17. Comms Down #2
“Sean.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We’ve talked about this.
You can’t say stuff like that. HR is going to persecute you if anyone files a complaint.
” I think back on him in Mission Control telling Julie Starr over the public loop to pack her purse before a spacewalk.
“Jesus, I can’t believe they haven’t already. ”
Sean leans back, his leather chair creaking again.
“There comes a point in your career, and in life for that matter, where you get grandfathered in. I’m lucky enough to be at the intersection of both of those points.
” He takes a sip of his ever-present mug of coffee.
“So stop getting your panties in a bunch, Kincaid.”
You really can’t help but love the guy, as inappropriate as he is. “All right then, Pops.” I smile when Sean frowns at his new nickname. “Now that we have the trip details sorted, I need to head out.”
Sean snorts. “Get out of here, you damn whippersnapper.”
I laugh, collecting my laptop bag. I have a therapy appointment to get to, but first I’m going to stop at home and surprise my girl. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to see another one of her bikinis.
Trish
“Trish! I’m home.”
The sound of keys jingling as they hit the bowl by the door follows, and I suppress the smile that instinctively wants to spread across my face.
Taking the tenth deep breath since I heard the garage door open a minute ago, I carefully arrange a polite smile on my face in time for Ian’s entrance into the living room where I’ve set up camp.
I ended up binge-watching more Korean dramas instead of the female power fest I’d originally planned. No telling what emotional turmoil this will bleed into my writing tomorrow.
Ian drops his computer bag next to mine on the bench by the French doors. The sight of both of our things next to each other, like they fit together, belong together, makes me swallow.
Ian’s quick steps falter when he sees I’ve dismantled the pillow and blanket fort we’d built, but he forges on with a smile. “I have great news.”
I can’t help but return the smile, watching him fairly bouncing in his shiny oxfords, which are probably ridiculously expensive. “I’ve never seen you so excited.”
He laughs, running his hand through his hair, tousling the blond locks.
“I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this excited.
” His grin deepens all the crinkles at his eyes, making him that much more handsome.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s real or if someone polled a group of women, chose their favorite features, and created him to be the undoing of all rationally-minded women. Women like me.
I take yet another deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “I take it the simulation went well today?”
His smile falters at my practiced bored tone, and pinpricks of guilt stab me. But Ian rallies as before, smiling even brighter. “Yes, but that isn’t what has me excited.” He pauses. “Well, not entirely.”
I feign interest in the television, moving the cursor through the list of international shows available. “Oh?”
“It has more to do with you, really. Us .”
My outstretched hand freezes, prompting a preview trailer to play for some Spanish thriller. I click off the television. “Us?” My eyes linger on the screen as I lower the controller.
“Yes.” Ian comes around to stand in front of me.
“I had this great idea during the meeting at the NBL this morning.” He starts to pace but stops when he realizes he can only take two steps before he has to turn, his long legs eating up the furniture-filled room.
Without the TV to distract me, I can appreciate just how good he looks, his light blue dress shirt tucked into his perfectly draped dress pants, showcasing a trim waist. He looks every inch of his upper-income self, even with his sleeves rolled up, showcasing an impressive amount of arm porn.
It’s hard to stay aloof. Especially when he takes my hands and pulls me to my feet, his blue eyes bright as they stare into mine.
“I’m taking you with me to Germany.” His blinding smile makes me blink.
My brain refuses to comprehend this.
Mistaking my surprise for excitement, he smiles wider, which I hadn’t thought possible. “When I go on the training trip for the Bartolomeo mission, I’ll take you with me.” He waits, like a proud puppy that finally learned to come when called.
“No.”
His smile dims. “Why not?” He lets go of my hands to gesture with his.
“It’ll be Oktoberfest. Think of all the people-watching.
” He tousles his hair again. “Maybe you could even write about it in one of your books.” When my expression doesn’t change, he finally frowns.
“If it’s about the money, don’t worry. I already bought the plane ticket for the seat next to mine.
” He shrugs. “True, I did buy it to give myself more room on the flight, but with you next to me I’m sure not to feel claustrophobic.
” He waggles his brows at me. “You’ve already helped me with that before. ”
Ah. There it is. The real reason. I should’ve known.
“I thought about upgrading the hotel, but then I thought a bed-and-breakfast would be more your style.”
Yes, five-star hotels aren’t fit for an ex-stripper. I bite my lip, chastising myself. In all fairness, Ian doesn’t know that. If he did…
Mentally I shake off the desire to come clean about my past. Now isn’t the time. I was going to tell Ian, back before the fundraiser, before I realized how foolish I was for hoping we could be together. But now… now there’s no need.
I wait for Ian to finish his lengthy description of a vacation I will never take with him. The castles, the food. He tries pacing again, musing about extending the trip, perhaps taking a cruise down the Danube. All while I block out the guilt from what I’m about to do.
