When the door opened, Dax stood behind it.

  “Hello, Wren. Good to see you.” He gestured for me to come in.

  A waft of his cologne hit me. “You, too, Moody.” I wiped my feet before entering, since it had been raining a bit.

  “Is that my new name?”

  “It’s not only your last name, but you were a bit moody when I first met you, so I think it fits you perfectly.” I smiled. “I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again.”

  “Well, you said third time would be the charm, right?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Here, let me take that from you.” He grabbed my table and settled it in the corner of the foyer.

  “Thank you.” I dropped my bag in the same location and looked up toward the stairwell. “Is Rafe here?”

  “No, actually. He’s with Maren’s mother for the weekend. She lives in Palm Beach, but she’s in town staying at the Ritz. She’s always traveling around the world, and she wanted to spend time with him while she was here. She insisted he stay with her.”

  “Ah. Well, that’s sweet.”

  “I warned her that she shouldn’t expect much in the way of conversation.”

  I nodded sympathetically, but my pulse raced at the realization that we were likely alone. Except for maybe the dog.

  “And Winston?” I asked. “Where’s my buddy?”

  “He’s confined to the back room for now. I didn’t want him bothering you.”

  “He really is no bother.” I rubbed my hands together and looked around. “Is Rafe doing better?”

  “You mean, is he still not talking at all?”

  “I was more referring to the ear infection. But yeah, also that.”

  “His ear is better. Thanks for asking. But unfortunately, he’s still not talking.”

  “Okay.” I frowned. “Well, glad to hear about his ear.”

  As I followed him into the kitchen, he asked, “Can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine?”

  “I can’t have wine. I’m on the job.”

  “Well, I’m gonna open a bottle for myself. You know, the whole need-to-relax-before-the-relaxing-massage thing. If you want a glass, I won’t tell.”

  God, did I need to relax right now. If there were ever a time to break the rules… “Maybe just one,” I blurted before I could change my mind.

  “White or red?”

  “Either is fine.”

  “Red it is, then.”

  I watched as he uncorked the wine. He had such beautiful hands, big and rough-looking. I imagined how his callused fingers might feel against my bare skin, and then shook the thought away. You’re here to work, Wren, not to ogle him.

  He walked a glass of cabernet over and handed it to me. “If you have somewhere else to be later, let me know. I won’t take up too much of your time. We can get right to the massage. I imagine you must have plans on a Friday night.”

  “Not tonight, actually. So it’s no rush.” Taking a sip of my wine, I let my eyes wander around the kitchen. I immediately noticed something on the table. It was a black book with a hard cover and a gold fleur-de-lis on the front. “Is that a journal?”

  “Yes.” He reached over and grabbed it. “Shannon actually designs them.”

  “What’s the significance of the fleur-de-lis?”

  “She’s obsessed with all things New Orleans. She has an online shop of New Orleans memorabilia and trinkets that she makes. She left that journal here for me. She thinks I need to express myself more and suggested I start writing my feelings down in it.” He rolled his eyes.

  “The nerve of her,” I taunted.

  “Not my thing.”

  I shrugged. “Still, she’s right. Journaling is the best. It’s the only way I ever fully express myself. It’s very therapeutic.”

  He took a sip of his wine. “It sounds like more work to me—something I don’t have time for.”

  “It shouldn’t be work. It should just be like a purge of your thoughts, frustrations…anything, really. It doesn’t have to be articulate.”

  “Mine would be filled with expletives, then.”

  “That would be better than nothing. Probably even more therapeutic, actually. I highly recommend it.”

  “Well, since you highly recommend journaling, I must try it.”

  I squinted. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No.” He laughed behind his glass. “I swear. I’m not.”

  It was nice to see him more jovial tonight.

  “I have to confess something, Wren.”

  “Okay. What is it?”

  He set his glass down. “I Googled you.”

  I took a long sip of my wine. “Find anything interesting?”

  “How long have you played the cello?”

  My eyelid twitched, as it often did when I was nervous. I wasn’t sure why knowing he’d watched me play made me jittery.

  “I started lessons when I was eight.”

  “You’re amazing. The song you played during your audition for City Symphony was hauntingly beautiful. That was the video I watched. I’d heard that song many times before, but somehow it never sounded like that.”

  “Bach Cello Suite Number One. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve played that. It feels like the alphabet to me.”

  “Listening to it made me sad in a sense, but not in a bad way… In a way that brought out some things that maybe needed to come out.”

  “The cello is good for that. It has a reputation as one of the saddest of instruments.”

  “I’d have to agree with that.” He leaned back in his chair. “Whatever became of that audition? Why are you massaging people when you should be traveling in some kind of orchestra? You’re certainly talented enough.”

  “That audition was two years ago, and it was for a substitute cellist role, someone who can play at the last minute if one of the regular symphony cellists calls out.” I picked some lint off my pants. “I didn’t get the job, though.”

