Next to You

by Julia Gabriel

“I’m fine. I just came over to invite you to dinner tonight.”

  “What? No. I can’t. I’m sorry, Phlox. I can’t go out to dinner.”

  “Not out. Here. At the house.”

  “Oh.”

  “Jared? Can you open the door?”

  “Hold on a minute.”

  Phlox waited anxiously until the cottage door finally opened. Damn. Jared stood before her wearing nothing but bedhead and grey sweatpants. Phlox was speechless for a moment, her brain short circuiting at the sight of his perfectly defined chest muscles and the smattering of golden hair that covered his pecs and pointed the way to ...

  He cleared his throat. “You have a one-track mind.”

  Phlox had the grace to blush as she forced her eyes up from his happy—oh-so-happy—trail. It was then that she noticed what she hadn’t before: the puckered skin covering his shoulders, chest and upper biceps. Her heart broke a little more at the thought of him as a young boy trying to escape a burning house with his brother.

  The urge to wrap her arms around Jared and comfort him was overpowering.

  “I’d like you to come to dinner this evening. I won’t jump you or anything, I promise. I’ll just feed you.”

  “Why do you want to do that?”

  “Don’t you think it’s weird that we’re the only two people here and every night we eat by ourselves?”

  “Hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, it’s weird. What do you eat normally anyway?” She tried to peer around him and into the cottage. She doubted he cooked much for himself.

  “Muffins,” he snorted.

  She rolled her eyes. “What else?”

  “Sandwiches. Cereal. Sometimes I go to the drive-through at McDonald’s.”

  “That’s not healthy.”

  “Who cares whether I’m healthy? People can’t even bear to look at me.” He leaned against the frame of the door, throwing down the gauntlet.

  Oh I am so picking that up.

  “I care, Jared.” She reached up to touch him but he flinched and leaned away. “You know,” she continued, “I could afford all the surgery but I couldn’t have it all done at once. It had to be done in stages. So I do know what it’s like to have people stare at you like you’re not human.”

  Phlox felt herself choking up and turned away. The memories were still painful. Young children reaching up for their mother’s hand when they saw her. Teenagers elbowing each other on the street. Store cashiers looking everywhere but at her when she bought a coffee, a magazine, a box of tampons.

  “You’re beautiful now, though.” Jared’s voice, husky and deep, broke into the memories.

  She looked back at him. “But when I look in the mirror now, it’s not my face I see. This is someone else’s face, someone who didn’t exist a year ago.”

  She turned and headed back toward the house. Jared’s footsteps followed. He grabbed her arm.

  “What time tonight?”

  She stopped and turned—and found herself right up against his bare chest. The heat and musky-spicy scent of his skin were intoxicating. She forgot what the question was.

  “Dinner. What time?” he asked again.

  He was accepting her invitation, after all?

  “Seven?” The word came out of her mouth more as a question than a definite answer.

  “Seven then.” His answer was definite. He let his hand linger on her arm before letting go and returning to the cottage.

  * * *

  Phlox spent the day shopping and cleaning and primping. In other words, procrastinating and putting off the moment when she would have to set foot in the kitchen. The moment of truth. She had invited Jared over to dinner and, as tempting as the pan of frozen lasagna had looked in the supermarket, she knew she had to deliver. No, more than deliver.

  She wanted to impress him. She had developed a major crush on Jared Connor, her caretaker. Her employee, a tiny voice in the back of her head tried to remind her. Oh hush.

  Somehow she doubted that Jared Connor really saw himself as anyone’s employee.

  At five o’clock she knew she could procrastinate no longer. She tied an apron on over the outfit she had chosen—ankle jeans and a sleeveless navy eyelet blouse, pretty but casual. She didn’t want to scare Jared off with anything that screamed “date!” She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and got to work.

  She chopped onions, garlic and green pepper. She poured a little olive oil into a pot, then took a deep breath and turned the knob. Whoosh, the gas flame ignited and she tossed in the vegetables, taking a quick step back. The garlic turned fragrant in the warming oil and the onions sizzled.

