by K J Bell
I stuck my tongue out at him, annoyed. Before I even saw his reaction, he lifted me from the beach, swinging me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Put me down,” I insisted. He ignored me, and proceeded to the house up every step as though I weighed nothing, ignoring my fisting into his back.
When we reached the top of the stairs, he finally set me down, grinning with way too much delight.
“Let me guess, another one of your abilities?” I asked sarcastically.
“No, I’m just that strong,” he laughed, patting his chest, obviously taking my question as a huge compliment. “Thanks for noticing.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I could have gotten up on my own,” I said, rolling my eyes and attempting to sound rebellious.
“Yes, I could see that,” he said grinning ear to ear.
We went inside and Brent got me a towel. Glancing at his cell phone on the counter, he picked it up, pressed a few buttons and returned his gaze to mine. I assumed he was probably texting with Reese, and decided to shrug it off, not wanting to spoil the moment between us.
His smile widened showcasing his perfectly white teeth. He really was gorgeous.
“Your lips are still blue, Blake,” he chuckled.
“Ahhh,” was all I managed to say. While I pretended to be ticked off, I loved this playful, carefree side to him. His confidence made him all the more appealing. I resisted the urge to throw my wet body into his arms, fist my hands through his hair and demand that he kiss me.
Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was after four o’clock. I didn’t think we had been on the beach so long. My stomach rumbled letting me know I was starving. I hardly touched my breakfast and needed to eat sooner, rather than later.
“You hungry?” I asked Brent.
‘Famished,” he said. “What should I cook?”
“I got it. You cooked breakfast,” I offered. “I’m going to get changed, warm up, and then I’ll show you one of my abilities,” I teased. I was in fact, a very good cook. My mom had taught me well, and I looked forward to doing this for him because I wanted to, not because some divine concept in the universe said I should.
After spending an eternity in the shower warming every inch of me, I changed into the thickest sweats I found. Still freezing, I also found thick socks and layered a long-sleeved shirt under the sweats.
I came downstairs to find Brent on the couch watching Sports Center, still scribbling in his book. Sitting there watching the commentators discuss football, he seemed like any normal high school aged guy. He waved at me and I smiled, joining him on the couch.
“Can I see?” I asked, pointing to his pad of paper.
“It’s not finished yet,” he replied, smiling shyly, holding the book to his chest.
“I’m sure it’s great. Come on, let me see it.”
He handed me the pad and my heart skipped a beat when I looked down on the page, seeing myself on the rocky beach below. I was squatting down looking at a rock in one hand and holding the toy pail in the other, my toes curled around the stones.
“I told you I couldn’t resist the scenery,” he flirted, making my heart feel as though there were butterflies flying around in it.
“This is amazing, Brent,” I complimented, my cheeks burning feverishly.
“It’s all right,” he said, apprehensively.
“It’s more than all right. It’s incredible. You’re so talented,” I said, trying not to smile like some star-struck groupie. “I would love to keep it.”
“When I’m done,” he said, pulling the notebook from my hands frowning.
“I didn’t mean to push,” I said softly, knowing how it felt to show your talents to others. I had been playing guitar since I was a kid, and could still never muster the courage to do it for anyone other than my parents.
His brow was creased in a way that had become familiar to me, marking some internal struggle within him.
“It’s fine. What about that food? I’m starving,” he asked.
Making my way through the fridge I found mushrooms, onion, garlic, porchetta, fresh romano cheese and cream. I retrieved some olive oil and pasta in the cabinets, scoring when I found an indoor herb garden adorning the kitchen window. Clipping fresh basil and parsley from the dense plants, I measured a tablespoon for both. I poured the olive oil in a skillet, heating it on the stove. It was a great kitchen, with top of the line appliances I’m sure rivaled those in fine restaurants.
