“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 theromantic, 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 pretendingtogetherhas 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?
By the time we reach the restaurant—a rustic winery with stucco brick walls and arched windows and doorways, I am a pool of gooey anticipation. Noah’s hand hasn’t lifted from me, and it seems he is intent on keeping it that way.
The four of us pile out of the car and meet the hostess at the door, where she welcomes Tom and Cheryl like they are old friends before leading us down a long hallway. When we step through the arch at the end, we are greeted by a wide tasting room with wall to wall windows displaying a beautiful view of the vineyard below. A massive bronze chandelier hangs over a long, elegantly set table and casts the room in shades of sunset.
We follow the Barkers towards the counter on one side of the room where several attendants stand ready to offersamples of at least a dozen different bottles. They fall into friendly conversation with one of the sommeliers, and I take the opportunity to chide Noah for the distraction of his hands on me. Even if this is a chance to play, we still have a job to do.
“You can’t be touching me like that while we’re here,” I whisper, my back turned to our hosts.
