by S. L. Scott
20
Tatum
Alert the press!
Letting Harrison into my world has been surprisingly easy. Shocking, I know.
He has me feeling hopeful. Despite not knowing what comes next, about the pregnancy, or even what we’re going to binge-watch, I don’t mind the unknown so much when I’m with him.
Simply because he’s here.
He’s shown up.
Literally. Well, four or so years later, but I feel like I’m seeing what he meant now. As if he knew to wait until now. As if he was waiting until I was ready to welcome him into my heart. My life.
“You wait and see, Tatum. This isn’t over. This is just our beginning.”
I can still hear him making that promise—so sure of himself. That promise he made back in Catalina was kept. He did that. For me. He says what he means and stands by it.
Other than Natalie, Harrison Decker is the only person to make me believe he’ll be there for me. No matter what. Maybe that’s why I’m not so stressed.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this much for someone. He’s given so much of himself to me that I’m not sure if he’s received the same from me in return.
These haven’t been baby steps. They’ve been millimeters I’ve been taking. That time is over. I’m ready to take a leap with him.
I turn my head abruptly to the man beside me in bed when a bulb goes off inside my head, shining light on how I treat him. I think he’s right. I have been holding the past sins and pains from every other guy I dated against you, for my parents not being around, and the loneliness I’ve felt from being left behind. I lightly caress his cheek. I made a mistake missing out on great he is all the years.
The slumbering sounds of the sleeping giant next to me have me clicking off the TV and snuggling to his side. Even without waking up, his arm tightens around me, subconsciously making the effort he mimics when he’s awake. It’s too soon for me to dive into my emotions all the way, but I’m feeling buoyant. I giggle, amusing myself.
Checking the time, I see it’s after midnight. Not late compared to my partying days, but maybe those days are behind me. More nights in bingeing shows, and Harrison, is much more entertaining. I close my eyes, relishing the feel of my future beside me.
My night is restless, and I toss and turn, memories from Catalina coming back from years ago . . .
Catalina - Four and a half years ago . . .
Moving quietly around the room, I toss the rest of my belongings into my suitcase and lock it, careful not to wake him. I could walk out of here. It’s been fun, a good time spent with him, but flings are meant to stay at the scene, not trail people back to their real lives.
My instinct is to run and not prolong the inevitable. But my heart keeps intervening and keeping my feet where they are. Relationships require responsibility, and that’s just not something I’m into. Why would I give up my freedom to stay home all the time?
Harrison seems like the kind of guy who likes to go out, so maybe that wouldn’t be an issue. Him living on the West Coast is, though. I don’t know one couple who has survived a long-distance relationship. My mom even gave up her own goals to travel with my dad to support him.
Yeah, I’m not interested in dating someone I can’t go to bed with each night or have to get off by hooking up over video conferencing. The cards are stacked against us, and my gut tells me to run.
It’s what I do best—avoid putting myself in situations that are doomed to fail. Avoid giving my heart to someone for them to just leave me, too. Not. Doing. That.
He sleeps so peacefully that I go closer just to admire him once more. Is he worth trying for, though? Was he disappointed with the pact because he considered us worth more than one night? With the light from the bathroom shining a path to the bed, I give him a kiss on the head and then bend to press my lips to his one last time.
My heart is racing, and my mind is in conflict. I grab the pad of paper and pen with the hotel logo from the nightstand and scribble my number quickly on it. Folding it in half and then in half again, I move to his shirt and tuck it in the front pocket.
I may have made a rash decision with the pact, but I’ve given him a way out. I don’t know if he’ll take it, but I need to believe that what is meant to happen will in the end.
New York - Four and a half years later . . .
“I don’t understand?”
We had four great days. I was starting to get used to having Harrison around. And then California called, and he was right back on a plane. I miss his kisses all over my body and seeing his sleepy face in the morning. Although I like that we’re now texting, I prefer the old-fashioned way of communicating with him—face-to-face.
Five days apart from each other and we’ve resorted to him miming a fork and bringing it his mouth over live video. He says, “It’s food that’s served to you.”
I start to laugh. Fine. I’m busted. I still find him not only amusing, but quite endearing in his efforts to entertain me. “I know what dinner is, Harrison, but I’m lost on the date part.”
“Ohhh. That’s easy. It’s when someone, aka the date, comes to your building and picks you up to take you out for food, drinks, sex, whatever you want.”
I roll my eyes, and then start laughing. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“I actually do know that. One of my nannies used to call me irredeemable to my face and then would tell my mother what a delightful child I was.”
Huh? “Cute story . . . I guess.” Holding my finger up, I add, “You’re also frustrating.”
“Again, not the first one to call me that. But you mean it in an utterly adorable way, right? Not like this mean nanny I had at five used to call me?”
Staring at him, I say, “Yeah, totally. How many nannies did you go through?”
He lies in bed, exposing those manly hairs on his chest—maintained, but still enough for me to run my fingers over. He woke up just to spend time with me. I’m glad he did. It just makes my heart ache a little to know this might be it for the day.
