Mediterranean listening to Susie whine about what a shitty husband I am day in, day out. Like, what does she want that she doesn’t have? She’s got the house, the car, the clothes, the vacations. I pay all her fucking bills. What more does she want from me?”

The answer was obvious, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Anyway, that’s all I’m saying. Everyone pretends to be someone they’re not to get what they want, and you can’t make anyone happy in the long run. Don’t even try.”

I was on the couch watching a baseball game and brooding over my conversation with Wade when I saw Felicity’s headlights in the window. A moment later I heard her come in the back door, and I turned off the TV. She’d be a better distraction than the game, and fuck Wade anyway, for telling me shit I already knew.

I wasn’t trying to make anyone happy in the long run. I knew better.

“Hey, you.” Felicity came through the kitchen into the great room and sank down next to me, kicking off her sneakers. “How was your day?”

“It was okay. How did everything go with the proposal?”

“It was so great!” She turned to face me, sitting cross-legged. Her hair was in two low pigtails like Zosia sometimes wore, and her smile, as always, lifted my spirits. “Ellie was completely surprised, and the whole thing went off without a hitch—which is pretty impressive, considering what an elaborate scheme it was.”

I listened to her tell me how Gianni had recreated a scene from the Cherry Festival when they were teenagers involving a dunk tank and a pie in the face. “She had a bucket of fifty balls, and she kept throwing one after another, and she could not dunk him,” Felicity said, laughing. “Lucky for her, my cousin Chip Carswell was in the crowd!”

“The White Sox pitcher?” I asked in surprise. “That’s your cousin? How did I not know that?”

“Yes—he’s Frannie’s nephew. His mom is her older sister, April. And his dad is Tyler Shaw, who was also a Major League pitcher. Tyler and April are married now, but they had him when they were like eighteen and gave him up for adoption. They only reconnected later, when he was a teenager, but he was already off at college by the time you moved here.”

My head was spinning. “I guess I have a lot to learn about your family history. I never knew any of that. Carswell is a great pitcher. So was Shaw. Two of the best lefties in the game.”

She laughed. “Which Ellie was glad about, because she dragged Chip out there and made him throw for her. Gianni got dunked with every ball Chip threw.”

“I bet.”

“But it was only fair, because back when they were seventeen, Gianni dunked Ellie that many times. Then she threw a bunch of pies in his face in retaliation.”

“So where in all that dunking did he propose tonight?”

“Oh! The last ball in the bucket was a fake—it opened up like a ring box.”

“I’m impressed.”

She sighed. “It was so romantic.”

“I assume she said yes?”

“She said yes. Then he threw a pie in her face.”

I laughed, envious of Gianni Lupo’s bravado, his willingness to stage that huge production and carry it out in front of an audience. “Sounds like it was quite a show.”

“It was amazing. I also spoke to Winnie. She said your mom confirmed the engagement party for thirty people at five o’clock, the last Saturday in July.”

I grimaced. “Great.”

“Did you practice your toast yet?”

“No.” I tugged one of her pigtails. “But I did chat with the Prancin’ Grannies for seven whole minutes.”

She clapped her hands. “I’m very proud of you. Was it hard?”

“It was okay. I didn’t enjoy it, but I didn’t feel like my skin was crawling with fire ants.”

“I’d say that’s a good thing.”

“Several of them know Daphne Sawyer. Is that your grandmother?”

“Yes! That’s Frannie’s mom. She’s wonderful. She and her husband John were the original owners of Cloverleigh Farms, but they gave it to their kids, and now they live in Florida most of the year. They spend summers here, so they’re probably in town.”

“She’s likely getting inundated with calls from the Prancin’ Grannies right now. They were all very eager to establish a connection to the family. I think they’re all hoping for an invitation to the wedding.”

Felicity patted my leg again. “Just tell them it’s very small.”

“I did. They shamed me.”

“Shamed you?”

“Yes, they said this whole town is so happy for us and isn’t it just a bit selfish of me to have such a small wedding that no one else can share in the joy? They told me to think about that, and they pranced away.”

She laughed with delight. “I can picture it perfectly.”

“We’re all set for New York, by the way. Our flight leaves at eleven tomorrow.”

“What? I need to pack!” She jumped off the couch and went running for the bedroom. “How many nights?”

“Two.”

“Will I have to dress up for anything?”

“Only if you want to.”

She stopped and turned around, throwing her arms in the air. “Hutton! What are the plans? Are we doing fancy billionaire things?”

I laughed. “What are fancy billionaire things?”

