“Yes, he does,” I agreed.
I gave her a quick kiss then went to look for Hallen.
He was standing in the bedroom staring at his suitcase when I found him.
I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and leaned my head against his back.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry. That was a shitty way to find out. Honestly, I … on top of everything … I’m sorry.”
“Laura, I’ll just go if you don’t want me here. You don’t have to feel like you owe me anything. Things have changed—I get that.”
My heart clenched painfully.
“I do want you here,” I choked out.
He turned around so we were facing each other.
“Then can we please do this together?” he whispered. “Stop shutting me out.”
I nodded, and he rested his forehead against mine.
Dinner was a muted affair. Maggie allowed Hallen to make us omelets with salad, and we both watched him moving around the kitchen with calm competence. I hadn’t realized he could cook. Something else I’d discovered about him.
Maggie was making an effort, although we could both see that Hallen was distracted and less responsive than usual. I felt guilty for that, knowing I’d really thrown him for a loop by telling him about the funeral service the way I had.
“Uh, is it still okay if Jinny and Carla come over tomorrow?” Maggie asked. “They really want to see you.”
I looked up, puzzled by her questioning tone.
“It’s just that you haven’t wanted to see anyone lately,” she reminded me.
I saw Hallen glance across.
“Of course they’re welcome,” I answered, automatically.
“Oh, good!” smiled Maggie, happily. “They’re really looking forward to hanging out by the pool—as well as seeing you.” She hesitated, “And they can meet Hallen.”
We both stared at her in surprise.
“Yeah, yeah, all right,” she muttered, embarrassed.
I smiled and winked at her, and was relieved to see Hallen’s frozen expression begin to thaw.
After we’d eaten, Maggie insisted on cleaning up, so Hallen and I headed for the living room. I sat down on the sofa and looked up at him.
“Sit with me?”
He smiled softly and sat at one corner so I could stretch out with my head on his chest.
I switched the TV channel to something that required no brain power, and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers gently stroking my arms, and the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
Maggie did a double take when she saw us, but didn’t comment and headed to her room soon after.
When I felt myself drifting asleep, I sat up with a groan.
Hallen took my hand as we made our way up the stairs, and once again I lay next to his warm body, slipping into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning I woke up before Hallen. The previous day he’d presented me with a cup of weak tea as I struggled to crack an eyelid, but now I had the pleasure of seeing him sleeping next to me.
He looked so peaceful, the dreadful weight of the last two days lifted for now. Young, too. I wondered how many more days I’d have, waking up with him like this. We hadn’t tried to define our relationship and I wasn’t sure how to approach that conversation. Assuming we had a relationship at all. Maybe he felt the same, because we were tiptoeing around each other, trying to avoid the emotional minefields that surrounded us. If I could just get through the next week, I thought I might be strong enough to try and make sense of it all.
I stretched out cautiously. My abdominal muscles complained, but I was encouraged that they were less painful than they had been. With movement came the realization that I needed to use the bathroom urgently—ooh—very urgently.
As soon as I struggled to the side of the bed, I felt Hallen’s hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, just … got to … you know.”
Oh, this was so embarrassing.
He was out of bed and standing in front of me in a matter of seconds, gently helping me to stand. Oh, no no no no nooooo! Why did he have to do that? Trapped in a pair of snug-fitting boxer briefs, he was sporting some very imposing morning glory. And because he was standing and I was sitting, it was right in my darn face!
My cheeks were burning, and I’m pretty sure this was from sheer embarrassment and not another of the hot flashes I was suffering now that I was going through a surgically-induced menopause.
Why did I have to have the hottest man in the world helping me from my bed when I didn’t want sex, couldn’t have sex, and was obsessed with all the other women that he’d ever had sex with?
I was losing it.
He laid a cool hand on my forehead, then brushed his fingertips across my cheeks.
“You’re burning up, Laura. I think you might have a fever?”
“I’m fine!” I snapped, before shuffling to the bathroom and locking the door.
I squinted as I looked in the mirror.
Flaming cheeks. Check.
Bird’s nest hair. Check.
Luggage racks under the eyes. Check.
Splotchy, unattractive complexion. Check.
Oh goody: four out of four.
He’d pulled on his running shorts and a fresh t-shirt by the time I shuffled out again.
“Are you still hot?” he asked, anxiously.
“Not as hot as you,” I mumbled, inaudibly. Then louder, “I splashed some cold water on my face. I’m fine. Just … a hot flash.”
“Oh,” he said, sympathy and understanding evident in his voice. He cleared his throat. “You’ll be okay if I go for a run now?”
I nodded quickly. “Sure, I’ll see you later.”
He smiled and dropped a quick kiss onto my hair before jogging down the stairs.
I groaned as I watched his tight ass running down the driveway.
Maggie was sitting at the kitchen table moodily stirring a spoon in her bowl of cereal.
“Is he always like that in the morning?” she asked, grumpily.
“Like what?”
“Mr. Health and Fitness.”
“Um…” I didn’t think I wanted to tell my daughter that when we’d been dating, I’d taken the place of his morning run, and we had an hour of rousing sex before breakfast. Those days were long gone. “Um,” I said again, “I guess.”
