Claire #2
We walk out through the front doors, and he walks to the left with our two suitcases and stops at a black limo. The driver gets out. “Hey, Tris,” he says.
I stop on the spot, shocked. He has a limo ... what the heck?
“This is Claire,” he says to introduce me. “This is Calvin.”
“Hello.” He smiles.
I give a weak wave.
Calvin grabs his suitcase, and Tristan takes my hand. We walk toward level one.
“I can wheel my suitcase.”
“Let me act like a gentleman, please,” he says as he walks.
“You have a limo?” I frown.
He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Miles Media has limos. It’s not personally mine.”
I’m suddenly reminded of who he is. A Miles.
We walk for a while, and I feel anxious. I don’t want to let him go, but I know I have to. I went to France to fill my well—I got the ocean instead.
Tristan Miles is beautiful, smart, and witty, and he makes me laugh, which is not an easy feat, and that’s just on top of the amazing sex.
But more than that, he makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.
Never once, not even for a second, did I feel insecure about my body.
He constantly had his arm around me or was holding my hand, kissing me.
Listening to everything I said and giving me great conversation.
I think we talked the entire weekend; never once did it feel forced or uncomfortable.
He’s going.
I exhale as reality begins to seep through my bones. The man I was away with doesn’t really exist. He is a very small piece of who Tristan Miles is. Sadly, my first instincts are in fact his reality, and even though we’ve had an amazing time together ...
It ends here.
I can’t even fathom being with someone like him long term.
We take the elevator to level one, and he’s quiet too.
“This is me.” I smile as we get to my car.
I pop the trunk, and he puts my suitcase in and turns to me.
Now it’s awkward ... now it feels forced.
“Thank you so much for a great weekend.” I smile.
He takes me into his arms. “Are you sure you can’t stay at my house tonight? It is late.”
I give him a sad smile. “I have to get home to the boys.”
He nods and inhales sharply.
We stare at each other, and it’s as if we both have something to say but are holding our tongues.
“Goodbye.”
He kisses me, long and deep. Our eyes close at the contact. He holds my face in his hands, and my feet float from the floor. “Call me when you get home so I know you got there safe?” He pushes my hair behind my shoulders.
“Okay.” I smile up at him.
With one last big hug and another kiss, he lets me go, and I climb into my car.
He puts his hands into his jeans pockets as I pull out, and with one last sad wave, I drive off. My eyes watch him in the rearview mirror as I drive toward the exit of the parking lot. He’s standing still and watching my car disappear.
“Goodbye, Tristan.” I sigh. All good things come to an end ... damn it.
Why do you have to be him?
An hour later I pull into the driveway at home.
I sit and stare at it for a while. There’s a bike on the porch and a basketball left on the ground near the hoop. Shoes are scattered everywhere, and no matter how many times I tell them to pack their crap away, it always looks like this.
I smile at the familiarity. I’m home.
I pick up my phone and text Tristan.
Arrived home, safe and sound.
xoxox
I climb out of the car, and the front door flies open. Patrick and Harry come flying out. “Hello.” I laugh. They both nearly tackle me to the ground as they wrap their arms around me.
“Hello, my darlings. I missed you.” I cuddle them both and squeeze them tight.
“Did you bring us presents?” Patrick asks.
“Yes, hello, Mom,” I correct him.
“Hello, Mom,” Patrick repeats.
“Mom, Fletcher is out of control,” Harry says. “He didn’t rinse the dishes before he put them in the dishwasher, and now it’s clogged.”
“Oh.” I frown as I pop the trunk.
“Him and Grandma are trying to fix it now.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I mutter as I grab my suitcase. Harry takes it from me and starts to pull it up the driveway.
“Let me do it,” Patrick says.
“No,” Harry snaps. “You’re too little.”
“I am not too little,” Patrick yells at the top of his voice as he swings a punch at his brother.
Harry pushes Patrick, and he falls over. “Oww. Mom, he pushed me!” he yells.
I roll my eyes. Ugh. I haven’t missed their bickering. “Shh, it’s late,” I whisper. “Keep your voice down. Poor Mrs. Reynolds will wake up.”
I glance up at the window next door. If the truth be known, Mrs. Reynolds is already watching us. She knows what happens in the street before it actually happens.
We walk up to the front porch. “Why are everyone’s shoes everywhere?” I ask. “The shoebox is for shoes.”
For God’s sake. I stop and throw all the shoes into the shoebox as the boys continue dragging my suitcase into the house. We must look like slobs to the rest of the street.
Every day, fifteen pairs of shoes are scattered everywhere. Every single night, I put them all back into the shoebox. Yeesh.
I walk into the house and through the living area out to the kitchen and frown as I take in the sight.
The dishwasher is pulled out from the wall, and Fletcher is on his back underneath it.
There are tools scattered all over the kitchen floor, and he is shining the flashlight on his phone up into it. “Hi, Mom,” he calls. “I’m fixing the dishwasher.”
“Great.” I frown at my mother. “Does he know what he’s doing?” I mouth.
“No.” She widens her eyes and shrugs. “He doesn’t.”
God.
“How was it, love?” Mom smiles as she pulls me into a hug.
“It was wonderful. Thank you so much for watching the kids.” Woofy, our dog, comes flying around the corner with a huge cone on his head. “What the heck happened to Woofy?” I ask.
