by Cat Carmine
For the first time, I let myself feel a twinge of hope. That maybe Celia is right, that Wes is back in my life for a reason, that maybe — just maybe — things might end differently for us this time around.
Eighteen
“Oh no,” Kyla groans. “They’re running Buttercup again.”
The deep rumble has started and the temperature in the office is already rising to an uncomfortable degree. Kyla hoists herself out of her chair and the cheap leather makes a sucking sound as it peels away from her sweaty skin.
“Oh God.” I fan my hands in front of my face as I shrug off hoodie. I don’t even know why I bothered putting it on in the first place. “It feels like she’s working overtime.”
“We seriously need to find a new office.”
“We seriously can’t afford a new office, remember?”
“Well, maybe we should take some of our GoldLake money and look for one. It doesn’t even have to be in Manhattan. God, it doesn’t even have to be in New York state. Alaska sounds nice right about now.”
Kyla flops down at the poker-slash-conference table. There’s already a bead of sweat on her forehead. My t-shirt is sticking to my skin. The floor vibrates under my feet as Buttercup does her thing.
I sink into the chair across from Kyla. “Alaska it is. But in the meantime, we’ve got to get moving on our GoldLake presentation. What do we have left to do?”
Kyla flips open the laptop and navigates to the file she’s been working on.
“I’ve been doing a lot of research into the models and I think we have some compelling stats about why our suggested approach is the right one. There’s some good data on how audiences connect with real people more than spokesmodels.”
I’m nodding. “That’s great. I’ve been putting together a possible schedule and budget for the campaign. I’m wondering if I should do two options — just to give them a couple different choices. Like, maybe one that has a consistent spend and one that pushes harder at certain milestones.”
Kyla nods thoughtfully. “That might be a good idea. We don’t want to give them too many choices, but Wes seems like the type who might like to keep his options open. What do you think? You know him better than I do.”
“I don’t know him that well,” I say hastily. I scribble some notes down on my pad without looking at her, then scan through my to-do list. “I think we’re almost there. You’re going to polish up the graphics this week?”
She nods. “Yup. Don’t worry. It’s going to look super slick when I get done with it.”
“Good,” I grin. “Because I don’t think Wes would be impressed with the chicken scratch I put together. It needs your magic touch.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think he’d like whatever you put together.” Her voice has a teasing note to it, but when I sneak a glance up, she’s focused on the laptop and won’t look at me. I flip my notebook closed and push my chair back, anxious to end this conversation before it goes somewhere I don’t want.
“I think we have all we need to keep working for the afternoon, right?”
Kyla is still smiling. “Yup. Let’s get back to it.”
We both return to our desks and I hop over to my email to see if I’ve missed anything important.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“What?” Kyla swings around in her chair.
“Nothing. Just forgot I agreed to go to this Bulldog Rescue fundraiser tonight.”
“Is that the one in Central Park?”
“Yeah. I don’t know, I guess it might be fun.”
“Come on — puppies, picnic. What’s not to like?”
“I like puppies.” The voice comes from behind us, and I jolt, spinning around so fast I almost fall off my chair.
“Wes.” The word alone gives my stomach an infusion of butterflies, but add in the actual sexy man standing right in front of me, and the butterflies put down their flag and lay full claim to my insides.
“Hey.” He adjusts his tie, though, as usual, it’s already perfectly straight. “Hi Kyla.”
“Hi.”
The silence in the room quickly becomes uncomfortable. I can’t even look at Kyla. When I can’t stand the tension anymore, I force myself to face Wes.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” I say. Duh. Of course I wasn’t. Otherwise I would have worn something cuter than my old Wesleyan t-shirt with the hole in the back of the neck. When am I going to learn to stop dressing like a homeless person at the office?
“I know,” he says with a grin. A grin that just happens to set the butterflies off in a flurry. “But I had some news. Want to grab a coffee?”
