Winning Her Over

by Alexa Rowan

  Another text notification warbled, interrupting her thoughts. Did you eat lunch today?

  It was almost three o’clock. No wonder her stomach was feeling so empty. Not that she’d had much of an appetite, lately. No comment, she responded.

  Please eat. I still worry about you.

  Her mood shifted abruptly from annoyance to desolation, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep upwelling tears from spilling over. Another client was due shortly, and Brenna couldn’t look like the mess she was inside.

  I need to go. Thanks again. She ended their conversation, shutting off her phone before he could entice her into lingering, and before she began to cry in earnest.

  Sighing, she unwrapped one of the gourmet snack bars and took a bite from the chocolate-dipped end. It undoubtedly would have tasted much better if she hadn’t had to force it down past the lump in her throat.

  For the entire next week she struggled to forget about Cal, his caring words haunting her every time she raided the box of energy bars. He didn’t try to communicate with her again, which ought to have made it easier to pretend he hadn’t broken her heart. But with Cissy texting and calling her on a daily basis to check in and provide support, his betrayal was, paradoxically, harder to get over.

  By the time Friday rolled around again, she still hadn’t heard a thing from him. She was regretting that she’d agreed to meet Cissy at Ciro’s for a quick lunch, because there was a distinct possibility she would end up crying in public. And besides, she’d have to lock up Serenity Massage while she was out, and what if Cal sent her a present when she wasn’t there to receive it?

  On the plus side, the Canadian bacon, pineapple, and egg pizza she and Cissy ended up sharing was almost divine enough to take her mind off her troubles. At least until midway through their second slices, when Cissy asked how she was doing.

  “I’m fine,” Brenna said.

  Cissy regarded her with sympathy and worry. “You don’t look fine. You look like you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

  “Okay. I will be fine, then.”

  Cissy just kept looking at her, a concerned frown wrinkling her forehead.

  Brenna sighed. “Honestly?” Cissy nodded her encouragement, and Brenna leaned across the table so she didn’t have to shout her misery to the restaurant at large. “So he gave me the energy bars last Friday, and we texted. And since then—nothing. I’m annoyed with myself that that bothers me, because I’m the one that broke up with him. But I still can’t stop wondering if he’s thinking of me as often as I’ve been thinking of him.”

  “Oh, Bren.” Cissy’s eyes were shining now, in her empathetic distress. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I meant it when I said I’ll be fine. I needed to focus harder on saving Serenity Massage, anyway. He was a huge distraction.”

  “He was a lot of things.” From her gentle tone, Cissy meant the good kind of things.

  And that’s all it took for Brenna to get choked up. Again.

  She dropped the rest of her pizza slice back onto her plate. “I can’t eat the rest of this.”

  Now Cissy looked horrified, probably feeling guilty that she’d instigated the conversation. “Bren… You have to eat,” she said.

  “It’s not that bad. I’ll have them pack up the rest of the pizza to go. And if I get hungry, I’ve still got the rest of the energy bars.” They both smiled weakly at Brenna’s attempted joke, though Cissy still looked on the verge of tears, and Brenna’s brave front felt pretty shaky.

  Like the incomparably excellent friend she was, Cissy paid for their lunch and walked the two blocks back to Serenity Massage with Brenna. When they reached the front steps of her building, Cissy gave her a long hug that felt wonderful, but also reminded her once again of her loss. Then, before flagging down a cab, Cissy made Brenna promise to text her if she needed anything.

  Her belly half-full and her heart half-empty, Brenna was straightening up the therapy rooms between early-afternoon clients when the doorbell chimed. Her heartbeat sped up as she hurried to the suite’s glass door. A young man stood on the other side of it, wearing a light blue polo shirt with the logo of one of the fanciest florists in the city. He held another medium-sized cardboard box; this one was shaped like a cube.

  The grin that spread across Brenna’s face was unreasonably broad. And she couldn’t seem to return her expression to normal, either.

