There’s nothing to discuss. At least not for now. I want to find my footing
Hazel: You know everything about it.
Fitz: I don’t like you might end up working with him.
Hazel: I’m a big girl, I can take it, Fitzy. He’s my past.
I’m grateful that we are having this conversation over texts because he would see that I’m cracking.
Fitz: I know all about someone being part of your past but still wanting him in your present. You might confuse loneliness with love.
Hazel: I won’t.
My fingers tap fast, but the answer is just a reaction.
What if that’s what’s happened with Scott?
We were both alone…
Hazel: I must find a way to love again—or stop reading romance novels. I might switch to horror.
I laugh at my bad joke and shiver at the thought switching from reading uplifting and hopeful stories to scary tales.
Hazel: I like the finding love choice. With my step by step guide to finding Mr. Right, I’ll be saying I do within two weeks.
Fitz: Where is that guide? I want to find my Mr. Right.
Fitz: Now!
Fitz: Maybe, and this is just a suggestion, you could try to close that chapter finally. Find the answers you never got.
He’s right. We finished everything too abruptly, leaving loose ends. These are the same unresolved feelings I have with Mom. Luckily, Elliot is alive, and I might be able to close the chapter.
I go back to the journal and make an inventory of today’s events from the minute Elliot arrived to my office until Scott left. I analyze every word I said, every breath I took, and every movement I made. Elliot's presence woke emotions I didn’t want to confront for now. My body, heart, and soul responded to him. Or was it to Scott, because sometimes I have that reaction when he’s near.
I release a hysterical laugh.
Scott Everhart and Elliot McFee aren’t part of the five-year plan. Remember, this is your chance to find someone new. A guy who isn’t your ex, threatened by your success, or the Everhart boy who is emotionally unavailable to you.
Fitz: Fine, be that way. Tomorrow I’ll be at your place around five thirty for our daily run.
Hazel: Call before you leave the hotel.
Fitz: Sounds good, try to get some sleep. It was a long day.
He’s right. The day was long. We interviewed eight companies. We went furniture shopping and debated on whether Scott should go back to New York every other week or just once a month.
Scott: I just emailed you a list of homes around the area which I think fit the criteria we are looking for. Let me know which ones you want to see and the order.
Hazel: Can you be a little more specific about the houses? What are you looking for?
Can you go back to New York?
But my chest tightens with the mere thought of him leaving.
Get ahold of yourself, Hazel.
Scott: I believe the specs are close to the ocean, five to six bedrooms, a big kitchen, and a terrace to entertain. A garden and room for pets.
I frown at my phone, confused about this place he’s searching for. Is he planning on having a family? I doubt it. Scott enjoys his freedom. He doesn’t want to be attached to a woman, have children or be the head of a family—again.
After his parents died, he became Fitz and Hunter’s guardian. Scott’s high school sweetheart left him because she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life attached to a guy who had to care for his mentally ill little brother. The next two girlfriends played him, and by then he was jaded. He built a tall, sturdy wall around himself that no one can break.
A hysterical laugh takes over me as I realize how stupid I was, thinking that I could become his exception to the rule. Nothing sets me apart from the rest of the women he’s dated. Everything that happened between us, including the hurt, is my fault. But how could I not fall for him when he’s always been different with me?
Instead of responding, I scroll through my pictures finding a few from our last trip. We used to travel often. He would suggest escaping to some city near New York, fly to an exotic beach, or just a new country.
Scott likes to travel, and to push my limits. He used to do that before things got strange between us. He would defy my lists and dare me to live for the moment. It was scary, but with him, it felt just right. Until one day, I made the mistake of putting his name on my five-year plan.
Hazel: I don’t understand why you want to buy a house. I don’t even know if I’m staying long enough. What happened to ‘let’s sell the company?’
Scott: I said, we can sell and invest in something else if you still want to stay here.
Hazel: Just so you know, we’re not having sex. I’m done with what we had.
Scott: I get it, you don’t trust me. As I said earlier, we have to talk this through step by step. I want us to begin from square one. You’re my favorite person, never my toy. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.
“I hate you,” I yell, closing my eyes.
Hazel: Can we talk tomorrow? My mood is a perfect match for tonight’s weather.
Scott: Do you want me to come back to your place?
I close my eyes and I nod remembering how safe, cherished and happy I feel when I’m pressed against his chest, secure in his strong arms. That’s one of his best qualities. Scott makes sure that everyone near him is happy. He’s a pleaser, like me. And that’s why we orbit around each other because we have that obsession to make the other happy.
“Fuck,” I scream. My voice echoes through my apartment. “Why are you here confusing me with your presence and your stupid gestures? Go back to your fortress where love can’t exist. Leave me alone!”
Hazel: No, I’m fine. See you tomorrow.
Chapter Nine
“It’s through falling down that we learn to stand up again.” — Heather Stillfusen
Hazel
“I can’t move,” I complain as we walk towards my apartment.
