Seducing His Heart

by Jean C. Joachim

  “I guess it’s easier to move on if I didn’t think she was in love with me.”

  “Bingo.”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  Silence.

  “She’s wonderful.”

  “Do you love her?” The doctor crossed his legs.

  “Guess I do.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Okay, okay. Yeah. I do.” Whit crossed his legs.

  “Still not gonna commit?”

  “Can’t. I’m on my way. I have to do this. She’s in love with me, but she won’t speak to me. Exactly what I expected. Love doesn’t mean anything. A woman’ll still run out on you, even if she loves you. Bess is a perfect example.”

  Dr. Sumner uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “Wait a minute. Who ran out on who?”

  Whit cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “You ran out on her, Whit. At least be honest with yourself. You told her you were leaving. She didn’t leave you. You thrust her aside.”

  “I did?” He paused. “Guess I did.”

  “And she’s still willing to furnish the house for you?”

  “Said a deal’s a deal. But she won’t spend a weekend there with me.”

  “Can you blame her? Think of how she must have felt. Furnishing that house with the idea she’d live there with you as husband and wife.”

  “Thanks for making it worse, doc.” Whit looked down at his hands.

  “I’m not doing anything. I’m only holding up a mirror so you can see the truth. If you don’t like what you see, it’s because of what you’ve done. Your behavior. Has nothing to do with me.”

  “I don’t like what I see. I’ve broken her heart, and I never meant to. Now, she’s going to break mine.”

  “If you don’t like what you see, change the picture.”

  “You mean look at something else?”

  “No, do something different with your life. It’s not too late to make amends.”

  “She’s not speaking to me.”

  “Smart man like you can find a way around that. You don’t have to get your heart broken.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What did you do to win her?”

  “I don’t know. Be myself?”

  “That works for me. Don’t give up, Whit. This woman seems like a keeper.”

  “That’s what I wanted. I wanted her to wait for me.”

  “Did you ask her to?”

  “Sort of. I assumed…”

  “Ah, ah, big mistake. Never assume. Communicate.”

  “I don’t know if I’m going to like it there. I want her here for me when I get back. I won’t be staying there forever.”

  “When you first decided to go, it was to be a permanent change.”

  “Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “I don’t know. Bess? The stone house?”

  “Only you have the answer to that question, Whit.”

  “Another one…a question you won’t answer.” He shifted in his seat.

  “I don’t have the answer. The answer’s in here.” The doctor gestured toward his chest.

  “I have the answer?”

  “That’s right. To both questions.”

  “Of course, you’re right.”

  “You’ll figure it out, Whit. I have confidence in you.”

  “That makes one of us. Geez, I’ve fucked up everything. So sure I had all the answers. Now the only thing I’m sure of is that I don’t have any answers at all.”

  “That’s the first step toward finding happiness,” the doctor said.

  “It’s a helluva first step.”

  The doctor glanced at the clock. “Time’s up for today.”

  Whit stood up. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “You have my number if you need me.”

  “I’m a little uncertain about leaving you, doc.”

  “You’re ready. Ready for the next step.”

  “Whatever the hell that is?”

  “Right. You’ll figure it out. You’re on the right path.”

  Whit stuck his hand out, and the doctor shook it.

  “We can continue when you return to the States.”

  “Okay. That’s good. You’re sure I’m ready?”

  “Sink or swim. It’s time.”

  Whit left, choosing to walk home in the cold to think. The idea that Bess might have been expecting a marriage proposal made him cringe. Why didn’t I see that? How can I be such a fucking idiot? The memory of banging on her door, demanding an explanation, shamed him. She must have felt humiliated.

  Bess, if ever I was going to propose to someone, it would be you. Will she ever forgive me? Will she ever speak to me again? His thoughts hung heavy on his heart, pushing out excitement about his adventure in Asia.

  * * * *

  Bess found out from Crash that Whit planned to leave on a Monday. Perfect. The Dinner Club will be here to help me. She wanted to talk to him. To kiss him goodbye, to find out why he didn’t want to marry her, why he chose to go away instead. But she chickened out. How do you ask a man why he won’t marry you and have any self-respect left? Because he doesn’t love me. I’ve gotta face that, like it or not.

  She cuddled on the sofa with Dumpling and Homer. The wind rattled the panes of glass in her windows. She pulled the afghan Rory had made for her tighter around her legs. Thursday was Thanksgiving, and she dreaded the holiday. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. She’d hoped to make a spectacular Thanksgiving dinner for Whit and her friends in the stone house, but now that wouldn’t happen.

  There were a ton of chores awaiting her in the place. Walls to be done, rugs, linens, and dishes to be purchased. She’d put on music and paint on Thanksgiving, making the house almost ready for Christmas. Christmas without Whit. The idea brought tears to her eyes. I’m going to have Christmas there, Whit or no Whit.

  Crash was to buzz her when the car arrived for Whit. She pushed the blanket off her legs and paced. According to the clock, it was due in ten minutes. She leashed Homer so he could give Whit a farewell lick. Three buzzes gave her the signal, and she headed for the elevator.

