It Started with a Kiss, page 14
Natalie rushes out from the kitchen with a dish towel in her hand. She’s dressed in black ankle pants and a red blouse, and her leather flats look buttery soft and comfortable. She’s always been fashionable, but I’ve noticed it’s developed in a new direction—high end, but with practicality built in.
Is that what happens with age, new stages in life, marriage, and kids? Her style is still intact, but running after a little one could be dangerous in five-inch Louboutins. The latter used to seem almost foreign, but the idea isn’t so odd anymore. They’re actually kind of interesting when I think about it.
Slow down, Marlow. Take one stage in life and one obstacle at a time.
She throws her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you again, Marlow.”
The warm welcome puts me at ease, and I hug her back. “You, too. Thank you for having me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Taking my hand, she pulls me with her back into the main living space. “Tatum, Marlow’s here!” she shouts after cracking open the door to the backyard.
If there was ever a living icon of fashion in my eyes, it’s Tatum Devreux. Even after having a baby, she hasn’t changed. Dressed in Yves St. Laurent, the New York Collection, her black and shocking pink suit with matching heels are stunning. I could shop fashion before it hit the runway. Designers even sent clothes for me to wear sometimes. I try not to let jealousy ruin this beautiful day.
I feel underdressed in fitted jeans and a sweater. I mean, sure, I look amazing, but not next to them. Even more impressive is how she’s running around in those heels. “I was under the impression this was a casual get-together.”
“It is. Please don’t worry. I’d rather my guests be comfortable than ready to leave.”
“What the hell?” Jackson says.
Natalie and I turn back to see Jackson stomping across the living room. “Hello?”
Laughing, Natalie goes to hug him. “Hi, little bro, and sorry. Tatum and I were excited to see Marlow. It’s been a while. . .” She turns to me. “You have exquisite fashion sense. I was planning to change but got caught up in the kitchen. Hope you don’t mind if I keep it casual. Nick had to run to the store for me and Harrison—have you met Harrison? Nick’s best friend. He and Tatum got married a few months ago.”
She heads back into the kitchen, rounding the large island. “It was the most stunning black-tie affair. Small and intimate, so beautiful.”
I glance at Jackson. “Didn’t you go to that?”
“Yes. It was nice.” Men. I laugh. You wouldn’t even know he and Natalie were speaking about the same event. He adds, “I went solo, for the record.”
I laugh even harder. “I can’t judge you by your past, but I appreciate the info.”
She finishes off her Crostini and offers us one. “Hungry?”
Jackson’s all over that. Shoving one in his mouth, he moans. As soon as he finishes chewing, he picks up another. “I haven’t eaten since this morning. I’m starving.”
“When he says that,” I start, moving to sit on the barstool on the other side of the island from Natalie. “He’s leaving out the fact that it was a huge omelet with homestyle potatoes and a side of fruit. I’m still stuffed, and I ate half the food he did.”
Natalie is laughing. “He was always a good eater. If I left my plate unattended, the good stuff would be gone from it.” She sets the platter in front of us. “I’m already seeing my son take after his father and uncle. James is a hearty eater for a toddler.” She wipes her hands on a towel. “What can I get you to drink?”
Jackson looks at me. I say, “Whatever you’re having.”
“I’m having a glass of sauvignon blanc.”
“That sounds perfect.” She leans down to grab the bottle from a wine fridge tucked inside the island.
“Jackson?” she asks.
“Beer. I can get it.” He moves around and pulls a bottle of lager from the fridge. He sits next to me again and rubs my knee. “Want to meet my nephew?”
Natalie says, “Make yourselves at home.”
The back door opens, and Tatum comes in with a little girl and a boy bundled like snowmen in thick parka onesies. She says, “It’s too cold to stay outside any longer.”
Coming around to greet her little man, Natalie kneels in front of James and kisses his rosy cheeks. “Did you have fun?”
He shakes his head and then spots Jackson, his eyes lighting up and a big smile. “Jack. Jack.” Jackson squats down and holds his arms out.
My ovaries are currently intact, but they’re on the verge of bursting watching this big hunk of a man embrace this kid.
Jackson swings him into the air and then catches him, settling him on his hip. Eyeing me, he says, “This is my friend Marlow.”
“Hello?” I say, holding out my hand.
He grabs my index finger. “Hi,” he replies shyly and then tucks himself against Jackson’s neck. I smile because it’s the sweetest sight. And because I get that same feeling of comfort from Jack Jack, too, kid.
Tatum comes around, and we finally hug. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too.”
Natalie says, “I could have had dinner catered, but I wanted to cook. I actually love cooking but don’t get to do it as much as I like lately with our family’s busy schedule.”
“What can I do to help?” Jackson asks.
“I’d love it if you could take James upstairs and get him out of that outfit. I have a sitter coming over to keep the kids while we have dinner.”
“I’m on it.” Jackson starts toward the stairs.
“How can I help?” I ask, knowing I don’t know anything about cooking or kitchen stuff in general. I shift, anxiety kicking up a storm watching Jackson leave and wondering if I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of his sister and Tatum.
