2. Ivy
The black towncar makes a left at the end of the drive, disappearing behind a thicket of birch trees, and I’m left there scratching my head. What just happened? I take another look at the plain white envelope in my hand, ready to open it until I notice Derrick. He’s been watching from the large window of his office, a practice of his I’ve come to accept.
There’s an intensity to his expression, one I meet with a cheerful smile. It takes him a moment before he returns it, waving me over. Maybe there’s a surprise waiting for me. Like gathering the staff over to sing “Happy Birthday.” Or an intimate cupcake with a single candle for me to wish upon.
“Everything all right?” Derrick asks as I enter. It’s just him and me and the ever-growing clusters of paperwork and folders covering his desk. My hopes for a cupcake are instantly dashed, and it’s a wonder he can find anything in the small space. For every new meeting with his accountant, the mounds of paperwork are only getting worse. He closes in from behind me, though the door remains open.
“Yes. He’s going to think it over,” I say as I slip the envelope into the roomy pocket of my cardigan. I want to remind him that sales aren’t made in a day. That trust must be earned. But the irony is enough for me to bite my tongue.
I should tell Derrick about the envelope. For once, trust him. Really let him in. It feels self-sabotaging not to.
As often as I repeat the usual mantra, I should trust him, over and over again in my head, I can’t deny the parts of my mind and heart that don’t ... and it’s not for a lack of trying. Or admitting to myself that I’m damaged goods, the byproduct of an absentee mother and father unknown.
But Derrick is my ticket to a normal relationship, even if things between us have felt a bit uncomfortable lately. It’s just a hiccup, one every couple encounters. He’s stable. Sweet. A bit of a workaholic, which means I haven’t seen him much in the past three weeks. But at least he has a J-O-B, and that should count for something, right?
Still, I can’t help but shove the envelope deeper into my oversized pocket, hiding it from both my boyfriend and my boss. No matter how hard I try, distrust slithers between us, threatening to pry us apart.
Let’s face it, I have issues, and trust is just the tip of the iceberg.
One of his arms wraps around me. Instead of giving him the usual elbow to the ribs, I nuzzle into him, and it feels ... nice. Warm and caring and ... nice. That is, until he releases me. And just like that, I second-guess everything.
Am I like Goldilocks complaining that my man is too nice?
Derrick’s shirt is perfectly fitted, the navy blue tapering over his chest and abs before disappearing into his slacks. It looks professional and sexy, though I still prefer his lucky polo. His sweet superstition is that whenever he wears it, luck lands in his lap. As if I was a manifestation of luck.
“Chase another one off?” he says, only half-teasing me.
With his half smile and adorable gaze, maybe he’s ready to finally make it official. “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” I playfully ask, wondering if we can finally stop hiding our status from coworkers and Facebook alike. Be a couple in the actual light of day.
I know I agreed to keep our relationship under wraps, but maybe this is a baby step in the right direction. Hope blooms from deep within my chest that maybe, just maybe, I’m finally learning to trust.
“You’re probably right,” he says, pulling away to bring us back to a proper boss-employee distance apart. When my frown catches his eye, he lowers his voice. “Hey, it’s not forever. Just for now. Meeting you was my destiny.”
His sweet words and wink revive my smile, but before I can slip him a kiss, he steps back.
Noticing the envelope, he asks, “What’s that?”
It would be so easy to tell him about the tour with Sin. The strange encounter and Sin’s bizarre escape. Why can’t I take the envelope out and open it with Derrick? Share something, anything, with my boyfriend of nearly a year.
I slide the unmarked envelope from my pocket, flipping it aimlessly. “Just a letter.”
“I’m running to the post office after work, then I’ve got a meeting. Need me to mail it for you?”
“I’ve got it,” I say, forcing a smile. “Meeting?” On my birthday?
Derrick has taken several meetings this week away from the office. And another dinner meeting? This can’t be good.
His nod is reluctant, and I know when to back off. But I offer him all the support he needs, cuddling Mr. Whiskers against his neck. And like Sin before him, Derrick can’t help but crack a smile.
“You and that ... cat.”
I don’t know what word he mentally used to fill in the blank between that and cat, and I don’t care. I’m tired of being ruled by my stupid doubts. And they are stupid.
But I tuck Mr. Whiskers back into my pocket, leaning closer to Derrick’s rigid stance. “I need something for luck. I mean, we can’t all have a lucky polo.”