Between You and Me

by Lynn Turner

  “They’re delicious,” she said, “but maybe some fruit would be good? Or something with some degree of nutritional value at all?”

  They stopped in front of Philip’s office, since his was closest to the conference room.

  “Are you asking me to feed you?” he asked.

  “I—” She was oddly nervous.

  They had always shared an easy camaraderie and had lunch together often enough that his question shouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary. This felt different. He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, and she could sense that this wouldn’t be one of their typical lunch excursions to him.

  She couldn’t process what her intuition was picking up and formulate a careful response on the spot, so she opted for something he would accept without suspicion that she was blowing him off. “I’d love to, but I think I’m gonna work through lunch today. I have some momentum going and I really want to finalize our top three manufacturing options today.”

  He nodded. “Best. Guy.”

  He winked and retreated to his office. She sighed and headed back to hers. She felt anxious. Tense. It was the third day in a row she’d felt this way.

  Emanuela approached Lydia’s desk. “Miss Whitney called during your meeting,” Lydia said. “Also, there was a sign-for. I left it on your desk for you.”

  “Thank you.” Emanuela grabbed a mint from the candy dish on Lydia’s desk. “Hey, Lids?”

  “Yes, Miss Monroe?”

  “I feel a headache coming on so unless it’s something big—”

  “Do not disturb.” Lydia nodded once.

  Emanuela smiled warmly at her assistant and shut herself into her office. Kicking off her heels, she trudged to the desk and sat down. The package Lydia signed for was small, a perfect cube of a plain white box. The sender was a well-known printing company. She frowned. A successful business would have no reason to send free gifts. Grabbing the envelope opener on her desk, she slit the tape and opened the box. Nestled between packaging foam was a white coffee mug filled with an assortment of chocolate truffles. Cute. She lifted the mug from the box. Printed in black typewriter font against the stark white of the mug, was:

  I’m jealous of the morning sun

  who gets to be the first to see you

  or the coffee cup

  who gets to kiss your sleepy lips awake.

  It was cheesy, but something about it was so personal that her heart trilled in her chest. There was no one she would expect such a gift from except— She emptied the box, looking for a note, a receipt-anything that would tell her who sent it, but there was none. She unwrapped one of the truffles and popped it into her mouth as she picked up the phone and speed dialed Allie.

  “We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?” Allie asked, sounding winded.

  “We are.” Emanuela’s brows knit together. “Where are you right now?”

  “Ugh! One of my weddings has been pushed up and I’m scrambling like mad to finish everything for back-to-back receptions this weekend! I just picked up the last of the supplies I need for the displays,” Allie said, now completely out of breath.

  She was the proud owner of Sugar, a premier wedding cakery in Lower Manhattan. They met in business school, and Emanuela was surprised to discover that Allie wanted to own a bakery. A few other students enjoyed jokes at her expense, thinking her ambitions weren’t lofty enough. Now, her business was in high demand, especially during the spring and summer months, and hopeful couples needed to book well in advance if they wanted one of her gorgeous cakes.

  “You’re a magician, Allie,” Emanuela said. “You’ve managed well under much more hectic circumstances.”

  “I know,” she said, distracted.

  “Glad I could help.”

  “Thanks, Em. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Emanuela sighed and selected another chocolate. She was paying attention this time when she peeled off the thin foil wrapper. Then she saw it. There, printed on the inside in bold white letters, were three simple words:

  I miss you

  Her head jerked to the side a bit, then she opened another, and another, and another. Every single one contained the same three words. Her mouth spread into a wide, blissful grin, and she reached for her cell.

  ****

  Finn’s email notifications had been pinging away since seven-thirty that morning. It was hard to keep up with all of the messages in this particular encrypted account, but he managed to put a significant dent in it over the past few days and he was feeling pretty good about it. He was about to sign off for the day and then stopped, recognizing a familiar digital signature attached to a message. He hurried to open it, entering his private key and waiting for the message to finish decrypting.

  Hello, Doctor.

  I pray this message finds you well and in good health. We are so thankful to you for the supplies you sent. Maddie has grown a great deal and the prosthetic arm you sent last year is still functioning very well. The younger children here believe she is a superhero.

  Simon Peter has not been faring as well. The meningococcal virus was diagnosed too late and the infection has spread to his leg. I’m afraid we will have to amputate. I am writing to urgently request a prosthetic leg for the boy.

  Greatest discretion will be practiced, as always.

  Your grateful friend,

  Dr. Albaedo

  “Dammit.”

  Finn designed each and every prosthetic limb, printed them from a 3D printer he bought with three thousand dollars of his own money, and shipped them abroad to patients in need. To doctors, nurses, missionaries and others, he was simply “Doctor.” All correspondence between him and his colleagues abroad was encrypted to maintain anonymity and protect the small charitable movement he created.

  He was elated to hear about Maddie’s recovery. She was a precocious twelve-year-old who dreamed of becoming a nurse. Her arm had been crushed beneath the rubble of her collapsed apartment building during the devastating earthquake in Haiti in 2010. Her family could not afford the extensive surgery needed to save her mangled limb. She was now fitted with the second prosthetic arm Finn designed and would receive another in four more years after she outgrew that one too.

