Oliver knocks again causing me to roll my eyes. Charles, no doubt, confirmed that I am indeed, home. Charles doesn’t know any better, but Oliver does. He knows that I don’t have anything to say.
As I look at the door, I see that I didn’t lock it. That’s not something I usually forget. I know my mind is elsewhere, maybe still in Beaumont. I open the door, standing between it and the doorjamb. Oliver is resting against the opposite wall. The look on his face is pensive. He’s thinking and showing me that he’s hurt. If he would look at me he’d see that I don’t care. Not anymore.
“I’m happy to see you’ve finally decided to come home.”
I sigh and fight the urge to roll my eyes. “We aren’t scheduled to rehearse until tomorrow. I’m home.”
“Most performers rehearse day in and day out to make sure that when the curtain goes up they’re ready. They don’t take a two week vacation and come back like nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed, Oliver. What did you think? That I would stay home and sulk, waiting for you to call? Not this time. I told you, I’m done.” I move to shut the door, but he stops me. I could fight him. I could yell and scream and the guy down the hall will come running or the lady across from me will call 911 without even opening her door, but he’s harmless. When I say Oliver is the quintessential Broadway producer, he is. He’s a pretty metro boy who cares more about his appearance than lifting weights. His weekly mani-pedi’s are a must for him.
“Yvie, you don’t mean this. Sure, we’ve hit a rough patch, but once you come to your senses, everything will be better.”
I throw my hands up. “To my senses? What does that mean?”
“Marriage, Yvie. We could become a powerhouse couple, and you keep pushing it off.”
I rub my temples and wish I hadn’t answered the door. I’m going on a lack of sleep. I’m exhausted and really just want to crawl into bed.
“I need some sleep, Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsals.” I walk toward the open door and hold it, motioning for him to leave.
“And we’ll talk tomorrow?”
I let him think that I’m contemplating his offer. He steps out of my apartment thinking that he’s won again. I look at him as I start to close the door. “Oliver, it’s over,” I say as I slam the door quickly and slide the lock in place. Resting my head against the door, I wait until I hear his footsteps move down the hall. I pull out my cell phone and bring it to life. My background picture is of Xander and me at three a.m. this morning, lying on his bed. My head is on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. We were looking at each other as he took the picture. I don’t know what possessed me to set it as my background, but I’m happy that I did.
I pull up his name, my thumb hovering over the letters as if they’re able to be touched. As if he knows I’m thinking about him, a text pops up from him.
Xander: Did you make it home?
Just knowing he cares makes me smile and makes my heart hurt. It’d be so easy to give in to him and not look back.
I’m home, door is locked and my bed is screaming my name.
Xander: You were screaming my name pretty loud a few hours ago.
I don’t know how he does it, but a simple look from him and I’m a wanton whore, lifting my skirt in the car just so I can have one more time with him before I had to leave.
I know. I haven’t forgotten.
Xander: I meant to ask you earlier – when can I see you next?
My heart beats a little faster knowing that he wants to see me and is already asking. I just don’t know what the answer is. I think that if I leave the ball in his court, I’m not faced with saying something stupid or out of place.
I work five nights a week, but I can take time off. It’s usually no more than 2 days.
I press send before I can change my reply. He needs to know that my job is important to me even though I want to see him.
Xander: You know, I’ve been thinking… well, I’m just thinking! Good night, Tiny Dancer.
I stare at my phone, wondering if I should reply. Part of me wants to know what he’s thinking and the other part wants to be surprised, romanced. Xander is definitely someone who can romance me.
It’s been six-weeks since I dropped Yvie off at the airport for a second time and not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about her. I can’t look at the weight bench without memories of that night flooding my mind and have thought about moving it into my office and replacing it with another. Even though I sterilized it, I cringe each time someone uses it, out of jealousy and for sanitary reasons.
It’s hard telling myself that Yvie and I are just friends and that we’re not a couple. From the outside, I’m sure that’s all we look like, but according to my phone bill over ninety percent of my calls, both incoming and outgoing, are with her. We’ve logged who knows how many hours on video chat and she’s my first and last text message of each and every day. It’d be stupid of me to try and push her to define what we are, though. My hope is that when she’s ready, she’ll tell me. My fear, however, is that when she says she’s ready, it will be with someone else. I have to find a way to get out of this friend zone and more into the “this is the guy I’m seeing” zone, even if we do live thousands of miles away.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve learned so much about Yvie James. I know her best friend, Lindsay, hates Oliver (secretly I do, too) and is encouraging Yvie to find a different production to perform in. She doesn’t ask for my opinion, and I’m okay with that. I can’t act like I’m jealous because she has to spend every day with her ex-boyfriend/producer douche, even though I am. It’s her job, just as my job as a personal trainer puts me in contact with a lot of very nice looking females. Those females don’t hold a candle to Yvie, though, and as many times as I’ve told her that, I can still hear the jealousy in her voice. It’s a hazard of both our jobs, and probably a hang up for the both of us. It’s definitely something we’d need to overcome if we were to make this official.
