Thomas & January, Book Two in the Sleepless Series

by Amelie, Fisher

  “I love you, January,” I said, when the kiss broke.

  “I love you too, Tom.”

  I ran my hands down her face and lightly squeezed her cheeks, puckering her lips a little. I kissed them and brought my hands down.

  That’s when we realized we had an audience, and a large one at that. January’s face lit up to impossible shades of red and I instinctively tucked her into my side.

  “Sorry, we didn’t realize you were waiting,” I apologized.

  “It’s okay,” the photographer smiled, as he put up his camera “you’re done. You’re free to go.”

  “Oh,” January said, “but I thought - never mind. Cool.”

  We wrapped up the shoot and decided to head to my apartment. Grandma Betty’s wasn’t exactly conducive to make out sessions, if that wasn’t already obvious. My lease was up a few weeks after I got the R&D position and January helped me move into my own place. Yeah, it was a studio, but it was mine and I’d never had anything to myself before.

  “When do the mags come out?” January asked, rummaging through my fridge for a Coke.

  “Next month, on the first. They’re sending us our own box.”

  What I hadn’t told January and for a very good reason was that I ensured they’d go to her studio on a day I knew we’d both be there because this magazine wasn’t just an article on what we did for Seven. Oh no, it was much, much more.

  “Oh, cool,” she said, popping the top off the glass bottle in her hand.

  “Come here,” I said, tossing myself on my bed and flipping the stereo on.

  She took a swig and set the bottle on the bar before coming over and cuddling into my side.

  “I like this,” she said getting comfortable and kissing my neck.

  Get used to it, I thought.

  We kissed for hours. I didn’t know how many more make out sessions I was going to be able to endure. I found her fascinating and every time I touched her, I felt more and more drawn to her.

  “Come on,” I told her later as she was falling asleep.

  She groaned in displeasure. “Let me just sleep here,” she complained.

  “No, come on. I’ll take you to Sam’s.” Sam’s is where January would sleep sometimes on the weekends. Sam didn’t care because she was barely there and I had peace of mind at Sunday night dinners with Grandma Betty and her curious eyes. That woman saw all. Especially since our last "conversation."

  “Fine,” she huffed, blowing her hair out of her eyes and sitting up.

  I looked on her. “Just a few more minutes,” I conceded, making her smile.

  She fell into my arms and all felt right with the world.

  April 1st, the next month

  Thomas

  I took extra special care to look nice that day. I wore the suit I wore to Callum and Harper’s wedding and even went to the trouble of buying new black Converse for the occasion. I cut my hair, but not so much that I couldn’t still tuck it behind my ears.

  That entire morning I paced back and forth in my office. Suzanne asked if I wanted decaf and I told her that I wanted nothing. She kept looking at me with this worried expression. It made me want to laugh. My office felt stifling, so I cracked the window at the top of my ceiling with one of those circulating bars. I played with that thing so much when I first got there, I thought it was going to break. It was probably the only thing that kept me from messing with it so much.

  I turned on a few tunes, thought better of it and shut them off then rethought that as well and picked a few Max Richter songs to rotate at a low volume instead. I messed with the pillows on my sleek black leather sofa a million times before finally realizing January wouldn’t even notice. I had Suzanne dust my long windowsill and water the plants the day before and those looked good.

  I was just straightening my Warhol print when I heard January’s lively voice telling everyone around her hello. My entire body went bloody warm and my hands began to shake. I sat in my chair and picked up a book, thought twice and pretended to be working on my computer.

  “Hello, Suzanne!” I heard her say and I had to clench my jaw shut to keep it from chattering.

  “Hi, Miss MacLochlainn. You can go right in!”

  “Thank you!” January said before bursting into my office like a breath of fresh air.

  “Howdy!” she said, dancing into my office, swinging a cardboard box around.

  “Hi, babe,” I spit out, barely.

  “They’re here!” she sang, plopping the box onto my desk.

