Flirting with Forever

by Jennifer Bernard

  “I’ll buy her a steak.” The mention of food made him startle. “Did we ever eat anything?”

  She burst out laughing. “We didn’t! Are you hungry?”

  “Not for food.” He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her on top of him. “But I’m a bottomless pit when it comes to you. Being with you, talking with you, anything with you, I’m not picky.”

  She stretched out until all parts of their bodies touched, her breasts soft against his chest, her thighs nestled deliciously against his, her nose snuggled into his neck. “You’re awfully sweet when you’re being sweet. And you smell so nice. Like beeswax with a hint of lemon.”

  “That sounds like something used to polish furniture.”

  “I’ll polish your furniture. Especially this fine piece.” She lifted her hips to make room for her hand, and touched his exhausted penis. It didn’t give so much as a stir. “Maybe another time.”

  He ran his hands down her back and she relaxed against him. “Ian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t tell anyone else about my miscarriage.”

  “I won’t. But as you said, it’s not uncommon. Maybe it would be helpful to get some support from your friends.”

  “I’m more of a lone wolf now. They’ve put up with enough of my mess already.”

  It didn’t sound like “mess” to him, it sounded like heartbreak.

  “Besides, we’re still getting to know each other again as grownups. I don’t want to scare them off.”

  “That wouldn’t happen. I’m confident of that.” Her skin was so smooth under his strokes. His hand glided up and down her back, lingering on each little knob of her vertebrae.

  “Why?”

  “Because the grownup Chrissie is the only Chrissie I know, and she’s pretty spectacular.”

  A short pause. He thought he heard a snore, but then she spoke. “If you’re angling for a blow job or something, you’re already up to like, five. I respond very well to flattery.”

  “I’m very bad at flattery. It’s a skill I’ve never mastered, along with flirtation. I’m too attached to the truth.”

  “But you’re so good at flirtation now. Give yourself some credit.” He could tell from the way she mumbled the words that she really was half asleep by now. Maybe he was putting her to sleep with his caresses.

  “I’m good at flirting with you because I like you,” he said softly. “And I’m not flattering you when I say that you’re spectacular. I’m just telling you the truth as I see it. I’m not good at anything else.” This time he definitely heard a snore.

  Good. That meant he could keep talking with no fear that he would scare her away. “So if you try to dismiss what I say as nothing but flattery, you’ll be incorrect. And there’s no point in my trying to flirt with anyone else. I won’t be able to. That was why I could never do it before. It never felt like the truth. Not until I met you.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Never in her wildest dreams would Chrissie have predicted that sex with Ian would be as mind-blowing as it was. She’d figured that he’d be just as reserved in bed as he was in conversation. Maybe a little awkward, the way he was when he tried to flirt.

  None of that was the case. Over the next couple of weeks, she discovered that he was open to anything; maybe it was his experimental scientific-method side. Nothing felt off-limits with him. And his tendency toward awkwardness—out of bed—meant that she never felt that he was criticizing her.

  “Is it…okay?” she’d asked anxiously when Ian had first buried his head between her legs. He’d completed the first outrageously arousing stroke of his tongue and looked up at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, not too…much?” Dustin used to mock her for getting too wet. After the first couple of times, he’d refused to go down on her again. He’d even used the word “ew.”

  Ian’s dark eyebrows had drawn together in confusion. “I still don’t know what you mean, but whatever it is, the answer is yes. It’s okay. At least for me. Is it okay for you?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” Lying back, she’d flicked that little hang-up to the curb and let him lick her until she’d soared to release. And she’d loved every second of it.

  And of course she’d returned the pleasure by feasting on that thick cock of his until he practically ripped his sheets to shreds trying to contain himself.

  Fuck you anyway, Dustin.

  There, that was one ghost who could take a hike.

  Being with Ian filled her with confidence and bright, joyful energy. She finally felt able to tackle what needed to be done at Yatesville. When she wasn’t flying for Mediguard or spending the night in his bed, she devoted herself to getting the property up and running again. The plumbing required some work, and so did the electricity, and everything needed a deeper clean.

  The more time she spent there, the more she felt her grandfather’s presence. Bits of memory came back to her in pieces, especially from the last year before she’d left. Her grandfather had gotten more distracted, more solitary, more difficult—more of everything he already was. Funny how she’d simply refused to think about all that after she left.

  Sometimes she talked to him out loud. “Would you hate it if I sold this property? Why didn’t you leave any instructions? Why didn’t you dump this on someone else? Why me? Why did you banish me?”

  No answer, of course. But it felt good to vent like that.

  At night, she’d tell Ian everything she’d accomplished at Yatesville, down to the tiniest detail, and he always cheered her on. She often made dinner, unless he was back early enough to make his favorite pasta with olives. He told her some of the fascinating neurological cases he’d encountered—a patient who’d suddenly begun speaking French, for instance—and how he’d been Bo’s champion ever since he tried his first lipstick. Chrissie told him about how she’d asked her mother who her father was, and all her mother would say was that he was an “itinerant fisherman,” which she’d thought was his name for the longest time.

