Coming Around Again

by Billy London

  “Hmmm. Could have done with another twelve months, but it is delicious.”

  He raised his glass, and now he was seated comfortably in her place. Stella took the armchair and touched her glass to his. “To the end of an era.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to speak. The anger that bubbled up inside her threatened to fill the whole room. How could he be so blasé about their marriage? All the work they’d put into their relationship? The times they’d stayed up until the sun rose talking about their plans for the future? Those plans were all now in ruins. Everything spoiled. Because he chose it to be this way. And she hadn’t done anything to change his mind.

  “Do you remember when we moved in here?”

  Stella took a sip of wine before she answered him. “I believe we conceived the twins in the spot you’re sitting. Cold floor, though. We hadn’t unwrapped the sofa.”

  Niels laughed. “I’m glad we got rid of that. Fucking awful.”

  “You picked it.”

  “Under duress.”

  “You still picked it. And here we are, still living with the consequences of your choices.”

  They were silent, as Stella cursed herself for giving so much away in so few words. “What would you change?” he asked quietly.

  I wouldn’t divorce you for a start, you blockhead! “Regrets and wine are never a good thing.”

  “I didn’t think it’d turn up so fast. I thought my solicitor would hold it…”

  “Haven’t you moved on already?” she asked.

  “To what?” His eyebrows were practically knotted in confusion. “I’m not getting married again, if that’s what you think.”

  Relief forced her breath from her body in a whoosh. “Okay, then.”

  He leaned over and took her free hand. “You are the only woman I have ever committed myself to… No matter how long that lasted, you are. You’re the mother of my two beautiful sons, and for that I will always love you.”

  She squeezed his fingers briefly before uncurling her feet from underneath her and standing up. “Are you sure you can drive?”

  “It’s barely one glass,” he replied, understanding her need for him to go. “Let me look in on the boys and I’ll get going.”

  “Okay.”

  He leapt up the stairs and Stella bent double, forcing the sobs back into her body. Go, go, go, she begged him. Don’t see me like this. Don’t see me weak for you. She heard the tell-tale squeak of the floorboards at the top of the stairs. It forced her to pull herself together. Turning back into the living room, she took a huge gulp of wine and nearly choked. Stupid man.

  He strolled back into the living room and tugged on the cardigan. “So, I’ll see you Friday night?”

  Oh yes. It’s his weekend with the twins. “You may as well just collect them from school. We’re doing an event at the salon.”

  With a nod, he folded his arms and stared down at his shoes. Stella shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and looked away. For a moment, she watched cars passing sporadically down the street. She didn’t notice him approach, so focused on the cars outside, it was a shock when his arms slid around her torso, pulling her into an embrace.

  “Can we try to be friends?”

  The break in his voice clean cut away her resolve. “Oh my God, Niels, I can’t be your friend. It’s like a fucking demotion.”

  He chuckled, tucking her more tightly against him. “Not really. But can we try? For the boys?” She gave a listless nod and he released her. His eyes were rimmed in red, searching through her own. He gently cupped her face and traced the lightest, sweetest kiss goodbye over her lips.

  “I’ll see you.”

  She brushed him away and sniffed. “Yeah, see you.” Sitting down, she didn’t watch him go, only cradled the glass of wine until the door closed gently. Crying would do her no good, she resolved. Drinking her way through the rest of the bottle of wine really would.

  Ooh, Silence of the Lambs was listed on her Freeview. If anything would distract her, blood, gore, and Anthony Hopkins would definitely do it.

  ***

  Two years before marriage

  “I can’t do it, I’ll hurt him!”

  Stella raised her eyebrows over the pile of towels in her hands. “Hurt who?”

  Her manager turned to her, hands against his artfully thin beard. “There’s a gentleman outside who wants a traditional shave. I can’t do it. Look at my hands, Stel!”

  He held them out to her and they were indeed vibrating like he held a pneumatic drill. “Oh, God. I’ll do it.”

  She handed him the towels and made her way to the reception. “Thank you darling!” her manager called after her. “You’ll thank me later!”

  Hmm. As if she didn’t have a timesheet to complete, orders to fill, and a supply coordinator to shout at.

  For all her manager’s flouncing and declarations, he really did have no idea how to deal with anything. The panic mode for every single possible scenario wore thin the closer she came to leaving her job in order to set up her own salon. Class Cuts had its day. Stella wanted to move on and upward.

  Forcing a smile to her face, she walked into the reception and said, “Traditional shave?”

  Dressed in a simple but sharply tailored shirt and trousers, a man stepped forward, answering with an ever-so-slightly accented voice, “That would be for me.”

  Stella blinked once. No. He still stood there. In all his blond glory. She blinked again. Her brain had not conjured him. “Umm…”

  “Stella!” her manager called from the treatment area. “Chair’s free!”

  She breathed in deeply, once, inhaling the salon’s strange mix of blow dried hair, nail varnish, and aromatherapy oils. “This way, please.”

