by Amber Burns
“Fuck!” I yelled to the empty street. Even my daydreams were drifting back to Vanna.
My cell rang and brought me out of the pity party I had started for myself. The caller id identified Iris, who must have been calling to check in on me. She probably figured I had found some ditch to hurl myself into, or something equally drastic.
“Yeah?” I answered.
After the perfunctory check in, Iris asked if I wanted to hang out with her and a few of her bridesmaids that were with her. I knew what she really meant was ‘we’re going out’ and ‘let me hook you up’.
Being ‘hooked up’ with one of Iris’ bridesmaids was about last on my list of things I wanted to do.
“I have plans,” I offered as an excuse, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I did. I’d been tip-toeing around it for the past two days, but I needed to talk to Vanna.
Iris seemed to sense what I was angling at, and she was easy enough to appease and get off the phone, which surprised me. I’d been preparing to answer her barrage of questions, sit through her love-guru-shit advice, and then ‘yes’ my way through a closing pep talk.
Instead, I was stuffing my phone back into my pocket and turning to head back to the open parking lot a couple of blocks from Sterling Outfits. I had driven my grandfather’s Silverado up to Albany, and I soon had the old car on the road, heading down to the apartment I had spent two blissful days within.
I jogged up to the front door of the familiar building and quickly found the number I needed on the buzz pad. I pressed it quickly, just giving a short buzz in case Vanna wasn’t up yet.
“Hello?” a groggy voice came over the speaker.
I found myself frozen at the sound of her voice and didn’t reply immediately. She repeated herself, this time the grogginess in her voice cleared up some, but she still sounded tense.
“It’s me… Vanna.” I tagged on her name after an awkward pause. I was trying - and seriously sucking at – putting on a casual, aloof aura. The silence that followed spanned the longest seconds of my life.
Mercifully, the door buzzed its signal to enter as the lock clicked open.
I’m in… She let me in.
My success in getting through the front door didn’t make me any less nervous. But on the ride up to her floor - her apartment - there was hope mixed in with the sorrow and apprehension that was plaguing me.
The door to her apartment was slightly ajar when I arrived and I called in a “Morning” as I entered. There was no returned greeting and no one there to greet me. I turned to lock the door and slip off my boots. The silence in the apartment was deafening, and worry was building inside of me with each moment my damn boots took to get off. Once finally free of the black leather, I turned to search the apartment and find what I had come for… Which I instantly found as I crashed into Vanna, who had somehow snuck up behind me.
I reached out reflexively and caught her by the shoulders - which kept that wonderful ass of hers from kissing her carpeted flooring - and I brought Vanna against me. It was the closest we had been since she ripped my heart out and left a gaping hole in its place forty-eight hours ago. Part of this situation was my fault. Instead of chasing after her that fateful stormy evening, I let her run from me into the arms of her siblings. No differently, I had ridden home with Iris after making it very clear to Princess that I wasn’t and would never be interested.
Fucking hell. Was she this dazzling two days ago, or has the time and distance made her that much more appealing?
“Thanks,” Vanna offered but I could tell she was ready to get out of my hold. If her body tensing and her step to the side weren’t clear indications, then her hovering fingers and her turning face filled in the blank.
“No problem. It was my fault anyways.” I paused, a little embarrassed as I figured she thought our sudden closeness was deliberate.
“Did you want anything?” she asked as she moved towards the small kitchenette.
My head was flooded with an image of the time I had spent in her apartment. She had been cooking in that tiny space while I fingered her until she struggled to turn off the blackening eggs and bacon. The burnt smell that had flooded the kitchen was mixed with the smell of sex and her complaints that it was my fault our breakfast was burnt.
Sadly, Vanna wasn’t on the menu this time.
“I haven’t started breakfast yet,” she offered when I did not respond to her initial question.
Her modest PJs were rumpled, and her face was tired and weary. I frowned, not because of how she looked, but because of why she looked that way. This was a far cry from even timid, cautious Vanna. Much less the sex goddess I had temporarily unleashed only a few days ago.
“I can wait,” I said with a shrug and a smile, trying to throw a bit of humor in my voice.
“Okay. Let me just change.” She smiled, but it was wobbly, almost like it was an obligation.
I wanted to tell her she looked fine, that she could wear anything - or nothing - and I’d be perfectly happy. But now wasn’t the time.
“Sure,” I nodded, letting her go do her thing.
Vanna returned a couple minutes later, having traded the drawstrings PJ pants and baggy tee for jeans and another, albeit less rumpled, t-shirt that was two sizes too big.
“Pancakes?” she asked, heading toward the kitchen.
I nodded, my mouth salivating and stomach grumbling at the mention of food. When she got the coffee going, the smell quickly filled the room. The kitchen felt even smaller now that we had an unwelcome third party - in the form of the tension from the breakup - joining us.
