Dirty Little Midlife Mistake by Lilian Monroe
Blake
“Keys.”I hold out my hand toward Candice as soon as we step outside the café. She stares at me, not understanding, so I wiggle my fingers. “Give me your keys.”
“I’m fine to drive.”
“You’re white as a sheet and trembling so much it looks like your legs are about to give out. I’m driving. This your car?” I point to the black hatchback parked in front of us.
“I don’t—”
“Let him drive, Mom.”
I spin around to look at the curly-haired blond girl standing behind Candice. Mom. Her teenage kid. Shit, Candice has a kid.
What the hell am I doing here?
When we kissed, I wanted more. I followed her into town even though Mark told me he’d rip my balls off as soon as I returned. I asked her for a coffee date like some lovesick teen. All because of what? A kiss?
No. Not just a kiss. That wasn’t just a kiss. It woke something up inside me, something that I thought was long dead.
I’ve kissed women. If I’m honest, I’ve kissed lots of women—but none of those kisses felt like that. No woman has ever reacted to my touch the way Candice did.
When I wrapped my arms around her, she didn’t just soften. She melted. It felt like she let go of something deep within her. For those few moments, she gave a part of herself to me. To me.
And I took it.
I forgot about the movie, about Veronica’s ridiculous tantrums, about Mark yelling at us, about the tight filming schedule we’ve all been rushing around to keep. None of that mattered because when I kissed Candice, she became mine in a way I’m not ready to give up.
It’s been a long, long time since I wanted to keep a woman by my side. Seventeen years, to be exact. In the depths of my heart, I might even admit it’s been longer. That’s just how long it’s been since I’ve had the guts to try.
But she has a kid. And her house is on fire. And judging by the people currently jumping in cars to follow us to her place, she has an established place in this community.
That kiss felt too good to ignore though, and I need to know if there’s something behind it. It’s been a long, long, long time since I’ve wanted to know more about a woman, and I want to know more about Candice.
The teenage girl crosses her arms and stares at me, her eyes brilliant and blue as if she can read my every thought. I hold her gaze for a beat, then turn to her mother.
Candice reaches into her purse and drops her car keys into my outstretched hand. “It’s not far.” She points down the road in the direction of the movie set. “Head that way and hang a right at the lights.”
We climb into the vehicle, the girl sliding into the back seat as Candice takes the passenger side. She clasps her hands so tight her knuckles turn white, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m reaching across to slide my palm over hers. Her hands open for me, fingers intertwining in mine. I feel her soften beside me, and something else clicks inside me.
I like being the man who makes her soft. She gives herself to me in these infinitesimal ways, but I feel it. I feel it. And I want more.
“It’ll be okay,” I say uselessly, knowing full well it probably won’t be okay, but needing to say it anyway.
“So you’re as much a hero in real life as you are in the movies?” the girl says from the back seat with more than a pinch of sass. I check the rearview mirror to see her eyebrow arched high, her arms crossed.
“Not quite, no.” I flash a grin that slips off my face in an instant.
If only she knew how far I am from heroic. My life is one tragedy after another, most of them of my own making.
I pull my hand away from Candice’s and immediately miss the heat of her skin against mine.
My head is reeling. I don’t get attached. I don’t pursue women like this, unless I’m trying to get them on their back. Why does this feel different?
I shake my head as I drive, hoping to clear my thoughts. I rushed over here after one kiss.
That’s crazy, right? The last time I felt this out of control was when I met my first wife. I was nineteen years old, and I married her six months later. We divorced at twenty-one, and it broke something fundamental inside me. I was young and dumb and naive, and what happened afterward made me retreat. It made me doubt myself.
I tried again in my thirties, but it wasn’t the same. That marriage lasted six years, but it ended in worse shape than the first. That’s when I vowed not to go down that path again.
Now, nearly thirty years after the first time, seventeen years after the second, lightning strikes again and burns that vow away.
Candice directs me down leafy residential streets toward the plume of black smoke marring the sky. We turn the corner to see neighbors huddled on the other side of the street, hands over horrified mouths, as the fire department fights the blaze.
“Holy shit.” A breathless whisper from the back seat.
