by Penny Reid
I didn’t answer. The answer was complicated at best, dysfunctional and convoluted at worst.
Cletus was right. I was good with women, when I applied myself and when I had a goal in mind. With my family, employees, colleagues, and even constituents the goal was clear: I gave them what they needed from me in order for them to be successful, whatever that thing might be. Some folks needed praise, some folks needed boundaries and discipline, others charm and charisma, still others simply wanted frequent communication.
And yet, with Scarlet, even when we’d been teenagers, I didn’t know how to approach her. At first it was because I didn’t know what she needed from me in order to be successful. Once I realized that I was in love with her, it was too late to figure things out. She was gone. When she came back, my attempts to give her what I’d thought she needed had been one colossal failure after another.
Which brought us to now.
“Here’s another thought.” My brother dropped his elbow to stroke his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe flirt.”
I gave him a side-eye.
“You should flirt.” He nodded like this was the definitive answer to all my problems. “Not everything has to be blood, sweat, and tears. You’re allowed to take enjoyment in the woman you love, make her smile, make her feel pretty, special. What could it hurt to flirt?”
I opened my mouth to respond but in the next instant he’d smacked me on the back and said, “Good talk.”
He then crossed to Jenn and stood behind her, placing his hands on her hips and bending to whisper something in her ear that made her laugh. My attention returned to Scarlet and Drew. Their heads were together, friendly smiles on their faces, though hers looked strained around the edges, fatigued.
You should flirt.
Drew resembled a Viking on most days, or a pro-football linebacker, and tonight she seemed especially small in comparison. Perhaps, I reflected with remorse, she looked so small because she also looked drained, like she carried the burden of weighty matters.
I’d never thought of Scarlet as small before. Her spirit—when she was happy, when she sang, and now I knew when she lost herself to pleasure—seemed uncontainable to me. Likewise, her body was breathtaking, but also not containable by the words small or big, tall or short. She was Scarlet, larger than life, beautiful in much the same way fireworks light up the night sky.
Watching her now, I wondered if this idea of her in my head was part of the problem.
Her skin seemed paler than usual; her cheeks lacked their typical rosy hue; even her freckles appeared faded. She may’ve had all the explosive beauty and spirit of a firecracker, but she was also just a woman who’d been struggling for a long time. I’d added to her struggles. I’d been the cause of many of them. I didn’t want to do that or be that anymore.
I wanted to be the reason she smiled.
Maybe flirt.
Jethro and Beau had been right when they’d said I was rusty, out of practice. These last few months in particular I’d been avoiding all social commitments. I’d have to fumble through, figure out my flirt strategy as I went along. The time to close this distance between us—this distance I’d created and her plans to leave for Rome—was now or never.
Pushing away from the doorframe, I strolled to where Drew and Scarlet sat. At my approach, she did a double take but then gave me her eyes, which seemed interested rather than wary.
“Sc-Claire. Drew.” I gave them both a nod while I tripped over her name, directing my next question to him. “I imagine you’d like to dance with your wife?”
The big man peered up at me, the side of his mouth hitching behind his blond beard. “You imagine right.”
I reached out a hand.
He glanced between me and my hand. He then set the neck of the guitar in my palm. “When y’all are ready to dance, just let me know. Ash and I can take over.”
“Thanks. We will,” I said, exchanging another nod with my brother-in-law as he stood and moved off to find my sister.
My gaze shifted to Scarlet and we watched each other for a few beats of my heart. I’d planned to say, Is this seat taken?
But before I could say my line, she said, “Hello, stranger.”
“Stranger?” I repeated, trying the word on, lifting an eyebrow and then shaking my head. “Nope. Don’t like that word.”
Scarlet laughed lightly at my response, her smile making her look less weary, and she gestured to the stool Drew had just vacated. “Are you sitting here?” she asked.
“Is this seat taken?” There. I said my line. Now we were back on track.
