During those times when she was not cleaning, cooking, or spending time with Mrs. Anderson, Isobeille dedicated her time to the discovery of new things. Nick showed her how to use his laptop and introduced her to the wonders of Google and Wikipedia. Isobeille was a fast learner; she picked up the use of digital technology very quickly. She happily spent many hours exploring, awed by the sheer amount of knowledge available instantly at her fingertips. Curious by nature, she often lost herself for hours in the virtual world.
When Nick came home in the evening to a wonderful meal, she would tell him all that she had learned that day, and he would share his day as well. They would clean up the kitchen together, then spend their evenings walking around the city, watching a movie, or just talking.
He loved it all, but Nick’s favorite time of day was when they cuddled up together on the couch and Isobeille would fall asleep in his arms. He didn’t think he’d ever felt as content as he did in those moments.
“Nick.” The familiar voice shocked him out of his reverie as he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Gloria.”
“Is everything alright?” she asked, sounding a bit worried. He wasn’t used to hearing concern in her voice.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You haven’t called once all week.”
A week? Really? Had it been that long? It seemed like the days were just flying by.
“Yeah, well. You said you needed space, right?” he said, remembering the last time they’d hooked up. They’d been seeing each other for six months, and in his mind, at least, things had been going well enough to proceed to the next step - introducing her to the family. Gloria, however, had balked at the idea. She’d declined, saying she wasn’t ready to take things to a “meet-the-parent” level. At the time, Nick told her that he understood, but it had hurt more than he’d let on.
“You’re still mad about that?” she asked.
“No,” he said honestly. “I’m not mad.” At the time he’d been hurt, and maybe a little angry, but oddly enough, that seemed to have faded since then. Of course, he had a lot of other things occupying his attention lately and hadn’t had the time – or the inclination - to dwell on it.
“Then why are you being like this?”
“Being like what?” he asked a bit sharply, a hint of frustration edging into his voice. “Giving you what you wanted?”
Gloria was quiet for a minute. “I’m sorry, Nick. You’re right.”
It was Nick’s turn to grow silent. He’d never heard either of those phrases from Gloria’s lips before, much less both in the same breath. It seemed contrary to her nature, actually.
“Nick? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“So, I was thinking I’d come over tonight and we could... do something.”
Nick looked into the living room where Isobeille was making intricate little bows with some shiny iridescent ribbon she’d found at the Dollar Store for his tiny little tree. They’d covered it with a couple of sets of miniature twinkling, multi-colored lights. At that moment she turned and smiled at him, a smile filled with such genuine happiness that he felt it all the way into the pit of his stomach.
“Sorry, Gloria. I can’t tonight.”
“Oh.” Another awkward silence stretched between them. “We are still on for the Christmas party tomorrow night, though, right?”
Nick gripped the phone harder. He had forgotten all about that. She’d told him about it weeks ago – the annual party the newspaper threw for its employees, no expense spared. It was, according the Gloria, the most important event of the year, and one that anybody who hoped to become somebody at the paper did not miss.
“Yeah, of course,” he said without thinking.
“Great. Pick me up at eight?”
“Eight. Yep. Got it.” Shit. How did he get himself into this? He should have just told her that something had come up, because really, it was the truth...
“Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really looking forward to seeing you. I... miss you.”
“Yeah, uh, me, too,” Nick mumbled in return, then hung up and scrubbed his hand over his face. How could he have forgotten about the Christmas party? How could he have forgotten about Gloria?
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he felt Isobeille’s soft touch. “Nick? Is everything alright? Ye look vexed.”
He looked into her eyes, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just, well, I forgot that I said I’d go to this party tomorrow. It’s not really something I can bail on last minute, either. It was before you came, otherwise I never would have agreed.
“Nick,” she scolded gently. “Ye arenae worried about leaving me here alone, are ye?”
“Kind of,” he admitted, feeling like a first-class idiot. Mostly he just didn’t want to go, preferring to spend the evening with Isobeille. “I mean, I know you’re here all day by yourself, but nights are different.” Evenings were their time, and he was loath to give up even a single one.
She laughed, the sound like quiet musical bells. “Ye are a verra sweet mon, but doona worry. Ye spend all yer time working and looking after me. Ye need some time te have fun.”
“I have fun with you.” What Isobeille didn’t seem to realize was that “looking after her” as she so put it was fun – more fun than he’d had in a very long time. He liked spending time with her. Isobeille found wonder in the smallest of things, and it made him appreciate them, too. It was like he was rediscovering everything, looking at things in a whole new light. Even more than that, Nick felt like a different man when he was with Isobeille. Younger. Happier. Better.
“Hey man,” Carlos said after Nick repacked the same supply kit for the third time. “Where’s your head today? It’s like you are a million miles away.”
“Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
Carlos handed a cup of coffee to Nick and sat down next to him, his legs hanging off the back of their rig. “Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain curvy little redhead now, would it?”
“No. Yes. Fuck.” It wasn’t all about Isobeille specifically, but she was at the center of it, the source of all his fucked-up feelings. He used to think he knew exactly what he wanted, but now he wasn’t so sure. Ever since Isobeille came into his life, nothing seemed the same.
