by Brook Wilder
Chapter 2
Elle crashed through the door to the office, jolting to a halt. Carla was towards the back, talking tensely to someone over the phone and hadn’t noticed Elle’s sudden, and odiferous, arrival. She took another step forward, opening her mouth to let out all the anger and humiliation that Honey had drawn up in her out in the form of an early resignation but then Carla’s loudly spoken words stopped her.
“…What do you mean you can’t do it?” her friend sounded pissed off, but under that was a note of worry that made Elle want to reach out. That was, until she realized that she still smelled like a pile of manure. Carla probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture that much just then.
“You promised me three weeks ago…I know that we’ve never worked together before, but you’ve done business with Honey Bud Farms before. You know we have a good, solid product and with this new strain we’re working on…of course,” Carla finally said with a sigh as her expression fell into one of pained resignation, “Right. I understand. Thanks anyways.”
Carla hung up the phone before slamming it, several times, hard down on the receiver before taking a deep breath, “Yeah, thanks for nothing!” she murmured towards the disconnected phone and, Elle assumed, directed at whoever she’d just been talking to.
“Um, everything okay, Carla?” Elle asked softly, noticing for the first time the new lines of strain in her friend’s face. Lines that hadn’t been there before she’d taken over the farm. That hadn’t been there before everything that had happened with her old boss, and the old owner of Honey Bud, Maurice.
“Yeah,” Carla sighed, “It’s fine. Just these assholes that are–Oh my god, Elle, what happened to you!?” She’d finally glanced up, catching an eyeful of Elle in her dirt smeared skin and compost caked dress.
“It’s a long–Honey was–Listen, I don’t think I can help you anymore,” she finally spit out, cringing at the look that Carla gave her. The same disappointed light in her blue eyes that had been there after that tense phone call.
“Elle, please,” Carla said, walking around the desk to let herself fall into the office chair, “Please, I really need a friend right now.”
“I am your friend! I’ll always be your friend,” Elle hastened to explain, guilt already eating away at her, “But…but…I’m just not cut out for this type of work.” She gestured to herself as example A and Carla tilted her head to one side, some humor finally breaking through the clouds in her eyes like sunlight.
“You know, I think you’re right. But to be honest that’s not the worst thing that could happen to that dress,” a small smile tugged up one corner of Carla’s mouth, “It was pretty horrific to begin with.”
“I’m glad you find this funny. I know it wasn’t the prettiest thing, but I didn’t have anything else to wear. I’d been meaning to ask if I can borrow some more appropriate work clothes, but…Anyways, that’s not the point,” Elle said, cutting off her rambling, “The point is that I can’t do this. I can’t work with…him.”
There was no need for her to say who, exactly, she was referring to. Carla knew. Elle could see it in her eyes, in the sympathetic look that she cast her.
“Elle, if you would just tell me what happened between you and Honey, maybe I could–”
“No.” That was it. Just a single word but it cut through the office like a knife. She couldn’t talk about that with anyone, not even her best friend. But unbidden, like a ghost rising out of the fog of her mind, the memories haunted her.
It had been that fateful night over six months ago. Maurice had been trying to blackmail Carla over a shipment of stolen weed, a shipment stolen, in fact, by the Dirty Cruisers, and Elle had helped uncover the fact that Maurice was actually dirty himself. He’d been dealing his product illegally over state lines. They’d just had to figure out a way to prove it.
It had seemed like a foolproof plan. Distract Maurice, draw him away so that Carla and Joel could search his office, this very office at the time, to try and find any evidence. So Elle had done her part, making the call to Maurice to tell him the lie that Carla was missing. The call that had drawn him from the office and gave Carla and Joel the time they needed.
And then she’d had nothing to do but wait, sitting at the clubhouse with only Honey for company as everyone else had left to do what they needed to do. They’d been alone, just her and him, adrenaline and fear for her friend rushing through her and she’d weakened, for just a moment. Letting him in, for just a bare moment.
It had been a wonderful, breathless, golden moment. He’d dragged her back to the storage closet, enclosing them in the small, intimate space as he kissed her. Boy, had he kissed her. Like nothing she’d ever felt before, nothing like the tepid kisses she’d had before. He’d kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her, like he never wanted to stop. Like he never wanted to let her go.
And then his touch. The same touch that had haunted her nights, tortured her dreams. His fingers, callused and hard running over her curves, pushing up the hem of her skirt until he reached the bare center of her.
She’d been lost, then. Lost to him, lost to her own desire, burning and raging out of control. A tempest that had overwhelmed her. So intense, so all consuming, that it had scared her. She was always in control, she had to be in control. But in that moment, she hadn’t been. In that moment, she’d been wild and reckless and foolish.
