by Brea Viragh
“I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe,” he admitted.
“This won’t be hard for you,” I soothed. “You’ve tended bar for years. You’re a natural at talking to people. You have your own team, and your town is behind you. Honestly, man, what can’t you do?”
I watched his face settle into stillness as he mentally clicked through my words, deciding whether he liked the sound of them or not. Testing them. Something must have stuck. Eventually, he nodded. It was a single, decisive movement. “Talking to people is what I do.”
“Exactly. So why let these people you haven’t met intimidate you. I once heard someone say a stranger is nothing more than a friend you haven’t met yet.” I’d always thought the guy who said it was an idiot. Fenton must have felt differently.
I sent him on his way with a swat on the behind more for my pleasure than his. I’d man the table, I’d hand out the business cards and talk up the fabulous project we were in the middle of completing, despite the fact that he’d yet to come up with a name for the place. The rest was up to him.
The hours passed where one face blurred into another and there was a constant stream of information exchanged. Pretty soon I forgot who I’d already spoken to and who I’d yet to meet, under a constant stream of information. I’d give it to these guys and gals. Not only did they all seem to know their stuff, but they were friendly and outgoing. Fenton’s kind of people, I mused.
Around noon time most of the room cleared out for lunch. Provided for the seminar by OHR, of course. I sat next to Fenton and enjoyed a plate of chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans, accompanied by a roll with sweet butter. I think most conventions used the same caterer. The rest of the time was spent bouncing from one presentation to another. Listening to people talk about things like refinishing different types of wood and the best shingles to choose when redoing a roof. Not to mention resale values and using eco-friendly alternatives for every day refinishes.
Despite my initial hesitation to accompany Fenton, I learned a lot. And begrudgingly admitted how much I enjoyed the time. It was worth it, in the end, when I walked away with my head pounding and so stuffed full of good ideas that I couldn’t wait to go home and implement them.
Home, I thought with a start. Since when had I started thinking of the project as home? Because that’s what had happened. The picture in my head wasn’t of my own little house, but the B & B.
Uh oh.
I pushed the blasphemous thought far, far away and focused on getting myself and Fenton through the rest of the day without going into sensory overload.
The last three years I’d spent with a purpose—taking care of a business I’d often thought of as my own. One I’d learned quick enough I had no part of no matter how I felt. Now I was in a transition period, and I could see how it would be easy to fall into the mindset of stuck. Stuck trying to figure out what to do and where to go and where I belonged.
Strangely enough, listening to what I would have once assumed to be boring speakers on their boring subjects, I felt a lightness. Maybe I should have given thought to design sooner. Maybe my compass wasn’t as broken as I’d wondered. This was a good direction, I thought. A good outlet for my creative juices.
I spared a glance at Fenton, who was nodding along with the presentation. I wasn’t the only one who felt lighter. At least, he looked it, his shoulders dropped and relaxed, his face open and eager to hear more. I smiled and turned away.
Later, I met Fenton for dinner, watching him wave at me from across the dining room, and knew I shouldn’t have worried about him at all. He’d managed to find his own way through the day, helped along by a hearty dose of something pink and cold with a little umbrella sticking out of the top. I shook my head with a wry chuckle.
Tonight, we were on the opposite end of the hotel compound at a restaurant designed for dancing. That was my observation, anyway. It was different from the first beachfront bar in that, although we kept the same spectacular views of the beach and the rapidly setting sun, the atmosphere was upbeat and hot.
The hotel had dimmed the lights around the room and thrown open the doors to the outside. A strong breeze blew in filled with ocean salt. From the front entrance, an elaborate bar lined in ironwork stood on the right, with round tables and booths perched around the outer edges of the room. Dark wood lined the walls, which were done in a light golden grass weaved wallpaper. Typical hotel décor taken up a notch by the light banners billowing below the wall sconces.
I locked eyes with Fenton through the darkness—the waving certainly helped—and with the dark haze from outside, I felt him. I felt his heat and the electric pull tugging me across the room.
“This has been amazing!” He was wiggling in his seat, filled with the excitement of the day. “It went better than I could have imagined.”
I stifled a giggle at his excitement, standing at the edge of the table, looking at him. He’d loosened his tie so that it hung around his neck, and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. It lent him a rugged and appealing air. His hair was pushed away from his face and ruffled from him running his fingers through it too many times.
“You know, I’ve actually enjoyed myself. I didn’t think I would,” I admitted. “Or rather, I was skeptical. Even though I didn’t get my beach day, it was worth it.”
“Of course you enjoyed yourself.” Fenton scoffed. “What is there not to like about OHR? These guys are the best.” He gestured across the room and somehow managed to catch the attention of a guy in his mid-thirties, crazy cowlick and wacky socks worked up to his mid-calves. The man waved back and continued to dance. Limbs wiggling wildly.
“And you were worried. I told you there was nothing to worry over. These people are like you. Minus the strange dancing.” I used my knuckles to knock against his hand.
