Bellini's Christmas Burlesque Show, page 18
“Thank you, Bellini,” he said, and I saw that he was, once again, flattered.
The living space, minus the bedroom, was one huge room. As below, he had preserved the old architecture, but the lighting here was different than the office. It was modern and yet traditional. He had an antler chandelier over his table, clear glass pendant lights over his kitchen counter, and modern wood lamps on side tables. Thick rugs, leather couches, a wide steel and wood coffee table, and…plants.
“Plants? I didn’t know you had a green thumb.”
“I bought the easy ones. Someone I knew a long time ago liked plants, so I figured I’d buy some, too.”
That someone was me. Back then, I loved plants, loved gardening, loved getting in the dirt. I still do, though I don’t do it as much as I’d like. “Well, they seem like healthy plants. Is your kitchen island an antique?” I walked toward it, running my hands over the quartz.
“I found two long sideboards in an antique shop, attached them, and put the quartz over them both.”
There were drawers on both sides. “It’s so unique. So traditional yet used as an island! How creative.”
All the windows opened to an expansive view of Kalulell and the Rockies and Swan Mountains. I stared out at the twinkling lights, the mountains in shadow. “The view must be incredible at all times, but especially at sunrise and sunset.”
“It is,” he said. “It’s like watching a painting move across the sky.”
“That’s a perfect way of putting it,” I said. I saw my Roxy Belle books on his shelf. “You bought all of them.”
“Yeah. Bought them and read them all. You’re talented, Bellini. Roxy Belle is adventurous, smart, and funny. Free-thinking. Independent. I can see why your books are so popular.”
“Thank you.” My voice wobbled as I ran my finger over the spines. “Writing about Roxy Belle saved me. I started writing the books after my divorce, literally when I was driving out of Eastern Oregon. By the time I finally sat down to write in my little pink and white cottage, I think she’d been living in my head for a long time, so I wrote the first book quickly, and the rest followed.”
“You told me how you get your ideas for the books but tell me from start to finish how you write them.” He sat on his leather couch, and I sat on the same one.
I did not sit in his lap. I did not straddle him and dramatically rip off my clothes. I did not grab him and pull him on top of me. I thought about it but figured that would be pushy.
“I’ll try to think of a little lesson Roxy Belle might learn about life, then I build the story around the lesson. I try to focus on at least one of her family members each book, too, so the readers get to know all of them. She has a mother and father and five siblings, as you know. Plus, in school I always include something that the readers can learn—something about science or animals or grammar or writing. And she always writes vocabulary lists so the kids can learn new words along with her. I write a lot about her animals and the farm because kids love reading about both. I write a short outline, a draft, and I edit the story four or five or more times. I know when I’m done, then it goes to my agent and editor.”
“When’s your next deadline?”
“Oh…” I waved my hand. “I passed that a long time ago. I’m late.” I was touched by how interested Logan had been in Roxy Belle and my writing career. My ex had never been interested when I’d told him I wanted to be a writer and illustrator. He’d dismissed it. Hadn’t wanted to hear about it because it had nothing to do with him. He hadn’t believed I could do it either.
“Thanks for talking to me so much about Roxy Belle, Logan. It’s actually inspiring.”
He spread his hands and I remembered what those hands could do to my body.
“I wanted to know all about your career. I admire you. You wanted to become a writer and illustrator, and you did. I also admire you for coming home to run the bar for your mom.” His words were soft and low, honest. “Whiskey has an outstanding daughter.”
“She’s done everything for me. I’m happy to do this for her.”
“If you lived here, you couldn’t write, though, could you?”
I sucked in my breath. It was like he knew I’d been thinking about that. “No. I don’t think so. I’d end up working in the bar. The bar is so important to my mom and to our employees, and my mom is getting tired. Very tired.”
“But being a writer is a huge part of who you are. It would be hard to give that up.”
“Yes. It would be. I love writing the books and going to schools and reading the books to the kids and telling them how I write. I like the teaching part of my job and having the kids write their own adventure stories.”
“Fulfilling job.”
“Yes, that’s it. You always understand how I feel, Logan.”
“I try. You’re fascinating, m’lady, always changing, so I have to keep up.”
I scoffed. “I see nothing fascinating about myself. Can I see the rest of your home in the sky? That’s how it feels in here. It feels like we’re alone, in the sky, the mountains all around.”
“Come along. The tour continues. Step this way, m’lady.”
An office with a huge desk and table and a guest bedroom were on opposite sides of the hall.
“Here’s my lonely bedroom.”
“Your lonely bedroom.” I shook my head at him, but I was relieved—oh-so-relieved. It would have been so discouraging for him to say, “And here’s my bedroom that is never lonely because so many women have paraded through here, lucky me.” Ugh. Miserable.
He opened the door, and all I could see was his huge king-sized, four-poster bed. Each post was part of a tree that had been shined up. It looked like he had a mini forest in his bedroom. Only one light was on, so the whole atmosphere had a romantic vibe. Although maybe I simply felt a “romantic vibe” because I was thinking of Logan in bed.
