Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) (23 page)

Something whimpered nearby and I snapped my head up at attention. All the
lights in the associates’ offices were off. I heard a breathy cry again and
pinpointed the source of the noise as Robin’s office, which was also dark, but
the door was cracked open a couple inches. I wondered for a moment if Robin had
come in early and was perhaps crying at her desk for some reason. Concerned, I
rose and walked toward her office.

Another noise stopped me in my tracks. It was a man’s voice; a moan,
really. I paused for a full minute, considering the possibilities. It wasn’t
that early in the morning. Could Robin seriously be in her office, messing around
with some guy? And if she were, was it Brad? Did she have bad enough judgment
to repeat that mistake? I decided she didn’t, and continued my silent walk
toward her door, which I reached in seconds, and then slowly peered through the
crack.

I’d never be able to erase what I saw from my memory, and for that I was
sorry, indeed. Robin was perched on none other than Carl Pelter’s lap, wearing
a pink top and a now-infamous short jean skirt she’d been employing on casual
Fridays. Carl had his hand under her shirt and was enthusiastically massaging
her right breast while they vigorously ate each other’s faces. It was a
disturbing scene, and I actually felt my stomach heave a little before I
quickly turned away and made haste back to my desk.

I guessed Carl was over my and Rox’s rejection of him, although let’s
face it – he hadn’t been exactly heartbroken to begin with. And I guessed
Robin was over her regret of screwing Brad at the company party; otherwise why
would she be letting a junior associate grope her
in her office
? At least Carl was single, as far as I knew. Perhaps
they were a good match.

I stayed glued to my seat for the next half hour, while employees slowly
trickled in to the office. Eventually the door to Robin’s office opened and
Carl slipped quietly out, his face ruddy like a teenager who’s been sucking
face for two hours. I shook off a spine-shiver from being grossed out. Roxanne,
who always had impeccable timing, had just at that moment walked in to see Carl
slinking away quietly and me casting a disparaging look in his direction.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Where do I even begin?” I began. I told her about seeing Robin and Carl
en flagrante delicto
and she had an
appropriately disgusted response, although neither of us were actually
surprised. And then I told her about “accidentally” running into Chuck at the
gym and how I’d be meeting him for coffee the next day.

“Oh, excellent!” she exclaimed. “I mean, yes, that was sneaky on Laurie’s
part and she should be properly punished, but I’m so glad you’re going to see
Chuck tomorrow. Every time I talk with him he just sounds so miserable.”

“This doesn’t mean we’re getting back together, Rox,” I told her. “He
said a lot of hurtful things yesterday. I’m not sure why he even wants to see
me again. He probably just feels guilty.”

Roxanne pursed her lips and stared at me thoughtfully.

“Just go into it with an open mind,” she said. “I know he misses you a
lot. Maybe he’ll be able to take his head out of his ass and say the right
thing for once. Just give him this one chance and if he blows it, you don’t
have to see him ever again if you don’t want to.”

I sighed deeply. I’d forecasted more heartache, but my friends seemed to
think Chuck and I would be moving back in together and resuming our normal life.
I somehow doubted it.

I’d agonized for hours about what to wear to see Chuck, although I hoped
it wouldn’t be obvious. I’d finally settled on jeans, boots, a drapey top, and
a fitted jacket. I left my hair naturally curly and put on a minimum of makeup,
and no jewelry – no sense in looking like I’d tried too hard if I was
just on my way to get my heart broken again. Standing in front of the bathroom
mirror, I stared at my reflection and held my hand against my stomach, which
was heaving around like a dryer with two tennis shoes in it. I rubbed a little
lip gloss on my mouth and decided I looked as close to casual, yet pretty, as I
was going to get.

I took my time driving to the coffee shop and parking, then walked
unhurriedly toward the store. My hands were clammy and practically shaking. I
furrowed my brow. It was frustrating that I couldn’t control my physical
reaction to this meeting.

