The West Wind

by Morgan Douglas

  “You ass!” Hero complained playfully.

  “It is a nice one,” he laughed, leaning as if to oogle hers. “You might want to tan a little more though, looking a little white.” He winked.

  Her face fell into an unamused expression with her lips pursed to one side. “Really?” she asked.

  He grinned in response. She lunged forward and swiped her roller across his chest, leaving a broad swatch of paint bright against the dark cloth.

  “Take that!” she exclaimed.

  “I yield, I yield,” Xander said, backing up with his hands high in the air in a gesture of submission. His brush was a much more insignificant weapon than her paint roller. “Truce?” he asked.

  “No truce,” she stated coldly, brandishing the roller at him. “But you’re safe for the moment. I’ll get you when you least expect it.”

  As the day wore on, minor wounds appeared on clothes and skin as the surreptitious battle continued. Once Zach stuck his head in to check on them while Hero was about to roll paint up Xander’s back. She grinned innocently as he met her eyes. He raised one eyebrow, shook his head in amusement, and went back to whatever he was doing. The interruption saved Xander, as he managed to notice the exchange and escape before Hero could make a mural of his back.

  About 3 o’clock Xander finished the portion of the room he was working on, while Hero had traded her roller for a brush and stood on a ladder painting the bare places where the wall met the ceiling. He started to clean up, putting the paint trays and rollers that would be used again into plastic grocery bags for the night and sealing the lids of opened paint cans. When he finished, he left to wash out his brush. When he came back, Hero was waiting for him with an evil grin.

  “Hey,” Xander greeted her as he came close, thinking to steal another kiss. “Are you done?”

  “Almost,” she said, her eyes glinting wickedly.

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Umm, I just washed out my brush. I’m unarmed,” he pointed out.

  “I know,” she said, gloating.

  She came after him, wielding fresh paint on the brush.

  “Hero. . .” Xander said, his voice wary as he backed away.

  “I told you I’d get my revenge when you least expected it,” she reminded him. She attacked. The brush came high and Xander grabbed her wrist, holding her back like someone attacked by a knife in a movie. They struggled for a moment and her eyes grew bright with an idea, and she grabbed the paintbrush with her left hand. Before she could make contact, his left hand claimed that wrist and locked their arms in a wide circle that left a few feet between them as she tried to pull free and attack.

  For a moment, Xander was certain they were going to be stuck in a stalemate. He wasn’t going to let her get him, and if he tried to wrestle the brush from her, there was sure to be some kind of collateral damage. His arms strained a little as he held her off. She was stronger than he expected. He looked around desperately for anything he might use to level the playing field, but found nothing. He had done too good of a job cleaning up. It was not something he had ever expected to regret. Seconds passed as Hero tried to wrestle herself free, determined to finish what Xander had started. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he had an epiphany. Wet paint wasn’t in short supply. Not at all.

  Xander’s eyes glinted and his grip on her wrists tightened gently, changing from just enough pressure to protect himself to a firm intent to take control. Hero scanned his face, trying to figure out what had changed. When he started to push her backward, it dawned on her.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Hero protested loudly, resisting as hard as she could without much success. Slowly but surely he backed her closer and closer to the wall. Hero struggled. Xander was too strong, which she found irritating and attractive at the same time.

  “Please,” she begged one more time, inches away from leaving her silhouette in the fresh paint.

  Xander shook his head with a playful, but evil, grin, and pressed every inch of her he could into the wall, trapping her there with his weight. Hero squealed and squirmed. Her wrists were still locked in his hands and starting to get raw where she had twisted as they wrestled. She bucked against him in frustration and mild anger. The thought briefly crossed her mind that it was strange that she was so angry and enjoying herself so much at the same time, but she shrugged it off. So be it. She struggled again, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and hard out of nowhere and she melted against the wall, paint momentarily forgotten.

  It was the kiss she had been waiting for all this time, and from the hunger and passion of his lips against hers, he felt the same way. She sank into it as though into the waves that had lapped against her when they kissed for the first time. It seemed like ages ago. She parted her lips to open up to him.

  A cough interrupted them from the doorway. They separated quickly to find Zach leaning against the door frame.

  “Your mom just pulled up,” Zach told Hero. “Propriety,” he told his son.

  “Thank you,” Hero said, embarrassed to be caught and witnessed.

  “Yes, sir,” Xander replied, right before getting a cheek full of wet paintbrush.

  * * *

  The week of Hero’s party eventually arrived and Xander stood on the porch watching the decorators, planners, and caterers buzzing in and out of the house as they prepared for the event. A landscaping company had been hired to clean up the yard. There was no time for the McConnells to do it and get the immediate renovating done inside in time for the celebration. Watching everyone rush around reminded Xander of a beehive, and he imagined Rimsky-Korsakov’s “The Flight of the Bumblebee” playing in the background. His fingers moved subtly while he pretended to conduct the piece as he leaned against the side of the house.

