11. Pajamas
11
PAJAMAS
VIVIAN
Paris and I returned from getting her chest Xray, and I grinned upon seeing a man standing at the window, absorbed in his phone. At first glance from behind, I assumed it was Richard, but he wasn’t.
“Look who it is.” I gently nudged her forward.
“Uncle Keaton!” She shouted with delight.
“There’s my girl.” Striding over in two large steps, he scooped her up into his arms. Paris giggled and hugged him tightly. “I brought you something from Denver. A belated Christmas present.”
I watched with affection as he carefully set her on her bed, then retrieved a round, neatly wrapped gift from his bag—a package nearly as big as his hand.
Where was Richard? I’d love to introduce these two. Keaton always had a flare for business, so they should have things in common to talk about. They’d get along well.
“What is it?” Paris eagerly tore away a corner of the red wrapping paper.
“Judging by your room, I’m pretty sure you’re going to like it,” he declared, nodding toward the maps on her wall.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, joining his side. We shared a brief hug while Paris continued unwrapping her gift.
She gasped in amazement. “So cool!”
Keaton demonstrated. “It’s a snow globe. You shake it gently like this and snow falls on the scene. Here’s the North Pole. See? And this is a train passing through the mountains arriving with kids to visit Santa. Can you spot him there somewhere?”
She peered inside the clear dome and remarked, “Richard is going to take me to the North Pole on a big adventure.”
“Hm. Is he now?” He mused as he cocked an eyebrow at me, lowering his voice. “I met Richard when I arrived. Looks like we have some catching up to do, Viv.”
“Yes, I suppose we do,” I whispered back.
“Nice pajamas, by the way. Wasn’t Richard wearing the same ones?” Keaton teased, his observant eyes scanning my outfit and perhaps drawing conclusions.
“Richard is just a friend,” I responded with a casual shrug, unaware that the man had slipped behind me and caught my words.
I gasped when I finally realized he was there. Gone were his pajamas, replaced by faded jeans, a gray Columbia sweatshirt, and ball cap on backwards. The rich man was so fine, dressed down, he took my breath away, and I kicked myself for sorting him into the friend column. But we were friends, weren’t we? I couldn’t think of any other way to describe the current situation between us.
“Come see what I have. It’s the North Pole. Is this where you’re taking me?” Paris boasted, holding up the enormous snow globe.
“Yeah? That’s something else.” His eyes avoided mine, and his smile faded for a moment—as if my comment had struck a nerve.
“How fast does a train go?” She asked him.
“That depends on the train. There’s one in France called the Train à Grande Vitesse and it can go almost two hundred miles per hour,” he explained in the usual patient way in which he connected with my daughter. Always calm and cool, so good to her.
“Can we go on the fast train?” The excitement in her eyes was impossible to ignore.
Richard’s smile flatlined. “Sure, sweetheart. But first, get better, okay?” His tone seemed less confident about their grand adventure now, not that I expected him to actually follow through, but Paris certainly did. It broke my heart.
I could see now this was a problem. While their interactions kept her happy and entertained, there was an expectation that had evolved, that he’d be in our lives for some time to come. That this trip would actually happen. What if he wasn’t around much longer and the trip never materialized?
He continued answering her follow-up questions about train travel until I stepped in and smiled at him. “How was your test?”
“All good. I’ll bet you’re happy to see your brother again?”
“Yes, I am. Although we’ve had little time to catch up yet.” I elbowed Keaton. “I want to hear all about your time in Denver. Did the paparazzi follow you around? Did women swoon and fall at your feet?”
“Knock it off,” he elbowed back. “You know the celebrity stuff gets old real fast.”
“Hate to interrupt, but that surprise I mentioned has arrived. Follow me?” Richard consulted something on his phone.
“Oh. Okay,” I said, reaching for Paris and picking her up.
“What is it?” She excitedly asked as we followed him back to the common room where the patients were already seated, and waiting for whatever this surprise was.
Paris dashed ahead to secure a seat right in the middle, front and center between the children. Like the other adults, we hung back and hugged the walls. I stood by the door while Richard positioned himself a few yards away from me, arms folded, grumpy face, and seemingly unapproachable.
Next to me, Keaton, always the charmer, struck up a conversation with the mother of another patient.
Behind me, outside the room, the nurses gathered at their station. They whispered and shared gossip—but I caught every word.
“Wait until I tell my best friend that I met two famous men on shift today—Richard and Keaton are H-O-T.” It was easy to make out Nurse Kimmie’s New Jersey-type of accent.
Another nurse chimed in, “Right? A billionaire bachelor and a reality TV heartthrob in one day? Nothing this exciting has happened in this department in ages.”
“Danica, the new night nurse, told me that Richard overheard her worrying about how she’d pay for her mother’s cancer meds. Guess who covered it?” Kimmie continued. “In a fantasy world, I’d choose Richard and his money any day. Since he arrived, he’s done nothing but go out of his way for everyone here. Look at how happy he’s making these kids.”
One of the nurses mused, “Money comes and goes, though, and both men are handsome. But Keaton—he’s just swoon-worthy.”
