Maybe Baby Lite

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Did I wake you, Tylar?” he asked, turning over and pulling me close.

  “I expected you to wake me, Trey. We're supposed to discuss tomorrow, remember?”

  “It’s all taken care of,” he announced. “I called Rebecca and she will swing by here about 8:45 in the morning to pick you up for work, okay?”

  “Great,” I said, happily.

  “She will drop you back off here at 4:15 p.m. after your shift.”

  “I don’t really think I’m comfortable staying here without you being here. I just feel weird about it.”

  “Nonsense, Tylar. This is where I want you this week, understood?”

  “Whatever,” I replied pulling the covers up to my chin. I dozed off again briefly, waking a bit later, feeling Trey’s warmth right next to me. I snuggled closer to Trey, pressing my backside against his front to see if anything stirred.

  “What, are you doing, Tylar?”

  “Nothing,” I answered, continuing now to swivel my hips ever so slowly against his crotch. "Go back to sleep."

  “I hardly think so,” he whispered, rolling me over onto my back and positioning himself above me. He clasped my hands, our fingers interlocking above my head. I had goose bumps. He lowered his head and his mouth found mine in an instant. His kiss was passionate and hungry and mine matched his with the same intensity. He released my hands and I clasped them behind his head. His hair was still damp from the shower. I covered his lips and his face with kisses. I couldn’t get enough of him. I pulled him down on top of me, wanting to feel his full weight. I could feel his hardness and I wanted it. Putting both of my hands beneath his firm backside, I pulled him closer. He quickly moved off of me and pulled himself up into a sitting position. His breathing was heavy and ragged.

  “Tylar, we talked about this remember?”

  “No Trey, you talked and I listened."

  “Tylar,” he said, “do you know how much I want to touch you? Do you know how much right this minute I want to be inside of you?”

  “Then why aren’t you?” I asked. “What are you afraid of?”

  His eyes darkened. “I'll tell you what I'm afraid of Tylar. I’m afraid of starting something that we can’t finish. I’m afraid that I may do something that will send you reeling back in time to some sick memory or childhood dream. I don’t want to be the person that evokes some deep dark memory or painful experience you’ve tucked away in your subconscious. I want to be the person that's there for you once you have found the answers, and works with you to chase those demons away.”

  “So you want me to find the answers somehow, someway, and then you’ll be there for me to help sort them out, right? Isn’t that kind of like sending me down into the coal mine alone, but being there for me if and when I come out, to help me weigh the coal?

  “That’s a total misrepresentation of what I said and you damn well know it," he shot back.

  “Oh, is it? The fact you won’t touch me makes me feel all that much more damaged and undesirable I’ll never be good enough for you, will I, Trey?”

  “What?” he choked. He continued to stare at me with those exquisite, blue eyes, but he was unreadable. He didn’t say a word and his silence spoke volumes. I shrugged my pink robe on headed to the bedroom door.

  "Where are you going?" asked with alarm.

  “To find another bedroom.”

  I located a small empty bedroom around the corner from Trey’s wing. The wall switch turned on the light on the nightstand next to the made-up double bed. It was a pleasant enough room, definitely free of distractions. I climbed between the sheets and surrendered to sleep.

  CHAPTER 15

  Trey came to my “new” bedroom at 6:30 the next morning, waking me as he sat down on the bed beside me. He was dressed impeccably in a pale blue oxford button-down dress shirt that brought out the intensity of his sapphire eyes. His gray, tailored trousers accentuated his lean, muscular build. The gray and blue Repp striped silk tie made his Armani traveling executive look complete.

  “Tylar,” he said, sounding business-like, “I’m getting ready to take off for the airport. I just wanted to make sure you're settled in.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “There are larger rooms available, Tylar—”

  “This one is fine.”

  “Okay then. Well, you have some time to get your things from my suite and get situated in here before you leave for work. Thatcher will get you anything you need if you let him know.”

  “Fine,” I answered, not meeting his gaze.

  “Don’t forget, Rebecca will be by to pick you up for work this morning around 8:45. She will bring you back here after work as well,” he reminded me again. “Tylar, I want you to stay here all week. I'll give you a call when I can, but my schedule with the trial is fairly brutal. You can always leave a message for me on my cell and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. I left my business card with all of my contact information in Atlanta on top of your suitcase back in my room.”

  At this point, I was merely nodding my head each time I received an instruction from him, half-listening. I wanted to go back to sleep.

  “I guess that’s it, unless you have any questions for me?”

  “Nope,” I answered rolling over so that my back was to him. “Have a safe trip.”

  “Have a good week, Tylar,” he said. I felt the bed shift as he stood. My eyes welled up with tears. I closed them tightly, trying to get the image of him out of my mind.

  “There's one other thing,” I heard his soft, silky voice. He'd come around to the other side of the bed, and was down on his haunches, front of me. He leaned over, his thumb brushing a tear that had spilled from my cheek. He kissed me softly on my lips, stroking my hair. I threw my covers back a bit, raising myself to my knees to be level with him. I laced my arms around his neck and buried my face against his shoulder. He smelled so good. I was probably leaving tearstains on his impeccably ironed oxford shirt. He pressed me to him, his chin resting on my hair.

