Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
dexter
“Don’t you dare fucking laugh, Johanna.” I scowl at the reflection of my friend snickering behind me.
I can’t move. If I do, the rental suit cutting off blood supply to all my extremities will split at the seams.
“I’m not laughing.” She laughs.
The flustered seamstress whips her head between me and the clipboard in her hands. “Oh, dear. I think my assistant got the measurements mixed up.”
“You don’t say,” I grumble, earning a slap across the back of my head from Jo. I glance at the other woman apologetically. “Sorry.”
She smiles politely. “It’s fine. We have some big and tall samples in the back. Let’s try them on before we order in another. We’ll make sure the second suit arrives next week, free of charge. It’s our error.”
When she disappears, I stare at Jo pleadingly. “Help me.”
It’s then Patrick strides out of his changing room, suit cut perfectly, and stops dead. “What the fuck are you wearing? I can see the outline of your dick.”
“Stop staring at it then, perv.”
We’re in the city, trying on our suits for the wedding. Graham came earlier, but he and Quinn were collecting the keys to their new home this afternoon, so he left an hour ago. Booth can’t get any time off work until the wedding, but thankfully, he and Pat are the same size. That leaves me.
Clothes shopping is never enjoyable, even less so when you’re six foot five and weigh over two-hundred and fifty pounds. I’m not self-conscious about my body by any means, but finding things that fit is near impossible.
Point proven when it takes both my friends to wrestle me out of the skin-tight suit. When I’m back in my jeans and Carhartt, we collapse onto the sofa in the waiting area.
Johanna smooths her hand over the lapels of Patrick’s beige jacket.
“This color will go lovely with the girls’ dresses.
” She turns to me. “That reminds me: you’re walking down the aisle with Flo.
I know the maid of honor and best man usually walk down together, but Lottie begged to be paired with Harriet. I hope that’s okay?”
My throat constricts. I pat my neck, checking the suit hasn’t magically reappeared. Nope. Just the mention of Florence choking me.
“Fine.” My voice cracks, and I cough into my fist. “She’s fine. Fine to walk with me.”
Patrick fusses with the cuffs on his shirt, oblivious to my panic. Relief is short-lived, however, because over his shoulder, Johanna eyes me suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I snap.
“You keep saying fine.”
“Because I am!”
“You can’t shout at a pregnant woman!”
“Okay, children. Let’s tone it down,” Patrick chastises, finding the whole encounter amusing.
The room is silent. I’m the chilled out one. I don’t lose my shit or get worked up over things. If my friends need advice, I’m the one they turn to. Cool, calm, and collected. That’s me.
Currently, I’m sweating, agitated, and twitchy.
Two days have passed since we danced in the rain.
There’s less awkwardness, but even the downpour couldn’t extinguish the flames I’d forced myself to dance in.
On the one hand, she was continuing with her list. On the other, I was torturing myself by spending more time with her outside of working hours.
I’m still digesting that Florence has feelings for me—feelings that apparently didn’t appear after our hook up.
A smart man would keep his distance. Me being the opposite, I’m taking her camping this weekend to check items three and four off the list. An innocent trip between friends, one neither of us have disclosed to our friends and family.
“Speaking of Flo…” Patrick starts. “How’s it going?”
All logical responses flee the vicinity. She’s doing great, Pat. My schedule is organized, emails handled, and she’s really got dry humping her boss down to a fine art. I’m tempted to give her a raise.
“Dex?” he prompts when I hesitate.
I keep it simple. “She’s a godsend, really lightened the load with the new project.”
Surprise flickers on his face. “That’s good. I was worried she’d get bored and call it quits after a week. She’s never been one to stick anything out.”
Annoyance bubbles. “You know, she’s a lot more capable than you all give her credit for. Than she gives herself credit for.”
He and Jo blink at my grated tone. I don’t react, having said too much already.
“Hey, it was a joke. I’m happy it’s working out.” He glances at his watch then stands. “I’m gonna get changed. You’re coming to Mom’s for dinner next week?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
The second he disappears behind the curtain, Jo spins on me, hissing, “You’re being weird.” Her studious gaze tracks my face, looking for any hint of a lie.
“Christ.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I am not being weird. I’m just stressed. We’re on a tight schedule with the summer camp. It didn’t help that I was out of action for a few days last week…”
I don’t need to go into the details. Jo reads between the lines.
“I’m sorry.” She grimaces, aware how intense my attacks can be. “Why didn’t you call? I hate the idea of you going through them alone.”
