Page 6 of Lessons In Love
Myles:See you in twenty minutes.
I wince, starting my car. There it is again, that feeling of being kept. Plugging my phone into the sound system, I crank up the volume and sing at the top of my lungs to my nineties playlist, laughing when I merge into the busy after-work traffic and people give me odd looks. Myles hates my music, preferring the stuffy tunes one would find on a call center hold line.
The first time he rode with me and I turned on my music, he was appalled—his eyes wide, mouth dropped open, and he actually ducked in embarrassment when I started dancing behind the wheel. Since then, anytime we go somewhere, he drives.
Horns blare as I change lanes and pull into the parking lot. I wave politely, receiving a middle finger in return, despite having properly indicated my intention with my blinker. Every time it rains, people act like they’ve never driven a vehicle.
Putting the incident out of my mind, I fumble behind the seat for the umbrella Myles put there for me. I get ahead of myself, pressing the button before I open the door and sputter curses as I fight with it. The rain has let up, slightly, and I make a mad dash for the sliding door, shaking the droplets off the umbrella and folding it up.
Deciding it’s not worth grabbing a cart since I’m only here for a few items, I start in the bakery, my nose going into overdrive with all of the delicious aromas. I pass the deli, impulsively grabbing a rotisserie chicken, before doubling back to get a cart in case anything else calls to me.
After picking up the items Myles needs I text him just to make sure he doesn’t want anything else.
Delaney:I’ve got the stuff you want. Need anything else before I head home?
I wait for a few minutes to see if he responds, browsing the greeting cards and laughing at some of the cheekier birthday messages. When I haven’t heard anything from him after several minutes, I move to stand in line, loading my—more than a few—items onto the conveyor. The cashier makes small talk and I flounce off with a smile, excited to head home and make dinner.
I just close the trunk when my phone dings.Fuck. I briefly contemplate pretending I didn’t hear it until I’m home, but I groan, knowing it’ll be easier to just deal with it now.
Myles:Consuela got the wrong Shampoo. The only store that has it is the one on Bradley.
My teeth clench, grinding in frustration. His office is less than three blocks from the store he’s talking about, but at least twenty minutes—forty with traffic—from the penthouse.
Delaney:Do you need it today?
Myles:...
Breathing deeply, I get back into my car, preparing to drive across town for a bottle of freaking shampoo. Every store has the brand he uses, but apparently only one store carries the right scent.And they callushigh maintenance? Ha!
*****
It took me forty-five minutes to get to the right store and another ten once I was inside to locate the right fragrance, at the very back of the lowest shelf.Of course.I check out, giving the cashier a tight smile, wishing her a good night, and grab the bag.
The automatic doors part slowly, and I’m just ready for the day to be over. When they’re finally open enough for me to walk through, I move forward, coming to a sudden stop when I slam into a wall of hard muscle.
Hands come up to hold onto my arms, steadying me, but I drop the bag I was holding, cursing as the contents spill onto the floor.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” an employee asks, coming to check on us.
I’m still dazed, but look up to answer, catching a familiar face out of the corner of my eye.
“You!” I hiss, pulling out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me.” I step back and his hands fall to his sides.
“Hey, Delaney.” That voice—it hasn’t changed at all.
THREE
LACHLAN
The last thing I expected at the end of the day was to run into Delaney Hawthorne. Of course, I know she’s in town, and there’s always a possibility I’ll see her around, but I’ve perfected the art of staying away from her.
Regret cuts me like a knife. It’s been ten years. I made a choice—the only one I could make—and it’s haunted me every day since. I’ve been gone, but I haven’t been far from her, and she’s never out of my mind.
Staying hidden in the seedy underbelly of the city is second nature when your family’s history is woven into its tapestry. My grandfather, Alejandro, escaped Cuba in the sixties before everything went to shit. He stowed away on a cargo ship transporting cars to Miami.
According to legend, he hid inside one for the entire journey. When the ship reached Fascell Port, he waited until nightfall to sneak off undetected. Noticing the minimal security, he hatched a plan. To avoid suspicion, he got a job on the security team and, using his charm, won them to his side. To this day, his security business has allowed our family to operate in the shadows, avoiding law enforcement.
“Lachlan,” she spits, glaring at me and taking another step back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. It’s not the reaction I’d hoped for when we finally saw each other again, but I also can’t say that I’m surprised. Delaney has every right to be pissed at me—and it seems she’s still holding onto that anger.