With a chuckle, he replies, “A few, but who’s counting?”
“Your mom most likely.” I giggle. Wiping the mascara wand on the bottle, I say, “I just don’t understand why we can’t order in when you get back? I like being home with you and the last option you mentioned.” Leaning forward, I open my mouth as I put on mascara like I’m performing surgery—meticulous to coating each lash individually.
“The sex? You like the sex, Tate. That’s good to hear because I can’t wait to be with you again.”
“I just miss spending time with you.”
“That’s music to my ears, but we’ve gone from zero to sixty in a matter of two weeks at best. I’m not complaining, but I feel like I’ve failed you in some ways.”
“You haven’t.”
“Let me take you out on a date.” I hold up the phone to see his face and smile when I do. He’s lying on his side, appearing ready to fall asleep again.
Can I really deny him something he wants so badly? “If it means that much to you—”
“It does.”
“Okay,” I reply, kissing the screen and wishing it was really him. I move back into the bedroom to retrieve my shoes. “What should I wear?”
“Something that makes you feel pretty.”
“How about something that you think is pretty on me?” I waggle my eyebrows at the phone.
“No. I think you’re gorgeous with nothing on or dressed for a party and every way in between. So wear what makes you feel your best because you’re beautiful to me.”
Swooning was something I thought only happened in fairy tales, the movies, or romance novels but never to me. Yet here I am, about to fall backward on the mattress needing a moment to recover from his charm. “You make it hard to go to work.”
“You make it hard.”
“Only a couple of times last night,” I say, giving him a wink.
Holding the phone to his mouth, he kisses me.
I hope we always start our day together, whether he’s here or there.
We could, whispers a voice in the back of my head.
This could be my life.
All I have to do is not screw it up.
He asks, “How’s six thirty tomorrow night?”
Just take it.
“That works.” I can tell he’s tired. New York being three hours ahead gives me the advantage. “I think you’re wonderful.”
“Oh yeah?” He licks his lips, and it’s seriously distracting. “What happened to incorrigible and frustrating?”
“I think I was seeing everything through the wrong lens.”
“And now you’re not?”
“No. I see clearly.”
He lands a peck on the phone, and says, “Good.” Though he could have said about time as easily. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tate. Have a great day.”
“I’ll see you then. I can’t wait.”
Giving in to the good things in life isn’t so difficult, after all. I can find happiness. It just took finding the right person to make me see what’s right in front of me.
The next day
“Look, Mr. Daly. As I appreciate the compliments regarding my job, we will need to keep our relationship professional and focused on your anniversary gift for Mrs. Daly, or we’ll need to part ways. How would you like to proceed?”
I shouldn’t have given him an option. I could have walked away when his hand landed on mine. Natalie would have backed me. Doesn’t matter how big a client he is.
But taking a breath, I know I have done everything that I should by not only calling him out on reprehensible behavior but also giving him a second chance not to be an asshole.
He slides his hand back to his side of the table, his gaze going to the printout in front of him, next to the scraped clean plate of pasta. “I think Mrs. Daly will like the ring.”
I smile. “Excellent choice. Your card will be charged, and I’ll make sure it’s on the yacht by noon on the day of your anniversary. I’ve already handled the catering per your requests, so I think we’re all set. Do you have any questions?”
“How is a pretty girl like you still single?”
Standing up, I grab my purse, sliding it down to the nook of my elbow. I pick up my pad and pen and tuck them into my bag. Resting my hand on the table, I lean forward, and say, “Because most men can’t handle my bite.”
I walk away from the table, not shaking like I would have done two years ago. My voice didn’t tremble. I walk out of the restaurant feeling proud, proud of the career I’ve built, and that I stood up for myself.
Outside, I take a deep breath, letting the warm summer air wash over me. But then I get going because I don’t want to sweat.
When I get back to the office, I give Natalie a play-by-play, but when she has to leave early for an appointment, I get back to work. I used to have to network to get new clients. Now I just have to check my email.
After ordering the ring for Mrs. Daly, I hang up with the jeweler and check my phone just in case I’ve missed anything. I notice the little monthly star highlighting my menstrual app. That’s odd. I could have sworn my period isn’t due for another day or two.
I double-click it to clear it and start going through the extensive list of emails. If I don’t, I’ll never get out of here, and I don’t want to be late, not tonight.
Renee comes in, and asks, “Working late?”
Late? I glance at my phone. “Oh shit.” I jump up, scrambling to toss everything in my bag. “I am late.”
“For?”
“A date.”
“A date?” she asks, her interest piqued as she leans against the door. “Do tell . . .”
I glance up, but I’m not looking to spill the beans. She says, “Wow, he must be special to make you smile like that. My, my, Tatum.”
I giggle, letting it out like a little schoolgirl. “He is.” I grab my phone and toss it in my bag just as I reach her. “He’s special, all right.” I pass her, and as she trails me toward the elevators, I add, “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“My lips are sealed.”
