by Layla Hagen
Wow. It's barely mid-October, and they’re already preparing for Christmas. As Christopher spells out strategies and potential problem-solving activities, his voice grows calmer. I take note of the use of “we.” Bosses tend to do this, but what they usually mean is you do the job, I take all the credit, and we will call it teamwork. Christopher's intent is the opposite, taking responsibility for all the mishaps. I like this very much about him.
"Okay. Here's what’s going to happen," Christopher continues. "I will fly out to Seattle and stay there for two weeks, or however long it takes for everything to run smoothly."
And just like that, I lose all sympathy for the person he’s talking to. The news that Christopher will be gone for who knows how many weeks hits me like a punch in the gut. I already miss him. How silly is that?
"Call my assistant and have her sort out the flight and accommodation details," he instructs before hanging up. Rubbing his forehead, he tilts his head to one side and then the other, as if wanting to shake off tension.
"‘The Fixer's’ problem-solving skills are needed," I say lightly, attempting to cheer him up.
"Yeah. It'll be best if I'm on location to see things through."
"When do you leave?"
"I'll fly out today."
"Oh!" I try to hide my disappointment, but I'm not fooling him. Stepping right in front of me, he pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, resting his fingers on a spot at the base of my neck.
"I didn't plan what happened today," he says softly.
My skin prickles at the point of contact, and I lean in like a kitten searching for affection. I feel more vulnerable and exposed than I have in a long time. With no idea how to handle this, I try to cover it up with humor.
"So all that talk about seduction techniques was just that? Talk?"
Christopher chuckles lightly. "I think we have different ideas about what seduction means, Victoria."
"Enlighten me."
"I meant flowers and gifts and dates. All of that culminating with a night in which I take my time to explore you for hours."
With every word he utters, blood rushes to my cheeks. "You can't say those things to me out on the street."
"Why?"
"I'll start swooning." Not to mention there's a real danger I might spontaneously combust.
"Exactly what I'm after."
"You're a romantic," I whisper, the realization slipping into every cell of my body. He hides it well behind his self-deprecating humor and shameless flirting. Why yes, I am already swooning, thank you very much.
"Of the worst kind." Here's that innocent smile again. I swear my heart just doubled in size. "But I rarely unleash this terrible trait."
"So I'm special?"
"Yeah." Cupping my cheeks, he pulls me close to him, brushing his lips on my forehead. "You're special, and a bad influence. What happened upstairs is proof."
I'm on the verge of pointing out he's the one who corrupted me, but instead, I choose to lay my head against his chest, inhaling his masculine scent. Instantly, he lowers his hands, wrapping his arms around me, holding me, as if there's nothing more natural in the world. It feels so good and safe, and perfect. I love everything about this: listening to his rhythmic heartbeats, feeling the heat of his body seep into mine.
"Victoria," he says in a low voice. "Up there, we had a moment."
"We did."
"While I'm gone, don't forget that." He talks as if he has plans for us. For the first time, I allow myself to entertain that thought, pushing away any worry. What would it be like to let this man sweep me off my feet? To indulge in his kisses and his touch?
"Stop making me swoon, Bennett."
He hugs me tighter and I bury my nose in his neck—or try to, as he towers over me despite my heels. I want us to stay like this forever. But of course, his phone starts ringing again, forcing us apart. I hate this pesky reality taking me away from this wonderful man.
Glancing at the screen, Christopher sets his jaw.
"Answer the phone," I encourage him. "My car is just around the corner. I'm heading there."
"I'll talk to you soon." His features relax as one corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. "And don't forget the moment."
Chapter Fourteen
Victoria
I spend the entire day in a frenzy, replaying the time I spent with Christopher in my mind again and again, smiling more brightly each time. I have two more appointments. One of them is an expectant mother wishing to decorate the baby's room; the other is a middle-aged couple looking to do something with their poolhouse, which they've used as a shed for years. All of them watch me dubiously as I pitch ideas, clearly thinking I'm high on my own Kool-Aid. Even to my own ears, I sound a little too eager. I can’t help myself though. It turns out being kissed by Christopher unleashes my creativity. I'm sure the orgasm helped too.
Though I know Christopher must be en route to Seattle, or already in the process of putting out fires, I can't help glancing at my phone from time to time, hoping to see a text from him. No such luck. I wrote him one message, asking if he landed already, but he didn't reply. Not that it did anything to dampen my mood.
I'm downright grinning when I step inside my house that afternoon, an hour before dinnertime. My good mood continues while I prepare chicken enchiladas, and during dinner, the kids notice.
"Any reason you've been smiling since you arrived home?" Sienna inquires, biting into her enchilada.
"Just had a good day. How was yours?"
She clearly sees through my poor attempt at deflecting the topic from me, but doesn't call me out. We chitchat lightly for the next hour, and after Lucas and Chloe go to sleep, Sienna curls with a book on the ottoman in the living room, glancing curiously at me.
"Have you been to your room?" she asks.
"No, why?"
"You received some flowers today. I put them on your desk."
I dash out of the room so fast you'd think there was someone chasing me. On the desk in my room, I find beautiful red roses in a vase. There's a note too.
