by Layla Hagen
“You bet. Plus, I know how happy presents make you.”
Oh man, here come the butterflies in my stomach. There might be a bit of toe curling involved too. How on earth am I supposed to keep things platonic?
Chapter Ten
Caroline
On Saturday, I wake up with a smile on my face. My thirty-first birthday. Picking up my phone from the nightstand, my face breaks into a grin. I have a dozen unread messages from friends wishing me happy birthday. Niall is the first to call me. It’s already lunchtime in Dublin.
“Happy birthday, baby sis. What are your plans for today?”
“Lunch with Dad and dinner with Daniel.”
“Bennett?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not starting again with him, are you?” The disapproval rolls off his tongue like acid.
“Niall—”
“He’s not good for you. Not what you need.”
I roll over on one side in the bed, wondering why on earth I brought this up. “I’m a grown woman, Niall. I can make my own decisions. But thank you for your concern.”
“He hurt you once.”
Now I’m getting pissed. “We were kids. We made mistakes. Did you know he helped Dad with the business plan? And negotiating with the furniture supplier?”
A pause and then, “I had no idea. Still doesn’t mean he’s good for you.”
“Stop it. You’re ruining my birthday mojo.”
He laughs softly. “Sorry, wasn’t my intention. I’m about to make it up to you, though.”
“Aw, what did you get me as a present?”
“You’re going to see it when you meet Dad. But I meant something else. Guess who will be in San Francisco in two weekends?”
“You’re flying here? Niall, are you serious? Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you tell Dad? I bet he was excited.”
“Didn’t tell him yet.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Just for the weekend. I’m coming to a conference. They invited me as a speaker last minute.”
“Wow. Congratulations.” I do my best to hide how gutted I am that he’ll only be here for such a short time. “Oooh, I just had the best idea. We can move the reopening party of the bookstore to that weekend, so you can be here too.”
“Sure, I have a few hours on Saturday afternoon.”
“Can you stay for dinner too?”
“Nah, have to be with the other conference attendants for dinner.”
“Oh, okay. Would Sunday be better? Or Friday?”
“Schedule’s too tight on those days with the flight and some keynote talks.”
“So, we’ll only see you for a few hours?” I pout like a baby, even though he can’t see me.
“It’s the best I can do. My schedule is insane.”
“A few hours is better than nothing, anyway. So happy to see you.”
“Me too. Have to go, sis. Happy birthday again.”
I grin as the call ends, excited to be seeing my brother in two weeks. It’s been almost nine months since I last saw him, at Mom’s funeral. Today of all days, I miss her fiercely.
Jenna Bennett calls to wish me happy birthday just as I’m getting out of bed, and after talking to her for half an hour, I barely bring myself to end the call. Hour-long talks with her every now and then have become the norm in the past nine months. I’m becoming a stage-one clinger, and I really have to stop while I’m ahead. I’m not a kid, for God’s sake.
But is there an age at which people stop needing their mothers? Their advice, their warmth, their love?
I hop in the shower but stop midway, shampoo still in my hair, when the doorbell rings. Did I order something online and forgot? After rinsing quickly, I step out, fasten a robe around myself, and head to the front door. I peek through the peephole and see a gigantic bouquet of roses.
“Good morning. If you’ll sign here, please,” the deliveryman says when I swing the door open.
I sign the sheet he’s holding, then take the flowers back inside. There are thirty-one of them, and there is an envelope there too. My fingers prickle with excitement as I open it. Inside is a birthday card.
Dear Caroline,
Happy birthday. I have left my credit card at Macy’s—ask for Christa. It’s my gift for you.
Daniel
Holding the card to my chest, I do a happy dance in my living room, grinning ear to ear. Then I reread the card a few times to make sure I’m not imagining it. I can’t believe him. But then again, Daniel always had his own style of doing things. Still, reining in my excitement, I pick up my phone, dialing his number. My insides warm just at the thought of hearing his voice. Other parts warm too, damn it. I pause just before pressing the last digit.
