She giggles through another scene, bringing a hand up to my chest. I instinctively reach out to wrap my hand around hers and feel the electricity passing between us. She makes the tiniest move to snuggle against me, nudging her warm little body into my side, and I don’t let the opportunity slip by.
My hand snakes down off the couch to her back, down her side, dangerously close to the tantalizing curve of her hips and ass. Although grabbing a handful of her would be delightful, I do have some sense, so I pull the blanket up her back to cover her shoulder, effectively tucking her in against me for good.
The press of her cheek jerks against my chest and I realize she must be smiling. I rest my hand on her elbow, letting my thumb make lazy circles across her arm. Callie settles more against me, resting her head completely against my chest. It’s the tiniest move, such a small thing to share. But I feel like I’m on the top of the world holding this woman. In the house I unknowingly built for her. And I can imagine having nights like this with Callie for a long time coming.
Callie
I leave Brock’s that night on cloud nine. We cuddled for hours, sometimes with Cookie in his lap, sometimes just on our own. Even his kiss goodnight was a soft peck on my forehead. He kept it respectful and sweet, even if I did feel his hand drift down to my hip a couple times.
Last night was the first time in months I felt my walls and stress go down - even if it was just a notch or two. My chest loosened, the tightness in my muscles melted, and that little voice of dread in my brain took a break, too.
I could get used to nights like that.
The next morning, I have to shake myself out of reminiscing - I have actual work to do today.
I’m trying my best to throw myself into analytics reports and writing web content, but even the most random detail will bring me back to the night before with Brock’s arm around me.
He’s gorgeous, muscular and sweet. He’s proven himself to be a gentleman. At least I know that now. But I have to take this slow. I’d love to feel some sort of comfort I know he could give me, but judging by the touches and that lingering hug, he’d want to have sex. And soon.
Thankfully, I can keep myself distracted today: I’ve got two client meetings in Denver. It takes me a while to get dressed for these meetings. Dressing up, doing full hair and makeup used to be a treat for myself. I used to feel fabulous in skirts and heels - like a modern Mad Men boss lady. But with the few extra pounds I’ve put on, I’m not happy with the way most of my office clothes fit, even with suffocating Spanx on underneath.
I debate business casual vs. business chic and decide to go for it. With the obvious flirting from Brock, I’ve got a fraction of my confidence back. I opt to go classic: button down shirt tucked into a pencil skirt with black court heels. I also decide to forgo the compression shorts. I’ll wear some cute panties to match my bra and put a little more pep in my step. Any day with matching undies is a good one. These are new clients anyway. I need to be in a great mood for this first meeting.
I stop by the diner on the way out of town to drop off Cookie. I can’t remember a summer that didn’t involve breakfast at Maggie’s and thank goodness, she remembers that too. So she offers to watch Cookie when I’m out of the house for long periods of time.
The drive into Denver goes by quickly. The pastures and small towns turn into denser suburbs and eventually the skyline of the city. I steady myself by listening to old country music - some Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn. My mom would’ve loved a drive through the mountains with them on the radio.
I choose to go back to solid memories rather than go over that night with Brock for the hundredth time. Some of my favorite snippets of my past to go through are the ones with my mom - in her kitchen, singing along with the radio, creating one dish after another full of butter and cream and love. As if on queue, a flash of that first night with Brock comes back.
I loved cooking for him. I always loved cooking and felt like I was in my element, but it was different there. My mom always told me cooking for someone is one of the purest ways to show your love. Love was a strong word to use here, but I did feel...wanted, and maybe even needed. He loved the food and that made the work all the more worth it. I’ve been going over the compliments, getting a glow from them for the past few days. It feels silly to hold onto his nice comments. It goes against all the feminist ideals I like to believe I have. I shouldn’t be so happy by the approval of a man. But something about making him happy made me happier. And I’ll take happy in any form I can get it.
I nearly miss the turn into downtown as I’m daydreaming. Get it together, Callie. It’s time to work.
------
The next two hours are spent pouring over data reports, sitemaps, and explaining how search engines work to my new clients. That’s the good and bad of freelance work: I’m not in their space everyday, explaining myself and my work. At least contract work pays well.
I walk to the next meeting, a few blocks over from the first. I have some free time, so I stop in at a hipster coffee shop for a break.
I’m sipping a latte, skimming emails, when I hear a throat clear next to me. I look up and see him: Gabe. The dickhead who couldn’t take no for an answer. Before I can blink, a cold sweat is creeping up my neck.
“Hello, beautiful,” he sneers. “Looks like you do keep your phone nearby,” he gestures to my cell on the table.
“Hi, Gabe.” I get out. He can take my shortness as being rude, but it’s panic. How does this guy so unaware of his gross demeanor? You can’t harass a woman and expect her to gratefully suck your dick when she sees you.