To many more moments.
Christopher
I press the note to my chest, leaning down to smell the roses. My first instinct is to call Christopher, but I left the phone in the living room. Upon my return, I find Sienna with her nose buried in her book, blushing suspiciously.
"Sienna?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you read the note?"
"No," she answers a little too quickly, tucking her legs under her. Eventually, she lowers her book. "Fine, I admit. I read the note. What did he mean by ‘moments’?"
"Something romantic."
"I figured that much out. Care to elaborate?"
I'm tempted to say no for several reasons, one being that she deserves to be teased for being nosy. The chief reason though, is that the experience was of a sexual nature. Sienna is seventeen; she's not a kid anymore, and we've always been close. If I censor my story enough….
"Well—" I begin, but Sienna holds out her hand, jumping down from the ottoman.
"Hold it."
"What?"
"This is girl talk. Girl talk requires nail painting."
Without disputing her claim, I follow her to the bathroom where we keep our collection of nail polish. It's been our tradition for years. Even before we lost our parents, I made it a point to spend quality time with my siblings. I used to stop by my parents' house once a week for dinner, and Sienna and I often did our nails after dessert while talking. When she's old enough, we'll upgrade to wine.
Back in the living room, armed with two shades of nail polish, I throw a large towel over the floor, so we don't accidentally stain the carpet. I type on my phone quickly, thanking Christopher for the flowers, and keep the phone nearby in case he answers.
Between doing our toes, I recount today's events—omitting the orgasm and the preceding sexy time, reducing the experience to a kiss—and everything he made me feel.
"Wow, he knows how to lay on the roma
nce," Sienna says with appreciation. "Guys at my school think it's romantic if they don't ignore you while they’re with their buddies."
"To be fair, guys are pretty dumb when they're your age," I comfort her.
"Yeah, somehow I doubt all of them reach Christopher’s level of swoonworthiness even when they're older."
I merely smile because I can't contradict her. My dating experience for the past ten years confirms her doubt.
"So, does Christopher have a younger brother? Like way younger?"
"He does—Hang on. Why do you ask?"
"If any of them is looking to date, I volunteer."
"They're not that young," I explain. "Let’s finish here. I have to go to bed. Long day tomorrow. I'm going to the store to buy some baking supplies. Do you want me to buy you anything?"
"Nah, I'm good."
We focus on each other's toes for the next few minutes. We're both pros at this, but it still requires concentration; otherwise we'll look as if Chloe "helped" us. After we finish applying the second layer, we stretch our legs, wiggling our toes before leaving them to dry.
"Victoria?"
"Yeah."
"You're doing a great job taking care of us."
"Thank you."
"I never told Mom and Dad that. I took it for granted." Her voice wavers, but she shakes her head, as if the gesture is enough to push the sad thoughts away. "So I wanted to tell you. If you want to date Christopher, I think that’s a great idea. I’m sure Lucas and Chloe think so too."
Shifting next to her, I cover her hand with mine, squeezing it reassuringly. I once asked Mom why she wanted so many kids. She said she'd been an only child and often wished she'd had at least a sister, and that she felt having one would’ve been like living with your best friend. As Sienna and I admire our toes, proud of our workmanship, I can't help thinking how right Mom was.
Later on, just as I climb in my bed, my phone beeps.
Christopher: Are you asleep?
Instead of replying, I call him.
"Hey!"
"It's good to hear your voice. I feel like it's been a month since I saw you." He sounds impossibly tired. Checking the screen, I realize it's almost midnight.
"You've been working until now?"
"Yeah, I just got out of the cab and am about to enter my hotel." Straining my ears, I pick up the street noise in his background, which promptly turns to silence as he presumably steps inside the hotel. "It's going to be that kind of week too."
"So you'll be back in a week?" Turning on one side, I curl my knees up to my chest, trying to reign in my excitement.
"Miss me already?"
"Just a little," I tease him.
"I need to send more flowers next time, then."
"I love the ones you sent. They're perfect. Back to what we were saying. You'll be back in a week?"
"Probably two. I don't see us wrapping this up in just one week, even if we work throughout the weekend."
"What happened?"
"We bought a packaging company here. Before that, the packaging was done externally, but we wanted to integrate that part of the process in Bennett Enterprises, so we purchased this company in Seattle. From the preliminary meetings and analysis, it looked like the integration would run smoother than it actually has. Today was insane."
"And you still made time to send me flowers," I say softly. "You're amazing."
"I took care of that before getting on the plane. I figured if I only do one thing right today, it was going to be sending you flowers."
I simply sigh in response, my heart doubling in size. "You're so good with words."
"I can’t wait to be back home to show you my other talents too. I need to go to bed now though. I'm dead tired."
"Good night, Christopher."
Over the next few days, I learn that the quicker you want time to pass, the slower it moves. Christopher and I send each other text messages throughout the day, but we don't get the chance to talk. Still, those messages are enough to keep my ecstatic mood—and slightly manic grin—in place. "Girl, you're going to pull a muscle from so much smiling," Isabelle says during our weekly catch-up lunch. "Any chance it has something to do with one Christopher Bennett?"