  So far, so good.

  Next she added a package of ground beef to brown, then tomatoes, tomato sauce and tomato paste. Oregano and basil, a dash of salt and pepper. She stirred once more and covered the pot with a lid. While that simmered, she filled a stock pot with water and set that on another burner to boil.

  She had two burners on and everything was fine. The scar on her face tingled a little but her heart rate was only slightly elevated. She could do this. It was just like old times, cooking a meal in her beloved kitchen, going through the steps she knew by heart. She preheated the oven, chopped a salad, shook up some vinaigrette. Soon the mouthwatering aroma of tomatoes and herbs simmering on the stove filled the kitchen.

  When the stock pot was boiling, she dropped in the lasagna noodles, giving them and the filling each a quick stir. She sliced a loaf of Italian bread into thick slices and mixed oil, cheese and garlic to make garlic toast. She dug out her small footed dessert dishes and washed them. Pistachio gelato from the store was waiting in the freezer.

  This felt good. She was in a groove, in her zone again. Operation Demon Vanquish—mission accomplished. When the noodles were cooked, she layered them with the meat-tomato filling and cheese into a baking dish and popped it into the oven.

  By six-forty-five, the table was set, the lasagna out of the oven and resting on the island. Phlox arranged the garlic toast in a basket and dished out two bowls of salad. She filled the dishwasher with cooking utensils and cutting boards to make the kitchen presentable. Then she sat down to wait.

  At six-forty-eight, she remembered that she was still wearing the apron and jumped up to remove it and hang it on the hook inside the pantry. She straightened the dish towels on the rack on her way back to the table. At six-fifty-two, she undid her ponytail and smoothed her hair before binding it up again. At six-fifty-four, she touched her earlobes, making sure she had put in earrings. She had, her tiny gold hoops. At six-fifty-eight, she remembered the candles. Not to be romantic but so the light would be low. She thought Jared might be more comfortable with less light illuminating his face. As she grabbed the candles from the hall table and lit them, she hoped he wouldn’t misinterpret their function.

  At seven o’clock sharp, Phlox was back sitting at the table, breathing deeply in and out. There was no reason to be this nervous—she had already overcome the biggest obstacle of the day, cooking—but she was. At seven-oh-two, she began to wonder whether he might stand her up. Certainly not out of the realm of possibility, as skittish as he was around her. Seven-oh-five. If he doesn’t come, that’s it. I won’t bother him anymore. I can take a hint.

  At seven-oh-seven, she contemplated a Plan B—marching over to the cottage and dragging his sorry ass out of it. Seven-oh-eight found her leaning her head into her hands and trying to ignore the hungry rumbling in her stomach. Eating by herself was going to be humiliating. She’d been eating by herself since she got here, of course, with the exception of Rye’s visit. But the thought of Jared Connor knowing she was sitting here alone with a nice dinner she’d prepared for two … epic humiliation.

  The back screen door squeaked on its hinges and Phlox snapped her head up. Jared was standing just inside, holding a bottle of wine in each hand—one red, one white.

  “Didn’t know what you were serving,” he said.

  Phlox almost fainted from th
e g forces her emotions were pulling. “You look nice,” she managed to eek out.

  He did look nice, in jeans and a button-down shirt neatly tucked in, flip flops on tan feet.

  “So do you,” he said.

  Her legs were shaky but she managed to stand up and find two wine glasses while Jared opened the bottle of cabernet. When she turned back from the cupboard, she found him staring thoughtfully at the range.

  “Yeah, that’s it. My nemesis.”

  "I wondered what happened to those floorboards."

  "You were the one who replaced them?"

  She set the glasses on the island and watched as he filled each one, expertly rolling the bottle so not even a drop of wine rolled down the outside of the neck. She recognized the winery on the silver label. It was a fifty-dollar bottle of wine.

  "Yeah. That was me."

  "Thank you. You can't even tell where they were fixed."

  "You're welcome." He handed her a glass of wine.

