Awakening to You... In Boston (Awakening Trilogy #1)

by Fifi Flowers

  Awakening

  to You…

  in Boston

  Fifi Flowers

  Champagne Girl Studio

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  Copyright © 2014 Fifi Flowers

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Design by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design – www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  Formatting by BB eBooks – bbebooksthailand.com

  Edited by Jacquelyn Ayres

  Published by Champagne Girl Studios

  www.ChampagneGirlStudio.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  www.FifiFlowers.com

  WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.

  Other Books by Fifi Flowers

  A Window to Love, (Book 1, Windows Series)

  Reclining Nude in Chicago, (Book 1, Encounters Series)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Awakening to You Trilogy Playlist

  Other Books by Fifi Flowers

  About the Author

  Fifi Flowers News

  Acknowledgements

  Time to say “merci” to a few people…

  To ma maman, I can’t believe you are now reading my books… and enjoying them! Thank you for all of your support in my complicated life!

  Gigeebelle, mon amie, thank you for always making me look good in print and real life!!!

  Thank you to all of my friendly beta readers: Kim, Lilah, Jeanette, Amy, Betsy, Samatha, and Shannon for reading my book and encouraging me to keep writing and giving me wonderful input.

  Without you, Jacquelyn, there would be some confusion, typos and a lot of ANDs… love your input!

  Paul at BB ebooks Formatting, thank you for making my words come to life and putting up with my crazy requests!

  Kellie at Book Cover by Design, thank you incorporating my artwork with your black and white photographic designs… thrilled!

  And to everyone on my Fabulous with Fifi Street Team thank you so much for pimping me and my books… I TRULY appreciate each and every one of you!!!

  Chapter One

  Yawning, I opened my eyes to the brightness that filled my hotel suite. Stretching out in my empty king-size bed, “mmmm… sunshine… divine,” I said to no one but myself as I untangled my surprisingly sore body from a mass of twisted high-count Egyptian cotton sheets. I must’ve had some good dreams or nightmares throughout my slumber that caused me to toss and turn, entwining my body within the bed linens. I remembered that I had plenty of wine last night, but apparently not enough to drag a hard body home with me.

  Deciding against having my usual continental breakfast: coffee, fruit, and pastry, via room service, I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, crazy, dark, honey-blonde hair and smudged makeup under my green, bloodshot eyes reflected back at me. Recollection of the night before’s events wandered into my mind. Aah, yes… there was a lot of wild dancing and pretty little glasses, filled with bright lime liquid, lined up on a long, wooden bar. Reaching into the shower stall, I regulated the water, shrugged off my tank top and panties. Stepping under the steamy hot spray, the pulsating water soothed my aching body. I was quite thankful I didn’t have a beast of a headache as my fingers danced through my hair, pulling out the many snarls. Once I was squeaky clean and dried off, I brushed my teeth, applied little mascara, burnt-raspberry lipstick, and sunscreen. Then I put on my favorite McQueen floral print skirt, white fitted, ribbed-cotton t-shirt, and tan, multi-strapped, flat sandals.

  Grabbing my bag filled with all my necessary designing tools, I exited my room. Bending down, I scooped up The Boston Globe off the carpet outside my door, tucked it under my arm, and strode down the long hall to the elevator. I often walked down the nine flights of stairs but that morning my tender feet screamed, “No!” Popping out of the elevator, I was tempted to slide down the brass railing, attached to five shorts steps, but was not inclined to show off my pale pink thong; instead, I bounced down the stairs. Smiling, I strolled through the lobby, waved at the front desk clerks, and winked at the concierge as I passed his desk to make my way out the front door. “Good morning,” I said to the doorman as he quickly pulled the door open for me. I then turned left toward the Commons.

  My occupation as a set designer brought me to theatre district in the fabulous the city of Boston; the Shubert Theatre, next to my hotel, specifically. Fortunately for me, the project was during the warmer months as I have never been fond of cold weather. Let me re-phrase that. I was not a fan of freezing, bitter, cold-to-the-bone weather for an extended period of time. Yes, I was always up for a weekend or week long ski vacation, but day in and day out coldness; no thank you. Late spring, summer, and early fall was the longest amount of time I could ever imagine myself living in Beantown. Well, I must admit that I may be willing to spend a week in Boston during the winter to experience ice skating on the Frog pond. The thought of watching people bundled up and sledding down snowy embankments in the Commons was a charming vision. I guess the key word for me was visit, not live. However, as I made my way along Boylston Street, across from the park, I thought if only the weather on this particular summer day was like this year round; I could live here.

  Crossing the street at Arlington, I turned left down Newbury Street and found a quaint, little coffee shop complete with an older, attractive waitress, wearing a starched uniform and an up-do hairstyle. She called me “Honeybee.” Sitting at a table near the window with the sun warming me, I ordered coffee and a brie and chive omelette with sourdough toast before I opened the paper to the theatre section. I was never one to shy away from reviews.