  Tall, blond, and future baby-daddy followed her to a set of chairs reserved for men’s cuts and treatments. “May I take your jacket?” Stella asked, nodding to his blazer, resting neatly over one hefty forearm.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  She cradled the expensive, satiny blazer in her palms for a moment, then hung it inside the wooden cloakroom to the right of the treatment zone. The strange sensation of both déjà vu and near-uncontrollable lust both pummelled her inside out, as she gathered an apron for her new client. It turned even stranger when she whipped the apron around her client and he said, in his deliciously commanding voice, “Is this odd for you? Reaching up to dress someone?”

  “It’s not my norm, no,” she answered, tying the apron at his neck and coaxing him with a firm hand toward the soft leather chair. Husband material turned into concrete, refusing to be guided.

  “You must be approximately five foot ten.” He turned around, practically hovering over her, curving over her space. Did she mind? Not in hell did she mind, but one had to maintain professionalism.

  “Spot on. Take a seat, please.”

  With steamed towels softening the hairs on his face, Stella set about mixing the shaving foam and sharpening the razor. With his eyes closed, her almost-lover asked, “How long do I stay like this?”

  “Until I say you’re ready.”

  “Ahh, a woman who likes to be in control.”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “Not for me,” he said, and Stella nearly dropped the razor on the floor. Bold. As. Bloody. Brass. “This isn’t your salon?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve been in your company for less than five minutes, and I can tell you’re not long for this employment.”

  “And what are you? Psychic?”

  He opened one blue eye and she watched the towels shift around a grin. “I can tell.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “Alternative energies. Contracts with various businesses to establish wind farms, solar panels…”

  “This country doesn’t get enough sun.”

  “That’s the misconception. We have a finite amount of fuel in this world. We need to think of more natural energy resources.”

  “How very free
dom fighter-y.”

  Stella nudged his knees apart and removed the towels. He looked flushed and if possible, more sexual. As if they’d just finished an exuberant round of lovemaking and his face glowed post-orgasm.

  Stop, she told herself. Client.

  Placing the damp towels out of the way, she lathered his face with the organic foam. Her own creation that not a single client had a reaction to. Yet.

  “That smells incredible,” he murmured.

  “All about the organic.”

  “So you’re into natural resources as well.”

  She gave a mild shrug. “Only because you can’t be too careful about what you put in your body.”

  His eyes flicked over her, head to toe. “I would highly agree with you.” She would end up cutting him if he didn’t stop flirting with her. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Stella. And you are…”

  “Enamoured.”

  Stella reached for the razor and flipped a towel over her shoulder. “You should behave. I’m a woman with a sharp blade near your face.”

  A twinkle of mischief brightened his eyes. “Only makes it more exciting. Go to it, I will be silent as you work.”

  Shaving him gave her the best opportunity to admire his skin, the angles of his face, and the arch of his brows. They made him look disbelieving. A sarcastic Bond from the pages of Ian Fleming. Oh, hell. Fetishisation of her clients was never, ever a good idea. But the warmth of his slow, even breaths, the silk strands of his hair beneath her fingertips as she moved him where she needed to get to his face. The Adam’s apple, strong and defined in his throat, begged to be kissed, just like his firm lips. She didn’t appreciate thin lips on a man, but this man’s lips spoke only of l’amour.

  “Done,” she claimed, her voice high and reedy. Quickly, she smoothed away the traces of foam from his skin and rolled two cotton wool pads soaked in toning balm over his baby-soft face. Finally, she pressed a sweet-scented moisturiser all over his shaved cheeks and jawline and stroked her thumbs over his neck. Stepping back, Stella pretended to clean up as he admired himself.

  “Excellent. You are exceedingly clever.”

  The compliment warmed her more than any reference to her hair or body would have done. “Thank you.”

  He removed the protective apron and again, towered over her. “Now do I pay you?”

  “With?” she asked, laughter bubbling in her throat. “No, you pay at reception.”

  “I’d like to take you out,” he said softly, not taking his eyes from her mouth. “Say thank you properly.”

  “No need.”

  “Really?” His challenge came gentle and yet fiercely. “A tip would be insufficient, for the woman who will one day rule the shaving world.”

  “But dinner wouldn’t be?”

  “Dinner it is, then.”

  “Wait, I didn’t…”

  He gently framed her jaw with a single palm. “Allow me to guide you. Only this once. It won’t hurt to let someone else take the wheel.”

  I don’t know, Mr. No-Name…you seem like you’d take over every tiny part of my life. “Just dinner.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Just dinner.”

  He leaned in, eyes gleaming with approval. “Good. Now, may I have my jacket, please? I wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re giving services away for free.”

  “Aren’t you more than just a pretty face?” she teased.

  “I am Niels Strøm.” He gazed at her for a moment as she removed his jacket from the wooden closet. “You know, if you married me, you’d sound like a superhero.”

  Wow. Stella Strøm did sound amazing. But not so amazing she would already plan her life to a man who melted her underwear in five seconds flat. “What makes you think I’m not one already?”

  “You have no love interest. Yet.”

  “That makes a superhero? Their other half?”