“Marlow?” Jackson stops two steps up. “Do you want to come with Jimmy and me?”
Tatum laughs, though Natalie doesn’t look that amused. Handing Natalie her glass of wine, she says, “It’s just a nickname.” Tatum’s gaze lands on me, and with a smile still on her face, she says, “You go ahead. I’ll help Natalie with dinner.”
Phew! Close call. “Okay.” I hurry to the stairs and follow Jackson up to the top floor, where there’s not only a nursery but also a playroom and office.
We leave our shoes on the wood floor of the hallway before entering the carpeted room. It takes a minute to peel James out of the suit, but when we do, Jackson’s face scrunches. “He needs a change.”
I head for the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Marlow?”
When I turn back, he chuckles. “You can stay. Do you want to learn how to change a diaper?”
“Nope. I don’t.”
“Won’t you need to know this one day?” The devious glint in his eye would give him away if I weren’t already onto him.
“I see what you’re doing, St. James.”
This kid is really great, perfectly entertained with a stuffed rabbit while Jackson hoists him onto a small blanket on the lower half of a full-sized bed.
Jackson asks, “What am I doing?”
“If you want to know if I want kids, just ask.”
“Do you want kids?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, wandering around the room and looking at stuff. The room is decorated so sweetly with a mountain mural on one wall with little goats on ledges.
That makes him laugh. “You tell me to ask, but when I do, you don’t know anyway.”
Instead of leaving, I walk to the chair near the window and sit. Soon, I have my feet kicked up on the ottoman, and I’m rocking. “Do you know?”
“I know.” James is free and runs to his bookcase.
“Boo,” he says, bringing me one with puppies on the cover.
I take the book and say, “Book,” softly emphasizing the hard sound of the ending for him. Tapping the cover, I add, “Puppy.”
His eyes are set on the cute cover, and he says, “Puppy.”
I look up at Jackson. He stands with a wadded-up diaper in his hands and sticks it in some contraption by the door. I say, “James is so cute that it’s tempting to get on the floor and read with him.”
“What’s stopping you?” It’s not a harsh judgment but a genuine question that has curiosity flickering in his eyes.
James is content to babble through the words as he points at each puppy on the book in my hands. “I’ve never been around little kids. Like ever. What if I screw it up?”
“Screw up reading a book with a kid? I don’t think it’s possible.” He sits on the floor next to the chair and says, “It will be good practice for when Cammie has her baby.”
That is a good point. I look into the handsome little brown-eyed guy’s eyes, and ask, “Want to read a book with me?”
I slide to the floor next to Jackson. James lands with a thump in my lap unexpectedly like we’re old buds. Glancing at Jackson, he grins, and whispers, “He’s pretty shy, so he must like you.”
I like him. We don’t get three pages in before the sitter pokes her head into the room with Tatum’s daughter, Poppy, on her hip. “Where’s my little Jamie?” He shoves away from me like I’m boring news when he sees the two of them and takes off across the room. Glancing up at us, she says, “Hi. I’m Larissa.” Picking him up, she blows raspberries on his cheeks. “I get to hang out with this little guy sometimes. It’s even more fun when it’s the two of them together. They are so funny.”
Poppy heads straight for the bed. Larissa walks over and sets James on it and then helps Poppy on. Bouncing and giggles ensue.
“Looks like they keep you busy,” I reply, feeling a little disappointed our time was cut short. I try to wrangle my thoughts back together as Jackson helps me to my bare feet.
I was just getting used to . . . whatever this was, thinking it wasn’t so bad. When we say goodbye to the kids, James is so cute when he insists on giving me a hug.
Closing the door behind him, Jackson comes into the hall with me. I slip on my shoes while Jackson sits on the steps to put his back on.
Saved by the babysitter earlier, I loop back to the burning question. “You never said if you wanted kids.”
“You didn’t ask. You asked me if I knew if I wanted them. I know.” He stands and steals a kiss.
I’m tempted to steal it right back because of that answer. I laugh instead. “Are you going to tell me more or leave me guessing?”
“Guessing sounds more fun.”
I roll my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” I start down the stairs. “I’ve got mine.” I don’t even know if I have any secrets, but it’s fun to tease him.
He’s quick on my heels. “What secrets are you keeping?”
“Oh good, Marlow, Jackson, dinner’s ready. I put fresh drinks on the table for you.”
Saved by his sister. Nick and Harrison are here, and after quick greetings, the six of us sit to eat. Roasted chicken and au gratin potatoes with a side of steamed and seasoned broccoli. It’s such an unexpected meal—a little rustic and comforting.
I’m so used to ordering food that it’s easy to forget that I could learn to cook and make something like this on occasion. Maybe . . . I take a sip of wine after eating a couple of bites. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you. It’s simple but good every time. One of Jackson’s most requested. He’s always bugging me and my mom to cook for him since he’s so busy. Sometimes, I’ll just make two of the same dish to send over to him. Do you like to cook?”
“I don’t. My mom doesn’t either. I don’t even know if she knows how.”
Tatum says, “Sounds like my mom. She could close a multimillion-dollar deal, but boiling water was not her forte.”