Should we clear the air about what happened that night first? Yeah, right. No way am I bringing it up. It’s too early in the morning to face that level of awkwardness. Biting the inside of my cheek, I resume dialing.
“Morning, birthday girl.”
“Hi!”
“I take it you got the flowers?”
“Yes. And the card. But I can’t possibly accept this gift, Daniel.”
It kills me to refuse this, but it’s not right. A present would be one thing, but free rein with his credit card? That’s the sort of thing a girlfriend would do, and I’m not his anything. Common decency dictates that I can’t accept it.
“Oh, you will. I want you to accept it. Go wild, Caroline.”
I lick my lips, pressing my free hand to my cheek, which suddenly feels on fire. Images of us together in the hotel bed sweep into my mind, of Daniel asking me to call him Dan, asking me if I could take him in deeper.
Aw, shucks. My imagination escalated quickly, and he hasn’t even been flirting. Clearing my throat, I try to gather my wits around me.
“Daniel, this is not—”
“Stop trying so hard to do what you think is right. You’re dying to go shopping.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, and my decency is melting away by the second. Why does he have to know me this well? I love shopping, but a teacher’s salary requires a lot of self-restraint. I love my job, working with kids. I’m not good at much else, but I’m really good at this one thing. The slight downside is the salary, but I’ve built my life so I don’t need a lot. For some, it would seem like a small or restrictive life, but I like it.
I have a strict no takeout policy, only eating out when the situation requires it. I often invite friends over instead of going out, and I cook for them. I only buy the clothes I need, and try to keep to timeless pieces—jeans, little black dresses—so they won’t go out of style quickly. Some things I even buy from thrift stores. There’s an excellent one nearby, and I came across unexpected gems there.
But what Daniel is offering is insane. I’ll make one last attempt to dissuade him. Just to have a clear conscience.
“It’s just not right.”
“I already bought you some presents, so you’ll have to pick them up anyway.”
“Wow.”
“Thought you might need extra convincing. Pick them up, and buy anything else you want.”
“What did you buy me?” I ask, despite myself.
“You’ll see.”
“Okay.” Energy courses through me as I pace the living room.
“Have fun, and I’ll see you tonight at seven.”
We agreed on dinner in a restaurant in the Presidio to celebrate my birthday and talk about that night, but now I’m losing my nerve about the latter.
“Let’s talk about the elephant in the room now,” Daniel suggests. Shit, shit, shit.
“No elephant here,” I say with an awkward laugh, heading to the kitchen. I can’t face this without caffeine. While brewing coffee, I whip myself up a sandwich, keeping the phone between my shoulder and my ear.
“Okay, let’s leave it for the evening, then. Unless you’d rather we talk about it another day?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“You’re th
e birthday girl. Don’t want to spoil your day. But I still want my dinner this evening.”
“Sure. Dinner’s on. No conversation about elephants.”
To be honest, I don’t see how a conversation would help anyway. We both had a slip in our control; that was all. No need to beat a dead horse. Do I crave his touch, miss how safe and cherished it made me feel? Sure I do, but that doesn’t mean I should act on it. Some things are not for me, and Daniel is one of them.
“See you at seven. Have fun shopping. Promise me you’ll go wild.”
Laughing, I try to focus on my sandwich and not the way my pulse skitters. My poor sandwich doesn’t stand a chance of distracting me.
“I will.”
***
Lunch with my dad is a rather melancholic affair. We don’t talk about Mom, but we both feel her absence. He gives me Niall’s present, a cotton throw with a Celtic motif. My brother is the best, seriously. I told him I was looking for a new throw, something to cozy up with on my couch, and this is beautiful.
“Niall’s outdone himself,” I exclaim. “By the way, he’s coming to San Francisco.” I share with him all the details, suggesting we move the opening party to include him.
