Page 23 of Below the Shadow of the City

CHAPTER 23

SATURDAY, EARLY NOVEMBER

I ’d be lying if I said I went to Margo’s party that night and had a fun time as if nothing had happened.

I had shown up late to help Margo set up, and she hadn’t questioned my timing, or the remaining smudged mascara on my eyelids. She welcomed me inside and we got to work soundtracked by her “Halloween Bangers” playlist. Her apartment has the perfect layout for entertaining, wide openings between rooms, plenty of seating, and rooftop access. If the night weren’t another rainy one I’d likely have perched myself up there to get a few gulps of fresh air and look at the skyline of Manhattan across the water.

The lack of sufficient airflow is the worst attribute of her living space. The cheap polyester that made up everyone’s costumes generated a sticky, alcohol tinged, ever-present heat. I had run around and opened windows to avoid sweating to death in my costume, a fruitless task if the slick sheen of sweat pooling on my lower back had been any indicator.

I perched against the wall next to one of the open windows and fanned myself every few minutes. Three guys all in football jerseys pretending they’re actual costumes were gathered around a table playing flip cup, I watched them drunkenly knock cups off the table and all scramble at the same time to pick them up. It was mildly entertaining, and better than staring at the wall. I placed mental bets with myself as to whether or not they coordinated on the outfits.

Everyone else I knew at the party was preoccupied. Declan and Matthias were off making out somewhere, which considering they were dressed as sexy C-3P0 and R2-D2 their canoodling was a little…odd. Margo was chatting it up with anyone with a pulse, she’s a serial flirt, but never takes anyone home. And I was in the corner shifting my cup back and forth between my hands.

Two pleading blue eyes haunted my vision, his broken voice echoed in my mind. His face when he confirmed what I’d said with a whispered “you love me?” played on repeat.

My eyes scanned the rest of the crowd, Margo’s college friends, old roommates, a few coworkers I don’t know well, and some random strangers. I’d already bumped into a few of the blind dates she had previously set me up with. Their reactions varied from excitable (pink haired Celia, naturally) to strange. One had been fully convinced there was still a chance, despite having zero interaction with him since the ninety minutes we’d spent together back in May.

These run-ins were markedly easier now, I was entirely unflappable in each conversation. Celia was arm in arm with a stunning South Asian drummer dressed as coordinating witches in black silk and lace. I made plans to see her band next month.

Then, a tall flash of horns and a furry mane passed through the crowd. Maddox?

I thought I was unflappable. Now? Consider me flapped.

My eyes followed the mystery figure, from my distance it was tough to see exactly how large they were. Maddox is over seven feet, he’d tower over anyone here, I’m pretty sure his horns would ding the tops of the door frames. The figure moved again, and I followed. My heart sang a bit at even the prospect of getting to spend time with him up here with my friends. If he were here, I wouldn’t have been lurking in the corner, I’d have arms to curl up into. And he’d be thrilled that I ripped my fake mustache off thirty minutes into the party because I couldn’t stand the feeling of the facial fuzz dipping into my drink each time I took a sip. I wondered how he could stand dealing with such a predicament for himself.

I wove through groups to get to the maybe-stranger-maybe-Maddox when Margo stopped me. She was decked out in a “Not a Lot Going on at the Moment” t-shirt, red heart-shaped sunglasses, and a wide brimmed black hat. A curvy, fully tatted Taylor Swift. She looked good .

“You’re a woman on a mission,” she quipped. I stared past her and the figure turned. It was only a (humanly) tall guy wearing some fur covered hooded cloak with horns. Likely a character from a show I’ve never seen. I visibly crumpled with disappointment.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I thought I’d recognized someone here.” Of course he wouldn’t come, especially unaccompanied by me. Especially not after the way we parted a few hours before then. I’d confessed I was falling for him then bolted, immediately. He would have had to walk from my apartment, or worse, take the subway. It was an impossibility, a fleeting fantasy. And still, a part of me imagined that he’d be willing to do it.

“Clearly,” she snickered. “You looked like you were about to tackle the guy.” To be fair, I think I would have. “Mystery man didn’t secure an invite tonight?” She turned my focus back towards her.

It was a genuine question. At this point in any normal relationship, it would be reasonable to start including him at these kinds of things. I’d still been evasive regarding any questioning about him. On Monday I’d mumbled that I spent the weekend with him, mid-week Margo caught me smiling at a text as I swiftly stuffed my phone into my pocket, and Friday I’d discussed vague plans to see him before her party.

