Heberto was a foregoneconclusion, and this impatient
leaping
inside her—this attention-starved thing that she’d made the mistake of feeding, not understanding that it would grow stronger and louder and
more—
She would ignore it.
Carmen wouldn’t acknowledge it, and she wouldn’t mourn it. She would look away from Noah as she ground the heel of her shoe into the soft skull bones of this fledgling connection that had so audaciously come to life in the space of a day. This hummingbird-hearted scrap of feeling that had made itself at home in the soft, warm place between her hips. Bracketed by Noah’s hands. Soothed with his tongue.
There were other things to look at. Work to focus on.
She picked up her clipboard, pressed it to her chest, and walked from the building.
“Carmen!”
She moved down the steps as quickly as she could, but her shoes were impractical, and her skirt shortened her stride. Noah was so much larger. His long legs ate up the difference in an instant.
“Don’t do this,” he said.
“This is my job.”
“It’s not right. You know it’s not.”
“I thought you understood,” she said. “I’m not that way.”
Her heels clipped over the smooth expanse of concrete surrounding the pool. Noah reached for her arm, his hot grip firm over her silk blouse, and it hurt, it hurt.
“Baby.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
They’d stopped moving. His jaw was slack, his mouth open in soft astonishment.
“My name is Carmen. I’m not your baby. I’m not
anyone’s
baby. I took you to a motel to fuck you, and just because I—just because we—” She had to stop, to inhale, which sounded like a gasp, painful, broken, issuing from her throat before she could lock it down, and his eyes were so warm when he said it again.
One syllable. A meaningless word.
“Baby.”
“You weren’t supposed to get any
ideas
,” she said fiercely.
“I know.”
Her emotions were climbing her throat, that leaping creature wailing at her, alive, wounded. “We aren’t going to have a
thing
.”
Tears. There were tears in her eyes. God.
Noah gazed at her, forehead crumpled, eyebrows in, brown eyes steady and fathomless with the kind of steady wisdom she’d never possessed, never seen modeled, never learned. “All right. If that’s what you want.”
This man—he knew what to say. She didn’t understand how he could, but he did. He knew how to plant seeds and leave them alone, how to give them space to grow, how to keep faith that the world wouldn’t destroy them as soon as he looked away.
They couldn’t be more different.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said.
“It might not,” he agreed with a shrug. “It might. I think it’s too early to tell.”
“So, what? You just wait and see?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I just wait and see.”
She looked past him to the other side of the pool, where his men had gathered in a knot around their machines, watching. “I guess if I go over and tell your crew to leave, you’ll countermand the order,” she said.
“Yep.”
“I’m going back to the office.”
“Okay.”
He walked beside her all the way, and she felt the crewmen’s eyes on them. The sun warmed her cheek and heated her hair. Beyond the buildings, the waves smacked against the beach. Noah found her hand, squeezed it, and let it go.
The world went on. On and on, waves against the beach, sunrise and sunset, notes on her clipboard, papers crumpled and tossed away at the end of the day.
Carmen thought about boats and beer, fried seafood and slow, tipsy sex.
She thought about what it would be like to have faith in what she wanted.
Her father was on his phone when they entered the office. “Fine. Give me twenty minutes.” He ended the call. “I’m running late for a meeting in Key West. I guess you’re going to tell me you couldn’t send them home with Mr. Superhero trailing you out there.”
“Yes.”
He wiped his hand up and down over one cheek. “Look. Get your boyfriend
leaping
inside her—this attention-starved thing that she’d made the mistake of feeding, not understanding that it would grow stronger and louder and
more—
She would ignore it.
Carmen wouldn’t acknowledge it, and she wouldn’t mourn it. She would look away from Noah as she ground the heel of her shoe into the soft skull bones of this fledgling connection that had so audaciously come to life in the space of a day. This hummingbird-hearted scrap of feeling that had made itself at home in the soft, warm place between her hips. Bracketed by Noah’s hands. Soothed with his tongue.
There were other things to look at. Work to focus on.
She picked up her clipboard, pressed it to her chest, and walked from the building.
“Carmen!”
She moved down the steps as quickly as she could, but her shoes were impractical, and her skirt shortened her stride. Noah was so much larger. His long legs ate up the difference in an instant.
“Don’t do this,” he said.
“This is my job.”
“It’s not right. You know it’s not.”
“I thought you understood,” she said. “I’m not that way.”
Her heels clipped over the smooth expanse of concrete surrounding the pool. Noah reached for her arm, his hot grip firm over her silk blouse, and it hurt, it hurt.
“Baby.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
They’d stopped moving. His jaw was slack, his mouth open in soft astonishment.
“My name is Carmen. I’m not your baby. I’m not
anyone’s
baby. I took you to a motel to fuck you, and just because I—just because we—” She had to stop, to inhale, which sounded like a gasp, painful, broken, issuing from her throat before she could lock it down, and his eyes were so warm when he said it again.
One syllable. A meaningless word.
“Baby.”
“You weren’t supposed to get any
ideas
,” she said fiercely.
“I know.”
Her emotions were climbing her throat, that leaping creature wailing at her, alive, wounded. “We aren’t going to have a
thing
.”
Tears. There were tears in her eyes. God.
Noah gazed at her, forehead crumpled, eyebrows in, brown eyes steady and fathomless with the kind of steady wisdom she’d never possessed, never seen modeled, never learned. “All right. If that’s what you want.”
This man—he knew what to say. She didn’t understand how he could, but he did. He knew how to plant seeds and leave them alone, how to give them space to grow, how to keep faith that the world wouldn’t destroy them as soon as he looked away.
They couldn’t be more different.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said.
“It might not,” he agreed with a shrug. “It might. I think it’s too early to tell.”
“So, what? You just wait and see?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I just wait and see.”
She looked past him to the other side of the pool, where his men had gathered in a knot around their machines, watching. “I guess if I go over and tell your crew to leave, you’ll countermand the order,” she said.
“Yep.”
“I’m going back to the office.”
“Okay.”
He walked beside her all the way, and she felt the crewmen’s eyes on them. The sun warmed her cheek and heated her hair. Beyond the buildings, the waves smacked against the beach. Noah found her hand, squeezed it, and let it go.
The world went on. On and on, waves against the beach, sunrise and sunset, notes on her clipboard, papers crumpled and tossed away at the end of the day.
Carmen thought about boats and beer, fried seafood and slow, tipsy sex.
She thought about what it would be like to have faith in what she wanted.
Her father was on his phone when they entered the office. “Fine. Give me twenty minutes.” He ended the call. “I’m running late for a meeting in Key West. I guess you’re going to tell me you couldn’t send them home with Mr. Superhero trailing you out there.”
“Yes.”
He wiped his hand up and down over one cheek. “Look. Get your boyfriend
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