“Of course we’ll move the reopening party early. Ah, it’s good to see that boy.”
The weather is pleasantly cool for early October, so we head to Pier 39, carving our way through the flocks of tourists who’re watching the seals roast lazily in the sun, talking about the bookstore and Niall, indulging in old memories. After I part ways with Dad, I head straight inside Macy’s, more excited than guilty. I go to the nearest vendor, reading the name tag. Allyson.
“Hi, miss. How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for a colleague of yours, Christa.”
She nods, surveying the floor. “Look, she’s right there by the cardigans. The blonde with the pink ends.”
“Thanks.”
I practically fly toward Christa, my excitement now drowning out my guilt completely. She looks up at me as I approach.
“Hi, Christa. I’m Caroline.”
Her face breaks into a grin. “Yay! Follow me. Wow, you’re so lucky. This is so romantic, my goodness. I wish my boyfriend would do something like this, but I’m lucky if he remembers to make dinner reservations for my birthday.”
“Daniel’s not my boyfriend,” I explain as I follow her up the rolling staircase.
Her eyes widen. “Then he’s trying very hard to be, isn’t he? Well, I wouldn’t put up much of a fight. You won’t either. Wait to see what he got you.”
Alarm flares inside me. What exactly did Daniel buy me?
“You know him long?” Christa continues. “Sorry, not my business. It’s just... well, this is so unusual.”
“For about ten years.” I offer her a small smile, choosing to stop there. Up and up we go on the escalator, coming to a halt on the next to the last floor. My eyes scan the information table right next to the staircase. Domestics and lingerie.
My knees go weak because I have an inkling of which of the categories Daniel was interested in. Sure enough, two minutes later, Christa leads me into the lingerie section. Ah, damn, everything here looks exquisite. I’m so lost in the delicate and sexy offerings around me that I nearly forget Christa is with me until she shows me three sets lying on the wooden table next to the cash register, where vendors usually pack the purchases.
“Oh, they’re beautiful.” One is a matching set of red lace panties and a demi-cup bra. The second set is white silk, with an embroidered pattern on the strapless bra. The third is black, made of satin and cotton by the looks of it. “Daniel chose these for me?” I whisper. “Personally?”
“Yes. Shall I bring them to the changing room for you to try them on?”
Even though I’m one hundred percent sure they will fit, I nod. Truth is, I’m dying to try them on.
Once she hangs the three sets on the hanger, she arranges the curtain so no one can see me from outside, leaving me alone. I undress at top speed, not bothering to hide my grin as I put on the black set first. I keep my thong on, though, merely sliding the black one over it. It’s an ironclad rule, I never try on panties on bare skin.
I love what I see in the mirror. The black silk has a subtle elegance. Some would say it’s too simple, but I disagree. The way it molds against my skin, the softness of the fabric... every detail is perfect. I try on the white one next. It looks a little subdued against my pale skin and I decide to get out in the sun as soon as I have the chance. I touch the intricate pattern of the lace on the bra, the ribbon clasp between the cups. With a smile, I remember Daniel much prefers bras with the clasp in front. In a flash, sinful images fill my mind of Daniel unfastening the bra, touching my breasts.
I break out in a sweat, then shimmy out of the white set, trying on the last one. I saved the best for last. The red lace is downright sinful perfection. The bra pushes my breasts together. The panties are wider over my hips than regular thongs. At the back, a smooth line covers the crack between my ass cheeks. I much prefer these types of thongs to strings. They give me an air of wicked playfulness.
And I was right. Daniel guessed my size correctly, even though I’ve gone from a size four when we were together to a size eight. I’m still not used to the size of my thighs, not to mention my ass. The only positive part of them growing is that they’ve kept the same proportion to my waistline, which has also expanded.
Still, looking at myself right now, I’ve never felt sexier. The skin on my chest and neck becomes almost as red as the lace as a flush spreads over that area. I haven’t felt this sexy, or wanted, in a long time.
