Devon

by Leanne Davis

  “I’m Claudia. I work at Tamasy Industries.”

  He puts his hand out. “Cooper Hensman. I work at Exodus.” He points to one of the windows that overlooks the building right beside our warehouse.

  “Exodus?”

  “I coordinate those huge orders of logs you see getting loaded on the ships.” A sizable shipping yard looms just past the building. Naturally, I have to ask some general questions, like what exactly does that mean? And inquire about all the logistics involved to load the logs on trains before reloading them onto ships bound for international waters. It’s hard to imagine so much wood could be harvested, shipped, and sent abroad so rapidly.

  We stand beside the shared dumpster and talk for twenty minutes. We discuss the problems of shipping logs and he asks me what Tamasy Industries actually does. Most people are clueless and confused if they’ve even heard of our company. It isn’t a typical career or profession. Partly why I always wanted to work there.

  He glances toward his office. “I’d better get back to my desk. I was waiting for an international call—”

  “About logs?” I retort.

  He grins. “Yeah, about an international shipment of logs. Do you want to grab a coffee or dinner or something?”

  “I do.” My heart swells when I find myself hoping he’d ask me out. It’s more than I felt in years, and although I didn’t ask him out, I considered it. It makes me blush when I think of how long it’s been since I felt interested in pursuing this.

  We share an easy exchange. Old-fashioned, we have to scrounge around for something to write on because neither of us carry our phones. Thankfully, he had a pen in his hand when he ran out to help me.

  As I hand him my number, our fingers touch. When he lingers, all kinds of interesting things started to bubble up in my middle. It has been so long since I felt like this, especially for anyone except Devon Willapana.

  He calls me the next day and we make plans for that weekend to go out for dinner. It’s a real date. He picks me up, we go to a restaurant that overlooks the river, and I wear a dress and heels. We do the whole grown-up thing. It’s a first for me. My other dates were usually just casual hookups that required only a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt as the dress code. But this feels very different to that, and I kind of love it. He spends a lot of money on me. He likes to wine and dine me.

  “Claudia! These have your name on them,” Gia shouts when she calls me into the lobby the next week. I have no idea what she’s yelling about. She’s the receptionist and totally excited about a delivery. I appear in the doorway and stare in surprise. She is holding a large flower arrangement, which she lifts up into the air. Her eyebrows rise with curiosity.

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  Excited, the heat fills my cheeks as I walk towards the desk and pick up the lovely bouquet. It smells like fresh spring and warm sunshine. Grinning with pleasure, I must look like a sappy, stupefied girl. I turn to haul my prize into my office when I stop dead. Devon is standing in his doorway.

  In my rush to explain where I got the flowers, and my need to prove that I’m not sending them to myself to make him jealous, I flounder. The timing is wrong. I want to prove that I didn’t tell anyone to send them to me. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not making anything up. I do not want to make a scene or see if he is jealous. Ha! As if anything could stir that emotion up in him. We were managing to conduct a cordial relationship ever since the great reveal, as I refer to it in my head.

  He stares at the flowers then looks up at me. Our gazes collide, and I blush harder. He tries to lounge in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he asks, “Good date?”

  I nod. “Yes. A very good date.”

  He nods. “I’m glad. You deserve it. Make sure he knows that.”

  I hate hearing shit like that. He doesn’t want to date me but oh, yeah, any other guy’s totally lucky. But I knew friend-wise Devon would think that.

  I take the bouquet to my desk, setting it in the corner and staring at it every other moment. My eyes are fastened on the beautiful blooms. I moon over it and the images of my date. I used to respond the same way to Devon’s hand grazing mine or seeing a little smile from him here and there. It’s so much nicer to think and care about a guy who really welcomes my attention and could even be thinking about me right now.

  I text a quick thank you for the flowers to Cooper and off we go. From then on, we text each other all the time. We meet for drinks and dinners and movies, and it’s not long before we are officially dating. This is the first mature, grown-up relationship in which I sense equal investment from both partners. It is unlike any other that I’ve ever been in. It’s so much better than what I’ve experienced so far.

