Wherever You Will Go

by Stephanie Smith

She doesn’t even acknowledge me as she leans over to Saxon. “And for you?” she purrs.

  I cringe, then see Saxon tense and a small smile touches my lips. She’s making him uncomfortable. He doesn’t like her attention, which shocks me.

  “The steak,” he says abruptly. No please, thank you, or even a glance her way.

  We chat casually over lunch and don’t bring up work once. The conversation is easy and comfortable. Nothing forced or awkward. It’s almost like meeting Saxon for the first time. Forget the fact he is sitting across from me looking all sexy casual in his jeans and t-shirt. His hair is all windblown, and his eyes seem lighter somehow, like he doesn’t hold the stress he does when he’s at the office.

  There is so much I didn’t know about him and things I assumed about him which weren’t the case. We actually have lots in common and looking at Saxon as a potential serious friend is exciting.

  My past was spent at the art gallery with few staff and volunteering for charities with mostly older women, so I don’t have a lot of friends, male or female. Meeting Nate young, not working after college and having no siblings hasn’t helped either. I guess it all attributes to me only having a close circle of people in my life, or at least that’s how I like to explain it. I definitely won’t be turning down any new offers of friendship.

  Saxon and I are laughing about the old guy getting kicked out the gallery, as he was offering paid tours but didn’t actually work there, when the waitress interrupts us.

  “How was your meal today?” she asks Saxon. I notice she has undone a button on her shirt and shake my head.

  Saxon leans away from her. “It was wonderful.” He’s doesn’t give her any more, and I honestly cannot remember a time I’ve seen him so uncomfortable in a situation. Fidgeting in his chair, avoiding eye contact. This isn’t Saxon. He’s always calm and in control. Especially when it comes to the ladies.

  She continues to try and get his attention as she flirts with him and I decide to excuse myself to the bathroom. Not that the waitress would notice, but Saxon hasn’t taken his eyes off mine since she approached our table.

  I diddle around in the bathroom, hoping the waitress will be gone by the time I return. I give my hair a light brush through before powdering my face and reapplying my lip-gloss.

  When I return to the table the waitress is noticeably absent and Saxon stares out the window, looking deep in thought.

  “Get a number, did ya?” I ask sarcastically, breaking his moment of peace. He gives me a sad smile and rolls his eyes. “What?” I ask him. “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed. Surely you get that everywhere you go? You sure did in college.” He doesn’t answer and just stares at me, his face expressionless. “You give off an untouchable vibe, Sax, even dressed like that.” I gesture to his outfit. “You are walking sex and all women think so.” I chuckle.

  “Yeah, well I don’t want you thinking that,” he says, no humour in his voice.

  I know what he’s saying. There is no hidden meaning there and instead of dealing with it I choose to ignore it. Today has been one of the best days I’ve had since Nate died, and I’m not letting anything ruin it.

  “Where to now? You promised me a day out in the sunshine,” I say trying to lighten the mood.

  “You want to go and look through the markets?”

  “Oh yes!” I squeal, bouncing in my seat and clapping my hands together. I love the local markets. I never really leave with much, but I love looking through all the handmade specialties, trying all the gourmet fresh foods and talking with all the eccentric vendors.

  “Come on then.” He laughs at me as he throws a few bills on the table before taking my hand again. I spot the waitress on the way out and give her the biggest, sweetest, fuck-you smile I have. Saxon isn’t mine, not even close, but she doesn’t know that. Maybe she’ll think twice before approaching a man who’s dining with a woman. Slut. She glares at me and stomps off towards the kitchen causing me to laugh at her.

  Saxon turns and looks down at me with a curious smile. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Nothing,” I say, still giggling. He shakes his head as he pulls me out of the restaurant and towards the markets down the road.

  There is something special about these markets, set up under big tents on the river’s edge in the fresh air. Even though the tents are open, the air is filled with whiffs of the fresh produce and special homemade foods as you pass the stalls.