“You know—going to a ball or the opera or some sort of gala. Places fancy people go.” She held up her palms, her expression growing worried. “Not that I need those things. I’d be just as happy staying at a Motel 6 and eating pizza slices on the street. I just want to pack right.”

“I don’t know if there are any balls this week, Cinderella, but I would be glad to take you out. Pack something nice.”

She smiled and spun around like Zosia did when she was wearing one of her princess costumes. “I’m so excited!”

“Good.” I watched her dance into the back hall and heard her humming as she opened and closed drawers.

It felt good to do things that made Felicity smile and twirl and sing. I knew it wasn’t about the money—I had no doubt that she’d meant what she’d said about staying in an inexpensive motel and eating pizza on the street—but she deserved nice things, and I could certainly afford them.

Maybe I couldn’t make her happy forever, but I could whisk her away to Manhattan on a private jet and treat her like a princess for a couple of days. She’d always have the memory of it, and it would never tarnish.

Because that was Wade’s mistake—saying he was capable of something he wasn’t. He might blame his wife for pretending to be someone else, but he’d done it too, swearing he’d be faithful and true to one woman for the rest of his life. Making promises he’d never be able to keep.

I knew myself better than that.

Pulling out my phone, I double-checked the flight time my assistant had booked with the private jet company, and scanned my inbox for a confirmation for the hotel suite as well. Noticing I had a new voicemail message from a Manhattan area code, I listened to a velvet-voiced representative from Tiffany tell me I was all set for a private appointment with him at three p.m.

I almost laughed out loud. Felicity was going to be so mad at me, but I didn’t care.

Everything about this engagement was fake. It would be nice to have one thing that was real.

Later, when Felicity and I were curled up together, our skin still warm and slightly sweaty, our hearts still beating a little too fast, I said, “It’s your turn tonight.”

“For what?”

“The secret. I feel like it’s always me rambling on about shit. Tonight, you tell me something.”

“Hmm. What do you want to know?”

The things I really wanted to know—was I the best she ever had, was my dick the biggest she’d ever seen, had anyone ever made her come as hard as I did—weren’t really the types of things we’d been sharing, so I refrained from asking those questions. But I was curious about something she’d told me.

“You mentioned that you break up with anyone who says they love you.”

“Yes.”

“How many times has that happened?”

“Twice,” she said, drawing little spirals on my chest with one fingertip. “Once in college, and once in Chicago.”

“How long were those relationships?”

“Not that long. A few months.”

“And you didn’t feel that way about either of them?”

“Nope. I’ve never been in love. I’m very careful with my emotions.” She sounded proud of it. “I’m good at rationing them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s say feelings are like a super rare or expensive ingredient. Truffles or something. You don’t just throw them in whole. You shave them, adding a tiny amount to finish off the dish. A little goes a long way.”

“Got it. So you shave your feelings?”

She laughed and slapped my chest. “You know what I mean. I give them out sparingly. And when the person I’m dating dishes them out too generously, too quickly, I go into panic mode and just want out. I told you, it’s weird.”

“No, I get it,” I told her. “That’s me at a business meeting. Or a party.”

“Yeah, but at least you can sneak out. I have to craft an exit strategy.”

“Like what?”

She sighed. “Okay, I’m not proud of this, but I told the first guy I was thinking about becoming a nun and wanted to try out celibacy. That was enough to scare him off. I told the second guy I was moving back to Michigan. But he kept coming around, so then I actually had to move.”

“Wait a minute. You moved back here to get out of a relationship?”

She started to squirm. “Not only for that reason. I’d been thinking about it for a while. But that was a good push—and it was the right decision. I’m happy I came back. And...I didn’t love those guys. If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to walk away so easily. Right?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve never been in love either. I’m not wired for it.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, some people are good at getting out of their heads and letting someone else have, I don’t know, unfettered access to them—all their flaws and imperfections. Revealing themselves. That’s never going to be me.”

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers still moving on my chest. “Do you think something is wrong with us? I sometimes wonder if I’m cursed or something.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I think we’re just fine. In fact, I think we’re smarter than everyone, because we know ourselves so well.”

She sat up and looked down at me. “Yes, exactly. What good does it do to stay in a relationship you know won’t work out?”

“If we’re cursed, it’s with superior intelligence and keen self-awareness.”

She laughed. “Yes! We know our strengths and weaknesses. We know that if we can’t swim, we don’t jump in the deep end of the pool. We stay in the shallow part.”

“Or we skip the swim and stay in bed,” I said, tugging her close to me again. “There’s a lot of fun to be had in bed.”

“There is with you.” She swung a leg over my hips so she straddled me. “More than I ever thought possible.”