“Oh, he chased a squirrel under a metal fence and cut his back,” Mom says.
“Oh no. Is he okay?” I bend and pull my faithful friend’s face to mine. “Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Yes, but he got stitches, and now he needs to wear a cone so that he can’t chew them out.”
“Ugh, why didn’t you tell me over the phone?”
“Because we wanted you to relax. I’m going to take a shower, and then I want to hear everything.” She disappears upstairs.
“Okay.” I exhale heavily as I look around at the chaos.
“Where are my presents?” Patrick asks.
“They’re wrapped up. You can have them tomorrow. I have to unpack my entire suitcase to find them, and it’s too late now,” I say.
“Aww.” He frowns as he puts his hands on his hips in disgust. “I’ve been waiting up for this.”
“I thought you were waiting up for me.” I smirk as I tickle him and pull him into a hug.
“I was, really—I was just pretending.” He corrects himself for being insensitive.
I glance over and see Harry sitting on the couch. He never demands my attention but needs it more than anyone. I go and sit beside him, and Patrick flops on my lap.
“What have I missed, Harry?” I ask.
“Everything,” he says, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve been gone too long, and I don’t want you going away again. I was getting out of control at school with you not here.”
I smile and mess up his hair. “Okay, no more trips.”
“Do you promise?” he asks.
“I promise.”
Fletcher climbs up from underneath the dishwasher and turns it on. “I fixed it, Mom,” he announces.
I smile. Fletcher likes to fix things. I think he thinks that’s what he should do as the man of the house. “Thanks, buddy.” I hold my arms out for him, and he comes and hugs me. “I missed you.” I squeeze him tight. “Thanks for taking care of everyone.”
I’m not joking; I’m really not going away again. I missed them desperately.
The dishwasher begins to churn, and Fletcher smiles proudly. “Told you I fixed it.”
“I never had any doubts.” I smile.
“Harry and Patrick, upstairs to clean your teeth. I’ll come up in a moment. You have school tomorrow.”
They moan and walk upstairs.
Fletcher packs up all the tools into the toolbox. “I’m taking them out to the garage.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
He disappears outside.
I go to the bathroom and then turn the television channel. I’m walking over to the fridge when I feel something wet on my foot. Huh?
I glance down, and my eyes widen in horror.
Water is flying out of the bottom of the dishwasher; the entire floor is flooded, and it is running into the next room.
“Ahh!” I yell. “Fletcher. Turn the water off.” He doesn’t reply, and I run to the linen closet and grab whatever I can to stop the house from flooding. “Fletcher!” I scream as I throw blankets onto the floor. “Quick.”
He appears, and his face falls in horror as he sees the flooding.
“Don’t just stand there!” I yell. “Turn the water off.”
He runs outside.
The water is spurting out of the bottom of the dishwasher now like a fire hose.
The kitchen is four inches deep, and the living area carpet is all wet too.
What the fuck did he do? “Ahh,” I cry as I try to make a dam so it won’t go farther.
The water turns off, and I pant as I work fast to try to stop the carnage.
Fletcher comes running back in. “What do I do?”
“Get some towels; help me mop this up, honey.” He runs off, and we get to work.
“What the hell happened?” I hear Mom cry. I look to the top of the stairs and see my mother sopping wet and wrapped in a towel with a headful of shampoo. “I can’t rinse off the shampoo. The water stopped. What am I supposed to do now?” she cries.
For fuck’s sake.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Back to reality.
It’s Monday morning, and I walk into the office. I can hardly wipe the satisfied grin from my face.
“Well, hello there.” Marley smirks as she looks me up and down. “Look at you, all glowy and shit?”
I pull her into a hug. “Thank you for forcing me to go. You were right; I really needed it.”
“You liked it?” She frowns in surprise.
“I loved it. I even booked in for next year.”
“Yes.” She pumps her fist. “I fucking knew you would love that motivational shit.”
“Who knew?” I smile and walk past her into my office and take a seat.
“Do you want a coffee?” Marley calls.
“Umm ...” I frown as I dig my phone out of my bag.
“You’re going to need it. You have like a thousand emails to answer.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay, thanks.”
I plug my phone in to charge, and the screen lights up.
Five missed calls, Tristan.
Shit, when did he call me? I scroll through to the missed calls. Last night.
Hmm. I was so exhausted after I mopped up the lake-size flood in the house, and by the time the emergency plumber left, I didn’t even check my phone.
Oh well. I turn it on silent, put it down, and boot up my computer. I smile broadly. I honestly feel like I haven’t been here for a month. So rejuvenated.
My stomach growls, and I glance at my watch. Eleven thirty. Marley was right; I haven’t even come up for air this morning.
A knock sounds at the door, and I glance up at it. Where’s Marley?
“Come in,” I call.
I keep reading an email, then glance up to see Tristan standing there. Navy suit, pale-pink shirt, and crimson tie—looking as gorgeous as can be. “Tristan,” I stammer. “What are you doing here?”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Well, you’re not answering my calls, so I had no choice.” He walks over to me and bends and kisses my lips.
I jerk back from him. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you hello.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?” He frowns.
“Tristan.” I stare at him for a moment. He can’t be serious. “The dirty weekend was just that. One weekend. I don’t want anything with you.”