Baby I'm Yours

by Rosie Praks

  “This chocolate mud cake, then.” Clinton pulled out another cake and presented it to his son.

  “Yes, I think that deal would be sweet enough.” Hunter nodded and smiled, looking at all that rich chocolate sweetness within the cake. Not to mention the number of calories.

  “Son, do you know how sweet this thing is?” Clinton gasped and pulled back, retreating the chocolate mud cake to put it back into his drawer. “Do you know how many calories are in this thing? If I eat that, my hygienist would blame me again for always eating sweet things. Plus, this deal is as close as a wedding cake.”

  “Fine. We’ll just settle for a carrot cake, then, if you have one stored in your drawer.” Hunter agreed, slumping back in his chair.

  “Deal. A carrot cake means you work under Anton and have to listen to everything he says. He’s your supervisor. And anything you need help with, talk to Winton.”

  “Not Winton.” Hunter moaned in displeasure. “You know how I don’t get along with him. He’s always shifty looking and too polite. It gets on my nerves.”

  “You’re the one who wanted the skills. If you don’t agree on the carrot deal, then you work full time here, from 8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., five days a week. You’ll be treated like all employees. Normal sick days for you and annual leave. And you don’t get the privilege to be my son when you work here,” Clinton declared, not backing out of this deal.

  “Fine. Deal.” Hunter reluctantly agreed, extending his hand for his father to shake. If he didn’t agree, he would never get a job.

  “Great, son. You just landed yourself a job. Report to Anton first thing tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m.”

  Hunter managed a grin at his dad. “Fine by me,” he said, then got up and left like a swift tornado before Clinton could bat an eyelid.

  Like the wind, children these days, Clinton thought to himself when he was all alone again. When they want something, they come to you, and then when they’ve got what they wanted, they disappear again. Well, at least now he could enjoy his cheesecake in peace.

  Clinton pulled his secret stash drawer open again and retrieved the cheesecake. The sweet scent made him salivate. Not wanting to waste another minute of his time staring at it, he sank his teeth into the delicacy, blasting his cholesterol to hell.

  One goal achieved, now on to the second goal, Hunter thought as he raced to his car. Not ten minutes later, he found himself dashing into the first florist he came upon. When he went in, a young woman with blond hair and blue eyes smiled warmly up at him and said, “Welcome to Only You. How may I help you?”

  Hunter was caught off guard for a second. “Only You,” he repeated.

  The young woman smiled up at him and said, “That’s the name of our shop.”

  “Oh.” Hunter smiled back and said, “I’ve never heard of a florist with that name before.”

  “Yes. It’s a name I made up,” the woman said with a melancholy expression on her face, and then as if suddenly realizing she was serving a customer, she looked up again and pasted on her brightest smile. “I’m sorry. How can I help you today?”

  “I’m looking for flowers that represent apology. I want to apologize to someone. Do you have any in mind?”

  “Ah, then you will need a red and white rose bouquet.” The young woman walked Hunter to a stand of colorful roses that decorated one side of the shop like a mural.

  “Roses are the perfect flowers to give to a friend, family members, or for a lover.” The woman eyed him for a second when she said this and then went into her explanation mode again while her hands went to pick up the red and white blooms. Then she took them back to the counter to start wrapping them into a bouquet.

  “White roses represent truth and chastity,” she told him, “whereas red roses represent affection and fidelity. Combining both colors, I think you can’t go wrong with this bouquet,” the woman said, then handed the bouquet to him. “Whoever you want to apologize to will forgive you in an instant.”

  “Wow. That’s perfect.” Hunter couldn’t believe he could find the perfect bouquet that fast. “Thanks so much… Miss…” Hunter tried to read the name on her badge, but it was written in a weird, almost Japanese font that he couldn’t make out.

  “It’s Elise. You can call me Elise,” the young woman answered.

  “Thanks, Elise. I’ll be sure to come back with more apology flowers or confession flowers,” Hunter said before paying and then walking outside. But before he could take one step out the door, though, he heard Elise call him.