There was a flush to Fenton’s cheeks, a glaze over his eyes, I noted when I eventually slid into the booth across from him. I was willing to bet money he’d started the party without me, more drinks than the one I saw in front of him on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered us a round of drinks,” Fenton said. “I wasn’t sure what kind you would like so I pointed to a random one on the menu. It’s decent.”
“The fruity kind with a little umbrella in the corner, I see.” I adjusted my skirt and resisted the urge to stare at him.
There was that tanned skin. That hint of chest hair the dark color of an oak tree. His eyes were hot and on me no matter how I tried to look away.
“Are there any other kinds?” he asked.
“Look at you, getting crazy. I think your shoulders are finally beginning to loosen instead of tensing all the way up to your ears. I told you not to get so caught up. You made a lot of friends today.” I helped myself to a sip of his drink and let the cold liquid slide down my over-heated throat, cooling me from the inside. Yup, it was good.
“Yes, I know. You were right. I admit it! When am I going to learn to trust you?”
The very question I’d been asking myself since we first met. “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, linking my fingers on the table in front of me. I sent an appreciative smile toward the server when she returned with her hands full of something tall and fuchsia-colored. Sweet, tangy flavor burst on my tongue when I took a second sip.
He’d done well.
“I learned a few things myself from all those presentations,” I told him with more than a little excitement. “I have so many ideas, things we can implement when we get back, the least of which is that vinegar weed killer. When we get back to the job site, I would really like to look into—”
“No,” Fenton interrupted. His face shifted into serious. “There’s no work talk tonight. We had enough of it today. Okay? Tonight is for shifting back into neutral, having some fun, maybe having a couple of drinks…it’s for enjoying ourselves.” His eyebrows danced. “We can get a little silly.”
I twisted my straw around, twirling it between my fingers. “If we aren’t t
alking about work then what will we say to each other? I thought I’d already grilled you enough about your past last night.”
“I’m sure you have all kinds of crazy stories you can tell me this time.”
“Stories. Ah, I see what you mean. My past relationships.”
“I heard you’ve lived through, shall we say, an entire spectrum.”
I purposely widened my eyes until they stung. “You’re saying I get around!”
He laughed and leaned close until his breath warmed my cheeks. “I would never say such a thing.”
“I’ve lived through some doozies, sure,” I admitted playfully. “You met one of them. Owen.”
Fenton’s face soured. “I can think of another name for him that starts with D. Something a little more appropriate.”
“Exactly. You get my point. What I haven’t heard is anything about your past doozies.”
“I don’t have many, and none of the stories are interesting.”
Through our chat, a trio of guys had been gathering chairs and stands in a corner along with their instruments. A lone trumpet sounded across the dance floor and I finally noticed there were more people ready to dance. Outside of Fenton’s strange friend with the weird socks and his date.
“I beg to differ. There has to be some kind of crazy explanation in your past for why you don’t want a relationship now.” I ran my fingers in circles in the air above my ears. “I’ve run through a few scenarios in my head and the most likely one, of course, came down to a woman. There’s only so much past trauma you can carry around from your parents, after all.”
He nearly choked on his drink. “You can’t accept that I don’t want a relationship? There has to be a reason?”
His question was half-joke, half-disbelief. I parried. “Yes! There’s always something. And it has to be a good reason to turn down this.” I ran my hands down my front and made sure to pause below my ample cleavage. I’d amped the girls into their rightful position taking center stage.
His eyes went down immediately. Then, like he’d forgotten himself, he snapped his attention back to me. “What makes you think I feel like divulging sensitive information? I mean, we’re getting pretty deep here.”
“And we’ve known each other long enough to consider each other friends. I would hope we’re friends. Friends tell each other sensitive information.” The way he stared at me…I twirled my tongue in my mouth when everything went dry.
His teeth latched around the straw, Fenton said, “Nope. I’m not ready to tell you about my ex. I’d rather hear more about how Owen called you by his sister’s name. Now that’s a good story.”
“How many of those have you had?” I asked, gesturing toward his drink with my nose.
Still worrying the straw, he stared up at me. “Well,” he began a moment later, “there might have been one. Her. Although this story is going to be a total buzz kill and we’re talking all family drama aside. The family drama has always been a deciding factor in my relationships, whether I want it to be or not.”
Now we were getting somewhere. I leaned in closer, to not miss a single word. It was more than he’d been willing to share last night. I liked to think I was finally bringing him out of his shell. “Believe me, I understand family drama.” Probably a lot better than either one of us knew.
“Okay, so family notwithstanding…last year, I was involved with a woman I thought shared my dreams and passions. Not the case.”
“What happened?”
“She’s gone, isn’t she? Took off after screaming at me about what a loser I was and how I would never make anything out of myself. Her final parry was to tell me she’d been sleeping with one of the guys I worked with at the bar before she slammed the door on my foot and took off. And it wasn’t only her.”
I blinked. “How many times have you been cheated on, man?”
“Cheated on, co-dependent, women who tried to pretend to like me when all they wanted was my money. In the end, they all said the same thing. I wasn’t worth their time. They didn’t like the way I lived my life and they didn’t like my sensitive situation. They held it against me, said horrible things.”
Sensitive situation?
“I kind of realized it was time to be alone before I made another mistake. I don’t want to keep perpetuating the cycle. You have to understand, Shari,” he said, looking up and pleading with me. “You have to understand. I don’t want the cycle to repeat again. I swore off relationships to focus.”
Boy, did I ever. “Sometimes you need to take a chance. You can’t live your life being afraid. Sometimes things happen in the time they are meant to. You can’t rush them, but you can’t run away from them either.”
“Maybe you can live your life on the wild side, but I have too much at stake to fuck up again.”
My eyes widened. “And I don’t?”
“You are more adaptable than I am,” he insisted. Knocking his drink on the table for effect. “You can bounce back from anything. It’s what makes you so amazing. Take, for instance, how you handled getting fired. You punched the guy in his face!”
“I told you already, I didn’t punch him. It was an I-mean-business slap.” Then I stopped. “Wait. You think I’m amazing?”
“I do. I really do.”
“Hey, you want to—” I jerked my head in the direction of the dance floor.
Fenton shook his head. “I’m not good on my feet. Besides, there aren’t a lot of people out there yet.”
“Come on. You want to dip your toe into the wild side with me?” I reached across the table and took him by the hand, simultaneously scooching out of the booth until I stood beside him. “Come on. Live a little. It isn’t going to hurt you. You might enjoy yourself!”
He drained the rest of his drink before answering. “Fine. I’ll apologize in advance if I step on your feet. I can’t say I’ve ever been a good dancer.”
“I’ll store it in my pocket for later,” I answered with a smile. “Come on. If your friend can do it, you can too.”
The trumpet continued to blare out a croon. Along with a pair of acoustic guitars, it practically begged for a slow Dirty Dancing style dance. I was more than happy to oblige. Especially considering the heady buzz in my stomach and the dark-haired man less than two feet away from me. This was shaping up to be a better weekend than I could have hoped.
With Fenton’s hands on my waist, I shook and I shimmied. Moving my hips around in an overly exaggerated circle until he laughed and joined in.
The music was rich. Intoxicating. God, that was the perfect word to describe the evening. Absolutely intoxicating in all the right ways.
I wasn’t sure how many hours went by. Time lost meaning against the feel of him, the smell of his skin and the weight of his eyes. There were more drinks. There was laughter and sweat and fire in my blood. There was nothing outside of Fenton and the way he made me feel. Or rather, the way I felt when we were together. I forgot what he said about not wanting to date and not being ready for a relationship. I forgot about everything except how strong he was, and how powerful he made me feel with his arms around me.
He dropped me low in a dip before twirling me in a circle, liquid heat pooling. My head dipped back and I let out a laugh.
Before I knew it, his fingers were curled around mine pulling me from the room.
“Where are we going?” I asked breathlessly.
His answer was vague and grumbled in a tone that went straight between my legs. “I’m tired and we have to get up early and get on the road.”
Oh. It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. My face melted into a frown and I spared a look over my shoulder at the crowded dance floor. “What if I’m not ready for bed? Come on, Fenton. A few more minutes. Then I’ll happily tuck myself in. Better yet, what if I promise not to complain about how tired I am in the morning?”
“You can stay if you want. I thought you would want to get a little sleep.” He continued to pull me toward the elevator, his gate slowing to accommodate my
slower steps.
My heels clicked along the tile and echoed throughout the nearly empty lobby. In the bright fluorescent lights, away from the hum and fog of the restaurant and dance floor, I was acutely aware of how tired I really felt. The weight of the day settled slowly on my shoulders.
“I suppose so,” I answered.
Fenton pressed the button for the elevator and we waited in silence for it to arrive. Out of the corner of my eye I glanced over at him, only to find him staring at me. I chuckled, remembering his moves on the dance floor.
“You were right. You do have two left feet. Although I think with a little practice you can improve.”
He grunted an answer, one half of his mouth quirked north in a smile.
The elevator binged and we both stepped on. At once the pain in my feet registered, a product of three-inch heels on my sandals.
“What time are we shoving off tomorrow then, captain?” I asked.
Fenton rolled his shoulders and let out a breath. “I’d like to be on the road by seven to avoid any kind of traffic.”
“But it’s Sunday. What traffic is there going to be on Sunday?”
He reached across the elevator and tweaked my nose. “You never know. You’re cute when you’re concerned.”
“And you’re cute when you’re plastered,” I responded. “How many of those dragon fruit fizzies did you have down there?”
The elevator slowly chugged along. Fenton stepped closer and I forgot about the pain in my feet. I forgot how small the space was.
“Enough of them.”
“I had a nice time today.”
“Good. I’m glad. I’d hate to think I dragged you along with me and you had a miserable time.”
I shook my head and refrained from telling him the truth. No matter where I was or whatever I was doing, if he was there, it was the time of my life.
A ding interrupted me and the doors opened to the sixteenth floor. “Okay, this is me.”
Fenton reached out for a hug. “I hope I didn’t run you too hard today.”
