Chapter 28 #2
That was a huge responsibility. A sacred thing. One deserving of deep respect and love for the trust placed in me as the dominant figure.
With great power over someone, came great responsibility, and discipline. You couldn’t let your frustration win or overpower you in the moment. You had to be firm, but gentle. It was such a vulnerable state to put yourself in to hand someone such an absolute power over your psyche and wellbeing.
I recognized I had been careless in the beginning.
A reckless child; little more than an immature boy ripping the wings off a fly.
I hadn’t recognized what a true gift she had been.
That she was handing me so much trust and wasn’t playing pedantic games like so many of the disposable little darlings that had come before her.
I would spend a very, very, long time making things up to her, if they could ever be made up at all.
We texted throughout the day, and she was happy. She’d cleverly worn long sleeves with a long and tight cuff that morning to hide her chafed wrists, and I felt genuinely bad about that.
I checked on her several times and she was always quick to get back to me, which I appreciated.
At closing time, I gathered my things and headed downstairs.
Specter was outside our gambling den, smoking a cigarette. He nodded at me and I gave him a stiff smile and a polite nod back.
I put my briefcase in the Porche, and stopped, went back to him, and sucker punched him right in the gut.
I leaned over him as he retched into the gutter and said, “You ever disrespect my woman like you did last night again, I’ll fucking end you.
You have any complaints about this, take it to the table. See what fucking happens.”
“Hua,” he gritted out, and I walked away, got into my Porche, and headed to the spot Savannah and I had agreed upon to pick up our dinner.
Once back at home, I climbed the steps to the apartment above the carriage house, letting myself in.
I found Savannah in her stocking feet, standing by the built-in bookcase surrounding the fireplace. She had a stack of books out of a box and was carefully shelving them.
“I love this bookcase,” she said.
“I do too, it was one of the features of this place that I liked the most, I just keep my books in my little library in the main house.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I fill this one, then.”
“It’s your apartment, love. Your space. You do what you want with it.”
A serene little smile played on her lips and she asked me softly, “Do you mean that?”
“Mean what?” I asked, sliding the takeout bag onto the kitchen counter. I opened cupboards and found plates.
“What you just called me,” she said.
“What?” I asked, distractedly.
“Love,” she said and I stopped what I was doing.
“Did I?” I asked, and I really had to think back on it, and realized she may be right.
“You did,” she said, her smile growing.
I smiled back at her and said, “Well, if that wasn’t just some kind of Freudian slip,” I said and she laughed.
“It’s not the first time I’ve said, ‘I love you,’” I said and she nodded.
“No, I know… it is the first time you’ve said it so casually.”
“That’s fair,” I said.
I moved about her kitchen taking down plates and gathering silverware and she said, “In case I’ve not said it,” she murmured and I turned to look at her. “I love you, too,” she said softly. “So much.”
I smiled and nodded, a warm glow suffusing my whole being, as I plated our food and brought it over to the little table that had come from her old place.
It only seated two, and it was nice and cozy for this place.
She’d redone it and most of her furniture in a French Provincial style and while it was semi-out of place with the stark, undecorated walls of the place, I knew she would make this place feel like a home soon enough.
She’d done wonders with polishing the turd she’d come from – though I still hated that she’d lived in that condemned monstrosity for so long.
“This looks great,” she said with a serene smile as she settled in her seat.
“Do you have anything to drink?” I asked.
“Oh!” she got up and went to the fridge pulling out a bottle of wine she’d left in it to chill.
“It’s cheap, but it’s my favorite,” she said twisting off the cap. I must have looked horrified because she laughed.
“Just try it!” she cried, and she poured a couple of stemless wine glasses.
“First of all, those glasses are a monstrosity. Wine glasses have a stem for a reason.”
“Oh, really?” she demanded. “And why is that?”
“To keep the warmth from your hand from affecting the wine in the glass. Some wines are meant to be savored chilled, and stemless wine glasses defeat the purpose.”
“Oh, you know, that actually makes sense,” she said, bringing the glasses over.
I took the one she offered me and sniffed the contents, which honestly smelled like fruity rubbing alcohol. She laughed at the face I made and sipped hers.
I sipped mine and while it wasn’t terrible it wasn’t great, either.
“Ah! Yeah, no, that’s no where even close to ‘pretty good,’” I said. “It’s barely drinkable.”
She laughed and shook her head, taking her seat.
“We can add Wine Snob to the list of quirks I love about you,” she said.
“Oh? Endearing, is it?”
“Mm,” she nodded, chewing the bite of food she’d taken thoughtfully. “Adorable,” she said.
I laughed and shook my head. She was adorable.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about last night all day,” she said after a short but comfortable silence.
“Oh, yeah?” I sipped the wine which did not get better with more consumption – if anything, it got worse.
Savannah laughed at the face I made and I stood up, “Yeah, no, I can’t do it,” I said and tipped the contents of my glass into hers. I went to the fridge to find something palatable, even if it was just water.
“I would like to go home for a weekend,” she said as I pulled a bottle of Perrier out of the fridge.
“To South Carolina?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said and I returned to the table with my glass of sparkling water.
“I don’t see anything wrong with that, at all – has the tax attorney reached out to your family?”
“Oh, yeah! Yes, my dad called me about that today, actually.”
“Good, good!”
“I just really miss the farm and I would like to go see my family.”
“Well, certainly,” I said.
“Which is why I’ve been thinking… I feel as though I’ve already met yours; and while mine is certainly more sedate and far less sexually charged… I would love for you to come with me,” she looked hesitant, like she was almost afraid to ask.
I looked across the small table at my darling, my girl, and I smiled.
“Make you a deal,” I said.
“I’m listening,” she sat back, attentive.
“First available weekend, we go, but I’m long overdue for a long ride – we take the bike.”
She looked thoughtful.
“It’s two and a half hours,” she mused. “I can agree to that.”
I pulled up my calendar on my phone on the spot, “If it makes you happy, then let’s figure it out now. There’s no time like the present,” I said.
We went back and forth for a time and settled on a weekend that was three weeks from now. Both club and real estate life preventing us from doing anything sooner.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile as she typed it into her phone.
“Of course,” I said, and I would be lying if I said that for some reason, I was exceedingly nervous; but honestly, it would be a good dry run because I was almost certain that introducing her to my family would be a minor disaster.
Notwithstanding, she worked for our main competition.
My father could quite possibly go apoplectic on that fact alone.
I didn’t care.
We finished our supper, washed the dishes together, and curled up on the couch which was very strange to me. Comfortable, for sure, but with no rigidity or structure.
She covered us with a chenille throw and we cozied up in front of the television, where we discovered we had similar tastes in what we liked to watch.
We settled on a true crime documentary on the Murdaugh scandal out of South Carolina, and I’m not sure when it happened, but we both woke, late into the night, warm and cozy together; the television asking if we were still watching.
“Come on baby, guess I’m staying at your place tonight,” I murmured, and kissed the top of her head. She groaned and shifted against my side and sighed.
“I don’t wanna move, but we have to,” she said.
I chuckled and murmured back, “Me either, and no, we don’t.” I set the documentary to keep playing the next episode and we cuddled on her too-comfortable couch and slept.