by Peach, Hanna
Jeff shrugs. “Whatever. If you don’t like it just pretend you do and you can throw it away later, ‘kay?”
I stare at Jeff now slumped back in his chair, arms crossed. And I recognize the vulnerability that he hides under the smirk. I hear the desperate need in his voice for me to like what he has given me, shrugged over with a mask of “I don’t care”. I know these things because I am looking at him as if I am looking in a mirror.
Suddenly I don’t feel so alone.
I stand up and walk over to Jeff. He watches me, suspicion clearly in his eyes. I lean down from behind him, wrap one arm around him and squeeze. “Thanks, Jeff. I love it already no matter what it is because you gave it to me.”
I hear Jeff in my ear, “You so want me.”
I push him away and slap his arm but only half seriously. I sit back down in my seat and am pleased to see his demeanor has changed in a snap. He’s grinning at me and bouncing lightly in his chair. “Open it, open it.”
“Alright already.” I open the flap and peer inside. Just a single piece of paper. I slip two fingers in the envelope to grip the paper and notice it is thicker than normal paper. I pull it out.
It is a sketch of the four of us − Jeff, Dixie, Robert and me, our faces done in pencil. It is frickin’ brilliant. He has shadowed the sketch so well it pops out from the page. Along the bottom of the page he has written, “Your family away from home”. A small sob chokes me and I strain not to let it out.
“I love it,” I breathe.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I do. But I can’t keep it. I have to throw it away as soon as I get home. I can’t get attached. But I can pretend, can’t I, just for the moment that I am part of this family?
I force a smile to my face.
Robert hands around the small slices of cake on little white plates with black and white dotted party napkins. I cut into my slice of cake with my fork and pop the first piece into my mouth. It is moist and rich with a dark chocolate cream filling and a matching layer of icing. He has even added piped icing around the base and top edge of the cake and placed several pink marzipan roses with pale green leaves across the top. I wonder at how this giant of a man was able to produce such a delicate and pretty cake. The bar becomes silent for the moment except for little moans of culinary pleasure.
“Thank you, Robert,” I mouth to him when I catch his eye. He nods back.
Robert is a big man with a soft voice and skin as dark as night. He’s soft-spoken and loyal to Dixie, always guarding her like a bear. I often catch the edge of ink against his skin around his arm when his sleeves shift up. I know it’s jail ink. I have seen jail ink before. I wonder what he did time for. I wonder how he came to meet Dixie. But I know not to ask. I just know that I feel an odd sense of comfort with Robert around. We both have a past, a story. And again, I feel less alone.
Everyone finishes their cake in no time.
“Well, my honeys,” Dixie says, jumping up from her seat. “You know what we need to do now?” She makes her way to the bar.
“Go home to bed?” I offer.
Jeff nods his head enthusiastically at me.
I roll my eyes at him. “Our own beds, Jeff.”
He shrugs. “One day you’ll stop being so scared to admit what we have.”
I shake my head and turn my attention back to the bar behind which Dixie has disappeared. What is that woman doing?
“Dixie?” I call out. “What is it that we need to do now?”
Her head of flame shoots up from behind the bar like it was just fed a blast of oxygen. “Shots!”
I groan.
Dixie returns to the table with a bottle of whiskey and four shot glasses on a tray. When she picks up the unopened bottle, I catch the label.
I gasp. “Dix, that’s an 18-year-old Macallan. You can’t open that. Not for me. It’s too much.”
Dixie raises an eyebrow at me. “So… your man is a scotch drinker, hey?”
I feel my cheeks flush. “Why do you say that?”
She grins at me. “I notice that’s not a denial. Honey, when you first got here, you didn’t know your single malts from your blended. Hell, you didn’t know your rums from your whiskies. Now you’re familiar with high-end scotch brands?” She raises an eyebrow at me.
Rats. Under all that hair is one hell of a brain. Nothing gets past her.
I sigh. “Okay, so maybe he drinks whiskey. Macallan is one of his favorites.”
