The Perfect Life (3 page)

“Likewise, Monroe. I was thrilled when I heard about the Board’s decision to grant you this chapter of Mending Hearts,” he replied rather formally before tilting his lips up into a shy smile. “We’ve been able to make big strides in just over two years at the Chicago house, and I’ve got faith you’ll do the same here in Boston.”

Breaking our charged stare, he shifted his attention to Colin and they did the whole man-handshake-thing, giving me a few moments to take in the incredibly intriguing Oliver Saxon, while making it look like I was just paying attention to my husband. It wasn’t that I was so much as ogling him, because he wasn’t really the type of guy you ogled—especially in a ballroom full of professional football players and relatively-famous people from the New England area—but instead, I was simply assessing him. By practice, I was an analytical person, and my job was to evaluate people. So, yep, I was totaling assessing him.

He was much younger than I’d assumed when I heard Allison talk about him before. With a name like Oliver Saxon, I thought he’d be approaching senior citizen status, if not already there. And even though this guy was probably still older than my twenty-five years, my initial guess was he was somewhere in his early-to-mid thirties and was still a good couple of decades from applying for his AARP membership.

Sharp, well-defined bone structure was emphasized in his strong cheeks and precisely-angled nose, and his jaw and chin were covered in a thick, closely-trimmed beard that matched the long, chocolate brown hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of his neck. Ranging somewhere between mine and Colin’s height, probably hitting around the six-foot mark, the standard tuxedo option hid both his lean body and fashion personality, but the trendy, thick-framed glasses perched on his nose and the black Puma tennis shoes he wore on his feet gave me a small insight to his nerdy, hipster-vibe.

Just as the two men were wrapping up their cordial how-do-you-dos, Barry Maxwell, head of public relations for the Patriots and a good friend of mine and Colin’s, appeared on the opposite side of my husband with an apologetic smile. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I was wondering if I could steal the big guy away from you all for just a moment. I promise not to keep him long.”

Colin’s concerned eyes intuitively cut over to me, silently asking if I’d be all right for a few minutes while he took care of whatever it was Barry needed. I nodded confidently with a reassuring smile. “Go ahead, babe. I’ll hang out with these guys until you get back, just visiting and preparing for my speech.”

A quick peck on the cheek and he was gone, immediately followed by the Longs, who excused themselves to grab a drink from the bar. I turned around to ask Allison when she wanted to schedule visits to the two properties I’d narrowed the search for the center down to, but someone else had pulled her off to the side, leaving Oliver and me alone.

I prepared myself for the usual anxiety I felt when encountering a one-on-one situation with an unfamiliar man, but it never surfaced. And in its place, a profound sense of fascination filled me. I bit my lip, finding myself oddly excited to be in his presence, and
that
was the part that unsettled me. Dr. Oliver Saxon captivated me in the most unusual manner, though I had no idea why. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

“When we met, we knew-

we were kindred souls;

people like us

only came around once

every blue moon

and I could not tell you

enough

how dazzling it was

to know that for that night

the universe wore

a dress

the color of indigo.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Oliver

SHE WAS EXACTLY
like I expected her to be. Yet I still wasn’t fully prepared for the impact she made when I met her.

Sure, I’d seen pictures and interviews of Colin “Clutch” Cassidy and his Sundance Wife, Monroe Taylor Cassidy, on TV and the internet. Hell, I didn’t even follow sports, but I bought the damn
Sports Illustrated
that featured them on the cover the year before, and then read the in-depth article about how their Good Samaritan volunteer work brought them together in college, and later transformed them into one of the most beloved couples in American society. I’d convinced myself it was because the Mending Hearts foundation was highlighted in the piece—the first and only time my name would ever appear in print in any sports-related publication—but even then, I knew my reasoning was only partially true.

You didn’t have to watch ESPN regularly to know who they were or to find information about them. In the short time they’d been in the public eye as a couple, Colin and Monroe Cassidy had become household names as the entire country applauded, admired, and adored them for their spiritual strength and selfless acts. Anyone and everyone who’d spent any time around them claimed they were the most genuine and authentically nice people they’d ever met. And now I knew they were right.

I also knew she was drop-dead gorgeous; any man who could see wouldn’t argue that fact. A little taller than the average woman, but not towering, runway-model height, Monroe was destined to be beautiful, having been born to childhood-Hollywood-actress Vivian Taylor and the late rock legend Sage Hawthorne. With a combination of her mom’s long, blonde hair and flawless, heart-shaped face, as well as her dad’s striking green eyes and olive complexion, she’d been blessed with both of her parents’ best physical attributes, and the ending result was exquisite. I usually wasn’t the type to gawk at another man’s wife, but nobody, it seemed—neither man, woman, nor child—was immune to the beauty that radiated from her.

And that was only what they saw through photos and video clips. Seeing her in person, talking to her, shaking her hand . . . it was almost like an out-of-body experience. Yes, I was a hot-blooded male who couldn’t help but appreciate her stunning outer appearance, but it was about so much more.
She
was so much more.

The aura around her was warm and bright and overwhelmingly inviting. Her voice was calm and comforting, her touch soft and soothing. And I gathered all that in less than five minutes of being in her presence. Innately, I knew Monroe was one of those people who you could sit down with and spill all of your problems to, and I was positive she was able to console the saddest of hearts and encourage the most despaired of all souls.

