Neil’s eyebrows dip as he pokes his lips out a little. Moving closer, he takes the tin from my hands, letting the tips of his fingers brush against mine. I shiver but try to tamp it down.
“More cookies?” he questions after looking inside of the lid.
I nod. “Those are only for you. Last year, Jackie told me that you didn’t get any because you let your staff dig in first. I wanted to avoid that happening this year. I stuck extra oatmeal raisin and a few gingerbread cookies in there for you.”
He continues peering down at the cookies for a few heartbeats before closing the lid and turning that soul touching gaze on me. “Thank you, Desiree. That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it.”
The sincerity in his voice almost leaves me speechless.
“It’s the least I could do for the way I behaved this morning,” I confess.
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to apologize or make up for.” He holds his hand up when I go to protest. “Your feelings are your own. She was your sister. Naturally, this day is difficult for you.”
I pause, taken aback by the understanding tone his voice takes on. “Still, it doesn’t give me the right to ream out the man who tried to save her life.”
Sighing, his eyebrows furrow and lips pull down into a frown. “Is that why you bring cookies up here every year on the anniversary of her death? You think you owe me, owe this clinic, something?”
Surprised by the hurt in his voice, I rear backward. I form my lips to say no, to deny his question, but something stops me—the truth. The reality is a part of me does feel beholden to Neil and this place.
“Even when my parents gave up on her, you were still there. Still trying to get her to go to meetings or willing to put a call into the insurance company to arrange for them to pay for yet one more stay here.” Clearing my throat, I lift my eyes to meet his. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”
“You can. You have. But if you want to repay me, there is something more you can do.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
The air seeps out of my lungs.
“Okay,” I blurt before I can think better of it and before Neil gets the chance to rethink his offer.
After five yearsof knowing Desiree, I finally ended up parking my Jeep in front of her apartment building and exiting to knock on her door, picking her up for our first date.
It’s taken this long for the timing to be right. For years, I told myself that it’d be inappropriate for me to act on these deeply held feelings for her, but as she stood in my office, claiming to owe me something, I pounced. Seizing the moment, I went for what I waited for for so long.
Buttoning the dark grey blazer I’m wearing, I head up the stairwell to the third floor where Desiree lives and pass one of her neighbors, nodding in his direction. He tosses me a nod, and I continue down the corridor, reading the numbers on each door until I finally come to apartment number 311.
“Coming,” I hear her deeply feminine voice push through the door in response to my knock. Seconds later, the deadbolt on the other side turns a heartbeat and she stands before me.
For a split second, my body denies its need for oxygen, only surviving off of the thrill of seeing her in an off-the-shoulder white peplum top with skinny black pants that lead to black and white zebra print heels. Again, the curves that refuse to remain hidden in any outfit are on full display. The cinnamon shoulders of hers shimmer with some sort of glimmery lotion or whatever it is women use.
She doesn’t need it, but I won’t lie and say it isn’t doing the damn job. My mouth waters, and my tongue aches to lick every inch of skin she exposes and then some. I have to inhale because I know this feeling all too well. Briefly closing my eyes, I recall this same feeling invading every pore of my body when it came to those moments right before taking my first drink of the day.
The need for it combining with the assurance that the drink was within my grasp, was almost enough to satisfy the urge. A calmness that overcame me before even taking that first sip. There aren’t many feelings like it. Not for me, and damn sure not in the solemn final days of my drinking.
But this.
Desiree is more than even that. She’s real.
“Hi,” she says, huskily, pulling me out of my stupor but also proving that she’s not a figment of my imagination.
“Good evening. You're stunning.”
Her eyelids flutter. The usual innocence that’s always on display on her face is enhanced by the wrinkling of her cute, button nose. The smile in her dark brown eyes matches the one playing at her lips.
“Thank you. Are those for me?” she asks, peering down at the bouquet of orange and yellow flowers in my hand.
“They are.” I hand the flowers to her, wishing it were the world on a silver platter. She deserves nothing less.