“Sure.” I say it so fast that Kyla snorts. I shoot her a glare but grab my hoodie and follow Wes down the stairs. He takes a deep breath of the fresh air outside and I notice him visibly relax now that we’re out on the street together. I hate to say it, but I do too.
We walk in silence to the closest coffeeshop, which happens to be a cute little place called Rocky Road Espresso that makes the most delicious iced coffee in the entire city.
We go in and order and I throw my credit card down. Wes starts to protest, but I silence him with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’m expensing it to you.”
He grins back. “Fair enough.”
We take our drinks and grab a seat near the window. Another wave of silence washes over us but it’s comfortable. It reminds me of all the time we spent together in high school, getting coffees to go from Al’s Dine & Shine and then driving around aimlessly along the highway out of Highfield. Life felt so big back then, like there were so many possibilities and we could drive forever and never run out of road.
“HR met with your friend Maria yesterday,” he says, breaking the silence and tugging me out of my memory.
I perk up instantly at her name. “Yeah? And?”
He pauses for a minute and my heart dips. Then his face breaks into a grin. “They loved her. They’ve offered her a spot in the program. She’s going to start next week, Monday, as soon as the paperwork is finalized.”
I let out a squeal so loud that half the coffeeshop turns around to stare at me. I’m glad there’s a table between Wes and I because otherwise I’d probably be launching myself into his arms right now, and who knows where that would lead?
“That’s great, Wes. Thank you so much.” I can’t keep the smile off my face.
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. You’re the one that brought us an excellent candidate.”
I sip my iced coffee while my heart attempts to slow itself to a normal rate. I don’t know why I’m so happy about this — I mean, I barely know Maria — but it feels good to be able to help someone. That’s what I always wanted to do with Marigold, and even though getting Maria a job isn’t exactly part of our service offerings, it still feels satisfying to know I had a hand in helping someone get ahead.
“Well, I’m really happy,” I say. “I’m glad it worked out for both of you.”
“I love that about you.”
My skin buzzes. “What?”
“I love that you care so much about other people.”
“Oh, well…” I sip my coffee again.
“Don’t play it down, Roar. You’re a good person, with a good heart. Sometimes I wish I was more like you.”
My earlier happiness multiplies ten-fold. My whole body buzzes with a warm glow.
“What are you talking about? You’re a good person, Wes. This whole hiring initiative was your idea.”
I expect him to smile, but something in his face changes. Hardens. He stares down at the table, pushing his plastic cup around and leaving a wet trail of condensation in its wake.
His jaw ticks once, twice, before he looks back up. He holds my gaze, his blue eyes burning into mine. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Dinner?” I pretend to wrinkle my nose, even though my heart is pounding out a marching band beat. “That sounds like a date. Isn’t that against the rules of our contract?”
He chuckles. “Given that you came to the Kinsmen Club with me, and I’m going to a wedding with you, I’d say we’re a little beyond that point.”
I can’t help my grin. “Well, I don’t know about that. But anyway, I have to go to a fundraiser tonight. This picnic thing in Central Park.”
“Do you want some company?”
“Company?”
“Yeah, you know — when someone joins you in an activity and you can enjoy it together and perhaps talk to each other a bit while you’re doing it.”
“I know what company means.” I roll my eyes. “But, I mean, are you sure you want to come?” What I really want to say is are you sure that’s a good idea?
“I’m sure. What’s the fundraiser for?”
“Bulldog Rescue NYC. They’re one of our other clients.”
“I love bulldogs. Sounds fun.”
“Then I guess it’s …”
“A date?”
I frown. “I was going to say friendly social outing.”
He chuckles. “I think date sounds better.”
I take a deep breath and a long swallow of coffee. Even though it’s iced, it does nothing to cool my burning skin.
“Okay.” I say the words slowly, carefully, feeling them out on my tongue. “I guess it’s a date.”
