6. Lucienne
Saturday, October 14th
“He’ll be here any second. He said he’s looking for a parking space. Ugh, this place is a madhouse.”
Colette is grinning at her phone, occasionally craning her neck over the crowds of people on the lookout for Zade. I wanted to make sure that October was jam-packed with seasonal activities, but they’ve been difficult to plan around Colette’s dating life. Therefore, I’m thrilled that she posed the idea that we all go apple picking together in Shelburne, a town south from Burlington along the shore of Lake Champlain. I’m eager to meet the guy who has her swooning.
From early September to mid-October, the orchard is teeming with people, especially on the weekends. Children and their parents are jumping into the trailer for hayrides and eating apple fritters from the bake shop. I’ll be taking a gallon of maple syrup home, which will last me until next year, thank you very much.
“Hopefully he’s here soon so we can catch the next hayride out to the orchard,” I say.
Then, Colette squeals and takes off into the crowd. She leaps into Zade’s arms excitedly, planting a kiss on his cheek. I watch as he burrows his face in her hair, laughing.
I feel a painful tug in the center of my chest as they drink each other in. Smiles, gentle touches, their bodies moving with one another. It’s so lovely, it almost makes me tear up. Colette looks happy and Zade, though I don’t know him, seems mesmerized by her.
They lace their fingers together and walk over to me. “Zade, this is Lucienne, my absolute best friend. Don’t be alarmed if she makes any kind of threat, veiled or direct,” she says, staring up at him playfully.
“So long as he doesn’t hurt you, there’s no need for me to make threats of any kind,” I say.
He’s a couple inches taller than Colette with a freckled face and piercing blue eyes. His jet-black hair is tussled and voluminous. I’d be willing to bet he played some kind of sport in college—he has an athlete’s build. All around, he’s pleasant to look at and one hundred percent Colette’s type.
Zade doesn’t skip a beat and laughs, extending a hand. “It’s good to know where I stand. Nice meeting you,” he says.
“You too. So, we’ll catch the next hayride, I guess. It should be here soon. Colette and I already got bags.” I dangle a plastic bag at the two of them and loop my arm through my own.
“We were going to pop into the bakeshop. Would you mind giving us a shout when the tractor comes back?” Colette asks.
“I’m on it, boss,” I say, giving her a small salute. They take off into the bake shop, Zade placing a protective hand at the small of Colette’s back.
For a moment, I picture Jude’s broad hand gripping my waist. The other day standing on my doorstep with him, drenched in moonlight, was not how I imagined the night ending, considering how the day had started.
Before our meeting, he was timid, but determined. He tried to make peace and I threw it back in his face—again. I knew I was only making matters worse, but I couldn’t bear to watch it happen in front of me.
His level of professionalism is something I could never achieve. I’ve never let myself get that out of control, almost yelling at a colleague for… giving me a compliment.
Even though Colette’s advice was echoing in the back of my head, I didn’t want to follow through. I’d rather pretend it wasn’t happening, and the best way to do that was to stop Jude from apologizing tirelessly. Don’t talk about it; just put our heads down and do our work.
And then he saw right through me. Or perhaps he saw me for exactly who I was in that very moment.
He didn’t try to tell me my feelings weren’t valid or convince me everything would be fine.
He didn’t try to fix me. He listened. He heard me.
No one has done that before.
He shared a sliver of his own vulnerability in return and I wanted to do nothing more than protect it. To take what he had given me and keep it somewhere safe.
The sincerity and intensity in his eyes didn’t stoke the fire. It deprived it of oxygen, forcing it to dwindle. It felt wonderful, so wonderful that I wanted to head for the hills before it slipped away. I wanted to take it with me, exactly as it was, before I ruined it somehow.
As awkward and contentious as things were, we both decided enough was enough and found a way to laugh with each other and get to know one another a little bit more.
If I hadn’t been holding my bag so tightly as we stood on my stoop, I would have caught his hand in mine as it fell to his side.
In that moment, I was willing him to close the distance between us and press his lips to mine. I wanted to feel his body mold itself to mine, his warm hands against my skin.
His hair cast his face in shadow. I almost pushed it back and tugged him to me. There was a tick in his jaw before he said goodnight and strode off into the night.
I want to experience more of Jude Carr. I hope I get the chance.
Thursday and Friday were a blur. I started looking at possible templates to use and mocking up designs. There was a flurry of emails between me and the client, tweaking font selections, branding placement, and site functions.