I want to make us official, but not while we’re living apart. I can’t ask her to move, and uprooting my life here doesn’t seem feasible. I’ve established a reputable business, not to mention my commitment to JD’s recovery. His recent scare with his chest pains has me concerned. Not that I’d share those concerns with him. Leaving here doesn’t make sense in my eyes, and Yvie moving here likely doesn’t make sense in hers. I’m afraid that she and I are both in limbo, hanging on by a thread in the friend zone.
As I look out, people are bundled up to ward off the mid-winter chill. Ice skaters move by café windows, showing off their talents for all those who sit inside and watch. My skates are on and laced up and my pea coat buttoned up. Jenna said I needed this coat and that my sweatshirt wouldn’t cut it if I’m going to try to fit in. I don’t want to fit in, but I don’t want to be an embarrassment either.
The horn sounds telling the ice skaters to leave the ice and my nerves start to take over. I’ve never done anything like this, something spontaneous and so forthcoming. I’m either going to walk away a happy man for a few days, or with my tail between my legs. Ask me last week and I could have assured you that I was doing the right thing. Ask me right now and I’ll tell you that my legs are shaking, and my knees are knocking together.
The next session of skaters move out onto the ice under the night sky. As I step out of the café, I can’t help but feel the magic. The holidays are over, but the rink and outer areas are still fully alive with life and color.
I spot Yvie easily, thanks to Lindsay’s stealth planning. The day I got an email from Lindsay about Yvie, I knew I had to do something drastic, yet endearing, so she knows that I want to be in this for the long haul if she’s willing. Lindsay found me through my website and filled me in on how much Yvie is missing me. For the first time, I felt my hope soar that Yvie and I could have a future. I never went as far to ask for details because I didn’t want Lindsay to betray Yvie’s confidence, but the message was received loud and clear. Lindsa
y and I worked together to get me to New York.
Pulling out my phone, I text Yvie.
What’re you doing tonight?
I see the exact moment she takes out her phone. Her skates slow down and she removes one of her gloves to text me back. If the ice rink were more crowded, I’d be in trouble.
Tiny Dancer: Nothing :( just hanging with Lindsay. You?
Her text stabs me deep because there are so many times I wanted to tell her my plans, but the girls told me to keep it a secret. They all said the surprise would be worth it.
As soon as Yvie and Lindsay skate by, I step out onto the ice and head to the center. I’ve had this grand scheme mapped out for weeks, but I’ll be damned if I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Lindsay has a part and for the love of all things holy I hope she remembers. When I see Yvie again, her face is down and she’s moving along with the crowd. The smile she had earlier is gone and I can’t help but hope it’s because we’re not together.
I look around and see that I’m not the only guy standing in the center. Apparently my idea isn’t as original as I thought, but I can’t change it now. Lindsay sees me in position and directs Yvie to the spot where I’m standing and bumps her shoulder. When Yvie looks up, her mouth drops open as her hand quickly covers it. Her beautiful eyes are now filling with unshed tears and she starts to shake her head. I stand there, speechless, extending to her a single red rose. There are more roses, red and white ones, covering her apartment thanks to Charles, her doorman, and Lindsay.
“Yvie, will you be my Valentine?” I ask her, my voice breaking. There’s a moment of silence when she doesn’t say anything, and it feels like time has stopped while I wait for her reaction.
“Say yes!” someone yells and she sort of laughs and coughs at the same time.
Yvie pulls her hand away and reaches for me. “What are you doing here?” her voice breaks and teeters between excitement and dare I say tears, albeit happy ones.
I shake my head. “Well, it’s a holiday and we’ve spent all our holidays together. I couldn’t let one get skipped, now could I?”
Yvie slides her arms around my waist and buries her head into my scarf. I hate that I’m wearing it because I want to feel her against my skin. I hold her to me, basking in these few minutes that I can have her in my arms again.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Yvie tells me as she lifts her head. She places her hands, one freezing cold and the other gloved, on my cheeks and holds my gaze. “I know I shouldn’t say it, but I’ve missed you.” Before I can respond, her lips press against mine. She moves against me with such urgency, with such need that I choose to let her guide us. When she deepens the kiss, I pull her as tight as I can, eager to feel her against my body. The catcalls cause me to pull away. She lives and works here, and doesn’t need to be recognized as that woman who made out on the ice rink.
“What’d you say we take this someplace else?” I ask, hoping that she says her place since that’s where all my stuff is.
“My apartment isn’t far; we could walk. It’s a nice night out.”
I look up and see how bright everything is in the night sky. The lights of Manhattan could guide you anywhere. Thoughts of holding her hand while we walk the streets flash through my mind. It’s something I want to do. “That sounds great.”
