He raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what I’m thinking. Part of me is weirded out you knew me all this time. But then again, it’s not like you had a reason to come up to me and say anything.”
“I never acted on it. I never intended on pursuing you. It was always meant to be a distant veneration.”
“Veneration?” That’s a word I’d never associate with myself.
“Yeah, veneration. From afar is all I intended. Until you met Tommy and turned everything upside down.”
“You were so mad.”
“I was so stupidly jealous and angry at myself for believing the crap I never believed before. I’m a man. Men are stupid.”
That cracks me up. “You’re not getting any arguments from me on that one.”
He brings my hand to his chest. “So, that’s my confession.”
I have confessions. So many of them. But he won’t hear any. Not now, not ever.
His eyes light up with mischief. His hand splays on my stomach possessively.
“Have I told you about the amazing multi-spray shower I have in my bathroom? And would you be interested in a private tour?”
Yes, yes. Very much so. “Maybe?”
Chapter Forty-Six
It’s been a few days since I last heard from Cougar22. When my laptop alert sounds that someone is calling in, I’m grateful and surprised to see her name.
I click to answer the call. “Good night. It’s been a few days. Hope everything is well.”
“Hi. Yeah, sorry about that. Everything is great.”
My eyes drift closed. I missed hearing her voice. “What have you been up to?”
There’s a moment of hesitation on her side. “I … listened to what you said and followed your advice.”
I riffle through my notes to confirm what I already know. My last advice for her was to take a chance with a guy she was attracted to. Something that went against everything I wanted to say to her, but my professional ethics demanded I do.
“Did you take a chance with the guy you met?” My fingers tap on the desk, and I count.
“What’s that tapping sound? I hear it all the time when I’m talking to you.”
I stop tapping. “It’s a grounding technique. It helps me focus. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.” Not entirely true. I also use it when I’m anxious.
“And it helps?” The sound of faint tapping accompanies her question.
“It does. It’s a habit now.”
“Interesting. I might have to try that sometime.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I fist my hand to stop the tapping.
“I was getting to it.” She blows a breath. “Yes, I met that guy, we talked, and we got together, and … and I think I like him.”
Got together … I know what that means, and Jesus Christ, I might need therapy myself. Didn’t I get together with someone myself yesterday? Why does knowing this bother me? “Will you be seeing him again?”
“Yes. I think I will. It was good … nice. Different.”
“Different how?”
“Just different. I don’t know. Maybe because I think for the first time I was with someone for me, because I wanted to, and not as a rebellion or to erase the crap from my past.”
“This is good, this is very good. And it’s great you have this awareness.”
“It was good, but I’m not talking about the sex.”
“Oh?” I feel embarrassed on the behalf of men everywhere.
She laughs. “No, I don’t mean the sex was bad. It was amazing. I meant that it never felt like I was using him or that I was being used. It was an even exchange. Two people who mutually agreed they wanted to be together for no other reason than they were attracted to each other.”
“I’m happy for you.” And I am. Even as I recognize a tinge of jealousy toward this guy. I care about her. About this young woman who calls herself Cougar22. There’s a connection between us. I have come to think of her as a friend.
“Thanks. But that’s not why I called.”
“No?”
“No. I think things are going in the right direction now. I can see my life taking a different turn. I’m happy. I found my father and a new family with him.”
She sighs. I wait. I can guess what she will say next, and I don’t want to be right.
“I called to thank you for everything. You have done for me—more than you can ever imagine.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And to say I’ll probably not call again.”
It hurts. I didn’t think it would feel like this. This hollow space in my chest. “I can understand that.”
“You can?”
“Yes. You want to move on and leave all reminders behind, and I’m a reminder.”
“Yes, something like that. I’ll miss our talks. I really enjoy talking to you. Even though I don’t really know anything about you, not even your name, I feel like I know you.”
“Jameson. You can call me Jameson.” Why did I reveal that?
“Jameson? Is that your name?”
“Yes. It’s a family name. After my father, grandfather, and his father and so on.”
“You’re tapping again.” She laughs.
I look at my hand. I am tapping. I curl my fingers and force myself to stop. Again. “You could still call sometimes. Say hello to an old friend.” What am I doing? I’ve always known that this day would come. It’s time to let go.
“I might. I need good friends in my life.”
“We all do.”
“Goodbye, Jameson.”
“Goodbye.” She hangs up and I don’t even know her name.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The entire street is decorated for Christmas. Inflatable snowmen and Santas sway in the gentle afternoon breeze. Lights twinkle and dangle from trees and roof lines. The air smells like snow and fireplaces, but none of the white stuff is falling yet. The neighborhood screams middle-class, happy families. Driveways are piled with cars, and I catch glimpses of people through the decorated windows. This is something I have only ever experienced in movies. My first real Christmas. It’s … surreal.
I park at the bottom of the driveway and turn the engine off, but I don’t leave my car just yet. I take in the house. A huge Christmas tree takes up most of the bay window now. The tree was not there the last time I was here.
“Get on with it, Becca,” I tell myself.
