Always Something There to Remind Me

by Beth Harbison

  He held it back. “No, it tastes great. Really.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He took another big bite and nodded.

  “Okay.…”

  He finished the whole thing quickly, then downed the iced tea. “Great. Thanks again.” He kissed her cheek.

  “No problem,” she said, then looked over all the problems she’d caused. He was still soaked and water was still running off the garden, tinged pale gray with paint. “Now what?”

  “We can turn off the hose now,” he said, looking it over. “But I should give the wood a few minutes to dry before I paint it.”

  “No one’s home,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  He smiled. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing. But maybe you want to change out of those wet things.” She frowned. “Well, the shirt anyway. Come on.” She took his hand and led him into the house and up the stairs to her room. “Want to borrow one of mine?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She turned on the radio. Air Supply was singing “Lost in Love.” “You should take that off anyway.”

  He did, and she watched his muscles flex with the movement. He had a perfect body. Not that she was an expert on guys’ bodies, but he was so much more muscular than the guys at school. They were all limp pansies who sat around smoking cigarettes and talking about getting high.

  She took the shirt from him and draped it over the end of the bed, then she went to him and put her arms around his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with the painting?”

  He laughed in answer and kissed her. She pulled him over to the bed and they lay down, arms wrapped around each other.

  After a while he moved his hand up her shirt, and she let him. He was still in bounds, as far as her celibacy rules went, and it felt good as he ran his fingertips across her skin until her breath quickened.

  But when he went for the snap on her pants, she said, “No.”

  He groaned. “Come on.”

  She loved having that power. “Sorry.”

  He sighed heavily and kissed her harder, cupping his hand over the crotch of her jeans.

  She arched against him, tempted to let him in.

  But they hadn’t known each other long enough for that.

  That didn’t stop her from reaching down to the outside of his pants, though, and tracing the contours of his desire.

  “You’re cruel,” he said against her mouth.

  “You want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  They both smiled against each other’s mouths.

  Soon his hand trailed back up to the snap of her shorts. She let him linger there for a moment, playing with the sensation, wondering what it would be like to let him go all the way.

  But when he started to slide his hand inside her waistband, she reached down and pulled it back out.

  “Why not?” he asked, clearly gearing up for his Clarence Darrow argument on why he should be allowed to have his way with her.

  “Because I don’t want to get pregnant, for one thing.”

  “You won’t get pregnant,” he said. “I’d be careful.”

  “Hm.”

  “So—”

  “No.” She captured his mouth with hers, and wished she could go further. She was as tempted as he was, it was just … too much. She wasn’t ready to do that.

  He kissed her until she was dizzy and breathless. She could have stayed there forever, but eventually he drew back with obvious hesitation and said, “I have to go back and finish painting.”

  “Not yet. Just a little more.” She kissed him again.

  He kissed her back and somehow it felt more sweet than it ever had before.

  It was like he’d lit a fuse in her. “I love you,” she breathed, then realized what she’d said and panicked.

  It was the first time she’d said it to him. Actually, it was the first time she’d said it to any guy.

  During the nanoseconds of silence that followed, her humiliation level went from one to eleven. Shit shit shit, shouldn’t have said that, shit, how do I get out of—

  “I love you too,” he said, in a way that was so heartfelt that she immediately started to cry. “Erin?”

  “Good,” she squeaked. The relief was profound, but even more so was the happiness she felt. He loved her. Her! The klutzy mouse who had never gotten anyone’s attention until her boobs grew at fourteen, and that was attention for all the wrong reasons, was now actually loved by the nicest guy in the world. “Thanks for saying that.”

  He laughed.

  Of course. Because everyone knew thank you was the worst possible response to I love you, though it was immeasurably better after I love you too.

  And that was the point: he loved her too.

  Chapter 4

  Present

  Usually my intuition was pretty good. I don’t know if it was my exhaustion that day or a general malaise over life, but for some reason I didn’t see what was coming that night at all.

  I was completely unprepared.

  Normally the drive home at seven takes no more than thirty minutes, but today it took over two hours, thanks to some bonehead who thought he could switch lanes in an eighteen-wheeler without looking first. No one was killed, but the traffic was horrific. I was lucky my exit was miles before the scene. Some people had to sit on the road all night long.

  As it was, I got home around nine fifteen and was in a foul, foul mood.

  So, it turned out, was Rick.

  I’d been dating Rick for a year—in fact, it was exactly a year that day—and we had plans for the evening that I was not up for. So he’d been waiting in my place for an hour and a half, growing more concerned by the minute that the big accident on 395 had somehow involved me.

  “Why do you have a cell phone?” he asked. He was dressed up. He must have had a case in court today. His brown hair gleamed in the light, and there was just a hint of five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. He’d just spent a week in California and his skin was tawny from the sun—he was one of the fortunate ones who looked sun-kissed after five minutes outdoors—which made his eyes look even bluer.

  In short, the guy was hot.

  “So I can stay in touch!”

  He laughed and kissed my cheek. The light, clean scent of his aftershave rested lightly in the air. “You never turn it on!”