"It does," I admit, feasting on my turkey salad, trying to school my expression. "It turns out I am falling for his charms."
"I'd be surprised if you didn't. Besides, once you're done having his furniture delivered and installed, he's no longer our client." Winking at me, she adds, "I think we should change that rule anyway to ‘We can't date asshole clients.’"
"Yeah, but it's hard to tell the assholes from the good guys in the beginning," I remark. "Hence the rule."
“You know what? Helen and I should drop by your house sometime this week so the three of us can catch up.”
“True, I haven’t seen her in a long while.”
Isabelle leans slightly over the table, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Feels exciting to break the rules though, doesn't it?"
My grin is so wide I think I might actually pull a muscle.
On Friday afternoon, while enjoying a well-deserved eggnog and inspecting a Halloween display in a shop I pass by downtown, my phone rings. Christopher.
"Well, well, well," I greet. "I was just thinking about you while enjoying my first after-hours eggnog today."
"The first one? How many do you intend to have? Do I need to worry about your climbing tendencies?"
Blushing furiously, I fix my gaze on a zombie mask, sipping from my cup. "No worry, you're the only one I want to climb."
Christopher groans, a sounds that travels right through me, heating a certain area of my body. "You're killing me, Victoria. I'm tempted to fly back to see you."
"Why don't you?" I brainstorm for ways to persuade him because I miss him terribly. It's a little ridiculous because it's not as if I saw him daily before he left for Seattle. But something changed between us when we were in his apartment, spurring feelings that are somewhat outlandish and entirely new to me. It scares me out of my wits.
"Because I plan to do more than just see you, and I'll need more than a few hours for what I have in mind."
"Which is?"
"Kissing every inch of your body and making love to you until you ache are high on my priority list."
I clutch my cup so tightly that it crumbles in my fist. Luckily I'd already drank it up. "Christopher," I admonish, glancing to my left and then my right, irrationally afraid that passersby might have heard him. They didn’t, of course, but that doesn't stop the heat from crawling up my cheeks.
"You asked." He has a point, of course, and I need to remember not to ask questions if I can't handle the answers. Judging by the way my entire body has heated up and my mind trips for a way to continue the conversation, I clearly can't. As if sensing my ordeal, Christopher adds, "Where are you?"
"Downtown. Brainstorming a few things for a client I’m meeting Monday."
"I wish you'd decorated this hotel. Everything's gray, I swear. It's like the decorator went out of the way to ensure the place has zero warmth to it."
"You can always buy a pumpkin," I tease him. "Or a skeleton. I'm sure they're everywhere."
"Huh?"
"I'm staring at a Halloween display in a store."
"Ah yeah, it's mid-October. The city will be full of Halloween displays for the next two weeks."
"In some households, this used to be the month of pranks."
"Huh?"
"Lucas used to start with the pranks at the beginning of October. He'd routinely scare the crap out of my parents. They never got used to it." I scan the display, which showcases every imaginable Halloween scare from masks to spiders and fake teeth. I'm more of a Christmas girl, but even so, I can appreciate their range. I'm tempted to buy Lucas some supplies, but I'm almost certain he already owns half of what’s inside this store. There is a box in our basement labeled Lucas's Halloween Box.
"And no prank so far?"
"None,
" I confirm. "I used to hate them, because no matter how often he'd put spiders in my hair, it would shock and annoy the hell out of me. I have three gray hairs, and they all sprouted last year in October after his prank. I'd gladly welcome white hair if it meant Lucas was his old self again."
"These things take time, Victoria," Christopher says gently. "But I swear to God, that kid could be my own. When I was his age, it was my mission in life to give everyone a heart attack around Halloween. I thought it was the height of fun, and I always hoped they'd start to prank me back, but only Max ever did."
Conjuring up the image of two mini Christophers in my mind, running around and terrorizing their poor families, I can't help beaming.
"I have to go," Christopher says unexpectedly. "My next meeting is starting earlier. Don't drink too many eggnogs."
"Afraid I'll show off my climbing skills to some other man?"
"Any prospectives?"
"Oh yeah. Several new clients I'd rank somewhere between extremely handsome and utterly climbworthy. I'm meeting one in twenty minutes, just in time for the eggnog to be effective."
I was hoping to get a few laughs out of him, but in the silence that follows, I realize my joke might have had the opposite effect.
"I don't share, Victoria." His voice is low, tinged with unease and—I realize with a rush of guilt—hurt.
"You…. It was supposed to be a joke, which should give you an idea of why I never prank people. I suck at it. I…. There are no prospectives."
"Right, sorry. I overreacted."
"Who knew there was a caveman inside you?"
"Oh, there is."
"Another family trait?"
"You bet. I keep him well hidden, but he's definitely here." Someone in his background clearly asks if they can start the meeting already. "I really have to go now."
"Go get them, Bennett."
After clicking off, I glance at my phone, grinning like a lunatic. Caveman, romantic, and reformed prankster. The different sides of Christopher come to me like pieces of a puzzle, and I can't wait to discover more.
Chapter Fifteen
Victoria