And then it had ended. She’d come back down to earth with a painful thud and had fled. Running away. She’d hated that, running from him. Like a coward. But she couldn’t stay there. Because she knew. She knew if she’d stayed there with him she would have given him everything. And in the end, she would have been left with nothing but pain and heartache. That’s how men like Honey operated. They ran through women like water, but not her. Never her.
“Elle, what do you say?” Carla was looking at Elle, her expression expectant.
“Wh–what?” Elle gave a shuddering breath as Carla’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “What was that?”
“I said, do you think you can give it till the end of the week? I can find you work here, in the office. I just need to get things organized. And…just so you know,” She added slowly, “Honey isn’t really working here. He’s got his job at the clubhouse–”
“Yes, his venerated position as bartender. Very crucial,” Elle interrupted with a roll of her warm brown eyes, her voice caustic and Carla sent her a look of reproof.
“You know, it’s more than that, right? A lot more. He’s the eyes and ears of the crew. He’s the one who makes sure that everyone is happy, that no one is double crossing, or cheating anyone else. He’s the one who stops fights, and makes sure that violence doesn’t break out. It’s a lot more than just pouring beers for bikers.” Carla gave her another look, adding to the guilt that was already spreading like an oil slick through her, “He’s only helping out here because I begged him, and only a few hours when he can. So, you’ll be safe from him.”
“Oh, okay,” Elle said quietly, “That’s…that’s good then.”
“If you would just tell me–”
“No, Carla,” Elle said, giving her a pleading look, “I’ll help, okay? I’ll do everything I can to help you because you’re my friend but I…I can’t talk about that, alright?”
Carla held up her hands in mock defeat, even though Elle could still see the curious light shining in her blue eyes, “Okay, okay, I won’t pry. Tomorrow then?”
But Elle was already shaking her head, “No, I’ve got piano lessons tomorrow.”
“The day after, then?” Carla asked, hopeful and Elle gave in with a grin.
“You are relentless.”
“It’s one of the things you like best about me.”
Elle just laughed, shaking her head, then grimaced, “Will he be here?” She asked before she could stop herself, and Carla gave a slight nod.
“It’ll be fine, I promise.”
“As long as he behaves himself,” Elle said primly, and then grima
ced again as she caught a whiff of herself, “I’m a…I’m going to go home now, though, and shower,” she said, taking off towards the door.
“And burn that dress!” Carla shouted after her.
Elle glanced back with a shudder, “You read my mind.”
Chapter 3
Honey held his hand up, fist clenched just inches from the door he was about to knock on, Elle’s door, but then let it drop with a sigh. He hated apologizing. It was something that he’d never been good at as a child, or a teenager, or now that he was an adult. He just didn’t like admitting that he was wrong.
But you were wrong, asshole, a voice said inside his head, now man up and fucking say you’re sorry.
He remembered the scene yesterday at the farm. Joel had asked him to run some errands, and he’d been drawn by the noises coming from the green house. He’d frozen when he’d walked in and seen Elle standing there, the last person he would have expected to find hauling buckets of compost. Well, not so much hauling as…dropping. Directly on top of herself. And in a dress, no less. And a cardigan.
Honey shook his head, a lopsided smile drawing across his face as he remembered the picture she’d painted, all feminine outrage as she rolled around in the pile of muck. He didn’t understand it. Even literally covered in shit, she’d still been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.
He’d just been trying to help, really, but his temper had snapped a little when she’d refused to let him. And he hated that almost more than he hated apologizing. But he knew he owed it to her. Especially if he was going to keep working at the farm in his off hours. It would be torture. It would be heaven.
Stop being an asshole, that little voice said again and he tried to ignore it. But he couldn’t ignore the twinge of guilt that had brought him to where he was now, standing on Elle’s doorstep in front of her brightly painted, cheerful yellow door. He didn’t know why that would surprise him. It suited her.
Finally, he raised his hand again and knocked, spurred on not as much by the need to apologize as the other need that boiled through him. The need to see her. To just…be around her. He’d never felt that for another woman before and it made his skin itch, it made him shift uncomfortably on the pristine step waiting for her to answer.
He waited. And waited some more. He looked towards the driveway in confusion but her car was parked there, the little white and red compact thing that couldn’t go more than forty miles an hour by the looks of it. With growing impatience, he knocked again. But still no answer.
With a sigh, he started to turn around but stopped himself. Fuck it. He hadn’t driven all the way out here just to walk away when there was a little hitch in the plan. Resolved, Honey spun himself back around and grabbed the door knob. It turned with the slightest pressure and his eyes widened in surprise as the door swung open, unlocked.
He shook his head again. What was she thinking leaving the damned thing open? Anyone could walk in. A criminal. A murderer! Silently fuming he walked inside, closing the door softly behind him and throwing the lock with a scowl. He’d have to teach her how to look after herself better. With the intent set in his mind he took a step forward, and froze once more.