Natalie says, “My mom was a very good cook, but she worked a lot as well. Nick’s mom, Cookie, showed me how to make the most delectable turkey at Thanksgiving. She’s full of great tricks.”
“She sure is,” Nick adds, “matchmaking being her specialty.”
Natalie reaches over and rubs his arm. “Cookie will take no credit for us getting together, and instead, she’ll say the stars aligned because we were meant to be.”
“That’s beautiful,” I say, cutting my vegetables and then taking a bite. Not once have they made me feel like an outsider. It’s the opposite almost to a fault. I’m being treated like I’m already a part of the family.
I’m not sure what to think of that, but it feels so natural to me as well that I have no intention of rocking the boat. This is what I dreamed of when I was growing up. A family meal. Conversation over dinner. Catching up with each other.
It leaves me befuddled as to why my parents even had a kid if they didn’t want this.
I won’t let it ruin my time. This feels too good to want it to end.
“How’s the gallery?” Nick asks.
Jackson’s hand comes to rest on my leg. I’m starting to piece together the little things he does. Support and encouragement fill the leg touch.
“It’s . . . there. I have a big show that I’m working on that could be pivotal for launching my career into a gallery director position.”
Tatum says, “That sounds exciting.”
His thumb grazing back and forth is the pride he has in his eyes for me. I love seeing it as much as feeling everything he shares with me.
“It is,” I continue. “It’s wait and see in that area, but the planning has been really enlightening. Working on a global project has allowed me to learn so much from international galleries.” I laugh to myself. “New York is cutting edge in the art world, but places such as Paris, Madrid, Italy, and Japan have something so stylistically unique that it’s just breathtaking when I see some of their pieces in person.”
I hadn’t noticed that everyone stopped eating, only that my heart beat differently as I was speaking—quicker, my cadence of thoughts too fast to put into words. My love for art in all forms has been lost for the past two years. I feel alive, knowing it still exists inside me.
“I’d love to show you two photos I recently acquired. It’s a newer photographer here in the city. Story Salenger. Have you heard of her?” Natalie asks.
“The name Story sounds familiar.”
“After dinner, I’ll show them to you. You can give me your professional opinion.” She takes a bite.
“I’d love to see them. Photography and paintings are my specialties.”
“Wait until you see the finger-painting James gave me. I have it framed in my office,” Nick says.
“That’s adorable. I’d love to see his budding skills.”
Jackson’s hand was gone, and that’s when I clued in to what he already knew—I’m doing okay, better than the turmoil trying to drag me down.
The conversation moves on to the kids, and although I may not have all the answers about what life will bring or even what direction I’m headed in, something Cammie said returns. And just so I know what I’m getting into, I ask, “How big was Jackson when he was born?”
19
Marlow
“Marlow?”
“In here,” I reply, spraying my hair and patting down the flyaways. The past month has been fairly quiet at work as I iron out the details of the next exhibit. And it’s been blissfully peaceful in my personal life. Living with Jackson has been a dream, so hearing him stomp down the hall and through the bedroom has me worried.
That can’t be good.
As soon as he stalks into the bathroom where I’m getting ready for the night, our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror. Taking a hard stance, he crosses his arms over his chest as a scowl digs into his handsome face.
I turn around, and ask, “What is it?”
“Why the fuck is some guy picking you up for a date?”
“What are you talking about?”
Moving closer, he lowers his voice. “Some fuck is at the door waiting for you.”
I rub my hand over his chest. “I don’t have a date, Jackson. You know I have a business dinner. That’s it. But also,” I say, my shoulders rising, “how would anyone even know this address for me?”
“That’s what I’m wondering, but it’s Friday night, and he’s standing in the hall waiting for you.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Other than fucker?”
I give him a pointed look and try not to laugh.
“Casteleone.”
“Oh, no.” Panic sets in, and I scramble back to the mirror. “He’s here?”
Even in the reflection, I see the moment his heart sinks, and his blue eyes turn cloudy as if I lied to him. “So he is here for a date?”
“No. It’s not a date.” I shake my head and start applying my lipstick. “That’s my dinner date.” Damn. I shouldn’t have said that. “Not date. Business. Only business. You can even come with me if you want. Mr. Casteleone is the art collector helping me secure the Kyoto exhibit.”
The tension ticking in Jackson’s jaw finally eases. I turn around and then go to him. “It’s not a date, Jackson, and I’m not sure why he’s here. We were supposed to meet at the restaurant. If you don’t want to come with us, then what do you say about me introducing him to my boyfriend.”
He officially has me with that lady-killer grin, making it so much harder to leave because I know what’s waiting for me at home. He kisses me and says, “You go. I’ll get some work done and then meet you in that bed right out there later. What do you say?”
“I say I can’t wait.” I kiss him and then nod toward the front of the apartment. “He’s actually a really nice guy. I think you’ll like him.”
After meeting him, officially, Jackson doesn’t like him . . . well, not so much dislikes, but more doesn’t trust him from what I’m gathering. Discussing the situation in the office, he says, “He’s way too old for you.”
“He’s forty-five, Jackson. Way smaller gap than Billy Joel and my mom.”
“I’m being serious. And I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