  She let the guy in. He set the box down on a side table with care and opened it while she signed for the delivery. Then he pulled out an exquisitely trimmed bonsai with pale pink flowers in an oval stoneware pot. She swallowed a sigh as she appreciated its perfection.

  “Where would you like me to put this?” he asked.

  “The table where you’ve got it is fine.”

  He straightened the bonsai in the center of the table before handing Brenna the card that had accompanied her new plant. She thanked him, and he picked up the now-empty cardboard box. Wishing her a good afternoon, he left.

  Her hands trembling slightly, she opened the tiny envelope. This time, the message simply said: I still miss you. Especially on Fridays.

  Brenna exhaled a shaky breath. She still missed Cal, too. Way too much.

  She didn’t have a lot of time before her next client arrived, so she snapped a quick picture of the bonsai and added a text message, thanking him for it.

  As before, his response was almost immediate. I’m so glad you like it. The flowers reminded me of the cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin in April. They’re spectacular.

  Well. That was very…neutral. She almost expected him to follow up with a play for the two of them to get back together, maybe a suggestion that he could show her the cherry blossoms next year, or something like that. But he seemed to be waiting for her to respond.

  She should have gracefully exited their conversation and gotten back to prepping the room her one-thirty client had just vacated. But she was loath to cop out like she had after last Friday’s gift.

  So she responded with what she thought was another neutral observation. Did you know that bonsai can live for hundreds of years?

  I did, he replied. That’s why I wanted to get one for you.

  The icy chill that had surrounded her heart for nearly two weeks began to thaw. Cal might be subtle about it, but he didn’t mess around. He was definitely wooing her. And that realization was absurdly pleasing.

  Maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to forgive him. If he could get past his issues with her being a massage therapist. Because choosing between her business and their relationship wasn’t something she was willing to do. And neither was settling for being his secret girlfriend. She deserved better than that.

  The doorbell chimed again—her next client was here. Out of time, she fired off a quick reply: Sweet-talker.

  Her phone vibrated as she was setting it to silent. The incorrigible man had sent her a smiley face.

  Cal was quiet for a few days after that, but this time she didn’t have to wait until Friday to hear from him. On Monday night he texted her, right around the time they used to talk on the phone. But with her last appointment of the day over at eight o’clock, she went to bed early and didn’t see his Hey until the next morning. She decided not to respond, but her heart still did a giddy little dance because he’d been thinking of her.

  He tried again Tuesday night. This time she was awake and on alert, her phone nearby, just in case.

  Hi, she responded.

  How was your day?

  Pretty good. Long. How about you?

  Day was okay. Also long. Just came back from a run.

  He ran? She supposed he could have been running during those Saturdays and Sundays he’d been visiting her, while she’d been at work. He sure as hell didn’t get that body by sitting behind a desk all day.

  And now she needed to stop thinking about Cal’s beautifully muscled body, or this conversation would go sideways before she knew it.

  Her phone warbled with the arr
ival of another message. How’s business?

  She appreciated that he’d asked, and not just because she could talk about Serenity Massage without the risk of wayward thoughts. Better than usual lately. If it keeps up I might cut back my schedule again soon.

  Glad things are going well.

  Brenna was trying to think of something else to say, or to ask, when his next message came through.

  Hate to cut this short, but I still need a shower.

  Okay. Good night. Aaand back to thinking about his body again.

  Wednesday and Thursday nights were more of the same, and then it was Friday again, with Labor Day weekend looming on the horizon. Feeling daring, she texted him late that morning. And waited. And saw three clients, back-to-back. And then waited some more.

  It was hard not to revert to foolish high-school fears of having driven Cal off, having said the wrong thing, having proven too easy to catch. Even though it would be hard to go wrong with Hi. But the day wore on, and he sent neither word nor one of the presents she’d already grown accustomed to receiving. She wished she hadn’t let him get her expectations up.

  At around five o’clock, her phone finally buzzed, and her heart lurched with relief when she checked the screen.

  Sorry I missed your text earlier! Unexpectedly had to attend a hearing today. Down in Florida. It’s about a million degrees, I think I’m melting.

