by Karen Booth
“How was your nap?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Instead, he brushed his lips along the side of my neck and hummed. “Sam will be home from school any minute.” That prompted him to switch to the other side. I closed my arms around him and inhaled his smell.
“I can tell time, you know,” he said.
“So, don’t start something we can’t finish.”
His mouth grazed my ear. “It can wait until tonight, but I promise you that we’ll finish.” He pulled me even closer as Sam came through the door, but he didn’t let go until she screamed.
“Chris!” She launched her backpack at Andrew and bounded across the room, throwing her arms around Chris’s shoulders.
Andrew’s eyes bugged out like a Muppet when he saw Chris. He stood in a delayed state of shock, holding Sam’s backpack. Sam had mentioned that Andrew hadn’t realized who Chris was the first time they’d met.
Chris was gracious, deflating the star-struck moment. “Andrew. Hey.”
Andrew didn’t set down his armload, making his reach quite short when he extended his hand out from under the backpacks. “Oh, wow, Chris. Hey.”
Chris smiled. “How are you? How’s your band?”
Poor Andrew, his face was turning a deep crimson. “Really? I mean, great. It’s cool.”
Sam and I leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling at our guys, watching the exchange as if they were lobbing tennis balls at each other.
“I brought a guitar with me. Maybe we can jam while I’m here.” Chris said, and winked at me.
Andrew’s eyes went unimaginably larger. “Seriously?” Then he seemed to sense that he needed to be a little smoother. “That’d be cool. I’ll be around.”
Chris grabbed me as soon as Sam and Andrew ran upstairs. “Where were we?”
“I was reminding you that we don’t have complete privacy here like we do at your house.”
“Oh, right.” He loosened his grip on me, but kept his fingers laced behind my back.
I studied his face. “Are you okay? You can talk about Elise. It doesn’t bother me.”
The sun peeked out from behind the clouds through the kitchen window, rebounding off the sill and across his face, showing him in a fragile golden light. “I’m trying to ignore it. We’ll see how long I can keep that up.” He kissed me on the forehead and his stomach growled.
“I’m being the worst host ever. Let me get you something to eat.” I poured an iced tea and brought it along with cheese and crackers to the kitchen table.
He smiled at me, with soft eyes, while his snack disappeared.
“I don’t think I could be as calm as you are right now,” I said.
“It’s only because I can hide out here with you. It doesn’t seem real when I’m here. Everything’s so quiet, no drama.” He came into my world for quiet and calm and the opposite happened when I entered his. “I’d be miserable if I was at home by myself. I wouldn’t be able to get away from it. That usually makes me feel sorry for myself and I get depressed. It’s a vicious cycle.”
I didn’t know exactly what to say; the things he said sometimes didn’t have a simple response. “I’m glad if I’m helping.” Still, I was sure he was exaggerating.
He slipped his hand under mine, on the table. “I’ve got something I want to play for you. It’s the new song I’ve been working on.” He grabbed the guitar from the corner where he’d propped it up in its case. “Let’s go in the living room.”
My heart was pounding wildly—I was so excited to have him play for me. I perched on the edge of the couch, not feeling like I should sit all the way back. That would be treating it as if it wasn’t a big deal and it was a huge deal to me.
He sat next to me and I watched intently as he tuned the glossy black guitar, smiling to myself, feeling so proud of my talented boyfriend. His hair still looked goofy and his clothes were rumpled, perfect.
He smiled. “It isn’t finished, but you’ll get the idea. It’s called ‘Tell Me’.” He played a few notes and stopped. “Oh right, I forgot the important part. It’s about you.”
Tell me if this works for you, I take your one and make it two
There’s light and dark, you only see everything you find in me
Tell me how then tell me why, every low now skims the sky
Tell me what then tell me when, I’m meant to break, you only bend
I thought by now you’d surely go, my faulted heart would have to know
The mystery that has come to be, everything you see in me
Tell me how then tell me why, every low now skims the sky
Tell me what then tell me when, I’m meant to break, you only bend
Show me secrets for tonight, I’ll never tell, I’ll hold them tight
A miracle if you learn to need, everything you find in me
I remained motionless when he made the final strum on his guitar, soaking up the artistry, the poetry of the words he’d written for me. Holding the side of his face, I rested the bridge of my nose against his cheek. I was afraid to move and have his eyes sweep me closer to everything that waxed inside me.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” I whispered, the tears starting on cue. “I can’t believe you wrote a song for me.”
He set his guitar down and gathered me up in his arms, rocking me from side to side. “I’m glad you like it. I figured it was the least you deserved.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chris and I took joy in discovering the random things that we both liked, as all new couples do. On his first night back, we added a mutual love of Chevy Chase movies to the list.
We snuggled while watching Fletch on cable, Chris splayed out at his full length and I tucked in between him and the back of the couch. My head rested in the crook of his arm with my hand on his stomach. I bent my leg around one of his, quite content.
“If this is what it’s like to live at your house, I might not ever leave,” he said when the movie ended.
