by Vicki Batman
Not today.
Deep inside, I knew this true blue feeling was unlike moi. I hadn’t been really, really happy for a long time. Like a windup toy, I clicked through the motions of life while wrapped in despondency.
I assessed my life and thus far found:
- I’d recovered from my physical injuries.
- I’d recovered from Detective Wellborn’s sorta using me.
- I hadn’t recovered from my feelings for Allan Wellborn.
Tonight revealed a turning point. Sick and tired of being this way, I wanted the old, fun me back. Stuff happened for a reason, and sometimes, we don’t know why at that particular time.
But stuff can be changed.
I wanted A. Wellborn. I still loved him. Once, I’d felt angry, but I wasn’t any more. Now, we needed to talk and reason our problems out.
I could do something about change.
Making a decision, I formed a loose plan. While muttering supportive words to myself and with my key fob in hand, I found Jenny stretched long on the khaki sofa, getting a head start on our next book club selection. I jingled my keys.
“Going out?” she asked.
“I need to talk to A. Wellborn.”
“Really? Interesting, especially considering tonight’s encounter.” She lifted her brow in her questioning way. “Do you want me to ride along?”
Her bit of moral support raised my spirits. I grinned. “Nope, I’m a big girl. I need to do this myself.” I moved to the door and twisted the knob.
“He’d be a fool not to love you.”
“I know.” I glanced over my shoulder and made a weak grin.
“At that party, you both wore your emotions on your sleeves. It was a beautiful thing to see love blossom.”
Surprising. I’d had no idea we were that obvious. “Thanks.”
My first steps forward.
On the drive to his apartment, I rehearsed my speech. Frankly, I had never confronted anyone, particularly a man, and certainly not in this fashion. Being shy and too easily embarrassed held me back. But if anything had taught me how to get over it, tonight’s dinner had.
Nothing positive could ever be accomplished in embarrassment or shyness.
At his apartment, I sat in the Jeep and watched his door. He was home. Through the window, the bluish light of his television flickered. And my gaze found his 4-Runner parked nearby, a confirmation. I exited and slowly made my way to his apartment. I massaged my hands while I stood on his threshold for a time. Pressing my ear to his door, I—thankfully—didn’t hear any female voices, then rapped.
After a small pause, A. Wellborn answered.
Yep, he looked surprised. And confused.
He cocked his head sideways and narrowed his eyes. With an outstretched arm, he propped open the door. Old faded jeans covered his long legs. His ratty Accountants Rule t-shirt stretched over his broad chest. And astonishingly, he held black plastic-framed glasses, similar to the ones from high school, in his other hand.
The memorable shimmery feeling fluttered deep inside me. The heartache returned. Overwhelmed, tears formed in my eyes. Damn. I didn’t want to cry. I turned my head aside, my fingers pressed the bridge of my nose and squeezed.
Lucky shot out the door and wrapped his supple body around my legs. I caught him and cradled his body close, burying my nose in his soft fur. After a quick love, I handed him back to his dad.
A. Wellborn dropped him in the apartment and shut the door, preventing another escape. He shoved on his glasses. “Hey.”
Golly. Somehow, somewhere A. Wellborn ceased to be geeky even when wearing glasses. My gaze turned bashfully to the ground at my feet. “Hey.”
“You look well.”
“I’m fine.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, for once nothing’s wrong.”
A brief moment passed. “Hattie, what’s going on?”
Oh, how I wanted to throw myself in his arms, to sense his body taking in mine, his breath stirring my hair. To meld his essence, body and soul, with me. To make love. To know everything I’d gone through the past few weeks were worth it.
Determined to see my clumsy endeavor through, I drew a deep breath. “I had to come, to clear up something weighing on my mind. Since the investigation, I haven’t been happy for a long time. Too much happened. But after seeing you at the restaurant tonight, I figured a few things out.”
“Hattie—”
Like a traffic attendant, I stuck out my hand, then rubbed the scar on my arm. “I’ve recovered from my physical injuries.”
His feet shifted.
“I recovered from being sorta used in the investigation.”
His gaze cut away.
“But I haven’t recovered from you.”
I guess A. Wellborn hadn’t heard many heart-to-heart confessions before mine since he looked extremely uncomfortable. He moved from a semi-relaxed position to one of arms crossed, legs braced. His mouth twisted as he watched me.
Time for the really big show.
“I’m just an ordinary kind of girl. I want a job I like. I want to have fun with my friends and my family. And maybe, some day, have a fantastic life with the right guy...”
He took a step forward. “You aren’t ordinary—”
I waved my hands to stop him. Now was not the time to hear what he had to say. “Let me finish.” I glanced at my feet. “I know how I really feel.” I looked him in the face, noticing the chocolate-colored eyes and the crinkles around them. And maybe some hope for us. “I miss you.”
As if he found my words painful to hear, he turned his gaze to the ground. Dropping my hands to rest on my thighs, I made a quick rub. I might as well go all the way. “I’ve been very unhappy and don’t like feeling like that. That’s not me. So, the more I thought about my life, the more I decided I wasn’t really in control. I’ve been carried along like a silly little twig floating in a river. I don’t want to…float...anymore.”
Watching me intently, A. Wellborn curled his hands into light fists, then relaxed.
Please, God. I rested my hand on my chest, took in a breath, and said, “In order for me to feel whole, I decided to come and bare all. This isn’t easy. I’ve never done this before.”
I’d rehearsed. If I was a big girl and if I truly wanted what my heart truly desired, I had to continue. Gathering my courage, I looked at his lovely face, the one belonging to the man I adored with my heart, with my soul. His stance softened. Please. Taking another breath, I mustered every ounce of bravery I possessed and said, “Choose me.”
A word about the author...
Like some of her characters, award-winning author Vicki Batman has worked a wide variety of jobs, including lifeguard, ride attendant at an amusement park, and hardware store, department store, book store, and antique store clerk; administrative assistant in an international real estate firm; and a general “do-anything gal” at a financial services firm—the list is endless.
Writing for several years, she has completed three manuscripts, written essays, and sold many short stories to a variety of publishers including The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
She is a member of RWA and several writing groups and chapters. In 2004, she joined DARA and has served in many capacities, including 2009 President. DARA awarded her the Robin Teer Memorial Service Award in 2010.
Most days begin with her hands set to the keyboard and thinking “What if?”
Visit her at:
http://vickibatman.blogspot.com
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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