by Mindy Carter
"Don't stop on my account, please." I smile flirtatiously.
I know I'm playing with fire, but I just can't help myself.
"If you're lucky, I may show you more later," he teases.
My stomach drops at his insinuation. He must see the change in my mood because his smile instantly disappears.
"Hungry?"
"I'm starving, actually."
He places the dishtowel over his forearm as if he's a maître d'. Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, he motions me to sit.
"Thank you, kind sir."
After pushing my chair in, he places a wine glass, plate, and silverware as well as a napkin on my lap. I'm enjoying this game a little too much.
"Would you like some wine, ma'am?" he asks.
"That would be lovely, sir."
While he is pouring the wine he winks at me, shooting pleasant warmth through my entire body. Didn't I just say I wasn't going to drink again? And here I am, accepting a glass from him.
He serves me dinner, a delicious and healthy-looking salad, chicken breast, and vegetables. He continues to clean up while I eat. I hold back a moan, because it's the best thing I've eaten in days.
He sits down across from me, staring straight into my eyes. I take a sip of the wine in hopes it will calm my sudden nerves. No such luck; I'll need the entire bottle for that, and I'd like to avoid a drunken repeat.
His elbows are placed on the table with his chin resting on his linked hands.
"What?" I finally ask.
"I like watching you eat."
Um, okay. That's not odd.
"I have something special for you."
I give him a quizzical look. He gets up and moves behind me, grabbing a pan that's covered with foil. I have no idea what is in it; I'm hoping for something delicious.
Keegan places the pan in front of me. Slowly he moves the foil back, and it's almost torturous. The smell of peanut butter and chocolate hits my nose.
"You made these for me?" I ask him. They're obviously not for my dad.
"Of course, what do you think I bought the chocolate and peanut butter for?"
I guess I didn't think about it. I'm so focused on keeping my distance that I'm missing these little gestures that in reality aren't small at all, but sweet and thoughtful.
"What are you waiting for? Go ahead, I know you want to," Keegan whispers in my ear.
"This is your mom's recipe for double-chocolate peanut butter bars?" I ask.
"The one and only, and I know how much you love them."
I do love them, and I immediately look over to see if this is the only pan, because I'm seriously planning on eating the entire thing.
"I can make more, if you finish this one off in two-point-five seconds. I see that rabid look in your eyes, Aimee, and frankly I might have to take a walk because it's seriously turning me on right now," he admits.
He can't talk like that, like everything is forgotten; it's just not the way things work.
They are already cut, so I grab one. I take a bite of the peanut chocolaty goodness, and it simply melts in my mouth. This is my absolute favorite dessert. Keegan's mom used to bake these constantly for us. I haven't tasted them in years. I've died and gone to dessert heaven, and I never want to come back. I moan when the full flavor hits me. I hear Keegan behind me growl, and then the back door close. I guess he needs that walk.
Is it awful that I'm elated to have this effect on him? One simple moan from eating a chocolate peanut butter bar, and he can't handle it.
I don't eat the whole pan, even though I'm tempted. I'm afraid I will get sick, and I'm sure Keegan would love taking care of me again.
There it is, another realization: I expect him to take care of me. He promised my dad that, but promises can be made and broken.
I finish cleaning up and check on my dad, who is out like a light. I'm on a sugar high, and am wide-awake. I decide to plant myself in front of the TV and search for a movie. I pull the afghan my grandmother made over me and get comfortable.
Footsteps follow behind me and turn around to find Keegan looking at me.
"You're back?"
He makes his way over to me. He looks into my eyes and I'm so mesmerized by their color, blue, the color of the sky on a clear day. They are wild and calming all at the same time.
He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.
"Of course I'm back. I'm not leaving, no matter how much you moan."
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
"Do you want to watch a movie with me? I haven't started one yet," I ask him hopefully. I want to do something else normal with him. The kinds of things that we enjoyed doing as friends.