I had another one of my graphic visions of Logan and me naked, only this time I was up against the wall with my legs wrapped around his waist, my head back.
Good heavens.
Control yourself, Bellini.
Then I thought of wrestling around with Logan in that bed and conquering the handsome male beside me…
As my face heated, I whirled and ran right into Logan’s chest. “Jeez,” I said. “You are still made of steel.”
I saw his chest rise and fall as he inhaled, but he didn’t move. Not an inch. I didn’t move either. The top of my head came up to the base of his neck. We were within an inch of touching each other. The air between us was, instantly, hot. Steamy, sexy hot.
I inhaled at the same time he did, as if we were both preparing for what came next.
Seeing each other, talking and laughing again as if we’d never been apart, then these dance lessons where we were chest to chest—it was all too much.
I closed my eyes as both pain and desire rushed through me like I had a fire hose over my head. One thing I knew: I shouldn’t do this.
“Bellini,” he said, his voice constricted.
“This is a bad idea,” I told him, my own voice cracking. “Very bad.”
“I like bad ideas sometimes.” He angled his head. He was so close, his mouth so close, it would take only a couple of inches and me up on tiptoe, and I could kiss the man I’d kissed all through high school and whose kisses had haunted me ever since.
“I feel like I’m going to give in here.” I stared resolutely at his chest as my whole body felt electrified.
“When do you think you’ll give in?”
Even then, he made me smile. I could feel his warmth. “Probably soon.”
“Time frame?” he whispered.
I knew him so well. In the past, we were best friends, we were boyfriend and girlfriend, we were passionate about each other. We did things together, we skied and hiked and hung out with friends. I’d comforted him, he’d comforted me. We had the same sense of humor. We flirted. We passed notes in the hall. We thought we had a future together.
But the passion now between us—that was a passion for adults.
“I think I’m going to give in within a minute or two.” My voice was shaky. “What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to give in in a second or two.”
I closed my eyes again, fighting it. “That’s awfully soon.”
“Why are you fighting this, Bellini?”
“Oh, many reasons.” One huge reason—the reason he didn’t know, and I couldn’t tell him.
“Name one.”
“I think…” I paused. I could smell him. He smelled like pine trees and winter air and mint and Montana and home. “I can’t think of one right now. I can’t think. What about you?”
“I can’t think of any reason we should not be in my bed.”
“It’s a big bed.”
“Not so big you’ll get lost.”
“It looks comfy.”
“It is.”
“But if I got in it, I would have to get out of it.”
“Not necessarily. We could live in my bed for a few days and order takeout.”
I couldn’t resist. I truly couldn’t. It had been years since we’d been together, but the attraction was the same. Blazing out of control. I smiled up at him and leaned in, all resistance gone. It was us alone, together, Logan and me.
He saw it, and that was it. He put his warm palm to my face, and his mouth came down on mine, and I couldn’t remember my own name after that. I couldn’t remember if I had a name. I knew his, though, and I breathed it out when he picked me up and placed me gently on that fluffy bed, and without even thinking, I whispered my truth, my voice choked up, “I have missed you so much, Logan.”
He lifted his head and said, “I have missed you every single day, Bellini. Every. Single. Day.”
I teared up, and I sniffled ingloriously, but our clothes were soon gone, because he was talented in that department, and I could not get enough of that man. I cried, a little, from loneliness and joy, and I even kissed a tear on his cheek, but the sex was absolutely fabulous—both times.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and later we did, somehow, end up against his wall, and I did straddle him like a gymnast, my head back.
I must have some sort of talent with premonitions or something…
In the morning, the town quiet, the sun rising amidst gold and yellow, Logan drove me back to my truck at Lady Whiskey’s. We’d taken a shower together, he’d made me eggs and toast, we’d ended up on the couch performing naked gymnastics, and then we’d headed out the door. I had to hurry home and check on my mom. I’d left her dinner, and her sisters were coming over, but still. I checked my phone and texted her that I was coming home soon, and she texted, Now don’t you hurry home, sugarplum, and tell Logan I said hello and good morning.
Very funny, Mother, I texted back.
In the front seat of his truck, Logan pulled me onto his lap for a hug and kiss. “See you soon?”
I smiled at him and dramatically fluttered my eyelashes at him. “I have to let my body rest.”
He laughed. “How long does your body need to rest?”
“A few hours at least. You should rest your body, too. That was a lot of work holding me up against the wall.”
“No work at all, sweetheart. None.” He kissed me again, and we almost ended up in a compromising position in the middle of the parking lot. How embarrassing it would be to get arrested for having sex in his truck. The entire town would know. The news would probably be posted in the bar, with people gawking at the charges filed against us.
We would never live it down.
“Bye, Logan.” I gave him another kiss.
“No, don’t say bye, m’lady.”
