Ember: Part One

by Deborah Bladon

  "I've asked her to leave but she hasn't." He taps his feet against the floor. "Most of my stuff is still there. I go back once a week when she's at work if I need anything."

  "Why won't she leave?"

  "Her father's a lawyer." He looks at the window and into the soft morning light streaming through it. "She wants part of it."

  I don't want to get into the details of his finances. That's definitely not my business and it would create an awkward imbalance in our relationship. He's never asked me about my own financial situation. It may be bleak and uninspiring, but it's private. We're nowhere near close enough to delve into the inner workings of each other's long term financial goals.

  "Do you have someone to help you with that?" I ask because it's polite, not because I can offer any suggestions in the form of lawyers, other than his cousin.

  "We're working it out."

  I don't ask for clarification. I don't want it. I just want to understand one thing. "Is there a chance that you and Maisy are going to work things out? Do you think you'll move back in with her at some point?"

  There's not a beat of hesitation in his voice as he turns directly towards me. "Never. I will never spend another day of my life with her."

  ***

  "If you don't live with her, where do you live?" I look at where he's standing. He's fully dressed now, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

  "I don’t live anywhere." He shrugs his shoulders as his gaze falls to the floor. "I stay with friends. Sometimes I crash at work. I have a duffel bag of clothes. Everything else is at the house."

  I have an empty bedroom and an almost drained bank account because I can't keep up with the rent. For a brief moment the notion of asking him to move in, enters my mind but it's gone before I can give it any credence.

  "Are you going to look for a place to live?"

  "I have a place to live, Bridget." His fingers brush mine as he reaches towards the bed to scoop his smartphone into his hand. "I need her to leave so I can move back in."

  "I understand," I say without looking at him.

  "Look, I need to get to work." He leans down to graze his lips over my forehead. "I'll call you this afternoon."

  I know he will. He always does what he says but suddenly that doesn't feel like it's enough.

  Chapter 17

  "Beck had all kinds of crazy ex-girlfriends," Zoe stops to adjust her skirt. "Actually, there was only one who I'd classify as bat shit crazy. That was Liz."

  I don't know who she's talking about and frankly I don't care. I didn't ask Zoe to walk down to the café at the corner with me so I could hear about her husband's dating past. If I wanted to know that, I'd type his name into Google. I did it once and the sheer volume of the image results of him with different women he was with before he met Zoe, made me want to disinfect my laptop.

  "I can check into his rights regarding the house," she offers as she pulls open the door to the café. It's just past ten in the morning so the crowd has thinned considerably. Trying to grab a coffee in a spot like this early in the day is like maneuvering your way around a minefield. It's quieted enough now that there's an empty table in the corner.

  "Go grab that table and I'll order for us." I wave my finger towards the corner. "What do you want?"

  "I should have herbal tea." Her eyes scan the menu. "I'll have something with lots of espresso and some whipped cream on top."

  I shake my head as I giggle aloud. "Go sit. I'll get our drinks and I'll be right there."

  ***

  "You draw?" Her eyes dart across my face before they settle on my hands.

  I was surprised that I got the words out. I'd listened to her tell me about the woman who lives in the apartment below her. She replayed each and every conversation the two of them have ever shared in the elevator. Once she quieted enough that I knew she was done, I threw it out there. I told her that I had spent the majority of my life drawing pencil portraits and that I'm a finalist for a gallery showing.

  "I do." I pull my smartphone into my palm. "I took some pictures of some of the drawings before I left my apartment. I wanted to show you."

  She reaches greedily for the phone as her fingers dance across the screen. "Bridget, you drew these?"

  I nod even though I know she can't see the movement of my head because her eyes are so focused on the drawings. "I've drawn them forever. I have hundreds of them."

  "Why have you never told me?"

  The disappointment that I feared might be in her voice is there. Zoe's not creative in the same way that I am or that her husband is. She's brilliant at reading people and providing a level headed voice when all reason flies out the window.

  "I was scared I think," I say honestly. "I was worried that if I showed them to you that you'd show them to Beck and he'd tell me in that sweet way that he has that it's a good hobby for me, but the potential for more doesn't exist."

  "You may be more talented than my husband." A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Seriously, Bridget. Why the hell have you been hiding these away?"

  Her words cut to my core. I know that she's teasing but I know that it's all based in shock. "Dane helped me to see that it was time to share them."

  "Dane is my hero." She hands me back my phone. "You need to bring some of these over to show Beck. Promise me you'll do that."

  "I promise." I slide my phone back into my bag. "You have to promise me something too."

  "Anything." She finishes the last sip of her coffee. "What is it?"

  "Don't tell him about the gallery contest. He knows everyone in the art world. I want to do this all by myself."

  "I won't say a word. I don't need to. You're going to get a spot in that show and a year from now, you'll have a gallery showing devoted to just your work."

  Chapter 18

  "I want you to do something for me, Bridget." He grips tightly to the bottle of beer in his hands. "I should say that I want to ask you to do something."

