Chapter 23
While I expected there to be something wrong with the venue, or some other crucial part of tonight’s dinner, I am only half surprised when Cheryl welcomes me into the house with a warm hug and clarification that her requesting my presence has nothing to do with logistics and everything to do with playing make-over.
“Thank you so much for coming to get ready with me. Trinity said she’d be here, but her boyfriend surprised her with a late anniversary date and so she won’t be here until tomorrow. I already paid Darrin for two, and he’s being a little dramatic about coming all the way out for just me.”
“Oh. I really don’t need you to—”
“Don’t be silly, it’s more of a favor to me.”
I reach for any reason not to stay and have my hair pulled and twisted by a stranger, when I have Noah ready to pull and twist it himself, but Cheryl is already tugging me towards the stairs.
At the top, she leads me to her bedroom where there is an entire salon set-up, including plush leather chairs and a grumpy turtle neck clad man who I assume to be Darrin.
I pull my phone out to text Noah.
Lottie
Did you know I was being conned into playing barber shop?
Noah
Maybe…
Lottie
You should have told me. We definitely would have had time for that favor.
Noah
Damn. I suppose we’ll have to lean into the anticipation.
Lottie
That’s assuming I’m feeling as generous as I was this morning.
Noah
No matter, I’m always feeling generous, ravenous even…especially now that I’ve had a taste.
“This is sort of my guilty pleasure,” Cheryl says, picking an orange segment from the platter on her vanity, and pulling me from the daydream of Noah moaning between my thighs.
“Dressing up for this dinner is always such a treat after all the prep for the festival, and my last chance to really enjoy anything.”
I bite the inside of my cheek against a joke at how she had similar logic for shopping and spa days. She’s been nothing but gracious, and I am mature enough to reciprocate.
“It’s wonderful how involved you stay with the festival, even as things have grown,” I say, smiling at her in the mirror.
“Oh yes, I’m afraid I’m too anxious to let anyone else take over. Which I pay for with sleepless nights and too much wine, but it’s worth it.”
Darrin is currently tugging on my hair, his face still grim. I’m reminded of every makeover montage in every 90s romcom and stifle a laugh. I snap a picture to send Kara while Cheryl is pulled into one of the twelve lookbooks Darrin brought.
Lottie
My Saturday is fine, thanks for asking.
Kara
Oh. My. God. Is that the guy from Princess Diaries?
Lottie
I swear to god if he makes me look like a moose, I’m rioting.
Kara
What are you doing anyway?
Lottie
Sucking up to our clients. I’ll tell you about it later. How’s Nan?
The next message from Kara is a selfie of the two of them at Nan’s kitchen table, both their faces scrunched in big grins. My heart aches with how far away they are. Not that Noah hasn’t been an excellent distraction, but I miss them.
Kara
She’s great. We’ve been watching Golden Girls. She half has me convinced to move in with her and Henrietta.
Lottie
Good god, that’s a combination no one needs.
Kara
She misses you though. FT later?
Lottie
Can’t—big dinner tonight. Maybe tomorrow?
Kara
Sounds good. Send me the final look I have to know if he makes you into a “very cute moose.”
After five hours of Darrin’s silent prompts to move my head or close my eyes and Cheryl’s chatter while I’m primped and preened, I’m standing in her massive closet and staring at the hundreds of dresses lining the walls.
“It’s obnoxious, isn’t it?” she says, breezing past me and running her fingers along one line of them. “I should donate them, or at least hand them off to Trinity, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. Each one holds a special memory, and the thought of passing them along makes me sad.”
“That doesn’t seem so obnoxious,” I say, remembering the conversation I had with Noah the other night. Her exuberance and collection of nice things doesn’t irk me so much now that I know equal efforts go into sharing her wealth.
“You’re too kind. Now, let’s find you some shoes.”
I follow her to the back wall and she turns a corner to reveal floor to ceiling shelves full of shoes. From flats to platforms, Cheryl seems to have collected every conceivable pair in every color known to man.
“Holy shit,” I say, forgetting my company.
Cheryl doesn’t seem to mind the curse and runs a finger along the edge, scanning them for a pair that will match the emerald dress hanging in the other room.
Her fingers stop on a cube displaying a pair of sleek black pumps with spindly stilettos at least four inches long.
I’m shaking my head before she turns to me.
“I don’t think I can—“
“Nonsense, they are perfect for your dress. Here, try them on.” She pulls them down and presses them into my hands.
I don’t wear heels. Not only do they intimidate the hell out of me, I know I am too clumsy to wear them.
Last time Nan convinced me to wear a heel that was only half the height of these, I fell flat on my face.
Twice. Her bingo buddies haven’t let me forget it.
For months it’s all they could talk about any time I would make an appearance at her card table. Faceplant Vanna White they called me.
Hoping they won’t fit, I sink onto the bench in the closet and make to try them on. Unfortunately, my foot slips along the sole of the shoe with ease, the soft leather hugging the ball of my foot perfectly. God dammit.
“Do they fit?” The hope in Cheryl’s voice is palpable, and I paste on a smile.
“They sure do.”
She claps her hands and twirls back into the main part of the closet. “Perfect,” she sings. “They are too perfect.”
Fucking perfect indeed. I slip the shoe off and hold the pair by their backs, following my much too gracious host back out into her bedroom.