  He smiled to himself as he did. He had never been happier in his life, though he usually preferred a little more hard work combined with peace and quiet to the controlled chaos going on around him. At the center of the storm was Anna DiBenedetto, the Queen Bee directing all her drones. The best part about her need to be in control of everything was her inattention to the whereabouts and activities of her daughter. She was simply too busy to keep her eye on her all the time. Xander took full advantage of her distraction to steal quick dances and kisses from Hero. His dad, if he had ever cared beyond appearances, had given up entirely.

  “Taking a break?” Zach asked as he walked through the door, startling Xander from his reverie.

  “Ah, sure. I need some fresh air, and some space,” Xander answered.

  “Crazy, isn’t it? When I married your mother it was less excessive than this. You’re not going to be so lucky.”

  “Dad, I don’t know. . .” Xander began, embarrassed to be discussing that particular future already.

  Zach interrupted him with arched eyebrows that said all that needed to be.

  Xander laughed and shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

  “My greatest failing,” Zach joked.

  “As is your humility.”

  “Like son, like father.”

  “I think that’s supposed to go the other way around, last I checked.”

  His father grinned and changed the subject. “So where is your Juliet, anyway? I haven’t seen her all morning.”

  “You know, I’d rather think of her as Viola from Twelfth Night. Best friend first, then the woman Duke Orsino married. Survived the ending.”

  “You always were practical,” Zach teased.

  “It’s your fault. Anyway, I think she’s setting up the guest room for the girls, since she talked her parents into letting the Coven stay the night on Saturday.”

  “The Coven?” Zach asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Uh, long story,” Xander answered.

  * * *

  Hero was exactly where Xander thought she would be, hanging curtains she hadn’t had time to hang yet, and rearranging the furniture. At the moments she had her nose buried in an armful of comforters and sheets fresh out of the drier. She loved the smell and t
he warmth of it, even on hot summer days like this one. With a brief exhalation at the effort, she plopped the entire armload into a chair and looked around the room. A proud smile slipped across her face. She was happy with the way the room turned out. Though she had been leading the work for the interior design for the entire house, this room was all hers and she had been given full rein to do whatever she wanted.

  Exhaustion had set in a while ago, but Hero wore a permanent smile and hummed to herself as she worked. She had learned more in the last few weeks than she would have in a year of some of her high school classes and her head reeled with figures, costs, bits and pieces of psychology she never even knew existed: colors and how they affect temperature, and all of the other endless details that were part and parcel of the work she was doing. Yet, she’d never felt as alive as she did now, doing something she now knew for a fact that she loved doing, and better still, doing it with someone she’d fallen for quickly and was certain she loved.

  As Hero made the bed she let her mind wander into a fantasy of a future in which she and Xander ran his father’s company together while she ran a well-controlled, skilled group of interior designers in high demand throughout Southern California. She would be less controlling than her mother was, of course. People needed some freedom in order to do their best work. She pictured herself working late beside the love of her life, cuddled up over some plans on the couch in the library. She tucked hospital corners into the sheets and thought about what it would be like to be happily nestled against his chest with glasses of red wine resting on the coffee table.

  The side of her mouth quirked up at the image. Often she caught herself admiring the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, or the curve of forearm as he gripped a pencil to mark something on a blueprint. She was so conscious of him and his movement that it amazed her how relaxed and unconscious that movement was. His strength was fluid, firm, and quick. Dancing must be the perfect balance for the daily effort he put himself through. When he stretched, she would catch herself imagining her hands exploring the muscles of his back or rising and falling with his breath, a hand against his taut chest. Her fantasies often took her back to the feeling of that first kiss, though they usually took place in a somewhat drier environment.

  She finished smoothing out the last wrinkle in the comforter and settled the decorative pillows into place at the head of the bed. The paintings she had ordered for the room hadn’t arrived yet, but as she looked around with her hands resting on her hips, she was satisfied. It was almost perfect. Such good work deserves a reward, she thought to herself. With their first kiss still on her mind she went to look for Xander.

  * * *

  Hero found Xander talking to Jaimie in the foyer.

  “Hey, guys,” she greeted them, coming up to stand beside Xander and slipping her fingers into his while she leaned against him and rested her other hand on his bicep.

  “Hey!” he welcomed her happily.

  “There you are,” Jaimie said. “Do you know how hard it is to get a simple answer out of this boy?” she asked rhetorically, gesturing with irritation at Xander.

  “I told you where she was,” Xander responded, his brow furrowed.

  “In the back somewhere doesn’t help me find the guest bedroom,” she pointed out.

  Hero laughed. “Well, I’m here now,” she said to save Xander from being raked over the coals any further. “What’s up?”

  “You and I have a date with the mall,” Jaimie said, taking Hero’s left arm in both hands and peeling her off Xander.