  In the lobby, Crash was loading luggage in the trunk. Bess stood inside, by the small space heater. Whit rushed by, not seeing her. Homer’s bark drew his attention.

  “Bess!”

  “I thought you’d like to say goodbye to Homer.”

  He bent down to pet the pug. “I’m going to miss you, Homes. You’ll be in good hands ’til I get back.” He turned toward Bess. “I’d like to say goodbye to you.”

  She gasped.

  “Wait! Wait. That didn’t come out right. I don’t want to say goodbye, maybe farewell for now. Damn it, I want to kiss you.” He took her by surprise, pulling her close for a passionate kiss.

  Homer jumped on Whit’s leg, but it didn’t break them up. The softness of his lips and the insistence of his tongue lured her. She melted against him, open and yearning for more. She snaked her arms around his waist, tightening her grip.

  “S’cuse me,” Crash said.

  The lovers parted.

  “Sorry. Sorry.”

  “It’s all packed up, Mr. Bass.”

  “Fine, thanks, Crash.” He slipped the doorman a twenty-dollar bill.

  Whit turned his gaze to her, his eyes melancholy. “There’s so much I want to say to you.”

  She stared at him.

  “Please say you’ll write to me.” He combed her hair back from her face with his fingers.

  “Email?”

  “Perfect.” He bent down to pet Homer again. The pug licked his face. “Hey, buddy. Hang on, okay? Be good to Dumpling. Don’t steal her bones. Take care of Bess.” He scratched the dog behind the ears then straightened. “Can I call you?”

  She gave one nod. Tears choked her. He’s leaving, really leaving, and I never told him how I felt. Never asked him to stay. I shut him out and hid away. Stupid, stupid girl.

  He stepped clos
er and hugged her. “You mean…everything to me,” he whispered. Then, he let go and was out of the building, in the limousine, and on his way. Bess ran to the curb. Tears poured down her face. The car stopped at the light. Whit turned around to look at her. He put his palm on the glass. She raised her hand.

  Then, the light changed, and the vehicle got lost in the uptown traffic on Central Park West. Bess was shivering in the wind on the Avenue. So was Homer. They returned to her apartment. She mixed up hot chocolate and sat by the window. Another gray, November day. The leaves were almost gone on the trees in the park. People starting their Thanksgiving holidays drove past, scurrying along to their families.

  Four o’clock. Soon, it would be dark. Will I forget him? Will he email me? Call me? If I meant everything to him, why did he leave me? I have the keys to his house, so I can see him again, if I want to. Will I meet someone else? No one can compare to Whitfield Bass.

  Exhausted, Bess fell asleep on the sofa, with a pug cuddled up to her at each end. The buzz from the lobby at six o’clock woke her. The dogs jumped up, barking, and raced to the door. In a few minutes, there was a scratching. Bess pushed to her feet, rubbing her eyes. “Coming .”

  It burst open before she got there. Three women, all talking at once, and five dogs barking and wiggling, blew into the room like a tornado. Bess laughed in spite of her headache.

  “Chinese tonight.” Miranda opened a brown paper bag.

  “Did Whit leave?” Brooke asked.

  Bess nodded, grabbing a bottle of Ibuprofen from the cabinet. The room grew silent. Even the dogs.

  Rory walked over to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  * * * *

  Bess packed up the pugs and drove out to Rye on Tuesday. No sense moping around the city when there’s work to do. She set out beds for the dogs then trekked into Port Chester to a huge hardware store. She loaded up the car with painting supplies, wallpaper, and a few lamps and kitchen tools.

  She had created a playlist before going to bed the night before. Got to get started while it’s still light outside. She outlined with blue tape, opened the primer, and rolled it on the wall. She hoped to cover the dirty color that had been there for years.

  Unable to wait until morning, Bess applied the soft, creamy white paint to the living room wall after the primer dried. The clean, bright warmth of the color brought the room to life. Stubbornly determined to have the house in shape for Christmas, Bess worked on. By dinnertime, all the living room walls had been painted.

  She ate leftovers from home, fed the dogs, and blue-taped the walls of the little room on the first floor. This would make a good office for Whit. By ten o’clock, she was ready for sleep. One final walk along the windy beach with the pugs, and they all settled into the big bed for the night. Bess opened her computer, wondering if she had an email from Whit. Sure enough. There it was.

  Flight delays. Language barriers. Lousy food. Wish I’d stayed home. Missing you already. What are you up to?

  Whit

  She replied—

  Working on the house. Will be painting on Thanksgiving. Can you even get turkey in Hong Kong? Dogs fine. All is well.

  Bess

  Keep it light. Don’t let him know how much he hurt you. Start to disengage. I’ve got to save myself.

  Bess found that Thanksgiving Day was like any other day if you spent it listening to music, painting and putting up wallpaper. By Friday, the entire downstairs had a fresh coat and the powder room was complete. The soft cream of the living room and dining room gave way to a soothing, light bluish green in the study. The kitchen was a bright coral, with a small table, in a bright white that contrasted with the colorful walls.

  The dark entryway was the cream color, but one shade warmer.

  By the end of the weekend, the upstairs was finished, too. The master bedroom was a subtle, slightly grayish blue with silver trim. The other bedrooms were bright yellow with sky blue trim and soft taupe with white trim.

