“Yes ma’am.” I laugh, and do what she asks.
————
Ivy:Home.
Wesley:Good.
Ivy:I talked to Rose. I’m good to go to Texas.
Wesley:Thank you, I appreciate it. Did she beat your ass like you thought?
Ivy:Just about, yep.
Wesley:You don’t have to let anyone else know?
Ivy:Like who? Soph? I’ll just tell her the next time I see her, or I’ll text her.
Wesley:I meant like a boyfriend, girlfriend, partner.
Ivy:Nope. None of those to report to.
Wesley:Good night, Ivy.
Ivy:Night, Wesley.
————
The weeks fly by. I spend my days with Delilah. I have brief, but professional interactions with Wesley where I secretly fantasize about what he looks like naked, or how he spends his evenings when I leave. I go home, eat, write, and sleep.
Repeat.
Thankfully, I think Wesley and I are on the same page, remembering that we are boss, and employee, and should behave as such. Our exchanges have been friendly, but short. Nothing like the cold shoulder I got in the beginning, but alsonothinglike when he walked me to my car, or hugged me on the porch.
We only speak when it’s in regards to Delilah, when I text that I am home safe every night, per his request, or when he’s telling me what I’m having for breakfast every morning. The fantasy thing is just my secret little hobby. My guilty pleasure, if you will. That part has been really fun, if not a bit torturous.
I asked Wes if I could start taking Delilah into town. I’ve wanted to visit Rose, get some ice cream, or maybe take Delilah to the park. My request was met with him giving my car a very thorough inspection, before deeming it safe enough for his daughter. He made sure the booster was properly installed, giving me the green light to drive Delilah around.
I fist pumped the air while holding Delilah, and she followed suit. That earned me an eye roll and the tiniest amused smile. It was devastatingly beautiful. One day I’ll see him actually smile, and it’ll probably knock me on my ass.
Delilah and I have been to see Rose a few times. We usually bake cookies, watch jeopardy, and play checkers. And when I say play checkers, I mean Delilah moves her pieces wherever she wants and Rose tries not to scold her for it. It’s incredibly entertaining to watch. The last time we went, Rose made Delilah help her organize her yarn. They both loved it.
A couple days ago, my stupidly handsome boss asked if I could do an overnight with Delilah this weekend due to an evening appointment that would take quite awhile. I often wonder what he looks like tattooing someone. Having no tattoos myself, I’m not very familiar with the process, but I bet he looks hot doing it.
Today is Saturday, and my very first overnight with Delilah. I grab my small duffel out of the back seat of my car, and slam the door shut. I hustle up the steps of the large front porch, excited to have a sleepover with my girl, when the door flies open, and Delilah comes barreling out.
“Sleepober!” she squeals.
I catch her mid-jump, and my steps stagger, almost tripping over myself. Before I even get the chance to steady us, warm large hands wrap around my ribs, doing it for me. I look up and see the man who occupies my every dirty, filthy thought at night, with a small frown on his face.
“You guys alright?” he asks with genuine worry on his face. We didn’t get hurt, or even fall for that matter.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I reply, as Delilah and I both giggle.
He nods. Then, at the same time, we realize he’s still gripping my entire abdomen in his palms. He pulls back so fast, you’d think I just told him I have the plague—or lice. I force myself not to take it personally. He ushers us inside, and I drop my things in a heap at the door.
“Thanks again,” Wesley says.
“You don’t need to keep thanking me, it’s my job.” I chuckle.