He was stopped in his tracks as he looked around wide-eyed at her house. It was exactly as he would have imagined it: warm, inviting, with the smell of freshly baked cookies and spice permeating the air. To his left was a small kitchen with tidy white cabinets and a small bar height table that looked like it would only fit one. Everything was neat. Everything was in its place. It all screamed of her.
He scanned to his right, into a small living room area and walked closer as something caught his eye. It was a small framed photograph hanging on the wall. It was the only photo that he could see in the whole house and he leaned close to get a better look.
It was her, Elle. She must have been only six or seven when the photo was taken. The little girl in the picture was standing proudly in between a beaming couple holding what looked to be a 2nd place ribbon. He realized then how little he knew about her. The couple in the photo must be Elle’s parents. He wondered why she didn’t have any more pictures out. He wondered why she never mentioned them.
Not that you’ve been particularly forthcoming about your own past, that soft inner voice whispered and he shrugged it off. She didn’t want to hear about the twisted, troubled path that had lead him to where he was, and she sure as hell didn’t need to know about just how fucked up his life had been before the Dirty Cruisers, and Joel, had saved him.
He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with his train of thought. Slowly, he turned around, opening his mouth to speak, to call out for her, but just then the most beautiful sound fell on his ear. It was soft, almost ethereal, as if he was dreaming it but it drew him forward, his feet moving almost of their own accord as he searched for the source of the music.
Honey halted once more as he reached the back room. The walls were plastered with sheet music and posters from old concerts, and in the very middle stood a large, glossy black piano that hid him from view as he stopped just inside the doorway. He eased around slowly, softly, so as not to disturb the magnificent music coming from the instrument and stopped once more when he could finally see her.
His warm eyes widened slightly in surprise to see Elle, her eyes closed in rapture as her fine boned fingers flew across the keys as if by magic. Sitting next to her on the long piano bench was a small boy, probably no more than nine or ten and he stared at her with awe shining in his eyes.
Honey knew exactly how he felt. That same awe swept over him, carried by the crash and wave of the music as it reached its crescendo, drawing him into another place, another time. And for a brief moment as he watched her, he felt transformed as well. His eyes traced over her, drinking her in, and he was lost.
***
Lightness. That’s all Elle felt as her fingers moved from memory over the keys of her most prized possession. It was the piano that her parents had given her after she’d won a piano competition. The last gift they ever gave her. Sometimes she hated the thing, and the painful memories it drew up. But other times, like now, it felt like a pure extension of her.
As the music flew from her fingertips, her eyes closed tight as the last few notes of ‘Clare De Lune’ fell softly into the air like feathers. Slowly, she blinked them open, taking a moment to readjust to the world around her again, the real world, as she nodded down at the small boy sitting next to her.
“See, Peter,” she said, gathering up the loose sheets of music from the piano’s small shelf, “That’s how ‘Clare De Lune’ is supposed to be played. It’s fluid.”
“Like water?” her student asked, looking up at her and she could see the confusion in his eyes.
“Yes, like water. Because–”
“Because it should be easy,” a voice interrupted from behind the piano and Elle jumped in surprise before stiffening like a post as recognition filled her. “It should just flow from your fingertips. Like Elle.”
“Miss Watson,” the boy corrected, looking curiously at the man who had just he stepped around, finally revealing his presence. He nodded with a roguish grin.
“Right, Miss Watson. Sorry.”
“But Miss Watson plays like…like magic. I can’t do that,” Peter said, a soft pout in his voice and Elle smiled softly down at him, trying to ignore her fluttering pulse.
“You will, Peter. Someday. You just have to keep practicing.” She ruffled his hair fondly, “And keep coming to lessons.”
“Yes, Miss Watson,” he said, gathering up his folder full of sheet music as a horn honked outside. “That’s my mom. I gotta go. See you next week!” And with that, the boy was off, tearing towards the front door. Elle had to fight the urge to call him back, to keep him there as a buffer between her and the man who was now staring at her, his gaze warm and wondering.
“See you next week, Peter!” she called after him. Well, if she didn’t have anything to distract him
, at least she could ignore him. And she set about doing just that as she tidied up the already perfectly straight music books and dusted invisible flecks of dirt from the keys of the piano.
“You can’t just ignore me, Elle,” Honey said on a sigh as he walked closer and she realized he was right. It was impossible to pretend that he wasn’t there. Her pulse was going mad, her heartbeat racing like a speeding train and those damn butterflies where causing chaos in her stomach.
So she did the only thing that she could. She threw her shoulders back, tilted up her chin, and turned to him, “What are you doing here, Honey?” she demanded, “How do you even know where I live?”
Honey shrugged, unabashed, “I knew you and Carla were neighbors. I got Carla’s address from Joel. I lied and told him–It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, coming closer, close enough to take the seat on the bench next to her where Peter had just been. But it was a hell of a lot more crowded with Honey’s body so close to hers, their thighs pressed together and his heat enveloping her like a warm blanket.