by Amber Nation
My shoulders slumped in disappointment as I looked back up to Dean. His eyes were focused on my t-shirt, more specifically, my nipples. I quickly crossed my arms in front of my chest so he could detour his peering elsewhere.
“Can I help you?” I bit out rather sternly, my mixture of annoyance from the snow and lack of coffee made for an absence of a cheery disposition this early in the morning. As if an upbeat disposition could be associated with me on any given day.
He readjusted his knit cap on his head, pulling the edges down over his ears, “I just wanted to give you a heads up that many of the roads are closed due to all of the snow. Baylor had mentioned something about you might be wanting a flight out of here soon, but I don’t think it’ll be happening.” He had the start of a grin forming on his mouth, the edges of his lips turning up, before he thought better of it and remained with a grim expression.
A defeated sigh passed between my parted lips, escalating my annoyance level. I was planning on staying the week through, but I didn’t like the fact that I was now forced to stay without a way out. This would make my plan of hiding out that much more difficult to execute, especially when the person I wanted to be hiding out from was standing literally a foot in front of me. I wanted to slam the door, cutting off the cold air that was entering the house, but not before yanking Dean inside by the front of his coat. Surely there were things that we could partake in that would keep us warm and entertained.
“Well, I’ll be next door in case you need anything,” he started to turn around, accepting my silence as a dismissal and dammit if that didn’t make me feel ten kinds of awful. My mother used to do the same thing to me and it hurt so badly. Sure, I loved the sparring that occurred between Dean and myself but the last thing I ever wanted to do was blatantly hurt him.
“Wait, Dean?” I said, my voice coming out small. He slowly turned around and I had to tighten my arms around my body just to try and block some of the air. What I really wanted to ask was if he would wrap me in his arms and keep me warm, but this wasn’t exactly the time for it. So instead, I chickened out, and asked about my second desperation, “Do you know where in the world they keep their coffee stored?”
He let out a chuckle, “Check the freezer. Baylor has a thing about keeping it in there before he goes out of town. He probably didn’t even think twice about doing it.” And with that he turned back around and trekked through the snow, retreating in the path he made prior to coming over here. I looked around outside before finally closing the door and I noticed that not only did he make a path to come over here, he had shoveled the snow on the sidewalk as well.
My major bitch was out in full force today and I had to figure out how to fix it, but first I needed a cup of coffee, where the grounds were definitely stowed away securely in the freezer, and a shower. Now that I had time to really dwell on our interaction, he saw me sans makeup and in my pajamas. I definitely needed redemption for my appearance and actions, and I knew exactly where I was going to start.
Freshly showered, I blow-dried my hair before pulling it up in a loose knot on the top of my head. I knew that I wasn’t going to be go out anywhere, but I didn’t ever feel completely normal without some kind of makeup on, so I simply covered my face in pressed powder, lined my eyelids with black eyeliner and gave a few swipes of my mascara wand to my lashes. It wasn’t my normal routine, but it would do for a lazy snow day.
It had been years since I’d had a snow day, so I was ready to take full advantage of it. But in order to get the ball rolling, I needed to go risk my chances out in the snow and head over to Dean’s.
Outfitted in a pair of black leggings, Eden’s rain boots, a red v-neck shirt, and a long, gray knit cardigan, I walked out of the house and ended up running all the way to Dean’s porch once the frigid air hit me. I was so excited to extend an olive branch that I stupidly forgot my coat and I was paying the ultimate price by freezing my tits off.
I hurried up and jerked my hand up to his front door and pounded my knuckles repeatedly against the wood, conveying my urgency for him to hurry up. My teeth were starting to chatter and I had to perform a little dance in order to keep the heat flowing throughout my body.
“Hurry the hell up, Dean,” I muttered to myself as my teeth clashed against one another. This brilliant peace offering was suddenly beginning to seem dumb. What was taking him so long? I knew he hadn’t left, because there weren’t any tire tracks and he even said the roads were closed.