  Saxon and I walk casually, hand in hand, stopping at every single vendor. We’re in no rush and don’t feel like fighting the busy crowds so we just take it as it comes, chatting to the vendors and sampling some of their goodies.

  I spot the familiar lady standing at the next stall, although she has aged considerably. “Oh my God. Sax, you have to try this fudge,” I yell as I pull him along to the stall. “Twelve-pack mixed please,” I ask the lady as Saxon raises his eyes at me. “What?”

  “That good, huh?” he smirks.

  “It’s the best. I used to get it all the time when I was a kid and Dad would bring me here,” I tell him excitedly. The lady who has been manning this stall and making these delicious sweet treats for as long as I can remember hands me my bag of goodies and Saxon pays her before I can even reach for my purse. “Thanks.”

  He smiles down at me. “If it makes you smile like that I’ll buy everything she’s got.”

  Heat warms my cheeks and I smile shyly.

  “Well done, son,” the vendor says to Saxon. “A happy wife is a happy life.”

  “Don’t I know it.” He winks at her. I laugh and shake my head as he pulls me away from the stall.

  “Come on, you have to try some,” I say, holding the bag right up to his face.

  “How can you still be eating after our late lunch and all the food samples you’ve had in the last couple of hours?” he asks laughing at me.

  “There’s always room for fudge,” I answer him seriously. “Besides I’d rather be fat and happy than skinny and hungry.”

  Saxon’s face breaks into that huge grin which melts my insides. “That’s what I love about you, Brooke.”

  “What? That I’m fat?” I ask with mock horror. My mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

  “Shut up,” he says, laughing as he pushes me, nearly into another shopper, before quickly grabbing my wrist and pulling me into him.

  He wraps his arms around my shoulders and places his head into my neck. “Shit, I’m sorry, Brooke. You’re so damn little, I forget how strong I am.” His voice is serious, but I can feel the laughter rolling through him from the quick breaths on my neck and his shaking shoulders.

  Lifting my hand, I slap him across the back of the head and he quickly pulls away from me a huge grin on his face.

  I take another piece of fudge and stuff it into my mouth before huffing at him and walking away.

  “Don’t eat too much fudge, we’ve still got dinner,” he scolds me.

  “Yes, Dad.” I hear his quick footsteps catching up to me and I duck away as he nears. I’m not nearly quick enough, probably because I’m more concerned about the bag of fudge in my hand, and he easily wraps his arm around my shoulders, able to hold me tight against him.

  I reach into my bag of fudge and go to shove one in his mouth. He grabs my wrist before I can make contact and looks down at me before he brings it to his mouth. He eats the fudge out of my fingers painfully slow, purposely torturing me.

  My body quakes with need, and I squeeze my thighs together to alleviate the pressure he’s building there. He hasn’t taken his eyes off mine and I stand there stunned, in a trance of lust.

  When he’s finished nibbling the fudge and my fingers, he slowly licks them clean, taking each one into his mouth and slowly sucking, licking and nibbling it.

  He releases my hand from his mouth and intertwines our fingers. “You’re right, that’s fucking good fudge,” he says calmly and pulls me along, as if he didn’t just turn me into a puddle of mush.

  Saxon and I walk al
ong the riverbank past the markets. This is such a beautiful part of our city, it’s hard to believe it’s downtown. The river runs through gorgeous green gardens with lush grass and foliage all around it.

  Spread all along the grass of the riverbank are families, young couples, and even some elderly, sitting on the grass and enjoying the bustling atmosphere of street musicians, artists, and even little stalls with hair extensions and spray-on tattoos.

  The markets are only held on the last weekend of every month so it’s always packed and brings the best the city has to offer, not only in produce and handmade materials, but the finest performers, too.

  Saxon and I stop in front of a street artist who is spray painting a large piece of cardboard. We watch as he randomly sprays the card, and it resembles nothing except a huge mess of colour. He continues his random spraying, every now and then altering the paint by blotting the cardboard with pages from a magazine.

