Hell on Heels (22 page)

It didn’t matter Kevin was watching.

It didn’t matter we were in my office.

He just kissed me, sweet and slow, like only Beau could do.

Our lips parted, and he whispered back to me, “Hey yourself.”

I blushed and he stepped back, holding the bouquet out to me. “Is white too boring?”

Bending at the waist and enjoying his game, I smelled them. “White is perfect.”

“Well, hell,” I heard Kevin whine.

Looking around Beau’s shoulder, I scowled at him. “Beau, you remember Kevin.”

He returned his hand to the small of my back and smiled. “Of course. It’s nice to see you, Kevin.”

“You know, I…” Kevin started, and I glared at him. “I was just going.”

“Kevin, wait,” I called, and he stopped. “Could you put these in some water for me?”

“Of course.” He laughed. “You kids have fun now.”

Then he took the flowers from my hands and pranced (yes, pranced) from my office.

“I missed you.” I leaned into his side and breathed him in.

He smelled like fancy fabric softener and cologne I loved.

Beau kissed the top of my head. “I think it’s quite possible I missed you more.”

“How’s your dad doing?” I asked.

I’d learned from our multiple phone calls and text messages that Noah Callaway had survived surgery and was recovering in the comfort of their family home on the North Shore now.

“He’s on the mend.” Beau’s voice grew warm when he spoke.

He loved his father.

I moved from his side and lifted my Calvin Klein jacket from the back of my chair.

“Let me.” Beau took it from me and held it open while I slid my arms in.

“Thank you.” I picked my clutch up off the desk.

“Shall we?” He extended his elbow to me.

I smiled, slipping my arm in. “Please.”

He led me down the hall, but the rest of the staff had already gone home for the evening, and it was just Kevin locking up.

We walked to the elevator and I reached for the down button, but he stopped me.

“We’re going up.” He winked, hitting the arrow.

My brows pulled together and I studied him. “You said we were going to dinner.”

“We are,” he smirked.

I shook my head. “More surprises?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.” He dipped down and kissed my cheek.

Once inside the lift, he pressed the button for the roof and we began to ascend.

“Where are…” I started to ask, but he shook his head.

“Patience, Charleston.”

The doors open and he led me by the hand up the flight of stairs that led to the roof. When he pulled it open, my jaw dropped.

There, on the roof of my office building, was a helicopter.

It was a smaller one, but it was a helicopter no less.

“Beau!” I gaped.

He grinned.

The man loved to spoil me.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He winked and walked me to the doors, where a pilot and Jason stood. “After you.”

Beau helped me into the seat and positioned the earmuffs over my head. “Cute.” He kissed me quickly before getting in the other side.

The pilot got in and, shortly after, the helicopter came to life. I put my hand in Beau’s. “I’ve never been in a helicopter before.” I looked at him, but spoke into the little microphone attached to the earmuffs.

He looked at the pilot. “Shall we take this pretty lady to dinner, Hal?”

The pilot looked over his shoulder and spoke into his mic. “Let’s do it.”

And then we were in the air.

I squealed and laughed like a teenaged girl.

It was unreal.

I watched out the window as we flew over the city lights and out over the water. “That’s Stanley Park!” I pointed excitedly out the window.

Beau smiled and let me enjoy my moment.

We flew over the bridge, and then Beau leaned across my lap and pointed down. “See that light there? Just across from that boat in the water?” I nodded. “That’s my house.”

I delighted. “I love your house.”

“You’ll have to come see it for real sometime.”

I pressed my lips to his.

And we kissed.

We kissed with our eyes closed so tight that I barely noticed when the helicopter landed on the top of Cypress Mountain.

The runs on the ski hill were still lit up for the evening riders.

“We’re here,” he said breathlessly against my lips.

Beau was the closest I’d ever been to a Prince Charming.

He was valiant, generous, and so very over-the-top.

The blades slowed down and Beau insisted on being the one to help me from my seat, even though Jason could have easily gotten there much quicker.

There was a pathway lit up with hanging Christmas lights that led to a table in the center of a large deck surrounded by four propane heaters.

“You could give date planners at
The Bachelor
a run for their money,” I joked—or, well, half joked. It was mostly the truth.

Beau laughed.

Instead of pulling a chair out for me, he pressed the button on a small speaker on the table, and music drifted out across the snow.

“Dance with me?”

I took his hand. “Of course.”

He pulled me tight as the soft melodies played.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rested my cheek on his chest.

“You’re wonderful,” I told him.

He didn’t answer for quite some time. Just moved me slowly in the cold air until finally he found what it was he so wished to say.

“I would love you with absolution, Charleston,” Beau whispered to me as we danced. “But something tells me you won’t let me do that just yet, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why.”

I lifted my cheek from his chest and looked into his perfect blue eyes.

He wasn’t asking me to give him something I couldn’t.

He was just being open.

He was just being Beau.

I pressed my lips against his.

He kissed me back, before whispering, “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

Oh, the rogue nature of inarticulate hearts.

I hoped Beau wasn’t suffering at the hands of mine.

Tuesday, April 16
th
, 2017

A
pril wasn’t spring for me.

April wasn’t the beginning of longer days for me.

April was the month Henry died.