  “Superman has Lois Lane. Spiderman has Mary Jane. Batman has Catwoman. Stella needs her own someone.”

  “And that would be you?”

  “That is me.” He handed her a card. “You may run my name through any search engine, should you desire. A woman who applies such care to her life would do the same with anyone daring to enter it.”

  He picked up her hand, kissed it, and strolled to the reception.

  What in the world, she thought. Stella Strøm.

  Silly man. She was not going to marry him. No. Sleep with him. Yes. Marry him. Absolutely not. No. Not at all. No.

  The Struggle

  Chapter Ten

  One Year After Divorce

  “Dad?” Will piped up, upturning his bag in the hunt for his mobile phone.

  Niels sighed deeply, quite sure that his son had forgotten his phone, which meant he’d be getting a call from Stella accusing him of all sorts of dastardly deeds. “I’m not going back for it, William, you’ll just have to ring your mother from the house.”

  “I know, it’s here somewhere. I just wanted to know if you’ve met Rash.”

  Niels frowned. “Met... What?”

  “Rash. Muma’s friend.”

  A cold stillness filtered through his veins. “When did you meet this friend?”

  “He came over yesterday.” Will confided, completely unaware of the effect of his words. “He said hello, told us our games were cool and he said he’d see Mum tonight.”

  Stella. Was. Dating?

  “How many times have you met this Rash?”

  “Just yesterday, but Muma said something about a rash and I thought she’d run into some stinging nettles, but nah, she’s all right, just going out with him. Don’t you think it’s a weird name?”

  “Boy, you think my name is weird.”

  “It is. You sound like something in the DIY aisle in Homebase. Dad, you have to promise you won’t take me or Danny there again. It’s so boring.”

  “Okay, William. Let me just let your mother know and we’ll go downstairs and eat.”

  ***

  Stella felt her phone buzzing and sent her date a smile of apology before glancing at it.

  The Ex Prick: What the fuck is a Rash? And why are you introducing It to my children?

  Stella burst out laughing and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, it’s the babysitter,” she explained, getting up from her seat and calling Niels.

  “Why are you interrupting my one free night?”

  “You have weekly free nights. Answer the question.”

  “How culturally insensitive of you. Rash isn’t a condition. Rash is a he. A nice he.”

  Stella rested her elbow on her opposite hand, smiling uncontrollably into her phone.

  “Where did he come from? Is this what happens when you’re not looking after the kids? You contract people?”

  “Stop it!” she warned, struggling to contain her laughter.

  “How is it that he met my children?”

  “Our children, and that wasn’t meant to happen. He picked me up before I had the chance to drop the kids with you.”

  “He was alone in the house?”

  “I couldn’t very well make him sit in his car, could I?”

  “Serves him right for being early. When did you meet him? And how much savlon should I buy to get rid of him?”

  “Niels…” she said on a sigh.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I met him through work.”

  “Did he come in for a back, sac, and crack?”

  “No! God, why are you so vulgar? I was having lunch with the event planner we’ve hired and he’s the restaurant manager.”

  “He’s a glorified waiter.”

  Oh, good God. “I need to go now…”

  “Use protection.”

  “I’m not going to have sex with him on a first date!” she hissed. What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with her that the conversation excited her more than the entirety of her date?

  “You did with me.”

  “And look how that turned out!”

  �
��Remember what I told you would happen if you ever slept with another man?”

  Ummm… She really needed to get off the phone before a line was crossed that neither of them could uncross. “Seriously, I was a five-pound Kings Cross whore for you and I’ve learned better.”

  “It’ll happen. Exactly like I told you. Enjoy your date.” He abruptly ended the call and with a huff, Stella returned to the table. Rash had ordered her another cocktail.

  “Sorry,” she said again, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap. “Would you mind if I switch to water?”

  “Not at all. Everything all right?”

  “Right as rain,” she assured him. But as he talked about his studying agriculture, Stella’s thoughts turned abruptly to Niels’ vow. He’d made it just shortly after they were married, when a male receptionist in a hotel in Spain had given her far too much attention. In the moonlight darkness of their beachfront room, Niels undressed her.

  “Are you jealous?” she’d muttered, tilting her head back to allow his lips to traverse over her shoulder.

  “Of what? That boss-eyed little dick?”

  “You are,” she teased. “If it’s this bad with a little mild flirting, what will you do if I decide to get a boyfriend on the side?”

  “You’re not going to rile me,” he taunted.

  “You wouldn’t have to be friends. Won’t be a Mormon thing, where we enjoy communal living and have family meetings…”

  He kissed her deeply, his fingers spearing over her stomach, pressing her tight to his body, whispering his words into her skin.

  “No, I’d want to meet him. In fact I’d want him to know exactly where he was going wrong. I’d fuck you into delirium right in front of him so he’d know what he and his pencil dick could never achieve. Your complete surrender. Body. Mind. Soul. Let him watch. How you truly are when you come; how you drench me; how you scream yourself hoarse. How every time you were with him was only a sliver of what you give when I take you. Try it. You know it’d appeal to the voyeur in me.”