by Amelia Wilde
He sits back drinking his beer while his eyes never leave me. “Now that we know each other better, can you tell me what’s the deal with Hawthorne C. Foster?”
“What?”
“He parked his Mercedes right outside Mom’s home, what was I supposed to do?” That smirk-shrug combo eases my shoulders. Why was I concerned about his question? My imagination running wild, thinking that my boring boyfriend could be some kind of spy or drug dealer. Nope, he just parked in front of the wrong house. “I had to run his plate.”
I pop a handful of candy inside my mouth, enjoying them as I consider my answer. “Hmm.” Tilting my head, I observe him.
“Hmm.” I stop to think about his bizarre question. Who is this guy? A stranger parks his car outside his property and boom, he has the swat squad on speed dial. “Curiosity, huh?”
He shrugs. “He waited in the car for thirty minutes, then he came over and sat right where you are sitting for another thirty. Mom lives right next to this house, I had to do something.”
“So you like to snoop around and play secret agent.” A chortle burst from my lips. I’m finding this exchange amusing. He reminds me of Dad. The man used to scare boys. He asked too many questions when they picked me up for a date and threatened them with his riffle—Dad owned a riffle. For a quick moment, I imagine an older version of Anderson with a teenage daughter, him following her around and running backgrounds on any guy who dares to walk close by her. “There’s no deal with Heath. What’s the deal with you?”
His eyes open wide, he touches his chest lightly with his left hand and mouths, Me?
“Normal people don’t run plates just for the sake of it.” Finishing my glass of wine, I ponder how much he found out about Heath. “Wait, I get it’s next door to your Mom, but you’re trespassing. I don’t think I like you very much.”
“Oh, but I like you, very, very much.” His voice is lower, his eyes playful.
I squeeze my eyes briefly, hiding the fluster.
“So, are you ready to tell me about your years in the army?” His face is unmoving. Then I toss my head back, raise my hands, shaking them, and controlling my laugh. And my curiosity. How much is that bitch getting for alimony? Not your place or your business, Aspen. “We’re among friends, your secret is safe.”
“Secret?”
“Yes, you used your connections with the Delta Force to find out about Heath, didn’t you?”
“No. I have other resources.”
He doesn’t deny the Delta Force suggestion, but damn him and his fucking five-word answers. “What’s the story?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” the last word sounds like a whisper. Damn, Aspen, what is wrong with you? You are not the flustered, giddy kind of girl. “There’s not much to say. There is nothing magical about our relationship. We met a couple of years back at the hospital’s annual Christmas party…” I shrug thinking about the explanation. How did it happen? He arrived into my life when I felt the need to show the world that I was over Mike. That’s a pathetic explanation. “We make sense, you know? He doesn’t have expectations, and I have a peculiar schedule—”
He raises his hand for pause. “You explain a lot more than necessary.”
“I make up for all the words you save.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You sure do.” He stands up, offering me his hand. “Let's take a drive.”
I squint. “A drive?” Our eyes catch, “This late at night?”
“Yep.”
I twist my lips, frustrated with his short answer, but wanting to go for the drive because his company brings me comfort. There’s something so compelling about him that makes me want to gravitate to him. I hate to call it attraction, the simple thought chokes me. The air turns dense and it makes it hard to breathe.
Shaking my head I force the words, “I’ll pass, thank you.” Why would I want to go on a ride?
“It helps with insomnia,” he states, answering my inside questions without a prompt. Gently, he runs his fingers along the dark circles under my eyes.
Despite the heaviness in my back, my stomach flutters at the feeling of his skin touching mine.
“Driving helps me clear my head.” He smooths the wrinkle lines on my forehead, his eyes hypnotizing me.
“Okay,” I give in ignoring the loud voice in my head.
“Next time, I’ll bring my bike to take you along the highway. The speed, the wind, the breathtaking sights would distract you.”
For seconds, I’m lost in his eyes, engrossed by his husky voice. I want to spend time perched behind him while riding that bike he mentions. Bad idea, my voice of reason continues blabbing while I stand and begin picking up my stuff.
Really bad idea. I can’t think of why it would be, but it feels right. Unless he’s like wine: incredible while drinking but a fucking pain if you finish more than three bottles in one night. Note to self, make sure to drink Anderson in small doses. Drink Anderson? No, wait. He’s a friend, kinda. Only a friend, Aspen. You have a boyfriend. A handsome, thoughtful…
“Your chariot awaits, my lady.” Anderson opens the door of his car, bowing slightly. His voice has a fake English accent.
4
Aspen
I snatch a glass of champagne, setting the empty one I down back on the silver tray. For the thousandth time, I pace around the ballroom. The night's lagging and I’m unable to fast forward time. If I have to stay here any longer, I’m going to become an alcoholic. Heath is working the room, finding new investors, and helping the cause. What cause was it again? Oh right, a new wing for his children’s private school. Lifting my gaze, I discover another group of women whispering as they glare at me.
What is the deal with all these women giving me the stink eye? Are we twelve? I should’ve stayed home or gone to the movies with Anderson. Anderson, four days, and I can’t decipher him. He’s like a riddle, a human three-dimensional puzzle. His attitude doesn’t make sense, at least not to me. That might be the reason I find myself thinking about him.
