19. Bea
19
Bea
I wake up hugging a furnace. It’s so hot under the cover, I might even be sweating.
I open my eyes and see the broad expanse of a back—Charlie’s back. I’m jet-packing him, my arms around his waist, his ass in my groin, and my thighs against the back of his.
Oh yes. Charlie went down on me last night and it was so fucking hot. If I were a camp counselor, Charlie would receive the Most Improved award for his oral skills.
My forehead rests against his upper back, and his muscles move slightly—he’s awake.
“Morning,” I say.
Charlie stretches away from me and I hear the thunk of his phone hitting the nightstand before he turns around to face me. Charlie’s shirtless—yum—and I spot a flash of black fabric and bare legs under the covers. He’s wearing boxer briefs, and I’m naked.
I sit bolt upright. “Oh my god, did I fall asleep while having sex with you?”
The bed shakes with Charlie’s laughter. I try to smack his shoulder with the back of my hand, but he grabs it instead and pulls me down.
“You fell asleep before that could get started. Your post-orgasm bliss was too strong and you were out by the time I got back here.”
I groan. “You’re going to be insufferable today, aren’t you?”
Before Charlie can answer, there’s a knock on the door. We both sit up and I clutch the sheet to my boobs. “Yeah?” Charlie calls softly.
Naomi’s voice comes through the door. “Bea? You may want to sneak out before anyone else wakes up.”
Whelp. One sister knows where I spent the night, although I don’t know how I thought I was going to get around that. “Shit, yeah.” I throw off the covers and search for my dress. I find it haphazardly draped over Charlie’s open luggage and grab my thong and bra from their similar scattered fate.
“Hey,” Charlie says softly, and I pause. He’s stood up from the bed, and I get to see Charlie in all his grown-up glory.
When I finally meet his eyes, his gaze is soft and warm as he pulls me in for a kiss.
I deepen it and cling to him. Neither of us are minty-fresh, but Charlie tastes like Charlie, and I like it.
He finally pulls away. “Go shower. We’ll talk later.”
By the time I shower and go downstairs, the entire house is up except for Kayla. Jasper is in the kitchen making pancakes while the moms are at the kitchen counter with Gary. My dad and the rest of the kids are at the table.
“Grab a plate, Bea,” Jasper calls. There’s a stack on the counter, so I grab one and sidle up next to him. A large hot griddle and two pans on the stove are cranking out steaming pancakes. He gives me an odd look, and even though I showered I feel like I have a “freshly orgasmed” stamp on my face. He gestures to a pancake. “This one’s about ready to flip. Want anything on it?” He nods to bowls of various sizes filled with nuts and chocolate chips and fruit.
I grab a handful of chocolate chips and sprinkle them on the pancake, followed by walnuts. He flips it, and I wait.
Across the kitchen, Charlie’s gaze catches mine. He’s facing me, drinking from a mug. He hasn’t showered, I don’t think, and when he lowers his coffee, my eyes snag on his mouth.
“Hey Bea,” Dad says over his shoulder. He’s sitting across from Charlie, facing away from me.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Know why they call them pancakes?”
I brace myself for a dad joke. “No. Why?”
“’Cause they’re cakes made in a pan, duh.”
Charlie chokes on his coffee and Jasper chuckles next to me.
I put my hands on my hips, plate against my thigh. “What, no dad joke? I’m totally disappointed in you.”
“That was a dad joke!” he insists.
“That was, like, the opposite of a dad joke.”
Dad half turns in his chair. “Fine, you want a dad joke? Why was the pancake arrested?”
Oh no, what have I done?
“Psst.” Jasper has my pancake on his spatula.
I hold out my plate and begrudgingly ask, “Why, Dad?”
“Unwaffle activities.”
I can’t help but grin, and while the rest of the table groans or chuckles, I walk over and take the empty chair next to Lance. “Morning, everyone,” I say, purposefully not looking at Charlie.
Unfortunately this means I’m looking directly across the table at my roomie who knows that I didn’t come to bed last night.
She smirks at me. “Good morning, Bea,” she calls in a singsong voice. “I slept so well last night. How did you sleep?”