At long last, I heard movement on the other side of the door and then he said something.
Did Dean have someone with him? Did he hook up with a woman after our scorching kiss? Oh my god, did I just interrupt him sexing up a woman?
Oh shit, maybe this entire trip over to his house was a bad idea, I couldn’t feel my toes which had me further thinking this situation was whack. This was why I didn’t let people in. They took advantage of you and left you even more messed up than how they found you.
He inched open the door and before his eyes connected with mine, I blurted out, “Is there someone in there with you?”
“What?” He asked looking to me with confusion before what I said dawned on him. “No, I’m on the phone with Bea,” he held his phone away from his ear for a brief moment before ushering me in. It bothered me that he hadn’t openly elaborated on who Bea was and I wanted to holler out at him in a fit of jealous rage, demanding he tell me who she was.
Damn all of these emotions for making themselves known. I’m supposed to remain indifferent and aloof when all I wanted to do was claw her eyes out. I’d barely been in Cottage Grove a week and already I wanted to put a hit on two different women.
As soon as I stepped inside his living room, he closed his door and resumed his conversation with ‘Bea.’ This left me to take in his house, his space.
While his décor was nothing to write home about, it was all tastefully done. At least there were no empty beer bottles or flattened pizza boxes piling up amongst the space.
A large khaki microfiber sectional took up most of his living room; an oversized matching ottoman was centered in the middle. Pushed up against the wall was a black entertainment stand that housed a big screen TV and that concluded his furniture. The only item he had hanging on his walls was a black framed mirror.
It was sparse and lacked major color, but oddly enough, I felt right at home.
Being that we were in the same room, it was hard not to eavesdrop. The gentleness in his tone towards her was my undoing. I wanted to be the one he called ‘hon.’
“Make sure you keep warm, hon. If I’m able to get out later, I’ll call and get a list of what you and Carl need. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Julia?” I snapped my attention to him, not fully realizing that he’d hung up with Bea.
“Huh?” I hesitated, my teeth still suffering the onslaught of chatter from the cold.
He finally took in my outfit and lack of a coat and quickly closed in the distance that remained between us. Placing his hands on my forearms, he briskly began rubbing his palms up and down my arms trying to bring me some warmth.
“Sweetheart, what did you come over here without a coat on for?” I stiffened at his term of endearment at the same time he paused his movements on my arms, as if he didn’t intend to allow that word to slip from his lips. I relaxed in his embrace just as he resumed.
I let the term roll around in my head, and I decided that I liked being dubbed sweetheart more than hon.
He was still waiting on an answer and there I was mentally sticking my tongue out at Bea for getting the better nickname. “I didn’t have your number.”
His brows rose almost into his hairline, before a smirk formed on his face, “You want my number?”
“Ugh, don’t flatter yourself!” I tried to make it seem that I wasn’t as anxious to come over here as I was. I didn’t need the fact that I found myself wanting him to go straight to his head, or in his case, more than likely, his dick. “I didn’t even think about put
ting on a coat, and I certainly didn’t think it’d take ten minutes for you to answer your door.”
“I’m sorry, I was in my office talking to Bea, my secretary.” Finally, an answer to who the mysterious Bea was. “Her and her husband are older and I wanted to make sure they were warm and had everything they needed.” I seemed to melt even more into his embrace at the thought of him going out of his way to help his employee and her husband. I was beginning to like the softer side of Dean Parker, calling me sweetheart and being a Good Samaritan. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, not that I mind it. At all.”
Oh, right, “I ran over to invite you to lunch, as sort of an apology for earlier. I’m a real bitch before I have my coffee,” I finished with a shrug as if I wasn’t a bitch all the time.
“Only before?” He retorted, while peering down at me and not being able to hold back a chuckle. He totally called me out on all my bitchiness. Had I really met my match?