  The evening before was the opening night for a show I was involved with that was scheduled to run for six weeks. The original production had debuted on Broadway and due to its great success, a few smaller companies began taking the show on the road. I didn’t normally work in theatre; I preferred movies and cable TV series. I agreed to this job as a favor to Tamber Marshall, a fellow set designer, who had to back out of it at the last minute. Besides, how can you refuse a man singing Dave Loggins’ 1974 hit song, Please Come to Boston, to you? I loved Boston in springtime and familiar with the play and my friend’s initial designs, I easily stepped in to complete the tasks at hand. Beginning mid-May along with a play crew, we infiltrated a warehouse to build moveable set pieces and stitch costumes that would be installed and worn in the theatre within a month’s time, when rehearsals began. One of my favorite parts of this gig was that I could walk everywhere and take in the glorious sights of the city.

  After breakfast, I window shopped my way down the street until I crossed over throug
h the gates and into the botanical area of the Public Garden. Walking by a bronze statue of President Washington seated proudly upon a horse I said, “Hello, George,” and continued through the various plants and flowers that decorated the area. When I first arrived in Boston almost two months ago, the tulips were shooting up and opening to their current perfect cup-shape status. Oh how I loved tulips. They might be my all-time favorite bloom. Moving on to the middle of the park, I arrived at the lagoon where large swan boats were inhabited by tourist being pedal around by young college students. Besides boats adorned with big white swans, I learned that two beautiful, live, white swans were brought to the lagoon to reside during the warm months. Ha! Good weather visitors like me. Crossing over a beautiful expansion bridge, I could see children feeding and chasing real ducks along the banks and heard parents yelling, “Leave them alone!” Smiling to myself, I strolled farther down the path to see other kids having their pictures snapped while they sat on one of the eight brass ducklings and their mother. I loved seeing the charming “Make Room for Ducklings” installation from Robert McCloskey’s book by the same name.

  Exiting the park at the corner of Beacon Street and Charles Street, I popped into a well-known coffee establishment and purchased an iced vanilla bean cafe latte before continuing my stroll through the Commons. With a cool beverage in my hand, I promenaded along the footpath to the Frog Pond. Such a happy place. I was lucky to find an empty bench bathed in sunlight. Parked at the far end of the pond near the baseball fields, I listened to the delightful laughs of children of all ages playing and splashing in the watering hole. Looking around, I saw happy faces and dirty faces painted with ice cream, ketchup, mustard… remnants of snack bar cuisine. Then I saw a face that caused me to stare.

  A tall, dark-haired man, sporting a custom fit, slate-blue suit that nicely complimented his body, walked into the area. With a cellphone to his ear, he sat down on a bench in perfect view. Slipping off his jacket, he neatly folded it up and holding his phone with his shoulder, he rolled up his shirt sleeves. He had equally beautiful, muscular biceps to match his face. I couldn’t look away. I was entranced and happy he was so wrapped up in a phone conversation that I could continue my perusal of his lean, hard body, narrow hips, broad shoulders and the way his legs filled his tailored pants. I licked my lips, imagining what might lie beneath those clothes that looked so out of place at the Frog Pond in comparison to the swimsuits and summer clothing of the rest of the inhabitants. And that was when I was caught.

  Our eyes locked. I couldn’t look away. My breathing became irregular. If not for the shrill of my cellphone, I may have hyperventilated. Looking down, I lifted my bag and began rummaging around inside of what I always called, “the black hole.” Marco Zitti, the stage manager’s name flashed on my screen. I knew I needed to answer. Sliding my finger across the screen before bringing the phone to my ear, I looked up to see an empty bench. I gazed around but not a suited, hot man was to be found so I turned my attention to the already ranting artist. I was relieved he was just calling me to blow off some steam and assured me that I did not have to go into the theatre. Marco was having one of his typical meltdowns when people did not see things his way. I always seemed to be his sounding board. Once he got whatever was on his mind out, calmness returned. Thankfully, the situation turned out to be another one of his dramatic moments. I was thrilled that he could handle everything because I could really use a night off. The lack of sleep, the excess of libations from the night before, and sitting in the sun had begun to affect me. Casting my eyes around one last time, I shoved my belongings back into my black nylon messenger bag and stood to leave.

  Heading back to my temporary home on Tremont, I stopped by my neighborhood flower shop and was greeted by the two lovely owners. The beautiful red-headed Betsy was busily working while a cute, petite, platinum and black-streaked Iris purred multiple suggestions in her direction. The Boston Flowergirls shop sat on the corner of Boylston and Charles Street in a brick-front building. I loved how they displayed ready-to-purchase flower bouquets in plastic buckets wrapped with white picket fencing under a green and white striped awning. I happily plucked one or two arrangements to carry home weekly; they enhanced and, on occasion, perfumed my hotel suite. With my flower selection entwined with string and slipped into a plastic sleeve, I bid the ladies a lovely evening and went in search of dinner.