  He picks up what looks like a large metal Frisbee and places it over a corner of the cardboard as he then begins to spray black paint all around it. As soon as the artist pulls the Frisbee off it’s obvious he has just created a large moon. I gasp in awe and clap excitedly. Thankfully a small crowd has gathered around us, and I’m not the only one excitedly clapping.

  We continue watching the artist in a trance while waiting to see what he’ll create next as a cool breeze moves through. With the warm afternoon giving way to night I shiver as the breeze tickles my skin.

  Saxon must notice and he quickly looks down and then wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against his side. My curves melt against his strong muscle and I shiver again, but for different reasons this time. Saxon takes it as a sign I’m still cold and doesn’t glance away from the artist as he pulls me in front of him and wraps both of his warm arms around the tops of my shoulders, holding my arms against my body tightly.

  Even though he’s only in a t-shirt himself, the warmth which comes from having his body wrapped around mine is all-consuming. It’s like slipping into a warm bath after coming in from the cold rain. I instinctively rub my hands over his forearms before resting them there.

  The comfort I feel from his embrace is indescribable. It occurs to me it’s been more than six months since I have been held, have been cuddled, comforted, or held someone’s hand. I think back to the overwhelming feelings when Saxon first held my hand today, and compare them to the feelings I had last night when we had sex. I satisfied a physical need last night. A physical need I definitely had, but there is no comparison to the need I have for companionship. The need for intimacy which only a strong man holding you, comforting you, caressing you, and holding your hand can bring.

  It’s these basic and innocent touches which I’ve missed the most since losing Nate. You take it for granted when you’re with someone for so long, and I didn’t realise how much I had missed it until having Saxon fill those needs today. There is something so intimate about these touches. You can fuck someone with no emotions involved at all, but it’s the cuddling and touching afterwards that makes it such an intimate act. Having Saxon hold me like this, in public no less, almost makes me feel guiltier than sleeping with him. I feel like I’m giving him more of myself, more of myself which I should be keeping for Nate.

  My stomach buzzes with an unnamed emotion. Is it excitement? The warm feeling of someone caring for me washes over me. Caring about what makes me happy, what matters to me. I do want that again, sometime in the far distant future. I shake the thoughts from my head, remembering the promise I made to myself about going with the flow.

  I watch as the artist has now used a spatula to cut into the paint and create a bridge underneath the moon. He sprays a little white under the bridge and rubs over it with his hand before holding the picture up. The white has created a mirror image of the bridge reflecting on the water underneath. Everyone cheers and claps at the finished product, bringing me out of my daze.

  “I didn’t know where he was going with that to begin with,” I say looking back up at Saxon.

  He laughs. “I know, I thought he was messing with us at first.”

  We both laugh as I try to move from Saxon’s hold. He pulls me tighter before slowly releasing me. “So do you think you can squeeze some dinner in after all that fudge?” he asks me with a silly grin on his face.

  “Would you believe I’m starving?” I smile.

  “Actually I would.” He takes my hand in his and pulls me towards the car.

  Saxon and I chat easily the whole time we’re driving to dinner. Our conversation flows effortlessly and is full of laughter and banter. I’m so immersed within our conversation I don’t even notice he’s brought me to his apartment until he’s opening his window to put the code into the underground parking lot.

  “I thought you were feeding me?” I ask, a little confused.

  “I said I was taking you to dinner, I didn’t say where I was taking you.”

  I don’t respond to him as he parks in his designated spot, and I reach for the handle to open the door. Saxon grabs my elbow, holding me in place. “Is this all right?” he asks quietly, studying my face.

  I hate that I make him that way, unsure and insecure. This is not the real Saxon, and I know he isn’t like this with anyone else. I hate that he feels he has to be like that with me.

  Deciding to not think about it and continue with the flow as I have all day, I give him a wide smile. “It’s fine as long as you feed me. I’m fading away here.”