  “It’s on. I was just talking to Cam.” I dug it out of my purse. It was off. That was one of Camilla’s complaints about our phones and I had to agree—they did tend to go off. I pushed the button and it sprang to life with a jaunty little electronic tune. “Better yet, I can turn it on if I need it. Saves the battery.”

  He gave a smile. Usually that would make my stomach flip, but tonight I was just too tired. “One of the other benefits of having a cell phone is that other people can call you if they need to,” he said. “For instance, if they’re going crazy thinking you caused a tractor-trailer to swerve into traffic on the highway.”

  I flopped down on the comfy chair that had once been my dad’s. “Nope. Nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m glad. Now get changed, the latest I could move our dinner reservations to was nine forty-five.”

  Oh, yes, the dinner reservations. No getting out of that. Rick was all about this anniversary thing. I hadn’t even realized it had been a year until he told me he’d scored reservations at the always-booked Naveen’s. “Maybe we should go tomorrow,” I suggested, wishing wishing wishing he’d agree. All I wanted tonight was to eat cold cereal over the sink and go to bed early with a good book. Then again, Cam would be here tomorrow, so that would make things difficult unless she had a friend come stay.

  Rick’s expression flickered with disappointment. “Probably not to Naveen’s, but if you’re really not up for it, we could go somewhere else.” He took out his iPhone and started scanning, I knew from the Urbanspoon sound effects, for restaurants in the area. If I wasn’t up for it, he wouldn’t give me grief, but I could tell this
was something he really wanted to do.

  “No, no, that’s okay.” I hoisted myself up. This was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. “I’ve been dying to try Naveen’s.” Lie. Naveen’s served things like rabbit and goat, and other foods that would have been tossed to the peasants in the old days, and called them “delicacies.” But Rick was dying to try Naveen’s and I knew that. “Just give me a sec.”

  I went to the bedroom, pulling my clothes off as I went and leaving them in a trail behind me. Naveen’s was high-end. Top-of-the-high-end. As in Cinderella could have shown up in her ball gown and been underdressed. One look in the mirror told me I wasn’t going to rate high enough for Naveen’s tonight. My hair was in dire need of highlighting and looked, to me, like a dingy-dishwater dark blond. My eyes were the “red, white, and blue” we used to notice in the pothead students in high school, only I hadn’t been smoking anything. It was sheer exhaustion creeping through every cell.

  I took out a vintage Dior dress I kept for just such an occasion—it was so quirky and retro-modern that if it wasn’t dressy enough no one would really be sure of it. Plus it was black. Black upped the glamour for everything. I hoped.

  I was going to have to do some heavy lifting to make up for the tired and drawn mask of my face.

  It took a few minutes to dig far enough into my closet to find my D&G heels, because they were perfect with the dress. I sat on the side of the bed to put them on, and languished, for just a moment, in the plush softness.

  If only I could lie down for a few minutes …

  “’Bout ready?” Rick asked, coming in, looking as sexy as a rock star with his casual stride.

  “Almost.”

  “Wow! You pull together fast!”

  “This is news to you?” I smiled and stepped into the bathroom. A little lipstick, a little dark eyeliner, and I was done. “You know I’m always running late. I had to learn to move fast when I could.”

  He laughed. “Sometimes fast … sometimes slow.” He came up to me and put his hand on the small of my back. “You look absolutely beautiful.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled his cologne. “Thanks. So do you.”

  “I appreciate that.” He drew back and took my hand in his. “Happy anniversary.”

  “Happy anniversary.” I felt sort of stupid saying it, considering the fact that I hadn’t even realized it was our anniversary until he’d mentioned it yesterday.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Car’s waiting.”

  “What?” I asked blankly. “What car?” Wasn’t his car parked on the street, like usual?

  “I hired a car,” he explained, glancing at his phone. “So we could have some wine if we want to. Or … whatever.”

  This was exactly where I should have started to get suspicious. But no, I just figured he was being his usual fastidious self, thinking of everything, taking no chances. Rick was a corporate lawyer and details were everything to him.

  So the car, the reservations, all of that just seemed like more examples of his careful planning than anything else.

  Until I got outside, that is. Because the “car” was a stretch limo.

  “Rick!”

  He gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. “I know. It’s a little much.”

  “It’s really … long.” The sex scene from that Kevin Costner movie No Way Out came to mind and I felt a new wave of exhaustion.

  He laughed. “Just what every guy wants to hear.”

  I had to laugh. “You are too much,” I said, meaning every word, as well as the unsaid for me I didn’t tag on the end out loud.

  The driver got out and opened the door for me. I climbed in, feeling a bit Britney-esque and awkward as my dress lifted too much, and settled into the seat while Rick followed me a whole lot more smoothly.

  There was a tinted window between us and the driver, so I barely saw his shadowy figure getting back in behind the wheel, and then the car glided forward.

  “It’s the closest I could get to a glass carriage in this town,” Rick commented, reaching for a bottle of champagne on ice. Somehow I’d missed that when we first got in. He poured a glass and handed it, nearly bubbling over, to me.

  I laughed. After the day I’d had, being washed in champagne was perfect. If he’d had a bathtub full of it, I would happily have jumped in with a straw.