Dad and Gary are the only two who want to ski today, so they go off to the resort together. Kayla finally wakes up and Jasper whips up more pancakes for her. Mom asks if anyone wants to go for a walk with her. We all say no, and she goes by herself. Susan pulls out an approximately nine-thousand-piece puzzle, and my sisters and I spend the morning fighting over edge pieces and puzzle strategy while Charlie has his laptop out on the kitchen counter.
I glance over at him a lot, unable to help myself. It shouldn’t bother me that he’s not taking part in the puzzle—everyone’s allowed to do their own thing. We don’t have to be together 24/7. After all, Jasper’s playing games on his phone on the couch, and Lance has disappeared to who-knows-where. Probably the bedroom to take some time to recharge his introverted batteries away from my loud, obnoxious family.
Charlie is probably working. But maybe he’s looking at customer data and advertising reports.
A thought occurs to me—what if he doesn’t know the data is being abused?
Finally, I give in. “What are you doing over there?”
He sighs and rubs his face. “Emails, mostly. Also, boring stuff.” He smiles.
“What kind of boring stuff?” Yvette asks from where she’s leaning over the puzzle, trying to figure out which blue ocean edge piece is the right blue ocean edge piece out of probably a hundred.
“Someone released a paper on argument mining last month and I’m just now getting around to reading it.”
Argument mining? What the hell does that mean?
“You know, the holidays are supposed to be time off,” Kayla teases.
“Tell that to the fifty-seven important emails that have come into my inbox this morning.”
Once again, I’m thankful that Nash takes the holidays off and insists that Heartly’s offices operate with minimal staff. While I still check my email and Nash’s every day, a few responses are all that’s required.
There’s a knock at the door, and we all look at one another.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Mom asks the room, and we all shake our heads. Charlie catches my gaze, and I can see the thought behind his eyes: Is that Kit again?
I shrug while Yvette gets up to go to the door.
She returns a few minutes later with a package. “It’s for Bea!” she announces in a singsong voice.
I sit up and she deposits the box in my lap. It’s fairly big, wide enough that Kayla has to scootch over, but thin. And it is definitely addressed to me.
“Who’s it from?” Kayla asks.
The return address is my office. Huh. Usually Nash gives me a gift card for Christmas plus a generous bonus. I’m not sure what this could be.
“Open it,” Yvette squeals. She loves presents, and any kind of surprise, really.
I contemplate waiting till Christmas to open it for about two seconds, and then I rip into the box. Inside, there’s a smaller silver box—similar dimensions, just smaller—nestled in tissue paper with a card on top. The card partially covers the label, but I already know the brand: Balenciaga.
I open the card.
Bea,
I hope you have a great Christmas with your family. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. Thank you for your support and insight throughout the year.
Nash
Bea,
We are long overdue for a night out. I know just the place. Let’s put it on the calendar when you get back!
XO,
Clara
With the note card are two gift cards—one to YSL Beauty, my favorite makeup store, the other a Visa prepaid card.
Yvette snatches the Visa card. “Oh, how much do you think is on it?”
I ignore her and lift the smaller box up. I carefully open it. Inside is neatly folded wool and lace and when I stand and hold it out to full length, I recognize it.
The last time I saw this skirt was two or three months ago. Clara had borrowed one of Heartly’s conference rooms to have a meeting with a woman who was wearing it, and I complimented it. I didn’t even know that Clara had overheard, much less remembered.
It’s fitted and just my size. It falls to just below my knee and reveals an underskirt of matching black lace.
It’s so pretty it takes my breath away, but is not so extravagant that I can’t wear it to work.
I also know that it costs two grand. It’s a very generous gift.
Mom takes it from me. “This is beautiful. It will look so lovely on you.”
Kayla lifts the outer layer to see how far the lace goes and how it’s attached, which makes us laugh. Yvette holds it up to her hips. “If only I lived closer to you. We could share wardrobes.”
Naomi snorts. “Like she wants to wear your Southwest uniform.”
“At least we don’t have to wear neckerchiefs anymore.”
I ignore my sisters and take the gift upstairs to my room, and when I get back, everyone’s returned their attention to the puzzle.
