by M. C. Decker
I shut the door and slid into my car hoping that Bentley would drive off. No such luck. He certainly was a perfect gentleman and had no intention of leaving me there alone. I put my keys in the ignition and waved at Bentley before driving off. Luckily he didn’t follow me home and I was able to pull over about a block away in order to gather my thoughts.
I put my car in park as I banged my head against the steering wheel, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. Were we dating? Bentley had called it a date earlier. I don’t date. Do I want to date? Are we just friends? Am I OK with being just friends? My mind was swarming with questions until fists knocking on my window scared me senseless. Looking up, I saw two young boys staring back at me. I started my engine and rolled my window down a bit.
“Miss are you OK? Your horn has been blasting for five minutes. We were over a block playing street hockey and we decided to come and investigate. We saw you slumped over and were afraid you’d passed out.”
So lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t even heard my horn. I hoped the people whose house I’d stopped in front of were out for the evening, or they had probably already called the police on me.
“I’m fine. Must have just fallen asleep for a minute,” I lied. “Just a long day. Thank you for checking on me, boys.”
They nodded and were on their way. I, too, decided to head for home where I would, hopefully, work this all out before I was supposed to see Bentley again.
Arriving for work on Monday morning, I was surprised to see a dozen red roses on my desk. Assuming they were from Katie and Greg, probably thanking me for my help over the weekend, I was even more stunned when I saw they were actually from Bentley.
Shamrock,
I’m so glad life brought us back together this weekend. It was great catching up with you yesterday. I can’t wait to see your beautiful face on Wednesday.
Love,
The Hopeless Romantic
He really wasn’t taking the standard “seventy-two hour” rule very seriously. He’d even texted me shortly after I’d returned home from our coffee date to make sure I’d arrived safely. I sat with my phone in hand for several seconds before typing out a response—deleting it—and retyping another.
That process went on for about five minutes before I finally settled on telling him that I’d indeed made it home safely, was heading to bed and would talk to him in the next few days. I was actually a little surprised—and maybe even a little disappointed—that I hadn’t heard from him again. I should’ve known he wasn’t going to let it go that easily.
Since I’d gotten little sleep the night of the wedding, I decided on going to bed early, but for the second night in a row, I tossed and turned with images of Bentley floating in my dreams. It was nearly impossible to drag myself out of bed this morning, but I knew I had two new cases coming in today and couldn’t just pass off my responsibilities on my coworkers because my head was in the clouds over Bentley. Seriously, I was starting to sound like some love-struck teenager.
Just as I was typing out a text message to thank Bentley for the flowers, Susan, my boss at the center, walked into my office.
“Good morning, Ireland. Just so you know, on top of the two cases we were already expecting, we have teenage twins—both girls—coming in as well. Their mom and dad were both killed in a traffic accident over the weekend and they don’t have any immediate family. We’ll have to work quickly to place them with a foster family. It’d be best if we didn’t have to separate them.”
Her words took me back to the crash that had taken everyone I’d ever loved. Bentley may not have died with them that day, but he’d been taken away just the same. The thought of losing him all over again was too much to bear. In that moment, I felt myself beginning to patch that wall around my heart that Bentley had manage to crack in just a few short days.
“Yeah, of course, I’ll get right on that,” I said. “Are the girls here yet? I’d like to speak with them as soon as possible.”
“No, they should be here in about thirty minutes. I’ll make sure to send them right down once we get them checked in,” Susan answered. As she began to turn back towards the door, her eyes landed on the vase of flowers on my desk. “Oh, those are beautiful! I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone,” she said with a smile.
“Oh, thank you. And, I’m not. I’m not seeing anyone,” I added, clarifying. I didn’t need any office gossip. I’d managed to keep my personal life, or lack thereof, pretty private in the five years that I’d worked there and I intended to keep it that way. In fact, I didn’t think many of my coworkers, aside from Susan who asked during the interview process, even knew my story, or my motivation for becoming a social worker for orphaned children.
“Well, whoever sent them must think you’re pretty special, Ireland. Because they’re gorgeous. And, if I must say, I thought you seemed more chipper this morning,” she said, smiling.
Her words caught me off guard. Not really knowing how to respond to her revelation, I was relieved when my phone vibrated in my hand giving me a quick out. I looked down to see an incoming text from Bentley. I’d gotten so caught up in my conversation with Susan that I’d forgotten about my unfinished text thanking him for the flowers.
“That must be the mystery man. I can tell because that smile of yours actually reached your eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen that before. Make sure you keep him around,” she said, turning to leave my office.
I had to give her credit. She was really saying all the right things. It was definitely from all those years working with the children in the foster system. It may have worked on me twenty years ago, but I’d spent the last decade using those same lines on children. Sure, I wanted to believe the words I told them—for their own sake, but sadly my heart knew the tragic truth.
The hurt was too deep—for me at least. Somehow, though, I’d managed to tell hundreds of orphaned children through the years that it would be OK when I myself have never truly been OK. I always hoped for them it would be different, and maybe I would actually help play a part in their road to recovery. I would tell them that their lives are worth living.
