by Siân James
Then my brain circled back to whether he’d meant anything more by that second kiss …
It had been passed midnight before I’d finally drifted off.
Now I was faced with two more days of no physical contact and no way of knowing whether he was interested in something more with me unless he came right out and said it. The tension was going to kill me.
It was late on Monday night and I was home. Almost lying flat on my couch after finishing my evening client online one-on-one, I was now making notes about the conversation, noting potential follow-up points and reviewing the cases for the two clients I was meeting with tomorrow. I was keeping company with a large bag of Doritos Cool Ranch.
But, man, I was tired. I yawned and my thoughts strayed to my phone again. Maybe I should ask Matt a question.
Me: So why are you texting me? I thought you had some swanky opening party on this evening?
Matt: I did, but I’m back at my place.
Me: Really? I thought these things went on until the wee hours of the morning?
Matt: They do but I had other things on my mind.
Me: Oh? Client meeting?
Matt: You.
I’m not embarrassed to say I squealed a little bit at his response. I wasn’t expecting that and it was perfect.
Me: You’re very good at text flirting.
Matt: Why thank you.
I typed, deleted and retyped a bunch of texts until eventually Matt responded with his own first.
Matt: You’re thinking too hard.
I blinked at the screen.
Me: How can you tell?
Matt: The dots indicating you’re typing keep popping up then stopping and nothing is coming through. Typing then deleting?
My mouth dropped open. I didn’t know how to respond. All the things I’d half-typed were stupid and lame, and I didn’t want to come across as stupid and lame.
What if I texted something that I didn’t think was weird, but because text had no nuance, he thought it was weird and didn’t want to know me anymore?
What if—
“Argh!”
My phone rang in my hand, startling me and nearly sending me rolling off my couch. I righted myself and looked at the screen. It read Matt Carter in flashing green text.
I had to clean my thumb of Dorito goodness before swiping across to answer.
“Hey,” I said and was surprised at the softness in my tone.
“Hey,” his rumbly voice came back at me and goosebumps erupted across my skin. “I thought you weren’t going to answer for a moment there.”
“No, I, uh, my hands were a bit dirty.”
“Oh?”
“I’m having a late-night snack.”
“Ice cream?”
“Doritos.”
“Cool Ranch?”
I huffed a laughed. “Yes,”
“Excellent choice. Followed closely by cheese and bacon balls.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Lays original.”
“Interesting.” He said this like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard.
Not sure where to go from here I thought of the first thing that came to mind. ”So, you’re evening was a bust, huh?” I heard a click and a fizz like a bottle top opening, then came a swallowing sound, which made my mouth go strangely dry.
“Not entirely. I schmoozed the people who needed schmoozing then got out of there.”
“Won’t you be missed?”
“Nah, they reached that portion of the night where it doesn’t matter how many diamonds you or your date is wearing or how much the champagne cost—alcohol has the same effect on everyone and it isn’t classy.”
I giggled. “No, it is not. You don’t drink champagne, then?”
“I drink champagne but at these functions I learnt the hard way to keep my wits about me, so I always get a soda water in a champagne flute so it looks like I’m participating.”
I gasped in only part mock outrage. “What? You turn down the good stuff?”
“I’m drinking the good stuff now, a beer.”
“Dare I ask what happened to make you so cautious?” This was fun. I was having fun. Talking with Matt where he couldn’t see me—nor I him—felt as some awkwardness factor had been removed. It was just his voice and mine, and all my interpretations of how much he was enjoying the conversation were focussed on the sound of his voice and the words he used.
He groaned. “You don’t want to know.”
I grinned into the phone. “I do. I really, really do.”
“Okay, hang on.” Muffled sounds came through the phone. The thought of Matt getting comfortable made me wonder where he was, and I heated all over.
Was he reclined on the couch? Had he worn a suit tonight? Did he loosen his tie or take it off? Or was he already changed and in bed? What did he wear to bed?
“Okay, where are you?” Matt’s voice rumbled down the line, pulling me from my salacious thoughts.
“I’m at home.”
“Where at home?”
I paused, wondering if they’d invented something new which could pull thought waves down the phone line…or air waves because I was on a mobile, not a landline. “On my couch. Why?”
“Just wanted to picture where you were before I started my bed time story.”
Curiosity got the better of me. “Where are you?”
“On my couch.”
I started to concoct the image in my mind but stalled. “Not fair—I don’t know what your couch looks like.”
“You’ve never invited me into your place.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.
“No, but you’ve peeked through the door when you’ve passed and it was open,” I accused.
“That would be highly inappropriate of me, and I would never admit I know you have a peacock blue love seat and more plants than I’ve ever seen in such a small place.”
I grinned. Was it weird I thought his snooping was cute?
