by Zoe Norman
I hit send and let out a big breath. Let's see if he ever responds.
I muster up the strength to drag my bag and myself into my bedroom. I move into the bathroom and run the shower, turning the water as hot as I can get it. I need to wash away the yuckiness of the long flight and all these bad feelings. I look at my face in the mirror, assessing. Do I look any different? Do I look thoroughly fucked? Do I look like a woman who has spent the weekend with an amazing man having amazing sex and bizarre daydreams of spending copious amounts of quality time with him? I decide that I look no different because nothing is any different.
I wonder what coming home will be like for him. What he is coming home to? A woman? A regular fling? A dog? A family? Ugh. Family. I'm going to have to address that issue eventually. Another uplifting phone call with my mom about my single life and the one who got away.
I climb into the shower and wash away all the misery. I keep my head under water as long as I can stand it. My mind drifts as I stand under the running water, the steam so thick it almost makes it hard to breathe. I grab my loofah and drizzle body wash on it. While I wash, I imagine myself scrubbing off all the hurt, all the confusion, all the disappointment. When I'm done, my skin is red and raw, but I feel invigorated and clean. I step out of the shower smelling like a lemon verbena and grapefruit and feeling one hundred percent better. I wrap myself in a bathrobe before going to my bed to call Simon and fill him in on my trip. He and his fiancée, Reese, will want to know I made it home okay and that I'm in one piece.
After a short conversation with my brother, who informs me that Charley called, filled them in on Owen, and instructed him to not to let this one get away, I hang up and pour myself a glass of wine. I lie back on my bed, turn on some bad TV, and drink until I drift asleep.
* * *
I set my bag down on the chair next to me and take a tentative sip of my Chai tea. Starbucks is busy, and the noise that would normally irritate me is comforting today. I've been home for two days and I haven't heard from Owen—not even a response to my “got home safe” text message. I guess I didn't really expect to hear back. Oh, who am I kidding? I hoped, I prayed, I dreamed I would.
I take another sip and nibble on my raspberry scone. My breakfast choice reminds me of our morning at Starbucks, and I lose myself in the memory. I picture his smile, his relaxed nature, his hand smoothing over my hip as he pulled me in for an unexpected kiss when I got there. I can almost feel his hands on me, and I shiver involuntarily.
This isn't the first time I have reminisced about our time together. In fact, I have been playing back our days together in Seattle over and over. One thing he said keeps turning over in my mind. “What did your last boyfriend do to you to make you so fucking scared?” Without further ado, my mind drifts back in time...
On the one or two dates I was set up on, I balked the second the guy seemed to want more than a few dates, the moment it seemed he was interested in trying for more. If there was even a hint of interest in someone else or a breakup that was too recent, I ran. And so it has been for the last few months...until Owen. Have I run with him? Well, yeah I have. But...he comes back. And more importantly, I let him back in.
After our night together, after the club, I called Charley. I hadn't ever felt as loved, cherished, adored, as I did that night. Even Jay had never made me feel that way. I processed it with her, of course downplaying and looking for every negative while she sang his praises and the progress I've made already with him. And now...here I am....at Starbucks alone. I don't know where Owen lives, what fire company he is with, or if he too has a family hidden somewhere. All I have is a cell phone number that hasn't called or texted me since Seattle. I look down at my Chai and take a deep breath, trying to tamp down whatever this is I'm feeling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Owen
A day before I am to leave Seattle, I get a call from my younger sister, Emily. There was an accident. My mom fell off a short ladder when she was refilling her hummingbird feeder earlier that day. Outside of a dislocated shoulder and severe knee and ankle sprains, she would be fine. Emily hated to call me, but she needs my help to care for our mother. Without a second thought, I change my flight back to New York for that night, only leaving a day earlier. As I wait for my flight, I make the necessary calls to get a few of my shifts covered at the firehouse so Emily can get back to work.
