Page 55 of Merging Wright

For Willow who stared out at the river with sad eyes and a heavy heart at only five years old. And Stella and Kirk who serve this community with their fresh scones, amazing tea, and excellent breakfasts before catering to children by tutoring some and coaching others. For Tanza, a single mother raising a teenage daughter, who believes in happily-ever-after like I do despite being alone and once jaded by love.

These people give me hope.

For the first time in a long time, I’m truly excited by our newest client—Wrightwood.

I want to get my hands involved. Tearing down a wall might be the energy release I need because every time I look at Mach, I want to jump him. I want to kiss him, remind him of our night together, and prove it meant more to both of us.

My leg had jiggled under the table as we spoke. My breath held, waiting on his decision. The concept of rebranding and rebuilding an entire town had me bubbling with enthusiasm I hadn’t known was missing in my life until this project arose.

Is this a chance opportunity? Or a once-in-a-lifetime experience?

For half a second, I thought Mach was going to send me back to Chicago. I thought he might decide to hand everything to Myles.

“I’ll stay.”

If I wasn’t ready to catapult myself over the table to hug him, I might have missed how he was holding his eyes still. With resolve but sincerity, he wasn’t lying, though. I squealed a little, surprising even myself with my squeaky excitement. In response, Mach gave me what might have been the best smile he’s ever given me—white teeth pinned to his bottom lip and a little color on his high cheekbones. That smile was a gift. So was his decision.

We were staying.

+ + +

Within a day of Mach’s decision, our town rejuvenation begins. First thing on the agenda is the removal of the excessive overhead electrical wires and the no-longer-needed telephone pole. The electric company rerouted the power a few years back, and the pole in town wasn’t necessary. Eventually, we’ll be painting the exterior of each storefront and hanging new merchant signs, giving the street a fresh look with an old-world feel. The designs for the future area remind me of walking through quaint, small towns in England, Ireland, and Scotland.

From my vantage point at the end of Bridge Alley, a man in a lift basket is hoisted above roof level to dismantle the power lines. A crew of workers hover below him. While this project begins, we have a deck-builder restoring boards and staining the ancient gazebo base. Volunteers will soon work on cleaning up the park area, trimming trees and clearing brush. I have a meeting later this morning with Tanza to finalize plans for Bliss before demolition and renovation starts in her store. And Mach and I have an appointment with Camilla. Although she declined the renovations, Trixie’s Trims is getting a makeover.

At the opposite end of the street, someone comes into my periphery as I watch the power line worker rise into the air.

Then I do a double-take.

Walking toward me is a man I hardly recognize and yet wouldn’t miss in a crowd. With bright inked arms highlighted by a white, short-sleeved T-shirt, he also wears faded jeans, construction boots, a baseball cap, and aviator sunglasses as he struts toward me. Despite not seeing his eyes, I know his tunnel vision is on me, and my breath hitches and holds. His demeanor reminds me of Chris Pratt in Guardians of the Galaxy walking through a cavern listening to music. While Mach is minus the Walkman and dance moves, he has two times the swagger. Like “Come and Get Your Love” suggests, Mach is fine. If only he were mine.

He comes straight for me. Stunned by his appearance, his strut, his attention, I’m transfixed and don’t move. When his fingers coast my jaw and delve into my hair, and then his mouth crashes over mine, I do nothing other than respond.

His lips are warm and possessive, leading mine to follow his as he sips at me. Once, twice, three times, he sucks on my mouth before releasing my lips but not his hold on my head, fingers still tangled in my hair which was collected into a ponytail. “Good morning, Mrs. Wright.”

“Mr. Wright,” I croak, uncertain where that kiss came from or what has him in a mood today. Stepping to the side, he remains close enough I catch a whiff of his spicy, woodsy scent. He removes his hands from my hair, slipping his fingers lower to cup my nape. With his warm touch on my neck, he shifts again to face the construction crew, and I have a sudden explanation for this performance.

“Gonna piss a circle around me next?” I stare at his profile.

“Need me to whip out my dick and prove you’re mine?” He slowly turns his head back to me.

His suggestion has me tongue-tied for a moment. I gulp. “Nope. I’m good. You can keep it in your pants.”

Mach lifts his aviators, latching his gaze on mine. “Only place it’s going to be, except when my wife wants it.”

Jeezus. My face heats fifty degrees.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks rather cheerfully, turning his attention to the work down the street. Too dazed to comment, my own focus returns to the utility crew preparing to remove the unsightly pole in the middle of the sidewalk.

Briefly, I wonder if a wire came loose, one still live and full of energy, because the electricity coursing through my body gives me another sense of hope I shouldn’t be feeling.

My husband called me his.

27

Playlist: “Starting Over” – Chris Stapleton

[Mach]