He continued, “I know how to fix this anyway.”
Before I could ask what he meant, the line went dead. I looked at my phone wondering if he’d hung up and whether I should call him back when it rang again, this time indicating it was a video call.
“Oh shit!” I leapt up, sitting upright in the couch instead of lounging unladylike. My black tank was covered in Dorito crumbs, so I quickly brushed them off, wiped my mouth against the back of my hand, swept my hand over my hair then arranged myself casually back on my couch before answering the call.
Matt’s face came into view and my mouth went dry. He held the phone so I could see from mid-torso up and what a sight. He was reclined in a brown leather couch, his hair was tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it and he was wearing a crumpled, white suit shirt. All the buttons I could see were undone, exposing tan skin and a reasonable sprinkling of blond chest hair.
A smug grin spread across his face causing an answering belly flutter.
Really, could he get any hotter?
He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “I like your look.” His eyes were smiling, but through the small screen I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or not.
I eyed my back tank, worried I’d left some Dorito crumbs.
“No, not the top. Though it does look good on you. I mean the glasses.”
I lifted my hand to my black-rimmed librarian glasses. I’d forgotten I was wearing them. Usually I wore contacts but at night, by myself, I often took them out. My eyes weren’t terrible. I could see reasonably well without them on, but for the reading and typing I did, they were a necessity. “Thanks?”
“You should wear them more often.”
I wrinkled my nose at the suggestion. “They’re a bit uncomfortable on my nose.”
“Shame, but works for what I have in mind.”
I knew I was walking into a setup, but curiosity won every time. “And what would that be?”
He paused and rubbed his bottom lip with
his index finger before answering. “You’re giving off a hot librarian vibe with your hair up as well, and I like the idea of ruffling you up a bit.”
My cheeks grew hot at his suggestion, and I covered my face with my spare hand to hide my answering smile. He laughed at my reaction, a genuine, happy sound which made me laugh in return.
“Sorry,” he said. “Too much?”
I shook my head still unable to contain my grin. “No, just unexpected.”
He considered me a moment then surprised me again. “Truth or dare?”
“What?”
“Truth or dare?”
“Aren’t we a little old to play this game? And shouldn’t we be in the same room?”
“No, and no.” He responded then asked again. ”Truth or dare?”
I sighed. ”Truth.”
“What took you so long to pick up?”
“I had to make sure I wasn’t coated in Dorito crumbs.”
His eyes shifted a little and I imagined he was scanning what he could see of me on the small screen.
“Your turn,” I said.
“Truth.”
Gosh there were so many things I wanted to ask him. “Why did you call me tonight?”
His raised eyebrows suggested I was insane. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Because?” I prompted, wanting more detail but he shook his head.
“Nope, can’t do that. Truth or dare?”
I slumped back on the couch. ”Truth.”
“Why are you trying to run two businesses by yourself? What are you trying to achieve? What do you need to prove?”
”That’s three questions.”
“All related to the same topic to help clarify the answer I want.”
I huffed an annoyed breath because he was technically right. “I’ll allow it.”
He grinned again, his expression suggesting he thought I was adorable, and it made me blush anew.
“Well, I’m running two businesses because I had a great idea for both, and I just thought, why not? What I want is to be successful at whatever I set out to do.”
When I paused, he repeated his last question, “And what are you trying to prove?”
I sucked the inside of my cheek between my molars and chewed. The question wasn’t easy to answer. Was I trying to prove something? Yes. Did I want him to know that much about me?
I decided to hedge. “I want to be someone. I want to feel like I’ve achieved something in life. And I want to make my mother proud.”
“You want to be someone?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“As opposed to who you are right now?”
I gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “Please elaborate.”
I flapped my hands. “I want to, you know, feel like I’ve achieved something in my professional life. Be independent before—” I stopped and started again. “My Mum had a tough time when I was young, I don’t want to make her mistakes, and I don’t want to disappoint her by making the same mistakes. She’d be devastated. Plus, as I said, I want to feel successful.”
“And what will your life look like when you feel successful?”
“Your turn! Truth or dare?” His questions felt too personal.
He grinned at my interruption. “Truth.”
I wracked my brain for something to get us off this topic. “Do you prefer Sydney or Emerald Cove and why?”
He took a draught of beer, and I watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “That’s a tricky one.”
I waited patiently, my heart rate slowing now the focus had switched.
“If you’d asked me a few months ago I would have answered Sydney without hesitation. I enjoyed coming home to see my family, and I appreciate the peace of the Cove, but Sydney … Sydney is life. It’s a vibrant, cultured gateway to the world. On any given night, you can find something exciting and original to do, and it’s always changing, growing, shifting …”
“But?”
