Finding Focus

by Jiffy Kate

  “No. Definitely not. I’m pretty sure they’re like this with everyone.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is I find myself forgetting I’m supposed to be working instead of filling up on delicious food and belly-busting laughter,” I pause, thinking I sound ridiculous, but needing to get this off my chest. She sent me here for a job, not a vacation. “I think I’m having too much fun.”

  I fully expect Piper to make fun of me with that last statement, so I’m surprised when her tone turns more sympathetic than anything.

  “Dani, there’s nothing wrong with having fun on an assignment, as long as you can remain impartial with your work. It’s no wonder you’re so drawn to them. It sounds like they’re a wonderful family . . . something you’ve been missing out on for a long time.” Although her tone is gentle, Piper’s words feel like a punch in the gut. I know she doesn’t mean to hurt me, but the truth in her words causes my eyes to fill with tears.

  “Yeah, that makes perfect sense, Pipe. Thanks.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I wipe away the few tears trickling down my cheeks and swallow the lump in my throat. “I think I’m just tired. Thanks for the chat, Piper. I’ll email you what I have after I go through the pictures I’ve taken so far.”

  “Okay, but you’d better call or text me if it gets too overwhelming for you. And I’m speaking as your best friend who just happens to be your boss right now, got it?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  After breakfast, I meet Micah in the garage where he’s waiting for me, just like he said he would be. He’s in a golf cart wearing baggy jeans, an LSU t-shirt, and a pair of Ray Bans.

  Holy shit, he looks amazing.

  Stay focused, Sheridan . . . task at hand. You’ve got this. You’re a professional.

  I get in the golf cart and Micah starts it up, pulling out of the garage and heading straight onto the lush green grass surrounding the property. While he’s giving me a brief history of the plantation, I start taking pictures and making notes in my journal. I have him stop when an old, rundown barn catches my eye and spend extra time playing around with the lighting and angles.

  We briefly stop at Annie’s garden, but I don’t spend a lot of time there. It’s truly amazing and deserves a whole day dedicated to capturing its beauty.

  “The plantation sits on fifty-five acres and there are also two cottages on the land,” Micah tells me.

  “Who lives in the cottages?” I ask.

  “Deacon’s in the one over there by the pond. Mine is this one right up here.” He points toward the house closer to us. It’s white with green shutters and surrounded by trees. I try not to love it instantly, but fail.

  “Is this what you want? To stay on the property?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he answers. “I love it here. It’s my home, and I want to share it with my own family, if I ever have one,” he answers with confidence. “What about you? Do you plan on living in the big city forever?” he asks, turning the tables.

  “Forever? I don’t know about forever. That’s an awfully long time,” I say with a smile, trying to dodge the question.

  He lets his sunglasses slide down to the end of his nose and raises his eyebrows over the top of them. “You know what I mean.”

  “Well,” I start, feeling the storm that’s been brewing inside kick up a notch, “I’ve been there for so long, it’s hard to imagine living anywhere else. Up until my best friend, Piper, left, I really had it in my head that if I wanted to move up the ladder in my profession, New York was the place to be. But now, I’ve seen my best friend spread her wings and try something different. I was so caught up in my little corner of the world, I hadn’t even considered a different way of life . . . a life outside of the city. Being here, though, I can see why someone would want to spend their life here.” I look over at him, but his eyes are straight ahead, like he’s deep in thought. “That’s what I want to do with my article,” I continue. “I want to show others what a wonderful life there is to be had down here and make them fall in love, too.”

  I’m a bit embarrassed to be opening up to Micah like this, but I feel so comfortable, I can’t seem to help it. Shrugging, I add, “That’s my job. That’s what sells magazines.”

  “I’m all for people falling in love, but I’m not sure I want a bunch of damn Yankees movin’ to the Settlement,” he says, grinning.