“Fine by me.” I made an innocent pass with my hand across his stomach. My pinky brushed a sliver of his stomach where his t-shirt had hitched up a quarter-inch.
He bolted upright, “Time for bed.”
His urgency was so overt that I couldn’t resist the chance to mess with him. I stretched and yawned. “Oh, you’re right. I’m probably going to fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.”
“Then let’s keep you away from the pillows.” He hopped up from the couch and yanked on my arm. “I need to get you into bed.”
“You can’t possibly be tired.”
“I’m not. That’s the point. Claire, come on. Stop mucking about.”
“I’ll get up.” I remained on the couch, still warm from his body heat.
“When, exactly?” He stared at me with brilliant green, impatient.
“Soon,” I whispered, swishing my hand across the seat cushion. “Will you do something for me?”
“Yes. Anything. What?”
I bit my lip. “When we get upstairs, will you talk to me without hiding your accent and say some of those cute British things you say?”
“I don’t hide my accent.” He bent an eyebrow. “And what do you mean by cute British things?”
“You know,” I muttered, dropping my head shyly. “Tell me I’m sixes and sevens. But sex stuff.”
“It’s at sixes and sevens. You forgot the at.”
I gnawed on my lower lip when a smile rolled across his face. He pulled on my arm and I followed him upstairs.
I closed the door quietly, since Sam’s light was still on, and tiptoed toward him. “We have to be quiet.”
“How am I supposed to talk and be quiet?” He asked, stepping out of his track pants.
“Whisper.”
He talked in my ear as he inched us along the creaking wood floor toward the bed. “Let’s see.” He snickered, which only made me giggle like a twit. “Do I give you the fanny gallops, Claire?” He kissed my mouth, then my cheek. “Hmm? Are you arching for it?” He laughed. “I can’
t do this. I sound like a dirty old man.”
I pulled at the back of his head and pressed his lips against mine. “Not to me you don’t. I have no idea what you just said.” The bed was still unmade from his morning nap and we collapsed onto it.
“Don’t you dare get up and turn off the light,” he said, rolling me over to my back.
“It’s my house.” I slipped my hands underneath his t-shirt and removed it, admiring the shoulders I hadn’t seen in days with the tips of my fingers.
“It’s your house, but we’re playing by my rules tonight.” He began unbuttoning my blouse, bestowing a kiss where each button was once fastened.
“What does that mean?” My hands dug into his delightfully unkempt hair.
“Well, I have a list somewhere, I suppose I should have brought it with me, laminated it perhaps.” I smirked as he went ahead with his attempt at making fun of my rules. “Mostly it means that your rules are null and void.” He smiled deviously and once he was finished with the blouse he intently reached behind me for the hook of my bra.
I giggled as he patted. “It’s in the front.”
Despite the new location, he had no problem making quick work of the clasp. “This is so like you, creating problems. When we’re playing by my rules, the hook always goes in the back.”
“Shh…Sam will hear us.” I tittered. “Sorry. I didn’t get my laminated rules sheet.” I mumbled into his hot and stubbly neck, his balmy smell a bit more potent than usual. “There seems to be a lot of discourse involved with your rules.”
“Very observant, my dear.” The button on my jeans was the next to go. “There will be a lot of talking, discussion really, about a variety of topics.” He kissed my shoulder as he unzipped me. “First, I’d like to hear exactly what you want to do to me. After that, you can tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“You know I’m not good at that. It’s too embarrassing.” The thought of all that inhibition made me want to hold back—I had no problem doing the things he wanted to do, the narrative he expected was the problem. “I can’t do that and have the lights on. My brain will implode.”
He separated me from my pants and caressed my stomach with a delicate touch, grinning. “You’re a clever woman. You’ll figure it out.”
“But all of that talking seems pointless.” I sat up and helped him out of his boxers.
“Is it that difficult for you to follow someone else’s rules?”
I kissed his chest, moving down his stomach. “I’m just saying my mouth can only do so many things at one time.”
He lifted his head and his eyes lit up when they met mine. “Right. Excellent point.”
****
The following afternoon, Chris slammed the back door after picking up Sam at school. “There’s a bloody idiot with a camera outside.” He tossed my car keys on to the kitchen counter. “He followed us the whole way home.”
Although he was upset, I smirked at the adorable image of him in the pick-up lane at school.
“Mom, isn’t it cool?” Sam asked, embarking on her afternoon forage through the refrigerator. “I might be in a magazine or something.”
Chris shook his head. “Sam, these guys are scavengers. They have no respect for a person’s privacy.” He looked out the kitchen window again. “I tried to lose him on the way home, but it’s not easy when there’s a speed lump every twenty feet.”
“Hump,” I said.
“What?”
“They’re called speed humps. Sometimes bumps, but definitely not lumps.” I snickered.
“Bloody nuisance is what they should call them.”
I rubbed his back and glanced out the window. “That guy’s a photographer?” My hand froze mid-rub. “He was out there in his car yesterday when you were taking your nap.”
