Birthday Suit

by Lauren Blakely

  “Whoa. Did they erect a statue of you in front of the shelter? Because for ten percent, they should.”

  Mariana laughs. “Nope. But that’s my goal. Someday, somewhere, I’d like a statue erected. Mostly because statues are one of the few times you can say ‘erect’ without getting the side-eye.”

  I give her the side-eye. “I think that’s one of those words that always deserves a side-eye.”

  She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Yes, it does. Also, I won the bet.”

  “What bet?”

  “I bet Cameron that you’d try to wear the pantsuit. He bet you wouldn’t even take it from my house. I know you so well.”

  I jam my elbow into her side.

  “Ouch.”

  “You set me up!”

  “I know, but you asking me for a suit was the most absurd thing you’ve ever done, and you’ve done some absurd things.”

  “Like what? Name one.”

  “Like the time you wanted to attend a circus class.”

  “I still want to learn to juggle.”

  That sends us down a rabbit hole discussion of circus skills we’d most want to possess—she picks fire-eating and I choose trapeze.

  But in the end, Mariana tells me she’s glad I chose chocolate. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because of your sweet caramel center,” she says with a wink.

  “What’s yours made of?”

  “Steel and vitriol.”

  “Have I mentioned I never want to go up against you in a court of law?”

  When our class is over and we’ve made plans to do it again a few days later, my head is officially clear.

  Clear of that kiss.

  Clear of last night.

  Clear of this bizarre new phase in my life where I’m suddenly wildly attracted to Leo Hennessy.

  He’s always been interesting, kind, and clever.

  He’s always been smart and easy to talk to.

  And he’s definitely always been handsome. I’m not blind, and I wasn’t before Lasik either. I know he’s hot, just like I know Chris Hemsworth could swindle the panties off any woman, but I don’t want to jump him. Wait, that’s not true. Chris Hemsworth is everyone’s hall pass.

  Be that as it may, I never thought of Leo in a romantic way.

  My eyes were laser-focused on Tripp, my heart belonging 100 percent to the man I married.

  Given how it ended, given how it all spiraled downhill, do I regret my choice to love him?

  No.

  I learned resilience from my marriage. I learned I wasn’t responsible for other people’s choices. I discovered that I couldn’t fix another person, no matter how hard I tried.

  Tripp is my past. Tripp is behind me. I’ve made peace with my marriage, with what it was and what it was not. That’s why I don’t harbor any guilt over Leo.

  This issue is different.

  It’s how he fits into my life.

  As I return to my apartment and shower, I contemplate if he fits into my life now that I have room to breathe, to plan, and to grow my business. Do I fling all those ingredients to the floor to indulge in a newfound lust?

  But this isn’t lust.

  It’s so much more.

  Leo is the guy who shows up.

  Leo is the guy who will be there.

  The recipe of feelings plus Leo equals the real deal.

  The trouble is timing.

  I’m finally free to live my life on my terms, and those terms include my partnership with his company.

  As I rinse off, step out of the shower, and grab a towel, I don’t know that I can fit the real deal in my life at this moment.

  A heavy blanket of sadness falls over me. But along with that sadness comes something new.

  Determination.

  I’m on the other side. I’m rebuilding and remaking my life. I love the freedom from madness. I love the opportunities unfurling before me.

  I love my choices.

  And I need to behave like I have them. I text the smartest person I know.

  * * *

  Lulu: What exactly did you mean when you said he had years in his eyes?

  * * *

  Mom: It feels like there’s a different question in there than the one you’re asking, so I’ll ask it. Why are you asking me this question?

  * * *

  Lulu: I shouldn’t be surprised that you answered a question with a question.

  * * *

  Mom: However else would I answer it? :)

  * * *

  Lulu: So. Years. Explain.

  * * *

  Mom: I said he had years in his eyes because he looks at you in a way that’s different from how a man looks at a woman he’s simply attracted to.

  * * *

  I stare at the text message, trying to decode it. But it’s almost too much, the notion she’s presenting. I can’t conceive of years. All I know is he kissed me like a man possessed. But what possessed him?

  The idea of years is inconceivable. He’s dated other women. He was engaged, for crying out loud. He can’t possibly have wanted me for years, so I decide that he hasn’t, and I deal with only the here and now.

  And that mesmerizing kiss.

  * * *

  Lulu: We kissed yesterday.

  * * *

  Mom: WAY TO BURY THE LEDE!

  * * *

  Lulu: I was teeing you up. :)

  * * *

  Mom: This is huge!

  * * *

  Lulu: Is it?

  * * *

  Mom: I presume you don’t go around kissing random men for kicks?

  * * *

  Lulu: I haven’t kissed anyone in years. I haven’t dated anyone since my marriage ended. You know that. So, what happens next?

