by Karen Ferry
The rest of the day has been quite uneventful, and I’m glad to see Daniel seeming to fit in so well. He’s been a bit quiet and shy when customers have approached him, but I’ve never been far away from his side, able to step in if he needed a hand with anything. I don’t quite know if his speech impairment has been a problem for him, because, to be perfectly honest, I don’t notice it much anymore. Strange how I have already become so used to his company, isn’t it?
We’re just about to close when a group of giggling teenage girls enters the shop, and I suppress the groan rising up in my throat. Just what we needed: customers who’ll take forever to browse around but probably end up leaving again without having made a purchase. Yes, that’s part of running a shop, I know, but it’s been a really long day, and I just want to go home. Daniel and I managed to come to an agreement on how often I’ll tutor him every week, and I’ll be spending my evening going through some of my notes on the first book we’ll be reading together: “The Canterbury Tales”. That should be interesting.
Trying to appear the professional I am, I walk towards the annoying girls, but before I have even taken a few steps, one of them – a pretty blonde who can’t be more than eighteen years old – heads straight for Daniel standing behind the front desk, about to sort through the till. He’s frowning at the receipts, seemingly oblivious to the Man-Eater-In-Training approaching him, but some small evil part of me wants to see how he handles her. I know he’s told me about getting all flustered and tongue-tied around girls, but surely not this one? I mean, she’s so young! Surely, he can’t be intimidated by someone like her?
“Hi,” she greets him exuberantly, and I want to roll my eyes when she strikes quite the pose: tilting her head to the side, pushing out her boobs in her already pretty daring pink top, the fingers of her left hand fiddling at a necklace she’s wearing, but then I frown. When did I become such a prude? Hell, I tend to wear even less when I go out clubbing! Clearly, I need to have my head examined. Realising that the clenching in the pit of my stomach is rather uncomfortable, and that it could very well resemble the feeling of possessiveness, I take a step back. Surprised at this very unwelcome notion that Daniel is mine, and that I do not particularly like seeing this blonde girl trying to catch his attention, I turn my back on them and make it seem as if I am busy sorting out some books on the nearby coffee table. My ears, however, work really well.
“Err . . . hi,” Daniel answers her, and although I cannot see him, the uncertainty in his voice isn’t difficult to notice.
“Do you have any naughty books?” she asks him, and I want to cringe. Even I wouldn’t feel comfortable with a customer asking me that. It’s just a tad too blunt.
“Ex . . . excuse me?” Daniel’s stuttering starts back up, and a small sliver of sympathy for his bad luck grabs me in my soft spot.
“Yes, you know . . . books about sex? Or any romance novels that are quite racy?” comes the cheeky reply from the blonde.
“Um . . . well, I . . . I don’t r-really know…” My shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. Poor guy, he’s in way over his head here. Deciding to come to his rescue without making it seem too obvious, I clear my throat as quietly as I can, and meander over to the desk to stand close beside Daniel.
Smiling, I ask the blonde, “Can I help you? My colleague here doesn’t read many romance novels.” I place my hands on the desk, and subtly allow the pinky on my right to touch Daniel’s left one. Such a small touch shouldn’t really zing through my body, but it does, and even though a part of me wants to put some distance between us again, another part revels in the pleasant feeling that soars through me.
The blonde squints her eyes and answers me curtly, “Actually, I think your colleague here is more than happy to help me instead of you.”
Ouch. The cat’s come out to play, I see.
I try a different tactic. “Well, you see, Daniel is new to the shop, and we’re about to close, so I just thought that in order to help you, it’d be easier if I did just that instead of him.” Looking up at Daniel, who, surprisingly hasn’t uttered a word, I look adoringly at him -- at least, I hope that’s what my eyes convey -- and continue talking to the little man-eater, “Also, my boyfriend and I would like to go home soon and have some . . . alone time together.” Turning my eyes to the blonde, I want to laugh at the sour expression now covering her face, but I keep my impulses in check. Unable to let my triumph go completely unnoticed, however, I wrap my arm around Daniel’s waist, stand up on my toes and give him a lingering kiss on his cheek. As soon as my lips come into contact with his skin, he jolts, but I ignore it; instead, I focus on the way his stubble seems to be coarse and soft at the same time, and I revel in the tingle left on my lips as I slowly move back on my feet. As if having a mind of their own, my eyes immediately look into Daniel’s, and the intensity and lust I find there almost cause my knees to buckle.
