Chapter 14
Daphne
The way Chris’s face closed up, shuttering those looks of desperate longing from me—desperation and longing, but also sadness—I knew. He yearned for me the way I yearned for him. With a force that couldn’t be stopped.
But he hated himself for it, whereas I gave in.
It was stupid to try to stop feelings this strong, though he was desperate for that, too. To stop this more-than-attraction. This... whatever this was between us.
It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.
No way. Nobody fell in love after two days. Love took months, maybe even years. Love took overcoming hardships and putting the other person first again and again. Love was a long haul up a mountain road with switchbacks and steep grades. Not an easy drive in a luxury car.
But what we had wasn’t lust either. It wasn’t as cheap as that. It wasn’t about the sex. I thought it would be when I suggested it, but our sex immediately became more of the embodiment of our connection.
Lust and sex I could part with. Even as good as it was with Chris. I could go without for two years. I’d be busy anyway. I didn’t have a sexual need.
My need was for him.
My desire was to be his counterpart, to take care of him in ways that complemented the ways he took care of me. In just our short time together, I’d never felt more nurtured, respected... loved. He’d grabbed me and wrapped me up in his world with a vulnerability and honesty I’d never experienced.
He made me believe in fate, destiny, reincarnation.
Or none of those, really. We were just very, very compatible, and very, very into each other, and there was no way I was letting him go.
I didn’t need the distraction.
And not being with him would be the ultimate distraction.
I wanted to wake up to him every morning, sharing bagels and coffee like we were in a nineties romcom—were there any nineties romcoms that showed couples waking up with bagels and coffee? I couldn’t remember, but it seemed like a very Nora Ephron thing to do with someone you fell for after two days.
I wanted to read in bed together and curl up in his arms every night. I wanted to analyze bones with him. I wanted to feel the kisses he’d plant on the top of my head when he brought me a steaming mug of hot cocoa while I took over his desk to study.
Chris took the exit for the Merry Lights and I wiggled in my seat.
“I have a good feeling about this.”
“That makes one of us.” He took a deep audible breath.
“Oh, grumble, grumble. Why are you so down about this?”
“Considering this is our fourth detour in twenty miles, we’re still half an hour away from where we started..." he looked at his watch, “twelve hours ago. And we should have delivered you and this skull to your respective destinations four times over, I’m a little anxious to know what’s lurking around the next river bend.”
“I’m sure this is the last time. The final waypoint. No more stops after this. If I have to pee, I’ll hold it.”
“Somehow, that makes me even less sure we’ll make it home tonight.”
“It’s only eight. Plenty of time.”
He grumbled again, wordlessly, and punched his turn signal.
“Oh, it says we have to tune in to AM 780.”
“Why?”
“The lights are synched with the music. That’s the point of the Merry experience.”
“I see.”
“This car is so high-tech, I don’t even know which buttons to push.”
“I’m not sure if I even know.” The touchscreen lit up as his hand hovered over the commands. “I turned on the bluetooth and never expected to turn it off.”
I swatted his hand away. “I can do this. You drive. So we can be done faster.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
“We’re waiting in line.”
“Here it is.”
Disco music screamed into the car, jarring us out of our cozy ride.
“Are you sure this is the right station?” he asked.
“Umm... yeah.” No. And honestly, I was disappointed, too. I listened for a few more bars. “They replaced the words macho man with Santa Claus , so I’m assuming this is accurate. Maybe there’ll be a dancing Santa in leather somewhere.”
“One can only hope there’ll be some wildly inappropriate element for our amusement.”
I turned my evil smile on him. “I can come up with some wildly inappropriate amusement in this very seat.” I let my dress slide a little higher on my thighs and spread my legs.
He groaned. “My poor trousers can’t take any more amusement this evening.”
As we drove through the Merry Lights—they were indeed merry, if slightly underwhelming because of their choice of music—I started squirming in my seat. I couldn’t help it. He’d ruined my last pair of panties, and the seat warmer felt good on my bare bottom. Plus, the lights allowed me to watch him behind the wheel, where he was competent, sexy, and maybe even enjoying the Christmas spirit a little bit.
He knew I was aroused. I could see the war in his eyes behind the bursts of color dancing in his glasses. He bit his lip. His eyes could barely stay off my legs.
“This is fun. It would be even more fun if your fingers were in my pussy.”
“Haven’t you had enough?”
“Of you? Stupid question.”
He ignored me. “I didn’t think Christmas could get worse than Wham!, but the Village People managed to top it. Or bottom it?”
