by Mary Beesley
He flinched, clutching his soda like a lifeline. He drank as if he could douse the fire growing in his belly. The carbonation fizzled his throat. Hissing, he set down the drink. She leaned forward, the scent of jasmine assaulting him like an enemy invader. She picked up his glass and took a swig.
“Oh, that’s straight syrup.”
He didn’t share drinks as a general rule. But tonight he wanted to put his lips exactly where hers had been and drink deep. “Have more. You could still use sweetening up.”
She giggled and leaned forward, the softness of her breast pressing into his shoulder. She was not wearing a bra.
“You’re killing me,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” She straightened up and pouted her lips.
It was too damn much. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Her eyes went wide, and she put her fingers over his mouth. He kissed them, tasting a trace of gin. She giggled as she lifted her fingers. He put his hands on her hips, drawing her closer.
“No, wait. It’s not midnight.” She looked around. “What time is it?”
He checked his smartwatch. “Eleven forty-six.”
“We have to wait.” She slipped her hands around his neck. “And we have to be outside under the fireworks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He left a twenty on the counter. No time to wait for the bartender to return.
With Tempest under his arm and his heart pounding like a racing rhino, he led the way behind the hotel. She wasn’t drunk enough that he should feel bad about this, right? They’d kissed before. He knew he was too in love to stop now. Which was probably the biggest reason he shouldn’t do this. But he was going to get to kiss her again. He was so freaking excited he might dance right out of his skin. When they hit sand, Tempest folded over. She leaned against him for balance, her dress riding higher as she took off her strappy sandals. The walkway light illuminated her foot tattoo.
Leo squinted and bent over, his arm still tight around her waist. “You enlarge my steps under me. And my feet have not slipped,” he read. “What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “It’s a Bible verse about God directing our path. But I’ve slipped a lot since I got it, so…” She giggled as she twisted out of his hands and stumbled onto the beach.
He chuckled. He’d never seen giggly Tempest. She was adorable.
Sandals in hand, she ran, kicking up sand as she went. He followed, slower. He didn’t want to take his sneakers off. He’d have to hold them, and he wanted his hands free to hold her. And he probably shouldn’t run; he didn’t need his pulse any higher than it already was.
He caught up with her a few yards down the beach, close to the moonlit surf. She’d stopped next to another couple. A wave of cold crushed over him as recognition hit. Mom and Christopher. The long string of curses pinging through his brain did not help him feel better. He trudged over.
“Leo, honey, hi,” Mom said.
“Are you cold?” Christopher asked his daughter, looking over her bare arms and legs. “Do you want my jacket?”
“No. The breeze feels good.” She sounded stone sober now. Had she been playing it up a little for him? Because she wanted him too and thought she needed an excuse?
“Lucky we ran into you,” Mom said. “Now we can welcome the new year together as a new family.”
They were rescued from having to reply to that buzzkill by voices yelling along the beach. “Ten, nine, eight…” Christopher and his mom picked up the chant. They turned to each other, eyes starry and expectant. Leo felt a bit like vomiting. “Three, two…” Tempest turned sad eyes on Leo. “One.”
Fireworks exploded across the sky. Green, red, and yellow reflected off the ocean. All along the sand, couples came together. Christopher drew Mom into his embrace and kissed her.
Leo and Tempest stood there, staring at each other like the sorriest idiots in the world.
Chapter Eleven
The New Job
Tempest parked her car in her typical spot—the one in the corner of the lot, farthest from the building she was quickly coming to despise. She’d taken a job as a market research analyst with Komler Insurance the first week of January, a month ago. And she hated it. The small cubicle with no windows. The way her boss’s breath reeked of fish and coffee. The way they shifted meeting schedules constantly with no warning or apology. The size of her paycheck. The lack of connection she felt with her coworkers.