I have no idea what I'm doing; the exact opposite of what I have been telling him. My dad isn't around; there is no reason to spend time with him. A part of me is ready to forgive him, but the part of me that he hurt is screaming at me to shut the door before it's too late. I'm afraid that ship has sailed; I've already invited him in, and he's crossed the threshold directly into my heart.
Keegan is staring at me now, and for a few moments I think he's going to say no. I think maybe this is too much for him.
"I'll make the popcorn, you pick the movie," he replies.
I go through the movies on the smart TV. I remember the last time Keegan and I watched a movie together here, we had to go through a shelf of my DVDs. He always let me choose though, and I am reminded that even as a teenager he put me first. What boy would suffer through hours of chick flicks? The Notebook, Sweet Home Alabama, The Princess Bride. Well, he won't admit it, but I know he loves The Princess Bride; there is swashbuckling and all.
I decide to go easy on him and pick a movie I know he'll enjoy, the new X-Men flick.
The smell of buttery popcorn wafts into the room, followed by Keegan walking in and handing me the bowl. He sits on the couch next to where my legs are stretched out. I sit up so he can get comfortable too, and place the bowl between us so that we are at a safe distance.
"This is what you want to watch?" he asks with a questioning look.
"What? I like mutants like any other girl."
"Yeah, okay, you like mutants if they were in a Nicholas Sparks movie," he jokes.
"Are you complaining? I think I saw The Best Of Me, we could always watch that."
He moves closer to me. I'm happy that the bowl of popcorn is between us because I'm afraid I would melt into him right now if it weren't.
"Um, no thanks, my mom made me watch that movie with her and she cried like a baby. You two should watch those movies together and share a box of tissues."
I imagine him watching that movie with his mom, and it makes me smile. Only his mother or I could get him to watch a Nicholas Sparks movie.
I start the movie and as the opening credits start, I grab a handful of popcorn, relaxing. I steal glances at him through the entire movie; it's hard to keep my eyes off him when he's near. I pray each time that he doesn't catch me, and we both laugh at the humorous parts of the movie.
It ends too soon, and at the same time we both ask if we want to watch another. This time Keegan gets to choose, and I replenish our popcorn bowl.
"You must really love me, to watch this?" He's picked one of the chickiest flicks known to man, Pitch Perfect.
"No, not at all, I'm a closet a cappella fan. I may break out into song."
I laugh at him and shake my head, offering him more popcorn. He throws a piece up in the air and tips his head back, catching it in his mouth.
I consider doing the same, but know I would probably miss and it would hit me on the head. He was born as smooth as butter.
He starts the movie, and this time the bowl isn't between us. He grabs the afghan and places it over both of us.
I look at him curiously and my heart rate picks up, because now our bodies are touching, and the only thing I want to do is curl into him.
"What? It's drafty in here." He fakes an innocent look.
"Did this work on the other g
irls you dated?"
"Shhh." He puts a finger over my lips to quiet me. "It's started."
Our attention is focused on the movie now, and I'm glad he picked this. The movie always makes me laugh out loud.
Halfway through, I start dozing off. I try to keep my eyes open, but it's a lost cause. Keegan pulls my body against his, so we are spooning. His arms are holding me tight. He runs his fingers through my hair, and the feeling lulls me into a deep sleep.
"The only way I can be close to you is when I know you won't argue. I've been lost not being able to feel you against me. I'm not sure I could survive a life without you next to me, Aimee," he whispers in my ear.
Even asleep, the goose bumps appear all over my skin. He missed his calling and should be writing love songs. All of his confessions are like poetry, poems just for me. This man is going to destroy me one way or another, and I'm scared that I'll welcome it.
Chapter Eleven
When I wake in the morning there is no confusion about where I am or who I am cuddled up with. I knew the moment he whispered in my ears last night that I would wake up in his arms.