Walking in the door to the shop, I saw Chuck right away. He was seated in
a corner, facing the door, watching attentively as I walked in. He’d brought
orange roses – one of my favorite flowers. He stood, beaming at me, as I
walked tentatively toward him. He was so handsome; his eyes so devastatingly
blue; his smile so disarming and genuine, I couldn’t help but beam a smile right
back at him. My heart was singing, even as my brain was yelling,
Stop smiling, you ass!
The conflicting
emotions made me want to cry, and my eyes teared up a little in frustration.

For God’s sake, don’t cry
, my
brain yelled. Thankfully, I didn’t think Chuck noticed. He approached me slowly
and stated the obvious: “I got you these flowers.”

“Thank you,” I answered. My heart was swooning and my brain was gagging.
I took the flowers and before I could sit, Chuck had enveloped me in a tight,
bone-crushing hug. I hugged him back uncertainly and heard him breathe in
deeply. That was something Chuck had always done: buried his face in my hair to
smell the soapy scent of my shampoo. “You smell nice,” he said, as he’d said
probably hundreds of times before. He held on for a couple more seconds, and as
he pulled away, his eyes looked moist. He was full of surprises, so far.

We finally sat down. Chuck said he’d taken the liberty of ordering
breakfast for us and since he knew what I liked, I didn’t take offense.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, gazing at me with his mesmerizing blue-green
eyes. I blinked a couple times, trying to avoid being sucked in. I didn’t
respond. I didn’t know how to.

“I really fucked up last time we talked,” he ventured.

I felt vulnerable and unsure of what was coming next and was pretty sure
it was written all over my face. Again, I didn’t say anything.

“What I wanted to say, and what I would have said if I’d known I was
going to see you and had time to think about it is: I love you,” he said. He
was dead serious. He wasn’t smiling. He watched me with concern. “And secondly:
I’m sorry. I can’t apologize enough for how I behaved. It was inexcusable, and
I wouldn’t blame you if you said you never wanted to see me again. I was afraid
you would refuse to see me this time, but I had to try.”

Tears were welling up in my eyes and beginning to spill over, so I dabbed
at my face with my napkin.

“I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “I don’t know if it’s too late. I
still feel so hurt.”

“I know,” he said. “Of course you do. I’m not saying you should welcome
me back with open arms, but I am saying you should give us another chance.”

My heart was at the hardware store, making him a copy of a key to the
front door. My brain was manning the turrets with snipers.

“I don’t know…” I managed.

“Date me,” he suggested. “It’ll be different this time. We’ve both
changed. We’ve both done things we regretted. I’m going to be completely honest
about everything I’m looking for in the relationship, and I would expect
nothing less from you.”

My heart was buying new lingerie. My brain was locking my chastity belt.

“Ok,” I agreed hesitantly. “Just dating, though. You can’t move back in.”

Chuck held up his hands in agreement. “Understood.”

We smiled shyly at each other. The love between us was obviously still
there. The question was whether it was enough to overcome our past hurts.

We spent about an hour chatting amiably, discussing what we’d each been
up to over the last couple of months, and delicately avoiding the topic of whom
we’d each dated or otherwise fraternized with. I already knew he’d dated
Candace, and while that stung, I was sure he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled if he
knew about my one-nighter with Junior.

Chuck had moved in with a pal – Mike – and was sleeping on a
couch that had seen better days about thirty years prior. He’d joined the gym
where we’d “accidentally” run into each other, and other than that it sounded
like he’d been putting in long hours at work. His job continued to be unstable
and he mentioned a bit hesitantly that he’d been applying for jobs elsewhere.
This took me by surprise.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that I would need to take a job if it were
offered to me,” he said. “Although let’s face it – job offers for
reporters are far and few between. I might be a little insane to turn a good
position down. And honestly, Nic, I’d like to get out of Berkeley. I think a
change of scenery would do us both some good.”

It was almost like he was reading my mind. He knew I hated my job. I just
told him that my mom and Jim were moving to Santa Barbara, so there wasn’t a
whole lot keeping me tethered to the Bay area. Still, I was reluctant to agree
too quickly, as that might imply I thought our relationship would end up
working out, which would mean we’d probably move somewhere together, get
married, have kids, and embark on a whole new adventure. I wasn’t ready to
accept that as a possibility yet.

