Favors, Strings, & Lies_Men of NatEx_A Package Handlers Novel Read online

  I pretend like I don’t hear him over the roar of the engine and then drive off. But he has a point. I know he does. I’ve been telling myself the same shit since I drove away from her house yesterday. And she probably won’t do what Joyce did. She’s older, more mature, more grounded in her life. I’m reminded of this every time I pass one of those “for sale” signs with her gorgeous face on it.

  That doesn’t matter though. I swore to myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t put myself in a position where that would happen again. So Aidan can take that smile and shove it up his ass.

  Like he should talk anyway. He’s just as single as I am. Not counting the mystical and magical Veronica, he’s still not attached. And that’s exactly how I want to stay.

  Everything is so much easier without strings. No attachments or expectations means no hurt or disappointment. Why wouldn’t I want to get laid and be happy without the bummer of a relationship? That’s obvious. Come on now.

  The whole thing with Cadence is an infatuation with the mystery of her. Isn’t it? Just another way to distract myself from Joyce and move on without putting my heart into it. Right? I mean, I’ve been delivering to her house for a year, and in that time, I hadn’t once spoken to her. I speak with nearly everyone on a regular basis, but she always briefly smiled and shut the door in my face.

  Unlike Mr. Hayden, who opens his door to sign for the package I’m holding out to him.

  “Hey, Matt. Thanks,” he says, scrawling his signature for me.

  “You got it,” I respond.

  Sooner than I’m able to back away, he asks, “How’s your grandfather doing now?”

  I swallow hard, not prepared for that question today. “Better, but it’s still day by day,” I tell him before pressing my lips into a thin line.

  Mr. Hayden gives me a kind smile. “And your brother’s enjoying college?”

  This time, my lips curve a little too. “He is, actually. Thank goodness. And he’s almost done, finally.” Then I take a step off his porch. “Thanks for asking. Have a great day.”

  My grandpa is a sore subject. His Alzheimer’s is getting worse even if his spirits are getting better. But I’m so proud of my brother and could talk about him all day long. Jeremy may have gotten caught up in a bad decision in high school, but he’s better at making smarter ones now. College was one of them.

  When I get back to my truck, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I nearly ignore it, but something makes me check it as soon as I’m sitting in the driver’s seat again. Some kind of nag from the universe that says I might want to see the text I just received. And I really wish it hadn’t.

  Well, that’s not true. As my heart pounds and my palms begin to sweat, I wish she hadn’t, not the universe. It isn’t the universe’s fault that she chose now to send me this message. It isn’t the universe’s fault that she picked this moment—when the woman I’ve been wanting to talk to for a year has finally spoken to me—to remind me that she’s still around.

  I will my racing brain to think about something else as I throw my phone onto the seat next to me. Biting my knuckle, I take a deep breath. Remember Cadence? That hot woman who finally spoke to me yesterday? The next woman who will warm my bed some way or another? Yeah. She’s here. Hopefully available and down for some NSA action. And hopefully on my delivery manifest tomorrow.

  She’s Cadence Griffith, the sexy real estate agent on my delivery route. She’s not Joyce.

  But that’s exactly the problem. She’s not the woman who still somehow, after everything, has part of my heart. Or, rather, the woman I’ve never gotten that part of my heart back from. The whole thing is in pieces, likely never to be healed again.

  No, she’s not Joyce—the woman who just texted me that she’s back in town and ready to talk.

  ∞∞∞

  Cadence

  A knock on the door has me looking at my watch. It’s ten minutes to three in the afternoon—who’d be stopping by right now? A look through the peephole later, I have my answer. Much to my dismay.

  “Mom?” I ask once I’ve swung the door wide. “What are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to greet your mother?” she asks as she breezes past me and into my home. She sets her sunglasses on the top of her head and spins to face me. “I was just in the neighborhood—”

  I roll my eyes and close the door. “So not true. I purposely bought this house because I thought you wouldn’t be tempted to drop in whenever you pleased.”