“Well, if you ask me, that Vivian doesn’t understand just how much Richard would do for her. You can see in his eyes how much he cares. Why can’t I find one guy who looks at me that way?” Kimmie vented.
I realized then just how scrutinized we were. All I wanted was for my daughter to thrive with as little drama as possible. The two men in my life drew too much attention.
“And in your fantasy, which one would you marry and which would you F-U-C-K?” one nurse blurted out.
My mouth dropped in shock that someone would even ask such a question.
Without hesitation, they all answered in unison, laughing, “Both—to marry and to F-U-C-K.”
I turned bright red, hoping neither man had overheard, when suddenly music began filling the hall, as if a live chorus were approaching.
Next thing we knew, actors and actresses from the Lion King burst into the room like Broadway performers. Dressed in elaborate costumes complete with makeup, they resembled the wild animals they portrayed perfectly.
The children cheered, and Paris—sitting centrally—gasped with her hands on her cheeks, her eyes huge and her little legs swinging excitedly beneath the chair as she watched the impromptu performance. As the characters sang and twirled, they even encouraged her and some kids to dance along. I took photos and videos to remember it all by.
Tears welled in my eyes as I edged closer to Richard and whispered, “This is remarkable. Did you really bring Broadway performers up here to Albany?”
He offered a mysterious smile. “I pulled some strings. Buchanans have long been patrons of the arts. Listen, if you’re good here, I’m heading to the suite for a while—I have some work to catch up on.”
“Oh, sure. That’s fine. Keaton will keep me company.” I nodded.
“Okay, enjoy the show. Text me later if you need anything or if you want me to come back to give you two a break tonight.” With that, he left me, as he headed toward Paris. After whispering something in her ear and sharing a brief hug, he slipped out the door. An uneasy feeling stirred inside of me, as if I ached at the thought of him leaving, so I followed after him.
“Richard?” I called, but he didn’t stop. Was this the real him—had the illusion of keeping a little girl happy worn thin? His life suddenly tied down by a child too demanding? The last thing I needed was another mood-swinging man like Adrien, but I never imagined Richard could be like him. I got close enough and tugged at his sleeve. “Richard? Is everything okay? You seem off.”
He halted in the hallway and clipped, “I’m fine.”
Our eyes met in a smoldering, heated dance—until I noticed movement out of the corner of my vision. The nurses at their station, all curious spectators close enough to overhear.
Not wanting to fan the flames of gossip, I broke the silence. “We can discuss this later.”
He noticed them too. “No. Let’s talk right now.” He motioned to follow and led me to a nearby storage closet, clicking the door shut behind us for privacy.
“Vivian, I liked being needed and being here for you. But now with Keaton—and since I’m only a friend... maybe you don’t need me around.” A wry smirk surfaced, confirming that my words had clearly wounded him.
“Maybe I don’t need you around?” I shrugged a shoulder to my ear and rested my back against the door. “What if I enjoy having you here? Besides, Paris adores you—if you haven’t noticed. You have been completely unexpected, Richard. And after all we’ve been through so far, I would definitely consider you a true friend. Which, by the way, there’s nothing wrong with being friends—it’s a compliment to both of us. But if you stay, who knows? Perhaps we do have a second chance at something more. So stay if you want to. And also because I want you to.”
“You do?” A slow smile spread across his face.
“Yes, truly.” I mirrored the gentle curve of his smile. Unbeknownst to us, we had grown so close that our breaths mingled. Every inch of space between us became charged with electricity, as if the memory of that one unforgettable night we shared in Paris had bonded us more strongly than I realized.
I swallowed hard and glanced down at his lips as he lightly licked them. The scent of him filled the confines of the closet like an intoxicating pheromone. My mouth went dry, longing for his touch, even as another part of me stirred with desire, soaking my panties.
“So I’ll stay then.” In a sexy move, he pressed a palm above my head, inching himself closer.
“Good. Then stay. I want you to.” I agreed, breathlessly, repeating myself, but not caring at this point.
The back of his knuckles caressed my cheek. “Because you want me. Admit it.”
My heart raced with lust. “I… um…”
He drew his hand through my hair, landing at the back of my neck. His lips brushed against my earlobe while whispered words tickled my skin, “You do. I know it.”
Suddenly, applause and shouts of “Bravo!” echoed from the common room, a jarring reminder of our lives beyond this stolen moment in a closet. The reality set in—I was a single mother with an ailing daughter, and I shouldn’t be risking too much with this captivating man in a room cluttered with bleach bottles.
I gently pressed against his pecs creating space between us. “Tell you what—go on and take care of whatever you need to in the suite, but come back later to say goodnight to Paris. We can talk more after she falls asleep, okay?” I suggested.
“Then I will. Now—come here.” He tugged at my waist, drawing me into his embrace where I fit so right under his chin, our bodies aligned.
I rested my head on his chest. His strong heartbeat echoed in my ear, like déjà vu; it reminded me of the last time we’d shared such closeness, lying in his arms in our night of passion in Paris. I couldn’t pinpoint when or where exactly, but the anticipation of it happening again tingled through me.
My body buzzed with the possibility of another union, though a small voice wondered if this was merely a fantasy. Did I deserve happiness when my daughter’s life hung in the balance?