Page 8 of The Only Heart that Matters

He picks up his Carhart jacket lying on the table and drapes it over the back of a chair. Stealing it crosses my mind, but I push the thought aside. Other than that one item, his place is spotless. I expected dirty clothes on the floor, and pizza boxes and beer cans littering the countertops. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s perfect.

“Angus, it’s beautiful.”

I know my mouth is hanging open, but it really is gorgeous. And huge. One big open room with shiny hardwood floors, brick walls, a very well-made king-size bed, and an area with weights that includes a workout bench, dumbbells, and a punching bag.

“The bathroom is over there. I’ll turn on some music so you don’t get stage fright.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, letting his stupid comment go by, still shocked at the lack of neon beer signs and the neatness of the space.

In the far corner, the door to the bathroom is open, and before I’ve entered, NSYNC’s“Bye Bye Bye” starts playing through the surround sound speakers.

Oh, he thinks he’s cute, playing the song that Daisy and I know every word to. We know every dance move from the video, too. Angus watched us do it at least a hundred times.

“Hilarious!!” I yell over the music as I shut the door behind me.

The bathroom isn't as nice as the rest of the place. It’s clean, but looks decades old. As if he remodeled everything but forgot this part. There's a small shower, a sink, and a toilet. The walls are dark gray and one lone towel on the rack hangs from the wall. It’s simple and in need of some sprucing up.

I take care of my business and while I wash and dry my hands, my reflection stares back at me. There’s a smile on my face. It’s been a good night, and it’s nice to have these small silly moments with Gus. And, of course, everyone else. But mostly with Gus.

I’ve never truly been alone with him. He’s always around. I mean, always. But I can’t recall many moments between just the two of us. I know there are times we’ve been alone in a room, but they don’t really stand out. Not like tonight. He may have been saving me from Rhen and asking about my interview, like a good friend does, but being in his arms made it hard to breathe.

Who knew the man could dance like that? I’ve seen him dance with other women, but I do my best to look the other way. So, tonight his two-step took me by surprise. As did his whispered words in my ear. They may not have been the sentiment I dreamed of hearing as a lovestruck teen, but they did the trick. Sure, I convinced myself there would be no more pining for Angus when I got pregnant. In fact, the night I announced my pregnancy, I also shut down that part of me. The part who desired men. Especially one particular man. For a while, it worked. I was a little too busy worrying about being knocked up and then trying to figure out life as a single parent to worry about childhood crushes.

Not sure who I thought I was kidding, though, because I am far from over Angus McKinnon.

He’s standing in the kitchen looking at his phone when I come out. The music is so loud he doesn’t notice me at first,allowing me the briefest of moments to take him in, here in his own space.

You could say his short buzzed hair lacks style, but with his perfectly shaped head, it works for him. As always, his T-shirt strains against the muscles of his broad chest and tattooed arms, but it’s the way his thick thighs and that ass of his threaten the denim of his jeans that mesmerize me more often than I’m proud to admit.

“Everything come out okay?”

“Dork,” I say, walking in the opposite direction of him.

Now that I’ve finally made it into his bachelor pad, I need to explore. I feel him watching me as I read the spines of the books on his shelf. Lots of history and military books, but there is alsoThe Count of Monte CristoandWuthering Heights.

He turns the music down before he asks, “You’ve never been up here before?”

“Nope. I’m your sister's best friend and your mom’s goddaughter. I don’t really fit the description of most of the women who have visited Angus McKinnon's lair.”

“Whatever, Goof.”

“Have you really readWuthering Heights?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder.

“What? You don’t think I can read?”

“Shut up. It’s just so... I don’t know.... depressing.”

“Why? Because it doesn’t have a sweet little happily ever after?”

“Forgive me if I prefer not to be in a deep depression for days after reading a book.”

“Well, it’s good to have realistic books out there, don’t you think? Nobody is perfect, and love can be selfish and cruel. It’s not all roses and chocolates.”

Leaving his books behind, I meet him in the middle of the room, where he continues watching me with his hands in his front pockets.

I’ve had a million conversations with him over the years, but never alone in his loft and the topic has never been happily ever afters and the truth about love.

He still surprises me after a lifetime spent in his orbit.

---