Vanna was mixing all the ingredients in a bowl. I was probably overthinking it, but I felt like she was working as quickly as she could, eager to get me fed and out of her apartment as soon as possible.
We both knew that breakfast wasn’t why I was here.
Now I was deciding whether it was better to wait until we were eating, or until after we ate, to breach the tensions. After a moment, I finally figured that it didn’t matter either way. Tip-toeing around the problem wasn’t going to work anymore, and neither was leaving things as is.
“So,” I started, “as much as the coffee smells terrific and the free meal makes me all kinds of happy, I’m not here for that.”
“I know.”
I straightened at her whispered confession. Vanna was peeking through her long, black lashes and, without necessarily meaning to, looked sexy as hell.
“That’s why you let me in.” I smiled and a part of the emotion inside seeped through my cracking shield. It had started to crack once I saw Vanna and had just eroded from there. Seeing her had opened me back up after I had spent two days hardening myself against everything, and everyone.
“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I need you to hear out my end of it.” Okay, I tell myself, so far so good, Fuller. “I like you, and I don’t think I’ve ever made that unclear. If I have, stop me now. I’ll gladly change that.”
She didn’t stop me.
“Fuck, I like you so much it... Cliché, I know, but it kills me, okay? It freaking kills me.”
Vanna flipped another pancake off from the girdle and onto a growing stack of golden-brown breakfast cakes. She wasn’t censoring me, like she typically did, and I didn’t know if I should take that as a bad sign or as an indication that she was listening to what I had to say.
“I would never want to be with Princess, not even if we…” I swallowed hard then pushed on, “Not even if we weren’t dating.” I didn’t throw in anything about whether or not the youngest Kingston was my type. I hadn’t considered my type since I met Vanna. If I had to, I’d say Vanna was my type. She was my piece of fucking perfection and the other half to this stupid SOB Marine.
My jaw clenched. I was heading into shaky ground next. I could only pray that we would come out of it unscathed. I hoped that Vanna wouldn’t turn around, slap me with her spatula, and send me home high and dry without pancakes, coffee or a chance with her eve
r again.
“What the heck were you thinking?” I toned down my language. What I had to say was bad enough, cuss-free. “No one believed you. Princess didn’t, I sure as fuck didn’t, and my sister… she wanted to meet you.”
Vanna pulled a slightly burned pancake off the girdle and cleaned it up before she plopped down the next batch of creamy batter. I continued, hoping she was still listening.
“I don’t think you were thinking it all through. Otherwise I can’t even – just why? Why did you break up with me? And why like that? So fucking out of the blue and using that Kingston woman as an excuse.” I had really tried not to curse, but it slipped out. I turned my back to Vanna, my hands pressed over the plastic counter I’d been leaning on. “If I did something to hurt you though…”
My statement hung in the air between us. I wanted to turn around and see Vanna; see if I was right about – I swallowed past the lump blooming in my throat – hurting her.
I could hear her moving about the kitchen. I finally turned around when she said, “I ran out of creamer. Is it all right if you take your coffee black? Or I could add a bit of milk?”
“Do you still want to break up?”
Vanna was stirring sugar in one mug and then transferred the spoon to the second mug. She put in my preferred two sugars then stirred the steaming liquid. She was silent as she rinsed off the spoon and grabbed two plates from the cupboards above the sink before using the spatula to transfer two pancakes to each plate. As she reached for the syrup, I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her.
Enough pussyfooting around, I need answers.
Vanna gasped, and I grabbed her hand, steadying the syrup to keep it from crashing onto the table and over the delicious meal she prepared more painstakingly than could be considered normal while trying to ignore me. I kept her from facing me and held her back against my growing erection. I was coming alive at the press of her soft body, how the dip of her small back nestled my shaft, the sight of her heaving breasts over her shoulder, that fruity smell to her hair, and the nearness of her mouth.
“Do you still want to break up?” I repeated.
“Amos!” she gasped my name and wriggled lightly, but she didn’t pull my hands or arm off of her.
I pried the syrup away, freeing her hand, which she curled over the arm I had wrapped around her middle. Her head dropped with her attention. Amidst the dark waves of her hair, I found her ear and press my mouth to the warm shell.
“Answer me, Vanna,” I growled. “Do you want to break up for good? Yes, or no?”
“It’s for the best.”
It’s also not a yes or a no.
“Yes or no?” I said with a heated breath. I was pushing this harder than anything I had before. I wasn’t leaving without a definitive answer. “Vanna, is it going to be a fucking yes or no?”
“I-I don’t know!” she finally stammered.
Shame burned my cheeks. Shame and anger. Burning-hot hurt.
“You don’t know?” I asked through gritted teeth. She nodded. “Fine.”