My concentration was fleeting, and no amount of caffeine was able to keep me focused on anything but the thought of Jude’s cedarwood scent.
I want to feel the roughness of his stubble against my inner thighs, my hands tangled in his hair.
I smiled to myself when I saw his name on an email or in our Teams chat. God, I touched my finger to the screen to trace the letters. He doesn’t have an uploaded portrait, which is completely unfair—it has to be against company policy or something. It means I can only see him when we’re in the office.
Or maybe that can change in the future…
“Lucy! The tractor is here! Put your foot down, girl!” shouts Colette.
I was obviously lost in my own lust-filled daydream. Colette and Zade had come out of the bakeshop and must not have seen me because when I turn to find them, they’ve already grabbed seats for us.
Right as the tractor starts up, I hop into the trailer and plop myself down on a particularly pokey haybale. The smell of earth and cow manure, a strangely pleasant combination, trails along with us as we’re hauled out to the apple orchard to the west.
“Ah, I do love the smell of cow shit in the morning.” Colette takes a deep breath and nearly gags.
“Gotta love shit if you love apples.” Zade nods. She gives him a bewildered look.
“What?” she asks.
“Hey, without the shit to fertilize fruit-bearing crops, we wouldn’t be out here about to pick apples,” I laugh.
“See! She gets it, babe!” Zade offers his hand for a high-five, which I meet with a slap!
There’s nothing wrong with a little juvenile fun. I think I’m going to like this guy because I see why Colette does.
“As much as we all love shit, I think we’re almost there. Let’s hop off at the row of Cortlands. I want to make a few pies,” Colette laughs.
We don’t ask the tractor to stop. Instead, we leap off the back and chuckle as the driver shakes his fist in our direction. Everyone else in the trailer laughs as they drive off farther into the orchard.
Colette drags Zade through the rows of trees, excitedly examining some low-hanging apples as she goes. I don’t mind letting them be all lovey-dovey on our little outing. Making a pie sounds nice, but so does making applesauce in the slow cooker. I hum to myself with pleasure, thinking about apples and cinnamon simmering in my apartment.
I’m partial to Golden Delicious apples for making applesauce, so I wander a few rows over and start to fill my bag. This section of the orchard hasn’t been picked over yet. Now who the hell is discriminating against my Goldies? An actual travesty.
The sun is high in the afternoon sky, a light breeze rustling the branches. Colette’s airy laugh echoes through the trees and I can feel the change of season settling in my bones.
Gideon and Greta are snuggled in my sweatshirt pocket as I lie on the couch. The three of us are enjoying the episode of True Blood when Sookie first asks Bill to bite her while losing her virginity. Hell, that’s a core memory. Imagine that being your first sexual experience. It’s not exactly an ice breaker at your next company party, but it would be a fun story to tell.
My applesauce is simmering in the slow cooker, and I absolutely came home with a hearty gallon of grade A local maple syrup.
I don’t usually check my work email on the weekends. However, this new client is especially needy. In the past few hours since arriving back home, they’ve emailed me six times. The best part is that each email contains a single question.
Give me patience or give me strength. Or both.
Deciding to make a few mental notes for when I sign on Monday morning, I whip out my phone and open my email. Instead of seeing an email from my client at the top of my inbox, there is an email from Jude to the team. You have my attention. Why is he emailing everyone on a Saturday?
Maybe a little too eagerly, I tap on his email.
My heart is pounding as I clutch my phone to my chest.
Wheek! Wheek!Wheek!
Gideon and Greta poke their heads out of my sweatshirt pocket and stare at me. “Mama’s fine, babies.”
I scratch behind their ears one after the other until they start to snooze off again. I’ll just save his contact card. It’s for work purposes, obviously. Maybe if I get stranded at the office again, I’ll at least have his number.
That is some intense denial, Lucienne.
I’d be insane to think he sent that email with the intent of me having his number. If he wanted me to have it, he would have given it to me the other night, right?
The thought makes me feel a twinge of disappointment. Either way, I should save this number. There’s bound to be a reason I’ll need it at some point.
Crap. I’m too far gone.
My palms begin to sweat as I grip my phone tighter, Jude’s contact card open. I need to regain some semblance of control over this.
