Filthy Beautiful Forever(46)

I have something fun planned tonight. Dress casual.

She replies just as I’m settling into my car.

I can’t wait to see you. I’m leaving work now.

She’s begun working at a big law firm downtown in their accounting department, and she says she loves it. As long as she’s happy. Mia has taught me so much, most of which is that life is too damn short to spend it being unhappy.

After she fell asleep in my bed last night, I grabbed The Gremlin Files and sat with her old scrapbook in my lap, pouring through every photograph, and every doodled word. The pages were crinkled and worn and her soft, feminine scent clung to them. There was a picture of me and Mia, from years ago. She was missing her two front teeth, but smiling as big as she could at the camera. I was looking at her. The look on my face was pure joy. I stared at that picture for the longest time. I felt like that boy again, like I’d recaptured some special piece of my youth. A memory I hadn’t thought of in many years drifted into my head. It was my ninth birthday party, and after my mother sliced my birthday cake, I passed the biggest slice to Mia. My mother leaned over and kissed my cheek, and said, “you’re going to marry that girl someday.” Emotion like I hadn’t felt in years crawled up my throat, lodging a hard lump there. I’d closed the book and wandered back to bed with Mia, curling my body around hers, with a feeling I couldn’t describe for the life of me. Raw emotions over losing my mother were fresh in my mind as were my growing feelings for the woman in my arms. I awoke with a greater sense of purpose and clarity than I’d ever felt.



***



“Just tell me where we’re going,” Mia says, bouncing in her seat.

I glance over at her briefly, before returning my eyes to road. “Patience, little one.” I pat the top of her head.

I’d pulled my Jeep out of the garage tonight—a vehicle I hadn’t driven in months. The top is down and the salty ocean air is blowing through Mia’s chestnut hair as we cruise down the Pacific Coast Highway. She’s dressed in cutoff jean shorts, sandals and a peach-colored T-shirt. She looks cute and at least ten years younger than her thirty years. I have a ball-cap pulled over my eyes and am similarly dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. It feels damn nice to be out of the suit and tie I wear every day.

“Almost there,” I say, as I slow and pull off into a parking area. Mia’s eyes light up as she realizes where we’re going. “Have you been to the Santa Monica Pier before?” I ask.

“No,” she says, her eyes growing wide as she takes in the view.

“Come on, you’re going to love it.”

We exit the car, and I take her hand, guiding her toward the sights and sounds that await. The giddy stride to her step and the smile that’s yet to fade tells me that this date is much more her type of fun.

As we walk along the beach, the pier looms in the distance, and her eyes are drawn to the huge Ferris wheel at the end of the pier that overlooks the blue water below. I’d seen an old photograph of the ride cut from a magazine and glued onto a page in her scrapbook.

“Are we going up there?” she points to the top.

“If you like,” I say, my tone neutral. I can’t have her knowing how stupidly excited this gets me. “But first, I thought we’d have a picnic dinner on the beach.” I motion to the backpack slung over my arm.

“It’s perfect, Coll.” She lifts up on her toes and plants a kiss on my cheek.

We find a quiet spot, away from the tourists and visitors. From the backpack, I pull out a blanket and bottle of wine. Mia sinks down and digs through the bag, pulling out the rest of the items while I open the wine—she finds two plastic cups, a package of crackers, a block of cheese, fresh berries, sliced lunchmeat and cookies.

“This is amazing. You’re the world’s best boyfriend.” As soon as she’s said it, she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Is that what I am to you?”

She nods, slowly. “I—I think so.”

“Good. You’re all I want.” I lean in close and kiss her lips. She tastes like wine and strawberries. It’s an intoxicating combination, and I want to feast on her—forget this spread we have laid out before us.

I feel her hand pat my cheek and she pulls away after several minutes. “We better behave.” Her eyes stray to a small family with young children who are down the beach a little ways.

“Fine,” I grumble.

She laughs at me and pops another berry into her mouth.

“Do you like this date better than going to a designer opening?” I ask.

She removes her sandals and digs her toes into the warm sand and shoots me a daring look. “What do you think?”