It’s just a small kiss. It shouldn’t affect me so much.
My lips part on a whoosh, and I wrench my gaze away from his.
The blonde huffs and grumpily says, “Never mind. I’ll come back another day.” Turning on her heels without saying even a goodbye, she waves at her friends, and they all hurry out of the shop, leaving us free to close down for the day. As soon as they’re out the door, I rush to it, flip the sign over, and lock it.
“What was that?” Daniel asks from behind me, and if I’m not mistaken, he sounds almost angry.
Turning around, I reply vaguely, “Nothing. I just wanted them to go so we could shut down for the day. No big deal.” Crossing my arms in front of me, I look at him, and yes, he does look rather annoyed.
“No big deal?” he sputters. “You kissed me!”
I sigh. “On your cheek, dummy. It’s not as if I stuck my tongue down your throat.” I walk past the desk he still hasn’t moved away from, and continue towards the back room. “Besides, if we’re supposed to impersonate a couple, we both need to get used to acting like it once in a while.”
“But . . . ,” he protests quietly, and instead of just ignoring him, I stop in my tracks and look over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. I want to know what he feels is important to say.
“Well, just . . . some fair warning the next time would be nice,” he mutters, looking down at the papers in his hands. The unhappy frown on his face puzzles me, but before I can question him further, Mr. Andersen comes out from the back room, and the moment is lost.
“Sorry, guys. Time ran away from me,” Mr. Andersen says as he closes the door, and I can’t help but notice that he seems rather distracted.
“No worries. I’ll just grab my things. Are you coming, Daniel?” I turn fully to both men, and I guess I have my answer when instead of Daniel, Mr. Andersen replies for him.
“Actually, Daniel and I will get everything sorted for the night, Emma. Have a few things left to show him. There’s no need for you to be kept from your plans.” He smiles at me, and the kindness in his smile suddenly reminds me of my dad. It’s been a while since I last talked with my parents, actually, and I miss them.
I shrug. “Okay.” Moving my eyes to Daniel, I tell him, “Have a good night.”
“You, too,” he murmurs, but he still refuses to meet my gaze, a fact that is beginning to annoy the crap out of me. The ease and camaraderie we have shared all day is gone now, and the old Daniel is back: the one who doesn’t -- or won’t -- say much . . . the one who seems to flick a switch from one moment to the next, leaving me wondering why he does that.
Is it just me? Am I letting my imagination run away with me? And why do I even care when we’ve only know each other for a few days? It baffles me.
Quickly, I grab my things, and, without a backwards glance, I call out a “goodnight” and leave the bookshop. My usually safe haven no longer feels so safe. Not with Daniel’s eyes burning a hole in my back just now.
Chapter 16
Once I enter my flat, my unusually crappy mood still evident, I pull out my phone, find the number to my pa
rents, and hit the green button. Listening to it ring, I toss my clutch on my kitchen counter and remove my shoes.
It keeps ringing for a long time, and just when I’m about to give up, my mum’s voice fills my ear: “Hello?”
“Hi mum,” I greet her.
”Emma!” she squeals, and hearing her excitement instantly makes me smile. My mum, Julia, doesn’t usually squeal, except when speaking with her children or other loved ones. She’s 55, works as a barrister, and she can be quite scary, actually. Having a temper on her, but claiming that she doesn’t, made growing up rather interesting. She can’t cook, so it’s a good thing my dad loves to do it.
“Oh my gosh, darling, so lovely to hear your voice,” she continues. “It’s been too long since we chatted. How are you?”
Sighing, I sit down on my bed. “I’m okay,” I reply.
“Only okay?” she asks me, confused, and I mentally shake my head.