After taking the redeye back to New York, I find my SUV where I left it and drive out to my mom's house. It is 7:00 a.m. when I let myself in. Leaving my duffel at the bottom of the staircase, I climb the steps of the quiet house and softly pad down the hallway, careful not to wake anyone. I peek my head inside my mom's room and find her snoring lightly and out like a light. As I close the bedroom door to her room, Emily walks out of hers, tying her robe tight around her waist.
“I thought I heard you. Hi,” she whispers loudly.
“Hi,” I say, giving my sister a hug before tilting my head towards our mother's room. “She's still sleeping.”
“Good. Come. I'll make us coffee and we can talk,” Emily says, entwining her arm in the crook of mine as we walk side by side to the kitchen.
As the coffee brewed, Emily filled me in on the details of the accident and what the doctors said. “So she just needs to stay off her feet for a little bit, but she'll be fine, Owen. She's not the frail old woman you think she is,” she explains with a wink, patting my hand.
I nod and draw a heavy sigh, relieved that she'll be fine in a few weeks.
“Tell me about your trip? How were the guys?” Emily asks
“Everyone's good,” I say with a genuine smile. “Travis is as happy as I've ever seen him and Marc is...Well, he's Marc.” I shrug my shoulders. I open my mouth to tell Emily about meeting Olivia but think the better of it. Instead, I turn to toward the cupboard to pull out mugs for our coffee.
Emily tilts her head to the side and eyes me suspiciously. “What aren't you telling me, Owen?” she asks.
Emily has always been very perceptive. I've always hated that. I look back at Emily over my shoulder and give her a forced smile as I turn to fill our mugs with steaming, hot coffee.
“Spill it, O. I know you took an all-nighter to get back to New York early, but you look extra haggard.”
I lift my filled mug to my nose and take a deep inhale of the rich chocolate and nutty notes that flood my nostrils. Heaven in a cup.
“Fine,” I reply, frustrated. “I'll tell you. I met someone.” I slide Emily's coffee toward her. No more details. The least amount of people involved in my personal life, the better.
Emily's eyes grow wide with interest. “About time,” she murmurs before taking a sip of her coffee.
“Hey now.”
Emily smiles at me. “I think that's great, Owen. Really. Tell me the story, but please leave out the dirty details. I know how you work,” she says turning up her nose teasingly.
As we drink our coffee, I share the story of how I met Olivia and our time together in Seattle. I spill my guts about how confused I am with how I'm feeling, vacillating between wanting someone again and craving my independence. I tell her that I find myself thinking about Olivia all the time. I confess to Emily that I'm tired of my playboy ways and want something more in my life, but at the same time, I don't want to give it up.
“Did I mention I am confused here?” I ask Emily, searching her eyes for an answer.
Emily sits back in her chair, appraising me, her fingers interlaced around her warm mug of coffee. “You're scared.”
“Pfft. What? I'm not scared,” I argue in mock defiance. “Am I?”
“You are. You're scared to fall in love again. If you keep running scared, Owen, you're going to keep pushing everyone else away and never find what you truly want. Not every woman out there is like Molly. And by the way you've described Olivia, I can tell you really like her. How are things now that you're both back in the city?”
I grimace as I stand to refill my mug. “I haven't been in con
tact with her since she left Seattle two days ago,” I say sheepishly.
Emily slowly lowers her mug and closes her eyes, sighing heavily. “Well, that can't make her feel too good. She probably thinks you don't take her seriously. Man up and call her, you idiot. You need to woo her...if you haven't already completely blown it by not calling.”
“Woo her?”
“Woo her, Owen,” Emily says emphatically.
“I can give good woo,” I say to Emily with a smirk.
With that, Emily throws a dish towel at me and we both start to laugh. Simultaneously, we both look up at the ceiling as we hear rustling from mom's room.
“I got it,” I say, looking at Emily. “And thanks for listening.”
“Does Olivia know about the nightmares, Owen?” Emily asks, concern written across her face.