  Micah stops and parks the cart. “Ah, there he is! There’s my boy!” He jumps out and jogs toward the cottage, whistling and yelling for someone named Johnny. I assume he’s talking about a person, but when I round the corner, I realize the people have four legs.

  “Dani! Come meet the boys!” I catch up to where Micah is kneeling on the ground, being pawed and licked by not one, but two dogs. His smile is wide and playful, showing off his white teeth.

  “All right, all right! Settle down.” The dogs begin to calm and Micah wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt, briefly showing me his toned abs and a light smattering of hair traveling down past the waist of his jeans.

  Happy trail, indeed.

  “Dani, I’d like for you to meet Johnnie Walker and Jose Cuervo,” he says, smiling up at me. “Say hello, boys! The brown one is Deke’s and the black one is mine,” he says, still smiling like a little boy at the rambunctious dogs. They definitely take after their owners.

  I can’t help but giggle as I start petting both dogs. “You and Deacon named your dogs after liquor? Are you serious?”

  “That’s nothin’. Tucker has a basset hound named Hiram Walker. And we used to have a fish named Patron.”

  I let out a snort.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, watching me with an amused expression.

  “I’m just picturing a little Mexican fish with a poncho and a sombrero,” I tell him, and then we’re both laughing. After a minute or two, I finally stop and wipe the tears from my eyes. When I look up, Micah has stopped laughing, but a slight, crooked smile is still there. His eyes squint at me, and the twinkle I saw that first day in the parking lot is back.

  I feel my knees grow weaker the longer he looks at me. I think we’re having a moment, but I’m not sure. I clear my throat, regaining my composure. If I stand here any longer, I’ll be in a puddle at his feet and that would be very counter-productive.

  “Well,” I start, looking into the big black eyes of my new four-legged friends, “it’s been lovely meeting you boys, but I must get back to work,” I say in my most serious voice, patting them on their heads and giving their ears a good rubbing.

  Micah and I exchange another brief look. There’s something unsaid hanging in the air, but we both awkwardly look away, and Micah encourages the dogs to move closer to the house. Filling a large bowl with fresh water, he leaves me to my work.

  I retrieve my camera from the golf cart and begin walking around the property, taking pictures as I go, gaining a whole new perspective of the main house from this distance. I even manage to sneak in a few pictures of Micah when he isn’t looking. I love capturing people in their element. It’s so raw and natural. I walk a little farther down a paved-stone path toward the back of the house. There, tied between two big oak trees, is a large white hammock. I let out a little squeal as visions of my childhood come rushing back to me. Brushing my hand along the woven fabric, I close my eyes, and for a moment, I’m in knee-high green grass in the backwoods of Mississippi. Stepping back for a moment, I snap a picture as the sun hits the hammock just right between the thick leaves of the overhanging trees. This one isn’t for the article—it’s for me.

  Micah jogs up to me and gives me a peculiar look.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, noticing he’s a little out of breath.

  “I was just getting ready to ask you the same thing.”

  “Oh,” I say, a slow blush creeping up on my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen one of these since I was kid,” I explain. “My grandma had one in her yard. I used to love spe
nding summer afternoons swinging and sleeping on it. I guess I got a little too excited.”

  He laughs and runs a hand through his hair before slapping his baseball cap back on. “Well, by all means.” He gestures toward the hammock, encouraging me to hop on.

  I gingerly sit on the edge, taking extra care not to fall on my ass in front of Micah for a second time. After successfully climbing in, I kick my legs out and make the hammock rock to life.

  “Do you use this thing much?” I ask, glancing up to see Micah leaning against the closest tree.

  “Not nearly as much as I should,” he replies.

  I allow my head to sink into the hammock, my eyes finding a clear patch between the leaves. Once again, I’m mesmerized by how clear and blue the sky is above me. As two white puffy clouds drift by the treetops, I lift my camera and take a few shots from this perspective.

  The shade from the large oak trees makes the summer heat more bearable, and as I let my mind drift off for a moment, I forget about boyfriends and jobs. I watch the clouds pass and just let myself be until the brilliant blue eyes staring down at me replace the pale blue of the sky.

