Sound of Silence(93)

"Mr. Kavanagh." A dreamy sigh comes across the line, loud and clear. "Pigeon, you've got to see him to believe the beautiful arch of his ass. I mean the color of his eyes."

I laugh. "Which is better, ass or eyes?"

"An impossible choice. He wears the suit, Pidge-it doesn't wear him. Hot tamale, you can see his muscles through the fabric. His shoulders are the width of a mountain and they narrow down into a trim waist and a fine, fine ass. Dear Jesus, I want to find out what's underneath that expensive cotton."

"You've been reading too many romance novels, but I think I get it. Tall, broad, and yummy. However, let us remember he's your boss. Boss-man, Mais. Boss, as in-no you may not. Boss as in-hands off. Boss as in-keep your panties on unless it's an at-home visual and you've got your vibe."

"Trust me. B.O.B's getting plenty of action. And my fantasies can't be helped. The heart wants what the heart wants."

Oh, no. I sense trouble. In college, Maisie had her fair share of disciples. Men all but fell to their knees for Maisie, but she never really saw them. She crushes on the unobtainable. If it's off-limits, she's intrigued, like she was with her dad's business partner. From eighteen through the end of junior year she was all about him-from afar. Maisie has an excellent imagination. But she took this crush a step further and became a fixture at her dad's firm, working summers as a law clerk so she could drool over Nathan Daniels. I knew it wouldn't end well. He was twelve years older and looked through her, not at her. She was devastated when he married Kate Stapleton, supermodel. It ruined our love of fashion week for two years.



       
         
       
        

"Your heart better buck up and move on. We need to find you a suit on the nice and steady rack, not Neiman Marcus, Tom Ford specialty line."

She groans. "I know, I know. But there's something about Jayce Kavanagh."

Now I know she's in trouble. Some men are too big, their souls too vast, their hearts too full, their cocks too . . . well cocky, for one name to be enough. It's double or nothing and I think Maisie is about to play the odds.

"Be careful, okay?" Maisie talks a big game, and she's itching to lose her virginity, but she's a romantic at heart, and falling for the boss never ends well. It just doesn't.

"Always, Pidge. I gotta run. Got tickets to Hamilton tonight-a perk from the firm," she says on a breathless sigh.

"Have fun and keep me posted on boss-man. Love you, Mais."

"Love you too, Pidge." She pauses and clears her throat. "Caden is good. I feel it. I feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord." Maisie finishes on a Phil Collins note, and I hang up with a smile on face.

I head home, with a zonked out JT in the backseat. After I settle him in his crib, Gus and I grab clean laundry from the dryer. Before I can pull out a new canvas and my oils, the mundane will have to keep me going.

The first load is mostly mine but somehow, a few of Caden's briefs are mixed in, and they make me smile and then cry. I grip the counter and hang my head. I want him home. Goddamn it, I want him home to wash his dirty drawers himself. I want to hear the silky slide of his voice when he says my name, when he calls me sunshine, when he growls in my ear. I want him home.

But sobbing into his underwear won't bring him to the door. I laugh at myself as I head to his room, still as neat as it was the day he left. I don't know why I ever thought I'd have to nag a twelve-year veteran of the military about picking up after himself. His space is spotless. I've only lived with him for a short time, but I know he makes his bed every morning and places his coffee cup in the dishwasher. I pull open his drawer and press the clothes in, crunching something beneath them.

I push his T-shirts out of the way only to come up short on air. My fingers brush over my handwriting and the forwarding address to Lilyfalls on envelopes that house precious memories and painful notions. And then I get stuck on the etched letters of Justin's dog tags that are wrapped around them. They're all here. Every letter, all of my words, each private reflection tucked in Caden's dresser unopened but for those mailed to Justin when he was alive. Those notes are worn, worked over, wrinkled and dirty as if they were read a thousand times.

Caden kept every single one.

Sinking to my knees, I hold them to my chest. Gus yips and licks the tears from my cheeks. His face blurs as I bury my head in his neck and breathe. I think about today and yesterday, my last year wrapped up in three men and how my love for them sustains me: my little man, JT, Justin, who was a living dream, and Caden, who is everywhere, in every thought, in sound and silence, in every breath, and in the awakening of my soul. God, I want him home.