They say April showers bring May flowers. In my world, April showers brought with them a world of hurt.

My cellphone rang from somewhere in the apartment.

I pulled the blanket over my head, ignoring it.

This week would mark the ten-year anniversary of Henry’s death.

“Hey, Bumfuck Police, I’m being chased by a guy who likes to pull tongues out of severed heads with his teeth. Is there a special extension for that?”

I was watching one of my all-time favourite horror movies, the 2001 classic
Jeepers Creepers
. Listening through the quilt as Darry yelled at Trish.

My cellphone rang again.

I didn’t answer.

Every year, on the week leading up to April 22nd, I stayed home.

I didn’t go to work.

I didn’t go out.

I didn’t see friends.

I just wallowed in misery until it was time to get in my car, drive to my parents’ house on the day of, where we would miss Henry together.

I heard Trish scream and pulled down the blanket.

I loved this movie.

Henry had loved this movie too.

He always sang that stupid song.

“Jeepers creepers… where’d ya get them peepers…”

I smiled to the room.

My eyes felt heavy from crying.

I’d cried so much.

Drifting asleep on the sofa, I heard my cellphone ring again.

“Jeepers creepers… where’d ya get them…”

Jolting awake, I gasped.

The credits were rolling on my television screen and my heart ran a thousand miles per minute.

Maybe I should watch something else.

I clicked through the Apple TV and pulled up where I’d left off on season one of
Outlander
.

It was an unusual choice for me, being it was a far cry from my typical indulgence into the world of gore and suspense, but it had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure of mine in these last months nonetheless.

I was drawn to the way Claire felt tethered to more than one man. I was allured by the way each held such a vastly different future. I was exceptionally fond of the grace in which she handled her confusion, and the boldness in which she conducted herself. In short, I’d come to adore her and envy her all the same. She had boundaries I lacked.

There wasn’t two hundred years in the Scottish highlands preventing me from making a decision, just the eighteen inches from my head to my heart.

I pulled the hood of my grey sweater over my unwashed hair and lay back down.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

I hadn’t ordered any delivery today, so there was no reason to answer.

I ignored it.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Go away!” I yelled down the hallway at whoever had the audacity to intrude on my misfortune, this week of all weeks.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Whoever it was pounded on my door so hard it rattled on its hinges.

“I said go away!” My temper had started to flare as my shout morphed into a scream of sorts.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Heads are going to roll,” I muttered to myself, as I threw back the blanket and climbed off the couch.

My black sweatpants that were too big pooled around my bare feet as I stalked towards the door.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“For the love of all that is holy!” I hollered threw the copper.

Throwing the deadbolt back, I yanked my front door open, prepared to verbally eviscerate whoever was on the other side.

“Jesus Christ,” I growled. “Of course it’s you. Why wouldn’t it be you?” I said sarcastically.

He looked over my head into the apartment, searching, but when he came up empty-handed, he turned his sights back to me. “Shouldn’t give your access code to strangers then, babe.”

I banged my head against the door dramatically. “Go away, Maverick.”

I started to shut the door, but he slammed his boot into the doorway.

“You look like shit.” He shook his head and pushed his way past me into the apartment.

Turning to look at him crowding my entryway, I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

That was Maverick.

I hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and yet, he stood, arms crossed over his chest in my hallway like he belonged there.

“I’m sick,” I lied, motioning with my arm for him to leave.

He glared.

In two strides, he closed the distance between us, and my pulse raced.

He smiled.

Then he reached over my head and slammed the door shut behind me.

“Not leavin’,” he stated, like it was the end all, be all of statements.

Then he left me growling in my entryway, looking like a slob, as he walked into my living room.

I stared after him.

“It looks like a bomb dropped in here.”

Rolling my eyes, I stomped down the hall to see him staring at my coffee table like it was on fire.

“You don’t like it?” I huffed. “You know where the door is. I didn’t invite you in.”

He shook his head.

“That’s seriously gross, babe.”

I followed his eyesight.

My coffee table was piled high with takeout containers, tissues from my sobbing, probably an entire case of empty Diet Coke cans, and at least one 7-Eleven’s worth of candy wrappers.

It wasn’t that bad.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, fed up and ready for him to go so I could get back to succumbing to my misery.

He walked into the kitchen and bent his hulking frame over as he started to rummage through cupboards.

“I called your office,” he said from under my sink. “That guy said you’d taken the week off.”

I could here the sounds of things being moved around.

“So?” I spat half-heartedly. I was distracted by his odd behaviour. “What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”

“I’m looking for garbage bags.”

My already barely there patience was running thinner by each passing second.

“Maverick, what are you—”

I was cut off when he stood up. “Found one.”

Then he moved from my kitchen back into the living room, making the vaulted ceilings seem shorter.

I waited for him to answer me.

He didn’t. He just started to pick up things and throw them in the trash.

The thin line holding my temper in check snapped.

“Maverick!” I screamed, smacking the bag out of his hands. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He glared at me.

“He said you were sick.” His voice was low, and the flame in my chest flickered when he spoke. “I called, you didn’t answer. I was worried about you.”

“Bullshit.” I rolled my eyes.

He prowled towards me; standing so close, I had to look up just to see him.

“You don’t look sick.” He assessed me. “But you do look like shit.”