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Curiosity got the better of me and I peeled the flap from the envelope and dumped the contents on my desk, curious what kind of guilt gift Ma had rustled up. An off-white card fell out and on top it fell a tattered friendship bracelet. I read the card first.
For my favorite guy in the whole world. Just so you know that I’m always thinking about you, even when I’m not around.
Those words were familiar. Eerily familiar and the closer I looked at the bracelet, made of yellow and green and pink string, I knew why. It was the friendship bracelet I made for Sophie the summer I went to football camp.
I smiled at the gift, but dammit, she couldn’t just use our past to win her way back into my life. My heart.
Even though it was working. A little.
I pushed the note and the bracelet aside and got back to work, trying to focus on whatever spreadsheet was on the screen but not really seeing it because I wondered what the hell Sophie was up to. She hadn’t reached out in a week and when she did, it was a stroll down Memory Lane.
“Knock, knock.” The droll tone of Mara’s soft voice sounded and I looked up with a frown.
“What are you doing here?”
“Good to see you too, Mr. Manners.”
“Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. If that coffee for me?”
“Yeah, it is.” Mara stepped in, looking as bored as she always looked and set it on my desk along with a branded miniature cake box. “This is for you too,” she said grumpily and walked out before I could ask any questions.
I opened the box and smiled at the pink frosted heart before I noticed the handwritten note inside the flap. I made this for you to tell you how great I thought you were in the 10th grade, but I chickened out because you’re you and I’m a coward. I think you’re so wonderful now I decided to get a pro to make the cake. Think of me when you eat it.
Sophie. Again. I smiled and bit into the vanilla cake with strawberry jam and marshmallow cream. “Damn that is good.” And worse, Sophie was winning me over with…whatever the hell this was all about.
I didn’t know what else to do so I sent a short text. “Delicious. Thank you.”
When Sophie didn’t respond, my shoulders relaxed and I got back to work, determined to finish my list without getting lost in thoughts of Sophie, or worse, getting lost in thoughts of licking strawberry cream off of Sophie.
After another hour, I just gave up and grabbed my dirty clothes, deciding to head home where I could obsess about Sophie in peace. A note on my windshield caught my eye and I snatched it off, prepared to toss some marketing flyer in the recycling bin when I got home, but the familiar handwriting brought me up short.
I want to battle my demons for you, Stone.
Sophie. Again. I didn’t know what she was playing at and I was starting to feel like a toy, discarded only to be interesting again once someone else wanted to play with it. I didn’t like that feeling one bit so I killed the engine outside my home, grabbed my gym bag and headed inside.
Another note flapped in the wind on my front door and I stopped, slightly annoyed, and pulled it free.
Starting now.
Inside my house, the lights were on and top 40 music blared from the speakers in the kitchen. Something with tomatoes and garlic wafted towards me and I dropped my bag, making a beeline for the kitchen, where I found Sophie facing the stove, the smooth pale skin of her back bared to me. “Hey,” I said over the music.
Instead of being startled, Sophie turned slowly with a wide, beaming smile but my eyes were focused on the sexy little halter dress she wore that flared out like it belonged on a housewife from the fifties. Something flashed in her eyes, I thought it was love but I’d been wrong before and it could have just as easily been affection. Platonic affection. “Stone. Hey.” She stared at me for a long moment, as if she just needed to drink me in. “Cocktail?”
“Uh, sure. I guess.” Sophie pulled an unfamiliar pitcher from my fridge and poured a tall glass before handing it to me. My gaze never left her, the way she moved so gracefully, so femininely. I still want her, dammit. “Thanks.”
Sophie watched me carefully as I took a sip, a small smile touched her lips when a smile crossed my face at the familiar drink. “Good?”
“Really good,” I nodded. “A beergarita. Does this mean enchiladas?”
She nodded, her smile growing. “They are your favorite.”
“They are,” I said on a sigh. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure Stone. My absolute pleasure.” Her words held more meaning than their simplicity indicated and I was intrigued.