She hadn’t talked or texted or emailed or communicated in any way with Leo since his plane touched down in Dallas on January first. Maybe that dead zone was affecting her ability to integrate into this new work environment. She just didn’t care if Komler Insurance succeeded or failed. They couldn’t read her apathy in the reports—those were done well—but she worked like a robot. She had all her walls up, and it was killing her slowly. She sighed as she shifted her car into park and turned off the engine.
“Another day, another dime.” She lifted her leather work tote and marched into the brown building.
“Good morning, Ms. Swan,” the office receptionist said.
She frowned at him as she strode past. “Hi.”
He wasn’t much younger than she and called everyone else in the office by their first name. The worst part was she knew he used her last name because he didn’t like her first name. She found her cubicle, hung up her coat, and sat down. She had put exactly zero decorations or personal touches on her desk. If this company asked her to clear out her desk, she could laugh in their faces because it was already done. The woman who worked one cubicle up appeared at the opening to Tempest’s tiny space. Sherla’s office looked like she might have moved in, complete with photo montages and a full-service tea station.
“Happy anniversary,” Sherla said.
“What?”
“You’ve worked here one month.” She clapped small pudgy hands and brought them to her chest.
Tempest was not in the mood for whatever what happening right now, but she forced a half smile. “Oh. Thanks.”
“We celebrate the occasion around here.” Round eyes popped out with eagerness.
“Why? Is it rare?”
Sherla giggled. “You are so funny.”
Tempest hadn’t meant it at as a joke. She plugged her laptop into her work monitor.
“One month is the perfect amount of time for new folks to get integrated and trained and start to feel like this is home.”
This felt nothing like home.
“And I hate having people feel like they aren’t family around here.” Sherla said it with a slightly accusing tone.
“Thank you for the warm welcome.” Tempest pointedly turned to her screen.
“I started the tradition to celebrate this important milestone. Got permission all the way at the top.” She motioned to Tempest. “Come on.”
Dread trickled into Tempest as she looked up at the beaming woman. That’s when she realized the office had gone quiet.
“Up, up.” She reached for Tempest.
Tempest stood quickly so Sherla wouldn’t touch her, but she put her hands on Tempest’s elbow anyway. Tempest went around the far side of her chair so Sherla would be forced to remove her fingers.
“I’ll follow you.”
Sherla’s excitement bated at the blandness of Tempest’s tone. She turned, and Tempest followed the wide swinging hips toward the breakroom. Tempest had work to do. Her mind was poised to get it done. She’d worked out hard this morning. She’d pushed herself in her yoga practice these last few weeks, willing her body to be strong enough to overcome her heart. Her muscles were warm and tired, and she just wanted to sit down and look at the stupid data. She walked into the lounge and froze as the office staff let out a cheer.
“To our newest member…now an old familiar.” Her boss’s voice boomed, and he saluted her with his coffee mug. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
She needed to find a new job. Pronto. “Thank you.”
He moved to the side, revealing a cake sitting on the tabl
e, one lone candle on top.
“To one great month and the hope of many more,” people said in unison. They’d done this before. And that meant Tempest would have to do it in the future.
Should she quit right this second?
“Hurry, the wax is melting down,” a voice said.
“Make a wish.” Sherla’s eyes glimmered.
Well, that was easy. Tempest wished she were anywhere but here right now. She strode up and puffed out the tiny flame.
Clapping and cheers.
A man lifted a knife to cut into the sheet cake, and that’s when Tempest noticed the design on top of it. A stormy ocean. The picture was hideous. Blair would have done something cool with the idea. As Tempest stared at the blackish-blue swirls, she couldn’t help but feel like that tiny toy boat stuck in the churning frosting of towering waves.
“It’s a tempest for our Tempest,” someone said.
“Yes,” Tempest said, voice flat. “I see the sea.”
A laughing male voice said, “She sells seashells by the seashore.”
Tempest pulled her phone from her pocket. “Before you cut into it, do you mind if I take a picture? This is all so nice.”
Sherla beamed.