“Allie, language,” Candice says on autopilot. Her own eyes are wide, hand on the car door, knuckles once again bone-white. She nearly falls out when I open her door from the outside, and I realize she hadn’t even noticed me getting out of the car and moving to her side.
Hooking my arm around Candice’s shoulders, I help her from the vehicle and head for one of the police cruisers parked a short walk away.
The deputy takes his hat off when he sees Candice. His eyes flick to me, recognition flitting across them, and then return to Candice. “Mrs. Viceroy.”
A breathless huff, and Candice answers softly, “For crying out loud, Joe, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Candice?”
The deputy cringes. “Candice, I’m sorry. I can’t let you get any closer. The fire department is doing all they can.”
“Do they know how it started?” She’s trembling against me.
The man shakes his head. “We’ll know more when the fire’s out and the forensic team can do their investigation.”
“Candice!” I turn to see half a dozen cars parked behind Candice’s, with what looks like the entire clientele of the café streaming from the convoy. The elderly woman who told Candice about the fire emerges from one of the cars with a woman who looks remarkably similar—a sister, maybe—and a grey-haired man with a shiny bald spot on his head. I’ve seen them all at the hotel. The two women own it, I think. The three of them march toward us, wrapping Candice and Allie in their arms as I stand uselessly to the side.
A strange feeling grows in my chest as I watch these townspeople crowd around Candice. It takes a few moments for me to recognize it, but when I do, I take a staggering step back. It’s envy. I’m jealous. Jealous that at the first sign of trouble, dozens of people are at Candice’s side to give her support.
“Where are we going to sleep, Mom?”
“We’ll figure it out, Allie.”
“All my stuff is in there! My laptop! My backpack with all my notes is in the living room!”
“It’s only stuff, honey.” Candice puts her arm around her daughter’s waist. “We’ll talk to your school.” The top of Candice’s head only reaches her daughter’s chin, and the two of them hug tightly. I wish I could do something.
“Where will we live?” Allie cries.
“We’ll rent somewhere. It will all work out,” Candice says, her voice flat. I want to go to her, but I can’t.
“Our tenants are moving out of our rental place on Monday,” one of the older ladies says. “The place isn’t huge, but it’s got two bedrooms and it’s partially furnished.”
“Oh, Margaret, that’s so kind…” Candice says, extending her arm.
The rest of Candice’s friends close in around her, and I realize I’m standing here, on the outside, like a lump.
I thought this was lightning striking? Ha. Yeah, right. I’m a selfish asshole and pursuing Candice will almost definitely end in disaster. What was I thinking? Maybe I can leave without anyone noticing. I can forget about the kiss, forget about the coffee date, forget about it all. I shouldn’t be here. These people need each other and they need privacy. They don’t need someone like me shouldering into their private pain.
I turn away, then pause when I hear one of the hotel ladies let out a disappointed noise. “Until Monday, I’d love to offer you a room at the hotel, but those damn movie people rented everything out.” She clicks, then glances at me. “No offense, of course, Mr. Harding. We’re grateful for the business.”
“The room next to mine is free,” I hear myself saying before I can stop myself. Shit. Shit! Why would I say that? I’m supposed to walk away!
Candice blinks, her long lashes heavy with tears, eyes finally focusing on me. She bites her lip, and I nearly groan.
The woman is a goddess. I thought young, flighty models were my type? I thought I wanted a woman with air between her ears to warm my bed then leave after it’s over? I thought the past seventeen years of my life had been good?
I’ve been a fool. There’s something between us, some spark, chemistry, whatever you want to call it. Whatever it is, I haven’t felt it in a long time. Maybe ever.
And I know what it means—it means I should walk away. No, run. Any time I’ve felt something similar to this, it’s ended in divorce and disaster.
There’s a reason I date women who are more interested in Instagram than they are in conversation.
But Candice lets out a shaky sigh and nods her head. “Thanks, Blake. You’ve been so kind. And thank you for bringing me here.”
She said my name, and it feels like a hook lodged itself in my gut, keeping me from walking away. I shrug. “You were in no state to drive.”
“She’ll take a raincheck on that coffee,” the white-haired woman with the animal-print top says to me. “Won’t you, Candice? And we’ll get the room next door to Mr. Harding ready for you and Allie.” The second woman in the pale pink pantsuit nods, her fingers running over and back along the string of pearls at her neck.