“No, I’m more than okay,” I hurry to reassure her. “Just got home from work and I’m a bit tired.”
“Oh, I see. Well, tell me all about what you’ve been up to lately?” Hearing her concerned mum-voice kick in, I think I manage to satisfy her curiosity for the next few minutes by telling her about Suzy, and my job, but it doesn’t take long before she interrupts me.
“Honey, something is bothering you. I can hear it in your voice. Now, tell your old mum all about it and let it out.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “How is it you immediately come to the conclusion that something is off when I ring you?”
“Because you only ring us when you’re feeling low, sweetie,” she admonishes me, and her words make me stop and examine them more closely.
“Do I?” I ask her quietly.
“Yes,” she replies firmly, and I cringe. “Your dad and I worry about you, you know. It’s been so long since we saw you. Are you eating properly? Sleeping?” Her concern is evident in her voice now, and I feel guilty for having kept silent for so long.
“I’m sorry, mum. Yes, I’m eating. As far as the sleeping goes...” I hesitate but then soldier on. “Well, that’s debatable, I suppose.”
“You still have those . . . nightmares?” she asks me tentatively. Usually, this is the part in our conversation when I’ll change the subject, refusing to speak of them, but even though I feel sick to my stomach right now, this is my mum . . . and she deserves the truth.
Feeling a little teary, I whisper, “Yes. Every night.” Well, apart from one, I think to myself, but seeing as I don’t know why that is, there’s no reason to tell her that.
“Oh, sweetheart,” my mum sniffles, and I can’t stand hearing the tears in her voice.
Hurriedly, I say, “Please don’t cry, mum. I’m okay, honestly.”
“I want you to be more than okay, Em, I want you to be happy,” she says, the fierceness in her tone not lost on me.
“I’m working on it, mum,” I try to reassure her.
“Working on it? What do you mean?” she asks me, puzzled, but thankfully no longer sniffling.
“I’ve . . . ” I take a deep breath, and then force the words to leave my mouth, “I’ve set up an appointment with a psychologist.”
There’s nothing but silence meeting my statement, and dread fills my stomach.
“You’ve what?” mum whispers, and the disbelief and hurt in her voice don’t escape me.
“I’m having my first session on Friday,” I reply.
“You’re telling me that you’re perfectly fine with talking to some random stranger about your dreams, yet you’re not comfortable with telling me, your own mother, about them?!” she asks, openly crying now.
“Mum!” I protest. “This is a professional! Someone equipped with helping me to move on!” Standing from my bed, I start to pace from one end of the room to another, agitation filling my limbs.
“But why can’t you talk to me instead?”
“Because I just can’t, mum!” I snap at her. “Don’t ask me to do that!”
“Emma, darling, I’m your mother. I want to help you, don’t you understand that?” she says, and the despondency in her voice isn’t lost on me.
Sighing, I quietly answer, “Because they’re not your burden to bear.”
“Don’t be daft, girl. Of course they are! Ever since you were born, all your heartaches, and your joys, have been meant to be mine to share with you. That’s a mother’s job, Em,” she sighs.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” I backtrack.
“Don’t you think like that, Emma. I want to know what’s going on. I just wish you felt that you could talk to me about everything,” she sighs dejectedly, piercing my heart. But this is one thing I vowed a long time ago that I would never divulge; she doesn’t need the same kind of dreams haunting her at night.
Mum continues, “Just promise me that if you ever do decide to let me in on these things that you won’t keep parts of them to yourself; you have to tell me every single detail, you hear?”
“I hear you,” I murmur.
“Good.”
An uncomfortable silence falls between us, and I don’t have a clue on what to say to break it. It turns out that I won’t have to because I hear the voice of my father in the background:
“Julia, let me talk to Emma, please.”
Mum sighs and then says, “Your dad would like a word with you, sweetie, so I’ll put him on. However, I want to speak with you again afterwards, so don’t ring off, alright?”
“Alright,” I agree.
A few seconds pass and then the soothing voice of my dad fills my ears.
“Hello, darling.”