I shake my head. “I never stayed the night with her except on her last night in Seattle.” I tilt my head to the side with a sudden realization. “Hmm. I didn't have a nightmare that night now that I think about it,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and heading upstairs.
“Interesting,” Emily said quietly to herself, her fingers slowly tapping her mug in thought.
* * *
I cannot stop thinking about her. It's a problem. I think about how Olivia's smile reaches her eyes when she laughs. How her eyes looked when I thrust into her for the first time. The way her fingers play with my hair and how she screams my name when she comes. But more importantly, I can't get over how good I feel when I'm with her. Now that I'm back at work, I feel stupid for daydreaming about her and like an even bigger idiot for not calling her. I need to “woo” her, as Emily put it.
I flip through my phone to the picture I discreetly took of her the night she met me at the club in Seattle. She's talking to Charley, her head thrown back in laughter. She's beautiful. Really, really beautiful. I miss that beautiful face.
I sigh heavily, thinking about the colossal mistake I made in not calling her all because I'm scared. Scared because I was confused. Scared now because I think she'll reject me. She probably thinks I've forgotten about her and that our time together was just a passing fling. At least that was the plan going into the weekend until she made herself so damn irresistible. My time with her makes me ache for something more. She gave me a taste of how good an actual relationship could be again.
That's it. Enough stalling. It can't hurt to at least check in with her, right? I mean, the worst she could say would be for me to fuck off. And frankly, I deserve that.
I plop into a comfy chair in the firehouse common room and dial Olivia's number on my phone. I look at the clock. 3:00 p.m. She's probably working. I'll just leave a message, I think to myself.
The phone rings and she picks it up on the other end after the second ring, “Good afternoon, Olivia Burke speaking,” she says quite professionally. Her voice is like honey, and I instantly feel relaxed.
“I was wondering if you had any zippers that needed fixing,” I say with a wide smile on my face. Damn. It's good to hear her voice, but why do I feel like a nervous teenager who doesn't know what to say?
Olivia laughs nervously. "Actually all my zippers are in working order, thank you very much. How are you, Owen?"
“I'm good, beautiful. I wanted to check on you and I…” I pause to find the right words. “I wanted to apologize for not calling you sooner. I feel like a real asshole about that. Something came up with my mom and I...Well...it's a shitty excuse really, but I just wanted to say I was sorry. Maybe you'll let me make it up to you by taking you to coffee? Today? Say in thirty minutes?"
Whaaaat did I just say?
I hear rustling of paperwork in the background and the squeak of a leather chair. "Um, sure, I'd love to have coffee! Where do you want to meet?" she says warily.
I audibly exhale a sigh of relief. “Yeah?” I smile wide and run my fingers through my hair. “Great! Um, I'm actually on duty right now at the firehouse. It's near the DUMBO area in Brooklyn. Are you anywhere close? I don't know where your office is so...” My voice trails off when I realize that I don't know many personal things about her at all. What I do know is that I want to know everything about her.
Olivia gives a lighthearted laugh on the other end of the phone. "I guess you don't, do you? I'm actually in Midtown Manhattan—NYU. We could meet at Jacques Torres right there in DUMBO? I'm always up for one of his yummy chocolate chip cookies, but need about forty-five minutes, is that okay?"
I suddenly have an image of us in the intimate cafe, the smell of chocolate swirling around us, and I'm aroused. Calm yourself, Maxwell.
“I love that place. And yeah, I'll see you there in forty-five minutes or so. I look forward to seeing you and finding out what your hair smells like today,” I say, grinning mischievously.
“Oh my…” I hear Olivia gasp over the phone.
“See you soon, Olivia.”
We end the call, and I run up to the bathroom to brush my teeth and give myself an once-over. I try to tame my curls but end up giving up. I grab my wallet, phone, and a radio and damn near skip out of the firehouse.
“Yo. Maxwell, where you headed?” my buddy Tanner calls out.