  Brenna immediately pictured Cal in his suit pants and dress shirt—tie and jacket already removed—with his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal those gorgeous, lightly tanned forearms she’d admired since day one. Now she was the one who was melting.

  Hope it went well, she responded.

  Well enough, he texted back. Headed to airport now. Sorry today’s present is going to be lame.

  Ooh, there was still going to be a present!

  A picture came through of the snake plant she’d given him, thriving away in his living room. He’d brought it home, and he’d cared for it this whole time. Somehow, that was an even better present than anything tangible could have been.

  The picture also represented a glimpse into his life in DC, where he’d never previously invited her. She zoomed in on the rest of the image, hungrily searching for the details of how he lived. The dark wood furniture with neutral beige upholstery and the sleek chrome reading lamp in the background gave her an impression of modernity and solid masculinity. Thank God, no messy or tacky bachelor pad for Cal.

  Then his accompanying message arrived. You were right—it IS tough to kill. I’m glad I have something green in my apartment. And that you gave it to me.

  Ah, the wooing. The corners of Brenna’s lips drifted upward.

  Then he said: Also a present for me today, much less lame. And he texted her a link. When she clicked through, a press release from his law firm opened up, announcing and congratulating CMH’s new partners. There was Calvin Wilcox, Jr., at the bottom of the list.

  She couldn’t help being thrilled for him. This was such a huge accomplishment, she was surprised he hadn’t led off with the news. OMG! Congrats! You must be so happy. You did it!

  It helps, he said, and she imagined his shrug. Been kind of preoccupied lately.

  With?

  You. Us.

  And just like that, he laid it on the line, setting her heart skittering crazily in her chest.

  He didn’t give her time to respond before he texted, Gotta go, cab just pulled up at the airport, and I’m late for my flight. Miss you, Bren.

  “I miss you too,” she said into the silence. Then she decided, what the hell, and texted it to him.

  The fifteen minutes before he responded stretched to infinity. But the little blushing smiley face he finally sent made her day.

  12

  THE SWING BAND’S HORN SECTION blared from the ballroom, obnoxiously loud even from Cal’s seat around the corner at the hotel bar. Forehead resting in his hands, he was already halfway to drunk, though he doubted he’d allow himself to get all the way there. Not considering how many wedding guests were also his work colleagues.

  Someone approached from his right, and he looked up from his Bombay and tonic. Lara, a recently-made partner in one of CMH’s specialty litigation practices, slid onto the seat next to him, setting her long, artfully tousled blonde hair swinging and displaying a tasteful hint of cleavage.

  “How can you need cheering up? You just made partner! Come dance with me, you’ll feel better.”

  Even half-lit, he couldn’t mistake the sultry invitation in her voice. He cocked his head, weighing his options.

  Outright rejection seemed rude, and would be awkward next time he saw her. Lara was sort of a friend, the kind he’d eat lunch with as part of a larger group every so often. And she was sort of pretty, if you were into blondes. Which he had been, before Brenna so thoroughly rocked his world.

  Brenna. The reason he was self-medicating at the bar rather than partying with Jordie and his other work friends. He’d truly been the worst kind of idiot. He should have asked her to come to the wedding with him. Then he would have been dancing with her, instead of getting hit on by someone he was completely uninterested in, whom he’d have to try to avoid in the office next week.

  “Ummm,” he finally said, buying some time before he had to just give Lara a flat-out no. He contemplated his drink, hoping for inspiration.

  A miracle came in the form of Jordie, inserting himself halfway into the space between their seats. “Hey, Lara. Whatever you just asked him, Cal regretfully declines. He’s been hung up on this girl in Boston for the past few weeks, so he’s pretty much useless now.”

  Cal watched the comprehension dawn on Lara’s face. “Dude,” he protested weakly, shaking his head. “What the fuck?” He was definitely over being worried about the idea of his colleagues knowing about Brenna, but his continuing misery was none of their business.