  Even though I sound irritated—and look it, I suppose—I’m not. No, I don’t want my mother stopping by my house all the time like she wants to, but I’m always inwardly delighted when she does. If she didn’t, I’d barely see her, seeing as I’m busy as hell. I like it that way though—being busy, anyway. And my mom makes sure we see each other at least once a month. Like today, as her floral perfume tickles my nose.

  “Whatever you say.” She hitches her purse over her shoulder. “Did you watch This Is Us this week? I can’t watch a single episode without tearing up. It’s ridiculous.”

  We do this song and dance a lot. I think both my mother and Gina want to feel like they’re including me by asking me this, but most of the time, it makes me feel even more separate and different and reminds me of just how busy I am. I don’t have the time to spend an hour a week doing something my mother and my sister enjoy too.

  It’s becoming more and more clear that I need a change of pace. Between this and my deliveryman daydreams, I need it badly.

  “Anyway,” she huffs out, pretending to be annoyed right there with me, “I wanted to come over to talk about the wedding.” A smile sneaks her lips up, but she tries to school it away.

  Everyone walks on eggshells with me when it comes to this wedding. I get it. My marriage failed. But that’s in the past, and I can’t move forward with everyone around me floundering every time someone mentions my sister’s upcoming wedding.

  So I soften. “Of course.” I give her a hug, happy that she’s happy. Then I shuffle us toward the kitchen so we can have this conversation while sitting down. “You have ten minutes though,” I say as I take a seat. “Then I have a showing to get to.”

  “Right.” She pulls a notebook out of her purse. Upon opening it up to a paper with a list on it, she clicks her pen. She’s all flourish and down to business. “You have your final fitting tomorrow at two.”

  I nod. “I’ll be there.”

  “And the bachelorette party is in two days.”

  “I’ll be there too.”

  She gives me a stern look, her eyebrows pinching together. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Laughing a little, I say, “I know, Mom, but the party is none of your business. And you can tell Gina nice try.”

  She sighs out a, “Fine.” Then she says, “All I need at this point is…” She drags her pen down the page like she’s searching for something. “Oh yes. Here it is.” Squinting at the page, she says, “The name of your date to the wedding.”

  I blink at my mother. “You can’t be serious right now.”

  “Oh, I’m totally serious.” She blinks back. “Completely, one hundred percent serious, Cadence.”

  I’m still for a few more moments as we stare at each other. Her eyes plead with me, and as soon as hope starts shining in them, I know I’m done for. Why can I not bear to disappoint my mother?

  The divorce was bad enough. That’s not something Griffith women do. It just isn’t. We put our game faces on, stick it out, and make it work. In it for the long haul. Yeah, well, things change. Like how much people can tolerate. And I couldn’t take it anymore.

  The counseling didn’t work. Time apart didn’t work. Time together certainly didn’t work. Promises of never cheating again didn’t work. When two people aren’t supposed to be together, they aren’t supposed to be together—no matter what kind of contracts they’ve signed. More paperwork can fix nearly any situation. I’ve learned that in my professional and my personal lives.

  I’m ju
st not sure about this situation.

  With a deep exhale, I look to my left, away from my mother. The package I received yesterday—still unopened on my kitchen table even though I was glad it showed up early—catches my eye. And an idea forms. A decidedly wrong idea, but an idea nonetheless. One I likely can’t follow through with.

  But maybe. Just maybe.

  “Brian,” I say just above a whisper, my heart thundering in my chest.

  My mom’s pen freezes above her notebook. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  After clearing my throat, I lick my dry licks and wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “Brian,” I repeat. “His name is Brian. My date to Gina’s wedding.”

  As she gasps, one of her hands flies to her mouth. And I swear tears sparkle in her eyes. I throw one of my own hands in the air to cut off any further questioning. Mostly because I have zero answers beyond the fake one I gave her.

  “Now, if that’s all, I need to finish getting ready for that showing.” I flash her a tight-lipped smile and stride toward my door, hoping she’ll get the hint.