“Yeah, you’re so hilarious,” lifting one of my hands, I brought it to his stomach and grabbed a chunk of skin through his shirt with my index finger and thumb and squeezed, pinching him hard. “Laugh it up, asshole.”
“Ouch,” he winced, “Julia, what the hell?” His hands dropped to his sides and I immediately regretted pinching him, because I missed his contact.
His hand came towards me and he captured my chin, tilting it back until I had no other choice but to look at him. Once I opened my eyes to his, the creases surrounding his eyes stood out and glancing down, I took note it was because he was smiling. That full-watt smile was for me. All for me. “Listen to me, never apologize for being who you are. You may have a level of wit about you that most don’t know how to handle, but that’s what I find most unique and alluring about you. Don’t let your ‘give a fuck’ slip in order to apologize to anyone, especially me. If someone wants you or wants to be in your life, then they need to prove that they can handle it all. The good and the ugly, the bitchiness and the sweet side that I know is lurking around in there,” he began searching my eyes, “I’ve seen glimpses of that sweet girl. Someone has done something to you forcing you to hide her, but I’m determined to bring her out again.”
My throat constricted and it was becoming harder to swallow and I could feel the onslaught of tears beginning to build in the corners of my eyes. People didn’t say things like that to me, they would quickly cast me aside as a selfish bitch and then be done with me. Was I that easy to read? Or was Dean just piecing together the glimpses that I’d given him? All in all it was way too much for me to handle at that moment. I was ready to haul ass back to Eden and Baylor’s house and not come out the remainder of the time I was there.
“What’s on the menu?” He snapped me from my trance and I almost forgot that I had invited him over for lunch.
“Oh, I figured since there was so much leftover baked chicken from the reception that I would put it to good use and make chicken pot pie.”
“Do you like to cook?” He asked with his brows raised, genuinely surprised.
“I love to cook and I love to eat. Being that I do a lot of both, I’m hardcore into Zumba and Yoga.” His eyes flared at my admission. I paused for a second before deciding to go ahead and let him into a part of my past. I voluntarily let layers of myself peel back, if he wanted the full on Julia experience, I was going to at least give him part. “My nanny taught me how to cook when I was little and I learned how to make the best pot pie dough from her. She used thyme in her recipe and it was absolutely amazing. I have some made up and it’s resting in the fridge now.”
“That was a little presumptuous of you making the dough beforehand. Did you think I was that much of a foregone conclusion?”
Giving him a slight shake of my head, I said, “No, but like I said, I like to eat. I’m sure it would’ve been gone in a few days with or without your company.”
He loudly clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth, “Well then I think I need to taste this special chicken pot pie.” He smiled one of those mega-watt smiles, that I wanted to say were reserved just for me, even though I’m sure it’d been used on his fair share of women, but I reciprocated anyways. I smiled so brightly, a true smile, it reached all the way to my eyes.
“Absolutely, come back over in about an hour.” I started to retreat for the door, my smile still lingering on my lips.
“Wait,” he placed a hand on my arm, halting me in place before rushing out of the living room and returning with a coat in his clutches. He held open the jacket at the collar for me to slip on, “Put this on before you step outside, I don’t want you to get sick.”
I left Dean’s house seeing him in a whole new light. I never asked him to call me Jules because I loved the way Julia sounded coming off of his lips and I would rather he used my full name rather than a nickname. But when he called me sweetheart, a warmth surrounded me, and I decided that I liked him calling me that. He was such a good man, it was such a sweet thing for him to call and check up on his secretary. But I also loved that he wasn’t afraid to go head to head in a little verbal sparring with me every now and again.
I believe that I had just left a little piece of my heart with him back at his house. I was officially falling for Dean Parker, and I couldn’t entirely call it a good thing. Wrapping his coat tighter around my body, I smelled the coat just inside the zipper, inhaling his scent, rich with soap. I wanted that scent to surround me, but for the time being his coat would suffice.
