by Katy Regnery
He leans up to look at me, his eyes dilated, his skin slick with sweat. “Oh...no. You’re crying. What is it? Are you okay?”
I sniffle, winding my arms around his neck when he tries to pull away from me. I want him to stay where he is, connected to me in a deeply intimate, incredibly beautiful way. I want to stay like this forever.
“I...” I pause because the words on the tip of my tongue are “I love you,” but I’m not sure I’m ready to say them yet. Instead, I nod, mustering a small smile and say, “Thank you, Trevor. For being so gentle. So caring. That was...so beautiful.”
“My sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning up on his elbows, and grinning down at me as he cups my face, “that’s only the beginning.”
***
Trevor
When you’re happy—when you are really and truly, blissfully happy, like you’ve never been before in your entire life—time moves so fast, it makes your head spin. It makes you regret all the days you ever spent wasting it.
Two weeks later, Faye and I have settled into a routine with each other, diligently working at our respective companies during the day, but the nights...God, the nights.
At the wedding of my mother’s younger brother to my Scottish aunt, they exchanged vows that included the words “With my body, I thee worship,” and at the time, my teenage heart was secretly fascinated by these words. It was a romantic sentiment, for sure, but it was also an incredibly sexy image to invoke in the middle of a church service.
It’s always stuck with me—that idea of worshipping someone’s body...though, despite many lovers during my life, I’ve never actually experienced the feeling invoked in those vows...until now.
I worship Faye’s body every night.
I touch and taste, explore and learn, pleasure and adore. Unreservedly.
And she gives herself to me with a trust and generosity that humbles me and that I will never betray while there’s breath in my body.
We talk for hours on end, and I feel understood in ways I’ve only ever dreamt of being known. She gets me—all of me, and I get her too. We are driven and focused but can be distracted with playfulness or teasing. We try different wines at night with the dinners Inez makes for us, and I think I’ve introduced Faye to a few vodka infusions she’s never tried before. She tells me about her life in the “before” when her parents were still alive, and the “after,” when she was left alone with Findley Imports and a little sister to raise on her own. I tell her about growing up with hippie parents and twin brothers, in a family where rowdiness and mindfulness were encouraged. She laughs when I refuse to talk about selling my company, and I laugh when she insists it’ll be hers someday. One day, when I’m deep inside of her and she’s sighing my name, I might say yes because she feels so good, so right, that I’d agree to just about anything...but luckily, we haven’t mixed business and sex...yet.
My life is so good, so full, that I have begun to think a lot about the future. And specifically, how Faye fits into that future, because, more and more, the only life I can see for myself anymore is one that includes Faye Findley.
A month from now, give or take, Faye will be given the “okay” to fly again. And once that happens, she could leave—probably will leave unless we have a plan for her to stay—which is a thought that constricts my throat and feels unbearable to the extreme.
Call it fast.
Call it insta-love.
I don’t care.
It happens sometimes.
It’s happened to me.
I know what I know: that I am falling deeply in love with her in a way I’ve never known before. I want her in my life for the rest of my life, not just for the time she’s trapped here. And not with distance separating us either. I’m not sure I could bear a relationship that goes from daily intimacy to phone calls and text chats, to hurried couplings in airport hotels once a month when we carve out some time.
I want us together every day and every night.
I’m pretty sure what I want with Faye Findley is...forever.
I’m just not sure that forever with me is what she wants too, because we haven’t discussed it yet. That said, I have made a study of the recent changes in Faye’s life and how’s she’s handled them...and her behavior gives me hope.
Since we speak freely and with enthusiasm about our businesses, I know that Faye has had to delegate a great deal of her responsibilities to Karl Franklin, her former VP of acquisitions, whom she promoted to interim-CEO of Findley Imports.
I also know that the meeting Karl and Harry took with UNNW in Seattle was a success, and UNNW is selling to Findley Imports in a private transaction on March 1, pending legal due diligence and the signing of contracts.
The net-net of these two developments in Faye’s company could be good for us on a personal level, I think.
Opening an office in Seattle means that Faye, as president of Findley Imports, can work from Boston or Seattle. And Alaska Airlines flights from Fairbanks to Seattle are arranged so that folks can commute. Flights leave Fairbanks early in the morning, you can spend a full workday in Seattle, and easily be home in time for bed. Not that I’d want Faye to have to make that trip more than once or twice a week, because it’s a three-and-a-half-hour commute each way, but staying together would, in fact, be...possible, especially with her new delegation skills. She isn’t counting on herself to be the sole leader of Findley Imports anymore. Breaking her foot has forced her to choose those employees she trusts to take on more responsibility, allowing her more time to recover now...and for her personal life later.
Leaning against my kitchen counter as the Keurig spits out a cup of coffee on a cold Sunday morning, I consider asking her to move in with me, but for all that we live in the twenty-first century, I still consider myself old-fashioned about some things, and asking Faye to uproot her life in Boston and move to Alaska should come with a bigger commitment from me than having a key made.
Like maybe...having a ring made.
Yes, that’s where my mind is right now.
