Love Me One More Time by Laura Burton

Chapter 3

My doorbell rings. I take care to turn off my phone and every other electronic device. I don’t want any interruptions tonight.

But a tiny voice of concern urges caution.

What if Carter saw the news and he’s coming over to ridicule me?

No. Carter would never do that. He’s the nicest guy on the planet.

He was always too nice.

Maybe he’s coming over to throw me a pity party, expecting me to break down and cry, admitting that I did it all wrong; I should never have gone for the big shot career.

That thought is worse.

But I’m almost certain that’s not the reason either.

The last time I spoke to Carter, I had trails of snot and tears running down my face and everything I said to him came out two octaves higher than my normal voice.

He, on the other hand, was completely composed. I swear that man keeps his emotions locked in a safe somewhere, and even I didn’t have the code to unlock them.

He just listened to me.

His only tell was that his forehead turned a deep shade of magenta and the side of his jaw bulged, so I knew he had his teeth clamped together.

But he didn’t say a single unkind word, and he didn’t get mad. When I was done, he gave me a curt nod, and the last thing he said to me was, “I hope you find everything you’re looking for.”

Oh boy, have those words haunted me. In the heat of the moment, his words felt like a threat. Or like he was just making a snide remark.

But over the years, and maybe my memory has altered the scene a bit, it started to sound more like a note of defeat.

I check my hair in the mirror; it’s still oiled enough to tame the frizz, and my curls look shiny under my spotlights. Then I pull my front door open and put on my show smile.

“Hey, stranger!” I say, echoing his voicemail. But then my eyes land on him and I suck in a breath. Carter Black looks good.

He’s wearing a pair of dark blue denim jeans that are a snug fit in all the right places and a light blue checkered shirt with the top two buttons undone. His arms are bulging with a ripple of muscles that cascade down from his shoulders and biceps to his forearms. His jet black hair is tousled, almost messy, and he has a slightly weathered look to his face. There are fine lines around his eyes and cheeks, probably from spending the last decade laughing and having the time of his life.

Then his eyes hold mine; I forgot how fascinating they always were. His irises are almost green, but mostly blue. And sometimes, when sunlight hits them, they look yellow. “Hey, ZoBo.” His voice is like the midsummer sun, bathing me in comfort and warmth.

I suck in another breath. No one else calls me ZoBo. And hearing him say my nickname like that, after all this time, stirs up feelings that were already so near the surface.

“Carter, it’s good to see you,” I say, letting him inside.

Carter hands me a small cake box. “I know you’re into diet and fitness these days, but I seem to remember this being your favorite.”

I look down at the chocolate cake in my hands and resist the urge to cry. It’s a baby version of the cake that ended up all over my mom today. “It’s perfect,” I say.

I shut the door and we walk across the large foyer. Carter looks around, studying my space with a cool and serene expression on his face. “You’ve got a nice place,” he says, sounding far more casual than the usual house guest.

He takes in the marble floors, exquisite chandeliers, and granite counter tops in my kitchen with no gushing or exclamations.

But that’s Carter.

He never gushed.

Besides, Carter is no stranger to luxury. His family has what people call old money. He didn’t have to work his way up to get the finer things in life.

So, my extravagant beach house in Long Island probably looks like a charming little vacation home to him. Not that he’d ever say that.

He’s far too polite. I remind myself that his lack of communication was part of the problem between us.

He takes a seat at the breakfast bar, and as I walk past him to get a drink, I catch a waft of his scent.

What is the deal with smells? One sniff of his pheromones, which are a mix of sandalwood and cinnamon, and I’m transported back in time.

It’s suddenly my eighteenth birthday, and Carter and I are in a hammock in his parents’ backyard, looking up at the stars.

Carter is holding me snug against him with his big arms, and even though there’s a chill in the air, neither of us can feel it.

Carter’s chest rumbles against my ears as he reads to me. I can’t remember what he was reading... Probably some ultra-boring article on quantum physics. But the soothing rhythm of his voice, and the steady thump-thump of his heart beating against my cheek, lulled me to sleep.

The memory hits me like a sucker punch to the gut and my eyes prickle, shocked by the impact.

I knew I wasn’t over Carter––not by a long shot. But it’s been a long time since I had a flashback so vivid.

I put as much distance between us as I can and turn my back to him as I fix us both a drink.

“It’s good to see you, Zoe.”

His words are like a gentle caress to my soul. I can feel the tension leaving my shoulders, the events of the day melting away.

“You too,” I say over my shoulder. I return to the breakfast bar with two drinks and hand him one. When he takes it, our fingers brush for the briefest moment, and a chain reaction sets off in my body, lighting up parts of my mind that have been dormant for a long time.

“So, what brings you here?” I try to sound casual, but I’m pretty sure the steady gulps of my drink are some kind of tell.

Carter’s almond eyes crease as he studies me. “I need a favor.”

I down the rest of my drink and wince at the way it burns the back of my throat. “Oh?” It’s not like Carter to just come out with it like that.