“Maybe,” I answered simply.

That meeting at the coffee shop was the beginning of an intense
courtship, unlike any I’d ever experienced, despite the fact that, technically,
I’d already been courted by Chuck six years prior.

I saw him every weekend, and usually a couple nights during the week.
Every time I saw him, he arrived with a gift. Sometimes it was flowers, other
times candy or a DVD or a magazine, or one time simply a pack of my favorite
gum. Every few days, I’d get a cute card in the mail from him. He texted me
throughout each day and called me in the evenings. It was surprising and
touching. We went to restaurants and movies. On weekends we went hiking and on
picnics. We never stayed in, possibly because I never invited him into the
house. Each date ended on my front porch with each of us gazing into each
other’s eyes; me staring up at him, and him looking down at me. He’d lean down
and kiss me, chastely at first, but then more intensely. It took every ounce of
muscle I had not to melt into a puddle or tear his clothes off, or both. He’d
pull away and smile, then wish me good night, and leave. I was having sweet
dreams.

One evening, about a month in, we were Frenching madly on the doorstep,
and he pulled away and said, “I love you.” He hadn’t said it in about a month,
since that meeting at the coffee shop, but it was so natural and expected, and
I was so on the same page that I said in return, “I love you, too.” He smiled,
wished me a good night, and left.

The next morning was a Saturday. I was lolling in bed at nine-thirty;
we’d had a fairly late evening the night before, and besides, I was enjoying
the sunshine streaming in through my bedroom window while I half-dreamed about
hot kisses and hard pecs. My doorbell rang and my eyes popped open, but I
didn’t move. Generally when the doorbell rings and you haven’t invited someone
over, it’s not going to be someone you want to talk to. More likely it’s going
to be someone trying to sell you something or convert you to a weird religion.
So I stayed put.

The doorbell rang again. I was a little more irritated, but again, I
wasn’t moving. This was an oft-used tactic of door-to-door sales people in my
neighborhood – ringing the bell multiple times.

The doorbell rang again. I propped myself up on my elbows and furrowed my
brow. Was I expecting someone and simply forgotten? No, I was pretty sure I
hadn’t. I waited a few more seconds.

The doorbell rang again. I flung the covers back. My phone vibrated. It
was Chuck.

Please answer your door
, he’d
texted.

I laughed. Thankfully the man had seen me at my worst – with
bed-head, no makeup, and a faded, over-sized sleep shirt. I wasn’t overly
concerned about what he’d think of my appearance. I skipped to the front door
and flung it open.

Chuck stood on my porch, a single gardenia in his hand and a laughing
smile on his face. Gardenias are my absolute favorite flower.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” he teased, extending the flower to me. I
took it and inhaled its heavenly scent deeply.

“Thank you,” I said. “And good morning, yourself. To what do I owe the
pleasure?”

Chuck just smiled his stormy-eyed Texas man smile and held up a small,
black, velvet box. My eyes widened and my mouth fell slightly open. My heart
began knocking like a jackhammer.

Chuck knelt down on one knee and I felt compelled to say, “Oh my God,
you’re getting down on one knee.”

“Nicole Lynn Beets,” Chuck began. He opened the box and I steadied myself
on the door jam. “I find you completely irresistible. You are the only woman
I’ll ever love, and if you don’t agree to tolerate me for the rest of your
life, I’ll never be complete as a human being.”

Tears were streaming down my face and I was laughing and crying at the
same time. We happened to feel the exact same way about each other. If he
didn’t agree to tolerate me for the rest of his life, I knew I’d never be
complete as a human being, either.

“So darlin’? Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes!” I yelled. He stood and I jumped into his arms. He managed to
get the ring on my finger and then there was some frantic
I-can’t-believe-you-just-proposed-to-me kissing. I pulled him into the house
and slammed the door behind us.

“So how many kids do you want to have?” Chuck queried. He was running one
large hand over my exposed thigh as we lay facing each other in bed. He’d
reminded me only moments earlier that when it came to what happens between the
sheets, he had all the other guys beat, hands down. Even well-endowed, tanned,
whitened-teeth guys.