Nineteen
Wes and I meet in front of the Plaza. It’s a little after seven and the sun is just beginning its descent, turning the sky hazy and pale. The air is warm, and my skin is damp, despite the sundress I changed into. When I see Wes stroll up, though, I break into goosebumps. He looks even more handsome than usual, wearing a pair of well-cut jeans and a dark blue polo shirt. His eyes are hidden by a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses, but the way his face erupts into a grin tells me he’s spotted me.
“Hey,” he says, as soon as he’s close enough.
“Hi.” I sway a little, feeling my skirt float around my bare thighs. I feel like a school girl, chasing her crush through the playground. I try to fight the feelings, but the closer Wes gets, the more my heart races. The word date is still tumbling around in my mind, burning hotter with every passing second.
“You look great,” he says, and leans in to kiss my cheek. The feel of his lips on my skin give my goosebumps goosebumps. He slides his sunglasses up on top of his head and then lets his eyes run over the length of my body. He takes his sweet time too.
“Nice dress.”
“Just trying to keep cool.”
“Well, you look hot.” He grins and I roll my eyes.
“That was lame.” Oh yeah? So why do my legs feel like jelly right now?
“Nah, just honest.” He’s unbothered by my comment, and I can’t help but notice the way his gaze lingers over my chest. Oh boy. Breathe, Rori. Where is my damn buttoned-up pantsuit when I need it?
I force myself to laugh. “Come on. It’s a bit of a walk to the picnic area.”
“It’s not a far walk to my apartment.”
I turn back, hands on my hips. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“That I could think of something that might be even better than puppies.”
“Are these the kinds of moves you use on a date, Wes? Really?” I can’t help but tease him. The sun and this dress and the way Wes is looking at me have me in too good of a mood to worry about his flirting.
“Actually, no. Usually I’m much smoother. These are the moves I use when the girl I’m with is driving me completely wild. And that only happens with you, Rori.”
I pretend to roll my eyes again. “Bad dog,” I tease. Is my voice shaking? “If I had a newspaper, I’d swat you. Let’s go.”
He grins again but follows me across the street and into the park. As we walk, he slips his hand in mine. It gives me a jolt, and my entire body tingles, like I’ve just gotten an electrical shock. And yet, within seconds, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. My hand, snug in Wes’s.
To anyone in the park, we look like a normal couple, out enjoying a stroll. Only we know all the history and baggage that’s wrapped up in this surprisingly simple gesture.
Maybe Celia was right. Call it gravitational force, magnetics, I don’t know. All I know is that something seems to keep drawing me to Wes, and whatever it is, it’s a force more powerful than me. Despite everything, after all this time and distance, he’s still in my orbit. Maybe he always will be.
We don’t talk much as we walk. We take in the scenery, all the other people out enjoying the warm evening. When we hear laughter and barking, I squeeze Wes’s hand.
“I think we’re in the right place.”
We come around the corner and I squeal. There are so many bulldogs that the cuteness factor is on overload. There’s a big barbecue where an older man is grilling hotdogs, and picnic tables set up with information on bulldog rescue, all manned by enthusiastic volunteers. And of course, there are the dogs. Some are rescues, with big posters advertising their adoptability and details. Others seem to be pets, walked on leashes by their owners who’ve come out to support the fundraiser. There’s music playing and kids running around and the whole thing is so wholesome and sweet that my teeth actually ache a little.
I glance at Wes, who’s scanning the crowd.
“Oh God, you hate this, don’t you?” I cover my face laughing. “Probably not exactly the kind of evening you had in mind.”
“Are you kidding? This is great. Let’s go pet some dogs.”
He takes my hand again and we stroll past the picnic tables, petting and fussing over all the dogs that are up for adoption. Mabel, the old queen with a rhinestone collar and a serious underbite. Arnie, the all-black bulldog with one white ear and a bright red bandana, whose poster says he might be part Boston Terrier. Rocco, the nine-month-old puppy found abandoned in Soho last month. Wes and I squish them all. He doesn’t even flinch when Mabel covers him with sloppy kisses. She practically climbs into his lap as he crouches down to pet her.