  “We best be making our way back to the house, Chuck.”

  “Oh, right. Sure.” I try to get out of the hammock as gracefully as possible, but I don’t succeed. Micah’s strong hands keep my camera and me from hitting the ground below. We both laugh, and my head falls to his shoulder as I grasp his thick biceps for support.

  “You gonna be all right?”

  “Yeah, we’ve really got to stop ending up like this.” I lift my head and swallow hard when his crystal blue eyes are all I see. Those babies should really come with a warning label. I quickly pull back and right myself, smoothing my hand through my hair.

  “Like what?” he asks, the smirk on his lips telling me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “You picking me up, keeping me from falling.”

  “I don’t mind.” His smile is wide, genuine, and his eyes shine brightly.

  I hate to admit I don’t mind it either. For once in my life, I’m kinda glad I have an affinity for falling on my face. With someone like Micah Landry around to pick me up, who can blame me?

  Micah

  LYING IN BED, TRYING TO motivate myself into getting up and taking a shower, my thoughts drift to Dani . . . which is becoming more common than not. Watching the way she worked her camera, her enthusiasm shining bright in her eyes when she took a shot she loved . . . it felt like I was getting a glimpse at the real Dani . . . her passionate side. The angles, precision, movements . . . the way her mouth worked into different expressions without her realizing it was happening. Without a doubt, I knew I was attracted to her. But up until that point, I didn’t realize how attracted I was. Her personality, looks, and even her clumsy nature drew me in, but there was something about seeing her in her artistic element that really drove it forward. And the way her face lit up when she saw the hammock . . . it was so child-like and radiant, pure beauty. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  Her long hair was beautiful in the sun, showing each shade of red, and her skin glowed. She looked angelic lying there, but I have a feeling she’s not as angelic as she looks. Every once in a while, I catch glimpses of fire and mischief in her eyes. She’s something else—independent, driven, ambitious—definitely a woman who knows what she wants.

  And while I really saw her, I couldn’t help but see her. I know I shouldn’t have been looking, but with the way the mounds of her breasts peaked out over the top of her shirt . . . it was hard to look away. I can’t help but wonder how they feel . . . how her nipples would react to my touch. And at that thought, I’m hard.

  Just the motivation I needed to get in the shower.

  I hurry into the bathroom and turn the water on, testing the temperature before hopping in. With thoughts of Dani’s tits still in my mind, I quickly step into the spray and lather up my soap. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to imagine what it would feel like to touch her—my hands running over her curvy hips, down her thighs, grabbing her ass, and making my way back up to pay special attention to her tempting breasts.

  I firmly wrap my hand around my cock and work it up and down, lathering the soap. The more I think of her soft, round tits, the faster my hand pumps. I picture her long red hair splayed out under me and my hands on her creamy skin. When I think of how my name would sound falling from her lips as she unravels, my balls tighten. One last thought of her naked, writhing beneath me, and I’m done for. My release comes in a few short bursts, hitting the back of the shower wall.

  One thing's for sure, if I ever get the chance to fuck Sheridan Reed, I will definitely need to pre-game, or risk the chance of looking like an under-experienced teenager.

  After showering and getting dressed, I head out to my parents’ house to see if my mama left any breakfast out for me. As I walk inside through the back door, Dani’s voice is coming from the formal dining room. I peek around the corner and see her sitting at the table with her phone to her ear.

  “Graham,” she sighs heavily, “hey, it’s Dani. I, uh . . . I thought maybe I’d hear from you by now. I mean, if it were me off on a vacation all by myself, you’d be pissed I hadn’t checked in by now. For fuck’s sake, you’d probably have the FBI hot on my trail.” The more she talks, the angrier her voice sounds. “Listen, just call or text me and let me know you’re all right. I hope you’re having fun . . . or whatever it is you went there for.” She pauses, and for a second, I think she’s hung up her phone, but then she starts talking again, her voice quieter and sadder. “If you’re there with someone else . . . if you’re with someone else, I wish you’d just tell me. I think I deserve that.” Her sigh is loud, and I look around the corner to see her staring out the window. “We really need to talk when you get back. Call me . . . bye.”