I’m not sure why I say it. “I wasn’t alone. Florence didn’t leave my side.”
I see it—the moment Jo pieces it all together. She’s too astute. My defensiveness and the fact I allowed someone to look after me during an attack is all she needs to know.
Our gazes drift to where Patrick talks with the store assistant.
“I won’t tell him,” she whispers, “but you need to do it. He deserves to know if something is happening—”
“Happened,” I correct. Describing Florence as a one-night stand feels wrong. She’s more than that, and it isn’t exactly accurate. Technically, it happened twice, even if more clothes were involved the second time. “It happened. Nothing is going on anymore, so there’s nothing to tell.”
Jo considers this. “Before or after you hired her?”
I swallow. “Before. New Year’s.”
“I thought you two were acting strange.” She tilts her head, voice level. “Pat can be a little protective, but he means well. It comes with the territory of being the oldest sibling. He just wants what’s best for her.”
“Which isn’t me. Believe me, I know that already.”
She recoils. “That wasn’t what I was implying at all. You’re both adults. Okay, it’s a little complicated, but who are we to tell you who you can and can’t be with?”
I hold up a hand, halting the conversation. “That’s not what this is. We both agreed it was a one time, nothing more. Christ, she’s my employee.”
Her lips turn down, as if she wants to fight me on it.
Elbows balanced on my knees, I bend forward, gaze falling to the small bump under her dress. “I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier.”
“We forgive you.” She rubs her belly, humming. “Do I need to give you a talk about wrapping it up or being careful with one another’s heart?”
I grimace. “I learned about the birds and the knees a long time ago. Thanks though, Mom.”
She chuckles, flicking my forehead. “It’s bees, you moron.”
“Huh?”
“You said ‘birds and the knees.’”
“I…” Fuck, I did, repeating exactly what Florence said the other day when she suddenly started talking about the goats having babies. I didn’t have the heart to remind her they were both male, and therefore, it was anatomically impossible.
Jo fights her smile.
“Shut up,” I mutter and readjust my hearing aid.
“You’ve been wearing that a lot more recently,” she observes. “Everything okay?”
My hand pauses. “Yeah. Hearing is still a little funky following the attack.”
She doesn’t make a fuss and rises from her seat to join Patrick, but not before leaving me with some words of wisdom. “Can I say one thing?”
I roll my eyes. “As if you need my permission.”
She ignores my jab, no humor in her voice.
“When Flo returned from her travels, we were all shocked. I know as well as anyone how hard keeping up appearances can be. It’s only since she started working for you I’ve noticed a difference.
She seems content—more at peace with herself.
” She lays a hand on my shoulder. “And so do you.”
Peace? There isn’t anything peaceful about my feelings for Florence. They’re a wild frenzy, blurring the lines we continuously reinvent. She’s a whirlwind, sweeping me up and spitting out a version of myself I hardly recognize.
It’s now, sitting here in stunned silence, that I realize how undeniably fucked I am.
Jo’s right. I’ve been wearing my hearing aid more, every day since my attack.
All because I didn’t want to miss hearing the sweetest noise first thing in the morning when she brings me my decaf coffee.
Florence’s tanned legs dangle from the bed of my truck as she nibbles the end of a pen. Having both grown up in Maine with parents who love the outdoors, to us, camping is second nature.
That didn’t stop her from whipping up a list and calling each item out as I load it into the truck. We were supposed to leave an hour ago.
“LED lantern?” she shouts.
“Check.” I shake the lantern before placing it back in the open storage box.
“Hand warmers?”
I pause. “It’s eighty-degrees, and you’ll be in your sleeping bag. You don’t need hand warmers.”
She pouts, wiggling her fingers in the air. “I have bad circulation. Hand warmers?”
I pull them out of the bag and frisbee them into the box. “Check.”
“Mosquito net?”
“Check.” I glance around, finding only my backpack left on the ground. “That’s it. You got everything checked off?”
She scans the list then hops down. “Yep. Let’s hit the road.”
We’re away for one night, camping on the other side of Acadia. Florence’s brothers are popping in to check on the goats. She told them we’re away on a business trip. We’ve nothing to hide, so why was I more comfortable with a lie than the truth?
Florence skips over to the goat pen and leans over the chicken wire fence. “Goodbye, my precious angels. Auntie Quinn and Uncle Graham Cracker will be over later to feed you lots of carrots and blueberries. You love blueberries, don’t you?”
They bleat in response, staring at her lovingly, jaws grinding.