  Bit by bit, they filled in the blank spaces of each other. And Chrissie found connections she never would have imagined. Both of them masked deep emotion, Ian with his awkward nerdiness, Chrissie with her jokes. They both felt a step or two off the beaten track, looking in from the outside.

  Except when they were together. Then they were on the inside, and the rest of the world far away.

  When Yatesville was in good enough shape, Chrissie made a decision. She tracked down Toni at the gym where she worked out and occasionally taught martial arts to kids.

  Her friend was dancing with a punching bag, bouncing on her feet and glaring at the poor vinyl sack.

  “Toni. Toni!”

  Toni gave the bag a whirling kick, then stilled it with her wrapped hands. “What? I was meditating.”

  “That’s meditating?”

  “Toni Del Rey style, yeah. What’s up?”

  “I’ve decided to move to Yatesville. Also, I’ve decided not to call it Yatesville anymore. I already have my stuff packed into Prince Valiant. I called you but you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “I never do when I’m meditating.” Toni wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her bandaged hand. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel rushed now.”

  Her dry tone made Chrissie laugh. “You’ve been incredibly patient with me.” She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “I really appreciate you putting me up all this time. And putting up with me.”

  “It’s no big deal, Chrissie. You’re my friend. Come on.”

  Something Ian had said a while back flashed through her mind—that her friends would like the grownup version of her just as much as the kid. She wanted that to be true, but her harsh lessons of relying on herself were hard to shake.

  “And if you get lonely out there, you’re always welcome to come back. I should have it nice and messy again in no time.”

  “As much as I love messes, I think it’s time I cleaned up some of my own. And Ohlson�
��s. I need to make some decisions about that place.”

  Toni bounced from foot to foot, probably to stay warm. “I get it. But call me anytime you need company. And the Olde Salt’s always there. Probably will be forever. And so will I.”

  Chrissie lifted her eyebrows at the hint of resignation in Toni’s voice. This was the second time she’d gotten the sense that Toni was tired of tending bar.

  But that was a conversation for another time. She really had to go, since Shuri and Prince Valiant were waiting and a big storm was on its way. Forecasters were warning of high winds and several inches of snow. She wanted to make it to Yatesville—God, that name just wouldn’t go away—before the roads got too sketchy.

  “Thank you,” she told Toni. “You’re an amazing friend and I’m sorry I made fun of your toaster oven and your shack.”

  Toni flung her arms open. Sweat glued her sports bra to her chest and dripped down her taut abdomen. “Hug it out?”

  Chrissie backed away. “Air hug?”

  Toni laughed and they both embraced the empty air in front of them.

  Thirty

  “Our first night in Yatesville,” she told Shuri as she stepped onto the grate at the front door and knocked the snow off her boots. “Here are the rules. No chasing bunny rabbits or voles. Or ghosts. That part’s my job.”

  She opened the door and Shuri trotted inside. Chrissie trundled through the door with her overloaded backpack and a suitcase in each hand. Her dog made a quick tour of the space, sniffing vigorously, then flopped into a corner and curled up.

  So many people had offered to help her move in—with Ian at the top of that list—but somehow Chrissie had felt she needed to do this on her own. For at least one night, she needed to allow the familiar sounds and smells of this property to soak in. Tomorrow, she’d invite Ian over, and she’d show off the barbecue skills she’d picked up in Kansas City and they’d have another night of fantastic sex.

  Or maybe they’d skip dinner again and go right to the orgasms. She was fine with that too.

  She turned on the propane heater, hoping there was enough fuel left to keep things warm until she could get a good fire going. Gramps must have installed it recently, because when she was growing up he’d refused to rely on fossil fuels.

  His pride and joy was the rocket stove he’d installed in the living room. It was a different kind of woodstove that fired very hot and piped heat through a concrete bench that took up half of the room. The bench radiated enough BTUs to warm the entire house, and if you layered cushions on top of it you could read happily for hours. She used to spend much of a winter’s day curled up on the rocket stove bench, doing schoolwork.

  A ghost sat right there, she thought, amused at the mental image. A girl with a book, dreams flowing like smoke from her head. She’d had so many dreams back then. There was the epic saga she’d started about the Athabascans who had disappeared into the glacier. The ice people, she’d called them. And what about the shapeshifter stories she’d written about Lost Harbor? In those, all the familiar citizens of Lost Harbor had a secret identity as some kind of animal, but only some of them knew it.

  Oh yes, she’d had a million ideas back then. She and Toni had dreamed about turning the lighthouse into a dance club for their friends. Her grandfather had put a quick stop to that.

  He’d never liked her ideas for Yatesville. So why had he left it to her? Because she was loyal, according to Ian. Loyal. What exactly did he mean by that?

  She searched in a nook by the rocket stove where the lighter used to live. There it was, just like always. As she made a fire in the rocket stove, she thought back to when it was first built. Ohlson had been in a sociable phase, and he’d invited a group to the house to learn from the process. She’d been only eight or so, and still remembered serving bowls of chili to the crew.

  In those days her grandfather had been full of energy and bursting with plans—that time had been fun. So what had changed and why?

  She put the lighter back in its little nook, got to her feet and watched the flames flicker behind the glass door of the stove.