  Turning the corner onto my street, I was instantly hit by the smell of pepperoni, garlic, and gooey mozzarella cheese, lofting through the air. Yum! Popping into a friendly wine shop first, I gave in to a bottle of Chianti, calling my name and then made a beeline for New York Style Pizza. Back in my room, I tossed the small pizza box on the bed, kicked off my shoes, changed into lounge wear, and poured a tumbler glass full of wine. Turning on the TV, I watched medieval characters eat, fight, and fuck. My thoughts ran to Mr. Suit in the park. Who was he? Was he in the park to meet his wife… and children? Would he return? Would I see him again? I was uncertain, but I had to know.

  Chapter Two

  During the next couple weeks, I worked during the day with fellow theatre production people, making sure all visual elements were ready for each performance; matinees and evenings. Once I was finished for the day, I usually strolled around the city. Boston, as far as I was concerned, was one of the best cities to explore. History could be found on just about every corner. I loved to follow the Freedom Trail; the red painted line that wandered around the city streets from one historical landmark to another. There was so much to see along the way from the Commons to Bunker Hill Monument across the Charles River. Back home, I would never venture into a cemetery. But one day, I found myself reading various grave markers in the Granary Burying Grounds, including one that marked Paul Revere’s resting place. Another feature to my daily walks was a little peeking (I liked the word “peeking” rather than stalking) of the Frog Pond. Of course, I was looking for a certain someone but I also enjoyed the noise before making my way back to a quiet room.

  To my delight, the beautiful, suited man could often be found next to the watering hole; some days he was already at the pond when I arrived, while other days he came strutting up. My body had the usual reaction: heart pounding, nipples pebbled, panties wet, and core throbbing whenever he looked my way. I wondered what would happen to me if he actually touched me. Would I melt? Would I spontaneously burst? Ignite? He set me on fire with just his gaze and his brief grins, when he caught me sneaking glimpses of him.

  One day, he was already at the pond with his jacket off and folded on a bench, his shirt sleeves rolled up, as well as his pant legs, and he was wading in the water. I smiled when he looked my direction and he returned my expression. I thought he was about to walk my way when a woman joined him in the water. She began speaking to him. She didn’t look his type, but how could I know his type? I didn’t even know him. As they continued to converse in a jovial manner, they were joined by a small child. I didn’t need to see anymore, I turned away to head home with my heart aching. It appeared he belonged to another and I couldn’t bear to watch. I decided to stay away from the pond for a few days, but it didn’t take long before I was dying for a Mr. Suit fix. Fortunately, I was not disappointed.

  There he was; gorgeous and alone. Not a child, nor a woman, was near him as he sat on his usual bench, talking on his phone. I took a seat on a bench not far from him and busied myself with my tablet. It felt like his eyes were burning into me and when I looked up, he was looking my way. I swallowed hard as I watched him stand and take steps in my direction. “Oh my, he’s coming to talk to me,” I thought as I shamelessly stared at his hard, taut body, sauntering over. Suddenly, the moment was lost. Two little boys suddenly approached me, splashing and laughing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he had stopped dead in his tracks. I desperately wanted to say something to him… wave maybe… but my attention turned to the little creatures, insisting on getting me drenched. One was apologizing while the other one continued to giggle and flick wat
er. “He thinks you’re pretty,” the younger one said and the older one was quick to retort, “No, I don’t. He thinks you look like Sleeping Beauty.” I laughed at their bantering and then they both began chatting away, telling me stories while I listened to them; bemused. Looking away from my two young suitors, I glanced in the suit’s direction and he smiled, then grabbed his jacket from the bench and with his head down, he walked off. Sadly, I watched him until I felt a tug on my skirt and I turned to my admirers, briefly. When I looked up again, he had vanished. Damn, I wouldn’t get another chance until Monday.

  Over the weekend, I entertained a director friend of mine and his wife. He wanted to discuss a possible production design opportunity. Since graduating from film school, I had submitted my resume along with work samples to various projects. So far, most attempts at production design jobs had been filled. Filled by men because this field was still dominated by the boys club. I just needed the right film. I had great concepts all figured out for this project. It was meant for me; it was my chance to shine. It looked like this was practically mine. However, I knew David would not just hand it to me. I spent the next few days researching, studying, sketching, along with overseeing my theatre gig. I never got a chance to do a little sightseeing in The Commons.

  After my director pal left on Tuesday afternoon, I decided to pop over to the pond for an ice cream. Who was I kidding? Yes, I wanted a sweet treat alright but a Popsicle was not exactly what I envisioned in my mouth. I laughed, “Good excuse, Sofie.” However, the laughter stopped when no suit appeared and I found myself standing in the snack shack line, chatting with a woman who also seemed defeated. I had hoped she wasn’t looking for my man as I grabbed my ice cream from the snack stand vendor and said goodbye.