by S Doyle
Because why would he?
W.B.
Don’t look back. Do not turn around and see if she’s watching you!
I walked out of the building and turned onto the sidewalk, congratulating myself on my discipline. My hand was still tingling from her touch when I shoved it into my pocket. What the hell was happening?
There was no way I could be attracted to Joy Knews. Yes, she was by definition an attractive woman, who obviously didn’t realize that about herself as she liked to hide behind her long hair and baggy clothes. But being attractive and being attracted to someone were two different things.
She made porn ornaments. She brought her cat to work. She ate veggie dogs and thought they were delicious.
No, no, and no.
She was nice to talk to, that was all. After I’d left yet another disappointing date, the idea to head to the office, to see her, had driven me. I could tell her how messed up the date was and she would be a sympathetic ear.
It wasn’t like you could talk to other guys about this shit. Wes would laugh his ass off if I told him half of went down on these dates. And my Army buddies, hell, they would have a field day just knowing I was using a dating service to find a wife.
Whereas, I thought it made perfect sense. Clean, efficient, and effective. Identify for me, in the city of Denver, eligible women who met my very specific criteria and let me date them until I found one that stuck. It was a solid plan.
What I didn’t need to spend time thinking about was how easy it was to talk to Joy. Because that avenue was dead to me beyond friendship. Which, considering how I’d treated her when we first met, like an utterly dismissive asshole, it was surprising she would even offer.
Although also not surprising because she was Joy.
At first I’d thought it best to avoid her completely. If I didn’t see her, I couldn’t interact with her. Couldn’t argue with her or get flummoxed by her. I had enough work to do and an isolated office, so I didn’t have to worry about running into her if I didn’t want to.
It had been working great, except for one thing.
I’d realized I missed seeing her. I’d missed her peasant blouses and flowing skirts. I’d missed her pink painted toenails and toe rings. I’d missed her energy and the way she expressed all her emotions on her face without holding anything back.
I had to admit I’d sent her that email about dropping one of the golden rings from the line mostly to get a reaction from her. A reaction from her on the morning before my lunch date with Jacklyn.
None of these admissions were helping.
Joy was not for me. I knew that deep down in my bones. She reminded me too much of my mother, and that relationship had been nothing but toxic. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t be with someone who even remotely considered herself an artist and a free spirit. Maybe Joy was right, that I was trying to force her into a category, but part of that was for my own self-preservation. So I wouldn’t fall under her spell.
I continued to walk along the streets of Denver instead of calling for an Uber to head home because the cold air felt good on my face. I needed to clear my head of Joy. I needed to stop thinking about how, when she’d reached for my hand, it felt good.
Tingly good.
I had resisted the urge to hang with her and eat preposterously tiny sandwiches. That was a good thing. We would be friendly coworkers as opposed to unfriendly coworkers. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, it made good business sense.
But that was all we would be. It was all I would let us be.
5
Seven weeks ago
W.B.
I glanced up from my computer screen when I heard the knock on my office door.
“You’ve got the furrow in your brow again,” Joy said. “Is everything okay?”
No. Everything was not okay, but it wasn’t anything I could share with Joy. However, it was now something I had to share with Wes. The evidence was there.
“Just trying to do an audit and the numbers aren’t adding up,” I said, keeping it vague.
“I hate it when that happens. Which is why I never attempt to add things.”
“Are you here to ask for more overtime for the staff? Or maybe to tell me we’re dumping rings and going with four calling hens instead? Because it would not be a good day for that.”
She frowned. “I don’t think calling hens is right. No, I made you something. But if you’re in a bad mood, now might not be the time.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “I’m not in a bad mood. I’m in a thoughtful mood. There’s a difference. And you made me something?”
She shrugged and I noticed there was a box in her hand. “Just something I’ve been messing around with. On my own time, lest you be concerned.”
“I’m not concerned. What is it?”
She came further into the office and slid the cardboard box across my desk. “It’s an ornament for your office tree. When you put yours up.”
“I’m not putting up a tree,” I said, frowning at the box.
“What? Everyone is putting up a small tree. We’re a Christmas ornament company. Celebrating Christmas is what we do. There’s the big tree downstairs, and of course all the break rooms have one. It only makes sense that all the executive level offices have one, as well. News flash, you’re an executive.”
“I know what I am, but what you’ve just described are more than enough trees for one building.”
“You can’t have too many Christmas trees. That’s not a thing. You could only have too few Christmas trees, which it sounds like you’re going to be guilty of. People are going to start referring to you as The Grinch.”
“Not worried about my Grinch status, thank you.” I eyed the box warily. “That’s not another porn ornament is it?”
She snickered. “No, but do you know I’ve been making some adult ornaments on the side and I sold ten to an adult sex shop. The manager said the clients loved them. Snatched them right up. I’m telling you, we’re missing out on the porn ornament business.”