Keegan's grip on me is tight, like he's afraid that I'll try to escape. The rise and fall of his chest against me is soothing. As I lie awake, I recall the events of last night. His sweet words were my downfall. You would think that since I am sure of his feelings, we could continue our fairy tale. I wish it were that easy, but it's not. Do we need more time? Is this time we have here together enough for me to forgive him? This is why I need girlfriends, ones I can run to when I need advice, girls I trust. There's Reese, but hello, she's practically part of the James family now. A fact that is still so surreal to me.
Keegan is waking up. His breathing isn't as deep any longer, and his body is suddenly stiff, as if he's afraid to move and wake me.
He nuzzles my neck and sighs. His grip on me tightens, and I consider pretending I'm asleep just to see how this whole spooning-and-the-morning–after thing plays out. Unfortunately, someone else is awake as well.
"Busted."
"Morning, Dad."
"Morning, Rick." Keegan follows my greeting.
My father is staring down at us, and I'm reminded of the times he caught Keegan in my room when we were younger. He's trying to be bothered by our sleeping arrangement, but he isn't really.
"You know, there are perfectly comfortable beds upstairs for both of you to sleep in separately." He emphasizes the separate part. He walks out of the room, and we both let out the laughter we have been holding in.
"I hope you slept comfortably," Keegan says.
Surprisingly, I don't even remember being uncomfortable, or waking. Which proves the kind of effect his touch has on me. It's like a drug; if they could bottle it up I'd be addicted.
"Actually, I was in someone's death grip all night." I smile.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" I can hear the concern in his voice.
"Of course not, I'm just kidding." I almost make the mistake of telling him it felt nice, and beg him to not let go. Thankfully my brain takes over, and I don't.
I sit up and put both my feet on the floor. I smile at him, noticing that he hasn't shaved in a couple days. I've never seen him with stubble before, and I have to look away, imagining what it would feel like across my skin.
"I'm going to start coffee and make breakfast," I tell him as I remove myself from our cozy shelter. We both know that last night's sleeping arrangements aren't permanent. No matter how good it felt to be in his arms.
Walking into the kitchen, my dad is settled at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. There hasn't been a morning that I don't remember him in the same place. He lifts his head above the paper and watches while I start coffee and breakfast.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing. I can't look at my beautiful daughter?"
I shake my head, a little embarrassed at his compliment. I'm not sure I would call myself beautiful just rolling out of bed.
"You have a doctor's appointment this afternoon." Anything to take the attention off me.
"I haven't forgotten, and I'm sure you wouldn't let me anyways."
Keegan walks into the kitchen at that moment, looking perfect and I may hate him a little for it.
"What time?"
"It's at one, but you don't need to come. I know you must need to return your messages."
Yes, I noticed how often you've ignored your text messages and phone calls. You can't ignore them, even if they are from the one person I can't stand.
He looks at me and I can tell he wants to argue.
"Are you sure?" he asks, seeking my approval.
"Of course. We'll be fine." I smile reassuringly.
Keegan walks over and grabs my head with one hand, pulling me in for a kiss. It's an aggressive gesture, yet the action is intimate. I feel the kiss right down to my toes.
"I'm going to call Kaleb; let me know if you need me for anything."
"Okay." I nod.
I watch him walk into the other room and turn the corner, out of my sight.
"Breakfast isn't going to make itself."
I turn quickly, ignoring my dad's comment, and make breakfast.
***
Things remain fairly quiet during the morning. My dad rests while I take care of things around the house and tidy up. Keegan is scarce; whenever we cross paths he's busy on his computer or phone.
I stay out of his way, even though I'm curious about who he's talking to. I know he's been ignoring Gretchen's calls, and I half expect her to show up here to drag him back to her lair. I haven't brushed our conversation about her under the rug, because whenever I think about her being pregnant my stomach drops and I am nauseous.