When Dean came back over almost an hour later, I was elbow deep in flour and dough, trying to get the fickle mixture to cooperate. He took a seat at the bar, cradling his chin in his hands while his elbows rested on the countertop, taking in what I’m sure looked to be a giant mess. I cracked the rolling pin down on top of the smashed ball of dough, then grabbed both sides of the pin and began rolling it back and forth across the surface.
“You enjoy doing this?” He asked, flinging out his hand indicating the process of making dough from scratch.
“Oh yeah, it’s very therapeutic!” I grinned as I smacked down the pin, releasing a loud ‘Thwack!’ “You see, the trick is not to handle it too much, if the dough gets too warm then it’ll start to separate and break apart.” I didn’t know why I told him that, it wasn’t like he really cared. But there he stayed, listening intently to my every word.
Once I got each of the two pieces of dough, one for the top and the other for the bottom, rolled out to the desired size, I rolled the bottom piece along the rolling pin and unfolded it into the round baking dish, and pressed the edges deep into the bottom.
“How about some wine and music?” Dean asked and he pushed himself up from the stool and once he saw my head perk up and nod, he retreated into the living room. A few seconds later I heard the sounds of a trumpet blaring through a speaker that was placed on top of one of the kitchen cabinets. And just with those first few notes I knew exactly what the song was.
A wave of nostalgia trickled through me, I remembered my daddy playing this song all the time when I was younger. Most of the time, it happened when my mother was out shopping or getting her hair done. She wasn’t one to encourage any bit of fun in the house.
I had to wipe a stray tear away from my cheek and I hoped that Dean hadn’t seen me, but the concerned expression on his face told me that he had. “This was one of my daddy’s favorite songs when I was little. He loved Otis Redding period, but “Try A Little Tenderness” was his favorite.”
The song was halfway finished and my absolute favorite part was coming up. Our eyes locked and my mouth quirked up in a grin. Dean began mouthing the words and tried to add a little soul to his movements. The second the song changed from a sensual rhythmed song, the beat picked up tempo with the drums, trumpet, and the sax, and Dean got all into it. He thrashed his head around, clutching his fists up to his face, and did a slow shake of his hips which immediately reminded me of John Cryer in Pretty in Pink. I couldn’t hold back the laughter that spilled from my lips. Throwi
ng my head back, I continued to laugh. Even though he was acting utterly ridiculous, he had never looked sexier to me. I found myself prancing around the kitchen right along with him.
“(Sitting On) The Dock of the Bay” came on afterwards and I couldn’t help but sing along with the lyrics as Dean handed me a glass of wine. I spooned the pot pie mixture into the baking dish and once I had the top crust in place, I crimped the edges and poked slits along the top to allow steam to escape.
The finished pot pie was shoved into the oven and within forty-five minutes it’d be golden and bubbly. I couldn’t wait.
“You have a pretty voice.”
I felt my cheeks blush at his kind words. “Oh, thank you. My mother insisted upon enrolling me in singing lessons when I was four.”
“Wow, so young?”
I pondered on just how much I should let him in. The past was just that, the past. It needed to stay there and rekindling ill-harbored suppressed memories wouldn’t do me any good. Talking about my daddy and my nanny was one thing, but discussing my mother was a whole other ball game. I decided that a little insight wouldn’t hurt.
“I grew up in Manhattan and I had two options, either take singing lessons or piano. My mother was adamant that I take piano just as all her friends’ children were doing, so naturally I chose singing. I’m honestly not sure why she gave me the choice between the two because she was so hell bent on the fact that I’d made the wrong decision.”
Chapter 12
Dean
She shrugged a shoulder before continuing on, “Maybe this was her way of giving me a test, seeing if I would be the dutiful child who followed her mother’s every whim. Or perhaps my daddy actually stood up to the woman for once in his life.” She had a faraway look in her eyes as if she was reliving a memory.
I didn’t want to pry, but I was curious to know more about Julia. Anything and everything she would divulge. “Did you and your parents not get along?”