Messing With Mac

whoever had raised Mac.

“So why don’t the two of you join us for lunch?” his father asked.

Taylor looked at Mac, interested to see if he’d allow this.

“Sorry.” Mac kissed both his parents, then gripped Taylor’s arm. “We have to go.” And he dragged her out of there so fast her head spun.

“Smooth,” she said when they were both out on the busy street. “Making sure I couldn’t drill the parentals.”

“Hey, I was just making sure they couldn’t drill you. I love them, but believe me, they’re ruthless matchmakers.” He stopped at a hot dog vendor on the corner. “One or two dogs?” he asked Taylor.

She gaped at him. “This is the lunch you offered me? The one that is supposed to make me sigh in bliss?”

“One or two?”

South Village had nearly as many cafes and restaurants as it did people, and most of them were excellent. On weekends, 20,000 people from all over flocked to the streets to experience the food. It was one of her favorite things about living here, something she hadn’t been able to afford lately, and Mac, who had earned a good chunk of her money recently, was going to buy her hot dogs? From a street vendor? “Two,” she sighed, and made him buy her barbecue chips, too. She didn’t say a word as he took their food and started walking, she just followed.

Which brought her to another bone of contention. When had she ever followed a man?

They walked around the block to the back of the town hall, where the botanical gardens bloomed in vivid, vibrant colors. In the light of day, they dazzled in every shape and hue, and Taylor had to admit, just walking through on one of the brick trails, with the scents and sights, she sighed in sheer pleasure of being outside.

They sat down and he handed her a hot dog. “Ketchup?”

Shaking her head, she took a bite. It was heavenly. Damn, she hated when he was right. “So…why didn’t you tell me?”

Mac was suddenly very busy eating. “Tell you what?”

“That you come from the same kind of world I do?”

“We don’t.”

His parents had just about dripped elegant sophistication. “Of course we did, I just met-”

“You just met the two nosiest, bossiest, most interfering parents on the face of this earth, yes. And they love me, ridiculously so, but they never sent me away to schools for years on end, and they sure as hell never ignored me, not my hopes and dreams, not me as a person. Not once.” He nudged her arm with his, his eyes painfully deep. “That never should have happened to you either, Taylor.”

All her life she’d felt like a bug on a slide, people waiting for her to make a fool out of her family’s name, people waiting for her to fall on her face. And all her life there hadn’t been many to understand what that had been like. Only Jeff.

But Mac…he was looking at her with empathy, too. Because he understood. He understood her.

While thinking about this, she inhaled every last chip in the bag, and didn’t even flinch over the calorie content. “What I mean is,” she said, trying again.

“We both came from considerable wealth.”

Some of the warmth faded from his eyes. “I don’t consider myself that way.”

“Oh, come on Mac, I saw your mom’s shoes.

Prada,” she said with a sigh, licking mustard off her thumb. She started in on the second hot dog. “And the diamond earrings. Stunning. You can’t tell me they don’t pull down mind-boggling salaries.”

With careful consideration, he took his last bite of hot dog. Polished off his soda. Leaned back, away from her, he slid his sunglasses over his eyes as he viewed the incredible colors around them. “I suppose they do.”

“So all those times you called me a princess? Why didn’t you ever say anything about it?”

“And when should I have done that? When we first met and I needed your job?” He set down his drink and stood. “Or maybe when you were snubbed by those women at the historical society meeting? Yeah, maybe I should have told you then, when you were smarting over what they’d said to you.”

Shocked at his bitter tone, she rose, too. “I’m just saying, that as two people who share some of the same experiences-”

“No. That we haven’t done. We don’t share anything.” He dumped their trash and took her back to the truck.

She’d expected the silence. She didn’t expect him to drive in the opposite direction of which she lived. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Well, then, chances are, you’re not going to like this,” he said grimly.

He turned into The Tracks. The streets here had gone through changes. Like many others in town, the buildings dated back to the turn of the twentieth century. But somewhere in the past fifty years, the neighborhood had started to go. Many of the houses had been declared off-limits due to dangerous conditions. Slowly, with the resurgence of neighbor hood pride and the Historical Society’s interference, some of that had started to change. Houses had been purchased, slated for rehaul, and were in various stages of renovation.

They made a left and ended up on a cul-de-sac.

Houses gleamed with the quaint and charming aura of the old redone.

Except for one.

The two-story Victorian, with its busted turrets, cracked paint and lovely but crooked wraparound porch hadn’t been touched, though there did seem to be signs of life. The lawn had been mowed. There was a potted plant on an upstairs windowsill.

Mac parked in front of it. “Home sweet home,” he said wryly. “Come on.”

The foyer had orange shag carpet. “From 1972,” he said, disgusted. “The idiots put it over hardwood floors. I’ll be restoring that soon as I can, before I go blind from the glow.”

The living room had an ornately carved fireplace, painted nauseous green. “The 1970s were a bitch on good taste,” he said. “Green and orange should have been outlawed. I’m going to restore that, too.”

The kitchen was a treasure trove of nooks and crannies, but there the cabinet doors had been removed, the edgings painted in black.

“Not sure what the hell year someone tortured this poor kitchen, but it’s so bad I’ll probably start here.” He looked at her from inscrutable eyes. “If I ever get out of debt.”

“Debt?”

His expression was grim, and definitely said “back off.” Fine. But she resented his obvious thought process-that because she’d seen his parents and knew his background, that she’d assumed he had money. “You’re an amazing talent when it comes to renovation,” she said slowly. “You need to get into some of South Village’s renovation projects. There’s lots of money there.”

“I plan to. After your building is finished, my resume is complete. I have several bids in with the town council, bids I’m staking everything on.”

“So I’m a stepping stone.”

“If you want to look at it that way.”

“A stepping stone, and apparently a gold digger as well.”

He winced and rubbed the day’s growth of beard on his jaw.

The sound of it made her belly quiver, but temper took precedence. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re showing me all this to make sure I know you don’t have any money like your parents. That pisses me off, Mac.”

“Look, I sold everything I had to get into this place. I think I even promised the bank my firstborn child. I’m feeling a little protective.”

Which, she figured, was as much an apology as she was going to get.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said.