  She does. In a flurry, she slams her notebook closed, throws it and her pen back into her purse, and rushes to meet me at the door. All the while, a grin the size of California stretches her lips. She can’t keep her excitement in, and that only adds to the need to make this off-the-wall ridiculous plan work out. Disappointing my mother—again—will destroy her.

  At the door, my mom squeezes me in a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re finally moving on, Cadence. You deserve happiness again. I know you’ll find it this time.”

  It takes everything in me to not be stiff as a two-by-four in her arms. I hug her back as tight as I can for only a second before pulling away. Then I give her another brief, tight smile and open the door.

  “I’ll be at my fitting tomorrow. Don’t you worry,” I tell her.

  She wipes at her eyes and sniffles a little. “I’m not worried one bit anymore,” she confesses, too much hope in her voice for my liking. “Oh, both of my girls are getting just what they need!” Her watery smile hits me in the chest.

  I bite my lip and try to grin around it, but worry gnaws at my insides. This was so dumb. It’s going to kill her if this doesn’t work out. Or if she finds out I lied. I made a stupid split-second decision, and if I can’t make it happen, she’ll be devastated. So that’ll be the motivation I need to somehow move this forward and convince Brian to go with me to this wedding.

  One more tight smile is all I can manage before I close the door on my mother. Then I let out a long, shaky breath and head to my computer. If this is going to work, I need to bring Brian to me. So I order a new sports bra I don’t even need for my marathon training with free two-day shipping. That’ll give me enough time to figure a plan out. I hope.

  Gulp.

  What in the world did I just do? What if he doesn’t go along with it? What if I can’t even bring myself to ask him to help me out with this ridiculous plan?

  And what if my deliveryman’s name isn’t even Brian?

  Chapter 3

  Matt

  Guess whose name is on my manifest today? That’s right. A Ms. Cadence Griffith. With a time request of four p.m. And guess what? It’s four p.m., so I’m pulling up to her house right now. And I expect her to be home, seeing as she requested a specific time. But maybe not. Only time will tell.

  Except time isn’t on my side. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket as I take her small package up to her door. I almost decide to ignore it, but the tiny tug that says it might be Joyce makes me reach into my pocket for my phone.

  Lo and behold, it’s her. Calling again.

  I’ve successfully ignored her for two days, but I don’t think it’ll last much longer. I wish I could stop giving her this power over me, but we both know I’ll wear down eventually. Things didn’t end well, and maybe I’m still waiting for the closure that never came. The second chance she wishes we’d have won’t ever happen, but that doesn’t mean my feelings for her completely vanished. No matter how awful she was when we were together or how much she lied to me.

  The voice that tells me maybe she’s changed, maybe she’s the old Joyce again, stops me in my tracks and makes me answer my phone. Naturally, Cadence opens her front door as I hear Joyce’s voice for the first time in two years.

  “Matty? Is that really you?” she asks, hope tumbling down the line.

  I catch Cadence’s gaze as I reply, “Yeah. It’s me.” Then I kick a rock on her driveway and hold one finger up.

  Cadence nods at me, her own cell phone pressed to her ear. Her slim-fitting workout pants cut an impressive figure. She turns a shoulder toward me to give me my space and continues her conversation as I continue mine.

  “What do you need, Joyce?”

  “I’m so glad you answered,” she says as Cadence peeks over her shoulder at me. After a moment, Joyce continues. “I was hoping you’d be available to meet for coffee. I’d really like to speak to you.” Both confidence and nervousness ring out in her voice.

  My nose flairs while I stare at the woman I’d rather be speaking to. The woman who can crush me with a word is waiting for my response though, and my heart feels pulled in all the wrong directions. It’s not like I have anything with Cadence, but that’s probably because Joyce ruined me when she left.

  In the end, I exhale deeply. “When and where?” I grit out.

  Joyce makes a small squeaking noise on the other end of the line before releasing a deep, likely relieved breath. “How about The Steam Room on Main? Tomorrow. Nine a.m.?”

