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“So two people who have been vaguely corresponding finally meet and they immediately hit it off and wanna jump each other’s bones. Bravo. How often do you think it actually goes like that in real life? Give me a break already.” Holly stares at me blankly, like I’m the densest person she’s ever known. “What?” I ask, laughing, trying to lighten the mood I just killed. “I generally go for more realistic plots, that’s all.”
She continues staring and blinking, like I’m missing some obvious point. “Let me ask you something,” she finally says. “Do you remember how me and Levi met?”
“Sure,” I relent, “and it was love at first sight. Obviously it really happens…look at you now. It’s just…I don’t know… such a lame stereotype for something that’s radically unlikely to occur.”
“So…am I the only woman you know who’s ever had that experience then?”
“Definitely,” I reply, wondering where Holly’s going with this.
“Okay,” she says with feigned resignation.
“What’s your deal?”
“My deal is that a few months ago you told me you were in love for the first time in your life. Does that ring any bells at all?”
I feel my face flush with some nasty combination of embarrassment, anger, and a resistance I can’t identify. “Yeah,” I tell her. “Yes, it rings a bell. And guess what else…I was in the tub with you that night…drinking.”
“Ah, I see. So it was just the alcohol talking.”
“Of course.”
“Uh huh, okay. So, I guess then that even though Quade’s already tapped you out of your own home and phone, plus stolen your inheritance, and even if he forces you to give up your store, you’ll still remain single because you’ve just never met the right guy.”
“Can we not talk about this? I’m tired Holly and I wanna go to sleep. My imaginary love life is not a hot topic.”
“Sure, I’ll get out of here and let you sleep now,” she says with undisguised frustration. “Since a devilishly handsome flower farmer who’s a superhero in bed couldn’t be of any real interest to someone like you, I guess there’s nothing to talk about. Goodnight.” She gives me an obligatory peck on the cheek and then waltzes out, leaving me tongue-tied.
Bo Thompson, a devilishly handsome flower farmer who’s a superhero in bed. It’s been so long since I allowed any of those thoughts, that I feel like my world’s disintegrating around me. I brush my teeth and undress in a daze, knowing I should go apologize to Holly but unable to find it in me to do so.
My room is warm but the bed-sheets are cold when I shiver into them and pull the blankets up. Sleep evades me as I lie in the glow of the deck light that was never turned off, attempting to steer my restless mind in its usual directions… mostly upcoming client work and Maxine’s latest design ideas. Then there’s the question of which side of town I want to buy a house on, and when I’ll feel completely comfortable living alone again, not to mention how I’ll afford one if Quade takes my business.
As my thoughts become increasingly worrisome, I struggle hard to redirect them to the holiday party Maxine and I are arranging for next week…but they take another turn. This time not focusing on my situation, but settling into a dark place in my psyche where all I can feel is an indiscernible sense of lack and grief. I hover over the thought of my father assigning the inheritance to Quade, an obvious knife in my chest, but that doesn’t banish the idea that I’m not facing the true source of my devastation. What more could a girl need to make her feel lower than ground level? And then, that imprint I’ve pushed to the back of my awareness blinks its way to life and shoves all other thought aside.
Holly’s flippant statement about Bo Thompson resurfaces in the foreground of a series of images of a hotel room… spinning through my memory like a movie reel. I arch my back and squeeze a pillow between my thighs, overcome by a painfully familiar warmth I’d committed to walking permanently away from. Tears stream out of me, and I pound a clenched fist into the bed. I can’t identify who I’m angry at; I am just so angry. But then, why would I be crying if I was angry? That question only makes me more furious until I’m thrashing back and forth, kicking blankets everywhere and hurtling pillows at the far wall…a snotty, hyperventilating mess, cursing under my breath and hating myself for being such a weakling. Who cries when they’re angry? What the hell is wrong with me?
After my head is filled with so much oxygen I can’t function, I go limp and struggle to wiggle my fingers until sensation seeps back into my arms. Too weak for any more tantrums and too pathetic to control my thoughts, I drift back to that hotel room as my body sinks into the mattress. I never do this, but just this once…I indulge in a bodily memory so palpable it’s as though my cells deliberately locked it in. Does my body want me to exist in a state of tortured conflict forever? I relax my face and stretch back, tossing my arms above my head and finally breathing fully and deeply, returning to the homeostasis I experienced once. Bo’s hot breath on me, hands stroking down my length with all their texture and smoothness. His rock hardness teasing me through fabric that is soon to come off. Longingly I writhe under the weight of his phantom body…visiting and entering me right here, in the quiet, half empty room of someone else’s home.
Chapter 28
Bo
Fiona’s house is almost finished, and it’s perfect. Large enough for guests but still cozy, and with a kitchen that inspires. I’ll be seriously bustin out my a-game when I introduce the woman of my dreams to some gourmet home cooked meals. Veggies fresh out of the garden and greenhouse, peaches and plums from the orchard, mangoes and pineapples straight off the tree.
It also happens to be an idyllic, sunny, early January day; meanwhile it’s abysmally frigid up in Iowa. After half a year, I’m ready to charge into action like a medieval warlord. By next week I’ll have my plants in order and loose ends tied up, ready to turn the farm over to my workers for however many days necessary.
I really can’t imagine what awaits me. My memories are almost a constant that I have to battle my way through in order to function each day. I tell myself I’m working them off, but they’re always lurking in the background of whatever else I’m focused on.
They make me feel like I’m losing it, as though I’ve got anything left to lose. Separated by over thirteen-hundred miles, Fiona couldn’t care less for all I know. I’ve always been a man who wears my heart on my sleeve, but even Jose’s tryin to talk me down from this one. What a fool he is to think I have any other choice.
Chapter 29
Fiona
I still feel mixed emotions every time I drive by and see my magnificent house for sale. I guess my hanging up the phone was just too much for little Quade to handle. The holiday season used to be fun and festive at the store, but this time it’s passing me by in a blur of gray days and monotonous planning. I’m no longer able to find motivation for the things that once made me tick, so I’m putting in the bare minimum and letting Maxine run with the rest. Thank God I have her. She’s talented enough to compete, but if Quade takes the store I’m sure she’ll decide to come with me.
As I pull up to park outside the showroom, a familiar number rings my phone. My heart leaps into my throat when I register that it’s a Florida number…the only one I’ve ever memorized on sight. Being that I still use my tapped phone so Quade won’t steal my business, I cannot answer this call. So I pray he doesn’t leave a message of any kind. Even the quality of Bo’s voice, in a purely professional context, would cause Quade’s little remaining hair to stand on end.
Simultaneously I receive a text from Holly.