  He laughs as he releases my arm and exits the car. Following suit I grab my handbag, leaving my few market purchases in the car, and head towards the elevator. We ride it up to the thirtieth floor, and as we exit, I notice there is only one door on the entire floor. Of course.

  Standing behind Saxon, I fiddle with the straps of my bag as he unlocks the large wooden door. He stands aside to usher me in the apartment and as soon as I step in and glance around my surroundings, I stop mid-step. It’s the most luxurious place I have ever seen.

  I mean, Nate and I have a beautiful home, but it’s exactly that: a home. It’s warm, cosy and comfortable, welcoming and very much lived in. Saxon’s apartment is none of those things. As beautiful as it is, it’s also cold, uninviting, and I hate to say it, sterile.

  The apartment has an open concept and the first thing to draw my attention is the glass bi-folding doors and windows directly in front of me which run along the whole apartment, covering the open plan area of the lounge room, dining, and kitchen.

  Furniture is scarce, but what furniture there is must be top-of-the-range and highly expensive as the apartment looks like it fell directly out of a magazine. The furniture is stark white and looks uncomfortable. Its hard edges and cold colours are very unappealing.

  It’s like I’ve stepped into a display home and as much as I love it to look at, I could never live in a place like this. No rugs, cushions or even colourful artwork.

  I wonder if that’s why he spends so much time at the office. I’d definitely rather be in the measly apartment attached to his office than here in this depressing space.

  As I continue my perusal I wonder if the windows are the same in the other rooms. I glance to my right where I see a hallway and assume it leads to the bedrooms.

  “Did you want a tour?” Saxon asks, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. Damn it, he must have noticed my sticky beak having a nosey around his apartment.

  “Sure,” I say, trying not to sound too excited to see the rest.

  He laughs as he takes my bag and places it on the small table near the door. He grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway.

  Showing me his home office, second bathroom, and two spare bedrooms, all I can think is I don’t see any part of Saxon in this place at all. Not only in the decor but in personal items as well. No photos, no sentimental artefacts, and not even a piece of clothing or dish out of place.

  Is this really his house? Does he even live here? I have never seen anything like it.

  “Who
decorated this place for you?” I don’t mean it, but there is clear disgust in my voice.

  Saxon lets out a shocked laugh. “I take it you don’t care for my apartment?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I say, feeling stupid. “It just doesn’t really feel like you.”

  He gives me a grin, letting me know he’s just messing with me. “No, it’s not really me. Jeanie decorated it for me.”

  I can’t help but laugh out loud at this. She was always on me about our place. How she knew several designers who could help me ‘sort out the clutter’; it’s no surprise she got her way with Saxon.

  I’m still laughing as he shakes his head at me and steps aside to let me in his bedroom. My laughter is instantly halted when I take stock of his room. It screams Saxon, and I know Jeanie didn’t get her hands on this room.

  There is a large king-size bed resting against the wall with a navy blue patterned bedspread looking out to the bi-folding windows, which do run through the whole apartment.

  My God, I can only imagine what it would be like waking up to that view. The quilt looks thick, and I’m guessing it’s probably feather, and all I can think about is snuggling down in that bed on a cold morning, sleeping in the clouds.

  Across the room is a dark stained chest of drawers and on them rests a gold watch, some gold and diamond cuff links and some small change. The matching bedside tables have simple white lamps and a glass of water on one. This room is definitely used, and I’m excited to see another glimpse of the real Saxon.

  “I’m guessing Jeanie didn’t approve of this room,” I say sarcastically.

  He chuckles. “No, definitely not. There is something very wrong about the only mother figure in your life decorating your bedroom.”

  I laugh. “Well, it’s definitely my favourite room.” Saxon’s eyes go wide as a slow smile creeps across his face.

  “Oh my God, don’t be so disgusting. Come on,” I say as I turn to leave his bedroom. “What are you cooking me for dinner?”

  “I’m not cooking,” he says matter-of-factly. I stop, turning to look at him with confusion in my eyes. “I can’t cook, Brooke,” he laughs.