  He removed a photo of the small Haitian boy from his wallet. Simon Peter was seven years old. Like many in his impoverished area, he didn’t have access to sufficient health care. As it was, his family had traveled more than four hours from their shantytown on foot to reach Dr. Albaedo’s clinic and, by then, his condition was severe.

  Such a shame. He was pulling for the boy. He glanced at his watch. Simon was teaching all morning and wouldn’t return until the afternoon, so he powered on the large monitor on his desk and, using the unique program he created to customize prosthetics for small children, got to work on Simon Peter’s new leg.

  He had been at it for two hours when his cell phone vibrated so hard it almost slid from his desk. He considered ignoring it, but he saw Emanuela’s name on the screen and quickly answered. “Hey you.”

  “Hey.”

  There was a singsong quality to her voice, although it was hushed.

  “You’re calling me from work.” He smiled. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until later.”

  “Oh, I could call back if now isn’t a good time.”

  “Now’s good. Now’s great. How are you?”

  “Honestly, I was having kind of a rough morning until this mysterious box showed up on my desk.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, it’s quite the intrigue. The sender left no note or any way to identify him. I think I’m being courted by The Phantom.”

  Finn laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t say! And what was in this mystery box?”

  “The one thing, apparently, that I haven’t bought for myself yet.” She grinned. “There was a coffee mug with the sweetest, although corny, message printed on it and some delicious chocolates. Now there’s just the mug.”

  “Corny? I’ll have yo
u know that I commissioned the finest poets in all of mass market printerdom to forge such a masterpiece, and you mock me for it.”

  Emanuela laughed outright, unable to keep up the charade. “I love it! I needed one. I think my assistant might personally thank you, so look out for that.”

  “Noted,” Finn said, happy to hear her voice. “You said you were having a bad day. Wanna tell me about it?”

  “No. At least not now. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been told I’m moody today and I think it’s because…”

  He frowned at her hesitation. “Emanuela?”

  “I miss you too.”

  Though she spoke at a near-whisper, he still heard. He was thrilled at the confession. The feeling that he was becoming much more emotionally invested than she was plagued him ever since he overheard Philip address her with such gentle familiarity back in Simon’s garage. Finn was certain she felt the same pull toward him that he felt toward her, but thought perhaps she had something going with her boss, however insignificant, before he met her again. Hearing the sincerity in her voice restored his confidence that they were in this together. A wave of longing rose and fell through his body, starting in his arms and legs and flowing straight to his heart.

  “That’s—oddly, comforting to hear,” he said. She sighed, and his arms itched to hold her. He crossed them over his chest and tried to lighten the mood. “You’re not going to stand me up tonight, are you?” he asked. “Emanuela,” he prodded gently after a long moment of silence.

  “No, I won’t stand you up.”

  Her voice sounded small, and he understood. This instant, she was the one most affected. Last night, it was he. They alternated this way each night of the last week, trapped in an emotional maelstrom that had them giddy at the start of every conversation and pining for each other at the end. Neither of them wanted to be flung out of the whirlpool that snared them, so around and around they went.

  “Good.” He made a valiant effort to sound upbeat when this was eating him. “I’ll see you then, Emanuela.”

  ****

  The call ended, leaving Emanuela almost in tears. She hadn’t realized the magnitude of her growing affection for Finn until the plane that carried her back to New York began its descent. She was usually very relaxed during landing, accustomed to the feeling similar to being on a roller coaster where her stomach dropped and she felt a little lightheaded. This time had been different. She hadn’t wanted to look out the window at the night sky or the city lights. She couldn’t. She had felt nauseous, sitting ramrod straight with her head back, her palms gripping the armrests and her eyes sealed shut against the dizziness that overtook her.

  The plane taxied to the gate, and she made a concerted effort just to stand. It was then that she came to terms with a very real sense of loss. Finn hadn’t gone anywhere. He was right where she left him, with three thousand miles of land and trees, water and mountain ranges between them. Part of her was still with him, the absent chunk bigger than she could have imagined.

  Chapter Nine

  “You wore that to work?” Finn cocked his head in disbelief.

  Emanuela pressed the start button on her coffeemaker and turned around to lean against her kitchen counter. She had a slight frown on her face, eyeing him on her laptop screen. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  He inhaled an audible breath, surveyed her form, and let it go slowly, pursing his lips. Her hair was up, her bangs side-swept and tucked behind diamond-studded ears. She wore a white, sleeveless dress that was tailored like a glove, with a thin black belt around her narrow waist. The high neckline drew attention to her defined collarbone and the graceful curve of her neck. He cursed under his breath.

  “Nothing. You look beautiful.”

  She giggled. “You’re jealous.”

  Finn knew he was being stupid, but Emanuela was a beautiful woman and if she was walking around dressed like that every day, he was sure men were taking notice. They were able to be near her, maybe brushing her arm or catching her scent as she walked past.

  “Of course I am,” he said. “You could just wear something uglier.”