  He had sent me a text message earlier asking if it would be okay for him to come see me at work. I couldn't say no and it wasn't because I had an insatiable need to see him. We haven't defined our relationship, or friendship, or whatever this is.

  We've just been two people who stumbled into each other's lives who have fun with one another. He makes me smile, he likes me exactly as I am and he answers every question I've ever asked him honestly. He's never promised me anything but a good time and he's delivered on that in spades. Turning him down when he reached out to me this afternoon wasn't even an option. I want to hear him out. I owe myself that much.

  "What is it?" I glance back to where Elliott's flirting with another server by the bar. He's never gotten on my case when I've taken breaks in the middle of my shift to visit with friends who have dropped in to the pub. He understands and seeing him with his hand on the hip of the brunette who started last week, I know I have nothing to worry about. I can take all time I need with Dane, especially since it's almost closing time.

  He sips from the bottle before settling it down carefully. "Before I ask, I want to explain something,"

  It's never that easy when a man tells you that he wants you to do something for him. Judging by the anxiety that is forcing his knee to tremble, I'd say that this has nothing to do with sex. "Explain then."

  I know I sound harsh and impatient but I'm still absorbing the news that Maisy lives in his house. I've never lived with a man so when my relationships have ended, it's been clean and complete. I can't imagine the emotions that a person has to juggle when they not only walk away from a person they cared for, but they have to divide the fundamental parts of their everyday lives too.

  "I think about you pretty much all the time."

  I could repeat that right back to him and I'd mean every single word of it. Even now, as I wait for word about the finalists for the gallery show, my thoughts always jump back to his smile, the way he touches my face and the feeling of his lips as they race across my skin.

  He hes
itates as if he's waiting for me to say something in kind back to him. I can't yet. How can I open myself up to that when there are so many loose ends still at play from his last relationship? I check the calendar that hangs in my bedroom every morning. I know the date. It hasn't been that long since my non-date with Larry which means Dane broke up with his girlfriend just a few weeks ago.

  "I don't know that much about how to handle my emotions." He drops his gaze to the table. "I do know what I'm feeling."

  I know what I'm feeling too. I know that this may be something that will never cross my path again. I know that people talk about falling in love at first sight or first touch. I'm not subscribing to those theories but I do feel things I've never felt before when I'm near him. I like him, more than I've ever liked anyone in my life. I feel a sense of comfort when I'm in his arms. Once he walks out of my apartment, my body aches for his.

  "What do you feel?"

  "That I'd sit outside your apartment all day just to get a glimpse of your face," he says quietly. "I feel like if I ever kiss another woman, I'll compare her to you."

  I look over his shoulder to the wall behind him because I know that my face will betray the joy I feel in hearing those words.

  "I know that when I hear you come, that I'd move heaven and earth to hear it again."

  My gaze flicks over his face and I realize he's staring right at me. I pause to lock my eyes with his. "You know I'm unsure. It hasn't been that long since…"

  "It hasn't been that long since I ended things with Maisy," he interrupts to finish my thought for me. "That feels like a lifetime ago, Bridget. I don't honestly know what I felt inside before I met you."

  I feel as though my chest is going to cave in. It's too fast and too soon. I smooth my hand over my hair hoping that the gesture will give me a reprieve from everything I'm feeling. "You said you wanted to ask me to do something. What is it?"

  I can't gauge whether he's taking a moment to consider exactly what he wants to say to me or if he's trying to regain himself after a momentary loss of composure. "I want you to trust me, Bridget. I want a chance to show you that I'm a good and honest man."

  It's a request that he doesn't need to make. "I know that you're a good man. I could feel it when you saved my arm from being stolen away by Larry."

  His eyes brighten as his hands settle on the table top near me. "You're nothing like anyone I've ever met. You're everything that I never knew I wanted. I just want a chance to see where this is going."

  It's romantic and in my world where romance has been fleeting and admittedly, rare, I want to savor the moment and bask it in. My good sense is pulling at me though. "I want to see where it's going too but I need it to be slow."

  There's no break in his expression at all. "Then we'll take things slow."

  "I should get back to work." I motion towards the empty tables. "I have to wipe these down before I head home."

  "I can wait and take you."

  I want that. I want to crawl into bed and wrap my naked body around his but I also want to catch my breath. "I think I should be alone tonight."

  "I can still ride the subway with you." He picks up the bottle of beer and finishes the last sip. "I won't come inside. I'll just kiss you goodnight at your door."

  ***

  I was the one who almost broke my own request. He'd held my hand on the subway platform before we boarded the train and he wrapped his strong arm around me as I rested my weary head against his chest.

  Once he got to the door of my apartment, he'd taken my face in his hands and kissed me softly and sweetly. His tongue dipped between my lips for a minute and I was tempted right then to pull him inside. I want him but not tonight. Tonight I'm going to finish some of the drawings I've begun in the park. My chance to showcase my work is right there within my grasp. Regardless of what happens between Dane and me, I know that I have a future in the art world. I saw proof of that on Zoe's face.