My attraction to him is only growing and if I don’t take control back, I’ll end up throwing myself at him like a crazed horndog. Be bold, Lucienne. I save the contact card and open up a new text thread.
Lucienne:Hi. It’s Lucienne Amato. Making sure you have my number as well.
Seconds later, three little bubbles appear in the text window. My heart is in my throat.
Jude:What’re you doing checking your work email on a Saturday night?
Lucienne:Oh, you know me. Always plugged in.
Jude:Doesn’t sound like the Lucienne I’ve had the pleasure of working with.
He’s flirting with me. That son of a bitch is flirting with me. I’ve forgotten how to do this.
Lucienne:I think you’ve caught her on some bad days, imo.
Jude:What does ”imo” mean? But maybe next time I’ll catch her on a good one.
I laugh loudly, scaring Gideon and Greta and causing them to scurry. Shit! My phone crashes to the floor as I jump up and chase after them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gideon dash down the hallway toward my bedroom, but Greta scampers under the fridge.
The fucking fridge.
She’s the huskier of the two, so it’s a miracle she even squeezed herself under there. Gideon is the easier target, so I dart down the hallway and find him curled up in my discarded clothes on the floor.
“Baby boy! Shh, shh. I’m so sorry Mommy startled you like that! Your little heart is beating so fast. I’ve got you,” I breathe.
I’m practically out of breath from the sheer panic alone, but running down my own hallway might be a contributing factor too. Maybe I’ve been too sedentary.
Already sweating, I shed my sweatshirt. Once I’ve got Gideon secure in the cage, I pant as I return to the kitchen. I kneel down and place my cheek to the floor to look under the fridge, where Greta has stuffed herself into the back corner.
“Greta, sweetie, it’s Mommy. Come here, baby. It’s okay.” I motion for her to come to me, but her little beady eyes are struck with horror and she’s shaking. My heart breaks.
I stand up and check the fridge. It’s a long shot, but maybe I can coax her out with her favorite—shit again. Gideon is generally the food-motivated one, but Greta loves raw carrots. Somehow, she can tell the difference between the organic, raw carrots from the co-op and the non-organic raw carrots from the grocery store.
The girl knows what she likes.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t have any.
With a sigh, I fix a quick plate of mixed berries and spinach, hoping it’ll do the trick. If she gets just a little bit closer to the edge, I might be able to reach underneath and pull her out gently.
“I just laughed, Greta, baby. And now it’s eerily quiet. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
My efforts are futile. The plate of guinea pig bait sits untouched for thirty minutes. I sit with my legs crossed on the tiled kitchen floor when I realize I left Jude’s text unanswered.
Triple shit.
This guinea pig crisis disrupted the first flirtatious exchange I’ve had in years.
Crawling to the living room out of pure laziness, I snatch my phone from under the coffee table.
Lucienne:Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you hanging. Had a little emergency over here.
Jude:Are you okay???
Lucienne: I’m fine. Okay, I have two guinea pigs and they got spooked and ran off. I got one of them back in their cage, but the other ran under the fridge and won’t come out. I’ve tried everything. I even put out a plate of food and they won’t budge.
Oh, this is wonderful. The man flirts with you and now he’s picturing you chasing two rodents around. Adorable rodents, but rodents, nonetheless.
Jude:What do guinea pigs eat?
Lucienne:Fruits, vegetables, leafy greens. Why?
Jude:OK. Guinea pig rescue en route.
Quadruple fucking shit. What is he—he’s not about to come over?
Lucienne:What are you talking about?
Jude:I’m already at the co-op doing some evening shopping. I’ll grab some things and drop them off. Would that help?
Lucienne:It couldn’t hurt. Thanks, Jude.
My stomach sinks and I know I’m already biting my bottom lip raw. I just invited him over—well, he offered to pick up guinea pig bait and come over, but either way, he’s going to be here.
I”m elated and horrified.
That’s when I realize I’m wearing fleece pajama pants with jack-o-lanterns on them and an old, stained t-shirt from college. My hair is in a knot on the top of my head, but my curls are escaping as I sprint around, trying to find anything else remotely appealing to wear.
I dip into the bathroom and look in the mirror. My face is pink and my freckles seem to have multiplied against my flushed complexion. Absentmindedly, I find myself splashing water on my face and curling my eyelashes. I do not want to look like roadkill. I’m still wearing these pants.
Knock! Knock!
He’s here. How is he already here?
Did he freaking sprint? Fly? Teleport?