“You’re flaking on me, little Hazel,” Fitz’s voice is shallow.
He’s just as tired as I am. We stretched before five thirty and made our way to the park five minutes later. It’s almost seven in the morning. Every muscle in my legs shakes after pushing myself for this long. This wasn’t a smart idea. I barely slept last night, and my breakfast consisted of a protein milkshake.
“We should have something to eat before heading to the office,” I declare as I search for my keys. “Can you carry me to my apartment?”
“You should carry me,” he jokes and takes my hand. “I’ll pull you all the way up, that’s the best I can do for you. I’m taking the day off—perhaps the entire week.”
We hit the third floor, which is where I am supposed to be living. At least it was until today. I plan to do some research about the building, and find an apartment on the first floor. These are too many steps to take at the same time—every single day.
“Good morning.”
Looking over my shoulder, I find Scott following my steps and holding a large paper cup with a plastic lid.
Please be my coffee.
He’s wearing my favorite oxford gray suit. His shirt is open showing a few lines of his ink, and his tie is inside his jacket. Willow swears he’s a bad boy who acts like a CEO during the day just because of his ink. She doesn’t know him as well as I do. Most of his tattoos are to honor his parents: his mother’s favorite quotes, his father’s favorites landscapes. I used to trace them with my finger during the afterglow.
Those are the little moments I miss the most. I want to step closer to him, and bury my nose in the crook of his neck, so I can breathe in the aroma of his aftershave. The masculine tones provoke a sense of calm, yet make me want to rip his clothes and beg him to make love to me. I imagine unbuttoning his shirt while tracing the lines of his tattoos with my tongue. Unbuckling his belt, dropping his pants and falling on my knees. My mouth parts, and I drop my gaze because reality hits me right in th
e chest.
I square my shoulders. I remain calm, poised. I promised myself to stop fantasizing about him or men like him. The kind who don’t want a family or share my dreams. It is written right on the list I made last night while I chased sleep. The task kept me away from sad thoughts and focused on my future. If I can just ensure that I keep up with what I wrote.
I divert my attention from his neck to the cup I hope belongs to me.
“Please, tell me you have an almond, mocha latte in your hands and that it is for me.”
The corner of his lip lifts slightly, his eyes smile at me.
“Maybe.” He stops right in front of me and hands me a canteen. “But you need to hydrate first. You’ve been out running for too long.”
“How do you know?”
He tilts his head toward his brother. “We are sharing a suite. I saw him leaving, and he texted me when you were on your way back,” he responds, opening the door for me while I gulp the water.
“Are you going back to the hotel, Fitz?” he asks.
Fitz nods, “Do you need something?”
“I left a few contracts on top of the coffee table. I want you to go through them.”
“Dude, I regret moving into your big ass suite,” Fitz complains to his brother.
I turn to Scott. “What are your plans for today?”
“After your shower, we can go for breakfast and discuss today’s schedule.”
I scrunch my nose and stare at him. Exchanging the glass bottle with the coffee, I drink half of it before responding. The questions that come to mind have nothing to do with what he just inquired. Things like, can I fix that tie? The deal is we pretend to be someone different while we aren’t in New York, can we do that here? Why are you here?
I open my mouth and ask, “Today’s plans?” I have nothing compelling or smart to say.
“Isn’t that what we always do?”
“You fired me,” I remind him.
“No, I never fired you.”
I pull out my phone from the pocket of my bra and start searching for his email.
“Please, make sure you complete the following tasks before you leave. Scott.” I glare at him. “Which was a pretty shitty way to say you’re no longer part of this company.”
His head drops slightly, his chin almost hitting his chest. His face turns slightly red, and I hear him laughing.
“What did I say wrong?”
“If you open the attachment, it isn’t any different from any other documents I’ve sent you before you have to travel.”
“It’s the tone.”
“There’s no tone. It is an email. What were you expecting from me?”
I let out a breath, looking for his usual emails.
— —
To: Bee
From: SDE
Subject: List
My tasty Buttercup,
I’m attaching the list of tasks you have to finish before our trip. The second attachment is our itinerary for our trip.
Scott
Instead of reading it out loud because Fitz is here, I hand him the phone. There’s nothing dirty about it, it’s the fact he calls me buttercup after his favorite snack. The implication he’s ready to eat me and that I’m his.
I walk toward my room. “I’m going to get ready.”
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
“You will catch a cold,” Scott insists as I lock the door.
“It’s sixty degrees outside,” I remind him, as I glance at my sundress and the black high heel sandals I’m wearing. “Warm compared to the minus freezing degrees in New York.”
Outside, the breeze is slightly chilly. Nothing compared to the cold weather the east coast faces during winter. I can wear my fall or spring clothing, and carry a light jacket with me. However, Scott is already making a big fuss about it.
“Should I remind you about last year’s pneumonia?”
“I caught a bug, it wasn’t the weather.” I chew on my lip, then turn to look at him and smile. “Are you worried I’ll get you sick again?”