Cooking in this kitchen was enjoyable, satisfying my inner chef. I started a pot of water, and set the pasta aside until the pot boiled. Setting the cheese and cream aside until everything was thoroughly cooked, I tossed the remaining ingredients in the heated oil. Once the water boiled, I added the pasta, setting a timer on the stove to ensure it would cook to al dente perfection. I added the cream and cheese to the skillet, stirring the sauce until it thickened to the consistency I wanted, and set it aside while the pasta finished.
“That smells wicked awesome. I’m drooling over here,” Brent called from the front room.
My mind wandered off to a sensual place, envisioning me feeding Brent each bite of his supper and him smiling at me, love in his eyes. He swallowed hard when he finished and brushed my bottom lip with his thumb. He told me I was beautiful, and he loved me more than life itself. Then his lips met mine and he kissed me softly. As the vision continued, a muffled giggle from under the table interrupted us. A little Brent popped out and jumped into his daddy’s lap. “Eww, you guys were kissing,” the child said sweetly. Brent started tickling his ribs and the child’s boisterous laughter filled the room.
“Beep. Beep. Beep.” The timer interrupted my fantasy.
What the hell was that?
“Are you all right?” Brent was by my side, resting his hand on the small of my back. I felt the heat in my cheeks, fire engine red, on full display. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him right then, as I was sure after where my thoughts had just taken me, I would have little self-control. I would have been unable to resist attacking him right there in the kitchen.
“You’re doing it again,” he said, sliding his index finger across my lips, removing the purse they had formed. I bit my lip in response.
I took two quick steps back before I did something wrong. Not that I would regret it, but it was wrong. It wasn’t our design and I was trying to accept that. Why did he have to be so funny and charming if he couldn’t be mine?
“I’m good,” was all I could utter out.
He got a colander from the cabinet and drained the pasta into it. I gathered two plates and utensils and went about setting the table. I mixed the pasta and sauce together spooning it onto our plates. Taking a seat next to Brent, I noticed the uncertainty in his pained expression. We both knew how we felt about each other and it was getting harder for him to deny it.
I decided to break the uncomfortable silence. “So, any football news I should know about?”
“Uh, really, you want to talk about football?” Brent asked, raising a suggestive brow.
“Sure, why not. I love football.” I did enjoy football. I watched every Sunday with my parents. No matter where we lived my dad had to have the NFL package so he could watch his beloved Patriots.
“Okay, Blake. Who’s your favorite player on the Patriots and don’t say Tom Brady or this discussion is over.” He was mocking me, really? Was it so hard to believe that I could be a football fan?
“All right then, Tedy Bruschi.” I saw he wanted to interrupt, so I continued before he did. “Yes, I know, he’s retired, so if you mean current player then I have to say Vince Wilfork.”
“Wilfork? Really?” He seemed amused.
“Hell, yeah,” I cheered. “Plus, he’s like a big teddy bear.”
“Oh, okay, Blake. Now I get it. It’s not actually about the sport for you. He’s a big bear, all right,” he laughed.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m willing to bet he has a career year. Maybe even runs an intercepti
on back for a touchdown. What about it, Cassidy? You up for a little wager?”
“I love the Pats, so I can’t bet against them,” Brent replied. “But there is a greater chance of seeing pig’s fly than Wilfork getting a pick six. You have seen him, correct?”
“Hey, the big man’s got skills,” I touted.
“Okay then, whose you favorite QB?” Brent asked challengingly.
“That’s easy. Drew Brees. He’s amazing. Plus, he’s got a great story. He was drafted by San Diego who dumped him for Rivers when he got hurt. He didn’t throw a tantrum about it, just came back stronger after the injury and I enjoy watching him light it up.”
“Hmmm. So, maybe you do know football. The Pats play Miami this weekend. Good to know I won’t spend the game explaining the difference between off sides and a false start,” he said, questioning me with his grin.
“Oh, is this a test? Let’s see… Off sides is typically when a defensive player lines up over or jumps the line and a false start is when an offensive player moves before the snap. Satisfied?” I bubbled.
“Very.”