  A sharp pain sears my gut at the mention of The Steam Room. That was our place. But, seeing as I’m in a rush, I agree without much thought. “Fine. I’ll be there.” Then I end the call and stuff my phone into my pocket. I’ll deal with that when the time comes.

  Tomorrow. Definitely not right now. Which is probably why I’m still caught up in the mess. Not dealing with things has been my specialty as of late, and that’s apparently not working for me anymore.

  As I walk up Cadence’s driveway, I catch part of her conversation.

  “Right. Ten tonight. No, ten o’clock. Tonight.”

  Well, consider my curiosity piqued. I stop short of her porch and hold the package out, hoping she won’t take it quite yet so I can keep listening. To my luck, she doesn’t. Instead, she holds one finger up for me to wait, which I gladly do. I smile back and hold the package at my side, pretending not to listen while actively eavesdropping on her conversation.

  “Yep. At Pure. You know, that new bar downtown? That’s where we’re meeting tonight at ten,” she repeats. Then she sighs, sounding exasperated. “Of course I’m not bringing someone or meeting anyone there. I’m not attached, remember?” At me, she gives me an embarrassed-looking tilt of her lips and mouths, “Sorry.” Then, into the phone, she says, “Well, I haven’t started dating again, so no. No one’s coming with me.”

  I wave a hand to dismiss the whole thing. All of this is good news for me. No boyfriend or husband—that’s a plus. Well, she only said she wasn’t attached. I guess there could still be a girlfriend or a wife. But maybe she swings both ways. I’d be okay with that if it means a night between the sheets with her.

  If she wants me, of course.

  Something about this phone conversation leads me to believe she does though. Why else would she be okay with a stranger overhearing where exactly she’s going to be tonight if she didn’t want him to know? Hmm. I mentally go over my plans for the evening, which are exactly none.

  I do have tomorrow morning’s coffee meeting with Joyce though, and instead of sitting at home and stressing about it, I could totally hit the bar and “accidentally” run into Cadence. Sounds solid to me. Kind of stalkerish, but also solid. And also like she’d totally know what I was up to seeing as she knows I can hear her conversation. Which is yet another reason why I think she wanted me to hear. Unless she’s talking to a guy.

  “For the last time,” she huffs out, “Pure, ten o’clock ton
ight, and I’ll be alone. See you there, Gina.”

  Gina. That’s definitely a woman.

  Cadence ends her call and looks at me. “Sorry. My sister’s bachelorette party tonight.” She points at the phone and then to herself. “Maid of honor duties call.” Her smile is slightly awkward but one hundred percent charming and adorable.

  But that’s all I get to see of it. Her phone rings again, which startles her so much that she jumps. A laugh bubbles out of her mouth as she snatches the package from my hand before I get to say a word. Then she rips her door open and shoots inside.

  A muffled, “Thank you!” comes from behind the closed door. Then a soft pounding sound.

  I pull my eyebrows down and stare at her house. What the hell just happened? Shaking my head a little, I take a deep breath and then let it out in a rush. That felt like a lot of mixed signals, a lot of things I could read into but probably shouldn’t.

  Instead, I head back to my truck, dig my phone out of my pocket, and pull my list of contacts up to find one person in particular. Then I call him. When he answers, I glance over my shoulder at Cadence’s house. As soon as I get into the driver’s seat, I ask one question.

  “Hey, Aidan. Wanna crash a bachelorette party tonight?”

  ∞∞∞

  Cadence

  “What was that?” I whisper-cry to myself as I bang the back of my head against the door for the fourth time.

  I’m going to give myself a good knot back there if I do that again, but I deserve it. I chickened out big time. What was supposed to be a simple conversation of “Hey, maybe you and I could get to know each other so it won’t be weird if I suddenly ask you to be my date to my sister’s wedding in two weeks” turned into “I’m a chickenshit and have to pretend to be on a phone call so you’ll ‘accidentally overhear’ the details of where I’ll be tonight so you’ll maybe show up and I can explain all of this after I’ve had a few drinks.”