Pieces For You (36 page)

The next month passed like a dream from which I never wanted to wake up.  Griffin and I spent most nights together at either my house or his.  We spent our free time doing life’s mundane rituals, but together they were memories I cherished.  We worked out, cooked dinner, watched movies, cleaned the house, and occasionally went on adventures to explore local landmarks.  We talked for hours about our lives, our dreams, our plans—even began to make future plans together.  Griffin promised me a vacation of sun and sand once he officially earned his psychologist license, which should be finalized within the month.  I may have influenced his destination choice when I broke out a few of my most scandalous bikinis for him to preview.

We spent long nights and lazy mornings in bed, discovering the secrets of one another’s bodies, learning them better than our own.  Griffin was one of those guys who was good at everything he did, but he was a super-freaking-star in the bedroom.  The man could tangle sheets like a Japanese Shibari expert.

He was confident, man enough to let his love for me show in ways both subtle and obvious.  He spoke words of love and reinforced them with actions, regardless of who was watching.  He wasn’t perfect (he was a grump when hungry and still tried to boss me around on occasion), but he was perfect for me.

The only cloud looming in our blue skies during the last month was the threats…or rather, lack thereof.  It was disconcerting.  I had been receiving weekly messages for several months, and then nothing since the last declaration that my time was up.  You would think I would be pleased about the new quiet, but the silence felt even more ominous, like water receding before the tsunami hit, destroying everything in its wake.  I didn’t want to drop my guard, knowing it would be a mistake, but it was difficult not to be lulled into a false sense of security.  Griffin, on the other hand, was as vigilant as ever.  Despite the persistent worry, we both carried on with business as usual, enjoying our new life together.

My sessions with Thia had been broadening as she began to direct my focus beyond the past and encouraging me to look toward the future—what I wanted from life and what my goals were.  I realized I had stopped thinking of the future as a blank slate of opportunity after the attack.  We reviewed a list of things I love to do, things to relieve stress or that inspired me, and discussed how to translate them into a career.

“So, stress relievers or activities you enjoy?” Thia prompted me.

“I love to cook, it helps me think.  Dancing definitely relieves stress.  Reading helps me relax and unwind.  And Griffin, he definitely helps me relieve stress,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

“I refuse to encourage you to pursue a career in the adult entertainment industry, and you are getting a little long in the tooth for a professional dance career.  So cooking and reading—let’s explore those passions.”

“Did you just call me old?  I’m twenty-three, for heaven’s sake!”

She ignored my complaint and continued, “There are ways to parlay your love of reading into a career—blogging, becoming an author, as well as traditional literary/publishing jobs.  Is that something that appeals to you?”

“No, writing is not my gift and I don’t think I would enjoy a traditional office environment—too confining.  I just read for the fun of it, as a happy escape.”

“Okay.  How about cooking?  Have you considered a culinary career?”

I hadn’t, but now that she mentioned it, something within stirred with excitement.

“I never thought about it, but yes, it sounds like a dream job.”

“Good.  Homework!  I want you to think about the positives and negatives of a culinary career, and research the possible routes to achieve such a career.  Make lists.  We’ll review next week.”

I spent several days considering a career in the culinary arts.  The prospect was tempting, taking something I was passionate about and turning it into a career.  The hours could be long, often requiring nights, weekends, and holidays…definitely a downside.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to alter my entire life to attend culinary school.  I also had zero experience working in a commercial kitchen, which was totally different than cooking at home. 

I discussed these concerns with Griffin, trying to find clarity, when he suggested I work a few days a week in The Stop kitchen to gain practical experience before making any decisions.  I hadn’t considered trying the shoe on to see if it fit.  Griffin was very persuasive as he emphasized the benefits of being able to “try out” life in a professional kitchen on a part-time basis while still working at Higher Yearning.  He suggested working at The Stop would give me the opportunity to learn in a safe environment.  He secured my commitment by promising kisses whenever I was on break.

By the end of my first day in the kitchen, my feet hurt, my back hurt, my hands hurt, and my arm especially hurt where I singed it on the stove.  I smelled like food and had a thin sheen of oil coating my skin.  And I was in freaking
love
.  I felt alive in the kitchen—the frantic pace, the process of creating something from a couple of ingredients and spices.  I loved every second of it.  At the end of the day, the head chef said I had done well for a ‘kitchen virgin’ and that I had real potential.  One eight-hour shift and I was ready to quit Higher Yearning and pour myself into The Stop kitchen.  Griffin chuckled when I shared this with him, but he convinced me to continue on a three-month, part-time trial basis before making any permanent decisions.  Damn his logic.  I had found my Zen in the chaos of the kitchen and I wanted to lose myself in this new path, but he was right.  I couldn’t leave Ev and Meg in a lurch.  When we arrived at my house that night, I took a shower and Griffin proceeded to massage my aching feet until I passed out. 

I walked into Higher Yearning exactly one month after the last threat to find Meg staring off into space, a small smile on her face.  My man-o-meter hit seven before she even spoke a word.  I dropped my stuff in the back and hurried up front to pump her for details. 

“Who is he and has he made you scream his name?”

That seemed to pull Meg from her daydream as effectively as a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied evasively.