“I'm off to meet a beautiful woman for coffee. Be jealous, boys. Be very jealous.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Olivia
I step out of the cab just on the corner next to Jacques Torres. The smell of chocolate wafts in the air like a beacon calling to me. I had no time to freshen up before leaving my office, but I feel like I look okay. Today was a down day in the office, so I'm wearing a sundress and sandals. Nothing too exciting. My hair is down, which I like to think is when it looks its sexiest. In the cab on the way over, I swiped on some lip gloss and checked myself in the mirror of my compact no less than five times. I am anxious to see Owen, and I'm praying it won't be awkward. Knowing that I have a few minutes before I arrive at the café, I send Charley a quick text, eager to share my excitement.
On my way to meet Owen for coffee! Gahh!
The cab stops in front of the quaint café and I climb the stairs into the small but charming space.
If you're into chocolate, Jacques Torres is like heaven. You are literally surrounded by it here. On one side, you can watch the famed chocolatier making chocolates in his pristine kitchen. Ahead of you is the ordering area with glass cases reminiscent of old Paris, brimming with chocolates containing every filling imaginable, mouth-watering cookies, and French pastries. This is one of those places where your eyes are always bigger than your stomach. It's nearly impossible to not want to order one of everything. The walls are lined with interesting chocolate confections, and there is something innately sexy about being surrounded by this much sweetness. To my left is a small seating area with just a few tables and chairs, again very reminiscent of old French cafés. It's quaint, warm, and luscious.
Despite the minimal seating, I spot an open table and make my way there. Just as I pull out the seat, I hear the chime on the door ring, and Owen walks in. He is...wow. Tall, tan, in fireman's navy cargo pants and a navy FDNY shirt pulled tight across his chest. I have been working with FDNY for years, and I've seen lots of hot guys, but Owen is different. My heart feels like there is a vise around it. Everything in my body wants to fling myself at him, hold him, kiss him. I realize suddenly how much I missed him—really missed him. And not in a sexual way, although there's that too. But I really have missed his company. Just by looking at him, I suddenly feel less lonely. It's a very confusing feeling being that I've only known him for a week.
He spots me right away and smiles. His smile is wide and toothy and full of something more than a casual, Oh hey, good to see you. He walks toward me quickly, but clumsily, as his big frame maneuvers around the tiny tables in the confined space. When Owen gets to our table, I stand, and without a pause, he slips his arm around my waist and pulls me into him for a kiss. He doesn't make a huge show of it, conscious of the many people around us, but he presses his warm lips against mine and
I melt like the chocolate around us. No tongue, no dirtiness, just…a kiss.
He pulls back. "Hi," he whispers with a grin.
"Hi yourself," I reply, breathy and maybe a little desperate.
He sits down, eyeing me as I do the same to him. I have a grin on my face that borders on lunacy, but I don't care.
“You look beautiful,” he sighs, “and you smell amazing. Lemon?”
I self-consciously pull a length of my hair and hold it up to my nose, sniffing. “Lemon verbena, yes. You like it?”
His eyes soften and he grins. “Yeah, I do.”
There is a moment of silence as we assess each other, taking each other in. It feels like we're cataloging what we've missed in our absence—at least I am. I forgot how piercing his blue eyes can be, how firm his muscles are, and how they make me feel safe, even when he's not touching me. It is taking every ounce of restraint in my body to keep myself from jumping him right here in the middle of the café.
“We should probably order something since you could get called, right?”
He nods slowly. He's watching me intently, and while that might normally make me self-conscious, from him, it just makes me feel...I don't know...cherished.
“Do you know what you want? From the café?” I ask.
Owen shakes his head a bit. “Huh? What? Oh, right. I could get called. Um...what do I want...”
I smile enjoying the look on his precious face. “Lost you for a second there, did I?”
He gives me such a warm smile that I slump into my chair. “I just...I'm really happy to see you. I missed you.” He grimaces. “I mean…I've been thinking about you a lot, since, you know, we left Seattle.” He suddenly looks sheepish, and I smile at him.