“Gather around, but I want to see that cake,” Tempest said.
“You need to be in it.”
“No, no.” Tempest snapped the picture, cutting off most of the people but getting a good image of the mess of grays and blues.
She passed around thank yous, wondering if she could finally slip back to her desk and get to work, when horror of horrors, a man handed her a massive corner piece.
Nope. It was nine eleven in the morning, but even if it were five p.m., Tempest wouldn’t want to eat this brick of grocery store cake. She already felt plenty sick inside.
“This is so nice of y’all. Thanks so much.” The room went quiet as she set the piece of cake down on the table. “Please excuse me, but I’m allergic to blue food dye.”
Sherla looked stricken.
Her boss looked suspicious.
“And eggs.”
Another beat of silence.
“Please eat y’all.” Her armpits were getting hot.
“I’ll have her slice,” a man said, breaking the tension.
“Yes, see,” Tempest said. “That’s perfect.”
****
After work, Tempest sat at the kitchen counter, shoulders slumped, eating an arugula pesto pita pizza, watching Blair sing as she washed eclair batter out of a pastry bag.
“You’re my cherry pie. My greatest lie. You’re my diamond heart, though it’s been years apart… I’ll never forget, never, no, never, no, never give up on you…”
Blair looked so happy, singing off-key and sliding across the floor in her stocking feet while she did her work. That’s what life was about. Tempest needed to find something that made her hum while she scrubbed. Nothing came to mind. Except Blair. Her best friend always put her in a good mood. What would she do when she no longer got to come home to Blair?
Tempest pulled up this morning’s photo on her phone and passed it across the counter. Blair leaned over and looked.
Her song ended abruptly. “Whhaaattt is that?”
“My one-month anniversary, Tempest-the-tempest, I-work-in-hell cake.”
Blair snorted. She dropped her dish towel and picked up the phone. “Did someone put goldfish in the sea?”
“They were made out of gummies.”
“I mean, it’s fascinating.” She zoomed in on the cake. “Who knew frosting could look so unappetizing?”
“They meant it to be sweet and welcoming, and I feel like a terrible person for despising the gesture. It didn’t help they served it first thing in the morning.” Tempest finished the last of her glass of water. “And now they hate me for not eating it.”
“You know.” Blair’s bottom lip curled in, her face focused. “It’s not a bad idea. It’s the execution that’s off.” She glanced over at her plate of lovely eclairs. “Storms and weather and earthy things are a super-rad idea to put with dessert.”
“Your frosting looks like fluffy clouds. Except this time, I mean that in the good way.”
Blair set down the phone and walked over to her tray.
“Also, when are you going to offer me one?”
They were for Blair’s monthly baking club, but she always set aside one of her creations for Tempest. This was why Tempest never wasted her calories on subpar treats.
“Just a minute.” Blair pulled out a mixing bowl and slid her pot back over the stove. She melted white chocolate and mixed in a drop of yellow coloring. She pulled a stencil from a cupboard, then poured the chocolate into the lightning bolt molds.
“How do you even have that form?”
“You know I have no self-control when I go to the kitchen supply store.” She put the tray in the freezer.
Tempest took her plate to the sink and started on Blair’s dishes. By the time she closed the dishwasher and dried her hands, Blair had finished her eclairs. She handed Tempest one on a tiny porcelain plate. Blair had an eclectic collection of mismatched china she’d collected over the years from flea markets. This plate was navy with tiny gold stars. The perfect backdrop for a pastry overflowing with fluffy vanilla custard. Blair had stuck the lightning bolts into the clouds of frosting. Whimsical and mouthwatering.
“A storm fit for my Stormie.”
Tempest pulled a face, but inside she swelled with warmth at Blair’s kind gesture. “Thank you. It’s adorable.” She took a big bite, savoring the perfection. She made the appropriate and thoroughly genuine moan of pleasure.
Blair watched, her brown eyes glowing with satisfaction.
