Marry Me, Mackenzie!. Joanna SimsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Dylan crossed his arms loosely in front of his body and shook his head. “How long has it been? Five, six years?”
“Ten,” Mackenzie said too quickly and then added more nonchalantly, “Give or take.”
“Ten years.” Dylan nodded as he tried to remember the last time he had seen her. When it hit him, he snapped his fingers. “Jett’s wedding, right? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you right away—but, in my defense, Mackenzie, you’ve changed.”
“Yeah, well...losing a hundred pounds will do that to a person,” Mackenzie said. She was watching him closely; it still didn’t seem to be registering with him that they had slept together after Jett’s reception.
“A hundred pounds?” he repeated, surprised. “I don’t remember you needing to lose that much.”
“You’d be one of the few.” Mackenzie heard that old defensiveness creep into her tone.
Several seconds of silence slipped by before Dylan asked, “So—how’s Jett doing nowadays? Still married?”
“Uh-uh.” Mackenzie shook her head. “The marriage didn’t work out. But he’s got custody of both kids, so that’s the upside of that situation.”
“Does he live around here, too?”
“No. He owns a hot-rod shop up in Paradise, California. He wanted to be closer to Dad and he thought a small town would be better for the girls.”
“A hot-rod shop, huh? So wait a minute—did Jett do this restoration?” Dylan asked with a nod toward her car.
“Yep.” Mackenzie nodded proudly. Her older brother had managed to build a lucrative career out of a passion he shared with their dad.
“Man—I’m telling you what, he did a fantastic job on this Chevy. I really respect that he kept it true to the original design. I’ve gotta tell you, this’s pretty amazing timing running into you like this because I’ve been looking for someone to restore my Charger. I gotta get her out of storage and back out on the road.”
“You should check out his website—High-Octane Hot Rods.”
“High-Octane Hot Rods. I’ll do that.” Dylan hadn’t stopped smiling at her since he’d realized she was Jett’s little sister. “So, tell me about you, Mackenzie. Are you married? Got any kids?”
Instead of answering his question, Mackenzie slipped behind the wheel of the car. “Listen—I wish I could spend more time catching up, but I’ve really gotta go.”
“No problem,” Dylan said easily, his hands resting on the door frame so he could close the door for her. “We’re bound to run into each other again.”
Mackenzie sent him a fleeting smile while she cranked the engine and shifted into gear. Fate had unexpectedly forced her hand and now she was just going to have to figure out how to deal with it.
Once out of Dylan’s neighborhood, Mackenzie drove to the nearest public parking lot. She pulled into an empty space away from the other cars, fished her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed her best friend’s number with shaky fingers.
“Rayna...?”
“Mackenzie? What’s wrong? Why do you sound like that? Did something happen to Hope?”
“No.” Mackenzie slouched against the door. “She’s fine.”
“Then what’s wrong? You sound like something’s wrong.”
“I just ran into Dylan.” There was a tremor in her voice.
“Dylan who?”
“What do you mean, Dylan who?” Mackenzie asked, irritated. “Dylan Axel.”
“What?” Now she had Rayna’s attention. “You’re kidding!”
“No.” Mackenzie rubbed her temple. She could feel a migraine coming on. “I’m not kidding.”
“Where in the world did you run into him?”
“At his condo. In Mission Beach.”
“He lives in Mission Beach?”
“Apparently so.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Delivering cupcakes to Jordan’s fiancé’s birthday party,” Mackenzie said as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “Dylan is Ian’s best friend.”
Rayna didn’t respond immediately. After a few silent seconds, her friend said, “Oh. Wow. Are you okay?”
“I feel like I’m suffocating.”
“Anxiety,” Rayna surmised.
“Probably.” Mackenzie put her free hand over her rapidly beating heart.
“Just close your eyes and take in long, deep breaths. You’ll feel better in a minute.”
“Okay...”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m parked. I didn’t feel...stable enough to drive.”
“That was smart,” Rayna said. “Look—just take your time, pull yourself together and then come over. We’ll figure this out. Hope’s still at the barn?”
“Yeah. I pick her up at seven, after they bed down the horses.”
“Charlie’ll be home by the time you get here—we’ll commiserate over pasta,” Rayna said in her typical take-charge tone.
“Thank you.” Comfort food with friends sounded like a great idea.
“And, Mackenzie?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s going to be okay,” Rayna said. “God is answering our prayers.”
Rayna was one of the pastors for her nondenominational church of like-minded hippies and saw all life’s events through the lens of a true believer.
“Hope’s prayers,” Mackenzie clarified. “Hope’s prayers.”
“Hope’s prayers are our prayers. Aren’t they?” Rayna countered gently. “Listen—I’ll put on a pot of coffee and I’ll see you when you get here. Be safe.”
Mackenzie hung up the phone but didn’t crank the engine immediately. Her mind was racing but her body was motionless. After ten minutes of taking long, deep breaths, Mackenzie finally felt calm enough to drive and set off for her friend’s Balboa Park bungalow. Rayna was right. Her daughter’s prayers were her prayers. She just hadn’t been prepared for this prayer to be answered so quickly.
* * *
“Little one!” Molita Jean-Baptiste, the bakery manager, poked her head into the kitchen. “There’s a young man out here who wants to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Mackenzie said as she slid a large pan of carrot-cake cupcakes into the oven. “I’ll be right there.”
Mackenzie closed the door of the industrial baking oven and then wiped her hands on a towel before she headed for the front of the bakery. She put a welcoming, professional smile on her face as she pushed the swinging doors apart and walked through. But her smile dropped for a split second when she saw Dylan standing next to one of the display counters.
“Hi,” Dylan greeted her with his friendly, boyish smile. “Nice place.”
“Thank you.” Mackenzie glanced over at Molita who was restocking the cases and pretending to mind her own business. “Are you here to order cupcakes?”
“No.”