  Hunter paused and turned around.

  “Excuse me. I’m so sorry to do this to you, but have we met before? It’s just your face looks very familiar, like I’ve seen it somewhere.”

  Of course, she must have seen his face. He was a popular billionaire after all, face plastered on every available advert, even on soya sauce bottles.

  Wait! Was Elise flirting with him? Especially with that lame pickup line?

  But based on his past experiences, Elise didn’t look like the type of girl to flirt, nor did her character speak of someone who would want to flirt with him. Elise didn’t play with her hair, nor did she continue to flutter her eyelashes at him to gain his attention and affection. In fact, Elise’s face showed an expression of seriousness. Her blue eyes lit up, but her pupils didn’t dilate. These were all signs that she was clearly not interested in him in a sexual way.

  “No, I don’t think we’ve met before,” he replied immediately.

  “Are you sure?” Elise asked again, as if the knowledge of Hunter’s identity was so important that she must know.

  “Definitely.” Hunter laughed.

  It was weird, though, because if he was like his previous self, then he wouldn’t mind this line and he knew Elise would be within his grasp in one or two days. But he had Clarice now and that’s all he needed. But Elise’s kind gesture and gentle manner didn’t go unnoticed, so he decided to explain the situation to her, to ease her burden.

  “I have this girl that I love, you see,” Hunter explained. “I made her mad, so I want to apologize to her.”

  Elise’s face softened at once and her eyes looked almost teary.

  Shit. What did he do wrong? Did he offend Elise? Had she fallen so hard for him already? But they’d only just met? Did he have such strong charisma as to make her fall in love with him already? Oh, this was getting out of control.

  “I’m sorry.” Hunter quickly sent his own apology. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay.” Elise interrupted, willing her eyes not to shed those crystal-like tears at the corners. “I love hearing other people’s love stories. It’s so magical. I’m so glad you came into my shop. I feel now I’m able to help you out a bit.”

  She sounded very much like Fern. Even though Fern chattered nonstop like a broken record, they both exuded a sense of warmth.

  Hunter watched as Elise went to another pot of blooms and picked one. The flower that she was holding now, he couldn’t distinguish whether it was another rose or not.

  “This is another type of rose,” Elise said, giving the pink flower to him. “A bouquet of roses to ask for her forgiveness and a single pink rose as a confession of love. To tell her how beautiful she is in your eyes. To tell her that only she would make your heart happy. To tell her that it’s only her that you love.”

  “Only her,” Hunter whispered.

  Who was this woman Elise? Why was she so helpful? He felt like he could talk to her about anything. He felt like he could be her friend, that she was someone he could trust.

  Hunter could now understand why Elise had named her store Only You. The woman was an expert on helping her customers convey messages. She made it so each and every single recipient would feel so special that the ties connecting the receivers and the givers would be even stronger, whether they were friends, family members, or lovers. Each thought she poured in, each messages she passed across, each flower she selected only meant one thing to her, to relay the message that particular recipi
ent needed to understand.

  After some time of speechless silence, Hunter managed to say, “I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  Elise gave another bow and smiled warmly at him again. “It is my pleasure. I hope she forgives you and the next time you come in here will be to ask for flowers for a proposal.”

  “Yes. I hope so too.” Hunter nodded, feeling his chest was about to burst with excess happiness.

  With the bouquet of roses in one hand and the single pink rose resting on top, he cradled them gently and walked out.

  His mood was a complete contrast to the shower spraying lightly onto his face. He was as bright as all the blooms in Only You. With a job under his belt and the bouquet of roses in his hand, he was sure he was that much closer to being the man that Clarice would desire.

  “Clarice,” he said, determined, “you just watch. Before you know it, you’ll fall head over heels in love with me.”