  “We do?” Hero asked, not remembering any such thing. Her fingers lingered against Xander’s until Jaimie had pulled her too far away for her to maintain contact.

  “You didn’t think you were going to just wear some dress that’s been in your closet for years, did you?”

  “No, but. . .” Hero began.

  “I already asked your mom. Here, she gave me her credit card for you,” Jaimie said, pushing the small plastic rectangle into Hero’s hand.

  Xander, who had been observing them with an amused grin across half his face, laughed. “Have fun, I’ll see you later,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as he smiled at Hero. He stared deep into her eyes as if Jaimie wasn’t in the room.

  “Ok, bye!” Hero said as Jaimie dragged her outside, barely giving her time to grab her purse.

  “Are you two having sex?” Jaimie hissed as soon as the front door had closed behind them.

  “What?” Hero asked, honestly confused.

  “Sex. Two people. No clothes,” Jaimie reminded her as they walked toward Jaimie’s car, a metallic green Volkswagen Beetle with a Roxy Heart and hibiscus decal in the rear windshield.

  “No, we’ve barely been alone with each other for a minute since I got grounded.”

  “You two need to go take a cold shower or something, then. And not together!”

  “What are you talking about?” Hero demanded.

  “Being around you two is so intense I’m afraid you’re either going to go up in flames or send lightning bolts shooting from your eyes.”

  “I really have no idea what you’re going on about.” Hero’s eyes wandered, absentmindedly looking back toward the house for Xander.

  Jaimie grabbed her friend and forced her to look her in the eye. “When was the last time you thought about kissing him?” she asked.

  “Umm. . .” Hero said, blushing a bit.

  “How about more than kissing him?”

  Hero’s blush turned bright red.

  “THAT’s what I’m talking about. You need to calm down. It’s visible. Literally. You two look like you’re about to eat each other.”

  Hero laughed. “Eat each other?”

  “Like love-zombies,” Jaimie said, turning her nose up in the air as she opened the driver’s side door and stood inside it, talking over the roof of her car.

  Hero burst out laughing. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” she joked as she got in the passenger’s side.

  “No, you’ll probably start a love-zombie apocalypse or something.”

  “Evan definitely has you watching the wrong movies, Jaimie.”

  “Who says we actually watch them?” Jaimie said wickedly, starting the car.

  “Are YOU having sex?” Hero asked in disbelief as music blared from the speakers.

  “What?” Jaimie looked shocked. “Hero DiBenedetto, that’s none of your business!”

  “Jaimie!”

  * * *

  Zach and Xander sat in the two large leather reading chairs in the Brighton House library later that evening, staring at a fire crackling in the fireplace. It made the space too warm, but set off the atmosphere perfectly. The only other light came from a chandelier high above set with dim LEDs that gave the impression the room was lit by a full moon. The clock on the mantle read after 10 pm and they were both exhausted. With Hero’s party preparations in full swing, they hadn’t had time for anything else for the last couple days. As they started to relax both exhaled in a mutual sigh of content relief.

  “That’s a lot of work for a birthday party,” Zach said. “Are you sure you want to marry this girl? The wedding preparations might give you a heart attack. If not the preparations, your mother-in-law will. Marry Jessica, at least you’ll survive to see your wedding night.”

  Xander coughed. “No one said anything about marriage, Dad.”

  Zach raised an amused eyebrow that reinforced exactly how unconvinced he was. “So you don’t think Hero is the one?”

  “Ah, no, I didn’t say that either.”

  Silence filled the room, broken only by the pop and crackle of the fire. Zach smiled to himself, knowing perfectly well what was on Xander’s mind. Xander weighed his father’s words. Marriage was something he had always planned on, but wasn’t in a hurry to do. With his parents as examples, he couldn’t imagine not getting married someday. He always assumed it would take him years to meet the right person, however. He hadn’t anticipated Hero.

  The t
hought of her brought a wide upward turn to the corners of Xander’s mouth. Though they hadn’t really known each other that long, he did find himself thinking of her as ‘The One’. Somehow everything that happened had helped to cement that feeling. Working together was a different way of getting to know someone, but somehow he only felt more drawn to her because of it. It seemed that the online articles he’d read about where to look for a partner were right: get out and do an activity you love, and maybe you’ll find love. Of course, preparing the house had shown them how well they meshed off the dance floor as well. He smiled again, then his smile turned into a wicked, playful grin as he remembered running her into the wall during their paint fight. It was hard to think of a part of his life that wasn’t enriched by her presence in it. His father’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Careful, you don’t want to strain something in there. You might need it later,” Zach teased.

  “Reprising your role as Nick Bottom?” Xander asked, referring to a character Zach had played in a community theatre production of Midsummer Night’s Dream when they lived in Seattle. The character spent most of the play with the head of a donkey.