After the Storm Page 15

  I trace the soft curve of her torso, up and down, lulled by her silky voice and the happiness seeping through.

  “Good things come to those who wait. Slow and steady wins the race. Patience is bitter but its fruit is sweet.”

  “Like your peach,” I whisper, licking my lips as my dick stirs with the reminder of how sweet and juicy she tastes.

  “Yes,” she giggles, letting me snuggle into her neck. “What I’m trying to say is, even though it was torture waiting to get to this point, I’m so happy it happened the way it did. I got what I wanted in the end. I just hope I get to keep it a while.”

  “I ain’t going anywhere, beautiful.” My own internal Google search engine fires up. It reminds me of a proverb I once saw. “A patient man will eat ripe fruit.” Proud of myself, I slap her ass with a loud smack. “How do you like them apples?”

  Her laugh reverberates throughout the bedroom, her knees tucked in close to her chest as she rolls into a ball beside me. “You’ve really found a way to make this whole thing sound like some strange produce fetish. But I like it, and baby, you can sample my ripe fruit any day.”

  I succumb to the musical sound of her laughter, charmed by every little amazing thing about her. After another tour of her delicious, bountiful garden, we spend the night talking, laughing, and finally sleeping in each other’s arms. I forget all the reasons I fought this in the first place. They were fucking dumb reasons. Meaningless excuses in the grand scheme of things—the grand scheme being happiness.

  And I haven’t felt this happy in a long time. I can tell it’s the same for Willow. So what if we work together? So what if she’s a little younger? So the fuck what if we have pasts that left wounds we thought we’d live with forever? My wounds have already scabbed over and the scars started to fade; hers might take a little more care to remedy the pain. Part of getting over your past is having someone to make your future bright.

  I wouldn’t mind being that ray of sunshine in Willow’s dark skies. The idea of being with her actually imbues me with a calming sense of hope. Without thinking too far ahead, or complicating things with the millions of girly-giddy emotions running through my mind while wrapped in her beauty, I settle in. This will be a journey worth taking.

  Blaze rolls his eyes when he catches Willow and I at it again. “If you two don’t get your hands off each other already, I’ll swing this fucking cast at one of your heads.”

  “I think I might miss your threats when that thing finally comes off next week. Maybe we should re-break it for the third time just for shits and giggles.” Willow teases Blaze—one more thing I’ve grown to love about her—and then nuzzles into my neck to piss him off even more.

  “Ugh! I swear, I was thrilled when you first hooked up, but now . . . you guys make me want to gag.” He shoves a finger down his throat, and mimes a gag. So mature. No wonder he’s still single. Even Sloane’s moved on and found herself a guy who doesn’t have the mentality of a thirteen-year-old. Kind of a touchy subject around these parts. Blaze won’t admit he has feelings for Sloane, but I’m not blind. Whenever she talks about her new beau, Jeff, or brings him around, Blaze gets so tense he can’t speak straight.

  “Is Sloane coming tonight?” I eye my friend for his reaction.

  He shrugs, his expression indifferent. What a good actor you are, douche. Too bad I can see right through you. “I think so. She never misses our Friday game night shit. Unless of course Jeffy-poo is in town.”

  Willow suppresses a laugh—she’s probably holding back even more than that. She hasn’t come clean, but I think Sloane harbors a secret thing for Blaze too. From what I’ve been told, they became such good friends that romance was off the table. But I think that’s bullshit. Willow and I were friends first. And now—as Blaze pointed out earlier—I can’t keep my hands off my beautiful girlfriend.

  “I just put the pizzas in the oven. They should be ready soon. Let me get you guys a beer in the meantime.” Willow rises from my lap and leans down to kiss the tip of my nose before she walks into the kitchen. I can’t even explain how something so insignificant makes me feel so lucky.

  Three months ago we crossed a line that we weren’t sure we should. Today I’m positive it was the best decision I’ve ever made. Blaze had a setback with his arm injury and still can’t do all he used to. In his absence, Willow has become my sanity. Not only does she kick ass in the office, but her architectural background has added so much to the value of the business. She puts a whole new meaning into the word asset—both in and out of the office.