“It is now,” she replied, just like I’d wanted.
So I sat on the stool, making a point to scoot an inch closer to her. This earned me a look of amused suspicion. Not a bad start.
I met her gaze squarely and, before I could catch the impulse, asked, “Seriously, do you mind if I sit here?” The last thing I wanted to be was someone she tolerated.
“No, Billy. I don’t mind.” She bumped my shoulder with hers, adding quietly, “I’ve missed you.”
This warmed me to hear and I knew what she meant. We’d talked briefly and intermittently over the past few days about nothing of consequence. We hadn’t descended back into stoic politeness, but I’d been careful to give her space. What I’d done wasn’t a small thing to forgive, and I certainly hadn’t forgiven myself.
Looking at her now, I swallowed around a rock of remorse, saying, “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t said it since our talk by the stream. Before I moved forward with any flirting tonight, I felt like I needed to say it again—for her, but also for myself. “I’m so sorry.”
“I appreciate the apology,” she said, wearing a smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes. “And I’m also sorry.”
“What for?” Now that we were up close, I studied her. She definitely looked tired, and this conversation only seemed to weigh her down, which had not been my goal.
“For not telling you about Bethany.” Her forced smile diminished by degrees. “She really was just trying to do the right thing and look after you.”
I knew my mother, I knew her intentions, and I believed Scarlet’s interpretation of the situation to be true. However, it still seriously pissed me off. No one should’ve made Scarlet feel like less. Not ever.
Regardless, I wasn’t sitting here to talk about the past. I was here to ease her burdens, help her find her smile, so I said, “Thank you for telling me, and you’re forgiven.”
Her gaze told me I’d surprised her as it flickered over me. “Really? I’m forgiven? Just like that?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Jethro recently reminded me of something our mother used to say, which—ironically—seems relevant. Whenever us kids would lose our temper with each other, she’d tell us, People only hold grudges when they can’t forgive themselves.” Needing to touch her, even if it was just in a small way, I lifted my fingers to her temple and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want grudges between us.”
When she smiled this time it looked more sincere, perhaps even relieved. “Me neither.”
“In fact,” I muttered, lifting the guitar onto my lap, “I don’t even want clothes between us.”
She reared back. “What did you just say?”
“I said, I don’t know how you made those sloppy joes, for all of us.” I blatantly lied, holding her eyes, examining her reaction to my ridiculous falsehood before adding, “Dinner was exceptional. Thank you.”
Scarlet had turned our meatloaf leftovers into sloppy joes. It had been quite impressive, but those were definitely not my words and we both knew it. This better work.
“You’re welcome,” she said haltingly, her forehead wrinkling even as her mouth curved, like she didn’t know what to think of me.
I slid my hand along the neck of the guitar. “When do I get to cook dinner for you?”
Her eyes widened, giving me the sense my question both surprised and delighted her. “Uh, whenever you want.”
“Whenever I want.” I strummed a chord, then another, the opening bar for Gordon Lightfoot’s “Fine As Fine Can Be.” “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Please do.” She shrugged. “How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we’ll be in Venice. But after that we’ll be in Rome. I’ll do it then.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “We will be in Rome?”
“That’s right. I keep meaning to ask, will our place have a kitchen?” Considering my heart was in my throat when I asked the question, I was mighty impressed by the tranquility of my tone.
She turned more fully to face me. “Are you coming with me?”
“Of course.” I also turned, arranging myself such that both she and her stool were between my legs. So far so good. “You just asked me to make you dinner.”
Her mouth dropped open and she sputtered for a second before saying, “I did no such thing! You offered.”
“Scarlet, it’s fine.” I played the opening notes to Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.” “I don’t mind. But if you wanted me to come to Rome, you could’ve just asked.” My lips wanted to tug to the side at her incredulous and adorable expression, but I managed to keep my face straight.
Her mouth opened wider and she stared at me like I was nuts, shaking her head. “Billy Winston, what are you doing?”
“Making dinner plans.” I gave her a small smile and her gaze dropped to my lips. She blinked, like the sight of my smile also surprised her.
When her eyes lifted, they seemed sharper. “Do you want to come to Rome with me?” she asked.
“Why, yes. Thank you for asking. I accept.”
Laughter burst out of her, her eyes big and disbelieving, but also unmistakably charmed—thank God.
She shoved my shoulder with her fingertips. “You sneak!”
“Hey now.” I caught her hand before she could withdraw and placed soft kisses on the backs of her fingers and then on the inside of her wrist. The skin was so soft and reminded me of her other soft places. “If you call me those kinds of names, I might change my mind.”
“Oh yeah?” She split her attention between my mouth and eyes. “Change your mind about what? Tricking me into inviting you to Rome?”
“Oh no. I’m not changing my mind about that. I tricked you, you offered, I accepted. We’re spending a week together in Rome.” I lowered her hand to my leg, leaning closer as I pressed her fingers to my thigh. My heart soared when she took over and slid her hand higher.
Scarlet’s smile fell away, but her gaze grew warm, hazy, her cheeks pink. “Then what will you change your mind about?” she whispered.
I dropped my eyes to her lips, her hand moving to the interior of my leg as mine settled on her hip. I curled my middle finger into the belt loop of her jeans and a hot, short breath escaped her mouth. My grin widened.
“I might change my mind about whether to eat dinner before or after I—”
Suddenly, someone was snapping their fingers between our faces. Flinching back, I followed the arm up to my brother’s surly expression.
“All right, all right. Way to overachieve, William. But now’s not the time. Y’all had all day to do this, put a pin in it.” Cletus dropped his hand from between our faces and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a pen. “What’re you playing first? And do you take requests? If so, Jethro wants ‘La Vie en rose’ by that French lady. If Roscoe were here, he’d know how to pronounce it right.” From his other pocket he pulled out a packet of Post-it Notes.
While Cletus spoke, Scarlet snatched her hand back and faced him, blinking furiously like she’d truly forgotten where she was as we’d talked—I mean, as we’d flirted.
Good.
If Scarlet had let our surroundings fade to the periphery, maybe some of her weariness, worries, and struggles had faded as well.
“I—I guess we can take requests,” Scarlet stuttered, sneaking a glance at me.
I gave her a small smile which—thankfully—had her bestowing me with a second look. As much as I cherished the blush that bloomed over her neck and cheeks, I cherished the sweet hopefulness in her stare even more.
“We’ll take requests within reason, Cletus.” I lifted my chin to peer up at my brother. “Scarlet doesn’t need to be singing all night. And no ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
“Well, shoot. There goes that idea,” Cletus mumbled, scratching his forehead. Turning, he lifted his voice to address the room, “Okay, listen up. Claire is going to sing and we got Billy on guitar. Billy will also be singing.”
“I never said I was going to sing.”
“Like I said, Billy is going to sing,” he said, like I hadn’t spoken. “If you have any requests, I got a pad of paper here. Just write them down and our duet will be happy to oblige. Also, Duane, no showing off please. We all know you’re the superior dancer, i.e. no lifts.”
“Jess just had a baby, Cletus.” Duane gave his eyes the beginning of an eye roll. “I wasn’t going to do any lifts.”
“Good.”
“But there’ll be some spins and dipping,” Duane warned, his arm coming around his wife’s waist.
“Fine.” Cletus twisted over his shoulder and settled his distracted glare on me. “Did you decide what you’re playing first?”
I glanced at Scarlet. She glanced at me. And before I could think better of it, I suggested, “’Ring of Fire’?”
“Are you really going to sing with me?” She asked, like she was afraid I’d pull the rug out from under her, change my mind at the last minute. Her guarded eyes and cautious excitement did something to me, made my chest tight with regret.