Not even a year after my ex-fiancée slept with my brother the night before our wedding, I’m thinking about getting married again.
But I can honestly say, with one hundred percent certainty, that Marlena was not destiny. Faye is my destiny. I know this in my marrow, like it was embedded into my DNA at the beginning of my days. I am meant to be with Faye Findley, and she is meant to be with me.
I step out of the kitchen and pause at the bottom of the stairs.
“Sweetheart! You want coffee?”
“Yes! Thanks!” she yells from her office.
I place a second cup under the Keurig spout while I add a touch of almond milk and dash of Stevia to hers. I prefer mine black, but I know exactly how Faye likes hers.
Heading back upstairs with our mugs, I pause in the doorway of the guest room to check her out from behind. She’s leaning over her desk, typing out what appears to be an email.
“Anything interesting?” I ask.
She looks at me over her shoulder. “Maybe.”
“Want to tell me about it?” I ask, handing her the coffee, then backing up to the doorway and leaning against it. I don’t want to interrupt her if she’s in the middle of work.
“I think I like Karl in the position of CEO,” she says. “And me as president of the company and chairman of the board.”
“Okay.”
“Which means...” she says, taking a sip of her coffee and spinning around in her chair to face me. “Ooh. It’s perfect.”
I chuckle because she’s adorable and I love her.
I love her.
Whoa.
I love her.
I think I knew, I just hadn’t...told myself yet.
But it feels right. In fact, it feels perfect. I love her.
“What?” she asks, no doubt seeing my face process the words spoken by my heart.
Part of me is dying to tell her, but I’m not just going to blurt it out. There will be a better time. A better mom
ent.
“Umm. What were you saying? You said, ‘Which means...’”
“Oh! Yes. Which means I need to find a CEO to run the Seattle operations too.”
“And then you’ll...”
“Well, I’ll still be ultimately in charge of both offices, Seattle and Boston, but I didn’t realize how much delegating could free me up to think more globally for my business, you know? I’m enjoying that freedom.”
“I think it’s a great decision,” I tell her—and has the added benefit of not requiring her to work full time at either office.
“You think?”
I nod. “I do. Especially because...”
She tilts her head to the side. “What?”
“It would make it easier for you to stay.”
“In Fairbanks?” She stares at me. “But I have a house in Boston.”
“I know.”
“And my company’s headquartered in Boston.”
“I know that too,” I say, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. I raise my mug to my lips and sip. This isn’t going the way I’d imagined it in my daydreams. “I’m not being clear. What I’m really saying, Faye, is that I want us to figure out a way to stay together.”
Her face. Oh, my heart, her sweet face softens with tenderness, and she gasps softly. “You want to stay together? With me? After February?”
“I want to stay together...with you...” I place my coffee on the bureau to my right, then cross the room, falling to my knees in front of her. “Indefinitely.”
“Me too. I want that too, Trevor,” she says, reaching for my face. She holds it tenderly, staring into my eyes. “But I don’t know how it looks yet.”
Neither do I, if she won’t commute from Fairbanks to Seattle, because I don’t want to live in Boston. But I figure we have time and space to figure all that out. For now, I just want to enjoy the fact that we want to stay together, that we want to make our relationship work.
In related news, know what’s awesome about your girlfriend working out of your spare bedroom? There’s a bed right behind you.
I lift her from her chair and place her on the bed, untying her bathrobe and spreading it open. Underneath, she wears panties and nothing else.
Suddenly hungry to taste her, I pull her panties down and kneel between her legs. Parting the lips that hide her clit, I lean down and lick a circle around the little bud, kissing gently. Holding her hips firmly, I can feel her moving closer to me. I suck on her clit, then lick it quickly, flicking my tongue back and forth over her nerves until she whimpers, then I back off a little. I don’t want her to come yet. I want her soaked and slick when I enter her. I want us to come together.
I reach under her thighs, drawing her closer to my face and sucking harder. I’m listening to her moans, to the way her whimpers are coming faster and faster. When her hips buck off the bed, I lean up, yank down my boxers, and slide inside of her.
She cries out, orgasming for the first time as my cock fills her. Hot and slippery, she takes my full length, curling her fingernails into my ass as I withdraw, then push forward again. Meeting me thrust for thrust, the friction of our movements has me coming fast, and just as she orgasms again, the tremors of her body rocking me from the inside, I feel my own release, which makes me groan and strain. I contract and relax, contract and relax, unconscious motions that result in waves of bliss, and fill her womb with my seed.
My lips brush her neck, then rest over her racing pulse.
Now is the moment, I think. I need her to know.
“I love you, Faye,” I whisper near her ear, my voice still breathless from making love. “I know it’s quick, but don’t doubt it. It’s true, sweetheart. I am completely in love with you.”
She gasps softly but doesn’t say anything.
I don’t move, still intimately connected to her, still covering her naked body with mine.
Seconds tick by, feeling like hours, and finally, when I can’t stand the silence anymore, when a small part of me begins to fear that perhaps she can’t or doesn’t return my feelings, I lift my head and look into her glistening eyes...which tell me everything I need to know before she even utters a word.