“Can I stay with Clancy?” Allie says, and I realize another blond girl has materialized by Allie’s side. The two of them stare at Candice with wide eyes. “Please? It’s only for a few days, right? Until Monday?”
“Sure.” Her mother waves a hand, exhausted. “If Fiona and Grant agree.”
“It’s fine,” a dark-haired woman I recognize from the café says. “Allie can stay with us as long as she likes. Grant does the school runs, so it’ll be easy for him to take them both to school.”
“I still have to go to school?” Allie cries, outraged, her arm thrusting toward the blackened, burning side of her house.
Backing away, I leave them all to themselves. The longer I stand here, the more I feel like I don’t belong. Not that I’m better than these people, but that I’m worse. Compared to this type of community, my life seems so empty. I look over my shoulder and see Candice watching me. Our eyes meet for a long moment, the last hour of my life crystallizing in my mind.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It rocked my world, my convictions, my future.
My phone rings, and I use the distraction to turn away, answering the unlisted number when I would normally ignore it. “Hello?”
“He lives!” A delicate female voice laughs on the other end of the line. “Mark is having an absolute hissy fit.”
“Veronica,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m on my way back.”
“Take your time, handsome. I’m not leaving my trailer today. Not going to risk a catastrophe because Mercury is in retrograde. No way.” She harrumphs. “Anyway, have you given any thought to my proposal?”
“It’s still a no.” Technically it wasn’t a no when she asked, I just didn’t answer. It’s definitely a no now.
“We’d break the internet, Blake. Imagine the headlines! We could play it up for the movie, too. Bigger payday for us. My agent can talk to yours.”
“I’m not going to pretend to fall in love with you.”
“Boo. You’re no fun.” That delicate laugh sounds again. “I’ll wear you down, honey, don’t worry.”
Staring up at the clear blue sky, the smell of smoke heavy in the air, I let out a breath. “I don’t want to date you, Veronica.”
“Well, I don’t want to date you, you boring old blockhead. But I have this thing called a career, and a torrid affair with a co-star would help us both be back on the front page.”
“I get enough coverage on my love life as it is,” I grumble.
That’s not it, though. Two hours ago, I probably would have agreed with Veronica. I would have started dating her and, fake or not, probably would have slept with her. I would have told myself I enjoyed it.
But now? Now that I know Candice exists? Now that I’ve felt her go soft in my arms, and seen the look in her eyes when she backed away from me, dazed and needy?
No fucking way. Nothing will ever come close to how good that felt.
Veronica snorts. “Your love life? Who, the Victoria’s Secret models you parade around L.A. with for a week at a time? Please, Blake. You’re not fooling anyone. I’m talking about real media coverage. The two of us getting together would be huge.”
“The answer is no.”
She lets out a noise that sounds like a pout, then drops her voice to a seductive drawl. “When are you coming back on set, Blake? Maybe the two of us should lock ourselves in your trailer and see how big a mess we can make.”
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt, and am shocked to realize I want it to be true.
A pause. “Who?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Blake, you don’t understand. We would be the next Brangelina. It would slingshot our careers to the stratosphere.”
“My career is fine, and the last thing I want is more coverage of my relationships. I’m seeing someone, and I’m not going to sleep with you or pretend to sleep with you for the sake of your dying career. Find some other poor soul to entrap.” I hang up, squeezing my phone between my fingers as I fight the urge to hurl it into the burning building.
Wonderful. Great.
I stare at the house, the back half of it engulfed in flames, seeing nothing. Then I go back to set and try to forget the taste of Candice’s lips. I’m grasping at straws, trying to ignore the conviction I felt when I had Candice in my arms. Trying to stop myself from committing to this. From wanting this.
It doesn’t work.
By the time we’re done shooting for the day, I’ve made a decision. No matter what happened in my first marriage, or my second, or all the years since then, I’m starting fresh.
I’m going after Candice. Not for a night or a week or a month. Not for a quick fuck and a shot on the front page of a tabloid. I’m going after Candice for real.
She melted for me. She gave me something, and I took it.
I’m not giving it back.