  “Will you promise to be a good girl while I’m gone, please? I don’t want to be worried about you during this trial.”

  “Yes I promise, Trey.”

  He gave me another squeeze, kissing the top of my head. I pulled back, lifting my face to his. We kissed again, this time our lips moved sensually, passionately. I pressed myself to him, and my teeth gently tugged at his lower lip as we slowly parted. And then he was gone. I heard the heavy front doors downstairs open and close a few moments later.

  My bedroom faced the front of the manor. The circular driveway was in plain view from the window. I could see that a limo was taking Trey to the airport. Thatcher was standing outside with him holding a leather duffel bag as Trey spoke to the driver. Trey held his leather briefcase; his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder. He looked like a model. He got into the limo as Thatcher handed him the leather duffel, closing the car door. The limo moved down the driveway. I watched it getting smaller and smaller, until it was a speck. I felt lonely and empty.

  I padded down to his room to get my belongings. I felt closer to him just being around his things. I looked at the rumpled sheets and covers on his bed. I suspected he'd slept restlessly last night; the sheets were un-tucked at the end of the bed, the blanket and duvet twisted around each other. His boxers were on the bathroom floor where he'd stepped out of them. The bathroom still smelled of toothpaste, mouthwash, and his delicious aftershave. His navy blue terry robe was on the hook of the bathroom door.

  I decided that although I wasn't going to sleep in his room this week, there was no reason not to enjoy his amazing bathroom. I shut the bathroom door and stripped off my clothes. I wanted to take a shower where he'd been just an hour before. I shampooed my hair with his shampoo and conditioned it with his conditioner. I rubbed his body wash all over me, and shaved my legs with his razor.

  Once dressed, I realized I'd need to return to my cottage to get more of the essentials. I'd have someone go along with me later after work. I we
nt downstairs and nearly collided with Thatcher as he came into the entrance hall from the dining area.

  “Good morning, Ms. Preston,” he greeted me. “I trust you rested well last night?”

  “Very well thank you. Please call me Tylar, won’t you?”

  “As you wish. May I get you some breakfast, Tylar?”

  "Don't go to any trouble on my account, Thatcher."

  "It's no trouble, I assure you," he replied, smiling. He went to the kitchen and returned with my breakfast asking if there was anything else I needed. I assured him I was fine. I was anxious to go to work. I couldn’t imagine spending the day here having nothing to do. I ate my food and started to clear the table when Thatcher returned, taking over. I guess I wasn't to lift a finger here.

  I went upstairs to collect my purse. I noticed that my bed had already been made up. Trey’s robe was hanging on a hook on the back of my bedroom door. I'd be pissed if someone moved it back to his room or, heaven forbid, laundered it. I heard the sound of a car horn outside. Glancing at the clock on the dresser I saw that Mrs. Johnson was right on time. Trey was right, two minutes into the drive over to the Belle; Mrs. Johnson insisted I call her “Becky.”

  She told me I'd be busy all week helping in the winery. She’d provided an employee nametag for me, instructing me it was mandatory to wear at this location because of tourists. It was primarily a security measure.

  We arrived at the winery, which looked like a regular barn from the outside but was entirely refurbished inside. There was a door leading to the wine cellar, the site of my new assignment. I followed her down the narrow wooden steps to the cool dampness of the wine cellar. This wasn't too bad after all. I was going to like this. If nothing else, it was a great way to beat the heat outside. She led me through a narrow corridor, and then opened a wooden door to a large room that held the corking machine. It was fairly loud, and Becky shouted for the girl that was operating it to shut it off.

  “Here’s your help, Gina,” Becky said to the girl.

  “Tylar, this is my niece, Gina,” she said. “Gina, this is Tylar Preston, your help for the week.”

  Gina cracked a dazzling smile as she walked over to me, wiping her hands on her pants and smoothing her short-cropped strawberry blond hair. “A fellow ‘cellar rat,’ welcome,” she said, holding her hand out to greet me. I shook her hand, confused by the job title. Gina laughed at my confusion.

  “Don’t take offense; that's just what everyone in the wine business calls this entry-level position.”

  “I’ll leave you to the training, Gina,” Becky said, making her way to the door.

  “Don’t worry Aunt Becky,” Gina replied, still smiling. “I’ll have her up to speed in no time.”

  “Just behave while you do,” Becky replied, shaking her head. I got the impression that Gina was a handful for her aunt.

  “First off, we need to get you the proper uniform,” Gina said, selecting a clean apron from a stack on a shelf. “Tie this around you because it does get dusty down here amongst other things,” Gina said in an accent that didn’t sound southern.

  “Have you worked here long?” I asked, putting my head through the apron and tying it in the back.

  “Only since I was a kid,” she answered.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

  “That’s because I’m not,” Gina said, taking a shop rag and wiping off the tool on the machine that lowered the cork into the bottle. The machine did not look high-tech whatsoever, but then again, this wasn't a major winery.