  I have no idea I desired to be formally shown a good time. Or be wooed. That’s all I can call it. I’m being wooed and wined and dined and goddammit, I’m enjoying the hell out of it.

  And all the flower deliveries? They’re a new perk for me.

  Finally, there is someone else, someone beyond Devon who can help me get past the tension and my feelings for him. It gets easier to start rebuilding our friendship. Having Cooper motivates me to form a neutral friendship with Devon again. I stop spending my quiet moments alone while thinking of Devon’s hands all over me, and how one kiss ignited the others, and… well, on and on my thoughts often drift. I must remind myself it was just one night. A singular itch that got scratched and meant nothing. Nothing at all.

  But dating Cooper means a lot to me, and more importantly, the healthiest part is that it could actually go somewhere. It could evolve beyond the fun and enjoyment I’m having with another man. I might even become a lasting relationship based on true love, but I don’t know yet, and I love not knowing even more.

  DEVON

  She’s fucking dating someone. First time I realize it is when I see her stuffing her nose into a wildflower bouquet that arrives at the office. I wait until she goes out with a potential client before venturing into her office to see what the card says. He is thanking her for the date. Their first date. My stomach twists and churns. Thanking her because they fucked? Like Claudia and I did? Technically, no, it wasn’t a date that night. But we went out.

  Well, it must have been a pretty memorable damn date for her to earn a bouquet of flowers like this. I leave the arrangement, resisting the urge to throw them out the window and let them float away on the river. She’s way too tickled about getting these stupid flowers. How hard is it to phone a florist? I always wondered why women got so thrilled when flowers were delivered. Using a credit card doesn’t exactly prove one’s undying devotion, not to me anyway. I don’t buy it.

  Now if he had grown the flowers in his garden, planting the seeds, watering them, weeding and nurturing them, then a bouquet of flowers as a gift truly expresses all the effort and caring that goes into it. That is a true gesture of love and commitment.

  Yeah, I sent all kinds of flowers to Ireena. She enjoyed showing them off to her friends. It was a status symbol rather than a true, genuine indication of our love. Claudia takes a quiet pleasure in most things and never tries to rub it in anyone’s face. She doesn’t take lots of pics and post them all over her social media, not like so many other people do, including Ireena. Their online life appears richer and much more fulfilling than their actual lives. Not for Claudia. I love that about her. She’s so genuine, she doesn’t need social approval for her life’s decisions. Something that is pretty rare nowadays.

  The second week she receives flowers, I can’t resist asking. “Who sent those?”

  “Someone I’ve been seeing.”

  “Seeing? Who is it?”

  “His name is Cooper and we met rather unromantically out at the dumpster. He held the lid up for me.” She smiles, but not at me. In fact, her eyes are riveted on her flowers and her smile is almost goofy. She is staring at the flowers, not at me. It’s all about him and a freaking dumpster?

  Irritated, I nudge her. “And?”


  “And he asked me out. We’ve dated a few times. And we have fun.”

  Fun? What does that mean? And why is she smiling at the flowers when she should be talking to me? But not even a glance do I get. I am so annoyed with her. Or is it the flowers? I might have a bit of an allergy to them. I sneeze. Maybe it’s a tad exaggerated. But so what? Who needs flower arrangements in a place of business? “I think I’m allergic.”

  Her head snaps up. and she frowns as she looks at me. “Oh. I didn’t know you were allergic to flowers. I’ll put them in my office.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not.” I admit begrudgingly. “It must be something in that particular arrangement.” Maybe because she got it from another guy. A guy I don’t know, which kind of annoys me, but I can’t explain why. As a friend, I should be happy for her. I am happy. I mean, it eases the pressure and drains some of the awkwardness from the imbalance of feelings for each other. It could all be smoothed back into place if she fell for someone else. And I, as her friend, maybe even her best friend, should be happy for her. I am her best friend. Yes. Even better than Gail, her friend from college, and both of her sisters. She moved to Vancouver just to be closer to me. And also to work at her dad’s company. But she could have returned home to California to do that.