  Chapter 9

  At first, Clarice thought she was being burgled because her usual jade plants she had neatly arranged on the front porch were placed in a different position. And then she thought her house must be on fire because as soon as she got inside, there was a faint wisp of smoke in the hallway.

  Dear heaven, maybe I’m being burgled in broad daylight and then the burglar decided to put my house on fire too.

  Scrambling to make sure she could at least salvage her family photo album, she rapidly rushed into her office, which lay deeper inside the house, only to realize what a stupid mistake that was. Her house was on fire, for God’s sake. Hadn’t she learned anything in emergency fire training? Personal safety was the number one priority. Personal possession came last.

  Too late now, Clarice snatched the photo album from her office and dashed back out, only to come into a completely smokeless hallway.

  Huh? Where has all the smoke gone? she asked herself, confused.

  Clarice sniffed the air around her. There was still a lingering scent that distracted her nose, as if something had been burned, but other than that, the smoke had all dissipated.

  Suddenly, she felt goose bumps on her back, a gentle cool breeze climbing up her spine.

  Clarice turned and saw the window in the lounge was opened, sending in a fresh, cool breeze to waft around the room.

  Dear heaven, is my house haunted?

  Clarice cursed herself silently when she thought this. She’d lived here for over five years now and she’d never experienced any paranormal activity before.

  But who opened the window, then?

  That burglar must still be inside her house, she concluded. Then she heard banging and clanging from inside the kitchen.

  Clarice tiptoed like a mouse to the edge of the kitchen door, peaking inside.

  There was a man there, a hot-looking man with a broad back and a tall, lean body. What he was doing in her kitchen? She never kept any valuable possessions in the kitchen.

  Maybe he was one of those burglars who like to steal junk. But the only thing that was valuable would be her Hot-Hot knives that she got from an advert TV commercial, because her usual knives were never sharp enough when she tried to cut her ciabatta bread, although she wouldn’t consider her Hot-Hot knives a piece of junk.

  If the burglar stole her knives, he could maybe get a few dollars out of them, but it wouldn’t be any use if he didn’t take the Hot-Hot knife sharpening stone too, which she had stored in the garage.

  At that moment, though, she didn’t really care what he stole. She had more pressing matters to deal with. Like, why did her burglar have to be so hot? She whimpered miserably. This burglar spelled G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S. And that’s just from the back. What if she got a good look from the front too? Heart attack. That was what it was going to be. A simple heart attack, and then she’d just die on the spot.

  Dear heaven. She moaned silently and looked heavenward, as if God could no longer help her in this dilemma. Her desire to pounce on a man now was escalating to such a grand scale that she herself could not even predict who would be next. Not even a burglar standing in her kitchen could be spared. And she thought it was just Hunter that had this effect on her.

  Clarice placed her family photo album on the hallway table quietly. Then grabbing her umbrella in the hallway where she usually kept her wet weather equipment like scarves and mittens, she approached the kitchen door again.

  Taking charge and ignoring her oncoming desire, she swiftly glided on the carpet like she was a flying goddess, her little dainty feet not touching the floor at all until she got behind him. She somehow made a sound that alerted him to her presence, which made his body go rigid, much to her disappointment.

  Oh, great. How was she supposed to surprise attack him now? Faster than a bullet train, his head snapped around and their eyes met.

  Sky-blue eyes. Blond, dusty corn hair.

  Clarice’s eyes flared open, and at that moment, every single object in the room was suspended except for her weapon, moving in slow motion, making aim at the burglar’s head. She did try to retrieve that weapon—really, she did—before it hit his head, but it was already too late now, because it had already made contact, making the burglar yelp like a dog.

  “Ow.” Hunter rubbed his head as soon as the umbrella hit him. “Are you trying to kill me, Clarice? That hurts.”

  “Hunter.” She gasped and dropped the weapon. “What… what are you doing in my house?”

  “I’m trying to cook some dinner for you. Thought you might be hungry after work. And what did I get? A crack on my head as a reward.”