“I hate to hear where you stand on Mariah.” I slipped my fingers under my skirt. “I’m already leaking on your seat. You might as well finish me off.”
He groaned and reached over like he was doing some kind of vile chore. When he flipped my skirt up, there was a hiss. “Where the fuck are your panties, Daphne?”
“As trashed as yours after that last episode.”
“Spread your legs, sweetheart. Wider.” I did as I was told. He licked his middle finger before sliding it down through my slit and around my throbbing clit before his ring finger joined. A throaty sigh escaped the back of his throat. I loved the way his elegant hands looked, rubbing through my pussy. His hands made me melt, made me come, made me… I gasped and arched my back as his fingers pushed into my vagina.
“Retrofitting any and all words associated with Santa Claus, elves, reindeer, and/or the North Pole into non-holiday lyrics will always be worse than a legitimately talented musician singing a well-composed pop song—even if I don’t personally enjoy the song, it’s a problem with oversaturation, not Mariah.”
“Oh, shit. Chris. Speaking of oversaturation, you better stop, before…”
“You got me into this.” He pulled his hand away and reached behind the seat, searching for something. “You’re not getting out of this car without coming.” He threw me his cashmere scarf.
“Seriously? This?”
“It’s all I could reach. Better that than turning the seat into a sitz bath.”
“Make it fast. There’s a hot cocoa stand up ahead.”
“And you’re telling me because?”
“Oh, come on.” I twisted in the seat and got up on all fours. The position was better for him. Better for me. I watched the lights as I rocked myself on his long, perfect fingers. The feeling was coming. My belly felt full and heavy, needing release. “Fuck. Daddy.” My head fell forward.
“Just… try not to spill.”
I looked up. He was smirking.
The car was filling with my scent. I’d be embarrassed if I had any shame left. But Chris had already robbed me of that.
“The irony of that statement is bananas, you know that, right? I’m over here, ruining your butter leather seats” I clutched his wrist while I fucked myself harder on his hand, his thumb circling my clit, avoiding the pressure I needed. “Oh, fuck. Daddy… You’re hauling a skull we found in the woods, and two pine wreaths that are probably leaking sap. What’s a little hot cocoa spill? Brigitte can take it.”
“Oh no.” He groaned, but didn’t miss a beat as he curled his fingers against my G-spot. “Oh, no, no, no. You did not name my car.” His thumb pressed hard against my clit.
“Of course… I did. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m gonna.” I wadded the cashmere scarf against my pussy just as the orgasm crashed through my body. I kneeled upright and let it go, soaking the soft fabric as my body convulsed. “Oh, shit,” I mumbled. “Oh, shit, oh, shit. It’s— I’m…”
I held the back of the seat before slumping back down. The cashmere hadn’t caught everything. It wasn’t exactly an absorbent material. There were droplets everywhere. His cuff was soaked. I’d splashed on the center console. But the way he looked up at me, with pride and affection, made it okay.
He’d wanted this. He’d wanted my cum all over his expensive car.
His fingers slid out of me. Looking in my eyes, he licked them clean, slowly, thoroughly, before going back to our conversation. “It’s a machine. It has neither name nor gender.”
“I knew you’d say that,” I said breathlessly, still feeling the pulse of my pelvic muscles. “That’s why I didn’t consult with you before naming our firstborn.”
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. The car inched forward. With both hands back on the steering wheel, he made his way toward the hot cocoa stand.
“Thank you.”
A slow smile spread across his mouth. “If you spill chocolate on my seats, I’m picking the music for the rest of the trip.”
“Your music will put us both to sleep and wreck my baby, Brigitte.”
“She’s not your baby. She’s an it , and if we’re going to anthropomorphize a machine, it’s my baby .”
Suddenly, our baby lurched forward with a jolt and an audible crunch. My neck snapped down before jerking up again. “What—?” Chris’s hands flew off the wheel. His foot plunged down on the brake, making sure the car who’d hit us from behind didn’t ram us into the car in front.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, too stunned to talk. Chris maneuvered the car to the side of the lighted path and the minivan behind us followed. Once he got it in park and shut off the engine, he blew out a breath with closed eyes.
“Fuck.”
“Maybe it didn’t leave a mark. They didn’t hit us very hard. My neck doesn’t even hurt.”
“Yet.” He looked up over the rim of his glasses.
We both stepped out of the car slowly, not wanting to see whatever carnage the back end had been dealt, but having no choice.