“Have you ever been to Boston before?” Her voice broke through the silence between us that had begun to borderline on awkward. I knew I was openly staring, just as she was, and I wondered what she thought of me. Did she have any preconceived notions? How did I measure up? Then, I chastised myself for thinking she’d ever given me a passing thought before that moment. Why would she have?

“No,” I finally responded, once I realized she was still waiting for an answer. “The farthest east I’d ever been before yesterday was Indianapolis.”

She scrunched her tiny nose up like she smelled something foul, but said nothing.

“What? You don’t like Indy?” I asked, praying that was the case and not because the travel deodorant I’d purchased at the airport had chosen that minute to stop working. “It wasn’t my favorite place in the world, but I didn’t think it was that bad when I visited.”

She threw her head back with a deep-rooted belly laugh and my heart skipped a beat at the sound. “No, I have no issue with the city itself,” she clarified. “I’m just not a big fan, because that’s where the Colts are from.”

I blinked hard, thinking perhaps I’d misheard her. “The
who
?”

“The Colts. You know, the football team? They’re the ones who knocked the Pats out of the playoffs the last two years, so I’m still a little bitter.”

I dropped my chin to my chest as embarrassment heated my face.
Of course she was talking about football, Oliver.
Her husband, after all, was the poster boy of the NFL. “Uh, yeah, I, um . . . I should’ve figured that out. Sports aren’t really my thing, so my brain is a little slow in making the connection.”

“Well, what is your thing then?” she probed, pursing her lips in a little smirk as amusement danced in her expressive eyes. “I mean, other than the kids, of course.”

I didn’t hesitate for a single second before blurting out, “Jazz.”

“Jazz?” The surprised look on her face told me I’d caught her off-guard with my answer, but she recovered quickly, keeping the lighthearted tone in her voice. “Jazz what? Jazz hands?” She chuckled at her own words then narrowed her gaze and wagged her index finger at me in a playful manner. “I bet jazz hands are your
thing
. Aren’t they, Dr. Saxon?”

“Only when I’m reenacting
Grease
in the shower,” I replied deadpan, hoping she’d appreciate my dry sense of humor. I knew it wasn’t for everyone.

This time, however, she didn’t miss a beat. “‘You’re the One That I Want’ or ‘Summer Nights’?”

“Those are for novices, Dr. Cassidy.” I shook my head, pretending to be offended. “My favorite is ‘Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee,’ but occasionally . . .” I paused to shimmy my widely-spread jazz hands out to the sides as I twisted my hips back and forth in what could only be described as the worst dance move ever performed. “I’ll bust out with ‘Beauty School Dropout’ if the mood hits me just right.”

Naturally, Allison chose that exact moment to rejoin us, and if my boss didn’t already know I was one peculiar, idiosyncratic dude, she most definitely would’ve had second thoughts about putting me in charge of one of her children’s homes. But, thankfully, she’d figured that out long ago, and realized that for some reason or another, the kids—especially the teenagers—couldn’t get enough of my quirky behaviors. From the time I was a young kid, people would comment about my different personality. They’d tell me it was endearing, but I knew they really meant weird. It never bothered me though; my parents had taught me early on to embrace my individuality, so I did.

“Oliver, darling, there’s a time designated for dancing later this evening when you’ll be able to show-off all those hip moves your kids teach you,” Allison teased, unable to keep the ridiculous grin from spreading across her face, “but they’ve just alerted me it’s time to head toward the stage. We’re going to do the official greeting and introductions, and we all need to get in place. We can play later; let’s go.”

Without waiting for either of us to respond, Allison spun around on her heels and took off toward the grandiose wall of windows, where the makeshift platform had been set up. Before I followed after her, I stole a glance over at Monroe, delighted to find her mouthing the words to “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee” as she flashed her not-so-subtle jazz hands at me. We both exploded in a fit of laughter, only to be quickly silenced by our boss’s warning glare that she threw over her shoulder, just like my parents used to do at church when my sisters and I would act up.

“Come on. Let’s go before we upset Mom,” I joked, offering my elbow to her like a gentleman. “And besides, you can’t be Sandy. I’m her. You have to be Rizzo.”

After a few seconds filled with obvious apprehension on her part and absolute hopefulness on mine, she finally slid her hand inside my arm, very loosely holding onto my lower bicep. I wasn’t sure what caused her hesitation, but it stirred an uneasiness inside of me I wasn’t accustomed to. Surely she had to know I wouldn’t hurt her. My entire life wrapped around helping to heal children who’d been physically and sexually abused, most often by those whom they loved and/or trusted.

“I can’t be Rizzo,” she said softly as she sidled up next to me and we started to move toward where Allison had stopped. “I never smoke, I hardly drink, and the only reputation I have is that I try to live by the highest moral and ethical standards possible.”

“Wow,” I replied, slowing my stride so I could look over at her. “That seems awfully boring. Excuse my bluntness. And it’s not that you need to smoke or drink to have a good time either, but always trying to live up to some preposterous ideals set by society that are impossible to achieve . . . you’re cheating yourself out of a lot of good life moments. Many of my favorite memories came from when I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.”