38. Hildy
Hildy
THE DAY OF THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
That was it: the full contents of Walter’s supersecret message.
Except not really, because there were a lot of invisible layers at play.
This was clearly a callback to the note she’d left him all those summers ago.
Apart from the room number, obviously—and the fact that it smelled like grown-up Walter instead of seventeen-year-old Hildy’s excessively sweet perfume.
She also doubted he’d answer the door in a lacy purple nightie.
If she knocked.
Assuming he was really committed to the reenactment bit, Walter was basically asking her to have sex with him.
Except they weren’t clueless teenagers anymore, which honestly sounded like a bonus.
Hildy had no desire to relive the nerves and fumbling of her actual first time, much less their thwarted hotel hookup.
Back then, her motive for taking that step with Walter had been a muddle of affection and attraction alongside a healthy dose of wanting to get it done, so she could be an official member of the Sexually Experienced Club.
The idea of sleeping with Walter affected her in a very different way now.
It was grounded in her body, an immediate rush of heat at the thought of his naked weight on top of her.
Or underneath; the image varied. While that mental movie played out, it was easy to ignore the faint alarm bells ringing in the background.
Until she remembered that this was Walter she was fantasizing about, sweating and moving and breathing. If she did this with him, Hildy would be letting her guard all the way down. Which was a lot scarier than dropping her panties.
She slid that trepidation to one side of the scale. On the other, there was the fact that she wanted this—wanted him—a lot.
Hildy was still contemplating during her long, scented bath, and the meticulous moisturizing that followed. (Things she would have done anyway, due to the thigh-high slit on the dress she planned to wear later, at the “real” wedding that was actually a dupe.)
Could it be that Walter was right about their past not being a toxic dumpster fire? He was good at getting to the heart of a story—at least as a reporter—which made it hard to dismiss his argument out of hand. Plus, it was appealing to think she hadn’t been the bane of his existence.
As for Walter’s role in her life … if she looked past the hurt, Hildy could admit that some of the hard parts had been good for her.
Without Walter’s judgment in the back of her mind, she wouldn’t have worked so hard to become independent.
It would have been too easy to rely on her family’s money, even at the cost of compromising her vision.
Hildy might not have started Life, Styled if she wasn’t so determined to prove she could do it.
And she was fiercely proud of that magazine—the way she imagined a mother who actually wanted to raise her child would feel about a beloved daughter.
There was a staircase in her brain, one step leading to another and then another.
If she hadn’t been a blight on Walter’s prospects, and vice versa, it opened a window onto a different view of her past. Maybe waking up every day bouncing out of her skin at the thought of seeing him again wasn’t the worst mistake of her life.
Did that mean she could have it back? All the spark and delight and wonder?
When she tried to remember how it felt to be that young and innocent, Hildy pictured Fiona and Robbie frolicking through the meadow, all soft and fresh and full of hope.
Except turning back the clock to their teenage dream wasn’t an option for Hildy and Walter.
She’d been partly right too, about the lingering marks of experience, but being older and wiser wasn’t all bad.
Hildy liked this version of herself, a little sharper and more sophisticated.
And she was not indifferent to the adult edition of Walter, with his confidence and a strength that went beyond the physical.
At the same time, Hildy had a hunch that underneath the good hair and tailored clothing, traces remained of their younger selves.
She wasn’t sure if it was a remnant of her adolescent brain that kept drawing her back to Walter or something less immature.
Either way, part of her could not stop wondering: Maybe this time?
“Hildy,” Walter said when he opened the door. It sounded more like a sigh of relief than a greeting.
He moved to the side, and she stepped past him.
Eight AM was a funny time for an assignation, but since when had they done things in the normal order?
There was enough light filtering through the drawn curtains for her to see the trail of rose petals leading to the bed. Music played faintly in the background.
Her throat tightened. Walter remembered. More than that, he’d made an actual effort to recreate the scene.
“When did you do all this?” Hildy tried to sound unaffected even though she was melting on the inside.
“Before the wedding.”
“So, in the middle of the night?” She had a vision of him creeping through the hotel garden plucking rose petals under cover of darkness.
Walter glanced around the room as if seeing it through her eyes. “Is it too cheesy?”