He pressed his lips together, eyes wide. “You should’ve said something. I’m going to go see if I can get him to clear out.” Out the door he went, with extra long, determined strides.
Sam and I watched, looking for clues in Chris’s body language as to what was happening. Much of what we saw was the view of Chris, from behind, as he leaned down to talk. I couldn’t imagine a more picturesque scene.
After a few minutes, he headed back to the front door when out of nowhere Rosie from next door entered the frame. She made a slow but steady beeline across the yard toward him, white leather grandma shoes shuffling through the newly green grass.
“Oh, crap.” I made a break for the front door.
Chris was already talking to her by the time I made it outside. The normally pleasant Rosie, all five feet of her, was crossly pointing a finger at him, causing him to recoil—an old lady in elastic-waist pants with lips coated in coral-pink lipstick, could be shockingly scary.
“Is that man in the car your friend? He’s been out here since yesterday and every time I tell him to leave, he ignores me,” she said.
“Oh, Rosie, no,” I assured her. “He’s not a friend of ours.” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Please, I want to introduce you to my boyfriend, Christopher.” I focused on him, sending a secret signal that it was an excellent time to turn on his copious woman taming skills.
“Boyfriend? Dear, you should have said something.” She straightened from her hunch. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Rosie, the pleasure is all mine.” He gave her the shiniest version of his trademark smile.
You go to it, honey.
He took her hand with both of his. “I am quite sorry about this chap. I’ve spoken to him and it seems he is unwilling to go. I’m going to recommend that we ring the police and have them ask him to move.” His overly polite speech and thickening of his accent worked like a charm. She was already smitten.
She came inside with us and I made her a cup of tea while Chris called the police. “He’s a handsome one, Claire,” Rosie offered, leaning precariously out of her chair to get a better view of him in the other room.
“I’m a lucky woman.” I was ready to grab her by her seersucker pants if she leaned too far. The last thing I needed was an old lady with a broken hip in my kitchen. I finished my tea just as the handsome one joined us.
“They’re going to come by and talk to him,” Chris said. “The local ordinance says that he’s free to park on the street as long as he isn’t bothering anyone. Hopefully they’ll be able to scare him off.”
The police did their job, but he was back an hour later. It was strange to know there was someone outside, watching the house, waiting to take pictures. Chris suspected that he wasn’t even real paparazzi; perhaps a student who’d answered an ad for a cut if he caught anything good. It was scary the lengths people would go to now that the world cared about the details of Chris’s private life again.
Chris would check on the guy periodically, wave at him as if they were neighbors while he said unsavory things. “We’ve only got a few days until Elise’s book comes out and then it’s probably going to get worse. I thought I’d be safe from this here.” He joined me in my office, where I was finishing up a story. He rubbed my shoulders, and I closed my eyes and let him do his magic. “I’ll go home if this is worrying you. I’m sure he’ll leave when I’m gone.”
I tilted my head back to look at him. “Don’t be silly. It’s not like he’s peeking in the windows.” He worked on my neck as I studied his face, attractive in a different way, upside down.
“What are the chances your ex, what’s-his-name, hired this guy?”
“Kevin? You think he hired the photographer?” My stomach churned. It wasn’t that difficult to imagine.
“Just a theory. He seems hell-bent on keeping me away from you and I’m sure he knows about everything that Elise is doing, the interviews and such.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t even want to think about that. I really hope that isn’t what’s going on.”
“At least the tabloids haven’t been calling you.”
I winced. “Actually, I turned the ringer off. Everything’s g
oing straight to voicemail. I had four messages from reporters the last time I checked.”
His eyes narrowed. “Of course.” He spun my chair around. “I noticed the same number on your cell phone several times from yesterday and today. Did someone get that number?”
“My cell phone?”
“I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anyone bothering you.”
I calmed myself, to let him have his macho moment. “It’s a friend of mine.”
“Male or female?”
“Why does that matter?”
“I’m curious.” He leaned against the edge of my desk and crossed his arms over his chest.
“His name is Jeremy. He’s a dad from school. Sam used to be friends with his daughter. It’s nothing.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The photographer problem got worse when the rest of the neighbors started complaining. They weren’t as swayed by Chris as Rosie was—especially Mr. Henderson across the street, who had no right to say a thing about being a bad neighbor as far as I was concerned. His satanic Pomeranian, Cupcake, took off after me every morning when I jogged past their house. Mr. Henderson seemed to enjoy watching, often wearing his too-short bathrobe and slippers.
Chris called the police repeatedly; the photographer would leave for an hour or so, but he always came back. The guy was making himself at home—once we’d seen him have a pizza delivered.
The photographer’s presence made everything complicated. Both Chris and I wanted to read Elise’s book the day it was released, but the image of one of us buying it would’ve meant big headaches down the road. I was kicking myself for not pre-ordering it online, but Kevin unexpectedly came to the rescue. He’d left a message on Monday saying he was sending it overnight—two copies, in case I wanted to “share” with anyone. I was thankful, although I was sure he’d only done it to be an arrogant prick.