“What are you doing here? This is my coffee shop, you know,” he smirks, clearly trying to be playful as he takes a seat next to me. It’s coming across as territorial and slimey.
“I’m here for work,” I say, putting all my energy into looking at my laptop. I click back and forth between a few tabs, hoping he takes the hint.
“How about you come to my house when you’re done?” I feel his hand under the table, fingers pushing under the hem of my skirt. My eyes burn into my screen as I try to do the breath counting thing from therapy in my head. “We never got to finish this up last time.”
Hot anger surges up the back of my neck. I jerk my leg away, scooting my chair loudly as I go. Eyes across the coffeeshop are on me now. Nope, this can’t happen. Not right before a meeting.
“No, Gabe. I have to get home to the dog when this is over.” My voice cracks and I can feel people watching me. Why am I even explaining myself to him? This can’t happen here. Fuck, where is the bathroom?
“Why can’t you take a hint? I want you, Callie. How much more blunt do I have to be?” he laughs, like this is such a normal conversation for him. He’s got a fake look of exasperation on his face - like a woman denying him is outside the realm of possibility. I’m at my boiling point now.
“You’ve been more than blunt, dumbass,” I shout, completely unaware of how loud I am in the moment. But at this point, I really don’t care. “You have to leave me alone.”
I’m rushing to pack my things up. Rushing to get out of this place. It’s too hot and there’s too many people. I’ve got tunnel vision on my phone and purse, but can vaguely hear Gabe trying to save face with the people in this cafe. Apologizing to me is not at the top of his priority list. It’s obviously about making sure he still looks good after this.
I’m storming out the door, losing all the born-and-bred manners I normally have as I shove past a group of people. The tunnel vision is still here, and now my chest is heaving. It feels like a huge weight is on my lungs. Not even the crisp Colorado air can help.
I get out the door and around a corner to an alleyway. I have to breathe. Where is the air? How is there not enough air out in the open here? I feel behind me to the grit of a brick wall and lean backwards. Squeezing my eyes shut, I start counting in me head, hoping to calm myself before this turns into a full meltdown.
“What the fuck was that? You think you can
just bitch in front of people I know and not even apologize?” Gabe is out here with me now. The guy can’t leave well enough alone. His ranting goes on and he pushes his finger in my face, but I can’t process the words. Count and breathe, Callie. Just count and breathe.
Despite my revulsion, I put out a palm and shove him backwards away from me. I think I mumble something about needing to go, but it could be a slew of cuss words. I don’t care at this point. I step away from him, going back to the main sidewalk and getting lost in the crowd. I walk for two, three, eight blocks before I turn around. I eventually find a bench, sit down, and try to figure out where I am.
I spend the next few minutes holding back tears, scrolling through mindless posts on Instagram to distract myself. I walked well beyond the building my next meeting is in, so I’ve got to find the best route back. I feel shaky as I start the walk to the office, but I pick up a little strut as I keep walking.
I told that fucker off. I actually did it. Pride swells in me as I make the last turn into the building. I won’t let Gabe ruin today.
------
The next meeting goes well. I found the building with 20 minutes to spare; enough time to freshen up in the bathroom and find all the paperwork I need for this project. I even dig out my mom’s favorite color of lipstick and swipe it on. She’d be beaming if I told her about ripping Gabe a new one, so I’m going to beam too.
The walk back to my car is windy, so I put my sunglasses on and charge through the crowds. If I can get to the parking garage, I can get to the car, and then I can get on the road and get out of this God-forsaken neighborhood of Gabe’s. Hopefully, he doesn’t see me. I might’ve been tough enough this morning, but I’m not sure I have it in me again. And I don’t want to test it.
I sigh, relieved as I slide into the safety of my car. No second run-ins with Gabe. As tired as I am, I decide to text Brock, hoping he can keep this good mood going.
Dinner at Maggie’s?
I’m barely out of downtown when he texts me back: When?
I get a chance to answer at a stoplight: How about an hour?
I’ll be there.
The drive back to Idaho Springs goes over without a hitch. I stop for a sweet tea on the way and savor the syrupy drink as I make the drive. Just like it always does, having too much time inside my head brings back a flood of negative thoughts.
The adrenaline and confidence I had are fading. I can’t believe I made such a scene at that coffee shop. I’ll never be able to show my face there again. And the latte was delicious - I was planning to go there whenever I met those clients again. Fuck. I probably could have handled it all better - less drama, more direct conversation with Gabe. I’ve worked so hard to get my emotions in check and this feels like a failure now that the sassy confidence is wearing off. If and when I explain this story to my therapist, I’m sure we’ll have to discuss my “emotional processing” all over again. Shame for my outburst makes itself a home in the pit on my stomach.
Brock
I’m at Maggie’s in less than an hour, too eager and I know it. At least Maggie hasn’t figured out why I’m here yet, so I take my seat in the back booth like always.