“It’s the perfect amount of cheese.”
He rocked back on his heels, looking everywhere but at her. “Well, thanks for coming.”
It felt like they were communicating via translator, with a slightly artificial lag between sentences. Having made up her mind to be here, Hildy didn’t want to waste time dancing around the issue. “It’s weird, right?”
“What is?” he asked.
“Us. Like this.”
“Standing ten feet apart?”
“That’s part of it.”
Walter took several steps in her direction. “Better?”
“I don’t know.” Somehow Hildy had envisioned them tumbling into bed without needing to discuss it. Right now that seemed as probable as bungee jumping without a harness. They were too busy choking on this strange new politeness. “Do we just hit the reset button? Different era, commencing now.”
“We can ease into it. There’s no hurry.”
“It’s been ten years, Walter. We’re not exactly rushing things. I just…”
“You just what?” he prompted, when she didn’t finish the thought.
“I’m not sure how to act. Are we supposed to be serious now? What are the rules?”
He nodded slowly, brow creased in thought. “You want something more formal to mark the occasion. Like a treaty?”
“Or a parade. And speeches. For Armistice Day.” It was a funny mental image, even though the last thing they needed was more pressure. She smoothed her hands over her hips, watching him track the motion with his eyes. At least she had his full attention.
“It wasn’t like this in the woods.”
“Yeah, well.” Enchanted forests didn’t come with a bunch of expectations. There were no beds daring you to find out whether the reality of sleeping with Walter Burns could possibly compare to ten years of sexual tension. They needed a way to get past this last barrier between them.
Hildy crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”
Walter pointed at himself.
“Yes, you.” She indicated the spot directly in front of her. When they were standing toe-to-toe, Hildy placed her hands on his shoulders. Walter ducked his head to kiss her, but she leaned away. “Wait.”
“You want to talk more?” To his credit, it sounded like a sincere offer, despite the pinch of resignation around his eyes.
“Wouldn’t that be a role reversal?” She was tempted to torture him by pretending, but that wasn’t the game she wanted to play right now. “Are you sure you’ve let go of all our troubles? No lingering resentments or festering grievances?”
He looked down at her hands, which had moved to his top button. “I—no? Nothing festering on my end.”
Hildy nodded as she undid the first button. “Then you won’t mind if I double-check.”
His throat moved as he swallowed. “Be my guest.”
“I’ll need to be thorough,” she warned, undoing another button.
“Touch me anywhere you have to.” He lifted his chin. “I can handle it.”
“You’re very brave,” she murmured, running a finger down the center of his chest. Walter shivered. “You okay?”
He opened his mouth to speak before opting for a nod instead.
When she had slipped the last button free of the fabric, Hildy spread her palms over his stomach, sliding them up and over his rib cage, past the wild beating of his heart to the smooth muscle of his shoulders. The shirt slipped down, and he eased his arms free of the sleeves.
Hildy took a moment to appreciate Walter’s upper body with her eyes before running her hands back down to his stomach. She pressed one thumb into the hollow of his belly button.
“Find anything?” he asked, choking back a laugh.
“All clear so far.” Her hands settled at his waist. “Looks like the only thing you’ve been hiding are these muscles.”
“You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”
“I know. But that was incidental nudity. Now it’s for me.” She slid a finger across his nipple, just because she could.
“I was always for you.”
Walter was deliberate with language, so she knew his use of I instead of it wasn’t an accident.
“Hildy.”
She wet her lips. Was he waiting for her to make a declaration in return?
“I should do you now,” he said, eyeing her dress. “To keep things equal.”
It was a fair point. She held her arms out to the side, silently offering permission. Have at it.
Walter reached for the bow at her neck. “It’s like a present I get to unwrap.”
“I thought you were going to say it’s like checking each other for ticks.”
“Am I that much of a downer?”
“I wish,” she sighed. “It would have been easier to resist you.”
“Is that so?” The pads of his fingers skimmed her bare shoulder. “You have the softest skin I have ever touched.”
Hildy suppressed the urge to tell him about her new body oil. He probably wasn’t looking for product recommendations right now. Turning her back, she shimmied the dress down to her waist, glancing at him over her shoulder before cutting her eyes in the direction of her bra strap. “A little help?”