I had imagined hours of skirting around the real reason why he came to visit, while we’d spend the time flirting and drinking the awkwardness away on the couch in front of my fake fire.

I’m a bit disappointed. Carter leans against the bar with a slightly mischievous grin. He’s up to something, that’s for sure. A thought flits through my mind briefly; is this man even the same person I fell in love with?

A rush of jitters courses through my body.

“It’s my Grandma…” I hear him say.

My blood turns cold, and I set my glass down. “Oh. Carter. I’m so sorry.” Carter waves his hands around and shakes his head. “No, no. Nothing like that. She’s all right.”

“Oh!” I take a breath. Shouldn’t it be easier to read this guy?

One of the barstools scrape across the tile floor as Carter edges away and moves over to my side of the breakfast bar. Once again, I’m struck by a waft of his familiar scent, and a part of me wants to shout at him to get back on his side.

“She has dementia,” he says, his voice a low murmur. “We’re having a family reunion on the island for her eightieth birthday.”

The island.

He says it so casually, like he’s talking about a vacation lodge in the mountains. But no, it’s an actual island his father owns. Carter probably owns it now, seeing as his dad passed away shortly before graduation.

“Oh, right,” I say, unsure how to respond to this information. Then Carter takes my hand. I watch him drag his thumb across my knuckles. I hold my breath. “There’s just one problem,” he whispers.

“What?” I whisper back, falling for his irresistible charm.

“She thinks we’re still engaged.”

The words sink like rocks to the bottom of my stomach and I snatch my hand away with a hiss like he burned my fingers.

“You didn’t tell her?” I clutch my stomach, though it does nothing to stop the pain. Carter rakes a hand through his dark locks. “I did. It’s the dementia. It’s like the last decade never happened and she’s expecting to see you at the party.”

I look up at the ceiling. I can’t hold eye contact with him, so I decide to talk to my spotlights instead. “So, what? You want me to go along to some big family event posing as your fiancée?”

I laugh and look back at Carter, and he’s looking at me like a kid who just got told Christmas is canceled. “Wait. You do want me to pretend––”

“It’s just for three days.”

I place my hands on my hips as I take in the information. “Does your mom know about this?”

Carter rushes forward and tries to take my hand again but I cross my arms.

“It was my mom’s idea.”

I scoff. “Oh, well. If your mom thinks it’s a good idea…” I begin, letting my voice drip with sarcasm. The last time I was in the same room as Carter’s mom, I had a few things to say that I’m sure would have put me on her hit list. But I didn’t need to. My existence was already enough reason for her to hate me. The thought that she would even want me within twenty feet of Carter and the rest of his family is absurd.

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you just explain that we broke up?” Carter’s face is now a light shade of magenta. “We’ve tried. Many times. She gets so upset. She really loves you, you know.”

“That’s not fair. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play the sweet old lady needs your help card. You know I can’t resist that,” I say, letting my hands drop. Carter grips my upper arms with the perfect balance of firmness and tenderness.

“Please do this for me. I know you have a crazy schedule, but I’ll pay you for your time. Besides, when was your last vacation? You need a break. I’ll treat you like a queen.”

I don’t disagree. I’m sure Carter will treat me like a queen at the fancy island in the Bahamas. And now I suspect he has no idea my whole career went up in flames this afternoon.

My career. Jay’s face pops up in my head.

I’ll have to face the music in the morning and see just how bad the damage is. But I already know it's bad.

Maybe getting away to a remote island with Carter and his family is the ticket I need to escape this awful nightmare.

I mean, the media will get bored eventually. By the time I come back, I’ll be yesterday’s news.

But there’s my mom. My poor mom! I owe her a massive cake and a big bunch of flowers for everything she did for me and the way I messed it all up. How can I leave her? The media will surely come knocking on her door if I go AWOL, and my publicist, agents, and goodness knows who else will be bombarding her with calls asking where I am.

Leaving her behind is out of the question.

“Can I bring my mom?” I blurt.

Carter’s eyebrows go up at the question, but then his face breaks into a warm smile. “Of course. As long as she doesn’t spoil the act.”

I chew my lip.

Now, I’m on the precipice of jetting my mom off on a dream vacation, and landing the perfect escape from the media.

On the other hand, I’ll be forced to spend a lot of time with Carter. The man who I am still very much in love with.

He offers me a hand. “It’s strictly business,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Come with me for three days, pretend to be my fiancée, and I’ll pay you triple your daily rate. Plus, the best vacation you and your mom have ever had. Do we have a deal?”

My chest goes tight and I hold my breath again. This is clearly nothing more than a business transaction to him. He’s totally over me. I can see it in his eyes. But running around posing as his fiancée is going to mess with my head… and my heart. It’s like playing with fire.

A grin sweeps across my face and I take his hand. “Deal.”

It’s a good thing I love danger, because all of my senses are screaming at me that if I’m not careful, I’m going to get burned.