Awww, she was so cute.  She actually thought she could avoid spilling the details.  Such innocence.

“Look lady, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way I’ll break you,” I said with determination.

“You missed your calling in life—totally should have been a cop.”

“Nah, the uniform is completely unappealing.  What’s it gonna be?”

“Any chance I can distract you with juicy gossip about someone else’s life?” she asked hopefully.

“Do you have any jaw-dropping gossip?”

She wanted to lie; I could see it in her eyes, but she didn’t have it in her.

With a resigned sigh, she caved.  “I have a date this weekend.”

“Really?” I stretched out the word dramatically until it was practically a run-on sentence.  When she offered no further details, I prodded, “And?”

“And I’m excited.  He’s hot…as in I don’t even think there are words to describe his caliber of hotness.”

“As in, ‘stand back because your panties might spontaneously ignite’?” I offered helpfully.

She laughed, “Yes, definitely a panty-changer.  God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I’m glad to know I’m having a positive influence on you.  I like to do my part—leave the world a better place when I’m gone.”

I waited, but she didn’t volunteer anything further.  I elbowed her in the ribs.

“Okay, no need to get rough.  I didn’t want to say anything because you know him.”

“Who is it?” I asked, since not one guess came to mind.

“That lawyer who came in a while back.  He came in yesterday and flirted before asking me for my number.  He called last night and invited me to dinner on Saturday.”

Huh, I guess the assistant DA worked up the balls to come in and make his own introduction.  He was good-looking.  I didn’t know about thong-combusting, but any guy with the right moves and confidence could increase his rating.

“That’s great, Meg.  I don’t really know him well, but he seems like a good guy.  I don’t know if he’s at a ‘rake your nails down his back’ level, but I think he could get you there.”

“Are you nuts?  You should have seen him yesterday.  He looked amazing in jeans and a tight sweater, and his words alone got me halfway there.  I’m telling you, that man has a Ph.D. in Make-Her-Screamology from Harvard.”

Apparently, Mark Stuart had brought his A-game yesterday.  Good job, Mark! 

I was happy for Meg; she was an incredibly sweet girl, laid-back and funny.  She deserved to have as much fun in bed as she enjoyed in every other aspect of her life.  Good things didn’t always happen to good people, but good people deserved them.  Regardless of how happy I was for Meg, it didn’t prevent me from teasing her mercilessly all day.

By the time my shift ended, I was ready to head home and see my own lingerie arsonist.  My mind was in the gutter all day, fueling my incessant torment.  My daydreams had put me in a certain mood…a mood I hoped Griffin was prepared to accommodate.  It seemed wise to prepare him for the duties he was expected to perform when I arrived home, so I pulled out my phone to text him.  I clumsily typed out a text with gloved hands and settled into the driver’s seat.  I turned to place my purse next to me and gasped as my purse slipped through my fingers.  A large serrated knife protruded from the passenger headrest, holding up a photo of a woman with a tight black hood stretched over her face, her breasts exposed…my breasts.  A dark, thick liquid coated the knife, dripping down and pooling in the seat.  I flung open the door and ran as if the car were on fire, glancing over my shoulder to ensure I wasn’t being followed.  Just beyond my car, at the periphery of the parking lot, I thought I saw a man watching me.  I increased my speed and burst through the doors of Higher Yearning, screaming for someone to call the cops.

Meg rushed to my side once she heard the commotion.

I held up my hands to stop her from touching me.  I wasn’t ready to be touched by anyone.

“Call the cops,” I said, before she had a chance to ask any questions.

She nodded and ran back to the counter.

I picked up my phone and shakily dialed Griffin.  He answered on the second ring.

“Hey love, I just saw your text.  I’m up for the—”

“Need you.  Now,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“I’m coming, baby.  You still at work?” he asked in a calm tone.

“Yeah.”

“Good, baby.  Stay inside, I’ll be there in five minutes.  Do you want to tell me what’s happening?”

I shook my head and muttered incoherently, desperate to escape the image burned in my mind.

“Okay, love.  I’m going to assume that silence was a ‘no.’  Just listen to my voice until I get there.”

I mumbled an inarticulate response to assure him I was still on the line.

“I was thinking about the vacation we’ve been planning.  I think we should go to Turks and Caicos.  The beaches are gorgeous, soft white sand and crystal clear, warm turquoise water.  We can rent a house on the beach, do nothing but lounge in the sun, swim, and experiment in the kitchen.  Just relax, be together.  You can read as many smutty books as you want while sunbathing during the day and I’ll do my best to recreate your favorite parts every night.  I’ll even make huge pitchers of strawberry daiquiris and mojitos and bring them to the beach in thermoses.  Can you imagine the water lapping at your toes while the sun bronzes every inch of your delicious skin?  I promise not to wear a shirt from the minute we arrive at the house until the day we leave—we can even skinny dip if you want, make love with only the fish to witness.”

“Mango…mango daiquiris,” I said when he paused for breath, having lost myself in the picture he painted.

“That I can do.  I’m almost there, love.  One more minute.”

“Will you bring your guitar…sing to me every day?”

“Anything,” he said, a promise.