Our earlier encounter keeps playing in my head as I continue my trek around the party.
“You clean up well,” Anderson complimented as he opened the door, his intense stare running up and down my body, taking in the black velvet-lace blouson dress I wore.
“Nice height too.” He stared at my plum-colored lips for several beats. My heart thumped louder. “The heels are a good touch.”
I angled my head slightly, lifting my foot to appreciate my sparkling Jimmy Choo pumps. My love for beautiful shoes was huge since my profession only required ugly clogs.
The attention and appreciation in his eyes flattered me and made me nervous. “I should go and check on your Mom,” I stammered, heading toward the kitchen where we had the syringes, alcohol, and cotton.
“What are you up to tonight?” Washing my hands, I pretend not to hear him. “I’m guessing you’re not accepting my invitation to go to the movies.”
Shutting the water off and drying my hands, I turn to him. “Sorry, you were saying?”
His firm ass leans against the granite counter, his arms crossed. “Are you going out with Heathrow?”
“It’s Heath, Hawthorne. Not Heathrow.” I roll my eyes, walking to the cupboard where we keep Sophia’s medicines. He’s a man of few words, unless he’s asking questions. “Yes, I’m going out with him. He invited me to a gala. I always jump at the chance for a fancy party where I can wear beautiful clothing.”
Anderson’s jaw tenses, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Have fun,” he pushed himself off the counter, and left me standing in the kitchen.
I didn’t see him after that.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Heath kisses my cheek, taking the empty glass away from my hand and setting it on a table. “You look beautiful tonight.”
My clutch starts to vibrate, I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. “Sorry, I have to take this, it might be the hospital.”
He nods, winking at me.
Snapping m
y purse open, I reach for my phone.
Unknown: Are you enjoying yourself?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Mom wants me to learn how to knit.
Me: You have the wrong number.
Unknown: No this is the right number, Aspen.
Unknown: We painted each other’s nails. Your friends are fun, not as fun as you, though. How did my night turn into a girl’s slumber party?
Unknown: All this is your fault. I’m spending my evening with my mother and your best friends doing girly things.
Mother, best friends. I lift my chin, searching for Heath and feeling self-conscious about texting during the event. Heath is talking to yet another group of people a few feet away from me. He’s busy, I can try to decipher who’s texting me and why.
Me: Anderson?
Unknown: You owe me.
Me: At least you don’t have a bunch of women giving you the evil eye and saying “she’s a slut, a gold digger going after his money.”
Anderson doesn’t respond. Is he judging me? I recall his impassive face when I told him about the gala.
Me: Just so you know, I don’t care about his money.
Why am I defending myself?
Me: I like him because he’s a gentleman, a good father, and a kind person.
Me: We’re not serious about each other, it’s a relationship of convenience.
He doesn’t respond, there’s something inside me that pushes me to give him more than I should.
Me: Not financial convenience, if that’s what you think. Like me, he doesn’t care much about emotions. We just make sense.
Unknown: You don’t believe or care for emotions, and you’re with him. It doesn’t make sense.
Me: I feel less secluded when I spend time with him.
Who am I kidding? It doesn’t work all the time. Like tonight.
Me: Though, some days I want ...
He doesn’t need to know that some days, like today, I want to end this relationship. That Heath doesn’t serve his purpose. He’s a distraction when I have free time and want to push away the loneliness. He’s supposed to be filling my time, keeping me in the present. Instead, I find it so easy to be locked inside my head with memories of Michael. Thinking about the fundraisers for our children, their names, their births. We were supposed to grow old and die together. Fate snatched him away too early. My last therapist said I was holding onto his memory to avoid falling in love again. Of course, I fired her ass. They don’t know what I do. We had a unique love. No matter who I meet, no one will ever fill the emptiness Michael left behind.
Unknown: You should do whatever you want, beautiful.
Unknown: Let me help you fix what’s bothering you.
Me: You can’t fix what’s broken.
Unknown: Aren’t you a little young to talk like there’s no point in life and love?
Me: That’s not what I said, but the answer is no. I’m not too young.
Me: You’re assuming, maybe judging.
Unknown: No, I’m not.
Unknown: Remember that people like to believe that they know the story behind you. They like to judge what they don’t know, fear, or envy. Let them talk. You know the truth, it’s yours.
Unknown: See beyond the darkness, there’s light around you. You just need to walk outside of the cave.
Me: Those are too many sentences for a guy like you. I wish I’d heard you saying them.
“Aspen?” Heath's voice pulls me out of the conversation. I had forgotten where I was and who I was with.
“Yeah?”
“We have to go. Kelsey called me. Ginger isn’t feeling well. She has an upset stomach.” Looking around the room and the women staring at me, I wonder how much of this story is true. This isn’t the first time Kelsey needs Heath’s “help” while on a date. Instead of being angry, I’m relieved. Next time, I should stay home.