After we part ways, I hurry. I know that app is probably unreliable, or I forgot to enter something correctly, but I had wanted to stop at a pharmacy to grab a pregnancy test to put that niggling in my stomach to rest. I’m undecided if I actually need one, but feel I should have one handy if I get worried again or . . . just in case. It’s good to have one or two on hand. If I catch a cab, by the time I get home, I’ll have just enough time to change clothes.
I’m kicking my shoes off as soon as I enter the apartment, my bag dropped by the door. My dress is unzipped in the back by the time I reach the bedroom and I’m naked when I’m standing in front of my lingerie drawer. I pull the teddy Harrison bought me and slip it on. A little black dress over it may not be original, but it’s a classic for a reason.
T-minus ten minutes.
I have a date, and with a man I thought I hated. Life sure does throw some curveballs. I squeal with giddiness, running into the bathroom, but my stomach clenches, causing me to stop. Resting my hand on the doorframe, I pause as the taste of bile coats my throat.
I rush to the toilet and lift the lid. The thought of throwing up messes with my head, and I’m not sure if that’s making me sick or . . . Surely not . . .
Paranoia sets in, ready to ruin my happiness.
I’m not pregnant. Don’t be ridiculous, Tatum.
I pad through the apartment back to the front door to pull my phone from my bag and check my period app again. That icon a shining star as if that can make up for the monthly pain women have to endure. I scroll down the page, and yesterday’s date is highlighted as the first day of my period.
That can’t be.
With the phone in hand, I run to find the calendar I keep in the kitchen. I track the dates by the foods I eat each day, so I don’t have to wonder why I’m suddenly five pounds heavier. I flip to last month and then compare on the app.
My breath stops hard in my chest just as a text pops onto the screen.
Harrison: I got here early because I can’t wait to see you. No hurry, but I’m parked out front in the black car when you’re ready.
My heart slides into my throat like a lump I can’t swallow down.
I’ve met the sweetest man I’ve ever known and now . . . well, I don’t know what now. I need to take a test and put this worry of the unknown behind me.
The unknown. I sigh.
My old familiar enemy. I’m never allowed too much happiness.
I was embracing the unknown not long ago, as long as I was in it with him.
Holding tight to the good memories, I finish getting dressed and then head downstairs in a slight daze.
The doorman opens the door, and there he is—the best sight in the world. I could cry if I let my emotions continue to get the better of me. I won’t, though. Seeing him in a dark suit and tie against the backdrop of a white shirt, Harrison is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. His dark blond hair layered on top hangs just over his forehead. It’s shorter than when I met him, but still so California that I can’t help but want to run my fingers through it. He even looks tanner. I guess it’s from all that surfing he said he did.
“You’re breathtaking,” he says, coming toward me with a bouquet of sad-looking bent and broken orange poppies, actually sounding out of breath. Oh, my sweet man.
He hands them to me and then kisses me on the cheek. He’s also a wise man to know not to mess up a woman’s lipstick unless she wants you to. But it’s been a week. I want him to.
Throwing my arms around him, we embrace like we mean it. “I missed you so much,” I say.
“I missed you more than you’ll ever know.” With my head tucked against him, I close my eyes and savor his words and the feel of him again. He kisses the top of my head, and when I finally look up, he says, “Hi,” like we’re not standing in the middle of New York City, but alone in the apartment just th
e two of us.
“Hi.” Screw it. I mess up my lipstick and kiss him. “Thank you. These are beautiful.”
“They’re poppies. I carried them on the flight. They don’t last long once cut.”
And my knees weaken from the sweetness. Holding the bouquet to my nose, I say, “They’re perfect. My doorman can deliver them to the apartment.” We drop them off and then head for the car. When I dip to get inside the car, the corner store catches my eyes, and I step back out again. Standing against him, I place my hands on his chest. “Do you mind if I pop into the store real fast?”
He glances behind him and then turns back. “I can run and get it for you.”
“No,” I reply, moving around him. Walking backward, I encourage him into the car. “I’ll be quick.”
“I’ll be here.” His smile could knock a woman on her ass if she’s not careful. If I weren’t on a mission, I’d be running into his arms and jumping that hunk of a man.
Not wanting to keep him waiting. I grab a two-pack of tests, avoiding the cashier’s eyes. After I pay, I rip the box open and dispose of it and then tuck the tests safely inside my clutch to hide. No sense in ruining our reunion by worrying him.
21
Tatum
Silverware clangs.
Crystal glasses chime in celebratory toasts.
Dinner plates are delivered full and then swiftly cleared after dinner.
Voices fill the space, but they’re all indistinguishable in hushed tones. Just white noise in the chaotic restaurant.
Except one.
One breaks through my thoughts.
“Tate?”
My gaze returns to my dinner date, the dashing Mr. Decker. “Yeah?”
“You seem lost in thought. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Your mind is blank?” He smiles, so it’s easy to pick up on his joke despite the steadiness of his tone.
My cheeks heat, slightly embarrassed by my mental absence, and I laugh lightly. “No. I was just people watching.”