“Somehow we’ll survive. Seriously, I don’t want to see another penis that might have a red nose or something.”
“No, but I’ll make a note. A Rudolf penis ornament that glows!” She giggled. “No. Of course I would never make anything so suggestive for a coworker. Trust me, it’s HR safe.”
Curious despite myself, I opened the box and took out the delicate ornament. It was about two inches long, oval shaped, and brown, with indents along the surface. Plus a pair of dark sunglasses glued on it. I couldn’t even begin to guess what I was looking at.
My expression must have indicated as much, because she huffed when I wouldn’t even make the attempt.
“It’s a blind date. Get it? That’s a date, with dark glasses. Blind date.”
She was beaming, and then she started to giggle, snort, then actually cackle at her own Christmas ornament joke.
“This is the ugliest ornament I’ve ever seen,” I said.
“It’s not supposed to be pretty. It’s supposed to represent the year you’re having.”
I slipped it back into the box. “Thank you. I think?”
She laughed again. “You break down and get a tree for your office and we’ll hang it there as a sign of your search for love.”
“I told you, I’m not searching for love. I’m searching for a wife. And having a damn hard time of it.”
“Why in such a rush? It can’t just be about your thirtieth birthday. It’s not like your biological clock is ticking.”
She sat on the edge of my desk and for some reason it distracted me. She was wearing a loose sweater that fell to her hips and draped all around her. Pants and boots today, instead of a skirt, no doubt because the temperature had dropped significantly over the last few days. The way she was perched on my desk in those pants, I realized I could see her ass for the first time.
Her plump, round bottom in pants that actually fit her.
I cleared my throat. “You know there is a
chair there.”
She got the message and moved from my desk to the chair. “Afraid I was going to alter the contents of your desk with my butt?”
No, I was more afraid of her butt in general and thinking about what it might look like without the pants.
“So tell me. I want to know. Why are you trying so hard now to find Mrs. Darling?”
“Because I want it all,” I said with huffed laugh. “From the time I was eighteen and knew what the Army could do for me, I wanted everything. My college degree, a job with a big, fancy office. A nice car. A really nice house with a backyard and plenty of space for the kids to play. Well, I have the degree, the job, the office, and the car. Now I need a wife to complete the rest of the picture.”
“Fair enough. That’s a nice image by the way. A house with a big backyard.”
“Did you have that growing up?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It was just me and my dad. I lost my mom to cancer when I was five. Anyway, we mostly stayed in base housing. It was fine, just not…I don’t know, it was never really homey. We moved around a lot so I knew not to spend any time getting attached to things. Dad didn’t like any kind of clutter. As he used to tell me all the time, he liked to keep us mean and lean.”
“Did mean and lean include Christmas ornaments for your tree?” I had a hunch the answer was no.
She smiled sadly. “You’re more intuitive than I thought. No. No ornaments. And yes, that’s probably the reason I got into making them. I told myself someday I would have all the ornaments I wanted. When I fell in love with glass blowing, making them for myself just made sense. Then I found out I could actually make money from it and bam! I’ve got the best job ever.”
“Do you want the image?” I asked suddenly. “The house, the kids. The husband.”
She frowned and it made my gut tight. Like suddenly her answer was super important. “I’m a little afraid. To be honest.”
“What? What are you afraid of?” I pressed.
Because I was. I was desperately afraid of some of the things I wanted.
“I’m afraid I won’t really know how to be a good mom. I won’t know what to do or how to be because I didn’t have it growing up. I mean, maybe it’s instinctual. Maybe it will just come naturally. But what if it doesn’t?”
“There are books you can read,” I said quickly. Too quickly. Because when she looked at me, she could see it. My fear that I also wouldn’t know how to be a good parent.
“W.B….”
“I told you, you could call me Dare.” It was what I wanted her to call me.
“Why Dare?”
“It’s short for Darling. It’s what my buddies in the Army started calling me and it stuck.”
“Okay, but why not just call you by your name? What does W.B. stand for?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t stand for anything. That’s my name. Legally.”
“Come on, the initials have to be for some names. Your mother didn’t name you W.B.”
“Nope,” I said. “Subject closed.”
“Oh, I get it. They do stand for something, but obviously not a name you care for. So not William. That would be fairly normal. What about Wilber? Wilber Bubba.”
I glared at her.
“Walker Bob.”
“Are you done?”
She beamed. “Not even close. Wentworth Barry.”
“I have work I have to get back to,” I said impatiently. “And so do you. Making money doesn’t just happen.”
She took the hint and stood up. “Walter Bartholomew?”
“Goodbye, Joy.”
She stopped at my office door. “Are you going to tell me if I get at least one of the names correct?”
“Nope.”
“Spoilsport,” she grumbled. “And get a tree!”
“Not happening,” I called out to her. In fact, I put her ugly blind date ornament in one of my desk drawers and I didn’t think about it or her for the rest of the day.