Dixie points the lid of the scotch bottle at me in triumph. “I knew you had a man. Didn’t I say she had a man, Robbie?” she nudges the big guy.
“Yes, ya did, Dixie. Yes, ya did.” Robert speaks in his low rolling tone.
“And he drinks Macallan, Robbie. That’s my kinda man.” She turns to me. “So when we gonna meet him?”
I cringe. This is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know about Cade.
“I don’t know when. He’s away a lot. On business.”
“I think you’re making excuses,” she sings.
I keep my mouth shut. But thankfully Dixie becomes focused when she starts pouring. The lady’s smart as hell, but for some reason, Dix simply can’t concentrate on two things at once.
“Now I know you don’t really drink,” she says. “But you absolutely cannot refuse a birthday shot. Your birthday shot.”
I sigh. It’s pointless to argue with her. I take the glass from her fingers and she squeals with glee.
“Here’s to you, honey. Happy birthday, however old you may be. May your days be filled with happiness and love, and your nights filled with lots and lots of hot sex!”
I laugh and we clink and we drink.
I taste a flare of dried fruit and a hint of cinnamon before the soft burning takes over on the way down. I make a face.
Dixie starts pouring another round, but I put my hand over my glass. No. Not more than one. Dixie and I stare at each other for a second. But she seems to understand. She nods and moves the bottle over the next glass.
I stare at the bottle and the glasses and at us sitting around this table performing a well-worm social ritual of friendship. My stomach tightens. Don’t get too attached to these people. Don’t do it. It’ll only make it harder when you have to leave.
“I should go home,” I say.
“Stay, honey. You don’t have to drink, but just stay and chat. You can just have water. Jeff, get her a glass of water.”
Jeff jumps to his feet and runs behind the bar.
“Thank you, Dixie, but I should go.”
“But it’s your birthday celebration. Stay. Eat. Drink.”
I fight the urge to remind her that it isn’t my birthday.
Jeff returns with my water and places it in front of me with a flourish. He slings his arm around my shoulders. “Please stay?” he croons. “It won’t be the same without you.”
“But it’s getting late,” I say lamely.
Robert catches my eye. “I’ll walk you home when you’re ready to go. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll get you home safe no matter the hour.”
I stare back at the three pairs of pleading eyes staring at me. I know I shouldn’t say yes. I know I shouldn’t let my guard down and get close to them.
I’m usually comforted by feeling anonymous and cut off from the life that goes on around me. But tonight something tugs inside me. The warmth that these three people have bathed me in has reignited a long-forgotten want. I want friends. I want to feel like I matter. The only way I have this is when I am with Caden, but he isn’t here. And the bastard won’t even give me a way to contact him.
I am selfish. So I give in and say yes, eliciting a round of cheers. And hope I won’t end up regretting it.
When I get home later I kick off my shoes and dump my bag on the bed. Carefully, I take out Jeff’s drawing of us. I smile. He really does have talent. I hope he gets the chance to do something with it.
I know I should throw it away. I can’t allow myself this attachment to t
his picture. Even small things can bind you. But when I put my hand to the paper to crumple it up, my fingers shake but they don’t close. I can’t do it.
I pick up the paper and open the top drawer by my bed. Inside are all the notes that Caden has ever sent to me as well as unopened greeting cards that I have collected for the poems written inside. Maybe I can keep it for a while. Just a while. As I slip the drawing inside, my eye catches on a note.
Entrance to Cherry Farm Park, Thursday, 3pm.
I remember this note. It was Caden’s second note. It was also the first note that he had managed to slip into my bag. I don’t know how it had gotten there. All I know is that the note wasn’t in my bag at the beginning of the day. But when I got home, it was.
I had racked my brain over when it could have happened. Maybe at the coffee shop where I stopped on my way to work. Maybe the grocery store where I bought my food. Hell, he could have slipped it into my bag while I was standing at the lights, his hands so close he could have touched me, his nose so close he could have smelled me.