Releasing a shaky laugh, I chastise myself for reading so much into all of this. But then I realize the man bought me lingerie for my birthday. What does this even mean?
“They fit?” Christa’s voice reaches me from beyond the curtain.
“Yeah. Perfectly.” Quickly I change back into my own bra, then put on my clothes. When I pull back the curtain, Christa grins at me, taking the three sets of lingerie.
“Excellent. I’ll pack these, and then we can go see what else you like. Credit card’s open. No limit.”
Oh snap. I’d forgotten. “This is more than enough.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I have my orders to pester you if you don’t go wild.”
“He said that?”
“Exactly like that. So, ready to go wild?”
“Not even close to ready.”
I get the hang of it quite quickly, though. In the beginning, I exercise every ounce of self-restraint, going for small things: new moon-shaped earrings, a pair of gloves. But Christa is a little devil, tempting me like nobody’s business, and I’m a weak woman when it comes to pretty things.
She flaunts a knee-length floral dress with white straps and a wide belt around the waist, and I’m a goner. I try it on and it fits perfectly, but when I look at the price tag, my stomach plummets. This is Daniel’s card, but there’s a difference between wild and taking advantage.
“Only dresses on sale,” I tell Christa firmly.
“Daniel didn’t tell me anything of that sort.”
“I’m telling you. Please. I have half a mind to leave with what I got up to now anyway.”
That sets her straight, and she only tempts me with items on sale next. I end up buying a knee-length, thick sweater dress that molds to my body nicely and red ballerina shoes. Neither breaks the bank, but I draw the line here. While I watch Christa pack everything, my phone vibrates in my purse. Taking it out, I discover a message from Daniel.
Daniel: How’s project wild going?
Caroline: Well under way.
Daniel: Picture or it didn’t happen.
If he thinks he’s going to get pics of me in my underwear, he’s got another think coming.
Caroline: Cheeky bastard.
He calls me, of course. I step a few feet away from the counter.
“Whatever you say won’t convince me to send you pics in my underwear
. Buy a swimwear magazine.”
“I just want to see you, Caroline. Just you.”
“You’ve got some nerve, mister. And you’re still not getting pictures.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Lots of fun.”
“Good. Wear something you bought tonight.”
The not-so-subtle command in his tone sends heat low in my body.
“I can do that. Have to go now, I’m holding up the line.”
After clicking off, I shove the phone back in my purse, smiling devilishly. I can definitely do that.
Chapter Eleven
Caroline
The shopping trip took so long that I only have time to hop in the shower and then dress fast before having to bolt back out the door. I put on my new sweater dress but don’t inspect my appearance in the mirror until I have my flats on too. Judging an outfit without shoes is like asking how the Thanksgiving turkey is without the gravy.
I assess the outfit critically. It’s great for a chill night out between friends, conveys exactly the message I want, which is “I look put together,” not “I can’t wait to put out again.”
Briefly, I wonder if I should bring up our night together after all, clear the air. Even in my mind, the conversation would sound awkward.
Daniel, even though this was the best night—
Even though you gave me two orgasms and they were by far—
Hmm... maybe I shouldn’t lead with that. I can see how I might give off the wrong impression if I do. Best not to bring the subject up after all.
I leave my building with a pep in my step, taking in the beautiful October evening surrounding me. Clutching my matching red purse under my arm, I stride with purpose. I live in a rather crowded section of the Richmond district, with residential units so close to one another it’s borderline claustrophobic. But I’m just a few blocks away from the Presidio, or if I’m in the mood for a long walk, I can hike up to Golden Gate Park to the north.
Some twenty minutes later, I arrive at the 14th Avenue gate entrance and find Daniel already there, pacing, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t see me approach, and I take advantage of this to study him. He appears lost in thought, a frown creasing his forehead, his five o’clock shadow more pronounced than usual. The impulse to replace that frown with a smile hits me hard. He’s not mine to make happy. Not mine.