I released her and stepped back until I bumped into the fridge behind me.
“How’s about this? I’ll help you decide.” I had my arms crossed over my chest, hands tucked under my pits, legs planted apart. All this to keep myself from closing the gap to hold Vanna again.
She looked pitiful. Her face was scrunched up with all her emotions hung out in the open - that irksome doubt of hers, sadness, and then… desire.
Fuck, I realized, I’ve got her turned on.
It was the perfect segue to my idea; the best damn green light if there ever was one. Instead of seizing and making love to Vanna - which I certainly wanted to do - I decided to grab this chance with both hands.
My cell was out, and I was scrolling through my call history, trying to find the number I wanted as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence, and I was glad the front desk at Pearlwater Lodge answered on the first ring.
I exchanged greetings with the staff and jumped right to the point, “Is there a room available right now? Say,” I referred to the clock on Vanna’s oven, “in two hours? Three tops?” I wait for the reply, hoping that luck, the universe, or whatever you want to call it, was on my side. “Yes, it’s for two.”
I confirmed the speedy reservation, accepted that there would be a hefty charge if I didn’t show up, and thanked the prompt service before I hung up.
Vanna was quiet while I was on the phone, but once I hit the call end button she asked, “Who was that?”
“The fantastic staff at Pearlwater,” I said while sliding my cell back in my pocket. “Despite the short notice, we got a room for the night.”
Step one, the reservation, was completed. Now for step two, getting Vanna to the lodge. It was going to be a challenge, and she was already shaking her head.
“I-I can’t,” she stammered.
I knew what was coming, and my response was to pull out my cell again, and my wallet. I found the business card wedged where I had initially tucked it. Solid business pro that he is, Wes picked up his cell on a Sunday after only two rings.
“Wesley Sterling of Sterling Outfits, how can I help you?”
“I thought it was Wes,” I teased to him and then noted Vanna’s perking interest. She moved a step, then two, then three closer.
“It is,” he replied cautiously. “And who is this?”
“Amos.”
“Of course it is. Wait… how did you get this number? Is this about Vanna? Because you’re lucky I’m not hunting you down, asshole.”
“Easy, mama bear.”
“Ew. I am not a bear.” Wes’ disgust slapped me in the face. His drama was wearing on my cracking nerves, and I didn’t even know what had him worked up this time.
“What? Okay, just shut up and listen. Vanna is with me. I’ve got her booked for the day, so she’s a no-show.”
“Uh huh, right.” I could hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. “I don’t trust anything you’re saying. Put my baby sister on the damn phone.”
“For you,” I said and held the phone out.
Vanna reluctantly took it then chewed her lip while Wes’ voice floated out of the receiver. Eventually, once given the opportunity to finally speak, Vanna said, “No, I’ll be all right.”
Our eyes met, and I saw the trust as plain as the sunshine that came in through her east-facing studio windows. A small smile curled the corner of her lips before she turned to hide her face from me. Did she know how happy she made me with that comment?
“He wants to talk to you,” she said and held out my phone while still trying to avoid my eyes. I took the phone back and waited out Wes’ long-winded rant.
“Great,” I said, finally able to get a word in. “We’ll make sure to bring back souvenirs. Bye.”
I ended the call before he got his second wind. Vanna shifted in front of me, her hands held her elbows as her arms curled loosely round her middle.
“Are you planning on going like that?” I asked before adding, “Oh, and we’ll have to stop at my place.”
“Did you really book us into a hotel?” She looked down and stared at the invisible pattern her toes were tracing over the plain, white kitchen tiling.
“Yes. I really booked us a room for the night.” I shifted from the refrigerator to grasp the counter behind me. It wasn’t yet time for me to hold her. There was a friction between us, and one phone call wasn’t going to make that disappear.
The hotel reservation was my final stand. If it didn’t work out, I would have to let her go, for both of our sakes. I knew I wouldn’t find another girl like Vanna, and the thought of life without her scared me to death. Yet, somehow more frightening, was the thought of Vanna moving on, coping, healing, and then finding some other guy to marry and make pretty babies with.
What would it feel like to lose you? I hope I don’t have to find out.
10
I’ve held positions under the pressure of dust storms, scorpions, and othe
r potentially malignant desert insects. I’ve held the unwelcome duty of alerting my fellow soldiers to the presence of enemies on fire picket duty.
I haven’t faced anything like getting Vanna from Point A to Point B, or in this case, from her apartment to Pearlwater Lodge and our hotel reservation. She wasn’t kicking and screaming, but my stomach was doing the former and the deafening silence was compensating more than enough for the latter.
“Any request?” I asked while playing with the radio dial in Pops’ 1987 pickup again. I was flipping through the stations, trying to entice a response from Vanna.