“We should change,” she says, noting her watch.
“The boys will be waiting on us, and heaven knows Tom doesn’t need to break out the scotch before we get to dinner.
You can use the bathroom. Go on.” She shoves my garment bag into my arm and waves me towards the door on the other side of her massive bedroom.
I stand for a few moments, clutching the dress and staring at my reflection in the mirror.
Darrin worked wonders, but for a business dinner, I’m overdone.
My hair is smoothed into a low chignon, with a few loose curls left to frame my face and my makeup is simple and clean, save for the bold red lip.
Knowing Cheryl will be prompting me out sooner than later, I dress quickly. To my surprise, the dress fits better than I remember, and to my dismay, the shoes do in fact match it perfectly.
“Charlotte?” Cheryl’s voice filters in through the door, and I take a deep breath before opening it.
“Oh,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t you look beautiful.”
My cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
She’s in a black dress with a lace overlay and bright red pumps. Her hair too, is pulled back in a loose fastening at the nape of her neck and if I didn’t know she had grown children, I would swear she wasn’t a day over forty.
“You look incredible.”
“Oh hush, child. Darrin is a miracle worker, and we’ll leave it at that.” Linking her arm through mine, she tugs me towards the door. “Now, let’s go show those boys how lucky they are to have us.”
I am grateful for her arm as support as we exit the bedroom and find ourselves at the top of the stairs. Tom and Noah stand chatting at the bottom, Noah’s back to us. They are both dressed in neat black suits and their voices are low as they chat.
Tom’s face lights up when he sees his wife, and Noah spins around as though he was caught off guard.
My breath catches as his lips part and I stifle a giggle when his tongue darts out to wet them.
My stomach trills in response, remembering his text messages and his promise to slip in as much fun as we’re able in the next three days.
Get it together, you still have to make it down the fucking stairs.
I cringe, remembering how last time I somersaulted to the bottom, and grip the banister with everything I have. Taking a spill now is an embarrassment from which even I wouldn’t recover.
After an eternity, I reach the ground floor. Noah steps forward, his arm already out for me to grab on to. I take it, grateful for the additional support and acutely aware I’ll probably need it the rest of the night.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” Cheryl chimes.
My eyes sweep up to Noah, his throat bobbing as he swallows.
“She does.”
The effect Noah has on me is nothing short of juvenile—all butterflies and nerves—and it’s only getting worse.
Tom wraps an arm around Cheryl and pulls her in for a sloppy kiss. I avert my attention as she giggles, just as Noah’s lips make contact with my temple. My veins ignite under his quick whisper before he stands up straight again.
“Those lips are a tease.”
I’m fairly certain our only saving grace for getting to dinner with all our clothes on and my hair still in place, is the fact that Tom and Cheryl insist we ride with them in the limo they rented.
Noah’s hand is curled possessively around my thigh, sending shocks of arousal through me the entire time.
I’m split between wanting it to creep higher and shifting away from it entirely. The Barkers remain unbothered.
“Vince and Laura will definitely want to meet the two of you,” Tom says.
“He’s in product distribution and sits on the board and she’s a good friend of Cheryl’s.
Arthur has been our accountant for years, and his wife Farrah is smarter than she gives herself credit.
Seems silly that she’d end up with someone like Arthur. ”
Cheryl clicks her tongue and pats Tom playfully on the arm. “You stop it. Let these two form their own opinions.”
Turning to me she murmurs, “Farrah really is brilliant though. I think you’ll like her.”
When she turns back to Tom, I’m struck with how enamored they are with each other, even after all the years they’ve spent together.
It leaves a peculiar taste in my mouth, seeing what a stable, long term relationship can look like.
Nan is the most stable person I know, but she never married, so my examples have been non-existent.
The safety I see Tom and Cheryl sharing, the complete trust and the way the business they’ve built has thrived between them, is equal parts inspiring and terrifying.
It’s never been something I felt I needed, and having never seen proof of it in my own life, I’ve always assumed people who keep searching for that kind of relationship were some kind of masochists.
Even Kara, ever the romantic, has failed at proving that falling in love and starting a relationship can bring anything other than pain.
But here, so far from home and the memory of the relationship that ruined me so many years ago, I wonder if maybe it’s worth trying to find the good.
Noah’s hand squeezes my thigh and I shake out of my trance.
His face is the familiar silent concern I’ve come to expect, thoughtful and kind.
Offering him a closed-lip smile, I fight a stomach twirling thought: what if I’ve found that safety with him?
It seems silly to tiptoe down that path, but everything that’s happened over the past three days is silly.
Fake dating? Outrageous. Sleeping with my boss?
Definitely not my brightest idea. We got a couple’s massage, for god’s sake.
And through it all, the constant thrum of a question has remained. What if?
The edge of uncertainty sharpens and more in an effort to keep from sawing myself in half over it, I give myself permission to pretend.
Just for now. Given the good graces we still seem to be in with Tom and Cheryl, our pretending together has worked fine, and pretending for myself—without the pressure of opening a conversation with Noah—gives me, at the very least, the illusion of control.
Maybe I could test the boundaries of what I’m willing to try without risking the heartache.
And worst case, this all ends when we fly back to Portland.
What’s the harm?