  “So, when are you planning to tell her? And let me just add that the fact I know this shit is really fucking fruity. I love you, man, but there are certain things guys don’t need to discuss.” He keeps his voice to a whisper; he knows I’ll kick his ass if Willow hears what we’re talking about.

  “If you don’t want to know, then why ask?”

  “Because I’m a nice guy.”

  “Bullshit, you’re just a nosy fuck.”

  “That too. Now answer the damn question so we can get this part over with and go back to scratching our balls and drinking our beers.”

  I shake my head at my friend’s Neanderthal mentality. “Sue me for sharing my happiness with you, dick. I thought you’d be excited for me. Being in love is a big deal—for me, at least. I don’t just give my heart to anyone, and the last woman I lent it to returned it in pieces.” I hate to bring it up, but it’s a truth I can’t hide.

  I haven’t loved anyone since Mia. I don’t think I ever loved anyone prior to that. So this feeling—this amazing, overwhelming emotion that comes over me every single time I so much as think about Willow . . . if I could, I’d skywrite it for the world to see. I’m in love with Willow Jones. But skywriting is a bit pretentious, so I turned to Blaze—more for moral support than advice. That dude’s never loved anything but the reflection in his mirror.

  This shit’s scary. My feelings for Willow are what I felt for Mia times a trillion. This is the real deal. This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for all my life. But I’m still terrified to confess all this to her. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if she’s not as serious as I am? What if I’m making a bigger deal about all this than I should?

  “Would you stop your goddamn overthinking already? I can practically see your brain rumbling underneath that thick skull. Just tell her! It’s so fucking obvious she feels the same, I wish I could bet on it. In fact, a thousand bucks says she cries like a baby, then wraps her pretty little arms around your neck and humps the shit out of you while she tells you how much she loves you too.”

  “That’s quite the visual.” I smirk. It sounds like the ideal reaction to those three little words, but—“You never know, though, Blaze. Is it too soon?”

  “Jesus H. Is what too soon? You’ve been together for a few months now. Exclusive since the first night you tapped that ass, no? Besides—and I can’t believe I’m gonna say this like some sappy love expert or something, but—is there really a waiting period on something like this? I think when you know you just know, and clearly you can’t fucking live without this chick. So, personally, I say go with it and get it out there. There’s no time like the present, bro. Go out and get your girl.”

  His Dr. Phil-like therapy session makes me wish he weren’t here for game night. Maybe we can kick them out after one round of Cards Against Humanity and then steal some alone time so I can finally tell her what I’ve been dying to say for a while now. “Thank you, Blaze. Sorry for going all sappy chick on you.”

  “Uh . . . yeah! Are you on the rag too? You’re starting to fucking scare me a little, bro.”

  “Scared of what?” Willow enters the room, brightening it with her warm smile. She hands each of us freezer-cold pilsner glasses filled with Amstel and looks between us for answers.

  To cover my ass I blurt out, “He was just saying how scared he is that you’ve taken his place for good. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

  Blaze wants to argue; the
vibe shoots from him like poison tipped darts. His smirk so foul I want to wipe it off his face with a backhanded slap. “Yup, buddy. What can I say . . . I never pictured a woman as the brains and hands behind Matheson’s. She must have some mighty powerful hands, huh, buddy?”

  I throw him a repugnant glance and turn to grab the attention of a very confused Willow. “Come, sit. Thanks for hosting tonight. I think Blaze has gone way beyond stir crazy in his lonely old house.”

  She sits next to me on the couch, her hand on my knee. “You know I love having game night. No need to thank me.”

  “Funny you should use that choice of words. Tell me, Willow, what else do you love?” Blaze guzzles his beer and tosses a wink in my direction. I’m gonna fucking kill him.