  The linens for the queen bed were silver and white stripes. Accent pillows in light pink and rose brought warmth to the room. Bess was pleased with her work. By Sunday, she was ready to return to the city and get back to cooking for television.

  Each weekend, Bess schlepped Dumpling and Homer to Rye. Soon the house was filled with pine furniture in simple, Early American lines. Cushions, pillows, and artwork kept the rooms warm and inviting. Lighting was soft, but efficient, from floor and table lamps. The wood fragrance from the furnishings and the logs by the fireplace freshened the air.

  Bess shopped every antique store in New York City for candlesticks. She placed them on the dining room table, the mantle, on the stair risers, on the dressers in the master bedroom. She bought electric candles as well and placed one in each window. She left them lit when she returned to her city life. Those candles, shining in the windows when she returned, beckoned her, welcomed her into the beautiful cozy home she created.

  The house was comfortable, inviting, cheerful and restful—everything she’d always wanted. She tried not to think about turning it over to Whit when he came back, if he did. She created a living space she loved and went out there at every opportunity.

  Every night as she crawled into bed exhausted and in the company of only Dumpling and Homer, she’d check her email. There was always one from Whit. He’d complain about some inconvenience or tell her about something beautiful. He described the people he was dealing with and the places he’d travel.

  She enjoyed his correspondence. As much as she wanted to break away, she opened each message with happy anticipation. The women in the Dinner Club fixed her up with a blind date from time to time. She’d mention these to Whit to tease him, and he always rose to the bait, finding some fault with each man. Bess wanted to like someone else more than Whit, but never did.

  As Christmas approached, Bess planned a party for the Dinner Club at the stone house. She’d drive them out, have everyone stay over, and return them to the city the next day.

  “A Christmas sleepover!” Miranda said.

  “Let’s do a Secret Santa,” Brooke said.

  They piled into Whit’s car, cramming the pugs in with them, and headed out. The air was crisp and clear. No snow in the forecast. Once they settled in, the women took the dogs for a romp on the deserted beach. The canines stuck their noses in the sand, chased each other and barked at the occasional winter seagull.

  Bess needed the gathering of her friends. She hadn’t had an email from Whit in two weeks. Fear that the relationship was over—perhaps he’d met someone else—made her shiver at night. She didn’t admit anything to her friends, not wanting to ruin their holidays.

  After the fresh air, the ladies divided up tasks. Bess manned the kitchen, Brooke made a fire, Miranda set the table, and Rory tended bar.

  The pugs were exhausted. After their dinner, each found a cozy place and curled up to sleep. The women sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. They shared a bottle of Moscato.

  “I have a confession,” Bess began. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She glanced at her friends, who waited for her to go on. “It’s been weeks since I got an email from Whit.”

  “Weeks? How many?” Brooke asked.

  “Two. At first, it was an email every night. Then, nothing.”

  The silence was interrupted only by the crack of a twig in the fire.

  “There could be a thousand explanations,” Rory said.

  “Or only one. It’s over. This is my first and last Christmas in this wonderful house.”

  “I love it here,” Miranda said. “I didn’t see it before you refurbished it, but you’ve made it so cozy, warm, and beautiful.”

  The other women agreed. Bess got that they wanted to change the subject, so she let it go. “Let’s exchange our Secret Santa gifts,” she said. Amidst a squeal of excuses, laughter, and exclamations, small packages changed hands.

  As they finished their final clean-up before going to sleep, Bess sighed and
opened her computer. “One more time,” she muttered. And there it was. An email from Whit. The subject line had one word—“Christmas.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Whit had been prepared for anything. He’d packed a raincoat, three umbrellas, a down jacket, and a couple of wife-beaters. He had dictionaries for three different languages, as well as translation apps for his phone. He got money changed into the currency of the countries he’d be passing through. He had even packed a spare battery for his computer. Every eventuality was covered. Whitfield Bass was an organized man. Nothing was going to take him by surprise.

  The foreign atmosphere had thrown him. Nothing was the same as New York. The smells, the food, the people, even the scenery. At first, he’d been fascinated. He’d met so many people the first week, he knew he’d never remember them all. But by the second week, loneliness had seeped into his heart. The exotic surroundings lost their luster when there was no one to share them with. His first impressions, quirky things he noticed…who cared if it was all about him, and only him? Was he homesick?

  He’d planned for every possible scenario.

  The one thing he hadn’t planned on was the giant hole in his life left by the absence of Bess Cooper. Bess, Dumpling, and Homer had become his family. They had bounced back and forth from her apartment to his from her bed to his. Dinners had been shared. Dogs had been walked together. Homer had stayed with Bess while Whit was working. Whit had taken Dumpling when Bess had to be at the studio early. They had been a team.

  Unwittingly, he had created a small family then deserted them. He missed his old life, Bess, and the dogs. Damn it, how did that happen? I was supposed to be free.

  He had tried cutting himself off from her. No emailing, no phoning. Did it make him miss her less? The opposite. He missed her more. The torture of checking emails a thousand times a day to find none from Bess was almost more than he could bear. He needed her in his life.