“Well, I guess that clears that up,” Carlos smirked. “Are you sleeping with her?”
“No! Christ, no.” She makes special meals just for me. Her eyes light up the second I walk in the room. And every night she falls asleep in my arms. But we are most definitely not having sex. If they were, he wouldn’t be taking cold showers every day and running low on lotion.
“Maybe you should. You know you want to. She is smoking hot, dude.” Carlos shook his head. “Honestly? I don’t know how you’re not tapping that. If she was staying at my place, looking at me the way she looks at you, I’d be on her like white on rice, bro.”
Nick bristled. He didn’t like Carlos talking about Isobeille that way, as if she was nothing more than a convenient lay. If he tried really hard, he might even convince himself he didn’t want to spend the next three days buried deep inside her lush, warm body.
“Quit thinking with your dick all the time, man. Isobeille’s not like that.”
“All girls are like that,” Carlos disagreed. “Some are just more discerning than others, but they’ll all give it up for the right one. Me, she wouldn’t give the time of day. But you? She’d take you in there in a heartbeat, bro.”
Would she? Yeah, Nick realized, she probably would. Which is exactly why he couldn’t let it happen. Isobeille wasn’t the type of woman he could have once and walk away from. No, if he had allowed himself to have sex with Isobeille, he’d be putting a lot more than just his cock into her. And he couldn’t do that. He just had to remember why he couldn’t do that, and that was getting harder and harder to do with each day he spent in her compa
ny, especially when she trusted him so completely.
“She makes me see the world differently, you know? And it’s making me think that maybe some of the things I thought were important aren’t so much anymore.”
“By ‘things’ you mean Gloria?”
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” Gloria was a big part of it, but there was so much more to it than that. Like the fact that Isobeille thought being a paramedic was a wonderful thing in itself, not just a stepping stone to something more. Or the fact that she cared enough to help a homeless guy when she could have just ignored him like most people. Or that there was more fun to be had in a cup of hot chocolate and a quiet evening at home instead of some lame party where everyone dressed up and kissed ass while sipping expensive champagne and pretending to actually give a shit.
“Gloria called last night and reminded me about this party I said I’d go to a couple of weeks back. I’d forgotten all about it. I went a whole week without even calling her, man. What do you suppose that means?”
Carlos knew exactly what that meant, but Nick clearly wasn’t ready to hear it yet, so instead of spelling it out, he shrugged. Nick would figure it out eventually. “You going?”
“Yeah,” he sighed heavily. “I don’t really want to, but it would be kind of a dick move if I bailed on her at the last minute.”
“Like she bailed on you for Bubba’s picnic? Or Sandy’s wedding? Or turned you down flat when you asked her to go with you to your mom’s?” Carlos said, ticking the incidents off on his fingers while reminding Nick that Gloria didn’t have the same compunction against leaving him hanging.
Nick grunted and held up his hand to stop a list that could conceivably continue on for some time. “Alright, I get the point. But it’s exactly because I know how shitty it is to do that to someone that I won’t do it to someone else, true?”
Carlos couldn’t argue with that. Nick was a decent guy, which was just one of the many reasons why Gloria was so wrong for him and Isobeille was so right. “So what does Isobeille say?”
Nick looked so tortured Carlos genuinely felt for him; the guy had it bad. “She says I should go and have fun. That I spend too much time worrying about her.”
“Do you?”
Nick sighed. “Every moment she’s out of my sight, man. But when I’m with her? I don’t worry about anything.”
Carlos whistled. “Wow, bro. You do have a problem.” They paused, taking the opportunity to drain the last of their crappy cups of coffee. Then they packed up the re-loaded kits, checked the fasteners, and closed the doors. “So what are you going to do?”
“Don’t know what else I can do. I’ll go to the party. See what happens.”
“And Isobeille?”
“She’s going to hang out with Mrs. Anderson.”
“Your neighbor?”
“Yeah, Isobeille loves her. They’re going to bake cookies for Mrs. Anderson’s church group or something.”
Carlos couldn’t resist giving Nick a little nudge in the right direction. “The party’s probably going to run late. I could head over there, keep Isobeille company till you get home.”
Nick pinned him with a fierce glare. “I like you, man, but I will kill you.”
Carlos was still laughing as he drove out of the lot.
Chapter 11
Isobeille would never admit it to Nick, but she was worried. Tonight he would be seeing his beloved again, escorting her to some fancy affair. He would spend the evening reveling with her, feasting, dancing, while Isobeille remained behind. She had smiled and told him that he should go, that she wanted him to have a good time and honor the commitment he had made, but mayhap she should not have encouraged him so. The raw truth of it was that the very thought made her slightly ill.
In her heart, she continued to hope that he would change his mind, making a conscious (and uninfluenced) choice to spend the eve with her instead. It was silly, of course. A foolish girl’s hope and nothing more.
Over the past week, she had come to care for him deeply. Her mind knew it was wrong, but she could not help the way she felt. From that very first moment, when she had looked into those warm brown eyes, she had begun to fall in love with him, and each moment since her feelings for him had only grown.