  Scrunching her brows together, innocent Willow comes up with a suitable response. “Um . . . I guess I love hanging out with the three of you. I’m so glad we’ve all gotten so close. Looks like we should toast Mr. Fitzgerald for kicking your ass, eh, Blaze?” The mocking in her tone lets me know she’s keen to Blaze’s ball busting. I just hope she didn’t overhear our conversation. I want her to find out how I feel about her from me, not from Blaze’s warped psychoanalysis.

  “Honey, I’m home!” The door swings open without warning and Sloane bellows through the entryway. Saved by the bell.

  When she finds us parked in front of the television, I get up from the couch to help her with the packages in her hands. “Let me get those. You want a beer too?”

  “Nah, I brought wine for me and Lo.” She hands me the last of the bags, and heads over to Willow and Blaze to greet them each with a kiss on the cheek.

  When I return from the kitchen with the bottle opener and two glasses, I catch the three of them staring at the television news broadcast.

  Residents of the East Coast, especially in the areas surrounding the coastlines of New York and New Jersey, are being evacuated in anticipation of severe hurricane conditions. Local authorities are preparing for the worst, say sources from the tri-state area.

  The cameras cut to coverage of the coastal areas—similar to ones I visited as a child with my parents and during summer breaks home from college. Residents board up windows of their homes and businesses; grocery store shelves are already empty from people panicking and preparing for doomsday. I immediately wonder why my parents haven’t called to fill me in on what’s going on. They know I’m not the most news savvy person—my head’s been up-my-ass-in-love-with-Willow these days too—but still. My guess is they just don’t want to worry me. But it’s too late. Places close to home are in a state of panic, and thinking of my parents all alone in a time like this—” What time is it? I have to call home. How did I not know about this shit?” I fall victim to shitty-son-guilt and search the room for my phone.

  Willow jumps up from the couch to grab my cell from the coffee table. “Here. It’s only ten thirty. I’m sure they’re awake, especially with all this craziness going on. Give them a call. The meteorologists are probably making it worse than it is to cover their asses. Wasn’t the coast hit with a hurricane last year? Didn’t they make this huge deal for nothing? I bet they’ll just get a little rain and lose some power, but call your parents anyway for peace of mind.”

  Yet another reason this woman owns my heart. Her optimism calms me. I curse myself for not taking the time to call home this week—I’ve been a terrible son, but I’ve also been working my ass off and haven’t had a second to breathe until tonight. “Fuck! I feel like such a shit. Give me a few minutes. Sorry, guys.”

  I take the stairs to Willow’s bedroom for privacy. I don’t want to worry them by calling at this hour on a Friday night, but this isn’t only about them. It’s about me too. I need to make sure they’re taking all the necessary precautions. They’ve gotten stubborn in their old age, and if I don’t know better, they’re not taking the warnings as seriously as they should.

  “Hello?” Dad answers, his voice groggy.

  “Dad? I didn’t wake you did I?”

  “Oh, hey, son. Nah, I’m still up reading. Your mother’s been snoring for thirty minutes.”

  I can picture the annoyance on his age-weathered face. He acts as though she’s some ball and chain he tolerates when in fact he’d be lost without her. “So, how come you didn’t say anything to me about this hurricane—Sandy, is it? It’s all over the news. You have everything you need?” Moments like these I feel as though I’ve failed them as a son. I’m their only one; I should be there to take care of them the way they always took care of me and put me first, before everything, at any cost. Guilt continues to wash over me, making me feel helpless. “I can fly out if you want. Make sure you’re safe.”

  “Nonsense! You make it seem like we’re invalids, Noah. We know what we’re doing. We’re capable and we’re safe. Your mother filled all the bathtubs and sinks, stocked up on more canned goods and bread than we’ll know what to do with, and I have so many batteries, flashlights, and candles I’m actually hoping we lose power to make it worth the fuss.”