  Or taken it through an IV.

  “Camilla and Amy would love this,” I said, leaning back against the seat. “Well, not the champagne, obviously, but the car.”

  “I know. I thought about having the car come early and drive them home from school, but I couldn’t get out of the office on time.”

  “You are so thoughtful,” I said, and meant it sincerely.

  “They’ll have their chance.” He poured himself a glass and held it up to mine. “Meanwhile, to the greatest woman I have ever known.” Knowing I was apt to ask if he’d known Marie Curie, he added, “You,” and tinked his glass against mine.

  It would have been ungracious to suggest he was hard up for toasts, but, seriously, I was not the greatest woman he’d ever known. He was always saying that kind of thing to me, bless him, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to really deserve his adoration.

  “And to you,” I interjected, not wanting the weight of responsibility entirely on my shoulders. Which was stupid, really, because how heavy is the responsibility of having a toast dedicated to you? “The nicest guy I know.”

  “Hmm.” He frowned and looked thoughtful.

  “Not sexy enough?”

  He smiled. “You know what they say about nice guys.”

  “Then to you,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “The meanest son of a bitch in town.” I clicked his glass and took a sip. This was the real thing. Toasty, dry, with a crisp effervescence. A glance at the bottle confirmed my suspicions. That label started at a hundred and fifty a pop around here. “What’s with this?” I asked. “Why the good stuff? What are you up to?”

  “Nothing much,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a never-you-mind-little-lady sort of way.

  “Seriously, what are you up to?”

  “Can’t a guy just take his girl out for a nice night on the town without having some secret agenda?”

  That settled it. “You totally have a secret agenda. Come on, what gives? Did you get a promotion? Or an inheritance?” My mind started to race with all the financially compelling reasons Rick might want to celebrate in style. “Oh! Did you find a house?” He’d been looking for the perfect one almost as long as I’d known him.

  He took a long sip of his champagne, then let out a long breath and set the glass down. “I didn’t plan to do this here, like this.”

  “Do what?” Okay, if I hadn’t been so tired, I might have thought for a minute before asking that.

  He dug his hand into his pocket.

  Then—and only then—did I finally get an inkling where this was going.

  And I panicked.

  No, no, no, please not this, not now. Please please please don’t go there. Things are so nice. Please don’t do this! I don’t want to think about this.

  My thoughts roared in my head like an old engine turning over and choking out blue smoke. I had to stop him but I’d worked so damn hard to start him that it was clearly going to be impossible.

  This was definitely the wrong timing for this. I had so many other things on my plate, the new job, a wedding over the weekend, the stupid sixteenth birthday party and TV show. This was a moment that should have been wonderful; I should be anticipating it, hoping for it, praying for it, glorying in all the ways it made perfect sense for us and for the girls, but instead it felt like my head was going to explode with the will to stop him at all costs.

  But it was too late, he’d already gotten on his knee in front of me, jostling awkwardly as the limo bounced across K Street.

  “Oh, Rick.” My laugh sounded tinny and hollow, but everything in me wanted to stop this moment. “Come on, now, you don’
t have to tell me, let’s just go have a nice dinner. I hear the desserts are pretty amazing too. Maybe not coffee, though, because it’s a work night and if I have coffee, I will just never sleep. Did you know it takes coffee five hours to leave your system?”

  I do this. I chatter when I’m nervous. I hear it and it annoys me as much as it annoys anyone else, maybe more, but I’m powerless to stop it.

  “Frankly,” I blathered on, “I think it takes longer than that. I’d probably be up until it was time to go to work…”

  “Erin.”

  “… and then I’d be dead tired. Which”—I yawned and gave an exaggerated stretch—“actually, I already am. Not that I’m not appreciating this elaborate evening, because I absolutely am, but it’s just—”

  “Erin.”

  Damn it. It was going to happen. “Yes?”

  “I’m on my knee in front of you.”

  “I see that.” Get up get up get up, don’t do this. “You’re going to ruin your pants. Here, let me help you back to the seat.” I reached for his arm and tried pulling. Actually, I sort of tugged, which sent him off balance and his hand shot sideways, knocking his champagne glass over.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” I grimaced and reached for some of the napkins next to the ice bucket. “Wow, I am so clumsy. Rick, please forgive me.” I dabbed at the seat until he gently grasped my wrist and took the damp napkins out of my hand.

  “It’s okay.” He put the napkins aside. “Are you really not seeing what I’m doing here?”

  I hoped my look was blank. It should have been. That many emotions conflicting at once had to erase each other out. “Seeing what?” I asked in a small voice.

  “Okay, here goes.” He took a deep breath. “Erin, I love you—”

  “I love you too,” I said automatically. It was coming. I couldn’t stop it. It was exactly like watching a fuzzy gray security-camera view of a car crash or Princess Diana heading for the Mercedes at the Paris Ritz.

  “You have brought more light and fun into my life than I ever thought possible.”

  It was then that I realized he was holding a small black box in his hand. Not that it was a surprise at this point. I just hadn’t noticed it up to then. Somehow I hadn’t even wondered.