I hated that I’d ever given her a reason to approach me with caution instead of trust.
Leaning in, I said for her ears only, “I promise, if you’ll have me, I’ll sing with you whenever or wherever you want. But only with you, Scarlet. I only want to sing with you.”
Her eyes brightened, her smile widened, and happiness shone from her, sunrays, moonbeams, and starlight.
Uncontainable.
Breathtaking.
Scarlet.
The last song we performed for everyone was “Come Away With Me” by Norah Jones. They seemed to be in a mood to do more than dance by the end of it and couples left the music room, citing all sorts of unnecessary excuses.
Through some implicit agreement, I continued to play the guitar and she continued to sing even after everyone else had cleared the room. I think I could’ve sat with her forever, listening to her hypnotic voice, watching her, being close. But in the end, we only played a few more songs, a soft rendition of “Free Fallin’,” a quiet version of “I’ll Fly Away.” At the end of “Broken Hearts,” Scarlet tried to hide a yawn behind her hand and I knew our time was up.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” I stood and stretched, setting the guitar on its stand.
“What? We’re not finished.”
“You’re exhausted.” I stepped close to her stool, where she still sat, and slid my finger along the line of her jaw, up to her cheek and over her ear, pushing my fingers in her hair. “Let’s get you to bed.”
A beat passed before I realized what I’d said, during which her smile slowly grew. Suddenly, she didn’t look quite so tired.
“Promises, promises,” she whispered, lifting her chin, the light in her eyes as mischievous as it was nervous.
Grinning ruefully at my thoughtlessness but also combatting all my body’s sudden support for my slip of the tongue, I took a step back and reminded myself I still hadn’t told her about Razor. We’d have a week in Rome, during which I could arrange for plenty of champagne, silk sheets, rose petals, and candlelight.
Tonight had been progress. She’d smiled most of the night. Listening to her divine voice had been an indulgence. Singing with her again had been indescribable. If this—just singing and kisses—was our life together, I’d die a very happy man. Of course, the cause of death would likely be chronic excessive sexual frustration.
I would leave her
at her door. But we’d also probably kiss. Maybe I’d walk her inside, but that’s it. And then I’d take a cold shower.
“You’re cute,” I said, my voice gravel as I offered my hand. “Let’s go.”
Scarlet placed her fingers in my palm and stood, allowing me to lead her from the room. “How am I cute?”
I sent her a glance, but that’s it. If I had to list all the ways she was cute we’d be up another twenty-four hours.
“You know how you’re cute?” she asked, climbing the stairs in front of me, giving me a magnificent view of her backside. I still wanted to bite it. I also wanted—
I’m not a good person.
“I’m not cute,” I said gruffly, swallowing the sudden rush of saliva. Maybe I’d take an ice bath.
“You are cute.” She glanced over her shoulder, smiling at me. “Your bushy beard is especially cute.”
Unthinkingly, I stroked it. “It needs a trim. Maybe tomorrow.”
She stopped on the second to last step, turning to face me, her hand on her hip. “How about tonight? Let me do it.”
“Pardon?”
“Let me do it.” Her fingers lifted to pet my face, her nails scratching with light pressure against my jaw. If I were a cat, I probably would’ve purred. “I would honestly love to trim your beard for you.”
Maybe after Rome, after we’d sorted through the rest of everything and we’d both defined the clear path forward. But now?
I opened my mouth, an automatic no on my lips, but she descended a step, bringing us to eye level and much closer.
Her arms came around my neck and she gave my nose a small peck. “Is your shaving stuff in the bathroom?”
I nodded.
“Go downstairs and get a folding chair. I’ll go to your room and get everything ready.”
I opened my mouth again to say no, but then she pressed her lips to mine, her arms around my neck tightening, bringing her body flush against mine. My hands were on her hips, drawing her even closer, her mouth parted and I slipped inside, her tongue teased mine, velvet and sweetness.