I walk down the hall, taking heaving breaths. When I open the door, Jude Carr is standing in front of me. His hair is pulled back in a bun and in the days since I last saw him, he’s let his stubble grow out.
This isn’t how I’ve seen him before.
Clean-cut Jude at work doesn’t compete with the rugged, casually dressed Jude in my doorway.
His dark wash jeans hang loose on his hips. The gray flannel shirt hugs his chest and arms. My brain goes blank and I don’t think I can feel my feet. He studies me for a moment, looking me over. He arches an eyebrow.
“Jack-o-lanterns? How festive,” he says with a smile.
I gape at him. My legs won’t work and my eyes are locked on his mouth. He looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek.
“Lucienne, are you okay?”
I blurt out the first thought that comes to mind, like an absolute moron. “You’re not in a suit.”
He eyes me, perplexed, a smile teasing his lips. “It’s Saturday night. Should I be?”
“Erm no, sorry. Come in. I don’t—thank you, I think?”
I’m stuttering. Awesome.
He walks in and sets his grocery bag on my kitchen counter. He’s looking at everything with an intense curiosity. It’s sickeningly attractive, the way he is trying to see little bits of me scattered around my home.
“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t rescued—what’s your guinea pig’s name?”
“Greta.”
“Greta. Seems like a perfect fit. I don’t know why,” he says.
“She’s still under there. What did you bring?” I point to the bag he set on the countertop.
“Oh, yeah. You said fruits and vegetables, so I got kale, blueberries, a tomato, and some carrots. I probably should have asked for specifics instead of buying up half the produce section,” he laughs.
He leans down to pick up the plate from the floor. Then he starts to unpack the guinea buffet and add items to the plate.
I lean with my back against the sink as Jude returns the plate to the floor. He stays crouched, peering under the fridge as if to assess how serious this rescue mission really is. I hear him mutter something softly and though I don’t catch what he says, goose bumps appear on my arms.
This man is crouched in my kitchen, trying to coax my guinea pig out from under the fridge on a Saturday night.
“She doesn’t seem to be shaking. Is that good?” he asks, turning his attention to me.
“Hopefully she’s calming down, yeah. Maybe it was your demeanor. I was freaking out; I probably made it worse,” I sigh.
“Oddly enough, I can be very calm in times of crisis. Sometimes.”
“That makes one of us.”
Jude huffs a laugh. “I kind of had a feeling. Should we just wait?”
This isn’t the first time Greta has been spooked easily and hidden somewhere difficult to reach. One time, she even got herself stuck in an empty teapot, which was admittedly adorable as well as terrifying because I couldn’t get her out for over an hour.
I throw my head back. “Unfortunately, it might be the only option. She’s stubborn like her mama.”
Jude stands and twists, stretching out his back. When he does, his shirt lifts enough for me to see skin above the waist of his jeans. I rip my eyes away as he turns to look at me.
Then, he approaches me and takes my hands in his own. The pads of this thumbs are pressing softly into my palms.
Oh. Hello.
“Do you want me to wait with you? So long as I’m not intruding. If you had other plans or—”
I squeeze his hands once. I can’t help myself. I want him to stay because I want to know where this is going, where it can go.
“Other plans? In this get-up? No intrusion and I’d—I’d really like it if you did stay. If you want to.”
Before he can even respond, I tentatively tug his hands until he’s almost pressing me up against the sink. He doesn’t resist; he moves with me. A rush of heat sizzles beneath my skin.
“Lucienne, can I tell you something?” he asks with a breathy laugh.
Words are completely escaping me. “Mhm.”
Jude puts some space between us but keeps his hold on my hands. They’re rough and warm. “When I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever set eyes on. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that with all the spilled coffee and near co-op wipeouts. And I’d like a chance to get to know you.”
“Is this us starting over?” I laugh with a smile.
We’re so close, I can feel his breath on my cheek. He timidly brings one hand to cup the back of my neck and the other is pulling my waist tight against him.
We both react to the sudden contact. An involuntary huff escapes me as a soft groan slips through his teeth. I can see his pulse pounding in his neck.
“It can be, if that’s what you want. Is this okay?” His hands are trembling.
This is what I want.
I spread my hands flat against his chest and smile, feeling his heart hammering.
“It is what I want because I am wildly attracted to you and I’d very much like to get to know you too, Jude.”