Gah. What is it about handsome men and dogs? It should seriously be outlawed. My lady parts are singing the hallelujah chorus watching him fuss over them. Dear God, please never let him hold a baby in my presence.
I try to get my body to calm down, but after a few minutes, I realize that ship has sailed. I decide to just go with it and focus on having fun.
After we’ve cooed over every dog available, Wes stands, brushing off his jeans. Something over his shoulder catches my attention and I bite back a grin. Maybe I can have a little fun with this.
“Wes.” I press my hands against his chest and smile seductively. “I really want to give you a kiss.”
He looks surprised for a second, but then his face spreads into a grin. “You do, do you?” he growls.
I nod. I bite down gently on my bottom lip, trying to look as sexy as possible. I even bat my eyelashes. “Would that be okay?”
His hands are sliding around my waist now, drawing me to him. The hard plains of his body are making me sweat even more than the sun is.
“Hell yeah, that would be okay. It would be more than okay.” His voice is gruff. Sexy. Suddenly all I want to do is kiss him for real. Maybe this plan was a bad idea. I smile sweetly, while my heart races, and then tap my finger lightly against his chest.
“Good. It’ll only cost me five dollars and a MilkBone.”
His face wrinkles in confusion. “What?”
I bite my lip harder and nod over his shoulder. He spins his head to look and then bursts out laughing.
“The Pooch Smooch Booth?”
The bright red booth is behind us, on the far edge of the picnic area. It’s about waist-high, with a big window cut out of the center. A dog-sized kissing booth.
Inside the box sits the ugliest bulldog I think I’ve ever seen in my life. I mean, he’s so ugly he’s cute again. Most of his face is black, except for a white strip that runs down the bridge of his nose, like a skunk’s stripe. He’s got a sprig of wild hair coming off the top of his head, and one huge snaggle-tooth curling over
his upper lip. He’s got an underbite and a long tongue that hangs down. His sign says his name is Brad.
There are two jars on top of the box — one to collect cash donations, and one to collect MilkBones, which a volunteer is handing out. The rescue keeps the donations, and apparently Brad gets to keep his MilkBones.
Wes chuckles as I drag him over.
“My friend here would like a pooch smooch,” I tell the volunteer, a young guy in his early twenties, wearing hipster-tight burgundy pants and a t-shirt with the rescue’s logo on it.
“Go for it,” the guy says. He hands me a MilkBone and I drop it in Brad’s jar, then shove a five dollar bill in the other one.
Wes grimaces but he leans in. Brad’s long tongue reaches out and sweeps across his chin. I double over laughing at the horrified expression on his face as the slobbery pink tongue touches his lips. He stands up quickly.
“I think it’s your turn,” he says. The volunteer hands him a sanitary wipe and Wes scrubs at his face. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a hundred dollar bill, adding it to the jar. “I think that’s going to buy quite a few smooches, don’t you?”
I giggle but lean in, like he did. Brad makes a snorfling sound and then his tongue shoots out, coating my cheek in dog drool.
“Oh, but I paid for so many more smooches,” Wes says, nudging me when I stand up. “Get back down there.”
“I think I’m smooched out,” I laugh. I scrub my face with the wipe. The scent of alcohol and lemon clings to my skin, but it’s better than dog biscuit breath. “If a guy wants that many smooches, he’s going to have to at least buy me dinner first.”
“Noted,” Wes says with a grin. “In that case, can I buy you a hotdog?” He gestures towards the barbecue that’s set up on the side.
“Big spender,” I tease. “But yes, I could go for a hot dog.”
“You have no idea how much I like to hear you say that.”
I punch him lightly in the arm. “A hot dog of the edible variety.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Go on ...”
