One Look At You

by Hartwell, Sofie

  “Where are we anyway?” I ask as I look outside the window.

  “Carmel by the Sea.”

  My eyes widen in delight. “Are you serious? I’ve wanted to come here for the longest time but I never had the chance.” I am so happy I turn to him to show my appreciation with a tight hug.

  “I had a feeling you would like it here,” he says drily. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” His tone is light, but he fixes his gaze on me to see how I respond.

  “I’m not jaded, but sometimes I find it hard to believe in fairy tales and happy endings.” Now that I’ve said it, I feel foolish. I sound like one of those women who have had one too many heartbreaks. This is not the case at all. The truth is, I don’t believe anyone would want to be in a relationship with me when there are thousands of gorgeous, interesting women out there. Even now, I wonder what Tony sees in me. I guess it’s a novel experience for him to be with someone like me, but how long will it take for him to get over that?

  Tony says nothing, but his lips are set in a tight line and his eyebrows furrow.

  “So why did you really choose this place?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Just a whim,” he says, but I get the feeling he leaves something unsaid.

  “I’m glad you did,” I say as I hold his hand lightly.

  A few minutes later, we go up the driveway of a house right next to the beach. The cottage is dove gray with wood siding and double-hung windows. It’s surrounded by lush grass, a flower border, and perennials and herbs in the distinctive style of an English garden. I look at him questioningly.

  “My father’s house,” he says briefly.

  “Does your father come to California a lot?”

  “Not at all. He keeps it for sentimental reasons.” He opens the door, steps out, and then offers me his hand as I get out of the limo myself.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My father built this house when he got married to my mother. They spent many vacations here. It was a place where they could get away from the madding crowd – from my father’s business interests in England and my mother’s celebrity status in Brazil.”

  “They seem to have been very much in love. What happened?”

  He sighs out loudly and I apologize for my curiosity. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He turns to the driver. “Thank you, Lucas. We’ll see you tomorrow.” After acknowledging his employer, Lucas steers the limo out towards the street.

  I follow Tony as he walks up the pathway to the front door. He unlocks the door with a key he fishes from his pocket. He opens the door wide and waits for me to go in. The house is spacious with hardwood floors, crown molding, and comfortable but spare furnishing. The open floor design makes a great room out of the living room, kitchen, and dining areas. Sunlight filters from the vaulted ceilings, bathing the entire area in natural light. There is a casual, homey atmosphere one wouldn’t expect from a multi-million dollar property.

  “It’s lovely,” I say in admiration.

  “I know. The last time I was here was three years ago.”

  “How is it so perfectly maintained?”

  “Mrs. Fritz does a wonderful job. She’s been with my father for twenty years. I think she keeps everything spotless, hoping that someone will come for at least a few days every year. She was quite excited to hear from me this morning. She said she’d be leaving some stuff in the pantry, as well as ready-to-heat trays in the fridge.”

  “Your family is very lucky to have her.”

  “So true.” I follow him to the couch, where we sit side by side. He stays silent for some time. Then he says, “I wasn’t being rude to you earlier. I just didn’t know how to answer your question.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I remember, as a child, that my parents were happy together. When we would come here for holidays, I can still remember the laughter – the fun we had. I don’t know what happened. One day, I just found myself traveling with my mother to Brazil and staying there till I went back to England for my degree. My mom never said anything, but I guess it was easy for me to blame my father since he wasn’t around when I was growing up. So, to answer your question, I really don’t know what happened between them. But when I found out that, after all these years, my father never sold this house, even though he never visited again, I kind of had a paradigm shift in my way of thinking.” He makes a slight moue of regret.

  “Do you think they’ll ever get back together again?”

  “I am not six anymore so that wish vanished a long time ago. But, if they ever rekindle the spark, so to speak, I’ll be very happy for both of them.”

  I stare at him with envy. “You’re very fortunate, you know. I never knew my father.”

  He looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. “Livie, is it better to have experienced something good and then lost it, or never to have experienced it at all? That’s a question for philosophers.” He stands up then, and asks, “Hungry?”

  “Starving,” I answer in all honesty.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen and find something to eat.” We both open the huge refrigerator and see a platter of finger sandwiches, a pan of lasagna, and a bowl of green salad. On the countertop is a tray of mini dessert cakes and cookies.

  “How many people was Mrs. Fritz expecting?”

  He laughs. “I guess she just went overboard. You can heat the lasagna in the oven and I’ll set the table.” I pick up the tray and put it on the countertop while I preheat the oven. Tony is opening some cabinets to get plates, glasses, and cutlery.

  While he busies himself with the table setting, I make a simple vinaigrette and toss the salad lightly. I arrange a few of the finger sandwiches on a square dish. “Twenty minutes for the lasagna and we’re all set,” I announce happily.

  “In that case, let me open a bottle of white wine and we can start with that while waiting.”

  I’m a little anxious about drinking the wine, and it probably shows on my face because I hear him chuckle.

  “Don’t worry, Livie. I don’t intend to get you drunk. There’s no need for that, is there?”