  On impulse, she took out her phone and called her mother. She only had one bar of service, but maybe it would be enough. Gramps had always refused to install a booster no matter how hard she lobbied him.

  “Hi Mama. Where are you?”

  That was always her first question, because her mom’s schedule was always changing.

  “Indianapolis.”

  “Exciting.”

  “How are ya, honey? How’s the place?”

  Her mother always referred to Yatesville that way, as if she refused to even give it a name.

  “You’d barely recognize it. Everything’s draped in gold lame and bare-chested manservants keep bringing me martinis.”

  Her mother chuckled. “In other words, it’s exactly the same. More power to you for going back. Better you than me.”

  Chrissie’s hackles rose. “It’s not that bad to be here.”

  “Good. I’m happy to hear that. Have you decided what you want to do with it?”

  “Not yet. I did meet with a real estate agent.”

  “Anything I can do to help, you let me know. I have some ideas about where you could invest the money. There may be some ways to avoid the capital gains tax.”

  “I haven’t decided anything yet, Mama. I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Make it quick, because I leave for the airport in a few minutes.”

  That was how it always was with her mother. She was always about to depart, or just landed, or shutting off her phone for departure. Always on the move.

  Was that how Chrissie was too? Like mother, like daughter?

  Was that how she wanted to be?

  She walked around the rocket stove into the kitchen and filled a tea kettle with water.

  “Your question?” her mother prompted.

  “Were you always unhappy here, Mama? Or was there a time when it was a fun adventure?”

  “Ugh, you’re really going to make me think about the past? What’s the point, kiddo? Best to keep it moving.”

  “Can you just answer the question, Mama? It’s not that complicated.”

  Her mother released an exaggerated sigh. “I have some happy memories.”

  “But something changed, right? All of you left, you and your brothers.”

  “Honey, I stayed as long as I could,” she said defensively.

  “I’m not blaming you. But did you leave because you wanted to do something different, or did you leave because Gramps changed?”

  “Haven’t I told you a million times? I left because there wasn’t anything there for me—except you, of course. I wanted you to come too, but your grandfather insisted you should be able to choose. I’ve never understood why you chose Lost Harbor over the rest of the world. I really need to hop in the car now. Does that answer your question?”

  Chrissie folded her lips together. Her mother was no help. She didn’t like thinking about the past. She had the story already cemented in place in her memory.

  “I know now why I wanted to stay,” she said slowly.

  “Because of your friends, right?”

  “I said that. But it wasn’t the whole reason.”

  “Then why? Make it speedy, honey. I gotta go.”

  “I think I was worried about Gramps. I didn’t want him to be alone.”

  Her mother gave a scoffing laugh. “That man never needed help from anyone. He liked being alone.”

  “Yes, but something was changing with him. Remember when I called you in a panic because he wouldn’t come out of the well house and I was afraid he’d freeze?”

  “He was always so stubborn. I told you not to worry.”

  “But I did worry.”

  “Well, that was a big waste of time. Honestly, I was happy when he kicked you out. You should have come with me when I left. I’ve always thought so.”

  Chrissie gritted her teeth. “You’d better get moving, Mama. Those inflight b
everages won’t serve themselves. Hey, did I tell you I’m flying medivac choppers part-time?”

  “I guess Ohlson’s crazy homeschooling paid off. You walked away with some good skills.”

  “Yeah. Fly safe. Love you.” After she ended the call, she stood for a moment staring at the kitchen sink. It was enameled cast iron, and had come from the dump. Someone had discarded it during a remodel, but Gramps had seen its value. Ohlson Yates saw value where other people didn’t.

  But where did that leave her?

  The tea kettle whined, startling her. She opened the cupboard where mason jars of loose tea used to be. One of the fall projects had been to harvest herbs from the greenhouse and dry them for winter storage.

  In fact, her grandfather had been picking basil on that last day, the day he’d kicked her out. She’d promised to help him, but she’d been late.

  “That’s enough,” he’d thundered when she’d skidded into the greenhouse an hour after the appointed time. “It’s clear you don’t want to be here anymore. Go on! Get out! Go find yourself. Call your mother. She’ll help you. Go on. Out. I don’t need you here. Go pack.”

  She’d dashed out of the greenhouse, in shock, stricken to her core. She kept expecting Gramps to change his mind. But he hadn’t. And then anger had swept her out of town on its scarlet, heedless wings.

  She closed her eyes, conjuring her grandfather’s face in the greenhouse, surrounded by the lush greenery of basil and oregano and thyme.

  His eyes had been clear. His words lucid. He’d meant every one of them.

  But why?

  She abandoned the tea and filled a glass with water, then brought it with her into the living room. After adding more wood to the fire, she sat cross-legged on the floor and watched the flames.

  “You’re a hard man to figure out, Gramps,” she said out loud. “First you banish me. Then you leave me everything. I’ve got whiplash.” She took a long sip of cool water. It slid down her throat like pure liquid crystal.

  “Remember when I tried to sell this incredible water you produced? You took me to the dump and I collected glass bottles. You helped me boil and disinfect them. Then I set up a kind of lemonade stand on the boardwalk to sell to tourists.”