None of the beating around the bush or any of my other attempts to make us seem less real than we actually are mattered because I told Maddox I loved him .

I knew when I said it, exactly as I know now, that I really, really, do love him.

A lot had been left unsaid between Maddox and I after that last Saturday. Neither of us were acknowledging the conversation we had to hastily end. He didn’t know about my near miss at the party, he didn’t know how badly I wanted him there.

To avoid dredging up the raw nerve endings of emotion, I had managed to text him as though I didn’t tell him I loved him through tears after running off. He didn’t bring it up either. He knows me well enough not to pry at my hard, sharp edges. The ball is in my court, and I need to take my shot.

It’s not sustainable to live like this, avoidance has gotten me nowhere. For the first time, I’m initiating. I’m running to him instead of away from him.

My hand hovers over his door as I question how he’ll accept me showing up at his apartment unannounced. I rap a few knocks, soft at first, like I’m still hesitant. I’m about to knock harder when he opens the door swiftly. I give him a grin, and, unsurprisingly, he welcomes me in, but not without a quizzical glance. I rush past, my arms too full to properly greet him beyond a peck on his cheek.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” He watches me from the doorway, maybe still anticipating that I’ll run off again. I certainly wouldn’t blame him for thinking it.

I whip my head around as I’m unpacking the overstuffed grocery bags onto his counter. “I’m taking you up on your offer. I have a month. And eight recipes I need to think up.”

“Seven,” he responds firmly. “You better include that cake from last weekend. Call it ‘romcom confession apple cake’ or something.” It’s cheesy, it’s something my cynical self would have scoffed it a few months back, but it’s exactly right. I know that every time I make that cake from this day forward I’ll think about the whirlwind of emotions I’d felt that night. How despite myself, I managed to finally admit what I’d already known deep down: I’m in love with Maddox.

“Perfect,” I smirk. “Seven, then.” Maddox crosses the kitchen, opens a drawer, and pulls out a notepad. He clicks the pen a few times, then in neat handwriting he writes out a list.

1. Romcom confession apple cake

2.

He looks up and gestures the pen lazily towards me, waiting to fill in the blank. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

“A key lime coconut cheesecake with bourbon vanilla whipped cream.” I watch him carefully write it down.

“I know a way we can use any extra whipped cream,” he winks after he inks the last letter onto the page. I’d thought the same, the idea of me placing a dollop on my nipples and pelvis sounds hot, but the cleanup sounds like a nightmare. Thinking about sticky sugary sheets makes me twitch uncontrollably, and not in a good way.

“You said you’d help me,” I put my hands on my hips. “Bake first, sex later.”

“Two desserts in one night, I’m a lucky, lucky man,” he growls .

I lean over and slide the notepad and pen over to my side of the island.

3. Chocolate torte

I jot it down right below his list, my wavy script-shorthand contrasts his neat writing. “You got one for my parents and I when my dad was in the hospital. It—It was one of the best desserts I’d had. I thought about it, and you, for days.” He takes the pen and paper back from me and looks at the list.

“You’re nearly halfway there, in that case.”

I put my hands on my hips once the ingredients are laid out on his kitchen island. “I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy for thinking that I could actually pull this off.”

“Hey, hey,” he stands over me and gently tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, the soft fur on the back of his hand grazes my cheek. “You’re not crazy, you have a month, you have whatever resources you need here, and you have me. I’ll be your assistant, your scribe, your cheerleader. Whatever you want me to be for you, I’ll be it, Sigrid.”

I don’t need an assistant or scribe or cheerleader. I just need to be here with Maddox. I need the security of his touch, and the warmth of his presence. And I need to tell him I love him, without the stress and urgency I had before.

I’ve reminded myself of the need to correct my hasty admission multiple times this week. In between meetings, on the subway home, while I made dinner. I’d scripted better, calmer, love confessions. I even said it in the mirror, putting emphasis on a different word each time. “I love you , Maddox. I love you, Maddox. I love you, Maddox.”

I practiced like I’d never said the words before. And I wondered if I hadn’t actually said them properly. All those past relationships when the words slipped out like an exhale without any thought behind them seem to mean nothing now.

“I still love you,” I blurt, completely unraveling any rehearsed plans I had.

“I still love you too…I didn’t realize that could have changed since last weekend,” he chuffs.

“It didn’t,” I reply. “I just needed to say it again, not in a panic, and not in the basement. Because I really do love you, Maddox.”

“Say it often as you want, wherever you want, however you want, because I’ll never get tired of hearing it,” he sighs.