  Her expression turned to pity, which was even worse. “Aw, that’s sweet.” Then she shifted her attention to Jordie. Shrugging a tanned shoulder, she said, “I’d asked him to dance.” She paused to look him up and down. “But you’ll do nicely in a pinch.”

  Jordie smiled his charming, trial-winning smile. “How can I refuse an invitation like that? It’s always been an ambition of mine to do nicely in a pinch.”

  Lara simpered—actually simpered. “Has it really?”

  Jordie grinned. “No.”

  She pouted prettily at him.

  Cal rolled his eyes so hard they ached. At least that gave him a temporary respite from watching Jordie and Lara flirt with each other.

  Too temporary by half, unfortunately.

  Jordie grazed Lara’s shoulder with exploratory fingertips. Pitching his voice several tones lower, he said, “I’ll dance with you anyway, though.”

  The urge to plug his ears and say “na-na-na-na” until it was over was almost irresistible. Instead, Cal swallowed the last few gulps of his drink, then shoved himself more or less upright. “Ugh. I’m outta here.”

  Jordie straightened too. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Just had enough.”

  His friend nodded. “Hey. Before you go, give me your phone.”

  “Huh?”

  Jordie wore a dead-pan expression. “Trust me. You’ll thank me in the morning.” Then he leaned toward Cal again and stage-whispered, “No drunk-texting her, okay?”

  Lara cracked up.

  “Fine,” Cal said, slapping his phone into Jordie’s waiting palm. “Whatever. Just leave me in peace. And try not to wake me up when you come in.”

  Jordie turned toward him as Lara giggled in Cal’s peripheral vision. He leaned closer to Cal and said in his ear, “Not sure I’ll be coming back to the room tonight. But if I do, I pwomise to be vewwy vewwy quiet.”

  Cal twitched involuntarily away from him, trying to escape the uncomfortable moment. “Jesus Christ, you guys. I need to leave five minutes ago, so I can unhear that.”

  Their laughter chased him across the echoing lobby as he walke
d with exaggerated care back to his room.

  Alone. Like he deserved.

  Once settled in his room, the bed tempted him to lie down for just a few minutes, until he could drum up some motivation to get undressed and brush his teeth. But he knew from experience that never ended as planned. Besides, he wasn’t completely drunk.

  After taking off his shoes, he tugged his dark red silk tie out of its half Windsor knot and draped it across the desk chair. He dropped his dress shirt on top of the tie without ceremony, while his socks earned a place of honor on the floor. But he hung his light gray suit jacket and pants in the closet. They were linen, and he just couldn’t bear to let them wrinkle in a careless pile overnight.

  Wearing only his boxers, he brushed his teeth perfunctorily and downed a couple of Advil with a big glass of water. Like he had a prayer of staving off the hangover awaiting him tomorrow morning.

  He lay on his bed, wondering what Brenna was doing. It was after eleven. Was she already asleep? Or maybe she was still at her friends’ barbecue housewarming thing she’d invited him to. Knowing her, probably in bed already, he decided.

  Wherever she was, he wished he were there, with her. There was nothing like the feeling of contentment that used to wash over him when they were whispering in the dark, her pert little butt snuggled against his front.

  He rolled toward the bedside table, fully intending to switch off the lamp.

  The red light on the room phone stared at him with its unblinking eye.

  Cal stared back at it.

  He caved.

  He had to hear her voice, and then he could sleep. Picking up the handset, he dialed Brenna’s number from memory. Then he shut off the bedside lamp as he waited for her voice mail to pick up.

  “Hello, this is Brenna.”

  He was too stunned to speak. She’d actually answered. She was trying to sound professional, but he knew that drowsy, late-night rasp. He’d woken her, but she hadn’t been sleeping long.

  “Hello?”

  If he didn’t say something soon, she would hang up on him. And he couldn’t have that.

  “Oh my God. Brenna. Your voice. It’s so amazing to hear you.” The words tumbled from his mouth haphazardly, each vying to express the hot rush of emotion surging through him.