I glanced at a flurry of movement through the rear windshield. I knew exactly what was going through their heads, and I was flooded with empathy. They’d just hit a Mercedes. A fancy one. The damage would be covered by their insurance, but whatever it was—I was afraid to look—would cost a hell of a lot more to repair than a Toyota.
Chris wore a look of calm serenity as he stared at the cracked bumper and dented rear fender.
“Oh, poor Brigitte,” I said, patting her wounds.
“It’s just a car,” Chris said quietly.
“Really? Because you look like you’re tearing up.”
“Just a car. Just a car. Just a car.”
Okay, so the serene expression was shock. The anger would hit him soon. Once his mantra inevitably failed him and he learned this wouldn’t be fixable without sending it to some very fancy repair shop. Possibly even out of state. This car was shipped here ten days ago from Germany. I doubted there was anywhere closer than New York that could repair it.
I kept that information to myself.
The driver side door of the minivan opened. Voices hollered from inside. An old man in a ball cap and suspenders hobbled down from his seat, zipping up his coat while he limped toward us.
I tugged Chris’s sleeve and he turned.
“Real sorry about that, son. I was looking at that dumb dancing Santa over there, and realized too late you’d stopped. Wife tells me I shouldn’t be driving at night.” He scratched his chin. “Never let me live this down.”
Chris’s jaw clenched.
“I reckon you need my insurance card.” He reached into his back pocket and hauled out a fat wallet, searching through it for his cards. “You like the German cars? Never ridden in one. My kids finally settled me on this Chrysler. Always been a Buick man, and never thought I’d be driving a minivan, but they don’t make those big ole cars for old men like me anymore.” He handed Chris his card, but Chris just looked at it. As if he couldn’t figure out what he wasn’t supposed to do with it. He didn’t lift his hand to take it. He didn’t even look at the old man.
I stepped in. “I’ll just take a picture of that. We can call tomorrow morning. At least it's just a little ding.”
I said it for Chris’s sake more than the old man’s. To snap him out of whatever plane he’d drifted into.
The old man chuckled, “That’s going to be one expensive ding, young lady. No wonder he looks shell shocked. Don’t worry, though. I’ve got good insurance.”
I looked at the card. I had the same insurance, and I knew it was good. Walter Gallagher was the man’s name. “Can I get your phone number, Mr. Gallagher?” I asked, typing it into my phone.
There was a kind shrewdness in his plump, lined face. He looked like someone you couldn’t get anything past, but he’d look the other way just the same. He seemed like someone born to be a grandpa.
Under the bill of his ball cap, his eyes were still startlingly clear, ice blue, reminding me of something from earlier today. The wreath-making workshop. Lord almighty, had that just been this morning? I feel like I’d lived a lifetime since then.
My eyes moved to the top of his head. “ All gave some. 58,479 gave all” was embroidered over service ribbons. Vietnam. I recognized the ribbons because I used to ask people about them whenever I’d gone to the VA hospital with Dad. A Purple Heart. A commendation medal. He was a hero.
“Chris, I—” I whispered.
“Daphne?”
I turned around. A girl was jumping out of the minivan and helping her grandmother with her footing. Older woman. Puffy blue coat. My friends from the wreath-making workshop.
“Eva! Patty. It’s so nice seeing you again.” Eva had the same ice blue eyes as her grandfather. That was where I’d recognized them. I loved these moments when the world felt so small and full of love.
“You were supposed to be on the road hours ago. Decide to stick around for the Lights?”
“I... no, it’s a long story, actually.”
“Walter, of all the people to rear-end. It’s our friends from this morning! Remember I told you about that sweet young couple that sat next to Eva and me? This is them. Daphne and..."
“Chris,” I reminded her.
“Chris. Handsome devil. And he cares so much about you, you’d have to be blind not to see it. As blind as Walter, here. Don’t you let him get away.”
“I don’t intend to.” I smiled conspiratorially.
“I keep telling him the doctor doesn’t want him driving at night, but he insists. See, Walter, this is what happens.”
“I flew choppers on blind missions in ‘Nam and lived to come home to you. I think I can handle driving an automatic van through some Christmas lights.”
Patty rolled her eyes. “You just proved you can’t. You ran right into the back of this nice fella’s pretty car.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have if you weren’t shouting for me to look over here, and look at that. That dancing Santa worth it?”
“Eva, you want to take a walk with me to get some hot cocoas?” Daphne asked, taking care of situation perfectly, as usual.
“Yeah, let’s go!”