I pursed my lips slightly, looking at him teasingly. Really, he’s a total sexist and it should irritate me but it doesn’t. I loved when we bantered like this. “Well then, Cassidy, since I know football, that means you get to do the dishes.”
“Fair trade,” he replied.
It was quiet for a while as we both scarfed down our food, starving from not eating much at breakfast.
“This is wicked good food. You sure can cook,” he praised, making my belly flip. I looked up, whispering a quiet thank you to my mother.
Brent started clearing the table and cleaning up the kitchen. I watched him more adoringly than I should have. Pursing my lips, I started flipping through thoughts of Brent like pages in a novel. But no matter the page, I was in love with him. The logical side of me was trying to process what he said about my needing Reese. I weighed heavily over my feelings versus my responsibilities and it made my heart ache.
I remembered a favorite quote of mine from my book.
“Passion should believe itself irresistible. It should forget civility and consideration and all the other curses of a refined nature. Above all, it should never ask for leave where there is a right of way.”
Those words written long ago by such a romantic soul had always affected me. I was not sure how much my choice would change our lives but I knew my heart belonged to Brent and Reese would be helpless to change that.
I went into the kitchen to help Brent. “This house is amazing. I can’t believe Maggie could afford this place,” I said, wiping down the counters.
“Maggie inherited it from your grandmother. It was your grandfather’s dream. He made a ton of money during the dot.com craze and invested wisely. They continued to live a modest life. As he aged, he decided to build a house here for your grandma and Mags. He hoped to move here when he retired and did most of the work himself. They planned to leave the house in Mass for your parents but then he passed away and your grandmother and Maggie couldn’t stand the thought of living here without him. Maggie rents it a few times every summer to cover the bills, but that’s it. She’s never stepped foot inside,” Brent explained, knowing more about my family than I did.
“Wow, I had no idea. So, who takes care of the place?” I asked.
“Your aunt hired a caretaker. He helps with the rentals and she trusts him with everything. She called to let him know we were coming. He came by and stocked the fridge and turned on the heat for us,” he replied.
We spent the rest of the evening talking, and playing board games. Brent beat me a few dozen times in Checkers but I schooled him in Scrabble, redeeming myself. So much had changed for me in a few short months. My life had taken an expected turn. I had lost my parents, been handed what seemed like an insurmountable responsibility and fallen for Brent. I felt happier than I had in a long time. I was not looking forward to the evening coming to an end, and the thought of Reese showing up tomorrow made me increasingly uncomfortable.
“Hey, what are you thinking about, Blake?” Brent’s voice ended my mental rambling.
“What am I not thinking about,” I said. “I have a question to ask.”
“Shoot,” he smiled.
“Do you think there is any chance they got it wrong?” I asked, sliding one of the scrabble squares back and forth across the table fretfully.
He didn’t have to ask to know I was referring to Reese.
“Claire, we’ve been over this. Things are designed with a purpose, for a reason. You have to accept that you have no control over it.”
“I can’t, Brent, because I feel something different,” I admitted.
Brent moved closer to me, placing his hand on my knee. His touch reminded me I definitely felt something different. It was meant to be friendly, but my body knew it was something more.
“You won’t when Reese gets here. I promise you. The bond between the two of you will pull you to him and you’ll forget about how you feel about me,” he explained, running his fingers through his hair. I saw in the movement he hoped he was wrong as much as I did.
“I’m not sure that’s a promise you can keep. I mean it Brent. I felt nothing when I was around Reese. Frankly, he’s annoying as hell,” I laughed.
Brent laughed softly and teasingly tapped the tip of my nose with his index finger.
“Well, he can be that at times,” he agreed. “But you’ll love him anyway.”
“I won’t,” I argued, folding my hands in my lap, pursing my lips in frustration.
“You will,” Brent countered, resting his fingers along the bottom of my jaw, using his thumb to remove my pout.
His fingers lingered and our eyes locked. When the heat in my core was too much to take, I put my mouth on his. He tensed immediately and moved away from me, leaving my heart empty.
“Claire, we can’t.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I whispered ruefully.