I grab the pie I purchased for tonight, the gifts I got for Tommy and Dylan and a wine bottle. I cut through the dull yellow-green lawn. Grass dusted with frost crunches underneath my boots. My hands are full, and I use my elbow to ring the doorbell, the sound melodic and inviting.
The door opens, and Tommy’s arms come around me, crushing me to his chest so fast, I barely have time to hold the pie away from my body and avoid it getting smashed between us. “I’m so happy you’re here. Merry Christmas Eve!”
“Tommy? Let my girl in, and close the door, please.” Dylan’s voice comes from somewhere in the house.
My girl. It’s only been a few weeks, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around being with Dylan. In hiding, but together. Except for River and Tommy, no one else knows.
“Merry Christmas Eve to you too.”
Tommy takes a step back into the house and pulls me in, closing the door behind me. He relieves me of the pie and wine. “Come in, make yourself comfortable. Let me put these away.” I follow Tommy into the kitchen to drop the gift bags on a chair. Dylan’s back is to me as he pokes into something inside the oven. It smells delicious, whatever it is he’s working on. The last few notes of It’s a Wonderful World plays quietly over the house speakers. Another mellow song starts.
I hesitate a few feet away, unsure of what I should do. Dylan closes the oven door, flops a dish towel over his shoulder and comes to me. He wraps an arm around my waist and kisses me on the cheek. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers into my hair. Shivers run down my neck. I want more than that chaste
kiss. The corners of Dylan’s mouth turn up, his smile makes wordless promises.
“No nasty during Christmas, kids. It’s a sin.” Tommy’s voice reminds me we’re not alone. Dylan tosses the dish towel at Tommy’s head and points at him, shaking a finger. Tommy ducks and catches the towel in the air, laughing.
Dylan’s hand goes back to my waist. “You hungry? Everything should be ready in thirty minutes.”
“Starving.” It’s true. I was so nervous earlier; I couldn’t eat anything.
“Want something to nibble on? Wine?”
“Water?”
Dylan goes to the fridge, and I grab the gift bags and walk to the bay window.
The Christmas tree ends a few inches from the ceiling, and the scent of pine gets stronger with each step. I tuck the bags next to the other gifts. A mismatch of ornaments decorates the tree. They look old and cherished. I can’t help myself from touching a few.
A blue birdhouse, two tiny birds atop it, a little train with “Dylan.” Another that says, “Tommy’s First Christmas.” The entire tree is covered in them. Little pieces of memories molded into plastic figurines, each telling a story.
Dylan brushes my shoulder, his hand on the small of my back.
“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never had a Christmas tree before.”
“Never?” He’s holding a water bottle.
I can’t step back. I’m trapped between him and the tree, and I have said too much. Racing thoughts cloud my mind. I need to say something, but what? The therapist’s voice comes to me. I settle for a version of the truth.
“My family wasn’t religious. We didn’t really celebrate anything.” Damn it! I said too much again.
Dylan kisses my head and lets it go. I’m sure he can sense my resistance on the subject. All the times we got together since that rainy day—and there have been a lot of times—I’ve never talked about my past.
He points at a Millennium Falcon ornament. “This one was always my favorite growing up. I’d steal it from the tree every Christmas thinking I was sneaky, and then I would forget about it and leave it somewhere for my mother to find.”
“Did you get in to trouble?”
“Nah, Mom was never mad. But she put it up higher and higher every year as I grew until I was taller than her.” His face softens with the memory.
“What did she do then? And how old were you?”
“I was twelve. She’d get a chair and put it all the way to the top. By then it was a game we were playing for years. I’d take it and leave it somewhere she could find. And she would hide it again on the tree. Back and forth we went until the tree was down and the ornaments put away.”
“I love that. It was your thing.”
“It was our thing, our own little game we played only at Christmas.” His hand grips my hip.
“Maybe it’s a tradition you can keep going with your own kids someday.”
He looks at me then, blinks away the memory and the hint of sadness in his eyes. “I’d like that.”
The beeping sound of a timer breaks the moment. I open the water bottle and take a long drink, following Dylan to the kitchen. “What can I do?”
He looks around, checks everything. “Nothing. I think we’re done. Tommy even set the table earlier. Let’s eat.”
The three of us settle in the living room, the fireplace flickers with orange and blue flames, and on the TV, Die Hard is playing. We’re full and content. I don’t remember ever being this safe, this happy, this … at peace.
“Hmm, I’m not sure Die Hard is a Christmas movie.” I pull my legs under me on the couch. Dylan is sitting next to me, an arm over the back of the couch, his fingers twirling into my hair.
“Blasphemy!” Tommy stands up.
I cover my mouth to try to keep my giggles in but fail. My body shakes with laughter.
Tommy points a finger at the TV. “Dylan, do something! Side with me on this one.”
Dylan puts his hands up, presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I take the fifth.”
“He’s lying. We watch Die Hard every Christmas.” Tommy points at Dylan now. “I know what you’re doing. You’re siding with your woman so you can get lai—”
A pillow flies and hits Tommy on the face before he can finish his sentence. “Watch it!” Dylan says, but there’s no heat in his voice.