  She took the scissors from the cup on my desk and opened them so the sharp part was exposed. She ran the length through the tape binding the entire thing and I swear to God I thought I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I stood quickly and shut the door before sitting back down in my chair. I tried to rest my hand on my mouse but it was trembling so badly, I pretended I needed something from my shelf. I stood, retrieved the tape, the tape?, then sat back down. Thankfully, she didn’t notice and I abandoned the worthless tape in front of me.

  I set my arms on the rests of the chair and folded my quaking hands over my stomach.

  “Ooh!” she exclaimed, making me sit up a bit. “We’re on the cover after all!” She drank in the image of us and turned it toward me. “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  I somehow brought my face down from staring at her eyes and noticed the pic they’d chosen. It was January and me, but not in one of the posed shots like I expected. In fact, it was a candid shot of us when we thought no one was watching. We were both laughing, my face almost buried in her neck, and her hair falling back. We looked so incredibly happy.

  I swallowed.

  “Can you believe how beautiful this shot is, Tom?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “You’re in it.”

  “Tom,” she choked, a small tear escaping her eye. She smiled gently, wiped it clear of her face and took a steadying breath. She flipped open the magazine and took a seat in the chair at the foot of my desk. She brought her feet up and crossed her ankles on the glass.

  “Let’s see,” she said, looking up the index.

  Oh my word, here we go, I thought.

  She looked at me like she’d only just noticed me and smiled again, making my heart stutter. “Well, don’t you look smart today,” she said before standing up and kissing me, then sitting back down.

  I think I’m going to have a heart attack. “Th-thank you,” I stuttered but she was too distracted to notice.

  “Okay,” she said, “page seventy-nine. Seventy-nine,” she repeated, flipping through the pages. My knee bounced rapidly and my hand slapped down to still it.

  She looked up at the noise. “You okay, buttercup?”

  “Uh-huh,” I offered.

  “Okay,” she sang and went back to searching. “Sixty-eight,” she teased. “Seventy-two.” My heart beat rapidly in my chest. “Ah! Here we are. Seventy-nine.”

  She turned the page and saw that we had a two-page spread. Minutes seemed to pass.

  Her face fell and tears started to fall when she read the header. She brought quivering hands to her face and looked at me with glassy eyes.

  I stood and fished the wooden box from my right pocket.

  “January MacLochlainn,” I said, kneeling on my left knee in front of her, “I love you so incredibly much.” A sob burst from her mouth but she worked to stifle it with her hand. “And I would be especially honored if you would let me worship you for the rest of our lives.

  “You see,” I continued. “It seems it’s my life’s purpose.”

  I opened the square wood box from the little antique store I’d been hiding for three months and presented her the ring I knew was perfect for her, even then. I’d replaced the center diamond with an emerald because she’d always told me that her grandmother’s ring was just like that and how much she loved it.

  “Will you marry me?” I asked, repeating th
e magazine’s header.

  “Yes,” she barely whispered.

  Zap.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to the editor who saved me. Hollie Westring, this book never would have been published without you. You didn't know it at the time but it's true. Plus, we're baby bump sisters. Sorry about The Gambler. Kind of. Sort of. Not really.

  I'd like to thank my Plumes. Somehow being insane is cool and acceptable when I'm around you. Probably because you're all insane. That helps. So much love for you guys. When we're eighty, somehow I know we'll still be putt-putting around with each other, guilty of hijinks and blaming our age.

  Thank you, Petra Bagnardi. You're a modern day January with your multilingual skills. I seriously don't know how I would have done those translations without you. So grateful. Thank you, again.

  And last because I always save the best for last. Thank you, hubs. I don't think talent like yours exists but in a select few and for damn good reason. Also, thanks for putting up with a messy house and dirty laundry. I know I always say that but I mean it. You're a trooper and I love you very much.

  Fisher Amelie is a member of The Paranormal Plumes Society.

  http://theplumessociety.com/