  I hear the phone hit the table, so I peek back into the dining room. With her head resting on her arms, her shoulders move up and down. I refrain myself from bolting out of the house. The tears of a woman will always be my undoing, but no tears have ever made my heart squeeze like the tiny sobs coming from Dani. Without much thought, I’m moving toward her, needing to comfort her in some small way. My hand itches to soothe her with its touch, but I stop myself, afraid I’ll startle her.

  “Dani . . .”

  She turns her head to look at me and quickly begins wiping the tears off her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, trying to cover up the emotions.

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  “I don’t know. For crying, I guess?” she says, laughing through the few tears still running down her cheeks.

  She takes a deep, cleansing breath, collects herself, and continues on her exhale. “I’m apologizing for allowing personal matters to interrupt my work. This is very unprofessional of me,” she says, standing up from her chair.

  “Well, first of all, you wouldn’t need to apologize to me anyway. I’m not your boss,” I reply, giving her a half smile. “Second, I think it’s quite all right for you to have a personal moment, if you need one.”

  We stand there for a moment, me looking at her, her looking out the big picture window, avoiding my gaze.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she replies, letting out a deep breath and rolling her eyes.

  “Maybe the beginning?”

  “Everything’s so fucked up. Honestly, we could be here all day, and it’s really not the way I planned on spending the day,” she says, her demeanor starting to shift back to the Dani I’ve come to know. “How about you show me some of the house I haven’t seen yet? Help me get my mind back on my work?” She puts her cell phone in her back pocket.

  “I can do that,” I tell her, smiling. The idea of spending the day showing her around again is music to my ears.

  I point to a picture of my grandparents on the wall, but before I can speak, the doorbell rings.

  “Lemme go get that. I’ll be right bac
k. Did you eat breakfast yet?”

  “A little, but I could use some more coffee.”

  “All right. Well, go help yourself, and I’ll see who’s at the door.”

  It’s Tuesday, and my mama has been in party planning mode, so I assume it’s another delivery of some sort. Opening the door, I see it’s not a delivery or the taxman—either of those would’ve been better than the person standing in front of me.

  “Hey, Val.”

  “Hey, Micah,” she purrs as she closes the space between us and launches herself at me. I have no choice but to catch her or the sheer force of impact will knock me over.

  “What the hell?”

  “I missed you! Didn’t you miss me?” she asks, giving me a pathetic pouty lip. I hate that.

  I turn around and try to shake her off. “Sure, I missed your clingy ass,” I say, hoping she picks up on my sarcasm and takes a hint. She’s so damn manipulative sometimes, always thinking a turn of her lips or a bat of her eye will get her what she wants. Normally, I’d let her have her way and give in, which is how I end up in her bed occasionally, but the fact that Dani is in the next room has me on edge. I don’t know why, but I really don’t want her and Valerie in the same room.

  “Well, I was hoping I could catch you before you left the cottage. I was kinda hoping we could maybe have some breakfast . . . in bed.” She winks, and I smile at her, shaking my head. “When you weren’t home, I decided to come track your ass down.”

  “Sorry, Val. I’ve got plans for the day.” I look up and my gaze meets a set of emerald green eyes staring at me from the doorway. Her eyes leave mine and zero in on Valerie. The look she gives her is interesting, to say the least.

  Her eyebrow quirks and her lips draw together, like she’s trying to keep from saying something.

  “Dani! I was wonderin’ if you’d be out here,” Valerie says. Her fake-ass niceness doesn’t slip by me.

  Dani’s eyes narrow and pink tinges her cheeks. “Valerie, it’s good to see you.” Her words and tone don’t quite measure up.