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Lily’s fingers crept across her tingling lips as she stared into the dark. She stood there for so long that eventually the fireworks ended.
And she still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened.
Chapter 7
June flew by and Mackenzie spent most of it tying up loose ends in the city. He finished up a big project, met with a few clients scheduled for the fall, and ended a casual thing
he had going with a wannabe model. The woman, Dru, had kicked up a fuss, and he’d felt bad at the sight of her tears, but hell, he hadn’t promised her anything more than a good time.
He closed up his brownstone, made arrangements for his cleaning lady to check in every few weeks, and had managed to rent the Booker cottage for the entire summer. It was a rustic place, heavy with that Michigan charm, and it boasted a private beach and dock.
The cottage was a large A-frame building made entirely of logs. Open concept, the front was all glass and gave him an unfettered view of the lake, with a massive fireplace tucked into the corner. It wasn’t exactly roughing it, considering the flat-screen mounted above the fireplace, but it had the charm and feel of an old pair of jeans. Not exactly fashion forward, but comfortable.
Mac might be Mr. Armani in New York City, but back here, he was that old pair of jeans, and the Booker cottage was more than enough for him.
At the moment, he was all about worn and comfortable, having pulled on a pair of khaki shorts this morning and an old BlackRock T-shirt that had seen better days. It was the second Saturday in July, a week or so after all the Independence Day shenanigans, and he’d arrived in Crystal Lake the night before.
“Is that all you need, Mackenzie?”
Mac tossed a couple sheets of sandpaper onto the counter along with a scraping tool and frowned at Mr. Daley, owner of Crystal Lake’s one and only hardware store. “I’ve got a lot of fence to cover, but I’m thinking two cans will be enough.”
“Okay, son. I tossed in the brushes you wanted and a few extra stir sticks.” The large, balding man grinned as he peeked over the top of his glasses. “If you need anything else, just give me a call and I’ll get it ready for you. If the timing is right, I can even drop it off at your mother’s on my way home to the missus.”
Mac had to smile. Now that was customer service.
Mr. Daley set about ringing through his order. No barcode scanner here. “I hear you’ve rented the Booker place for the summer.”
“I did.”
“I also hear that you’re working with Jake Edwards on the new development across the lake.”
Mac smiled. There were things about Crystal Lake that would never change—like the gossip wheel that constantly turned. “That’s right. Jake hired me to help with the design, so I’ll be starting on Monday.”
“And you’re staying for the summer?”
Mac thought of Lily. “Planning on it.”
He was planning on a lot of things with the blond, starting tonight.
“Hmmm.” Mr. Daley shoved the sandpaper and tools into a bag. “And how’s your mother these days?”
“She seems good.” Mac hadn’t actually seen her yet, but she was always the same—apathetic, a little sad, and weighed down by the choices she’d made. All of the shit he never ever wanted to feel.
Mr. Daley paused, his face serious. “And Ben?”
Mac ground his teeth together and shrugged. “Still inside as far as I know. I don’t ask and I don’t care.”
Mr. Daley nodded but said no more. Everyone knew that Ben and Mac didn’t mix. Heck, most of the town thought that Ben Draper was a no-good son of a bitch…and they’d be right.
After Mac signed his receipt, he scooped up his tools, grabbed his cans, and stowed them in his truck. He’d stored his Mercedes in New York and bought a used, red Ford F150 for the trip out. He sure liked his slick silver car, but there was something about a truck that made him feel like a kid again.
He smiled at a sudden memory of riding in the back of Jake Edwards’s beat-up Chevy when he was about seventeen, heading out to the lake with a couple of girls for a day of fishing and whatever else they could fit in. Him, Cain, and the Edwards boys had been inseparable, and even though his younger years were filled with its fair share of brutality and darkness, there were still a hell of a lot of good times that had gotten him through. The Bad Boys were the main reason for that.
Mac cranked the radio and blasted some old Led Zeppelin as he pulled out of the hardware store, waving to Mrs. Avery, the flower lady, and grinning like an idiot when she winked at him.
He was still in a good mood by the time he reached his mother’s house, and he eyed up the fence, thinking it would take more than the weekend to get it looking half-decent. He’d just set the cans onto the front porch when the door swung open and a kid peeked out at him.
Mac straightened, brows furled as he studied the boy.
