One Week Hating You: One Week Series Book 2 (standalone) Page 15

  “He never forgets the kids’ birthdays either,” she says, going on with the Blake Taylor is Awesome show. “He’s always bringing them treats from the store.”

  “I’m sure Marilyn and Brian appreciate the dentist’s bills.”

  Momma stops again, her mouth a hard line. She’s a bit peeved now. “I don’t understand why you won’t give the man an inch.”

  Oh, I gave him an inch all right. In fact, I let him give me quite a few inches. Over and over again.

  I shrug. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

  “You should try to be nicer to the man,” she says. “Remember, he lost his father too.”

  Okay, I’ll give him a blowie, I almost want to say out loud, because he gives you muffins.

  She’s not wrong… I actually should give the man a break. I can still see his face – he was genuinely hurt when I objectified him. I really do want to make it up to him before I leave, hand him an olive branch and all that. Maybe I should give him a blow job.

  No. As much as he would love that, I’m sure, I need to do something more. I need to show him that he’s special to me, that he’s not just a fuck.

  Because as much as I want to tell myself that he’s just for fun, I know he’s a lot more than that.

  22

  WHEN WE GET BACK HOME, I dig out my phone. I’m not expecting any calls or messages. It’s just force of habit – I’m no different than anyone else. I read somewhere that the average person picks up their phone about eighty times a day. Sounds ridiculously crazy.

  My stomach goes all topsy-turvy when I get a Facebook message from Peter.

  There are quite a few messages on my Messenger app, but the only one I care about is Peter’s.

  Hey, sweetheart. Miss you so much! Turns out I can’t do this life thing without you, babe… who knew? Please, please message me back. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Love always, Peter.

  As much as I hate it, his message tugs at my heart. I so badly want to reply. My heart pounds as I tap away.

  Hello Peter, I’m sorry I haven’t….

  Suddenly, I’m brought back to my wedding day. I see myself, sprawled out on that fancy loveseat, drowning in my own tears. I throw the phone on the sofa and walk away. I go to the kitchen and make myself sleepy-time tea. It’s four in the afternoon, but I’m hoping it will calm me.

  I hate this. I want my old life back. I was happy. I was so happy just a few weeks ago. I had my job, my friends, a kick-ass apartment, an exciting life, and Peter.

  He ruined it all. And now, I don’t even know where I’m heading.

  Could I head back to where I was? Could I take Peter back, and look for another job? Get my old life back? It would be so easy.

  It was one day. One act of cowardice. He got spooked. Cold feet. That’s all it was. Should I break up a seven year relationship just because of one day?

  Or should I just get over it?

  I set down my cup of tea on the coffee table, and resume my message.

  Hello Peter, I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your messages. I was just so hurt. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be abandoned at the altar like that? Do you realize what a fool you made of me? Do you know how much I loved you? I’ve been taking some time to think back home, and I’m enjoying my time here…

  I think about Blake. Yes, one could say that I’m really enjoying my time here. So much so that I don’t want to leave.

  I stare at my message and read the words I’ve written. Loved, I wrote. Past tense. Do I still love Peter? I don’t know anymore. And what about Blake? I still want to make it up to him. He deserves that.

  I abandon my message and tap on the Google app. I officially have a new project, and I don’t have time to reply to Peter.

  I twirl my tongue slowly around the smooth cool frozen vanilla cream. “This is just like old times.”

  He smiles and licks his chocolate cone. We’re sitting on the swing on his front porch, the same one we used to sit on for hours as kids.

  “I can’t believe you still live in your childhood home,” I say between licks.

  “It’s a gorgeous house,” Blake points out. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I stare ahead at the beautiful landscaped yard in front of us and the quiet street. “Do you ever work?” I ask. “It’s Thursday afternoon. Shouldn’t you be working?”

  He laughs. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

  “Aww, you’re sweet.”

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” he teases, a low blow.

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “I know,” he says. “And you still love me.”

  I smirk at him.