Gently, I touch my lips to hers, loving her, reassuring her, sealing my feelings with a tender kiss.
“I d-don’t d-doubt it,” she sobs, as tears stream down her face. She takes a deep breath, and lets it go slowly, holding my eyes with hers. “I know it’s true, Trevor. I know...because I love you too.”
Chapter 13
Valentine’s Day
Faye
The printed note on my pillow reads:
A FAIRBANKS AFFAIR
Tall, dark, and very taken distiller owner
requires the company of the Boston-born
businesswoman who has stolen his heart,
for an intimate Valentine’s celebration.
Two of us. One bed.
Zero clothes.
A car’s coming at 7:00 p.m.
Pack an overnight bag.
I love you.
T
I read the note again and again, marveling that only two months ago, I was sitting in Dr. Lafferty’s office, about to get a cavity filled, when I happened upon Trevor’s ad. I thought I’d go to Fairbanks, lose my virginity to a tall dark stranger, and be back in Boston by the second of the year.
Little did I know how much that ad would change my life.
Since deciding that we wanted to stay together, I’ve really had to think about what I want out of life.
I’ve reflected a great deal on how losing my parents took away my liberty, took away my freedom of choice, took away any chance of personal election over my own future. Whatever “open road” I thought I had as a twenty-one-year-old was ripped away from me.
Suddenly, I owned a company, which meant I was responsible for the livelihoods of hundreds of employees. At an age where I should have been meeting young men and dating, I was thrust into the role of parenting my sister. And for the ensuing decade, between running Findley Imports and caring for Harry, I had very little time for myself.
I don’t know who I would have been if a terrible freak accident hadn’t made all my life choices for me, if I’d been able to make them on my own. But I do know that I will not allow the rest of my life to be controlled or guided by circumstances beyond my control.
I’m in control, and this is what I know:
I love Trevor. And I love my sister.
They are the two most important people in my life, but if I am to have a life that includes them in any lasting and meaningful way—that allows for leisurely sex and a delicious brunch every Sunday morning with my boyfriend...or camping out on a couch with my sister and a bottle of wine until she falls asleep on my shoulder—I am going to have to take back the reins and make some serious decisions about my future.
For starters, I can’t live full time in Boston anymore.
It’s too far from Trevor, who has his business and family in Fairbanks, and Harry, who has applied to West Coast schools for her MBA. I’ve decided that the most logical course of action would be to sell my house in Newton and maintain small apartments in Boston and Seattle, for when I need to be in either city for business.
Speaking of my little sister, who talks to Baz Starling almost as frequently as she talks to me, Harry has decided to spend spring break in Fairbanks. Her actual words were “I want to come home for spring break, Faye. Can I come up to T’s and stay with you for a week?”
It was Harry’s use of the word “home” that impacted me so greatly, because I couldn’t recall her using that word before. “I’ll see you in Boston,” sounded familiar enough, but “home”? No. I gave it some thought, and I don’t think she thought of my house in Newton as home. Perhaps, in her mind, it was “Faye’s house” or “my sister’s house,” but not hers. It made me want to cry, because I don’t know that Harry’s had a place to call home since my parents passed away.
And now, suddenly, she’s referring to Fairba
nks as home. I’m so touched by this development, because it has taught me something important too: “home” isn’t really a set place like an apartment or a house. It’s just whatever place on earth holds the people that love you. I love Harry, so her home is with me. And Trevor loves me, so my home is with him. And the Starlings love Trevor, so his home is with them.
And that’s why I’ve decided to live in Fairbanks. Permanently. Trevor has invited me to stay indefinitely, and it’s an invitation I mean to accept. In the strangest turn of events, one that I never saw coming, I use my freedom of choice to make Fairbanks, Alaska, my home.
Karl Franklin doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to be offered the Boston CEO job on a permanent basis, and then he’s going to help me find his counterpart for the Seattle office. I can happily be in Boston once or twice a month for important meetings, and I can easily be in Seattle once or twice a week for the same, but I cannot live bicoastally and still prioritize my relationship with Trevor. And Trevor ties with Harry for my first priority moving forward.
I read the note again, wondering where the driver is taking me tonight, then remembering that I have an appointment with my orthopedist at ten o’clock.
I’d better get in the shower if I want to be on time.
***
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a fast healer, Ms. Findley?”
“Not that I can recall,” I tell the doctor, who’s inspecting my foot.
Dr. Knotts nods at me. “Well, you are. This looks great.”
“I’ve had some amazing support over the last six weeks. My boyfriend has been my own personal superhero,” I tell him.
I think about the many times Trevor carried me up and down stairs, made meals for us, helped me shower, or brought me a cup of coffee. Cheerfully, with sweetness and love, he nursed me back to health. If I am a fast healer, it’s not because of me. It’s all because of Trevor.
“Good man.”
“I certainly think so.”
“You don’t need the boot anymore,” he tells me, making a note on my chart. “You need to move slowly and carefully over the next few months, but you can to start trusting your foot again.”