“Remember, Mara, I know that.”
“This doesn’t work, then they –”
“I ever give you cause to think I’d fuck you over or them?”
“No, but –”
“What I have with you and what I want to have with you is exclusive to what I have with each of those kids. What they have from me is what they’ll always have from me, if they want it, whether I still have something with you or not.”
I felt my throat close and wet hit my eyes.
God, he was really a great guy.
“You like them,” I whispered.
“They’re good kids,” he replied.
“They like you,” I told him.
“I know.”
I pressed my lips together, swallowed and then pulled in a deep breath to control my tears before they spilled over and ruined my makeup.
Mitch watched this without a word.
Then he asked, “Do we have a deal?”
“You and me are against all the laws in the universe,” I explained.
“No, you and me are against all the laws in twisted, fucked up Mara World but I’m gonna straighten out Mara World so, answer me, do we have a deal?”
I bit my lip. I considered this deal. And I knew it would be me who was insane if I made it.
Then, because I was insane, I whispered, “We do if you promise me one thing.”
His hand tensed and his eyes stayed locked to mine. “What?”
I kept whispering when I said, “When you figure it out and move onto a beautiful life, don’t regret the time you wasted on me.”
He stared at me a second then closed his eyes, turned his head and brought our hands to his lips. He just rested them there and he did this for what seemed like a long time.
Then he slid my knuckles across his lips, opened his eyes and faced me.
Then he whispered back, “I promise I’ll never regret being with you, Mara.”
I nodded. “Then we have a deal.”
That was when our antipasti arrived.
* * * * *
We shared a three course meal. Mitch had another beer and I had two glasses of wine
During our meal Mitch didn’t let me descend into a freak out about making a stupid deal that would lead to heartbreak and, likely, me spending the rest of my days reading the works of Sylvia Plath (and the like).
Instead, I learned that Mitch had been born in Pennsylvania and his father had moved them to Colorado when he was five. I also learned Penny was his older sister and he had a younger sister named Judy who was a physical therapist at a rehabilitation center in Vail.
He further shared the scary news that he’d been engaged to his high school sweetheart who stayed his sweetheart through college. He went on to share the crazy news that he broke it off with her when he became the cop he wanted to be and he didn’t go to work for her Daddy at his bank like she wanted him to do and she started to get bitchy.
He also shared the infinitely scarier news that he moved into our complex because it had a gym and a running trail but he expected only to be there a couple of years while he saved to put down on a house. This news was infinitely scarier because he stayed there because he liked the gym, the running trail and seeing me in shorts or catching a glimpse of me next to the pool wearing a bikini in the summer.
As this knowledge threatened to break the hold he had on my freak out, Mitch deftly steered the conversation to music and movies. However, he lost his hold upon finding out I was an action movie freak then promptly declared I was the perfect woman because I had a great ass, long legs, “fantastic fuckin’ hair… and even better when it’s down”, liked baseball, “though… the Cubs… uh, baby” (this muttered on a teasing grin) and I also liked to watch things blow up.
At that, I started fidgeting in my seat, biting my lip, looking anywhere but him and trying not to hyperventilate at the same time wondering if he’d seen The A-Team. Mitch paid the bill and led me to the sidewalk.
He stopped us there and I tipped my head up to look at him.
“Can you walk more than a block on those heels?” he asked.
“Why?” I answered with a question.
“Can you walk more than a block on those heels?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I answered because I was getting to know Detective Mitch Lawson, fast, and I might be able to walk more than a block on my heels but my feet would start to hurt if I had to stand there and beat him at stubborn which might take an eternity.
His arm slid along my shoulders and he turned me into the boutique section of Cherry Creek. I slid my arm along his waist, liking the feel of it there with his hip and thigh sometimes brushing against mine as we walked. Two blocks up and one block in, he stopped us in front of a shop.
“That’s Penny’s,” he said, tipping his head to Design Fusion, the shop I already knew was his sister’s. A shop I’d been in once and left because the stuff in it was awesome but the price tags were more than a little scary.