We didn’t see each other in person, mostly because I was busy with work. Everything was full-on at the Rolling Hills. Early in the week, I had a meeting with a woman Cassandra introduced me to, who was on the board of a major builders’ association. She let me pick her brain for well over two hours and gave me a ton of contacts across the country to follow up with. I told Cher and Sarah about it, of course.But I found myself bursting with the need to tell someone else. So I called Mitchell. We were friends, weren't we?
I was worried he wouldn’t pick up—that this space he'd given me extended to the phone too. But he answered on the first ring, sounding almost relieved to hear me. And when I gushed about my meeting, I heard the smile in his voice when he asked me for more.
We talked every day after that. He mostly called when we were both in bed to ask about my day and tell me about his. The calls were a little like the texts he sent me before he knew I could see them. They were earnest and sweet. I learned, whenhe told me he'd heard a Wood Thrush during his morning swim, that he was into birds, which was shockingly adorable. I held my phone out my window the next morning for a pop quiz, and he named three different varieties, describing them perfectly. If I ever had the opportunity to buy him a gift, he was getting a pair of little binoculars and knee-high socks.
We talked about my progress withHeartbreaker Tradesand his with his book. I told him about John’s work on my house. How he and Mrs. Moody flirted shamelessly, and how it felt icky but adorable, like parents making eyes at each other in front of their kids. Mitchell listened intently to every word.
We skirted the issue of sex. Except for the subtlest hints.
Those were slowly killing me.
They were Mitchell, telling me he never did call Miller to fix his pipes. He said he was waiting for this much sexier plumber to come back. Which of course also made me laugh, picturing him waiting for one of Miller’s crew. All of them personified the plumber’s crack.
But there were also less innocuous things, like me asking if he was taking good care of my bra.
Every night before we hung up, he asked me what I was wearing to bed. I’d do the same. But we’d cut things off before they turned into anything else.
I knew this wasn’t the normal or smart course of action. Logically, this would have been the perfect time to cut things off. Even if he wasn’t such a wild card, Mitchell was leaving town in a matter of weeks. I was on the cusp of a major career shift. My head knew the right thing to do.
But every other part of me cried his name.
I couldn’t separate sex from feelings. It was why I’d always felt repelled by casual dating. I’d only slept with a few men, all people I’d been in long-term relationships with. All safe, boring men I probably could have married and had safe, boring lives with.
Mitchell was not safe—at least not where my heart was concerned. And he was definitely not boring. He was terrible for me. But I wanted him desperately.
I finally came to terms with the fact that I just had to be okay with having the feelings if I wanted the sex. I’d just have to try to keep them contained as much as possible.
Because I really,really,wanted the sex. And time was ticking.
My feelings hadn’t changed in the days we’d been apart. If anything, they’d intensified. When we hung up each night with that near-descent into talking about the elephant between us, I didn’t need to use the books. I’d slip my hand between my legs and bring myself to orgasm, Mitchell’s name pouring from my lips.
On the day John finished at my place, I called Mitchell before he could call me.
“Thank you,” I told him. I hadn’t said thank you before. I’d only given him shit for helping me, which I thought he deserved for foisting it on me. But I could have said no. He always gave me room to say no.
“I never knew how good it would feel to have all those loose ends around the house tied up. Like…closure. Like self-care, in a weird way. So thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me for something that only takes a sentence to get done.”
“Well, thank Sal and everyone else for pulling this off. But don't act like it wasn't your idea."
Mitchell harrumphed.
"If you do nice things, you really should get better at taking compliments."
"Having money gives you an obligation to use it for good," he said.
"And you think you're a dick."
"I am a dick. To everyone else."
I smiled. I was in the bath, and I’d made it a little too hot. I lifted my foot out of the water, resting the sole on the edge of the tub. “Well, I'm honored to know I'm the one person who knows you’re secretly a good person.”
"That's enough of that," Mitchell said, clearly uncomfortable.
I laughed, but my foot bounced on the edge of the tub.
I was nervous tonight, too.