  Just like him to downplay something so serious. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dad. Let’s just pray they predicted wrong. Hopefully, it will pass and you’ll just have to eat refried beans for a week or two to make room in the pantry.” I joke, but my brain is running a mile a minute with scary images from past storms that our area wasn’t prepared for. “You promise you don’t need me to come out? I wouldn’t mind hopping on—”

  “How’s your girl, son? Your mother won’t stop talking about her. Willow this, Willow that. I can’t wait for Noah to bring her home so we can meet her. The only plane you’ll be hopping on is one to bring that girl home to shut your mother up. How’s that?”

  For the first time since dialing his number, I relax. When I think of Willow meeting Mom and Dad, seeing my childhood home, sharing old memories, and getting a glimpse of my former life, my worries fade and happiness takes residence in my anxious brain. “She’s really wonderful. I can’t wait for you to meet her. I was hoping for Thanksgiving, but I haven’t spoken to her about it yet.”

  “Well, talk to her. You know we’d love to have her. And we miss the shit out of you too, boy. You’ve been too busy, huh? Blaze still laid up?”

  “Yeah. A few more weeks, but we’ve been getting by without too many hiccups. Willow’s been such a help. I really owe her.”

  “Pay her back with a nice, relaxing trip to meet the parents. What do ya think?”

  I laugh, picturing my parents plotting this little guilt trip together. I can’t say I haven’t thought about taking Willow back home, but my insecurity about the significance of our relationship weighs over my head. “All right, old man. You’re awfully convincing. I’ll talk to her tonight about Thanksgiving. In the meantime, please take every single precaution they advise. You’re out of evacuation range, right?”

  “Oh yeah! We’re fine.” Dad exaggerates. “But we did offer the Samuels a place to stay since they’re in the flood zone. Stubborn bastards declined and decided to stay put. Hopefully, this is just all some big hoopla created to drive the economy; gas, groceries, and all that shit, but just in case . . . we’re good, son. Don’t worry.”

  Dad’s right, there’s no use getting overbearing now. I’m thousands of miles out of reach, kind of pointless to offer assistance I can’t give. So I offer the only thing I know how. “I love you guys. And be safe. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, son. Love you too. And tell that pretty girl of yours we said hello and can’t wait to meet her on Thanksgiving.”

  Always pushing it. “We’ll see. ’Night.”

  I hang up, and scratch my head, unsettled by so many things. I should be there. I’m worried about them. I hope they’ll be okay, and this storm merely passes and leaves them the fuck alone. Hearing Dad talk about Willow drums up more anxiety about sharing my feelings. If Blaze has ever been right about one thing, it’s that there is no waiting period on love, but I worry that I’ll scare her off by moving too quickly with the w
hole I love you. You wanna meet my parents? thing. Shit, isn’t it the woman who’s supposed to be all nervous and jittery about the pacing of relationships? Why the hell can’t I just pull it together and go with the flow?

  “Hey. You okay?” Her quiet voice and the soft padding of her feet jolt me from my worry-fest.

  “Hey, beautiful. I was just coming down.” I turn to face her, my arms open to make room for her.

  She accepts my invitation and nestles into my embrace. I’m not sure if it’s a habitual reaction to my outstretched arms or if she can sense how much I need her comfort right now, but either way—I love that one sniff of her hair, one brush of her lips against mine, one thump of her heartbeat against my chest, can put me at ease and wash away all my ugly anxieties.

  Hugging her tighter, I kiss the top of her head while rocking us back and forth. “So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

  “Huh?” She pulls back. Confusion mars her flawless features. “What does the hurricane have to do with Thanksgiving? I’m sure that’s not what you were talking about.”

  “Oh, but it was. My dad was relentless. Swears they’re going to be fine and that Sandy’s just an annoying—or fictitious—economy booster. What he seemed more concerned about was getting you out there to meet him and my mother. So, as I asked before, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  Biting her lip and doing a horrible job of hiding the giddy smile spreading wide across her face, she blushes and then smacks another adorable kiss on my lips. “If that’s an invitation to spend it with you back east—then yes, my answer is yes. I’d love to spend the holiday with my boyfriend and his family. Nothing would make me happier.”

  “Really?” I beam. “That was so much easier than I imagined.”

  “Why? Did you think I’d say no?”