  “That’s a shame. You’re very good.”

  “I might seem good to you, but I’m not quite good enough for the symphony.”

  “I wanted to hear more than just that song. But I couldn’t find anything else.”

  “You clearly didn’t do enough online research.” I winked.

  He gave me a look. “What am I missing?”

  “I have my own channel.”

  His eyes went wide. “Really…”

  “It’s one of the only ways to get myself out there, to continue practicing and playing so I don’t throw away everything I’ve learned. It keeps me active and professional, and I make a little money on the side, depending on the number of views.” I grabbed my phone and pulled up my channel on the streaming site. “It’s not under my name, which is why it didn’t come up,” I explained as I showed him.

  “RenCello. Spelled with no W.” He smiled. “Ten-thousand followers. Very cool. I’ll check it out. I admire your perseverance. I would imagine this channel is not something that’s easy to keep going when you’re working another job.”

  “Well, with music, it’s first and foremost about the passion. You have to make the time. I mean, my dad was the one who chose to enroll me in lessons years back, but ultimately, I made the decision to continue because I love it.”

  He stared at me a moment. “I’m curious about you. Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

  “What made you ask for permission all of a sudden?” I teased, trying to keep it light. “Your massage appointments are definitely not the norm.”

  “You think it’s strange that I want to know more about you?”

  “No. I just have a hard time understanding you, in general. You were so aloof when I first met you. And you’re still guarded when it comes to yourself, yet you have this curiosity at the same time.” I chuckled. “You know what you remind me of?”

  “What?”

  “A deer.”

  Dax massaged his chin scruff. “Well, that’s a first. I’ve been called many things, but a deer is not one of them. Care to explain?”

  “My dad’s mother lives in New Hampshire. Growing up, I’d play in the woods by her house. This beautiful deer would appear from time to time and give me this curious stare. But whenever I’d approach, it would run away. It wanted to stare at me, but as soon as I returned the attention, it would run.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t want to share myself or give up control, but I do like learning about other people.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, because I have nothing to hide. What do you want to know?” I straightened in my chair.

  He took a drink of his wine and set it down. “You said your dad raised you alone. Obviously, I have a vested interest in learning more about that scenario because of my own situation. What was that like for you, not having a mother around from a young age?”

  I twirled the stem of my glass between my fingers. “I hit the jackpot with my parents. Even though I only had my mom until I was five, I have fond memories of her. And my dad helps to ensure that I never forget her. There were always photos of her around, and not a day goes by that he’s not sharing some story about her. He also worked really hard to make sure I never felt different because I didn’t have a mother around. Of course, I felt the loss, but my father really filled both roles as best he could. Dad has always been my rock. We’re lucky to have each other. I couldn’t imagine life without him.”

  “Your parents didn’t have any other kids?”

  “No. My mother was unable to have children, and my father never remarried. Like Rafe, I was adopted. Except I was a baby when my parents got me.”

  He scratched his chin. “I see.”

  “My birth mother was apparently very young and made the choice many in her situation have to make. She chose not to have contact with me, but I never felt unwanted because my parents gave me all the love in the world. After my mother died, my father taught me that you can find reasons to smile even in the darkest moments. He’s definitely my hero.”

  “He sounds like an amazing guy.”

  “He is.” I smiled.

  “I suppose if you were immersed in music from the age of eight, you were the type of teenager who didn’t get into too much trouble?”

  “Ha.” I chuckled. “Don’t be so sure about that. I gave my father many sleepless nights—getting into cars with boys, sneaking out of the house, et cetera.”

  He flashed me a mischievous look. “I’m curious about the et cetera.”

  I shook my head. “Why do I feel like I’m being interviewed for the privilege of massaging you?”

  “That’s not what this is about. I’m just interested.”

  I tilted my head. “Then it’s only fair if I turn the tables a bit, Bambi.”

  He crossed his arms. “Depends on what you want to know.”

  I came out with it. “I want to know about your wife.”

  You could’ve heard a pin drop.

  Dax swallowed. “Okay…”

  “I know she was older than you. I’m curious about how you met her, I guess.”

  “That’s all you’re curious about?”

  “No. I’m curious about a lot when it comes to you, but I haven’t had the balls to ask about most of it. But since you’re being so intrusive…”

  He looked down a moment. “When I met Maren, she was my boss, actually. I was successful in my own right at the time, but she was a little further up the chain. She didn’t pursue me until I left the company for another job.” He poured himself some more wine and lifted the bottle toward me, but I held my hand up. I wasn’t going to have any more.