  Perhaps it’s because we are such good friends that I feel a strange seniority with her that this guy can’t understand. I know her better. I care about her more deeply. No matter what, I’ll always have decades of knowing her, which is far more than he ever will. No matter how long they date or what occurs between them.

  The flowers keep coming on a weekly basis. He changes the delivery days and the kinds of flowers in the arrangements. One day, a bouquet of red roses comes, and I have to shut my door. I can’t bear to witness that goofy smile Claudia has for those damn, inert flowers. Why would he send her red roses on this day? A Monday. Ugh. Fuck.

  Meanwhile, I do nothing. I don’t even go out anymore. The first weekend after Claudia and I made love (no, it wasn’t sex or just a one-night stand), and she confessed her feelings to me, I stay home. I’m all alone all weekend. Talk about being bored. I organize my closet. Then, I organize my coat closet. I get so desperate that I drive to town and buy a bike. Not a motorcycle, but a bicycle with pedals. I buy one of those high-tech bikes that costs more than some vehicles and start riding the trail beside the river. I pedal feverishly until my legs burn. I’m used to jogging, not biking. I ride for hours to alleviate the boredom and my former desire to go out. I have to do something. I’m not used to having so much down time. I almost wish I could call Damion. Before Ireena, I would have called him first. In fact, that’s all I ever did. We hung out all the time, every single weekend night unless one of us had a date. Like clockwork. Forever. Until he fucked my girlfriend and fathered her baby. That kind of put the kibosh on everything.

  Then Claudia entered the picture. Other than drinking at night and having sex, my days were mostly spent with Claudia. We often met for lunch, dinner, and all the damn time. The next few weeks sharply illustrate how much time we were spending together, time that I completely took for granted. I honestly had no idea we spent even half that much time together.

  Week four since Claudia began dating Cooper, I pop my head into her office. “I’m having some issues with how to present the Garcias. Wanna grab some dinner and spitball with me?” Finally. A legitimate work problem that could put us back on track. Make our time together go back to how it was. Make us feel like the old Claudia and Devon again.

  “Oh, sorry, but I can’t. We’re going to a concert. Cooper has tickets and we’re eating dinner afterwards. I could meet you early in the morning. Don’t you have a conference call with them tomorrow at noon?”

  Sure, she often coordinates or arranges my schedule. What the hell help is that?

  “Sure. Yeah. I’ll be here at seven.”

  “Great.”

  Oh, yeah, great. We have an hour-long spitball in the morning, and it’s very productive. She nixes some of my ideas with lethal precision. As nice as Claudia appears in her personal life, she’s also a ruthless, intelligent professional who gets shit done. It’s so incongruous to most people that they don’t even realize she’s already done it. She’s so nice that most people are glad she is so efficient, just as our meeting illustrates. It’s what I’ve always loved and chronically teased her about.

  Three days later, “Want to grab a drink? Been a long week.”

  “Oh, sorry…”

  And yes, that becomes her every time answer. Oh, she was sorry; or Oh, they were busy; or Oh, they were just hanging out. How about meeting in the morning? At work. In our offices. Always. That’s it. That’s all we see of each other anymore.

  I hate it.

  The boredom weighs heavier on me, and I fear another bout of depression like I endured after Ireena and Damion hooked up. Maybe not as bad, but different. A general boredom and unease versus the gut-wrenching rage I felt toward my twin. Definitely not the same, but equally as bad a feeling.

  A few weeks later, I hear a deep voice inside the atrium, one that I don’t recognize. I slip out of my office and observe a tall, string bean-skinny guy. He has bright red hair and a beard and a spray of freckles across his pale white skin. Shit. She goes from my smooth, dark skin to the polar opposite? Am I missing something? A deeper message? Is she saying fuck you to me? Or just trying that hard to get over me?

  What do I hope it is? I don’t want her to pine for me, but fuck! It doesn’t feel very good to see her move on either. Which I admit is unreasonable and unfair. I didn’t want us in a relationship, but still expected her to stay at my beck and call. I realize it all now. She never put anyone she dated above me. Even when she had boyfriends, if I asked her to meet me, or come over, or go to the movies, or eat dinner, going all the way back to our teens, she never refused me.