“Well, it’s annoying,” she said.
I couldn’t agree more.
I’d just stepped out of the shower and pulled on a set of comfortable if boring under-garments when Hallen arrived back, shirtless, sweaty, and unfairly gorgeous.
He frowned when he saw me.
With horror, I realized his eyes were fixed on the small but vivid and newly healed wounds across the lower half of my stomach.
“Stop staring!” I yelled at him, covering the angry scars with my hands.
He grabbed my wrists, pulling them away.
“Don’t do that,” he said, softly.
Then he sank to his knees and pressed the gentlest of kisses against my stomach.
“Don’t hide from me, Laura.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and my hands fluttered to his damp hair.
Eventually he rose from his knees and sat on the bed, patting it so I’d sit with him.
“I was looking up some things online,” he said. “As well as walking, it says that gentle swimming would be good for your recovery, providing the wound has healed—which it has. So maybe we could use your pool today? And I spoke to a guy at my gym—he can set you up with a personal trainer—Joanna. She’s qualified to help people who’ve had abdominal surgery. I said I’d speak to you, but she’s got a slot free next month.” His enthusiasm ebbed away with my continuing silence. “If you’d like that?”
“Oh, thank you … that sounds … great.” I hated gyms—and I wanted to smack the shit out of him for getting me a personal trainer.
I knew I was supposed to start a gentle gym routine six weeks after s
urgery, but it was still irritating that he’d gone ahead and arranged this without talking to me first. I just couldn’t bring myself to disappoint him when he looked at me like that.
“Okay,” he said, sounding relieved. “I’ll set it up.” He eyed my conservative bra and panties. “So you’ll put on your swimsuit today?”
“Um, no. Not today. Maggie’s friends are coming. I don’t want them to see…”
My hands waved in front of my body but I couldn’t say the words.
“You don’t have a one-piece?”
I shook my head, exhausted by his endless questions, even if they did come from a good place in his lovely soul.
“Would you go in the pool if you had one?”
“I guess…”
He smiled. “Great. I’ll just take a quick shower and I’ll go get you one.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do,” he said, toeing off his sneakers. As he walked into the bathroom he called out, “I could stop at Yohana and pick up some sushi for lunch?”
I sighed. He was such a ball of energy.
“That would be great.”
Carla and Jinny arrived just after 11AM, and they’d brought two friends with them—girls I didn’t know but whom Maggie was obviously friendly with. I was a little irritated to find a larger group than I’d expected, especially as I was still feeling fragile. But hearing their youthful exuberance, I was soon smiling.
Maggie shepherded us out to the pool, and carried out a tray of fresh lemonade that she’d made earlier.
My heart sank when I saw her friends lying under the sun umbrellas, their perfect teenage flesh smooth and unblemished.
I’d been like that once. It was a long time ago.
I texted Hallen to bring extra food, and with a doleful air took one of the vacant loungers at the far side of the pool.
After the obligatory five minutes of awkward enquiries about my health, I was relieved when the conversation moved on—I think we all were. Besides, it was pleasant listening to the girls’ chatter about college life: who was hot and who was not; which professors were dull enough to make watching paint drying seem interesting; who had the toughest classes.
I heard Hallen’s car crunch up the gravel driveway, and hoped he’d gotten my message about bringing extra food.
“Did you invite someone else?” Cassy asked, languidly peering over the top of her Ray Bans.
“Oh, that’s probably Mom’s boyfriend,” Maggie said, blandly.
I looked across at her and we shared a smile.
The girls weren’t fazed, or the least bit interested—until they saw him. The lazy conversation ground to a complete halt. I couldn’t blame them; he looked delicious in old jeans and plain white t-shirt.
“Hi Hallen,” smirked Maggie.
Despite the thawing of relations between them, he looked surprised that she’d spoken to him.
“Hey, Maggie. I brought sushi for everyone—I hope that’s okay.” Then he leaned down to kiss my cheek, a slow, lingering kiss that had me smiling up at him. “I got your message, love,” he said quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
I could hear hearts breaking all around the pool. I didn’t know whether to feel smug or worried.
Maggie seemed eager to stir the pot because she said, “We’re all just hanging out here, Hallen. Why don’t you join us?”
His eyebrows shot up.
“Sure, why not.” Then he turned back to me and smiled. “I’ve bought you a new swimsuit. Want to come try it on?”
I felt my cheeks go pink—no doubt the combination of having Hallen so close and his suggestion that I bare some of my flesh in front of him.
I nodded quickly and let him help me out of the lounger.
I insisted on changing in the bathroom, and he didn’t argue. I pulled open the very fancy bag that he gave me, and found a beautiful, caramel colored swimsuit inside. It was strapless, with a cut-out lattice pattern across the waist. It was sexy but modest—and it would cover up my scars.
I burst into tears.
Slumping down onto the toilet, clutching my new swimsuit, I began to sob.
Hallen knocked on the door, and when I didn’t answer, he walked in anyway.
He didn’t ask me what was wrong, he just held me.