Yvie doesn’t let go of my hand or my arm throughout our walk to her apartment. Every few feet, she stops and pulls me in for a kiss or we stop and she talks about a church or tells me what building we’re passing. As much as I want to explore Manhattan, there’s time for that later. Besides, she’s far more interesting. Tonight, I want to hold her, sit on her couch with my arm wrapped around her shoulder while she nestles into me. Tomorrow, I’ll happily follow her around as she gives me a tour of the city she loves.
She stands on the first step leading to her apartment building and rests her hands on the back of my neck. The look in her eyes is one of excitement and, I hope, longing. I can only hope my features match hers.
“I can’t believe you’re here. Are you real?”
“I’m real. I can show you later if you’d like.” My eyebrows dance, earning an eye roll from her but also a wicked little smile.
“Come on, let’s go inside. I have a nice warm apartment that I want you to see.” I was pleasantly surprised at how much like Yvie her apartment is. The moment I stepped in, I knew she lived there. I don’t know what I expected, but when I walked in it felt like I was wrapped in her arms. Her place is quaint and perfect for a single person. The colors on her walls are warm and inviting. Her shelves and walls are adorned with photos of her dancing and of her family. There are a lot of pictures of her with the band, with her and Harrison, but mostly of her and Quinn.
Once inside the building, she walks us up to the front desk.
“Miss Yvie, I hope you had a nice evening.” Charles, the man behind the desk, smiles brightly at her. You can tell that he cares about her deeply.
“Oh, Charles, it’s been the best night. I want you to meet Xander,” she says with her hand on my chest. My heart beats rapidly as I gaze down at her. She has to know she does this to me.
Charles and I shake hands, acting as if we haven’t met already. “It’s nice to meet you, Charles.”
“You too, Mr. Xander.” Charles is a professional and doesn’t let on. It will only take a few seconds for Yvie to realize that those close to her knew about this and helped me pull it off.
I hold Yvie in the elevator. She holds my hand when we exit, and I have to fight every urge not to lead the way. Each second it takes her to slide in her keys and open the door is painstakingly slow.
My throat tightens when she steps in. This is a risk and something I’ve never done before, but Jenna said Yvie would love it. Jenna hooked me up with a florist nearby who had the roses ready for me when I arrived. Once Lindsay and Yvie left, Lindsay sent me a quick text and Charles let me in. He even helped spread the rose petals, saying Yvie deserves nothing but the best. I happen to agree and hope that she thinks that’s me.
Yvie turns on the light and gasps. I step in and stand next to her, afraid to say anything.
“You did this?”
I nod, and look around the room. The red and white rose petals are scattered around her living room. On her little end table sits a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. The strawberries are in her refrigerator.
“I had a little help,” I say, shrugging.
Yvie shakes her head. “How did you do all of this?”
I start to take off my coat and she follows. She takes mine and hangs it in the closet with hers. The benefit of a small apartment is that she’s not that far out of reach and her hand is back in mine before I know it.
“Sit down,” I say, kissing her nose. “Let me grab a few things.”
I walk into the kitchen and pull out the strawberries and pick up the two champagne flutes I bought earlier.
Yvie is looking at the vases of roses, four in total, which are around her living room. I pop the cork and the bubbly spills over, causing her to laugh.
“I’ve always wanted to see that.”
“It must be your lucky night,” I say as I hand her a glass of champagne.
“Are you going to fill me in?”
“Yes, let’s sit though.” I bring over the strawberries and sit next to her. As soon as she takes a sip, I offer her a strawberry.
“Mhm, this taste so good.” She moans, and I ache a little more inside. This is why long distance relationships are hard when you’re so attracted to someone. Something as simple as eating a piece of fruit is a turn on.
“Yes, I had help,” I say, before running the strawberry over her lips. “Lindsay emailed me. She said she thought you were lonely and suggested I visit. I miss you, so here I am. Lindsay was kind enough to get me in touch with Charles, and Jenna helped me with the flowers.”
Yvie’s eyes water and she buries her face into my chest. I use the opportunity to hold her. “I’m sorry, I d
idn’t mean to upset you.”
She shakes her head. “You didn’t,” she mumbles. “You make every romantic theory come true, and I think you do it without even trying.”
“Um… is that good?” I hate that I even have to ask, but I’m a dude. I don’t know much about romance.
She lifts up her head and smiles. “It’s very good.” She stands and pulls my hand into hers. “Come on, I want to show you my room.” She winks.
“But we have champagne,” I say, as I stand.
“Do you still have abs?”
I laugh and pull my shirt from my pants so she can see.
“Well, I say bring it so I can put those abs to use. I’ve missed them.”
‘Yeah, they’ve missed you too’ I want to say, but plan to save that line for later. I follow her into her room with the bottle of champagne and bowl of strawberries. The only thing missing is whipped cream, but I can pick that up tomorrow.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Read other books by Heidi McLaughlin
Heidi is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author.
Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell and two Parakeets.
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