He slid close to me again and reached for my hand. “Look, promise me when Reese gets here, you’ll give him a chance. It will happen and for your safety alone, you’ll need him. Please,” Brent pleaded.
“I’ll try.” That was all I could offer –that I would try. I wasn’t sure yet how I was possibly going to manage it. Everything emotion in me told me Reese was not the one.
I thought about what my mom always used to say to me whenever I wanted something I had no control over.
If was meant to be, Claire, it will happen.
In this case, I wanted Brent but was reluctantly starting to feel like it wasn’t meant to be.
When we went up to bed, Brent agreed to lay with me. He didn’t even make an argument as to why it was a bad idea. I thought it was because he knew it wouldn’t make a difference in what was supposed to happen. I curled up around him with my head on his chest, lost in the rhythm of his heartbeat. He ran his fingers through the side of my hair until I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 9
“A soul mate is an ongoing connection with another individual that the soul picks up again in various times and places over lifetimes. We are attracted to another person at a soul level not because that person is our unique complement, but because by being with that individual, we are somehow provided with an impetus to become whole ourselves.” – Edgar Cayce
My eyes were still firmly shut from uninterrupted sleep. Squinting, I slowly opened them, blinded by the light coming through the wall of windows. I heard singing and began to make out the words of the song filling my head.
“Happy Birthday dear, Claire. Happy Birthday to you.”
Rolling towards the door, I found Brent standing with a serving tray. His hair was tousled from sleep and his wrinkled t-shirt was snug, showing off his firm chest. Even fresh from bed he looked amazing. I made out a stack of pancakes with a single lit candle and a glass of orange juice on the tray.
“Make a wish, Claire,” Brent instructed, setting the tray at my side on the bed.
“Thanks,” I said warmly.
Looking into my eyes he said, “What did you wish for?”
My cheeks flushed. Words escaped me so I winked at him in response.
He sighed, shaking his head. “Even a wish as powerful as a birthday one can’t change fate, you know.”
Shrugging him off, a wide smile stretched my face. “We’ll see,” I pouted, sticking my tongue at him. This was starting to become a habit as childish as it was.
Brent shrugged, looking at me seriously.
“You really are stubborn, you know that?” he said, although I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question.
Looking away, I flushed inwardly.
“One of my greatest abilities, Cassidy,” I grinned saucily, holding in a laugh.
He eyed me with a bemused grin of his own.
“So how’s does it feel to be eighteen, Blake? he asked, changing the subject as he took a seat next to me on the bed.
“I don’t feel any different,” I said. “At least not because I’ve finally reached a number deemed adulthood. Why, how old are you Cassidy?”
“Twenty,” he answered, sneaking a bite of pancake. I pretended to stab him with my fork.
“But, how are you and I in the same grade then?” I had always assumed we were the same age because we were in the same grade.
Looking back at me bewildered, he answered. “We needed to be, so I started school the same year you did.”
This seemed so obvious. I didn’t even know why I asked the question.
“Thanks for the birthday breakfast. That was very sweet of you.”
“Yes, well, every girl needs cake on her birthday or cakes in this case,” he said smiling. My heart burst with emotions as I conjured up the image of him in the kitchen preparing me breakfast to make my day special.
We shared the pancakes, sitting quietly, gazing into each other’s eyes, his blazing, deep blue. It was as though we were sharing the same energy, fixated on reading the other’s thoughts. He leaned in closer, his warm breath clouding my face. The scent of maple syrup lingered between us. There was nothing better, my mom was right. He wanted to kiss me. I felt his need and I wanted him to do it. The thought made my heart pound and I was sure he noticed. I sat stoic, though I wanted to leap. This had to be his choice. I drew in a slow breath when I sensed he was about to do it. This time because he wanted to. It seemed he was unable to curb his desire any more than I was. I saw in his eyes he was waging a battle between right and wrong, craving me as much as I craved him. We were both startled by the sound of the doorbell, releasing our hypnosis.