The doctor's appointment goes well, and I'm relieved that the doctor's outlook on my dad's condition is positive. When we get back home, Keegan's rental car is gone. I'm surprised that he didn't let me know he was leaving. I know he'll be back, since all his things are still here.
I don't have much time to think before there is a knock at the door. Frank, a friend of my father's, has stopped by to see him. Apparently my dad told him that he was going stir crazy with me hovering. They end up chatting and playing cards.
Frank and my dad have been friends for years; they met at the local legion hall. I think with both of them being widowers they found an easy friendship with one another.
I decide to let them catch up and take a drive around town. I grab my dad's car keys and head out. Driving through town, I pass the college and Benjamin's Restaurant. There are a few people milling around town, and some students carrying their backpacks. Growing up in a college town was always interesting. It was exciting with all the people, but once winter and summer breaks hit, it was like a ghost town. I always enjoyed the quiet.
I find myself driving farther away from the middle of town. The sun is now covered with clouds. The trees that line the road are swaying in the wind. A hint of a storm is in the air. I think of turning around, not wanting to be caught in the storm, but it's too late because up ahead is a familiar old farm.
I turn the car down the dirt road that I didn't remember being so bumpy. I sit in the car for at least ten minutes, gripping the steering wheel.
I tell myself I should just turn around and go home. I probably shouldn't be here by myself. It could be dangerous. Whatever, that's not going to stop me.
I follow the path leading down the hill. My heart skips a beat when I notice the castle, or at least the makings of one. As I get closer, I can see the bricks forming the outside structure aren't uniform. They are all different colors and shapes, reds, greens, and blues that shimmer even in the dim light. The entire surface of the house looks to be complete, and I'm curious what it looks like inside. Will there be gardens on top? A greenhouse, maybe? The possibilities are endless. This spot is perfect to build. Far enough away from the center of town, nestled behind tall trees.
I am in front of the stone fountain that has a beautiful sculpture of a goddess. I run my ha
nds along the edge of the walls, imagining it filled with water and lit up against the castle.
I travel up the front steps; when I finally reach the top, I'm winded. Turning around, I can see the landscape in front of me. I picture stables, and white horses. I've wanted horses since I was a little girl. All part of my childhood fantasies.
The entrance has a huge unfinished wooden door. I run my hand down the smooth door, and turn the doorknob. Of course, it's locked. As I'm ready to give up, I remember a little trick I learned years ago. Reese had taught me how to pick a lock; she said every journalist must know the trick, for investigative purposes. I'm pretty sure she used the skill to snoop on her ex.
I run back to my car where I find my purse and pull out a bobby pin. It's one of the things in the bottomless pit of a bag. You just never know when one will come in handy. I make it back to the door and insert the pin, doing exactly what I was taught. At first, it doesn't work. My determination wins and after about five minutes of working it, I feel the click of the lock. Yes. I'm in. I slowly push open the door and enter. The smell of sawdust is all around me, and I step onto a white marble floor. There are a series of brass wall sconces on the walls. Looking up, there are several different levels. This design is impeccable, and I just take it all in.
I walk into a connecting room. The room is gigantic, and there is a massive fireplace that Santa would envy opposite a row of windows that go on for miles. I walk around the plastic-draped room, dodging several sawhorses surrounded by an array of different tools. I walk the perimeter of the room, running my fingers along the top of the mantle, then wipe off the dust on the front of my jeans. I reach the row of windows and the glass isn't like any I've seen.
I can see the fireplace in the window's reflection. Outside, I envision snow-covered trees with a blanket of glimmering snow on the ground. A fire roaring, a magnificent Christmas tree decorated with ornaments and garland. Two small dark-haired children, a boy and a girl, opening gifts that have been wrapped with care. It's a beautiful scene, one I want to photograph.
An emotion that is neither sadness nor happiness escapes me, and as tears come to the surface I hold them back, deciding there will be no tears shed in this beautiful place, and certainly not when I am daydreaming of something that hasn't occurred.