I was a wreck. The doctors had told me to expect it. But this … this overwhelming flood of intense emotion chewed me up and spat me out several times a day. A word too harsh, too kind, too loving—anything could set me off. Now I was sitting in my bathroom crying over a damn swimsuit.
After a few minutes, the tears subsided and he kissed my puffy eyelids.
“You don’t have to wear it, Laura, but I know you’ll look beautiful in it.”
“Thank you,” I sniffed.
“Will you try it for me?”
I wiped my nose on the back of my hand, and couldn’t even blush when he passed me a tissue.
“I look a mess.”
“You’re my hot mess,” he said, a smile behind his words.
I shooed him out of the bathroom and tried on the swimsuit. It was perfect, giving me a more impressive cleavage than I was used to, and firming up my sagging stomach. Even the color was perfect, making my skin seem more sun-kissed than sallow.
If only I could stop myself from wondering how and when he’d gotten so good at picking out women’s clothes.
Feeling slightly less wretched, I pulled on a thin robe and made my way downstairs again. Hallen was standing in the kitchen, barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark blue swim shorts. The muscles in his back stretched and rippled as he moved around the kitchen, laying out the food he’d bought. As he turned, his chest and stomach were even more impressive. I wondered if I should have a paramedic on standby because there was only so much a woman could take.
“Feeling better?” he asked, oblivious to the storm he was currently causing with my confused hormones.
“I’m fine,” I lied, and bent down to pick up a stack of plates.
“Laura!” he barked, causing me to jump. “You’re not allowed to carry anything!”
“I can carry a few plates,” I protested.
“Not on my watch,” he growled.
“Oh, please! You’ve organized a personal trainer for me!”
“That’s completely different. It’s not for another month and you’ll be supervised by someone who knows what they’re doing. Now stop arguing, woman, and go sit down!”
Wow, he was serious. I hadn’t met bossy Hallen before. It was kinda hot.
Oh, who was I kidding? Sexy Hallen, sulky Hallen, angry Hallen, protective Hallen—all his multiple personalities raised my inner temperature to boiling point.
Not that it was doing me any good right now.
Despondent, I shuffled out to the pool area and eased myself back onto the lounger.
And then I wondered why I’d never met bossy Hallen before. Was it because I’d only ever seen him in ‘work’ mode? I didn’t like that thought—not one bit.
The girls were soaking up the midday sun, the conversation more desultory. It stopped altogether when Hallen walked out like a waiter, with a huge tray of food balanced on one hand and plates in the other.
Six sets of eyes swung to him, and I think the raised levels of estrogen were affecting the air pressure, because I swear everyone stopped breathing. Even Maggie was surreptitiously checking him out.
Good to know that even my daughter wasn’t immune to my boyfriend’s serious charms. I sat up a little straighter. Maggie had called Hallen my ‘boyfriend’ earlier, and it hadn’t even registered. It did now—because the words were racing around in my head, too.
I realized I needed to find out sooner rather than later if he still felt the same, or if the thoughts and hopes that he’d expressed in his long letter were all past tense.
I gazed at him as he laid out the plates and returned with napkins and chopsticks. Every set of eyes followed, worshipping his beautiful face a
nd perfect body—composing poetry, for all I knew. He ignored all their stares, although he must have been aware of them.
I could see why he’d been so successful as an escort—charisma, the x-factor, call it whatever you like. He had it.
And then he looked up and smiled at me.
“Hungry, love?”
‘Love.’ It was that word again. I didn’t know if it was a Canadian thing or a Newfoundlander thing or a Hallen thing, but I liked it a lot.
He filled two plates and sat down next to me.
“Hi, I’m Cassy by the way,” said one of Maggie’s friends.
“Nice to meet you, Cassy,” he said, calmly.
“And I’m Angel.”
Of course she is, I thought waspishly.
Once all the girls had introduced themselves, we were allowed to eat.
“Wow, you really carried that huge tray like a professional!” giggled Angel. “I’m sure I’d have dropped it.”
Hallen just smiled, and I wondered if he hadn’t caught on to her callow attempts at flirtation. “Misspent youth waiting tables every vacation through high school,” he said.
“What do you do now?” she purred.
“Hallen’s an artist,” Maggie said, raising her eyebrows at her friend.
A collective sigh went around the pool. Yup, he’d just reached a score of a perfect 10. Probably about 11 by now.
“Will you draw me?”
I had to give it to Angel—she was quicker on her feet than her friends.
“Sure,” he said, easily. “If you don’t mind me finishing my lunch first.” Then he looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
Oh, so not oblivious—just indifferent to her, indifferent to all of them.
My smile, uncertain to start with, grew a little warmer.
After we’d eaten and Maggie had cleared up, Hallen sat with his sketchbook on his knee and dutifully produced a pencil portrait of each of the girls.
They were so darn good. Not only were they accurate likenesses, but he’d also caught something of the essence of each of them: Angel’s flirty, sparkly eyes; Cassy’s directness; Jinny’s humor; Carla’s serenity.
I could tell they were surprised by just how good they were, but it was the drawing of Maggie that took my breath away. In fact it was a dual portrait—and in it the two of us were sharing a smile.
At Your Beck & Call Page 44
