Chapter 13
Thirteen
Grabbing the key card from a much friendlier concierge, I take the stairs two at a time to reach the fourth floor. Yes, I could’ve used the elevator, but I need to burn off this anxious energy.
Upon entering the room, I find Beck’s overnight bag right where she said it would be.
It’s lying open with the contents scattered around and spilling out on top of the table.
I shouldn’t have expected anything different.
Scooping up her things, I resist the urge to fold and neatly place them back inside the bag as they should be.
Instead, I shove them in, dropping a couple of items on the floor in the process.
Bending to grab what fell, I collect a sheer forest-green bra with tiny pink rose details and a matching thong.
This is a visual I did not need this morning.
I swear the world is conspiring against me.
After Beck fell asleep last night, I lay still beside her, watching her in the moonlight.
The soft rise and fall of her chest, how her thick black lashes fanned across her cheeks.
I memorized the designs and bold colours of her tattoos across her shoulders and arms. I thought about how it had felt to hold her on the dance floor.
How our casual touches felt natural and familiar.
I never moved away when she sought me out in her sleep.
Finally, in the early-morning hours, I drifted off to sleep with her snuggled into my side.
I’m not sure why I had such an extreme reaction when I woke up.
I knew where I was and who was beside me.
Let’s blame it on my rock-hard cock pressed between her ass cheeks. Fuck me.
Slipping her undergarments into the bottom of her bag, trying not to imagine her wearing them later, I zip it up and grab her leather jacket. Looking around the room, I don’t see anything else. April has already been by to pick up her things.
Vaughan and I need to talk about last night. I don’t know what April thinks is going on between us, but Beck and I are just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be. It has to be.
When I enter my room, the first thing I see is Beck sitting in a chair at the small table. One foot is on the seat, and the other is swinging back and forth. My shirt has gathered around her waist, and her underwear is on full display. Where is that fucking robe? She’s trying to kill me.
“Breakfast is here,” she says, smiling as she gestures to the heaps of food on the table, as she nibbles on a croissant.
“I see that.” Placing her bag on the bed, I sit across from her.
“Here, I think you need this,” she says, sliding me a cup of black coffee. “You didn’t growl at the person at the front desk, did you? I’m used to your early-morning surliness, but there’s no reason anyone else should have to deal with it.”
“No growling, I promise.” I quirk a small smile and accept the cup.
“I see you ordered way more than two people could possibly eat for breakfast.” Fresh fruit salads, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, as well as a variety of pastries cover the small space. “It looks like we are at an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“I may have overdone it a little. Besides cupcakes, I wasn’t sure what you eat for breakfast.”
“I don’t know what your aversion to cupcakes is. How is eating a cupcake for breakfast any different from eating something like French toast or pancakes with maple syrup? Or even that Danish.” She points towards the table as her voice begins to rise. “Don’t you dare judge me for what I like.”
“Beck,” I say patiently, interrupting her rant. “They didn’t have any. I asked.”
“Oh.” She turns a pretty shade of pink. “Okay, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I nod towards the food. “Eat.”
“Okay,” she says as she fills her plate. “This all looks delicious.” Glancing up at me, she asks, “Are you going to eat?”
“I will.” Placing my hot coffee on the table, I pick up a plate and choose what I want.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asks before taking a bite of watermelon. I watch as she catches juice with her tongue.
“Plan?” I glance away from her mouth and down to the plate in my hand. Blinking away the vision of her licking her lips, I scoop up scrambled eggs.
“Yeah. Do you have anything you need to do here before we go back to Emerley?”
“No. After we eat, you can get dressed, and we will head out.”
“Sounds good.”
We eat silently for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts when she says, “Hey Ryan, I know Vaughan said you went to boarding school, but where did you actually grow up?”
“My parents have a condo in Toronto, but I wouldn’t exactly call it my home, though. When I wasn’t at school or summer camp when I was a kid, I stayed at the lake. My parents hired different nannies over the years to take care of me and try to keep me out of trouble. My grandparents were close by.”
“That’s kind of sad,” she murmurs. Picking up her coffee cup, she asks, “Do you have any siblings?”
“It’s all I knew growing up, and no, I’m an only child.”
“Me too. Do you see your parents very often?”
“No, but I visit my grandfather regularly. What about you?”
“Not really. They come to Emerley once or twice a year, but they never stay too long.”
“You grew up in the States?”
“Yeah. My father grew up in Emerley but went to university in Boston. That’s where he met my mom.
After they got married, they moved to Maine and had me.
He grew up in the same house that Aunt Maggie lives in.
It’s nothing like it was then. Aunt Maggie has filled it full of personality now that she owns it. ”
“How did you end up moving to Emerley?” I know bits and pieces of this story, but the more we talk about her, the less we will talk about me.
“Now there’s a good story.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It started with my flunking out of university. Don’t judge.” She points her fork at me.
“No judgement from me.” I raise my palm. “Trust me.”
“Well, let’s just say my parents had big feelings about it.
They’re academics, so the expectations they had for me were high.
There was a lot of tension, so when Aunt Maggie invited me to come visit her for the summer, I couldn’t get there fast enough.
Living with her was so easy. I didn’t feel like I was walking on eggshells all the time.
She has always accepted me for exactly who I am. ”
“I’m glad you have her,” I say honestly. Her story is closer to mine than she thinks. The only difference is my parents had no big aspirations for me. The bar was pretty low from a pretty young age. “What happened next?” I ask curiously.
“I started working at the bakery. Aunt Maggie tried to teach me how to bake but it was hopeless.” She laughs. “I was much better suited to working out front. That’s how I met Banks.”
“Tell me more about that. Had you ever considered becoming a tattoo artist before?”
“God, no. My parents would have died.” She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.
“It was…serendipity. Banks stopped at the bakery at least twice a day, and I got to know him well. One morning he mentioned that he needed a shop assistant. I wasn’t the best barista, to no one’s surprise, so I decided to give it a try.
I started as an assistant and moved to an apprentice and then an artist over a few years. And ta-da, here I am now.”
“I’ve seen your work. You are very talented.”
“Thank you; that means a lot. Drawing is the one thing I do well.” Her face flushes with the compliment. “What about you? Did you always want to help people?”
“No.” I try to think quickly about how I want to address this question as honestly as possible. “It took time to figure out what I wanted in life. I knew I couldn’t continue on the path I was heading. And I had no desire to go into the family business.”
“What do your parents do?”
“My father is a businessman. Mostly imports and exports,” I say vaguely. “My mother does various charity work around the city.”
“Do you enjoy being a therapist?” she asks thoughtfully. “It must be a tough job.”
“I really do. It’s challenging but also very rewarding. If I can help just one person, then it’s all worth it.”