I still don’t know how the hell he managed to get it in there without me seeing him. And he won’t tell me when I ask even now. He just gets that cheeky shit-eating grin that he gets when I ask him something he doesn’t want to answer. Then he kisses me and that distracts me enough to forget what I had just asked. Hell, I forget my own name when Caden kisses me.
I know I should have been terrified that Caden knew where to find me that day. That he knew exactly where I was going to be. Instead, like an idiot, it thrills me. The thought that he had at some time been close enough to touch me without my knowing makes me dizzy. Even now, I imagine that he is watching me like an angel protector.
I fall sleep thinking of Cherry Farm Park, Thursday, 3pm.
Chapter 6
Six months ago
Cherry Farm Park sits in a pocket of this city’s river. It is mostly green space but dotted here and there with small well-tended patches of flowers and oak trees. Caden is already standing at the arched entrance when I arrive five minutes early. He’s dressed in dark distressed denim and a plain black shirt. Over his arm he carries the same brown leather jacket he wore the first night we met.
I see his look of appreciation sweep over my skinny jeans and black silky top tied at the back of the neck with a bow. I hold my own tan leather jacket over my arm. When we walk together he takes my hand and I realize we look like one of those couples that have been together so long they dress alike. Black and denim and brown leather.
“I don’t have much time today, but I thought we could get an ice cream cone each and walk along the river,” he says. “Is that okay?”
I nod with enthusiasm. “I haven’t had an ice cream cone in years.”
He pulls me towards the small ice cream stand by the entrance. We stand behind a mother with her three kids who take their time ordering. I stare at the stainless steel tubs filled with all different flavors.
“Shall we play a game?” I say with a cheeky grin. For some reason I feel childish. Giddy like I’ve just gotten off a merry-go-round.
He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. What’s the game?”
“I get to choose your ice cream and you choose mine. Then we have to explain why.”
He smiles wide. “This will be interesting.”
We reach the front of the line and I point to the tub filled with pale green ice cream, thick with nutty pieces. “Could he have the pistachio, please?” I glance over at Cade.
He is looking at me with amused curiosity. He looks only at me, even as the girl behind the counter scoops up the ice cream and hands it to him. He glances at the alien-looking scoop then raises an eyebrow at me.
I smile internally. He can just wonder a little longer.
I look back at the flavors under the glass and try to guess what he will pick. Maybe the Grand Marnier, bold yet sophisticated, or the Tia Maria, sultry and sexy?
I can’t help but pout a little when he says, “Dark chocolate for her, please.”
I take the cone and thank the girl while he pays.
He takes me to one of the large benches that looks out onto the river. Like the last date, I sit on one side of the bench then he sits flush against my side. My breath hitches when his leg comes into contact with mine. I swear he does it on purpose. It feels like he is sitting closer to me than last time, if that is even possible. My fingers itch to dig into those thick muscles of his and to run my nails up the insides of his thighs up towards where his jeans are straining from his…
“So, pistachio?” he says.
I blink and clear my throat. I hope I wasn’t licking my lips when I was staring at his pants or anything obvious like that. “Because it’s like you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s rough with hard pieces all the way through it, but there is just enough sweetness underneath to balance it. And, well, it’s totally nuts.”
He laughs and it’s loud and unrestrained. “I like how you see me.”
I shrug, but inside I am pleased at his reaction. “Why dark chocolate? It seems pretty plain to me.”
“Oh no, kitten. Dark chocolate is always underestimated because it appears to be plain, but it is rich and complex and a mixture of dark and sweet. Which is why it takes a certain palate to be able to fully appreciate it.” This is how he sees me. His intense gaze unhinges me. But it is his next words that have my heart lurching. “But most of all, it is my favorite flavor, and I’ve decided it’s the only one I will have.”