  “But to answer your question, I work all the time,” he tells me. “Running three businesses is not for the faint of heart. Yeah, I have employees but I’m constantly running around, and the books… thank god for your sister.”

  “Yes, Marilyn, the official family bookkeeper,” I say. “Do you ever go on vacation?” I ask, curious. I want to know if he ever takes his hotties to Cancun or Jamaica.

  “Nope,” he says. “Never been anywhere. Not really interested. I’m a simple small town boy.”

  I smile. He is. I kind of like that about him.

  “I know you’ve been around,” he says. “Your mother tells me all about it. Maeve, the fancy little jetsetter.”

  His words hold a whisper of sarcasm but I let it go.

  “Well, Peter loves to travel,” I explain. “I’m his travel buddy.”

  He smiles. “Tell me about the places you’ve been to,” he asks, curious.

  I smile at the memories – such wonderful trips, amazing experiences. Peter might not be the perfect man, but he knows how to travel in style. “Well, Paris, of course,” I start. “London, Rome, Barcelona,” I go on, naming off all the most popular destinations. “Scotland, Thailand, China, Australia—”

  “Holy crap,” he says. “Australia.”

  “Yep, the flight was over twenty hours… insane.”

  “Crazy…”

  “Here in the states,” I go on, “Vegas, San Diego, New York, of course, Miami, Seattle, and so many more…”

  Now I sound like I’m bragging so I stop talking.

  He’s smiling. “Look at you… little Freckles, a world traveller… who would have thought?”

  I laugh. “Stop calling me that… Freckles.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. No can do. You’ll always be Freckles to me. I can’t help it.”

  I frown at him, an exaggerated comical scowl.

  “Seriously, I’m happy for you. I’m glad you’ve had an exciting life,” he says. “I remember when we were kids… you always wanted to travel and see the world.”

  “And I did.”

  His gaze lingers on mine. Those dark eyes of his are still making me weak in the knees. “And you did.”

  “And you always wanted to have a store, like your uncle.”

  “And I did.”

  “And you did.”

  He inches closer, and I so badly want to kiss him, but I don’t have the guts to take the lead. I’m such a coward.

  “I’m so proud of you, Blake,” I tell him. “I always knew you were a smarty pants and that you’d do well one day.”

  He laughs. “Thanks,” he says, a hint of blush on his cheeks.

  We stare at each other again, the both of us without words.

  “Well, speaking of work,” he finally says. “I should probably check-in.” He hops off the swing, sending me flying back.

  “Wait…” I say. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss the reason I came over.”

  “Oh yeah… I distracted you with ice cream.”

  “I didn’t just come over to see your pretty face and eat ice cream,” I tell him. “I wanted to know if you could free yourself later tonight for dinner and also the whole evening, and tomorrow morning?”

  He cocks a brow, mulling it over. “Probably… why?” he asks, intrigued.

  “It’s a surprise,” I tell
him cheerfully. “I don’t have the final details locked down yet, but it’s just a matter of a few taps on my phone.”

  He smiles. “I’m intrigued.”

  “You’ll love it.”

  “What do I need to do?” he asks, excited.

  I finish off my cone. “Wear something nice for dinner, and bring an overnight bag. That’s it.”

  He studies me suspiciously, wondering what I’m up to. “What time?”

  “Meet at my place at four o’clock?”

  “Sure,” he says. “I’ll be there. I look forward to it, whatever it is.”

  He shoots me a quick wave goodbye. “Just gotta take care of a few things first,” he says. “I’ll see you.”

  I practically bounce back home, like a giddy junior high school girl who’s just experienced her first kiss. Something’s different. I ponder it for a second as I walk up the stairs of my porch. For the first time in a long time, Blake and I have had a conversation without conflict. It feels kind of strange.

  I settle comfortably on Momma’s old couch with my phone and get right to work.

  Blake takes my breath away. He looks super handsome in grey slim-fit pants, a navy shirt, and brown suede fall jacket. He’s even wearing fashionable shoes, and has a brown oversized satchel over his arm. He hasn’t shaved or combed his hair, but he still looks amazing.