“You’re really good at this.” Tempest licked custard off her finger.
“I know.”
“No. You’re really good at this.”
Blair twisted her wide lips into a cocky grin. “Good enough for baking club?”
“Good enough to sell.”
Blair’s smile faltered. “Someday I hope to find out if that’s true.”
Tempest took another bite.
“Thanks for helping me clean up. I’m headed out. I’ll be back late.”
Tempest didn’t respond, her thoughts caught up in an analytical storm of what if…
****
Leo sat at brunch with his mom and sister. Daisies and fresh herbs in pink glass tumblers dotted the table. His silverware had dainty swirl flourishes on the handles.
“The New Year’s trip with the family went so well,” Mom said.
He did not agree, but Zena beamed. Jake had been out to Dallas the last two weekends in a row. She was exuding lovey happiness in the most disgusting way. He found it hard to be around her.
“And the more Christopher and I talk about this wedding, the more we want to do a destination with only our family. At our age, with our history, it seems like the best way.”
“Love that idea.” Zena popped a strawberry in her mouth. “Where are we thinking? Oh, Tuscany?”
Mom shook her head. “I’m craving beach.”
Zena’s eyes lit up as she nodded.
Leo didn’t say anything, too busy deciding if having to see Tempest again for all the wedding stuff would be better here or there. It wasn’t going to be easy anywhere. He hadn’t seen her in over a month, since California, and he was still hung up on her. He’d only met her for the first time seventy-six days before that. After such a short relationship, if he could even call it that, how was he thinking about her when he went to bed at night and in the morning when he woke up horny? She roamed his mind as if she owned the place, bothering him when he had a quiet moment at work or while swimming laps.
She’d clearly moved on. Not a single text. And she’d been so cold to him on New Year’s Day after the kiss that did not happen. It was like he’d been invisible on the flight home.
“We found a resort in Cabo. They had an opening for February fourteenth, so we booked it.”
&nbs
p; Leo’s fork lowered, coming to rest on the scalloped china plate. His jaw unhinged as her statement sank in.
“For next year,” Zena said, voice high-pitched.
“No. This year.” Mom had the decency to look guilty.
Christmas. Then New Year’s. And now this? Were no holidays sacred?
They were in a public place, the only reason he wasn’t throwing his chair against the wall. Also, he didn’t do that sort of thing—angry or not. But he imagined taking the white wooden thing and smashing it into kindling, then lighting it on fire. Maybe this whole girly restaurant would go up. Maybe he’d go to hell with it. And then, at least, he wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“I know it’s last minute,” Mom said.
“It’s next weekend.” Zena’s eyes turned cold as sapphires.
At least she was mad too. “You do realize that is Valentine’s Day?” he asked.
Mom’s eyes went dewy. “Yes. Isn’t it romantic?”
Zena caved faster than an avalanche. “Yes.” She sighed. “And think of all the years together where you get to celebrate your anniversary on the day of love.”
“That’s what I think,” Mom said. “And Christopher’s the romantic type.”
Leo hated Valentine’s Day as a general rule, and one week wasn’t enough time for him to mentally prepare to see Tempest again. The remembered feel of her lips whispering against his ear had him gritting his teeth. The image of a tiny black dress and golden thighs was branded into his brain.
“I was going to go to San Diego, but I’ll just invite Jake to Mexico instead.”
Mom didn’t appear like she wanted that at all, but she said, “That’s fine.” She looked to her son with pleading eyes. “Does it mess up your plans?”
Heaven knew he didn’t have any hot dates on the calendar. “No, Mother. It will be great.”
He might as well get this over with. A few days in Mexico and then he shouldn’t have to see Tempest again until Mom’s Fourth of July BBQ, unless he could figure out how to skip that too.
****
Jo was pissed about the bridesmaid’s dress. “You can see my butt fat through the fabric!” She twisted to get a better look in the trifold mirror in the department store.