One corner of his mouth pulls up. He grabs my wrist and pulls my ice cream to his face. He takes a languid lick. Then moans under his breath. He sticks his tongue out again, wide and flat, for another lick. This time his wet tongue drags across me as he watches me from between my naked legs. Oh yes. It sends a rush of electricity through my body, my nipples pressing to attention. Please, more. I grab his hair in my fists and pull his tongue further into my…
Caden lets go of my hand holding my ice-cream cone, watching me carefully. Shit. I can still feel his fingers on me. And I can feel that I’m wet, as if his tongue really had been there.
I face forward and focus on my ice cream before I moan or blurt out something stupid and make a fool out of myself. God. I won’t ever look at dark chocolate ice cream the same again.
Inside I am a jumble of awareness. I can sense him watching me as I lick shyly at my ice cream. I can feel the thickness and strength in his thigh pressed against mine, the brush of his arm against my shoulder as he eats his. I can sense the way he just owns this bench and this space and the air that I breathe.
The lapping of the river against the bank and the rustle of wind through leaves fades under the noise of his tongue and his little grunts of pleasure. I want to be the cause of all those noises. His tongue sucking and licking against my creamy soft…
I am getting carried away again. My cheeks heat and I press my thighs together and try not to let it show. I hear him crunching at the end of his cone. His ice cream is devoured before I have barely licked mine.
“Delicious,” I hear him say.
I force myself not to look at him even though my skin is pricked with the awareness of his eyes on my face. He murmurs something under his breath.
“What was that?”
He leans in so his chest is pressing against my shoulder, causing my eyes to flick to him.
“You have some ice cream here.” He extends his tongue out and licks a line from my jaw up past the corner of my mouth. Oh God. My insides turn to jelly and my breaths go shallow.
I turn my head so that my mouth lines up with his and opens slightly, a plea for him to do it again, this time across my lips. But he doesn’t. He moves aside and places another languid lap along the other corner of my mouth.
“And here.” His teeth nip along my jaw, sharp, with enough pressure for me to feel it sending bolts of electricity through me, but not enough to really hurt. His hand drags across my thigh until his fingers grip firmly underneath it, and he
pulls me closer to him. The edge of his palm is so achingly close but not touching the upper seam of my jeans. His nearness warms me like fire and I want to be burned alive.
“And here.” He takes my earlobe into his mouth and he sucks gently. If there isn’t a part of my skin that hasn’t erupted in goose bumps, it does so now. Oh, sweet Jesus.
He pushes his nose into my hair and groans. “Oh, kitten, you smell good enough to eat.” Then his tongue traces around the shell of my ear.
I forget that we’re in a public place. I push my hips forward until his hand connects with the most sensitive part of me and a gasp falls from my lips. I clench my thighs and rock my hips against his hand. My body is thunder and lightning as the first moan escapes my throat.
Without warning, he snatches his hand away and pulls his lips off my skin. My eyes flash at him in shock. His face looks passive, but I can tell his breathing is unsteady.
“You dropped your ice cream,” he says.
I blink, then stare at my hand still hovering in the air, then at the cone that has fallen to the ground from my limp fingers. I frown as the rejection turns to anger.
“What game are you playing?”
He doesn’t react. I bristle even further. I stand with the intention to storm away from him, but he grabs my body with both hands and pulls me onto his lap. God damn, this man is fast. With the speed at which he clasped me he should have crushed me, or at least hurt me a little. But he didn’t. Fast. And strong. Yet incredibly controlled. I shiver internally.
He leans in as he brushes his thumb roughly against my bottom lip, his eyes glued to my mouth. “Not yet, kitten. Not yet.” He sounds like he is in pain.
I can’t help myself. I press my open mouth against his thumb and lick him, getting my first taste of him. His skin tastes of the ocean and pistachios. Suddenly I am hungry, hungrier than I have even been before and all that will sate me is him, his skin, his body underneath my lips, my tongue.
I see the flash of heat across his eyes before it disappears behind his carefully controlled façade. My stomach sinks. “Not yet, kitten.” Even though he wants me, I know he won’t let me have him until he decides it’s time. He is too much in control. Even more than me. Damn him.