“You know, your lady’s dog is here?” Maggie announces as she brings over a water. Well, there goes my secrecy. Maggie knows too much.
“What?” Callie wouldn’t just leave that dog with anyone. What is going on?
“Callie’s puppy - I’ve got her in the office.”
“Oh...why?”
“She had to go to the city. Left the pup here for me to watch for a while. Is that why you’re here?” she asks me.
“No, I didn’t know she was -” I lose my train of thought as the bell on the front door chimes. Callie comes in, looking like a every teenage librarian fantasy I ever had.
She’s in black, pointy heels and a tight black skirt that shimmies down to just below her knees. A gray button down is tucked into the skirt, showing off that ridiculously small waist. She’s wearing a long, tan coat over it all, hiding the real curves, which is probably for the better. My eyes wander up her body to her face, which tells a whole other story: she looks tired.
I’m up on my feet as she approaches. “Callie. Hi. You look...amazing.” I offer, hoping to catch a smile.
She looks down at herself, like she actually didn’t know she looked this beautiful. I reach out to hug her and she turns to the side, making it more of a friend hug than anything. Not like that hug from the other day, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s because we’re in public? Or maybe something’s off.
“Oh. Yeah… I had client meetings in the city today, and I thought I’d have time to change, but I just wanted to get here and eat, so here I am,” she says, forcing a smile.
“Are you alright?” I push as we sit down. That smile did little to convince me that she’s okay.
“Just some drama in the city. It’s fine.”
“Whose ass should I kick?” I’m only half joking. I’d gladly fuck somebody up for giving her shit.
Her eyes bore directly into mine for a few seconds, then a few more. I can see her jaw working, like she wants to say something. What is she thinking?
“That’d actually be great, but no. I don’t need more drama.” She’s fumbling with her jacket, getting it off. “Anyway...what are you going to eat?”
We settle into mundane chatter, even though it’s the best conversation I’ve had this week. We talk about the horses, the best things on Maggie’s menu, and a little more into her work. She makes a point of avoiding her day in the city.
Our conversation goes long past when the plates are cleared. Maggie has to clear her throat to remind us that it’s closing time. I pay up while Callie gathers Cookie and we make our way to the cars. There’s only my truck and her car, and a random sedan I’ve never seen before to the edge of the parking lot. It’s lights flicker off as I walk Callie to her car.
“Thank you for dinner. I needed something good today.” The way she says it seems all-too honest. What the fuck happened in the city?
“My pleasure,” I say, opening her door for her as she gets Cookie and her purse in. Something in my gut is telling me that this is weird. “Let me know when you get home.”
“Will do,” she smiles tightly. I close the door for her and walk back to my truck. Someone is clearly in that car over there, judging by the outline in the driver’s seat. I get in my truck and sit.
Callie seems distant. These last two hang outs have been perfect, at least from my point of view. Things are moving slow, sure, but I’m fine with that. It’s her closed-off demeanor and tired eyes that make me worry. While I could sit here and stress about this woman I hardly know, the random car catches my eye again as I hear its engine turn over.
I’ve never seen this car and I know everybody in town. I could name makes, models and colors of almost every rancher’s truck within 30 miles of here, and most of their wives’ cars too. This is an outsider.
Callie is pulling out of Maggie’s a moment later, giving me a little wave as she pulls onto our one main road.
I start up my truck, edging towards the road, still eyeing this car. It’s moved up to the curb, ready to turn out. It can only go two ways: east or west. Either way there are towns, mountains, and homes, so I can’t exactly say they’re out of place here.
I shake it off, knowing that I shouldn’t try to play police tonight. Especially with my dad’s name in the headlines lately. I’d get a new one ripped out of me if I stirred up anything with the Skinner name right now.
I make my turn, the same as Callie’s, and head home. Our route shares the first four miles or so, before my turn off for Belleview mountain. From there, Callie has a few more miles to travel. I turn on my road, giving her a little wave I know she can’t see. The random car stays on the main highway, passing my turn and continuing in Callie’s wake.
I’ll wait on her text to know she’s safe for the night.
Callie
Dinner with Brock made this day muc
h better. The food was great, of course, and Brock looked good enough to eat too. He wore another flannel and had a huge hunter’s jacket over it. It’s probably big enough to be a blanket for me and I sure wouldn’t mind wrapping myself in it with him. I only wish I could get out of my black hole of anxiety and enjoy it fully.
Cookie is snoring beside me, Loretta Lynn is begging Jolene to back off on the radio, and I’ve still got enough sunlight to easily make this drive. I see the tall headlights of Brock’s truck behind me for a while. His turn is earlier than mine, so I’m not surprised when I see his headlights disappear. But there’s another set about a mile back on the highway. Unusual, but not totally uncommon. I reach over the rub Cookie’s ear, and keep driving.
Safe on the Mountain Page 6