  * * *

  Mom: What does your heart say? What do you want? Was it just a random kiss? Or was it a kiss that leads to more late-night bookstore visits and dinners with your mother?

  * * *

  My face flushes as I read the last lines, like I’ve been busted.

  And I have.

  The kiss won’t lead to late-night bookstore visits and dinners with my mom, because late-night bookstore visits and dinners with my mom were what led to the kiss.

  So were museum visits.

  And nights out at The Pub.

  And text messages.

  And time. Spending time with Leo.

  That’s the cause, and the kiss was the effect.

  I want more of the effect. So much more.

  As I reflect back on the last month, I can see with my twenty-twenty vision that we’ve been spinning toward that kiss since I bumped into a chocolate fountain and found myself on top of him. I recall every second of the kiss, reliving the tingles that swept over me, the hum under my skin, the joy that seemed to radiate in my bones. The joy of possibility. Of a new kind of connection.

  But I’m not entirely sure how to sum all that up to fit into one category of kissing. Still, I try my best when I write back to her.

  * * *

  Lulu: Would you think I was a complete cheeseball if I told you it was magical?

  * * *

  Mom: I’d think you were the daughter I raised. There are no better kisses than the kind that are magical. The kind that make your toes tingle.

  * * *

  Lulu: That’s exactly the kind we had. But I feel like I’d be stupid to pursue anything, given that I’m contracted with his company. I shouldn’t mess around with this chance in my career. Don’t you think?

  * * *

  Mom: I think your career is a precious thing and ought to be handled with care.

  * * *

  Lulu: So it’s settled. I choose chocolate over kisses?

  * * *

  Mom: Is that the choice?

  * * *

  Lulu: I thought that’s what you were saying.

  * * *

  Mom: I’m not going to tell you what
to do. The heart wants what the heart wants.

  * * *

  Lulu: And you always taught me both to listen to mine and not be fooled by it.

  * * *

  Mom: I did, because there is no organ more susceptible to trickery, subterfuge, or sabotage than the heart. Embrace it, treat it as something precious, and be very wary of it.

  * * *

  I tuck the phone away in my purse. I am so very wary of hearts.

  24

  Lulu

  Today’s starting point?

  Washington Square Park.

  As I walk under the arch, I pass three team members from Frodo’s as they engage in tree poses and practice mantras.

  “I visualize myself on a beach, soaking in the warm rays.”

  “I see myself walking along the streets of Paris.”

  “I’m on a golf course, nailing a hole in one.”

  Damn, the prospect of winning a vacation is some kind of powerful lure.

  Granted, I have nothing against tropical beaches or fabulous foreign cities, but I’ve never been a give-me-vacation-or-give-me-death kind of girl.

  There are other things I want though.

  Maybe I ought to practice visualizing what I want.

  I’m kissing Leo again. I’m tackling him, rolling around with him, and taking him home. He’s sliding inside me, kissing my neck, and making me—

  SCREECH.

  What the hell?

  When did I become the dirtiest bird when it came to that man?

  When you mauled him in front of a Klimt, you dodo.

  Oh, well, that would do it.

  I had mega sex dreams about Leo last night. They were utterly delicious, and I regret nothing.

  Not a damn thing.

  A man clears his throat, and I glance in the direction of the scoffer. The Finger-Licking-Good Guy. He nods at the collection of Frodo employees, rolling his eyes. “You know where I see myself?”

  “Where’s that?”

  The man sighs majestically and spreads his arms. “In my La-Z-Boy, watching a game.”

  I give him a thumbs-up. “Squad goals,” I say, using Leo’s words from the chocolate show.

  His brow knits. “Hey, listen. You’re the lady who fell in the fountain, aren’t you?”

  “Just call me Chocolate-Covered Lulu.”

  “Listen, sorry about that. I was the one running the booth that day, and I couldn’t believe that happened.”

  I flash back to the fountain incident. This affable fellow hardly seems like the guy who accused Leo of rolling around in his fountain, but indeed he is. “You know what they say. Chocolate fountain incidents are a little unbelievable. Did you ever get the tipper you were looking for?”

  “Alas, I didn’t catch the scofflaw.”

  “Dammit,” I say. “We could try to track him down. Put up a wanted poster perhaps?”

  “Oh, he’s already on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted. The search will go on.”

  “Never give up. Never surrender.”

  He laughs then smiles again. “So, about that day. I was kind of frenzied and frustrated because of some stuff going on at home with the babies—”

  “Babies? As in multiple?”

  “The wife had triplets six months ago.”

  My eyes bulge. “I can’t imagine. No wonder she wants you to have time off. But is everything okay with them? How are they doing? What sort of stuff is going on? Do you need more caffeine?”

  “I always need more caffeine. My little Helena is colicky. She’s been crying like crazy, and Emma, that’s my wife—she’s having a hard time with it.”