I lick my lips. “I promise not to kiss you, even if you beg.”
“Is that a challenge?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Nope.”
“What do you want for breakfast, Bee?”
I stare at his big hand like it’s the first time I’ve seen it. Then, I look up to find his eyes. They’re soft, expectant. I realize that his tie remains in his pocket. I pull it out, extending it and placing it around his neck. Connecting our gazes, I continue my job by pulling up his collar the way I’ve done it numerous times. But this time is different, like he’s not hiding from me.
“Wherever you choose,” I answer as I adjust the knot.
“Thank you.” He reaches for my hand but I move it away.
“Things can’t be back to…” I drop my gaze, then lift it again.
“I understand, Hazel. We didn’t handle things well. This time, everything will be different.”
“Different?” I squint, moving away from him. “You keep saying that word but what does that even mean?”
“Wait and see,” he says, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles.
“Scott,” I say his name but the words after that escape me.
What do I want to tell him?
Leave. Stay with me. Kiss me. I’m still hurting from your rejection. I can’t take more. Hold me, and never let me go.
He nods once. “Let this be your challenge,” he suggests. “The unexpected journey we’re taking in this new city that might take us to …” He shrugs.
“Our future…” he doesn’t finish before we begin our walk.
Sunny-Side-Up is just around the corner from my apartment. It’s right next to the dry cleaners and across the street from a nail salon. It doesn’t look sunny from the outside, but grey and gloomy. But once we enter the place, the air is thick with the aroma of coffee, vanilla, and bacon. The walls are bright, with yellow tones and a warm atmosphere. I want to stay, my stomach grumbles seconding the motion. We look around at the busy tables trying to find an empty spot. Unfortunately, this place is full. This is not the kind of place you visit out of impulse on a weekday.
“To go?”
“It might be best if we order something to be delivered to the office and we eat there,” I suggest.
He nods, releasing my hand and handing me his phone. We make our way back to the building as I search through his food-delivery app for something that will entice us.
“What should we have? I propose pancakes and bacon.” I scroll through the restaurants in the area until I find one close to the offices.
“We have to buy groceries,” he retorts.
I frown because tomorrow there’ll be fresh produce in my fridge. “You’ll cook for me?”
“Always.” He kisses my cheek and opens the passenger door of his sleek car rental for me. “Order me bacon, pancakes and coffee.”
We have this couple like dynamic, but my heart hurts because we’ve never been a couple. And I hate myself for loving it. For falling into the old pattern.
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
“Their proposal is different from the other companies. I like that.”
I study the designs of the amenities that North Bay Construction proposes. “The mockups are great.”
Scott rises from his seat, walks around the table, and stands right next to me.
“Let me see,” he says, rolling up his sleeves, revealing the geometrical lines of his delicious tattoo, and pressing his palms on the table
The music playing in the background and his bare skin are bringing up memories. I stare at his corded, strong arms. I want to take his rough hand, and entwine my fingers with his calloused ones. Better yet, I want to put them around me and soak on his scent while we dance.
“Their drawings are pretty good. I’ll give them that,” he agrees with me, dragging me away from my daydreams.
Scott loosens his tie, and I restrain myself because my lips want to reach for the sensitive skin behind his e
ar and run my mouth down his neck.
“Their prices are competitive, but they are a small company,” he says, moving his gaze from the computer to me.
Our gazes meet, his eyes boring into mine and then, they trace over my face and they stare at my mouth. His lip is between his teeth. I want to know what is on his mind. Does he remember the first time we met? Or the years we’ve been sharing an office while working together, like today.
“They don’t have many references,” Scott claims, pushing himself away from the table and walking around the room.
“Everyone has to start somewhere,” I study the pool they proposed for the building where I live.
“I'd love to have a pool close by.”
He stops right beside me and stares down at me. “Do you want a house with a swimming pool?”
I crank my neck and shake my head. “You keep bringing up houses and—”
His phone rings. He pulls it out, and I close my mouth when I see Harrison’s name flashing on the screen. Scott slides his finger to answer and taps the speaker button. He sets it on top of the desk.
“Yeah?”
“Are you with the kid?” Harrison asks.
“Don’t call me kid,” I protest.
“There she is,” he laughs. “I need either one of you to release some money from the trust fund.”
Scott groans and stares at me with a pleading gaze. He wants me to handle this call. Harrison and I get along better when it comes to numbers than the two brothers.
“Your trust-fund?” I frown because he barely touches that money. “Or the foundation’s?”
“The foundation’s,” he replies.
Harrison, Scott, and I run a foundation that helps people with low incomes start a business, supports a youth center, and gives grants to any charity that applies to it. To use the money, we need the approval of at least two of us.
“Luna and I are buying some stuff for our next mission. She has this new idea of doing some charity while saving the world.”
“Of course, she does,” I smile at the phone, thinking about Luna’s new plans on how to give even more. Once she’s back from her mission, we have to sit down and talk about this new idea of hers. “Send it to my email for my approval.”
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