I needed to take my own advice and start living my life the same way I’d dreamed of all those years ago, but I couldn’t properly do that if I was still constantly in fear of loss.
And, if I was being honest with myself, Susan was right about something. I was happier this weekend—smiling more than I had most of my life. Maybe it was Katie, maybe it was the wedding, or maybe it was my reunion with Bentley.
I sighed knowing that it was probably Bentley. This weekend was the first time in nearly twenty years that I’d actually felt like everything in my life was truly going to be OK. I needed to take this leap of faith. I needed to open my heart and trust that Bentley wouldn’t leave me. And with that revelation, the wall completely fell. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to tell Bentley yet—maybe I’d get the courage to tell him over dinner later this week.
My phone vibrated again with Bentley’s incoming text.
Bentley: I thought I would’ve heard from you by now. I hope the flowers didn’t get sent to the wrong office because if they did then some lucky lady is going to think we have a date on Wednesday. Either that or you have another Hopeless Romantic in your life and you thanked him. In which case, who is he so I can go slash his tires?
Laughing at his message, I began to type out my response.
Ireland: I’m so sorry! I was typing out a message when my boss came in to tell me about a new case we have today. I got caught up in our conversation and I completely forgot what I was doing. The flowers are beautiful, though. Thank you!
Ireland: P.S. You’re definitely the only Hopeless Romantic in my life. No need to go crazy and slash any tires!! ;)
Bentley: You don’t have to apologize. I figured you were just busy. I’m just giving you a hard time. The flowers aren’t nearly as beautiful as you are, but I’m glad you liked them. I’ll let you get back to work. I know how Mondays can b
e. I should probably start looking over some client files myself. I’ll talk to you soon, Shamrock.
Ireland: OK. Thanks again! TTYL.
The orphaned twins, Christy and Sierra, had come into my office alone and scared. They confided in me that their worst fear was now that they’d lost both their mom and dad that they were going to lose each other, too. I assured them that I would do everything in my power to make sure that wouldn’t be the case. I knew how much they needed each other, and knew how much that loss on top of the loss of their parents would affect them for their entire lives. I’d even considered taking them home with me, but knew my small two-bedroom condo wasn’t the place for two teenage girls.
Working tirelessly for three straight days, I tried to place these girls with a suitable foster family. Fortunately, at around noon, I was finally able to arrange the perfect environment for the two. I’d found a middle-aged couple who’d already raised a grown son who was willing to take in the girls—together. It was the perfect scenario.
I’d completed the last of the paperwork for the girls’ transfer and was getting ready to head out of the office early for once. I wanted time to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few items for the meal I’d planned, as well as get home in time to tidy up and throw a load of laundry in the wash before Bentley arrived around six o’clock.
For the last two nights, he’d called me as soon as we got out of work and we talked until it was time for bed. I wasn’t sure how we’d managed to keep the conversation going for hours each night, but there was never any awkward silence between us. Well maybe except for that brief period when I’d fallen asleep while talking to him the night before. I couldn’t help it. The lack of sleep from Bentley running marathons in my head each night was finally catching up to me. He’d made sure to call me out for my subtle snoring though. I was so embarrassed and tried to blame it on bad reception, but he wasn’t falling for it.
I was actually looking forward to having Bentley over to my place for dinner. It may be hard to believe, but in my thirty-two years, I’d never cooked for a man before. Actually, I’d never even let one inside my home. Well except for Greg, but he didn’t count. Oh, and Steve my handyman, but I suppose he didn’t really count either.
Nope, after a one-night stand, I’d rather be the one leaving his place in the morning—doing the walk of shame—than having to be faced with the uncomfortable situation of him wanting to stay for breakfast, or even worse—wanting to spend the entire day with me. “Dump and Dash.” That had always been my motto—up until five days ago when Bentley had managed to turn my entire world upside down.
Leaving Susan with my files on the twins, I was headed toward the elevator when my phone pinged with an incoming text. Looking down, I smiled when I saw Bentley’s name light up the screen.
Bentley: Hey Shamrock, I hate to do this, but I need to cancel our plans for tonight. Tanner got into a fight with some neighborhood kids today, and I don’t think I should leave him alone tonight. I think he’s having a more difficult time with the divorce than he’s letting on. Anyway, I’m really sorry, but I just think I should stay with him tonight. We’re still on for this weekend though, right?
Although I was disappointed, I completely understood that Bentley’s first priority had to be his son.
Ireland: I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing you tonight, but Tanner needs to come first. I can make you dinner some other time. And, yes, we’re still on for this weekend. What are the two of you going to do tonight?
Bentley: Well, I thought I would put my culinary expertise to use and pour us both a big bowl of Captain Crunch and then we’ll probably watch a movie. Super exciting right?
Ireland: Sounds like a blast! LOL
Bentley: It’s not the excitement I was planning on tonight that’s for sure. ;)
Ireland: James Bentley Roberts … Are you flirting with me over text message?
Bentley: Maybe. Perhaps yes. OK, yes. I hope that’s OK.
Ireland: This might sound crazy, but what if you both came over for dinner. I bought plenty of food and I have this new game that I bought for the kids who I counsel. I mean unless you were really looking forward to that Captain Crunch and in which case just forget about the whole thing.