  “I’m originally from New Jersey,” she explained. “Aunt Becky's my mom’s sister. I used to spend nearly every summer here. This is not my real job,” she explained. “I just came over to help my aunt out with this bumper crop. In return, she's cutting me a sweet deal on fifty cases of wine for our club.”

  “You have a club?”

  “Sure do,” she said, cracking her chewing gum. “My husband, Ian, and I opened it last year in Atlanta. That’s where we live now. It's a kickin’ place.”

  Throughout the rest of the morning, Gina trained me in the art of being a cellar rat at a winery. It mostly consisted of tasks such as “hold this” or “clean that.” She instructed me on how to affix the labels onto the wine bottles. It wasn't rocket science, but it was nice having someone like Gina to talk to while doing redundant tasks. Gina was the type of person who'd never met a stranger. After spending just a couple of hours around her I felt like I'd known her forever; direct and unpretentious, I liked her immediately.

  As it turned out, Gina’s Aunt Becky lived about a quarter of a mile down the road from the Sinclair Manor. I told Gina about staying at the manor. I noticed the raised eyebrow and soft little smirk that escaped from her after I mentioned it.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she replied, getting a shit-eating grin on her face. “How do you like Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair?” she asked innocently enough.

  “I’ve not met them,” I replied honestly. “They're traveling in Europe.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said, “just like they do every July and August. So I guess it’s just you and Trey holed up there, huh?”

  “No, actually it’s just me there for now.” I didn’t want to get into the long story about the drama in the pool, nightmares, my crazy mother, or the rest. I figured I' would get there soon enough. I had no clue as to how I could explain my relationship, or non-relationship, with Trey. I wanted to shift the conversation away without being too obvious.

  “So, you know Trey?” I asked.

  “Well yes, I guess,” she answered, snapping her gum. “I mean as well as anyone could know him I suppose. He’s like three or four years older than me, but yeah, I remember summers back when I was in high school. He was away at school most of the time, Oxford I think. He has two older brothers too, but they are like way older. In their late 30s or early 40s, I'd guess. They operate wineries out on the west coast. Napa Valley. I think Trey was maybe a surprise when he came along. He’s not like his brothers from what I know. Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, the Sinclair's have all of this money and they set the two older boys up in Napa Valley with vineyards that made them multi-millionaires. Then along came Trey, and with him, it’s like he didn’t want that kind of life. He gets the schooling abroad and all of that, but being a lawyer sure doesn’t pay what his brothers are making out in Napa. I heard he simply told his parents he didn’t want it. Then all that stuff happened with his fiancé getting hurt real bad.”

  “What happened?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t all that interested.

  “She broke his heart. That’s what happened. I know it had something to do with his horse. She wanted him to put the horse down; he wouldn’t do it. I just heard bits and pieces from Aunt Becky, so I don’t know the whole story.”

  Oh my God, I thought, why would someone want to have Derringer put down? I couldn't imagine such a thing!

  “When did all of this happen?” I asked.

  “I dunno; three or four years back maybe. Hey, for being his bitch, you sure don’t know much about his deep dark secrets do you?”

  “Did you say ‘his bitch’?” I asked, eyes widening.

  “Relax, it’s just a term we use, an east-coast term,” she laughed, taking the water hose that was used to clean the wine bottles before filling and spraying me with it across my back. I shrieked in surprise when the water hit.

  “Lunch break!” Gina announced. We climbed the stairs and emerged outside into the early afternoon sun. “Do you want to eat up at the restaurant?” she asked. “We get our lunch for free.”

  It hadn't occurred to me what I'd do for lunch when I left this morning. I was used to eating at my cottage while working over at the stables. Since lunch was free; problem solved.

  “Sounds good to me, wine bitch,” I said, laughing. Gina actually looked shocked when I said that and then we both diss
olved into giggles. I considered that being around all the fermented wine was somehow having some mood-altering effects on both of us. I was so glad I had someone like Gina to work with.

  We headed into the main visitor’s center. The restaurant was up on the second level. It was 12:30 p.m. so there was a crowd. Gina weaved her way through to the back of the room where a single table was located next to the kitchen. “For Employees Only,” a small tabletop sign read. Jenna and Rodney were already sitting there.

  “Hey Ty; Hey Gina,” Rodney greeted as we joined them.

  Jenna spoke to Gina, and then turned to me as if I was her long lost friend. “Tylar, how are you?” she asked as if she was sincerely concerned.

  “Jenna, you’ve seen me since I’ve been out of the hospital–I’m doing okay.”

  “Oh,” she said, pausing, “I really wasn’t talking about the concussion, I was referring to your, uh, well, for lack of a better word, ‘humiliation’ at the race last weekend. I mean you and your Jezebel being scratched like that when you were so close to winning the high stakes. It’s just a shame!” she remarked. “I suppose that comes with the territory.”

  Gina and I both exchanged glances with one another.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “It’s no secret what everyone's saying. I mean, surely, you know?”

  “Know what?” I demanded, my voice taking on an edge.

  “You’re Trey’s Twinkie.”

  “What the fuck's a Twinkie?” Gina blurted out, laughing at Jenna.

  Yeah, I second that question

  Jenna rolled her eyes, and then acted as if she was reciting the definition from Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary: