Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “What’s her name?”

  “Candace.”

  “The ballerina?” she squeals.

  I nod my head when she adds, “She’s been shopping here for years. We’re the only boutique in the state that carries the perfume she wears, so she’s pretty loyal.”

  “Why does that not surprise me? That she would’ve picked a perfume that was exclusive to one store in the whole state of Washington,” I laugh as she joins in.

  “You must be the guy she was shopping for last time she was in a couple weeks back.”

  I nod and introduce myself, “I’m Ryan.”

  I give her a friendly handshake as she says, “Well, I’ll let you be. Please, I’m Viv, let me know if I can help you or if you change your mind about the wine.”

  Joking, I ask, “Does your boss know you drink on the job?”

  “Please,” she drawls and winks at me, adding, “It’s a requirement.”

  I wander over to check out the perfumes, and sure enough, I spot her bottle of Flou. Next to the display there is an old antique wrought-iron table with a locked glass case that serves as the round table top. Looking down through the glass, there are a few pieces of handcrafted jewelry, most of them rings. There are a couple hand stamped pieces with various quotes. I eye one of the necklaces. It’s the only one with a flat, rectangular bar at the drop that connects the thin, delicate chain. I stop looking at the rest of the jewelry when I read words that couldn’t be more true, and I know I have to get this for her because this—these words—is exactly how I see her and how I need her to see herself.

  Looking up to Viv, who is sipping her wine, I ask, “Can you show me a piece from this case?”

  She hops up and comes over to unlock the glass, and I show her the one I’m looking at. She pulls it out and hands it to me.

  “It’s perfect,” I murmur as I look it over. The stamped letters are rugged and uneven, a contrast to the polished silver bar and fragile chain.

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  I look up and she clarifies, “The quote. It’s from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’”

  I run my thumb over the jagged impressions of the words, And though she be but little, she is fierce. “Was this here the last time she was in?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  When I hand her the necklace, I follow her over to the counter. “A gift?” she asks.

  “It’s her birthday.”

  “Shall I wrap it?”

  “No,” I say, and when she looks up at me, I add with a smirk, “She hates gifts.”

  She smiles as she takes my credit card. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” she tsks and then swipes my card before handing it back to me. “I like you.”

  “Not gonna lie, Viv, I like you too,” I respond with a light chuckle before she hands me the bag.

  I head out to my car, having one more errand to run, because I’m not quite satisfied yet.

  ***

  When I get home later, I hear Candace in the shower, so I go ahead and stash my purchases. I walk into my closet, shoving them into one of the drawers and cover them up with a couple sweaters. My camera sits on the tabletop of the drawers, and I grab it, taking it with me as I flop on the bed and wait for Candace to come out. I scroll through the only pictures that are stored—the ones of Candace’s back. I click on each one, zooming in on the preview screen to get a closer look.

  The bathroom door opens, and I look up to see her walking out, towel drying her hair, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of my boxers. God, she’s hot.

  “I didn’t know you were home,” she says as she stands at the foot of the bed.

  Ignoring her statement, I let her know, “I like it when you wear my underwear.”

  “Stop,” she says in a nagging voice as I pop up to my knees.

  “I’m serious. It’s hot as shit.”

  When she laughs at me, I hold my hand out to her and pull her on top of the bed with me, twisting around and laying her on her back. Her skin is still damp from her shower, and I weave my fingers into her wet hair as I begin to plant slow kisses down her neck. She smells insanely good, and when I pull back to look down at her, I’m taken by how beautiful she looks right now.

  Leaning over, I pick up my camera, and as soon as I bring it up to my eye, she covers her face, complaining, “No.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t just take my picture.”

  I laugh at her. “Don’t be shy with me,” I tell her and then sit back on my heels. “Let me see you.”

  She removes her hands from her face, and when she does, I say, “Let me photograph you.”

  Lying there, she doesn’t respond one way or the other, so I bring the camera back up to my eye and snap a few quick shots of her. Hair splayed around her face, flushed cheeks, and a soft expression on her face.

  “Thanks,” I say when I’m done capturing her face and then shift to the side of her, holding the camera back to my face.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving myself something to work on,” I mutter before adding, “Bend your legs up, babe.”

  She does without question, and I use my hand to maneuver them to my liking until they are at the perfect angle. The clicks of the shutter are the only sounds that fill the room as she lies there, watching me intently every time I shift my eyes to hers. I’m glad she’s comfortable with this and not so tense like she was the last time we did this.

  I move to set the camera on the nightstand and then back to her, easing my weight on top of her. She runs her hands along my face, drawing me down to kiss her. We let ourselves get lost in one another, moving in a way I have only done with her, and when her shirt hits the floor with mine, I drop my head to her chest. Her arms encircle my head as I cover her in my mouth, finding that the feel of her lace bras are a turn-on I never expected.

  Her skin is soft beneath my hand as I run it down her side and to her leg as I tighten my grip because she feels that damn good. When she grazes her lips up my neck, she sends chills down my arms. Our breaths begin to run deep, and my need for her strengthens as I slide my hand in from her hips, over the waistband of her boxers, and down between her legs, cupping the heat of her.

  “Stop,” she snaps and jerks my hand away, startling me.

  “Babe?”

  “Just . . . don’t,” she whispers.

  I accept all of her hesitations, but it still hurts when she rejects my touches. Her eyes are closed when I lie down beside her, pulling her hip over so that she’s facing me.

  “Please look at me,” I urge in a hushed voice, and when she does, I go with transparent honesty and say, “I want to touch you.”

  “I know. I just . . .” I see the worry in her eyes and the lines in her forehead.

  “You can tell me anything, babe. I’ll never judge you.”

  She takes her time as I run my hand up her arm and into her hair. When she does speak, it’s strained as she confesses, “He’s the only one that’s touched me there.”

  I work hard to not get upset. To stay calm so that I can talk to her about this because we can’t keep avoiding it. I know this is the last thing she probably wants to discuss, but it has to be done, so I choose my words carefully, telling her, “You know that I would never hurt you.”

  “I know. It isn’t that.”

  “Then tell me what it is. I need to understand.”

  She tucks her chin down, and when I lift it back up with my fingers, I explain, “I need you to talk to me about this because I need to know.”

  “It’s embarrassing,” she admits quietly.

  “There is nothing for you to be embarrassed about, babe. But I’m gonna be honest with you—it hurts when you push me away because I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

  “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Then what?”

  After she lets out a slow sigh, she finally reveals, “It makes me feel dirty.”

  My forehead gently falls against hers, a
nd I close my eyes, shaking my head. With my hands on her back, I feel the soft heaves, letting me know she’s crying. It infuriates me that he did this to her. That this is how she views intimacy. The last thing I would ever expect or want her to feel when she’s with me like this is dirty. Knowing that makes me sick to my stomach.

  “Listen to me,” I say when I pull my head back to look at her. “That guy was a piece of shit, we both know that. He’s a sick fuck, and yeah, what he did and how he touched you was dirty. The disgust is beyond that. But that isn’t what this is. That isn’t us,” I try to explain to her. I pull her in tight, continuing, “I want to touch you and feel you. He made that something ugly for you, and I hate him for that. That he could take that away from us.”

  “I’m sorry,” she cries.

  “You have nothing—nothing—to be sorry for,” I scold. “He did this, not you. The way I want to touch you is nothing like that. I love you, and I want to touch you like this because it’s a way for me to feel close to you. It’s a way for me to love you and to make you feel that too.”

  The tears run down the side of her face as she responds, “I want to give that to you. I do. I feel awful that I can’t, but I’m trying. I need you to know that I am trying.”

  Wiping her face, I say, “I know you are. I see it. I’m not blaming you, but we need to talk about this so that I can understand.”

  “I hate this,” she confesses and then buries her head in my chest.

  “I know you do, and if I could do something I would. I just don’t know what that would be. But I love you, even the parts of you that you think are ugly. I love it all.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “What the hell is this, Mark?” I call out from the kitchen when I open the box with the cake.

  He’s on the couch, drinking a beer with Jase, and responds nonchalantly, “You put me in charge of the cake, so I got her a cake.”

  “She’s turning twenty-three, man.”

  “Yeah, I know. Trust me, she’ll like it,” he tells me with an exaggerated wink.

  “There are fuckin’ rats in tutus.”

  “They’re mice,” he corrects as I look back down at the cake that’s fit for a five-year-old. “It came with a free ‘Angelina the Ballerina’ ring,” he laughs as he holds up his hand to show me the pink plastic ring he’s wearing on his pinky.

  I shake my head and laugh with them as I grab a beer and join them in the living room.

  “You gonna give that to her?”

  He smirks, saying, “No way, man. This is mine.”

  We hang out and watch TV for a few minutes until Candace walks through the door. She gives Mark and Jase each a hug and kiss before I call her over and pull her onto my lap.

  “I missed you,” I whisper as I run my nose up her neck and then tease, “Mmmm . . . coffee.”

  She always smells like she’s bathed in a latte when she gets off work.

  “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll be back,” she says as she hops off of my lap.

  I watch as she goes up the stairs, and as if we had planned it, my phone buzzes with a text from my mom letting me know she’s about fifteen minutes out.

  “Did Candace find out about her audition yet?” Mark asks.

  “Not yet. She should know tomorrow.”

  “So what are you guys gonna do this weekend?” Jase asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

  “My mom is only able to stay through tomorrow afternoon, so we will probably just lay low.”

  We continue to talk about nothing in particular for a while when the doorbell rings.

  “Hey, Mom,” I greet as I open the door.

  She steps in and gives me a big hug, saying, “It’s good to see you, dear.”

  “Donna?” I hear Candace call out from behind me, and when I turn to see her walking down the stairs, the surprised look on her face makes me smile.

  “Candace,” Mom says, excited to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” She is completely caught off guard, wearing her pajamas with her hair pulled on top of her head, as she gives my mom an excited hug.

  “I wasn’t going to miss your birthday. But I’m a little disappointed that I had to hear about it from Ryan when you and I talk every week.”

  I step beside Candace, shoot her a wink, and kiss her on the cheek.

  “Sorry, I . . . I don’t normally do anything for my birthday, but I’m so happy you’re here,” she says and then hugs Mom again. “I can’t believe you drove all this way.”

  “It’s a few hours, dear. Hardly a chore.” I watch as my mom takes Candace’s hand and walks over to Mark and Jase.

  Candace introduces them, and I make my way into the kitchen.

  “Mom, what do you want to drink?”

  “A glass of wine will be good.”

  “Me too,” Candace tells me, and I laugh at the memory of her drunk the last time she had wine with Jase, so I just have to tease her, asking, “You’re not gonna get drunk, slap my ass, and tell me how sexy I am, are you?”

  “Ryan!” she scolds, completely embarrassed, and shoots a look towards my mom.

  I laugh at her, knowing that she has nothing to be concerned about when it comes to my mom. She adores Candace, and the two of them have become quite close in the past couple of months.

  I take a seat on the couch next to Candace as the three of us chat. I wanted to do something more for tonight, but this was probably the best idea. As we spend the evening relaxing and visiting over pizza, wine, and beer, I take in the fact that I have never had this before. At least not here in Seattle. I’m close with my family back home, but never felt that connection here, until now—until her. I’ve always known from the start that Jase, Candace, and Mark were tight. Just the three of them. And before I realized it, I’d become a part of that.

  I’ve never had friendships and connections like I have with these people. I never wanted to. Even though they are all younger than me, when I saw the level of closeness and trust between the three of them, I saw what I had been missing. Candace made me want that—the connect. The commonality between us was something that was lacking in my previous friendships. For the first time since I moved here, the first time in the past ten years, I have people that I trust and care about.

  It’s unfortunate when I think about it, but in a way, it’s Candace’s trauma that has bonded the four of us. I know we all love her in our own unique way, and at the root, there’s never been jealousy. Only three men that love this girl. And knowing that she has all of us gives me a level of security that I never expected to feel.

  So we take this night, and like any family would, we laugh and eat cheap birthday cake straight from the box. Mom helps me clean up in the kitchen while Candace sits on the floor, cuddled into Jase, bantering back and forth with Mark, determined to get that plastic ring from him.

  “I love her.”

  I look at my mom when she says this to me as we load the dishwasher.

  “She’s really something special,” she adds.

  “Yeah, she is,” I agree as I watch her from across the room.

  We finish up and wipe the counters down, and Candace asks as we walk back in, “Hey, you guys wanna watch a movie?”

  “You all go ahead. I’m going to get some sleep so I’m rested for tomorrow,” my mom says.

  Candace walks over and gives her a hug, saying, “Thanks again for coming, Donna.”

  “How about we spend a little girl time tomorrow, just the two of us?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “I love being ditched by the women in my life,” I tease as I step behind Candace and wrap my arms around her shoulders.

  “I’m sure you can find something to busy yourself with,” my mom shoots back at me. “Good night, you two.”

  “Let me help you get settled in,” I offer when she starts to head back to the guest bedroom. I stand there for a moment with Candace in my arms and then turn her around to face me. Tilting her head back to look up at me,
I kiss her before saying, “Give me a couple of minutes.”

  When I return, the lights are off, and the three of them have made a pile of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room with the fireplace going.

  “You guys work fast,” I murmur as I lie down next to Candace and tuck her into me.

  We watch ‘The Breakfast Club,’ and about halfway through, Jase and Mark call it a night and head out, leaving Candace and I alone for the first time tonight.

  She rolls over in my arms and weaves her legs with mine.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  “For?”

  “Your mom and the cake.”

  I kiss her nose, and she smiles as I say, “Anytime.”

  “I love you,” she says before she kisses me.

  When our kisses turn into more, I stop and sit up. “Come on.” I grab her hand and tell her, “I want you in my bed, under my sheets,” before taking her upstairs.

  ***

  As expected, the girls woke up this morning and went out for breakfast and shopping. I decided to take the time and work on the photos of Candace’s legs that I took the other day. I spent most of the morning in my office, working on the computer before going to the gym to grab a quick workout.

  It’s a little after noon by the time they get back. When they walk through the door, their hands are full of shopping bags.

  “Damn, that was a long breakfast,” I joke as I help them with their bags.

  “Sorry, time got away from us. If I didn’t have to go home, I would have spent the whole day with her,” Mom says.

  “Well, thanks for bringing her back. I’m sick of sharing her,” I tease as I wrap my arm around Candace.

  Nudging me in the gut, she playfully scolds, “Ryan!”

  “Sorry, babe, but it’s the truth,” I remark and then go in for a nibble on her neck.

  “Okay, kids. I’ve seen enough. I’m going to go pack,” my mom says, heading down the hall.

  “Ryan, that tickles,” she laughs, trying to squirm out of my arms. Picking her up, I haul her over to the couch where I lay her down and start planting soft kisses on her. “Did you have a good time this morning?” I ask between my nips and then lick the hollow of her neck.