  Guilt spears me through the heart. I failed to notice that right up until she changed her behavior. She quit saying yes to me. She is no longer automatically available to me. I never knew how loyal she was. I dislike the change in her, but I know I’m being unreasonable.

  For some reason, her red-haired, bearded, white guy really doesn’t cut it for me. He is perhaps Irish, judging by his coloring, freckles, and even in his tone of voice. He turns around and notices me. I push myself off the doorjamb I’m leaning against.

  Claudia is smiling up at Cooper as broadly as I saw her smile at the flowers. Ugh. Not sure about that. She notices me and turns, putting herself between us. “Cooper, this is my colleague, Devon, one of the twins.”

  One of the twins? Well. What does that tell me? She must have at least mentioned me. Cataloguing me with Damion, as if we are interchangeable, is hard to swallow. Cooper doesn’t know she once loved me, or made love to me and not so long ago. My gaze drifts over her, and I see all of her body. It flashes behind my eyes. Her blonde hair twirling around one of my fingers as I used it to pull her face nearer to mine. The widening of her eyes and her sweet look of longing and interest and sex. Her eyelids fluttering half shut as she waits for our mouths to touch and caress each other. Her small breasts peaking up into perfect crests like tiny mountains capped with strawberry-colored snow. The curves of her hips to her butt and thighs. She often considers herself to have the perfect pear shape. Seeing her naked sets off all kinds of kinky thoughts in my mind.

  And now we’re supposed to politely conduct the introductions as if I’m just one of the twins. Her gaze drifts, and I realize I’ve been staring too long and hard at her. She turns slightly, breaking eye contact. I ignore my image of both of us naked and try to return to the current moment.

  Cooper puts his hands out. “Hello, Devon. Very nice to meet you. Claudia talks about your family often and always with kindness.”

  I give her a little, odd side-glance as I wonder about his choice of words. Kindness? Yeah, maybe towards my mother. But regarding Damion and Ireena? Or me? It sounds like we’re a new litter of puppies who collectively enrich her life
because of the novelty.

  “Yeah. We feel the same about her family.” I place my hand in his, and we shake. “It’s nice to meet the source of all the flower deliveries.” I hate myself for making that jovial statement. As if I’m including Cooper in our office. My casual attitude suggests that meeting Cooper doesn’t mean much to me. But it does. Fuck, does it ever.

  He nods and grins. “Yes, that’s me. All I want to do is keep making her smile.” Oh, Lord. I have to hold back the eye roll. And the worst part? I’m not sure it’s a line. The guy is pretty ordinary and kind of bland, but at least he seems genuine. The real deal. That kind of dude. Sexy in a fatherly sort of way, which some women might find appealing.

  And hell, if she doesn’t smile right on cue. I see a sweet, kind of shy and flustered smile, one she never gave to me. Why is that? Even when she said she had a crush on me and described her feelings as love, I never saw her like this. She’s… what’s the word? Glowy. She is glowing for this guy, getting all soft and flushed. Did she ever glow for me? We stared at each other right in the eyes as we talked and grinned that night. I recall the huge grins. Always. I don’t know if it means anything but I can’t help noticing a distinct difference in the way she acts around me compared with how she presents herself to Cooper.

  I prefer the old Claudia, the one I know.

  Bright. Bold. Forward. Sweet, but sarcastic.

  This? She’s so wishy-washy when she smiles at him and even when she makes eye contact with me. Why is she acting like that?

  Several minutes more of idle chit-chat that I can’t even remember later, I’m too busy watching Claudia and gauging her reactions. Finally, she looks at me, but only when they are ready to walk out. She gives me a small smile.

  All I can do is watch them leave. I wonder how the hell I’m going to pass the long, dull weekend that lies ahead of me. Maybe it’s time to go out. I need to fuck again. Get over it. Yes, Claudia and I were a mistake, but just a one-night stand. It’s okay if I start hooking up with other women again. I am not cheating. How could I be? We decided, no, I decided I wanted to pursue this lifestyle. And after living like a monk? All puppy-eyed while gazing after Claudia and her new guy? I need to move on, too. I need to get back to my life and living it the way I like to.