The dads return home hungry, and we all have to eat in the living room so as not to disturb the puzzle on the dining room table. Afterward, we grab pillows and blankets and watch Christmas movies in the basement. Me, Charlie, Yvette, Lance, and Naomi all lie on the floor while our parents are on the couch and Kayla and Jasper share the love seat on the side.
Charlie holds my hand under a thick fleece blanket.
After Hans Gruber plunges to his death, we disperse. Kayla goes to take a nap, Lance stays downstairs by himself, and the rest of us converge in the kitchen.
“What are you cooking?” Mom asks while pouring herself a glass of wine. Tonight, dinner is up to me, Charlie, and Naomi, the three poor unattached souls teamed up like the singles table at a wedding.
“Pork tenderloin,” Naomi says.
“Oh, are you roasting?” Jaspers asks from his perch on one of the counter stools. Knowing him, he’ll probably stay there and watch us cook all evening.
“Yup. With potatoes, apples, and butternut squash,” Naomi replies.
“Mom,” Charlie says from where he’s pulling the marinated meat out of the fridge. “Do you want me to light the firepit outside?”
“Oh!” Susan brightens. “What a lovely idea. And I’ve got some juniper berries and cedar branches I foraged this morning. I would love to make an offering. But your dad can do the fire.”
Gary grunts. “Do we have enough wood?”
I struggle to hold in my laughter.
“Plenty of wood,” Charlie says mildly.
When our parents have retreated to the backyard, it’s just the four of us. I begin chopping the apples. “Do you think that’s a good size, Jasper?”
He leans over and inspects my work. Then he fixes my grip on the knife. “Lord, did you forget everything I’ve taught you?”
“I don’t cook in the city and you wouldn’t either.”
Jasper harrumphs and sits back down, sipping his beer. Behind me, there’s a cacophony of noises and a “whoops” from Charlie as he digs through the cabinets in the butler’s pantry on the other side of the kitchen.
“You okay back there?” Jasper calls.
“Maybe. Um, which pan do you think I should use?”
Jasper puts on a big show of sighing and getting up to help Charlie. Naomi, who’s next to me peeling the squash, and I share an amused look.
She takes a step closer. “So, what happened last night?”
I make a face and she makes one right back. “Not like that! But, are y’all back together now?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “We didn’t talk about it.”
Behind me, Charlie and Jasper have dropped their voices too, and I can’t hear them over the sizzle of the pork browning.
“He’s in your city now,” she continues.
“I know. But he works a lot.”
She points her seed-scraper spoon at me. “Pot. Kettle.”
I roll my eyes. My family loves to think of me as a workaholic. The reality is that my job would have a great work-life balance if I had a personal life. But if there’s nothing but shitty dates and a quiet apartment waiting for me, why shouldn’t I put so much time and effort into my job?
“Okay. Well, maybe you both being workaholics is a good thing. I mean, imagine your life in New York with a boyfriend. Wouldn’t it be ideal if he understood the pressures of a job and had his own to keep him busy?”
We both let that sit for a minute. Maybe Naomi is expecting me to be picturing coming home from a long day of work just in time to get in bed with Charlie and catch each other up on our days. Or us sitting together with our work calendars and negotiating whose office events we make an appearance at and whose we skip.
But that’s not what I have in mind. Those fantasies I have about a charming small-town man and love at first sight? At the end of those fantasies, it’s obvious what happens—I quit my job and leave the city.
I want to love to spend time with someone. I want to do things with them, and I don’t know what I would do for work if I quit Heartly—it is a great job, after all—but I want Heartly to be the second thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. Not the first.
I glance behind me at Charlie. He and Jasper are putting the tenderloin on a roasting rack and I’m falling behind on chopping the produce.
A week ago, I could have sworn that Charlie thought about work first thing in the morning. But there was that morning a few days ago when he was trying to get me back in bed before he fully woke up. And yet, this morning, he was on his phone. Probably working.
I sigh.
While none of the small-town hunks I’ve met so far have made my heart skip a beat, I’ve fallen right back into bed with the big-city man who’s more likely to break my heart again than give me a happily-ever-after.