Chapter Eleven
THROUGHOUT THE REST of the Founders Day event, I was moving by rote, my head in another universe.
Phillip. It was Phillip Brauning who had launched me into the cosmos.
And while, on one hand, I was thrilled/terrified of the feelings he stirred up in me I was also feeling a mix of various vibes from my friends.
As the festivities came to an end, I was anxious to retreat to my little place above the shop, curl up with my cats, and just process.
We’d done incredibly well in sales today.
Crocus and Mamie had already left, Crocus to get home to his girlfriend, and Mamie to primp for a dinner date with Edgar at the inn.
Phillip and I were not meeting up. He needed time to ready himself for a flight home that would end with a major confrontation with his grandfather, and I required a night of mindfulness and kitty purrs.
I also wanted to talk with my friends who had said very little when Phillip and I had visited their booths or throughout the other festivities I’d dragged Phillip to even though he had obviously wanted to go.
They’d been moderately polite, of course, but their knotted eyebrows had spoken volumes.
A late night beer might have been required but I wasn’t in the head space for that, and Conor was sticking around to supervise The Dallas Blade band—holy hell, what were they doing in Caldwell Crossing—that was performing in the afternoon.
Something about pyrotechnics he wished to keep a well-trained eye on.
So, instead of pushing things when I was walking an emotional highwire I sent a fast text to our group chat.
Hey, I’m tired. Can we meet at the bridge tomorrow @ noon? I know you all have questions.
Then, because I wanted some extra time with Ryan I sent him a private note asking him to meet me at the covered bridge at eleven.
They all hit back with an affirmative, so I climbed into my truck and went home.
The shop was closed. I lugged all that I could manage into the store alone, grateful for the solitude even if I made a thousand trips.
Once that was done I locked up, turned off the lights, and padded up the stairs.
The cats were all at the door, meowing hellos that then turned into cries of utter starvation even though their dry food feeder was still half-full.
“You three are drama llamas,” I told them, taking a moment—or fifteen—to sit on the floor with my kitties.
I loved the affection they poured on me, even the loving licks from Daisy.
Bo and Luke paraded around me, head-bumping my elbows and knees, purring like motorboats.
It was the most perfect start to a destress that ever had been.
When the cats became louder, I got to my feet, toed off my sneakers, and opened up three tiny cans of moist food.
The trio dove into their dinners as if they’d not been fed in decades.
Which was funny to me as all three had primordial pouches that wobbled to and fro when they trotted.
While they ate I showered, slipped into a thin summer robe, and brewed myself some peppermint tea.
The burritos were not sitting well. That had been anxiety gluttony on a stellar level.
I curled up on my bed, tucked my feet under my rump, and sipped at my tea.
I let my mind wander, focusing on the cool rush of peppermint on my tongue as well as the soft brush of cotton sheeting under my naked backside.
Even though it was May, as soon as the sun set, the nights could be chilly.
With my hair damp still the breeze coming through the windows gave me a chill so I got up to close them.
Once they were shut the sounds of the street faded away.
On my way back to bed I grabbed my e-reader and the remote for the TV although I doubted I would watch much.
If I did it would be something soft and fluffy.
With tea in hand and my cats now curled up on the bed with me, I sipped and flipped channels, settling on Queer Eye as that was uplifting, very rainbow, and had Tan France.
Oh, to have his hair, his accent, and his eye for fashion.
I got through one episode. One. By the end I was leaking tears into my peppermint tea so I turned the set off.
Sniffling like a nitwit, I dabbed at my eyes as I stared at the wooden rose resting atop the television set.
And that brought me right back to Phillip.
The man had wrung me out over the past few weeks.
No, that wasn’t fair. He’d not been the only person who made me edgy.
I’d been this close to a meltdown for months now.
Years, if I were being honest. Daisy wasn’t happy by my side so she climbed over me, parading back and forth in front of me, butthole passing under my nose until I stretched my legs out.
“Pushy little miss,” I whispered to her while she made herself comfy on my thighs.
Once she was settled I lowered my mug from where I’d been holding it over my head and went back to my mental promenade.
The rose. Yes, what a lovely gift. The man was clearly well-versed in getting what he wanted.