A pillow fight ensues, and by the time all pillows have been tossed and fallen too far for reach, I’m lying on the floor laughing so hard I might pee myself.
I’ve never been happier, and it terrifies me.
“It’s gift time!”
“It’s not midnight yet, Tommy.”
“It is in Europe. Come on, I want to know what Santa got me. And the sooner I open my gifts, the sooner I go to my room and leave you two little lovebirds alone.” Tommy wiggles his eyebrows and rubs his hands like a nefarious villain. The only thing missing is the evil laugh.
“Well, in that case …” Dylan jumps from the couch and grabs several boxes from under the tree.
“Guest of honor first.” He gives me two boxes, beautifully wrapped in a metallic red paper. A silver ribbon finishes the gift. It’s almost too beautiful to open.
“Me?” Gifts have not been a constant in my life. I’m not always a gracious gift receiver. Don’t quite know how to react.
“Go ahead.” He nudges me with a toe, his socked foot touching mine. “Open it. The big one first.”
I put the larger box on the coffee table, kneel on the floor and remove the bow, slipping my finger under the tape and carefully unwrapping the paper. A black box with a gold logo I don’t recognize reveals itself when the paper falls away. I pull the top off and wade through black tissue paper. Nested in the box is a winter coat so soft and light to the touch, it may as well be made of clouds. I pull it out of the box, standing up. It’s the color of rich caramel.
“Try it on.” His fingers tap on his knee as he watches me put on the coat.
I slip my arms into the sleeves, close the lapels around me. It’s so warm and comfortable. I’ve never owned anything this nice or beautiful or warm. “It’s beautiful. I love it, thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“Glad you like it. Open the other one.” His gaze never leaves me.
“Another gift? Gosh, you didn’t have to. This is more than enough.”
The coat feels so good and warm. I don’t want to take it off, but do it. I fold it carefully and back in the box it goes.
Dylan picks up the small box from the table and gives it to me. I sit down next to him and remove the same red wrapping paper. When I open the velvet box, I find a silver necklace with a glass pendant. I pick it up. The pendant is a sphere and encased inside there’s a dandelion seed. The delicate wisps forever frozen in time.
I look up, find his gaze on me. “You gave me wishes?”
His smile grows. “I guess I did. I didn’t think of it that way. I know you like dandelions. I wanted to give you something you could wear all the time.”
I close my hand around the pendant, bring it to my chest. “How did you know I like dandelions?”
“I saw you pick them and make wishes a few times.”
“You did? When?”
He shrugs. “Around campus.”
“This means a lot to me. Thank you.” I give him the pendant, turn my back to him and move my hair to the top of my head.
Dylan holds the necklace over me, then lowers it and closes the clasp. His fingers linger on my neck. The tiny hairs on the back of my head stand in attention. His touch always affects me. I turn to face him. “Thank you, this is beautiful.” My throat contracts, and I swallow down the butterflies trying to escape through my mouth.
“My turn. Open mine now.” Tommy waves his gift at me, giving me a much-needed break from the well of emotions churning in my chest.
His wrapping is not as elaborate, but it’s funny. Sponge Bob Square Pants wearing Santa’s hat, dancing with … pickles? I laugh. “Where did you find this paper?”
“Same place I found the gift, now open it.” He’s like a little eager kid on … well, Christmas.
I open the package with the same care as before and pull back when Tommy threatens to rip the paper because I’m taking too long.
“He never could wait for anyone to open his gifts,” Dylan says.
It’s a book. A leather-bound hardcover copy of my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice. It’s deep red with a beautiful gold inlay design on the cover and the spine.
“Wow, this is … amazing, thank you, Tommy.” I look at Dylan. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
Dylan pulls me into him and drops a chaste kiss to my lips. I hold back and push away the need to chase his mouth as he sits back. “I have something for you guys too. I put it under the tree.”
Tommy vaults over the loveseat and slides into the tree, stopping just short of crashing and knocking it over. Dylan’s chest shakes with laughter. “He does that every time. I’m waiting for the day he’ll go too fast and crash into that tree.”
“This?” Tommy calls back to us, holding two bags for me to see.
“Yes. The green bag is yours.”
Tommy vaults back over the loveseat and plops down on it, giving me the other bag with Dylan’s gift. Tommy’s diving into his bag and tossing tissue paper over his shoulders before I can prompt him to open it. He pulls out the T-shirts I got him and starts laughing. “No, you didn’t.”
“You said you’d wear them. Now you can.” I smile.
Tommy holds up the T-shirts, showing them to Dylan. Three shirts, each with the enactment of a different knock-knock joke. They’re so cheesy, one can’t help but laugh when they see them. He opens Dylan’s gift next. A new iPad to replace his old one with a cracked screen.
“Now, my gift to you. I hope you’ll like it.” I bite my bottom lip, clasp my hands together. My heart speeds up.
Dylan takes the bag from me and opens it. He removes the tissue paper and the wrapped gift with far gentler hands than Tommy. He places the gift on his lap, looks at me and then removes the tape and unwraps it much the same way I did. With care and perhaps a little delayed gratification, which makes me even more nervous.
Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3) Page 24