  I swallow hard as he nears closer. “Wow, you look nice.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “Is this okay?” he asks, gesturing to himself.

  My gaze travels the length of his body. “It’s perfect.”

  His eyes study me intensely as they trace my curves slowly, down the length of my pink pea coat and black skirt, over my legs, down to my red Mary Janes, and back up again. “You look really nice too.”

  At this rate, we’ll be fucking in my back seat in the next two minutes, but that’s not what I planned for today. Today is supposed to be sweet and romantic.

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  He grins playfully. “Ready for anything.”

  I tilt my head in momma’s car’s direction. “Hop in. I’m taking you on an adventure.”

  He smiles and eagerly settles into the passenger seat. I hop in and start the engine. “I have drinks here in the console,” I tell him. “It’s about an hour away.”

  “You won’t tell me where we’re going?”

  “I told you… it’s a surprise,” I say, giddy – this is fun. “It’s nothing super exciting but I’m sure we’ll both enjoy it.”

  The conversation flows surprisingly well on the way there. We chat about old times, about what everyone’s up to. Blake is still in contact with everyone, and he tells me all about who got married to whom.

  “I can’t believe Mary Turner married Josh Baily,” I say in shock. “They used to hate each other.”

  “I guess they had a whole love hate thing going,” he says. “Kind of like us,” he adds with a wink.

  Butterflies dance in my stomach again. Silly.

  “Samantha Johnson married Mark Norman,” he tells me.

  I have a sip of my iced tea. “Well, I saw that one coming. They were inseparable.”

  “Well, apparently they aren’t anymore... They got a divorce last year, and Mark’s going through some kind of mid-life crisis. Got himself a Harley, a tattoo, and an eighteen-year old girlfriend.”

  I shake my head. “Typical.”

  We gossip, chat about our families, and play ‘guess the song’ to the radio. He asks me about my life in Burlington. I don’t talk about Peter, but I tell him all about my friends.

  My GPS doesn’t lead me astray, and when it tells us that we’ve arrived at our destination, my heart does a little cartwheel. I’ve never been here, but I know all about it. Momma and Daddy used to come here every summer, just the two of them – it was a tradition. Nanna would take care of us kids, and when Momma and Daddy came back, they always seemed refreshed and happy. Momma would tell us all about how much fun they had, the sex bits edited out of course.

  Large oaks and maples form a gorgeous canopy as we turn into the long winding drive. Fall leaves cover the road like a golden welcoming carpet… it’s beautiful.

  I smile when I spot the large sign.

  Welcome to Whispering Oaks Bed & Breakfast.

  Enjoy your stay.

  23

  THE INN COMES INTO VIEW. It’s a grand old Victorian home, blue and white, surrounded by a covered porch and beautiful landscaping. It reminds me a little of Blake’s house, but much larger.

  Blake shoots me a smile. “You did all this for me?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And for me too,” I add with a playful grin.

  I drive into one of the visitors’ parking spots. “You’re pretty high maintenance, Mr. I-Need-Romance,” I tease.

  He laughs. “So this is what this is all about? You want to romance me?”

  I bite my lip. “Well, I’m only here for two more days… I figure I might as well make the most of it,” I tell him. “We can kiss as much as we want, we can cuddle, and pillow talk too,” I tease. “No more objectifying you and using you just for sex.”

  “Well…” he says. “I just want to clarify… I’m pretty okay with that… the whole sex thing.”

  “C’mon, you’re a classy guy, and you deserve to be wined and dined, to be treated with respect, like the gentleman you are.”

  He cocks a brow. “But… there will still be sex, right?”

  I laugh. “Of course… sweet and slow romantic sex,” I say, teasing again.

  I close my eyes for a quick second at the thought of sweet slow sex with Blake. I can’t wait. I haven’t let myself have him this way before, afraid of getting too close, afraid of getting hurt, but I’m willing to take the chance now because I want him so badly. I want to taste his sweet mouth, feel his hot skin on my tongue, and savor him for hours.