  “I have to imagine she is.” Then I smile because . . . babies. There are definitely stars in my eyes. “Can I see pictures?”

  A surprised smile comes my way. “Yeah. Are you sure?”

  “Hello?! Show me the trio!”

  After grabbing his phone from his pocket, he clicks on a folder then shows me a picture of three chubby-cheeked redheads. My heart turns to mush, and I coo at the photos. “I love them.”

  “That’s how I felt when I met them too.”

  “More, more. Show me more.”

  The man flips through his camera roll, and I squeal at nearly every adorable shot of the chunks of love, including one of the girls sitting upright in Daddy’s La-Z-Boy.

  When we’re through, I’m a soft teddy bear. “This is the best.”

  “Anyway, that’s why I was so flustered that day about the fountain— ”

  “Don’t think twice about it. We are all good. I landed a job out of it.”

  And landed on top of a man who tastes better than a truffle and melts my insides like chocolate, and now I’m falling for him in a delicious way. So, really, I suppose it’s fitting I fell into a fountain.

  “No kidding?”

  I square my shoulders. “I’m Lulu Diamond. I’m making chocolate for Heavenly for its Rising Star line.”

  He offers a fist for knocking. “George Day. Rock on, chocolate-covered chocolatier.”

  “Rock on, Triple Latte Daddy.”

  I say goodbye and continue my trek across the park to my team.

  As Leo comes into view, I smile from the inside out. Maybe the baby pictures primed me, but I’m grinning like a bit of a fool. When he smiles back, I upgrade myself to beaming. Full wattage–style.

  Leo gestures to the cup of coffee in his hand. But first, coffee, he mouths then adds, for you.

  My squishy heart softens more.

  He strides over, a little grin tugging at his lips like we have a secret. The secret is we want to jump each other.

  But we want so much more too.

  And we can’t quite have it.

  Instead, we have . . . coffee.

  He hands me a cup. “With cream, as you like it.”

  “Life is too short to drink coffee without cream.”

  “Gotta have standards.”

  “Also, thank you.” It’s a little thing, but it’s also a wonderful thing. And I like the little things in life. I take a sip, and the drink is mixed perfectly, and I tell him as much.

  “One of my talents—remembering how you like your coffee.” He lowers his voice. “Listen, about last night.”

  The night I practically flung myself at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried, Lulu.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Nerves thrum through me. His words move like stop-and-start traffic. “Last night . . . you . . . the things you said. I think my brain was a pinball game.”

  The nerves tighten like a valve. “Did you beat the game?”

  “No. I don’t know how it plays out.”

  “I don’t either.”

  “I know it’s foolish, but fuck, you’re in my head, Lulu. I have this for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and takes out a small postcard. “I looked this up this morning online. I thought you would like it. I picked up some cardstock and printed it out.”

  My breath catches as I turn the card over, and something so pedestrian occurs to me—he bought cardstock to print this. Now, this is a big thing. This is a thoughtful thing. It requires planning and foresight. It’s like shopping for a gourmet dinner, concocting a wonderful meal, and serving it with the perfect garnish.

  And it’s an even bigger thing when I see what he’s printed.

  An image of Man Ray’s photo dubbed The Kiss, a close-up shot of a couple’s lips almost meeting. The thunder before the lightning strikes.

  A pinwheel spins inside me, shooting off colors and sparks. I turn the card over, but he clasps his hand over mine. “Read it later.”

  I bat my eyelashes. “Please? Now?”

  He laughs. “So impatient.”

  “I want to read it.” My voice betrays me, and I don’t care. I am desperate to know what he wrote.

  He relents. “You’re irresistible. Next time, I’ll get you the Chagall.”

  “I love Chagall’s kissing painting.”

  “Of course you d
o.”

  Smiling with utter delight at my accomplishment—convincing him—I turn it over and read his words.

  I can’t stop thinking about you.

  My heart glows. My blood runs neon. I’m a firework shooting high into the summer sky.

  I meet his eyes. They’re a warm chocolate brown, and they’re sketched with tenderness and desire.

  Something else is stamped in them too. Hope.

  This card, these words—they don’t change the reality of him, me, and my personal goal to focus on building a business. But even so, I’d be a fool of another kind if I let this moment pass me by. “It’s the same for me.”

  In some other world, some other place, we’d fall into the close-up shot of an almost-kiss. And then we’d become The Kiss.

  In this world, sneakers slap the pavement, and I straighten instantly.

  “What’s the same for you?”

  It’s Noah, splashing cold water on us as he runs closer in running shorts, showing off his golden skin.

  “Are you dressed for a run?” I ask, doing my best one-eighty.

  “You know that adage about dressing for the job you want? I want us to be first place at the end of today, so I’m dressing like Usain Bolt.”