I hit send before I could delete everything I’d just typed. What had gotten into me? Was I really ready to meet Bentley’s son? And, I totally lied to him because I hadn’t even purchased any food yet! What the hell had gotten into me?
What felt like several minutes ticked by without a response from Bentley. I was typing out a message telling him it was a mistake when my phone buzzed in my hand. Staring at Bentley’s name for a few seconds, I opened the message. I’m not sure why I was scared of his response. What if he didn’t want me to meet his son?
Bentley: Seriously? You’re sure you have enough food for both of us? You know we’re both growing boys, right? Unfortunately, one of us is only growing out anymore though.
Ireland: Yes, I’m sure. I have plenty here. And, trust me, I’m pretty sure I could see your abs under your T-shirt on Sunday. You’re definitely not growing out.
I slapped myself on the forehead after hitting send. Shit! What’s wrong with me? Did I just admit to him that I was checking him out? I mean it was hard not to—the way his white Tee clung to his sculpted chest and biceps. I found myself resisting the urge to lift it up to take a look at the six-pack that I knew lay underneath.
Bentley: I knew you were checking me out!
Ireland: Caught me. Now are you coming, or not? I have dinner to prepare.
Bentley: Yes, we’ll both be there. And, Shamrock …
Ireland: Yeah?
Bentley: Something is most definitely growing out. It just may not be my gut that I’m referring to.
Holy hell. My face blushed as I stared down at my phone screen. I didn’t even know how to respond to him. A gentleman’s voice alerted me to the present.
“Excuse me, miss? Were you waiting to go down? It’s been open for several seconds, but you didn’t appear to be moving,” he said with a chuckle. “I didn’t want to be rude and step in front of you.”
I’d been so wrapped up in my text conversation and now Bentley’s not so subtle flirting that I’d forgotten I was waiting for an elevator.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Thank you,” I said, joining him in the elevator. I quickly typed out a response to Bentley. I kept it brief, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Ireland: I’ll see you both at six then.
Bentley: See you at six. And, don’t think I’m letting this go that easily.
Crap, he noticed …
I’d just pulled my four-cheese, baked ziti from the oven and was wiping the splatter from my homemade pasta sauce from the kitchen counter when there came a knock at the front door. Suddenly my palms began to sweat and butterflies took nervous flight in my belly. Was I really doing this? Was I ready to meet Bentley’s son? What if I didn’t know what to say to him? What if he hated me?
Again there was a knock at the door. Shit! I took a deep breath, threw my rag in the sink and wiped the back of my hands against the denim shorts I’d thrown on after work.
Opening the door, my eyes immediately raked Bentley up and down. He was wearing a pair of khaki golf shorts and a black polo shirt. I couldn’t help but notice the strain on the shirt’s sleeves from his bulging biceps. I so badly wanted to ask him to turn around so I could check out his backside.
Bentley cleared his throat and it was then that I noticed Tanner standing next to his father. Other than his blond hair, he was a spitting image of the Bentley I remembered from decades ago.
“Hi! You must be Tanner,” I said, offering my hand after they’d both entered the foyer.
“Wow! You’re a quick one,” he said, rolling his eyes at me.
Dropping my hand, I looked up at Bentley, stunned by his son’s immediate attitude. This was going to be a long night.
“Tanner! We talked about this in the car. Ireland w
as being polite and said hello. Do you have something to say in return,” he said sternly.
“Fine! Hi, Ireland.”
“Hi,” I said, hesitantly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Uh huh,” he mumbled.
Bentley jumped in, trying to save me, or maybe himself, from this awkward situation.
“Dinner smells delicious. We both came extra hungry. Didn’t we, champ?” he said, patting Tanner on the back.
“I’m not really that hungry. Mom fed me a few hotdogs before she dropped me off at your house.”
“Humor me, son,” Bentley said gruffly, leading Tanner to the dining room table where I’d already set out dishes and silverware.
Tanner was quiet throughout most of dinner. I should’ve been better at this. I talked to children on a daily basis. I had to keep it in perspective that this was all new to him. He probably wanted his mom and dad together. I mean what kid doesn’t want that? He knew they weren’t married anymore, but he probably still held out hope—and now here I was—probably destroying what little hope he had for their reconciliation.
Our conversation had become a tennis match of back and forth questions—me asking them and his one word responses.
“What’s your favorite subject?” I asked.
“Gym.”
“Do you play any sports?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Football.”
I sighed. Seriously, how did news people make it look so easy? They knew exactly how to phrase a question and get more than a one-word answer.
Sensing my frustration, Bentley looked over and gave me a sympathetic look. This relationship was going to end before it ever had a chance to really begin. Bentley wouldn’t want anything to do with me after seeing how much his son loathed me.
“Hey Tanner, I think I see an Xbox One sitting over there by the TV. Why don’t you ask Ireland what games she has? Maybe you can play something while we clean up the kitchen?” Bentley said.
“Nah, she probably only has crap girly games. I’m ready to get out of here. Can we just go home—please?”