  She took a quick sip, then began scooping lasagna onto the plates. This was silly, being so nervous around him, but he affected her. Like he was rearranging molecules in the air around her.

  “This is the first time I’ve cooked anything since I got here. I’ve been using the oven and the microwave but I haven’t put a pot on the stove until today.”

  “You didn’t need to do that. Chinese takeout would have been fine.”

  “Yeah. I did need to do it. For me. But I wouldn’t have been able to eat all this by myself.” She smiled weakly. No matter how this evening turned out, at least she had gotten over her fear of using the kitchen.

  They carried their plates and wine to the table. She expected conversation with Jared to be like pulling teeth but he surprised her tonight. He spoke easily and without hesitation, asking her question after question about her company. How many products did they have? What was their first retail account? How many employees? Did they have overseas distribution, plans to sell direct to consumers from their own web site, dreams of going public?

  She laughed after several minutes of this. “You’re in the wrong line of work, Jared Connor. You should be working for CNBC or Bloomberg.” Then she felt bad as his cheeks reddened.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I’m not used to talking about the company anymore. I used to do it all the time, before the accident, but I’ve been out of the public eye this past year. Zee has been shouldering all that for us.” She smiled a wry smile. “Zee has shouldered a lot this past year. I will owe her forever.”

  “A good partner, that’s probably important to a business.” Jared forked more lasagna into his mouth.

  Phlox felt awful now. She’d probably over-answered his questions. Why would a caretaker care about a skincare and cosmetics company? Well, a female caretaker would but not a guy. She glanced at his hands, which were as rough and callused as one might expect. Their Soft-As-A-Baby’s-Bum hand treatment balm would be perfect for him, though. She might ask Cherise to overnight a tube.

  “Zee and I were roommates in college. Her mother is the actress, Ginger Moon. She won an Oscar a few years back.”

  Jared nodded. “I think I saw that movie.”

  “Do you like movies?” Movies seemed like a more normal date topic than business. Not that this was a date or anything.

  Jared nodded again, taking a sip of wine. “But usually I wait until they come out on DVD or pay-per-view. I read a lot, too.”

  “Zee’s grandfather is Maxwell Malisewski, the author. You might have read his short stories in school.” Or maybe he hadn’t? Maybe he didn’t go to college. But he came across as someone who had.

  “Your partner comes from quite the family.”

  Jared was quiet after that, helping himself to another slice of garlic toast. Should have stuck to business. The conversation had died when they left that topic.

  “More wine?” she asked.

  Jared shook his head. “Gotta work tomorrow.” He smiled at her.

  She liked his smile, even on the side of his face that had been burned. It softened his appearance.

  “Right. I should probably sneak some work in myself. Zee has restricted me to one phone call to the company per day. But we launched a new product a few months ago. I need to keep an eye on what people are saying online. One tweet goes viral and everything can go to hell in half an hour.”

  “I try to stay away from those sites. Like my privacy, you know.” He stood and carried his plate and empty wine glass into the kitchen. He rinsed both and carefully put them in the dishwasher.

  “Coffee?” Phlox suggested. Boy, the evening had gone south in a hurry. “I have decaf.”

  She saw the hesitation on his face. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Phlox busied herself grinding beans and measuring water. Jared finished clearing the table for her. He had good manners. Not like some of the guys she had dated in the past.

  “Let’s sit in here.” She carried two mugs of coffee into the front room. “I guess historically this would have been the parlor.” She handed Jared a mug and gestured at the big overstuffed sofa. “I use it more as just a place to read.” She swept aside the stack of paperbacks on the sofa. “I’m supposed to be reading a lot of trashy books up here this month.”

  They drank the coffee silently, sitting side by side on the sofa. Jared looked around the room, taking in the furnishings, the oil paintings on the walls. The evening was ending, Phlox sensed, even as she was desperate for it not to. She was probably just lonely up here by herself. That had to be it. She wasn’t normally the sort of woman to throw herself at a man. In the past, that wouldn’t have worked anyway. Didn’t seem to be working now.