Obviously so as he was a millionaire a few times over.
Sure, he’d inherited his wealth from King Toad, but he was not sitting back allowing his grandfather to support a playboy.
He worked hard, that was clear. He, or his team I supposed, did their research and it had been incredibly thorough.
He probably knew how many dimes I had in the bank. The answer being not many.
Was I making the right decision to bring Phillip into my life?
What if it didn’t work out? What if he bought into Harmony Chocolates then we broke up?
What if he found out that he couldn’t abide having a chatterbox boyfriend who smelled of anise every other Tuesday?
What if he was just infatuated with the chase and once he had me he would get all ho-hum about us? What if—
“Oh!” Daisy patted my nose. I started, nearly spilling my tea.
I’d not even felt her move I was so tangled in my spiraling ideations.
I stared into big green eyes. Once she had my attention she gave my chin a bonk before settling back where she had been earlier.
“Okay, yes, you are so right. I was climbing toward a freakout.” I ran my left hand over her back, her chubby body vibrating strongly.
The boys glanced up, yawned in unison, and then went back to sleep.
They’d be up at two in the morning raising hell I was sure.
Cats will be cats. “So what do we do gang?” I asked the felines softly.
“Should we just play it by ear? You know I’m not very good with doing that with unimportant things let alone with something like dating. ”
My phone pinged. I set my cup on the nightstand, ignoring the tube of strawberry lube that had yet to be hidden back under the pillow.
Why had I not tidied up? Maybe because, deep down, I liked to see it lying there as it brought back memories of that glorious night with Phillip.
I had never been fucked like that. Ever.
Nor had I ever come so hard or so often.
Yes, Phillip Brauning did it for me. Might as well acknowledge that right now.
I glanced at the call, yes a call, and it was the man I was stewing over.
“Hey,” I said as I stared at my tea mug. “Is everything okay?”
Translation: Did you have time to reconsider us and did you realize that you had been caught up in the glorious chaos of Founder’s Day?
“I was packing and could feel you stressing all the way over here by the lake.”
“Oh.” Shit. I really did have some strong mental powers. Me and Charles Xavier.
“Were you chewing things over?” Phillip asked.
“Maybe.” Daisy lifted her head to give me that dry cat look that screams seriously human . “Okay, yeah, I was kind of getting caught up in the vortex that is my head. Hearing your voice helps though.”
“Good. I’m glad. I enjoy your voice as well. It’s peppered with that charming way you all have of dropping your Rs in some words then adding them to others that don’t have one.”
I thought to argue but opted to just accept the truth. I may, on occasion, say “dear” as “dee yah” , but so did everyone else in Caldwell Crossing.
“If we’re comparing accents…” I sat back into the pillows behind me with a coy little smile.
“Ah, well, mine is quite elegant and European would you not agree?”
I could hear the humor in his tone. My mind’s eye pulled his visage, that handsome face with small lines at the eyes and corners of his beautiful mouth, a rapscallion’s smile on those sexy lips.
“I suppose,” I had to concede. “Phillip, are we doing the right thing?”
“Yes, do not doubt it.”
He was always so damn sure of himself, his course in life, while I floundered around like a…well…like a flounder.
“I’ll try not to,” I promised. To him as well as myself. “Did you schedule your flight?”
“Yes, tomorrow from Logan at some ungodly hour. We have to leave the local airport even earlier. Edgar was not pleased to have to cut his date with Capucine short this evening even though I told him that I was fully capable of flying in my own jet by myself.”
His own jet. Holy shit. What kind of Carrington-Colby world had I fallen into?
“Haider?”
“Sorry, I was daydreaming about 80s primetime soap operas.” Now I knew what to watch tonight.
My box set of the complete four seasons of Dynasty.
The cats would love it. I’d start at the beginning and recite the dialog word for word as I normally did.
Could I help it if Joan Collins was everything and all that in a Nolan Miller wide-brimmed hat?
“If only we could all be as debonair as Blake Carrington.”
Okay, that sealed it. This was the man for me. “So tell me how you know who Blake Carrington is.”
“Who doesn’t know who Blake Carrington is?”
Yep. I was a goner.