It’s time. I didn’t want to end it like this. I should have ended it at the Ritz Carlton’s parking lot and just gotten in Rose’s darn car. But I was weak, and now here we are, Ian somehow still thinking that after the slap in the face the fundraiser had been to me, that he and I are an us .
“No.” My voice cuts through his ramblings about German vineyards and sweet wine.
“No?” He laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “What? You don’t like Riesling?”
“I don’t even know what that is, but sure, probably. I mean, I am a bed-and-breakfast girl after all.”
That brings him up short. “What?”
Okay, that may have been a bit childish. “Never mind.”
“Did you not want to stay at a B&B?” He takes out his phone. “’Cause I can get us a reservation anywhere. I just thought you’d like a more authentic experience.”
Dang it. That makes sense. I would rather stay at a B&B, and it kills me that he knows that.
“Listen, all you need is a passport, and I’ll take care of the rest.” His pointer finger scrolls over his phone screen before he turns it, showing me a picture of a castle. “We can stay here.”
He shows me a picture of a modern-looking chateau. “Hotel München Palace.” I blink at him. “You want to stay in a castle?”
He cups my face in his hands. “Fit for a queen.”
I frown hard at him. “That is the cheesiest line I have ever heard.” And yet I can feel myself giving in.
He laughs, one of his thumbs reaching over to smooth my brow. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make it less true.” His lips brush mine. “Come to Germany with me, Trish.”
Crud muffins . Regrouping, I step back. “No.” The distance isn’t enough, so I skirt the couch, placing it between us. “I’m not going to be your security blanket.”
“Security blanket?”
I try and drum up some indignation, but it’s probably more like a childish fit of pique. “For your claustrophobia.”
“That isn’t why I invited you.”
“I—”
“I want you to come with me. Be with me.”
I cross my arms over my chest, determined not to be swayed.
Rubbing a hand down his face, he groans. “Why does it seem like I’m missing something here?” His frustration is almost palpable.
I was hoping not to have it out quite yet, but maybe this is better. Firming my stance, I level him with a look. “I’m leaving, remember? After Jackie’s wedding. There’s no point in you rearranging your travel plans. I won’t even be here.”
I might as well have slapped him, given the look on his face.
Ian
“You’re still running away?” Out of all the things Trish could’ve said, this shocks me the most. I mean, we’re living together. And not just both of us taking up the same square footage. She’s fully moved into my room. Our room. We’ve chosen sides of the bed. Our toothbrushes share the same cup.
She turns away, staring out the windows overlooking the backyard. “I’m not running away.”
I laugh unkindly, my enthusiasm of earlier draining away.
“Seems like running away to me.” I should be above such snide, condescending remarks.
But I’m not. My emotions are out of control, and I’m having a hard time thinking of a way around this new idea of Trish’s.
Or rather, her old one, but one I’d thought forgotten. I guess I gave myself too much credit.
“We both knew this wasn’t permanent.” She crosses her arms over her chest. I’m only realizing now that’s she’s wearing an old T-shirt of mine. How can she say this while wearing my clothes? It seems so contrary. “Now you can reclaim your room after I clean up my mess.”
“I like our messy room.” And I do. Each article of clothing strewn over my stuff is evidence that I’m not alone. That I’m sharing my life with someone. With her.
She says nothing.
I want to ask her what happened, but I know. No matter how many times Trish says she understands, I never should’ve taken her to the fundraiser. Brenda was right: I was being a coward. I took the easy way.
“If this is about the fundraiser, I’m sorry?—”
“Please, no more apologies.” She tries to smile, but it somehow makes her look sad. “I told you, I’m fine.”
There’s a finality to her voice I don’t like. I raise my eyebrows and smile back, trying to infuse some levity into the situation. “When you write women in your books and they say ‘I’m fine,’ do they ever really mean it?”
She doesn’t bite, her tone as resolute as before. “This isn’t one of my books.”
I give up on levity and decide to tactically retreat. I got ahead of myself thinking the problem of her staying was solved. First attack that, then move on to Germany.
“Let’s talk about this later. I have my appointment with Dr. Brown in twenty minutes.
I just stopped by after work to…” I laugh at myself and how well I saw my grand gesture of a trip to Germany playing out.
“Never mind.” I take a deep breath and pull Trish into a hug.
She doesn’t return it, but she doesn’t pull away either.
Small win. “How about I bring back dinner?”
It’s her turn to sigh, like she’s giving in though she doesn’t want to. “That sounds fine. You pick the place.”
I’ll get her favorite—everything. We’ll remake the pillow fort, have a picnic, and I’ll convince her not to leave after the wedding. To stay until Germany. Then to stay forever.