  She carried their empty mugs to the kitchen. When she returned to the parlor, Jared was perched on the edge of the sofa, clearly on the verge of making his farewell.

  “Would you like to go swimming?” she asked. “It’s supposed to be a little warmer tonight.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully, like he was searching for the right words to let her down easy. “I should go. Thanks for dinner.”

  But he didn’t stand up and a tiny ray of hope flared in her chest. He had wanted her last night out by the pool. She wasn’t just imagining that.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, then took a deep breath and plunged in. “Why no swimming tonight?”

  “I prefer to swim alone.”

  “That’s not safe, especially after a big dinner. And wine.”

  “Depends on your definition of safe.”

  “You don’t want me to see the scars on your body again. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer but the look in his eyes was answer enough.

  Before she could think better of it, Phlox reached around and unzipped the back of her eyelet blouse. Jared’s eyes grew big as saucers as she pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor. Then she unzipped her ankle jeans and slid them down over her legs until she was left wearing just her tiny thong and bra.

  “Phlox. What the hell are you doing?”

  The low grumble in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and a small voice of her own—somewhere deep in the recesses of her brain—warned her that she should stop. But she couldn’t stop, not now—not and retain some semblance of dignity. Onward was where she had to go.

  She traced the web of scars on her abdomen. “Here’s where they took the skin for the grafts on my shoulders and chest.” She turned around to show him the scars on her ass. He sucked in his breath loudly. “This is where they got the skin for the grafts on my face.” She traced the silvery lines with her finger.

  She spun back around and pushed him back into the cushions of the sofa, then straddled his lap. “So this pretty face? Is covered with skin from my ass.” Her eyes burned into his wary, uncertain ones. “So when I tell someone to kiss my ass—"

  Jared pulled her into him, his mouth crushing hers hot and fierce. He kissed her hard for several minutes, then slowly peeled his lips off hers. “Y
ou have a very pretty ass.” As if to punctuate what he was saying, his hands slid down onto her bare bottom. “So I’m not surprised they used skin from here.”

  Phlox moaned as he squeezed her cheeks, kneading them beneath his strong fingers. Her moan grew louder when he dipped his head to her chest and ran his tongue over the swell of her breast. His hands left her ass and reappeared higher, unhooking her bra. He slid the pale blue lacy fabric off her shoulders and arms.

  Phlox quickly cupped her own hands over her breasts. A frown creased Jared’s mouth and forehead. She wanted to slow things down for a minute. Slowly she slid her hands along the underside of her breasts, revealing a long thin scar on each.

  “I had the best medical care money could buy,” she said as she ran her thumb along one scar. “But that doesn’t get rid of all of the scars.” She reached out and caressed his cheek. “I know we don’t know each other that well, Jared, but I’m guessing these aren’t your worst scars.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned into her palm. Phlox felt the release of tension rolling off his body.

  “Please don’t stop,” he groaned. “That feels so … damn … amazing. No one ever touches me.”

  She took his hand and placed it on her breast. Her nipple hardened as he rolled it beneath his finger and thumb. Without opening his eyes, he leaned in and kissed the nipple. Phlox arched her back, pressing herself against his mouth.

  “Let’s go upstairs.” His words vibrated hot against her skin.

  In her bedroom, she stood a few steps away from him while he undressed. She wanted to do nothing that would spook him and send him running away from her. When he got down to just his boxer briefs, he looked over at her. She realized she was still wearing her thong. She hooked her fingers in the elastic and stripped it off. His underwear quickly joined hers on the floor.

  His eyes ran up and down her body.

  “I want to touch you everywhere,” he said. “I hardly know where to start.”

  She touched her lips. “Start here. Kiss me.”

  Before she could even register the movement, he closed the distance between them and scooped her up in his arms—effortlessly, the way he had the day she fell off the porch. He lowered her onto the bed, his body following right behind. She pulled his head down to hers and looked deep into his blazing eyes. Whatever doubts he’d had the night before were gone now. They had passed some invisible rubicon, leaving them with no graceful way out of her bed.