She’d tried to tell herself over and over again that it was not meant to be; that Nick had already chosen the woman he wanted for his own. But her heart wouldn’t listen. It saw only what it wanted to – the kindness, the generosity, the gentleness of the man who had quite literally saved her life, brought her into his home and had seen to her care and comfort ever since. It did not want to acknowledge that he had done these things purely out of a sense of decency or chivalry, or simply because he was a good and merciful soul.
Instead of admitting the truth, she had done everything she could think of to please him, to show him her gratitude. Now she realized that she had been subconsciously doing so in the hopes that he might see her as not just a woman who needed his charity, but as a potential bride as well. She had done all of the things a woman does for the man she cares for – she cleaned for him, cooked meals for him, listened attentively and cared for him the best she was able.
It had been no great effort on her part, for she had loved every minute of it. Caring for Nick, trying to make him happy, had been one of the easiest and most rewarding things she had ever done.
Because, no matter how many times she had lied to herself about her intentions, it had happened anyway. She was in love with him. Hopelessly, madly in love with him.
She had begun to think that he might have some tender feelings for her, as well. He smiled at her a lot, said lovely things that made her blush. He was appreciative of her efforts and was generous with praise and thanks, even for the smallest of things. He held her hand whenever they ventured out, and seemed to enjoy their chaste cuddling at night before sleep. She had even seen evidence of his masculine interest several times, though he had made no attempt to act upon it.
She wouldn’t have stopped him if he had. God forgive her, she had never wanted a man as fiercely as she wanted him. She would gladly give up her maidenhead to experience even one night of passion in his arms...
Isobeille heard the key in the lock and her heart leaped. Nick was home early! Mayhap he had changed his mind about the party! She turned around, excited by the possibility that Nick might be choosing her after all. Her excitement quickly faded, however, when she saw that it was not Nick that stood in the doorway, but a woman who looked every bit as surprised to see Isobeille as Isobeille was to see her.
“Who are you and what are you doing in Nick’s apartment?” the stranger demanded.
Isobeille instinctively knew she was looking at Nick’s beloved by the way the little hairs on the back of her neck rose like hackles. The woman was tall and slender, with light golden hair the color of a winter sunrise, aristocratic features, and kohl-lined eyes the color of a summer sky. She was bedecked in high-heeled shoes and a long coat of supple-looking dark leather.
With her waist-length braid, sweatpants, T-shirt, and sneakers, Isobeille suddenly felt very plain in comparison.
“I am Isobeille,” she answered, remembering her manners and inclining her head slightly. “And I am preparing a meal. May I inquire as te how ye got in here?”
The woman’s gaze was as sharp as a finely-honed blade as she looked Isobeille up and down. It was hard not to fidget beneath the force of her stare, but Isobeille had had enough practice dealing with laird’s wives and consorts to hold her own. With a potato in one hand and a peeler in the other, she set her shoulders and waited for an answer.
“With my key. The one Nick gave me,” she answered, emphasizing his name. The woman’s eyes left Isobeille and glanced around the apartment. They scanned the gleaming appliances, took in the just-scrubbed floor, and paused briefly on the basket of Nick’s freshly laundered-clothes before coming back to rest on Isobeille again. “Are you like a maid or something?”
Outwardly, she kept he
r expression neutral, but inside, Isobeille’s heart fell and her mind raced. Clearly Nick had not mentioned her at all to his beloved, nor had he shared the fact that he was allowing her to stay with him. But what exactly did that mean?
The hopelessly romantic side of her wanted to believe that perhaps Nick viewed her and their time together as special and private, something to be treasured and shared between only the two of them. The realistic side of her – the one that had given her the strength and means to endure – suggested that the truth was far less appealing. Perhaps Nick was ashamed of her. Perhaps he expected that she would not be around long enough to warrant such disclosure.
Or, she thought, looking at the cold and accusing look in the other woman’s eyes, ‘twas more likely Nick knew his woman would not take kindly to Isobeille’s presence, and had kept his silence so as not to fall into disfavor with his beloved.
At the moment, it mattered not. Nick had been extremely kind to her, providing food and shelter and friendship. He had never promised more than that; any visions she’d had of it becoming something more were of her own creation. He had his reasons, and it was not her place to second-guess them. Despite the ache in her chest, Isobeille would not betray him, nor would she knowingly do anything to cause him angst.
“Nick has been verra kind,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “He allows me te clean and cook for him while he is at work.”
Gloria stared at her for a minute, then some of the jealousy faded from her Nordic features. “Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of thing he would do. He always had a soft spot for strays. Well, sweetheart, today’s your lucky day. You get to leave early. I’ll take it from here.”
Isobeille bit her tongue, silently considering her options. She had the distinct impression that his beloved’s arrival was unexpected; surely he would have forewarned her if he had known. What would Nick want her to do?
He was very adamant about keeping to the apartment when he was not around, and reminded her every morning not to open the door for anyone beside Mrs. Anderson. Should she leave, as the woman obviously wanted her to? Or should she remain exactly where she was until Nick returned and sorted things out?
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