a tuxedo, and Frankie standing before them, wearing a reverend's robe, waiting to officiate from her iPad, glasses sliding down the slope of her tiny nose.
"No," she finally answered, hoping the girl could hear the humor in her voice. "No, I'm not going to marry your dad."
"Do you love him?"
Natalie never knew a question could knock the wind from her lungs. Remnants of humor dissipated so quickly she almost felt the physical absence they left behind.
Do you love him?
The question reverberated in her mind, and though it was merely a child's voice asking, the weight of the question struck her hard.
"Frankie why don't you give me a hand with the ice cream?" James called out as he reappeared in the room.
"Okay!" Frankie jumped up to her feet, her question apparently forgotten, and left Natalie on the floor with her thoughts. How was she supposed to recover from that question? It muddled her thoughts, dispossessed her of rational thought in that moment.
Do you love him?
THIRTEEN
"Natalie, do you want Tahitian vanilla bean or Belgian milk chocolate?" James called out from the kitchen.
Do you love him?
"Nat?" The gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder snapped her out of the fog of her own mind. "You okay?"
Every blink of her eyes was like a camera lens coming into focus. She took a deep breath and tried for a smile. The last thing she wanted was for him to think something was wrong. That would cause concern. Concern would lead to questions; questions to answers.
"Yeah. Um, Belgian milk chocolate please."
"I thought you'd say that." He smiled and handed her a small bowl filled with two heaping scoops of gourmet chocolate ice cream. He sat down next to her on his own makeshift seat made of pillows and blankets, a second bowl of ice cream in his hand.
Frankie came bundling into the room with her own bowl and bounced onto the couch. She turned on the large flat panel TV mounted to the wall across from them and channel surfed until she found a documentary on Ancient Egypt and settled in.
"So how was work tonight?" James asked between spoonfuls of dessert.
Natalie had all but forgotten about Joe, dinner and their upcoming trip. "It was good," she responded, wondering how much she could - or rather should - disclose to him. She had no reason to keep any part of the truth hidden from him, but had a feeling that he wouldn't appreciate her going to Arrowhead for the weekend for work, let alone with a male coworker. "The guy that transferred here from San Francisco with Ivy, Joe, has asked me to help bring in a new account."
"What's the account?" he asked.
"Uh," she wanted to blush, to laugh at the absurdity of what she was about to say, but she couldn’t muster the humor. "It's an all male revue. In Vegas."
" Really ," he laughed. "Chippendales?"
"No." She shook her head and took another bite of ice cream. " The Gentleman's Show ."
James' lips curled into a devilish smile. "That's quite a name. Quite a familiar name actually."
"Except in this case I'm pretty sure it's the Gentlemen being objectified." She shrugged at his pointed gaze. "You know what I mean." She turned her attention back to her ice cream but could still feel his gaze on her, turning the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She glanced his way but couldn't meet his eyes. "What?"
Do you love him?
"Nothing. You just seem... different is all."
She tried for a smile but it barely even touched her eyes. "It's just work stress." It wasn't untrue no matter how she quantified it. Work was stressful because she was dating a client. Because she was removed from that client's account. Because any day someone could find out about dating said client and she would be fired. Work was stressful because she was asked to help on an account that she, for whatever reason, felt James wouldn't like. Because of Arrowhead. "Maybe one day I'll have enough vacation time earned to take a week off and just rest."
James perked up at that. "Or even go on an actual
"No," she finally answered, hoping the girl could hear the humor in her voice. "No, I'm not going to marry your dad."
"Do you love him?"
Natalie never knew a question could knock the wind from her lungs. Remnants of humor dissipated so quickly she almost felt the physical absence they left behind.
Do you love him?
The question reverberated in her mind, and though it was merely a child's voice asking, the weight of the question struck her hard.
"Frankie why don't you give me a hand with the ice cream?" James called out as he reappeared in the room.
"Okay!" Frankie jumped up to her feet, her question apparently forgotten, and left Natalie on the floor with her thoughts. How was she supposed to recover from that question? It muddled her thoughts, dispossessed her of rational thought in that moment.
Do you love him?
THIRTEEN
"Natalie, do you want Tahitian vanilla bean or Belgian milk chocolate?" James called out from the kitchen.
Do you love him?
"Nat?" The gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder snapped her out of the fog of her own mind. "You okay?"
Every blink of her eyes was like a camera lens coming into focus. She took a deep breath and tried for a smile. The last thing she wanted was for him to think something was wrong. That would cause concern. Concern would lead to questions; questions to answers.
"Yeah. Um, Belgian milk chocolate please."
"I thought you'd say that." He smiled and handed her a small bowl filled with two heaping scoops of gourmet chocolate ice cream. He sat down next to her on his own makeshift seat made of pillows and blankets, a second bowl of ice cream in his hand.
Frankie came bundling into the room with her own bowl and bounced onto the couch. She turned on the large flat panel TV mounted to the wall across from them and channel surfed until she found a documentary on Ancient Egypt and settled in.
"So how was work tonight?" James asked between spoonfuls of dessert.
Natalie had all but forgotten about Joe, dinner and their upcoming trip. "It was good," she responded, wondering how much she could - or rather should - disclose to him. She had no reason to keep any part of the truth hidden from him, but had a feeling that he wouldn't appreciate her going to Arrowhead for the weekend for work, let alone with a male coworker. "The guy that transferred here from San Francisco with Ivy, Joe, has asked me to help bring in a new account."
"What's the account?" he asked.
"Uh," she wanted to blush, to laugh at the absurdity of what she was about to say, but she couldn’t muster the humor. "It's an all male revue. In Vegas."
" Really ," he laughed. "Chippendales?"
"No." She shook her head and took another bite of ice cream. " The Gentleman's Show ."
James' lips curled into a devilish smile. "That's quite a name. Quite a familiar name actually."
"Except in this case I'm pretty sure it's the Gentlemen being objectified." She shrugged at his pointed gaze. "You know what I mean." She turned her attention back to her ice cream but could still feel his gaze on her, turning the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She glanced his way but couldn't meet his eyes. "What?"
Do you love him?
"Nothing. You just seem... different is all."
She tried for a smile but it barely even touched her eyes. "It's just work stress." It wasn't untrue no matter how she quantified it. Work was stressful because she was dating a client. Because she was removed from that client's account. Because any day someone could find out about dating said client and she would be fired. Work was stressful because she was asked to help on an account that she, for whatever reason, felt James wouldn't like. Because of Arrowhead. "Maybe one day I'll have enough vacation time earned to take a week off and just rest."
James perked up at that. "Or even go on an actual
Similar Books