  I smile, though I’m a bit uncomfortable with what he’s said. Does he mean he knows I’d do anything he asks, or that intimacy is better when both parties are sentient? Snap out of it, Liv. You overthink everything.

  He pours the chardonnay into the wine glasses and then clinks my glass with his. “To a great weekend!”

  I sip slowly, relishing the crisp, fruity taste. I look up to see him gazing at me. “What?” I ask, conscious of the way he looks at me.

  “You look like you’re deep in thought. Either you’re very wary about blacking out again, or you’re really into the wine.”

  “Just enjoying the white wine,” I readily respond.

  “Good.”

  “So what’s on the agenda?” I ask in a light tone.

  “Don’t you just want to lie on a hammock and nap all day long?”

  “Absolutely not! It’s my first time here, so I want to play tourist.”

  He gives an exaggerated snort of disgust. “Ugh! All I want to do is lie on the couch and read a business book.”

  “Really? That’s your idea of relaxing?”

  “Fine. Let it not be said that I am a lousy host. After lunch, we’ll make the usual rounds – visiting the artists’ shops on Ocean Avenue, skinny dipping at night…”

  My eyebrow lifts when he mentions the night swimming part, and we both giggle.

  After some time, the timer rings and I stand up to get the lasagna from the oven. “Watch out for the hot pan,” I warn him as I put the pan on a trivet in the middle of the table.

  I put some salad on two plates and hand one over to him. We simultaneously reach for some finger sandwiches and start eating them. Then we cut into the lasagna and have a taste. “Uhmm, everything is so good,” I say with my mouth half-full.

  “I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to Mrs. Fritz.”

  “It seems such
a waste for a house this beautiful to be unoccupied.”

  He shrugs. “Well, we’re all busy… and I think my father just wants it preserved for the memories, so…” he trails off.

  I say nothing and then, not wanting to cast a pall over our meal, I say brightly, “So, global warming. What are your thoughts on that?”

  He grins. “Oh, you don’t really want to talk about that, do you? Because that’s one subject matter I know a great deal about. The executive director of Greenpeace is a friend of mine.”

  “For real?”

  He nods.

  “You move in rarefied circles,” I say with a touch of awe.

  “Not at all. He was a classmate at Cambridge. I know many people, but they’re not all rich or famous, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not referring to the rich or famous bit. Just that you know people who are trying to make a difference in this world.”

  “A few. And you’re right. These are people who matter because they’re fighting for change.”

  “Is there any cause you strongly support?”

  “I’m on the board of half a dozen non-profits. but the one I devote a lot of time to is the plight of the coffee workers.”

  “Isn’t that self-serving, though?” I ask challengingly.

  He frowns. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re CFO for Gallo’s.”

  “Are you saying I care about them because I care about the bottom line of the company? Happy workers means more profits?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  He looks hurt at my implication. “Gallo’s serves and sells only ethically certified coffee – you already know that. We source only from farms which are independently audited for their methods of growing and processing. Again, I don’t have to tell you that,” he says with a scowl. “But I’m talking about workers in those areas of Central and South America where labor exploitation still takes place. I was involved with the NGOs even before I joined Tio Maximo. You forget that I come from the country that is responsible for a third of the world’s coffee production, so I saw first-hand what it was like for the workers before the NGOs got into the picture.”

  He seems so passionate and sincere when he talks that I feel bad about judging him. I reach for his hand across the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think your involvement was so deep.”

  “You thought I’m one of those people who thinks that supporting something means writing a check?”

  I nod without saying anything.

  “At least you’re honest about it.”

  “Tony, don’t get me wrong. I just thought that, with your killer schedule, that’s really all you can afford to do.”

  “No, I don’t blame you for thinking that way. You’re right. Time is valuable. But, when you get to know me better, you may be pleasantly surprised.” I already am. I sigh inwardly. Now if only I’ll get to know you better.

  “So, would you like me to make a pot of coffee to go with those tiny cakes at the counter?”

  “No, let me do it. There’s a French press somewhere, and I’m sure you’ll like the way I make coffee.”

  “In that case, I can’t wait.”

  “This will take a couple of minutes, so why don’t you look around the house, if you wish?”

  I don’t need to be told twice, so I stand up and walk to the sliding glass door so I can take in the view from the deck. The house is about a hundred feet from the beach and the view is fabulous. I can hear the foamy waves as they lightly crash into the white sand. I can feel the gentle breeze on my skin. There’s no one at the beach on this Saturday morning, though. How odd.

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?” I’m startled by his sudden presence. He’s carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and some cakes, which he carefully puts down on the low side table. He gestures for me to sit on one lounge chair while he lays on the one right next to mine.

  “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome. Truth be told, I was just as eager to see this place again. And I wanted you by my side.” An unfamiliar emotion overcomes me. Livie, he’s just being nice. Don’t read more into this than there is.

  I sip from my cup and I see him waiting for me to say something.

  “You were right. I like your coffee.”

  “Like? That’s it? Don’t you want to heap more praise than that?” He pretends to be hurt by hanging his head low.