  I pull off my clothes and open my sketchbook. I flip the pages until I'm staring into the face of the man who I just kissed goodbye at my door.

  I bring my pencil to the paper and focus on his dark eyes as I bring them to life. I plow through the sketch over the course of the next several hours until I finally fall asleep with the sketchpad next to me and the pencil still clutched tightly in my hand.

  Chapter 19

  I'm jarred awake by the ever present sound of sirens. It comes with living in Manhattan. When I first moved here, I'd turn to stare each time a police car, ambulance or fire truck sped past me. That habit was short lived once I realized that I as soon as one siren is out of ear's range, another is almost always approaching.

  I admit that I do a double take now if a fire truck races past me. I try to spot the Engine Company's number on the side of the truck. I started that the day I sat in front of the fire station Dane works at.

  I pull myself out of the bed and wrap my short robe around me. It's too early to shower so I set out on a path to make coffee so I can push the chill I'm feeling out of my body. I'm just taking my first sip when my phone rings.

  My heart stalls when I see the name written across the screen. I pull in a heavy breath, clear the sleep from my throat and answer. "Good morning, Mrs. Boudreau."

  There's a slight pause before she responds," Bridget, that's you?"

  "It's me." Of course it's me. Even though I feel like my life is suspended in some strange vortex of time right now, it's me.

  "There's been a decision made."

  This is the last second I have to hold onto the hope that I'm going to get to show my drawings in that gallery. I want to believe I'll have the confidence to pursue my art in a more public way now that I know that Vanessa, Zoe and Dane think I'm talented. If the gallery turns me down, I can't let myself falter. I have to believe that there's still a future for me sharing my work with people who'll appreciate the subtle emotion within it.

  "It's unanimous," she begins before she stops to rustle some papers near the phone's receiver. You'd think she'd have the answer on the tip of her tongue before she dialed my number. "Congratulations, Bridget. You're in."

  I somehow manage to thank her before I disconnect the call, drop my phone on the table and scream at the top of my lungs.

  ***

  "I knew that they'd choose you," he says the words so softly that I have to shift my head slightly just to hear them. "I knew it."

  I turn to look at his face. It's the same face that I've been sketching for the past few weeks. I've tried desperately to capture exactly what I see now but that's impossible.

  "I'm going to show your portrait there." I pull on his arms to wrap them around my waist. "You're going to be there the night it opens, right?"

  "You'll tell me when and I'll make sure I have it off." He glides his leg over my hip. I can feel his arousal pressing into me.

  I reach back to kiss him softly before I run my tongue over his bottom lip. "You are the first person I've told. I haven't said a word to any of my friends."

  It's a tender confession that means more to me than he may realize. "I knew by the sound of your voice on the phone that the news was good. I'm so excited people will finally see your talent."

  He speaks as if he's been a constant in my life for years. His belief in my ability to draw began the night he saw my portraits for the first time. "I'm excited too."

  "You can tell that I'm extra excited." He presses his lips into my neck as he grinds his cock against my ass. "I need to fuck you, Bridget."

  I twist around so I'm facing him. I take his head between my hands and I kiss him with all the passion I've felt for him since that moment he locked eyes with me at the restaurant. I pull back to look at him.

  "You gave me the courage to show my work to other people." I slide my fingertips down his cheek. "I need to thank you for that."

  "You are." His hands fall to my ass. "I'm about to get all the thanks I need."

  Chapter 20

  "I'm sorry, Bridget." His hands reach towards
me but I take a heavy step back.

  We're standing on the street outside of my apartment. It's been a week since I found out that my work has been chosen for the gallery show. I've spent parts of each day with Dane after he's gone to a friend's house to sleep. The rest of my time has been filled with going through my portfolio with Brighton to choose the right portraits. He's also helped me frame them.

  Zoe went shopping with me to pick out a new dress and I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom knowing that my parents are set to arrive tomorrow right before the unveiling. Everything has fallen into place. Or it was until Dane dropped a bombshell on me just now.

  "How can you do that?" I ask knowing that I sound like a spoiled child. "You can't move it to another time?"

  He shakes his head as his eyes dart to the ground. "It's the only time Maisy will meet with me. If I blow this off, I may never get my house back."

  If I hadn't understood the meaning of being between a rock and a hard place I do now. He had told me last week that he'd switched his night shift with someone at work so that he could be at the gallery standing next to me. I wanted him there not just to offer support on the most important night of my life. I also wanted him to see himself through my eyes.

  Tomorrow will be the first time he'll see the portrait I drew of him and I want to be next to him when that happens. It's by far the most personal portrait I've ever completed.

  "I think I can still make it to the gallery before they do the actual unveiling."

  My eyes dart up to rest on his face. "What time are you meeting her?"

  "At five." He takes a step back to allow a woman with a stroller to pass between us. "We're meeting at a lawyer's office in mid-town so once I'm done there I can come straight to the gallery."

  I don't know how long it takes for a couple to squabble over a piece of property. Two hours seems like plenty of time but maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part.