During our drive, Heath was on the phone with Kelsey. She grumbled about her night. Ginger had been complaining about her stomach since Heath dropped her at Kelsey’s house. I had no idea that Heath had gotten more time with his children. Not that we discuss his family situation. What do we discuss? Our shallow relationship sounds like a major disaster ever since I texted Anderson about it.
Should I step outside my comfort zone and give Heath a chance? Can we fall in love?
Heath has everything going for him. He’s handsome with that dark hair and piercing dark blue eyes as contrast. He has a rocking, lean body with sculpted muscles. For a forty-two-year-old, he looks no older than thirty-five. He’s successful, has a sense of humor, is intelligent…
But my heart is in heaven, with Michael. That’s why I can’t fall in love.
“Rain check?” Heath opens the door of his car, taking my hand as he helps me out of it. My boyfriend is a gentleman. He is a catch.
See beyond the darkness, Anderson wrote.
“Sparkling water, crackers,” I advise as we walk to my door.
“Again, sorry for cutting this short.” Heath kisses me on the cheek.
I almost open my mouth and ask if he wants me to go with him. I stop; not sure if it’s the fear of rejection or the panic of being closer to Heath and his children. Feelings are messy. When there’s loss, the mayhem they create is like a category five hurricane. It took me years to survive the first one.
“Please, don’t mention it. I’ve canceled on you so many times.”
We stop in front of my door. “I’m a lucky guy.” He cups my chin, his dark blue eyes smiling. “You’re beautiful, understanding, and smart—”
“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” I jolt with the sound of Anderson’s voice, taking a step backward, away from Heath’s touch.
Anderson carries a brown paper bag. “Mom gave me this for you ladies.” He studies Heath as I take whatever he brought from his hands.
“Anderson Hawkins.” He extends his hand, Heath shakes his introducing himself too. “Heath Foster, pleased to meet you.”
“Penny, I’m leaving,” Heath says, his eyes trained on Anderson who stands a few steps away from us, his hands propped on his hips and his eyes fixed on me, making my heart beat faster than normal and my body giddy like a teenager.
“I’ll call you when Ginger is asleep.” Heath brushes my lips with his.
“Yes, let me know how she’s doing.” I smile at him, disconnecting my gaze from Anderson’s and waving at Heath.
Anderson and I stand side by side, watching Heath walk to his black sedan and drive away.
“Even Cinderella stayed longer at the ball than you. What happened?” Anderson asks as the tail lights disappear.
“His daughter wasn’t feeling well.” I open the paper bag, pulling out a jar filled with light blue, lilac, and pink M&Ms.
“I lied.” He licks his upper lip, making my mouth water then switches his gaze from the jar to my lips twice, then meeting mine. “They’re only for you.”
The tone makes my knees buckle, my jaw slack and I want him to…
I raise the jar, he nods. “From your mom?” He shakes his head. “How? I mean, thank you, but it’s late.”
He lifts an arm slightly angling his head, giving me an ‘I have my ways’ look.
“Using your heroic skills to obtain chocolate, impressive.” I twist the jar open, taking a few pink ones and popping them into my mouth.
“We’ve talked about your storytelling abilities, they’re far-fetched.” Anderson laughs, shaking his head. “I went to buy a few things for Mom. There’s a candy store filled with this stuff. I thought of you.”
My heart stops. I work hard to sip some air, trying to hide my shock. Calm down, you’re overreacting. Act calm; laugh it off. It doesn’t mean a thing. “And here I thought you had broken into the shop for me.”
A smile plays on his face. “Really?” He narrows his gaze, observing me. Did he notice my astonishment? Can he see what his voice and his actions are doing to me?
“Yeah.” I touch my temple. “The whole Missio
n Impossible scene where Tom barely hangs from a rope and he almost triggers the alarm with a drop of sweat.”
He laughs reaching for the jar. I playfully push him with the lid. “Stay away from my candy.” … and from me.
“Sharing is caring.”
“I don’t share chocolate.” I wink at him taking a few light blue ones and placing them in the palm of his hand. Our skin touches, producing a current of electricity. Cut this short, go back to your room. “Sorry for the intense text.”
He cocks his head to the side, shifting his eyes from the jar to me. “Do you wanna go out for a ride?” His mellow voice is a warm sensation enveloping every cell of my body. He eats the chocolates I give him, waiting for an answer. “Drove the bike tonight.”
I look down at my outfit and the lovely heels I wore.
“Did I mention that you look beautiful tonight?” He takes the jar away from me but not his gaze. “Did you dance?”
“He was too busy chatting around.” The gala wasn’t fun, and I would have preferred to be at home hanging out with my friends and Sophia.
“Do you hear that?” He touches his ear, setting the stuff he carries on the porch couch. “May I have this dance?”
Anderson doesn’t wait for me to respond. He takes my left hand, brushing my knuckles with his mouth. His other arm goes around my back and he pulls me to his chest. “Relax and let me lead, just follow the music.”
I don’t hear music but I relax, resting my head on his chest. We sway slowly to our own rhythm, our own tune; some beat I can’t hear, but it’s catchy and soothing. Driving sounded great—dancing enveloped by his strong arms and surrounded by the whiff of his woodsy aroma is a thousand times better. Tonight, I don’t feel lonely or incomplete.
5