  “Hunter, I’m sorry. Did it hurt?” Clarice asked worriedly, grabbing Hunter’s head without permission. Hunter ended up bending over forward to accommodate Clarice’s action.

  God, Hunter was so tall. Just in this position, her back was hurting her.

  “Come to the sofa so I can inspect to see if there’s any damage done,” Clarice offered.

  Hunter couldn’t refuse on that offer.

  “Okay, okay. On the couch, then,” he quickly put in before Clarice could change her mind.

  “I’ll get some bandages or something first.”

  “Forget about the bandage.” Hunter gripped Clarice’s hand before she could get the first aid kit. “Just look at my head quickly.”

  “But the bandage—”

  “Oww.” When he noticed Clarice backing out, Hunter gave an extra whine to emphasize he was in pain. “I think it’s bruised. I can feel throbbing already.”

  “Okay. Come over here.” Clarice dragged Hunter to the couch and deposited his head on her lap for further inspection.

  Hunter could barely contain his gleeful smile, but he fought to sustain a rigid face. Otherwise, Clarice would think she was being played, because the truth was the umbrella only made mild contact with his head. It wasn’t even painful.

  Ah, right now he was in heaven, lying here on Clarice’s lap, so soft and comfortable. This was where he belonged, feeling those fingers threading through his hair. It felt so good, so nice. He could just fall asleep right now.

  “Hunter, I don’t feel any bump.”

  “Are you sure? I can feel a throb. It’s painful. Can you look for it again?” Hunter pretended to groan painfully.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m feeling around now.” Clarice hastily ran her fingers through Hunter’s hair, feeling every single inch of his head, looking for that particular lump that might form so Hunter didn’t have to suffer too much pain. But try as she might, she just couldn’t seem to find any lump or bump. “I still don’t see or feel any lump.”

  “It’s here. Right here.” Hunter randomly pointed to a spot at the back of his skull. “It hurts right here.”

  “I still can’t find the bump, but I know what to do.” Clarice dropped Hunter’s head and walked into the kitchen again.

  Hunter groaned at the loss of warmth. He wanted those fingers back threading through his hair. He wanted that lap back beneath his head. But Hunter grinned again when he saw Clarice coming back into
the lounge, holding on to some sort of bottle.

  Clarice, without thinking, held Hunter’s head gently and placed his head back on her lap. Then she started smearing something onto his head.

  “What the hell did you put on my head? It stings.” Hunter jerked his head from Clarice’s lap when the scent reached his nose and the sting penetrated into his skin.

  “It’s Tiger Balm. It helps to heal lumps and bumps. That’s what we Cambodian’s use,” Clarice said, holding the bottle for Hunter to see. “It’s very effective. I put it on all the time.”

  “Does it have to smell? I don’t like it,” Hunter mumbled to himself.

  “There’s no other way,” Clarice said.

  “Fine. But massage it a bit more. I like it when you massage my head.” Hunter lay back down for more.

  “I am massaging it,” Clarice grumbled, smearing more balm onto Hunter’s head. She suddenly realized the one guy she was lusting for was actually on her lap, her performing such an intimate task like they were lovers. Her abnormal symptom came back and she snapped right back into her rigid mode.

  “Get off my lap,” she told Hunter, trying to control her voice so he couldn’t tell she had the hots for him.

  “But it’s comfortable here. Can’t you rub it in a bit more? I kind of like the smell now,” Hunter grumbled.

  “Do it yourself,” Clarice said, handing the balm to Hunter, then stood and shook herself to rid this emotion.

  “Okay.” Hunter reluctantly got up from his position and sat on the couch. But he didn’t use the balm. Instead, his hand caught hold of Clarice and he dragged himself up, using her body as a pillar.

  “Hunter, let me go.”

  Clarice struggled within his grasp, but it wasn’t successful and they both went sprawling back on the couch. Now Clarice was sitting on Hunter’s lap, his arms tightly encasing her.

  “I don’t want to sit on your lap. Let me go.”