  Her laughter echoed in her kitchen. She brought her coffee cup to the bar counter and sat down to be face-to-face with him. “Not a chance.” She grinned at him over the rim of the cup. “Besides, I’m sure there’s no shortage of women parading themselves in front of you every day. Maybe I’m the one who should be jealous.”

  Though she was teasing, he caught the pang of insecurity in her voice. They were still getting to know each other. They’d hardly spent two days in the same state, much less quality time alone together, so he would understand if their bond wasn’t strong enough to hold her to him. He would understand but it would still hurt.

  “Yes, countless women are throwing themselves at me as I toil away in Simon’s garage,” he said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  He did know. Women often sent admiring glances his way or sat too close to him during his commute from Whidbey Island to Simon’s house in the city. Still, he wasn’t spending extended amounts of time collaborating on projects or having lunch with them. Or giving them cute little nicknames, which reminded him of something.

  “So,” he said, hoping he sounded interested and not like he was prying. “What’s it like working for a guy like Philip Hurst? It’s hard to box him in. His investments are all over the map.”

  “I understand. He’s very smart and actually quite selective about the projects we take on. It’s just that his choices have run the gamut, so people equate his unwillingness to limit himself to a single area to him being fickle. He doesn’t throw money at things just for the sake of making good on his investment. He picks things he really believes in.” She smiled. “And so do I.”

  Finn examined her expression, the way her eyes radiated warmth whenever she spoke of her employer. He knew the story of how she got her start. He’d lost count of how many times he read her bio on the firm’s website.

  “The two of you must be very close.” He studied her face. “I imagine you’re his most valued employee.”

  “We’re friends. Working for him feels more like working with him and he doesn’t hover. I enjoy that. But,” she said, affecting a neutral expression, “all this talk of work isn’t really doing much for this tension I’ve had all day.”

  His hair stood on end at her tone. “Really?”

  “Really.” She took another deliberate sip of her coffee.

  He cocked his head to the side a bit, wondering what she was on about. “What did you have in mind?”

  She took another sip, but tentative this time, like she was gathering her wits about her before she lost her nerve. “Music is very therapeutic. It can do wonders for stress. And since you aren’t a fan of my outfit, I thought it’d be nice to put on something relaxing and get out of these restricting clothes.”

  It took a moment for her words to fully register in his brain. His brows shot skyward and his jaw went slack. “Can we—can you do that? With the computer and everything?”

  “Mmhmm.” She grinned and put down her cup. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  He sucked in a breath, watching her gather her laptop and adapter and walk backward, making sure that he could see her surroundings as she went. Her condo had the same understated elegance that she did. The open floor plan made it easy for him to see the wall of eight-foot windows in her living room, and the dusky skyline beyond. Her walls were stark white, set off by the vivid colors of her impressionist paintings.

  “Nice place,” he said, quite smoothly considering his rapid pulse.

  “Thanks.”

  What he could see of her bedroom matched the elegance of the rest of the condo. The lighting was softer though, the walls awash in soft lavender with the same eight-foot windows along one wall. Emanuela set the laptop down on her bed, sitting the perfect distance from the screen so Finn could see her remove her jewelry. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She removed first one
earring, then the other, and then her watch, placing each in a silver dish on her nightstand. Finally, she took off the dainty ring, pausing to flash a mischievous grin Finn’s way before sliding it off her finger and adding it to the dish with the others.

  He was riveted, his eyes traveling the length of her. She giggled with nerves, and he thought he must look like a lion ready to pounce. Without a word, she got up, positioning the laptop to allow him an unobstructed view, and took her time turning around so that he could get an eye full of her back. She tossed a smoldering gaze over her shoulder, then strutted to her stereo, gliding the tips of her toes along the floor with each step. It had its intended effect, and Finn cursed softly.

  She hit a button and the mordantly seductive sound of horn, strings and brush against drum saturated the room as Nina Simone’s “I Put A Spell On You” began to play. She milked the intro for everything it was worth, sashaying closer to the camera with one graceful stride on each second count, her hips swaying with each step. She removed her hairpins and, with a couple turns of her head and a tousle with her fingers, the soft, scented mass tumbled to her shoulders.

  Finn was enthralled. Emanuela was positively feline, in fluid motion with the seductive strains of jazz pouring from her speakers. Her fingertips trailed upward along the sides of her body and ended in her lush curls. She flipped her hair and twisted, giving him a view of her side before she removed her belt in one svelte move, tossing it to the floor. She reached for her zipper—one quick tug to tease and then she pulled it down, the parting fabric revealing the smooth brown skin of her waist, inch by provocative inch.

  With her chin still down, she raised her eyes and held his gaze for a few seconds. The image of her triggered his taste buds and he licked his lips. Nina’s expressive contralto and climactic scat blended with the stringed instruments, intensifying the effect of Emanuela’s strip tease on his senses. She exposed one, then the other of her silken shoulders, peeling her dress down to her waist.

  She was driving him insane. Finn sat hostage to the sweetest visual stimulation he’d ever known, his hand unconsciously moving to his lap. His eyes and brain were full of her and the performance she was putting on just for him. She grabbed the fabric of her dress in her hands, sliding it up and down her hips a couple of times and then pushing it down, bending at her waist.