“But,” he began, dragging the word out reluctantly, “the last few months in Emerald Cove, spending time with my family, having the time to connect with some old friends, and new ones—” He gave a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows which made me grin; then, he sobered. “I’ve had time to work on projects I feel such passion about, to work with my hands again. And not just to push a pencil around or sign work orders. It’s been … refreshing. Like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long.”
Despite the quiet calm with which he spoke, his words unsettled me. He sounded as if he was thinking about moving …
“But Sydney is where your big fancy job is, right?” I needed clarification.
He sighed. “Yeah, it’s where my big fancy job is.”
“With your big fancy partnership promotion.”
“With my big fancy partnership promotion.” He sounded more resigned than proud or excited.
I shifted restlessly in my seat. I guess it was natural he wasn’t so fired up about his life in Sydney right now; taking a break from the daily grind always made people question their current existence. Made us wonder whether we shouldn’t just give it all up and move to a beach. “The grass is always greener …” I murmured.
Matt snorted. “No truer words. Okay, Truth or dare?”
I groaned. “Do we have to keep playing?”
“One more.”
“Okay, truth.”
“What will your life look like when you feel you’ve made it? When you feel successful?”
I rolled my eyes and flopped back on the couch. “Too hard. Pass.”
He laughed at me and I was okay with that at this point. “Come on, Izzie. I don’t believe that for a second. I bet you have a picture of it in your head clear as crystal.”
I hesitated, annoyed because he was right. But it was private, something I’d been building and nurturing for my entire adult life. So precious to me, I hadn’t even shared it with my mother. I’m sure if anyone I knew cared to think about it, the outcome was obvious, but to speak it out loud would feel like I was sharing part of my soul.
I studied his image on the screen. He was patience incarnate. His eyes were shaded but no less demanding in what they sought and I sighed.
“Well, it’s no secret, really. When the Little Flower Shop is up and running again, when we have had our first successful evening or weekend workshops and are taking bookings for more. As for AWT Consulting, I have plans to run some bi-annual conferences—hopefully here in Emerald Cove—for women around the country to come together, share their stories, network and learn from me and each other. I think when I’ve run my first one of those successfully, I’ll feel accomplished.” I thought through what I just said and nodded to myself. I could see it now, the Littler Flower Shop would be dripping with petals and customers enjoying workshops and group events, we’d be booked out for wedding events six months in advance and there’d be customer orders flying out the door every day. A Woman’s Touch would be a strong online community for women to support each other and ask questions without the risk of being mansplained to. There’d be online seminars and eBooks for download. I’d already written four and I was half-way through planning my first online seminar called “Work You Assets Off.” And I guess at some point I’d have to hire some extra staff too.
“Is that it?”
Matt’s question broke into my reverie, his words stinging though I didn’t understand them. “What do you mean?”
His face was a mask of confusion. “Well, you’ve just talked about your businesses …” He trailed off, and I had the impression I was supposed to pick up on his point, but I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Yes?”
He tugged at his full bottom lip with his thumb and index finger, his brows pulled low in concentration. “What about the rest of your life?”
“The rest of my life?”
“Yeah, Izzie.” He made a sound that was half disbelieving and half la
ugh. “The rest of your life outside work. What will your life look when you’ve achieved business success? What are your personal goals?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. I mean, I knew personal goals were important, but a timeline for personal things wasn’t something I could work on, was it? I mean, if I wanted to train for a ten kilometre race, I could create a spread sheet and work it out … but I didn’t think that was quite what he was referring to.
“Those are my personal goals; they’re personal to me,” I pointed out, hating how vulnerable my voice sounded.
His expression changed, morphed into something understanding. “I know, Izzie, and I’m not belittling your dream at all. It’s a big one. Two businesses, one a local community hub, the other a national community hub? That’s huge and I’m impressed with your scope. But what about outside work? You can’t spend every waking minute working until you achieve those goals. You’ll burn out. Trust me, I know. What else do you want for your life? A dog? To surf more? I heard Tash complaining you never go out with her anymore because you’re too busy—”
A stab of guilt hit me right between my shoulder blades at his words.
Unaware of my discomfort, he continued. “Do you want a partner? A family? Do you want to be a home owner?”
I felt myself retreating as he spoke, his questions making me feel inadequate somehow. Of course, I wanted more out of my life, but I hadn’t really thought about any of those things as something I could have while I was working on my businesses. They took up all my time and energy.
“I guess what I’m saying,” he said, “is, I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did. Professional goals are important, but the rest of your life doesn’t go on hold while you work to achieve them. If all your dreams and ideas of success revolve around work, you run the risk of missing other great opportunities. Your life will be too one-dimensional.”
“I have personal goals too,” I said, more out of a need to stop him than anything else. His words hit a mark I didn’t know I had, and I suddenly needed this conversation to end.