  “I had a great deal of respect and admiration for her from the moment I met her. It wasn’t love at first sight for me, but it was a very strong like. She made no secret of the fact that she was interested in me once it was appropriate for her to express that, and I was flattered to be the object of her affection. In time, our relationship grew romantic. But I always viewed us as more of a partnership of mutual respect than your typical fairytale love story. We had our issues. A lot of them—mostly having to do with the fact that I wasn’t completely ready for marriage when we eloped one crazy weekend. But I was determined not to fail and convinced myself that the connection we had was strong enough to make a marriage. I have an issue with failure, so I vowed to make it work. We were still a work in progress when she died.” He exhaled. “She was an amazing woman, and her death was a tremendous loss to this world. She truly cared about people, myself included. I didn’t deserve her. And she certainly didn’t deserve to die.” He shut his eyes and muttered, “That’s the very short version of the story.”

  As brief as he might have been, it was a lot to take in. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  His voice was barely audible. “Thank you.”

  “The fact that she adopted Rafe proves what a wonderful person she was. You said he was eight when she got him, right?”

  He nodded. “When she set out to adopt, she insisted on an older kid, someone who might otherwise not have been adopted so easily. She really loved him. And he loved her. I think that’s why his relationship with me got off to such a rocky start. When I moved in, he saw me as a threat. That certainly wasn’t my intention, but he was very protective of her.”

  “That’s sweet, though.”

  Dax stared down into his glass. “This is the most I’ve opened up about it, sadly.” He looked up at me. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me want to do that. Maybe it was the cello—some kind of weird musical hypnotism.” He shook his head. “You seem too good to be true, Wren.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re very balanced for someone who lost her mother so young. That makes me hopeful for Rafe, I suppose. The musical talent. Good girl who loves her dad. You appear to have a decent head on your shoulders. What am I missing here?”

  I laughed. “I don’t have any dead bodies hidden or anything, but good girl is not exactly a fitting description.”

  His eyes filled with mirth. “I’m intrigued.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not getting my whole life story over one glass of wine, Moody.”

  “You can tell me more during the massage, then?”

  “Nope. I don’t talk to clients during the massage. That would impair your ability to shut out the world and relax.”

  “What if I want to talk because I don’t like silence?”

  “Then you’re out of luck.” Feeling suddenly anxious to get started, I checked my phone. “I should probably set up. Where do you want me?”

  A look of disappointment crossed his face. I think he wanted to keep talking.

  “We can do it in my office, like the first attempt. You’re not allowed to touch anything but me, though,” he teased.

  My nipples stiffened, his comment reminding me that I was about to touch him for the first time. Feeling flustered, I cleared my throat. “Very funny. And don’t worry. I’m never touching a damn thing in your office again.”

  “Okay.” He got up from his seat, taking my empty glass to the counter. Dax then fetched my table and bag from the foyer, and I followed him into the other room.

  “I forget what I’m supposed to do,” he said. “You’ll have to direct me.”

  “Well, it’s your choice whether you want to take your pants off or not.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “You seriously massage men who are naked under a towel?”

  “Yes. Sometimes. Other times, they leave their underwear on. And don’t even think about that other question in your head, because the answer is fuck no, I’ve never given a happy ending, and I never would.”

  His eyes widened. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

  “You may not have thought I did it, but you thought about it. Because everyone seems to wrongly associate massages, even legitimate ones, with happy endings. We get a bad rap.”

  “Maybe in the back of my mind I thought about it for a fleeting second, but only in the sense that many men are pigs, and I would imagine you must have come across a few bad apples who might have tried something. It can’t be safe going into strange homes.”

  “I’ve been pretty lucky—only one or two bad apples. Our clients are all background checked and vetted. So sketchy people are very rare. And if someone gives me a weird vibe, I just stop the massage. I carry mace as a precaution, too.”

  “Ah. So, I’ve been under the threat of getting maced this entire time. I shouldn’t have pried so much.”

  “You’re one intrusive question away from getting hit with it.” I winked. “Nah. You’re safe.”

  He pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead.

  I chuckled. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “You’re stalling again because you’re still not comfortable with the idea of this massage, for some reason.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  He folded his hands together. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road, then. How do I make this easier for you?”

  “You signed up for a full-body massage. It’s easier if you take your pants off since I’ll be working on your legs. You can leave your underwear on. I put a towel over your backside anyway.”

  He swallowed. “Okay.”

  “But seriously, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  “I’m comfortable with not making your job more difficult,” he said.

  “I’ll step outside so you can get…comfortable.”

  “Comfortable. We’ve used that word a lot, haven’t we? So it’s ironic how uncomfortable I am right now.” Dax laughed.

  “You won’t be for much longer,” I said matter-of-factly. If there was one thing I knew, it’s that I was good at my job, and he’d be feeling good and relaxed in no time.

  I stepped out of the room. Despite putting on a front of calmness, I was nervous to touch him. I refused to show it, though. If he called me out, I’d have to admit that he made me nervous. I did this for a living. It was supposed to be a piece of cake. And I was only flustered because I was attracted to him. I definitely wouldn’t be admitting that.