Immediately, I want to cry, but I refuse to let the tears fall. Instead, I just say, “Hi,” leaving it at that.
“Are you enjoying your summer holiday?” he asks me, and the relief I feel at hearing him ask something so normal after the bout I just had with my mum relaxes me. Soon after, we’re lost in the usual kind of chit chat, but it doesn’t bother me in the least. My dad, Ralph, is a quiet, taciturn man, but I’ve never doubted the love he has for his family. He’s a professor in geography at Oxford University, and, as far as I know, nothing short of dire illness will ever force him to retire. He loves his job, yes, and I know he wants to keep teaching for as long as possible, because as soon as he retires, mum will have a very long list of things she wants to have done around the house. And let’s just say that my dad’s clutter will be first order of business to attend to; mum loathes it with a vengeance, and she’s never hidden this fact from anyone.
After a few minutes, my dad says, “Alright, love, it was good to hear your voice. Your mum is standing here, giving me the evil eye, so I’d best let you go now. But before I do . . . ” For once, my dad hesitates, causing me to take notice, but it becomes clearer when he goes on saying, “Please ring again soon, okay? We miss you.”
A lump forms in my throat, but I push past it. “I will, dad. Promise.”
“Good, good. Well, here’s your mum, darling. Bye.”
Hearing the phone crackle in the other end, followed by my dad’s chuckles, I can almost picture my mum wrenching it away from him.
“Emma, you still there?” she asks me.
“Yes,” I reply and walk to my kitchen.
“Okay, I just wanted to ask you if Steven texted you yet?”
Hearing my brother’s name makes my body freeze up, and I curse inwardly, damning Steven to the pits of hell for telling mum that.
Knowing she’ll only start asking questions if I don’t answer her, I reply casually, “He did, yes. We’ve arranged to meet when he’s coming to Copenhagen next month.”
“Oh, good,” she says, relieved, and she doesn’t have to elaborate on that. The rift between us has always bothered her, and even though I’m aware that’s only natural, it doesn’t stop me from being more than ticked off by his actions.
“Well, I’m glad,” mum’s voice pulls me away from my musings, but I don’t comment on it. Why should I?
�
�Mum, I have to go now,” I tell her instead. “I promise I’ll ring again soon.”
“That would be lovely, sweetie. Take care, and don’t work too hard, yeah?”
“I won’t, I promise,” I reassure her.
“And . . . well, please let me know when you’ve been to that psychologist next week, Emma. It’d mean a lot to me.”
“Sure, mum. Love you.”
“Love you, too, darling. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Pressing the red button, I end the call on a deep sigh.
That went well.
Throat parched, I throw my phone on my bed and walk into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. As I guzzle it down, I try not to worry about my mum’s distress. My mum doesn’t cry much but when she does? It breaks my heart. She’s such a strong woman, but very sensitive underneath her tough exterior. Nevertheless, I won’t ever divulge the details of my nightmares . . . I can’t. Because I was telling her the truth when I said that it isn’t her burden to bear; it’s mine and only mine.
Chapter 17
I don’t know why I freaked out when Emma kissed me earlier. I mean, a small kiss like that shouldn’t mean anything, and I know she only did it to stop that blonde from pestering me, but it’s the first time a girl outside my family has done that. And having Emma’s lips on my skin, even for such a short time? It burned me, and not in a bad way at all. Oh no, it was entirely pleasurable.
Even now, hours later, as I sit here on my balcony, I only have to think back on that moment when she put her arm around me, leaned up, and placed her full lips on my cheek, and warmth spreads in my entire body. I want to whip out my cock right now and jack off, not caring in the least if anyone sees me. But I’m not brave enough. And I honestly don’t have time for that as I have so many boxes that need unpacking. If I don’t get them sorted, this will never feel like a home to me.
I desperately want that: to feel as if I belong here, in this big city, living next door to a woman who has already become a permanent fixture on my mind. On one hand, she annoys me with her sometimes-insensitive questions, but on the other, I find her very fascinating. Probably because she is so closed off herself…why does that turn me on to no end?