Much.
Joy
“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Sophie said as we both waddled down the hallway with the planter filled with a small Christmas tree between us. We’d finished up another Sunday ornament event and I’d asked Sophie to stay behind and help me with the tree.
I wanted it to be a surprise for W.B.
“Because we’re bringing the Christmas spirit to W.B. whether he wants it or not.”
We wrestled the forty-pound load into his office and set it in the corner with a thump. Stepping back and rubbing my hands together, I was pleased with our efforts. A few more W.B. ornaments and he would love it. I just had to make sure he never found out he was actually the only executive who had a tree in his office. I might have exaggerated—outright lied—about everyone having a tree.
“Joy, you don’t…I mean, you’re not…” Sophie stopped herself.
“What?”
“You’re not into him are you?”
I laughed. “Uh, no. He is not my type. And I am one thousand percent not his type.”
“Sometimes types really don’t mean anything,” she said.
That was the thing I liked about Sophie. She was always so practical.
“I’m not into him. I just…I don’t know. I feel like he needs a friend. He’s so laser focused on meeting these goals he has set out for himself. I don’t know that he’s thinking about what he needs. Or even what he really wants.”
Sophie looked at me hard and then said, “You’re into him. Sorry I made the comment about the stick so far up his ass he couldn’t…”
“Sophie!” I stopped her. “I’m not into him! I’m not. Men and women can be work acquaintances without there being anything romantic about it.”
She snorted. “Not that I’ve seen around here.”
We both looked at the tree.
“It needs ornaments,” I said.
“Porn ornaments,” Sophie snickered. And I smiled, thinking about a few more of the ones I’d made. Beautiful Georgia O’Keeffe inspired vaginas. I didn’t think covering his tree with pussies was very work appropriate.
Then an idea struck. “I know what I can do to add to his Blind Date ornament. He’ll love it.”
“Look at you,” Sophie laughed. “You’re beaming. You are soooo into him.”
I frowned and glared at her. I wasn’t into W.B.
I just liked him more than I thought I would and it was surprising. I liked talking to him. And now that he didn’t seem to be avoiding me anymore, I had the impression that he liked talking to me too.
Was it possible that we were moving beyond being colleagues into friendship? Was it possible for someone like W.B. and me to even be friends? He’d seemed so utterly closed-minded when it came to me. But when he pushed through all his preconceptions about me, I think he started to see me as a person and not one of those sorts.
Why that was important to me, I wasn’t sure, but it was.
I was at his office door the next morning. It was open this time so I paused before knocking and gaining his attention. He looked as he always looked when staring at his computer screen, like he was perturbed about something. For someone who’d been a finance major in college, which he must have been to land a job like this, he really didn’t appear to like numbers very much.
“Do you like your work?” I asked and clearly startled him by announcing my presence so suddenly. I walked further into his office and this time took the seat across from his desk. I set the box of ornaments I’d brought carefully in front of him.
“Joy, you scared the shit out of me. I didn’t hear you at all.”
“You were too busy frowning at your computer,” I told him.
He immediately locked it so I couldn’t see what he was working on. “It’s my job to frown at the numbers, until they give me a reason to smile.”
“I thought we were doing okay. At our last weekly meeting you said we were showing real progress. Wasn’t that true?”
“Of course it was true,” he
huffed. “That’s another thing numbers don’t do. They don’t lie. They don’t spin. They don’t hedge the truth. They are always real and true and solid.”
I smiled. “You do like your job.”
He glanced at me with a confused expression, but then he seemed to give it some thought.
“I, yeah, I do. I really like my job,” he said, as if he was discovering that fact for the first time.
“Why do you sound surprised?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess, I never really thought about it. I studied finance because it was a means to an end. That end being money.”
“Figures.”
“Yes, sue me. I was a poor kid who wanted money. I’m sure to you that means selling out my soul or something. To me it means a luxury condo, an Audi, and never going hungry again.”
That squeezed my heart. “You were hungry?”
It was as if he hadn’t realized what he’d said, because he immediately looked for a way to change the subject.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the box on his desk.
“More ornaments.”
He nodded slowly. “I figured you were responsible for my office tree.”
“Guilty.” I turned to look at it, and saw the Blind Date already hanging from a branch. For some reason that made me happier than it should. I turned back to him. “But you’re going to need more than one ornament so I brought you a few. I happened to have extra at home so I figured you could use them. Again to represent something you’re seeking out. While also being office appropriate.”
He eyed the box suspiciously.
“Trust me. You’ll like them.” I stood and lifted the top of the box off the bottom, dug inside for what I knew was there, and pulled out the first ornament. Then placed it on his desk.
“A bride,” I announced.
“Pretty.”
“A groom,” I said, pulling out the next one.
His lips curled. “He looks a little stiff, so I imagine that is supposed to resemble me.”