  “Mmmm… sweet and slow romantic sex,” he says. “I like the sound of that.”

  I study the place as I quickly check us in. It’s very cozy; contemporary furniture in soft soothing shades. Interesting paintings and knick knacks dot the décor, and a fun old-style gum ball machine stands in the corner. The Inn proprietor, Sarah, is lovely, about Momma’s age. She wears cat-eye glasses, and her blonde hair is in a cute bob. She’s thick around the waist, as most women her age are. “Is this a special occasion?” she asks. “Anniversary?”

  I smile. “No. Just a romantic getaway.”

  She hands me the keys and a folder with pertinent information; Inn info, Wi-Fi password, and local attractions promo pamphlets.

  I’ve checked us in as Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher, so she’s right to assume, and for some reason, I like the thought of thinking of us as an old married couple, if only for one night.

  As soon as we drop our suitcases on the floor, I check out the room. It’s perfect; bright and airy, tasteful and classy. The skylight windows on the ceiling let in natural sunlight. Tall windows are framed by stylish dark drapes. The floor is driftwood, and covered with faded oriental area rugs. A large canopy bed is covered with fluffy bedding in shades of grey, white and pale blue, and a myriad of decorative pillows. Smack at the center of the collection is a playful cushion of a kitten, a whimsical touch.

  “Look at the kitty pillow,” I cheer, as excited as a kid at an amusement park. He smiles at me. He’s standing by an antique armoire, looking up at the cool modern chandelier. Stylish slipper chairs sit opposite a small breakfast table by the tall windows. There’s also a desk and a wide screen TV on the wall. And the piece de résistance; a marble gas fireplace.

  I dash to the washroom to inspect it; it’s just as perfect; large soaker tub, made for two, a fancy shower, and matching sinks and vanity mirrors. This is the room Momma and Daddy used to stay in, the Honeymoon Suite. It’s quite the expense, considering I don’t have a job anymore but I have a lot of savings, and this is so worth it.

  Blake is smiling – he likes it too. “So we’re married now?”

  “Of
course,” I say. “We’ve been married for a while now. Old boring married couple, that’s us,” I joke. “We only have boring married sex… missionary in the dark. No more naughty games for us.”

  He smiles wide. “Well, I think this place might just inspire us to get a little crazier.”

  “Let’s hope,” I say. I’d wink at him, if I only knew how to.

  The leaves crack under our feet. The air feels warm and clean, like slipping on a clean cotton t-shirt fresh from the dryer. The weather is volatile this time of year. A day ago, it was chilly, and today we’re experiencing an Indian summer. Blake has tied the sleeves of his jacket around his waist, and is wearing a vintage Nirvana t-shirt. We’re both quiet, enjoying the hike, lost in our own thoughts. I wonder what he’s thinking about, but I don’t dare ask. I’m thinking about my trip back home, my job search, and of course, him. About ninety percent of my thoughts involve him.

  Every now and then, he shoots me a smile. He still has a nice summer tan but I know it will fade soon. I think of us when we were younger and discovering each other, his light skin against my dark complexion, his large hands against my small delicate ones. The contrasts were always so beautiful to me.

  Blake can sometimes be the most obnoxious person I know, but there’s this whole other side to him, the quiet introspective man. Not many people know how sensitive he is. He always puts on such a strong front. I have my shit together, don’t worry about me, it says, but the thing is, no one completely has their shit together. I certainly don’t. My life is such a mess right now, I don’t even want to think about it.

  I shake the thoughts out of my head, and I jog in front of him toward a cool old tree in the distance. It lives in the shadows of taller trees surrounding it.

  “Where are you going?” Blake calls out, and then he’s right behind me.

  The tree’s trunk seems deformed, bent at a ninety degree angle, almost as if a force of God pushed into it and twisted it as it grew. It’s the weirdest tree I’ve ever seen.

  “Wow, that’s quite the interesting tree,” Blake says. “Almost looks like a horse.”