  “A needy barista. Who would have thought?”

  “Hmph! Remind me not to invite you to my next barbecue.”

  “Seriously, what is it about men and their grills?” I roll my eyes.

  “Women don’t get it. A backyard is a man’s domain. You can’t put a man in front of a chrome machine with state-of-the-art gizmos and not expect him to show off.”

  “You may have a point.”

  “Of course I do. The only thing I’m regretting right now is that I’m holed up in a bloody hotel.”

  “Were you even thinking of moving into a house?”

  “Of course, but things keep cropping up at work. I’ll probably look for a place after the ball. Things won’t be so hectic then.” Perhaps he’s thinking of settling down in a beautiful home with his beautiful wife. So where does that leave me – the convenient bedmate? I shake my head to ward off my dark thoughts.

  I lay back in an effort to relax. The sun is intensely warm on my face, and I idly hope that the sunblock I put on earlier with my powder is enough to prevent burning. I steal a glance at him and see that he’s comfortably resting on the chair, his shirt completely unbuttoned to reveal his bronzed hard body. My throat feels dry and I turn away, mortified that I’m having an unseemly response to a man who’s not even minding me. Damn him.

  “I can see your nipples through your dress,” he says in a hoarse whisper. So he is looking at me.

  “Do you have to say things like that?” His words alone are enough to make me want to go over to him and do horribly wanton things.

  “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

  “You know you do.”

  “Why?”

  “Just because.”

  “You don’t think words can be part of foreplay?” He is no longer lying down. Instead, he chooses to be on the edge of his seat, as if ready to pounce.

  I refuse to answer.

  “Oh, you think actions speak louder than words?” He stands up and my body tenses with expectation. Why does he have this effect on me?

  He grabs my hand and pulls me up towards him, splaying my hands on his rock hard abs and chest. He touches my lips with his finger, slowly inserts it inside my mouth, then pulls it back, driving me mad with desire. I stop his movement by biting on it lightly and then sucking deeply. His sharp intake of breath tells me everything I want to know. He wants me.

  His moistened finger leaves my mouth and plays with my nipple through the dress. He swirls it lightly until I take his hand and place it inside my neckline. He squeezes my aching breast and I moan. He bends to kiss me, his mouth rough and merciless. I am writhing with unfulfilled need.

  The breeze touches my cheek and I become aware of where we are. “Someone will see,” I whisper into his ear.

  “Maybe not. This is supposed to be a private beach.” His mouth descends on mine again. The urgency is too much to bear. Slowly, his lips travel all over my face, my neck, and between my breasts. His hands now mold me to his thighs and I quiver from the sensations. I want to be taken so badly that I can tell I’m wet and ready for him.

  “I want you so much,” he says. Then take me.

  Instead, he does the complete opposite. He releases me and I feel painfully let down. I look questioningly at him, bereft of speech.

  “Trust me, anticipation builds up the pleasure.” Oh God. How can he look so calm and cool while I’m a bundle of nerves inside?

  He kisses me lightly on the forehead. “Right now, we’re going to stroll around so you can get acquainted with this town. Perhaps you would like to f
reshen up? We’ll leave in half an hour.”

  Still reluctantly, I walk towards the living room where our overnight bags are, pick up mine, and then ask, “Where can I…?” He gets the bag from my hand and gestures for me to follow him. He opens the door to a large bedroom. The queen-sized bed is covered with white overstuffed pillows and shams. The curtains are parted to reveal a floor to ceiling view of the ocean. Everything is immaculately elegant. I stare with admiration at the luxurious room.

  “The bathroom is to your left. You have time for a bath, if you wish.”

  “How about you? Don’t you need to freshen up, as well?”

  “Don’t worry about me. There are two other bathrooms.” He leaves and I open my bag to find a change of clothes. I go to the bathroom to run a bath and my jaw drops to see an infinity-edged bathtub on marble flooring. This room, just like the rest of the house, obviously belongs on the pages of Architectural Digest.

  I light some lavender candles on the dressing table. Once the tub is filled with water, I put some bath salts in and then carefully climb in. The water is just the right temperature and I feel myself totally relaxing as I lean back and close my eyes. If this bathroom had a rubber ducky, it would be perfect. I smile at my thoughts.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he says into my ear. I splash some water in his direction as I slip after being surprised by his deep male voice.

  “How did I not see or hear you come in?”

  “You were too busy with your thoughts. So, I guess, you took my suggestion to heart. Your bath looks very inviting. I may just join you.”

  “You may get in just as soon as I get out,” I say with a teasing smile.

  “It’s just as well. We’ll never get out of this room if I did join you.”

  “You’re not that irresistible, you know,” I chide him.

  “No, but you are,” he says as he sweeps over my body with his eyes. I blush.

  “If you leave me in peace, Mr. Avery, I promise I’ll be out in five minutes.”

  “Don’t you like having an audience?”

  “Certainly not. Now, please leave.”

  “Okay. I’ll be on the deck, my sweet. Holler, if you want me to tear off my clothes and join you.”