“Don’t say bye?”
“Please don’t. Say, ‘See you later.’ Or, ‘I’ll meet you at your place.’ Or, ‘Where do you want to go to dinner tonight?’ Something like that.”
“Got it. See you later, Logan.”
He grinned at me. “See you later, honey.”
I paused on that. He’d called me honey and sweetheart and babe all the time when we were dating.
He got out of his truck while I was still pausing, and he opened the door and gave me another toe-tingling kiss.
I climbed into my truck. On my way home, I thought, what have you done? You have created another mess. Merry damn messy Christmas.
Then I thought of that last kiss. I sighed like a fool.
“Good morning, daughter,” my mother called out cheerily when I walked through the front door.
I had hardly slept. I should have been tired, but my mind was a tornado of emotions, all whirling together and affected by excellent sex and a man who looked like Hercules.
She had made coffee and was dressed in red sweats with reindeer. Her coloring was better. I gave her a hug.
“How are you, Mom?” What was surprising about my mother was how she’d blossomed these last weeks. The first week after her operation was rough, of course, but now she looked so relaxed, so calm and peaceful. “You look very Zen,” I told her.
She spent her time lying on her pink couch in her living room, my cats doing their job by keeping her company or chasing mice outside. She was reading books and watching TV shows and movies she’d heard about but hadn’t had time to watch.
She was spending tons of time with The Sisters and friends who kept visiting to “check” on her. For the first time since she was twelve, she wasn’t working. She looked…gentled. Softer. Younger.
I felt guilty again. Should I tell her to retire, and I’d run the bar? I cringed at the thought. I instantly felt depressed and overwhelmed, and I could feel my entire writing career fading away, disappearing into the tip-top mountains of Montana. But she was worth it. I loved her so much.
“I’m better knowing that you spent the night with Logan. The more intriguing question is…” She tilted her head, her dimples flashing with glee. “How are you? Ah, I see that you’re happy…glowing…energized and satiated.”
“Satiated, Mother?” I poured coffee into two Christmas elf mugs.
“Couldn’t help myself. Such a carnal word. I take it you and Logan are doing well?”
We sat at the kitchen table and stared at the Swan Mountains to make sure they were “still there,” as my mother said. The view from the back of my mother’s house is spectacular. The Swan Mountains are blue, white, and gray and the field behind our house often houses deer and elk and coyote. You can see a world of animals ambling on by.
“I don’t know, Mom.” This whole thing was a disaster.
“Oh dear.” She grabbed my hands as she studied my face. “Baby, what is it?”
“I shouldn’t have slept with him.”
“Why? He’s always been the love of your life.”
“I know.” I put the mug down and buried my head in my hands. Last night had been the best night of my life. Being with Logan, holding him, kissing him, talking like we used to, our heads on the same king-sized pillow. But why did I do it? Nothing had changed. Our situation hadn’t changed because the problem he didn’t know about hadn’t changed. Either way, Logan was going to get hurt here. Why had I agreed to see his office? His home? I’m not stupid. I envisioned what could happen in a graphic, carnal way, and I’d still eagerly skipped upstairs, my heart thrilled and thudding.
“I never understood why you broke up with him, Bellini. I’ve racked my brain. I turned the situation upside down and inside out. One day, you were happy together. The next, you looked like a ghost. You could hardly speak. You were almost catatonic after you broke up with him. When you both went to college, I know he called you, contacted you, he even came back to Montana to talk to you, but you were adamant that you shouldn’t be together. I know it broke his heart, and it broke yours, too.” She sniffled as her blue eyes filled. “Your explanations of not being right for each other, going to different colleges—they never made sense to me. Honey plum, please. It’s been years. Tell me.”
I rubbed my forehead with both hands as a wall of misery crashed down. “Mom, I will tell you, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone else. You have to promise me you will not interfere. You will not try to fix the problem. I didn’t tell you back then because I knew how you would react, and it would have made everything…impossible. You’ll understand when I tell you. But you can’t tell anyone.”
“I will not tell a soul, not even The Sisters.”
I knew she wouldn’t. This time, I trusted her.
“You’re an adult, Bellini. Not an eighteen-year-old. I will hold my peace. I will not try to fix anything, that’s for you to do. And though I might want to charge out of here like a temperamental bull, I will not. I promise.”
“Mom,” I said, and my voice broke, multiple times, as I told her the whole thing. The full truth. Logan’s dad. His threats about the land. The secrets I held. Logan’s mother and her legacy. How I’d done what I thought was right.
“Dear God,” she said when I was done, then she pushed out her chair, bent over me, and hugged me tight. “You’re right, my dearest love. I would have tried to fix it. I would have come in like an avenging, sword-wielding goddess, and I would have made everything worse by interfering. I am so sorry, honey. I’m sorry you couldn’t tell me. I’m sorry for what happened between you and Logan. I love you, Bellini, and now, finally, I understand why you did what you did. I would have done the same thing. But, oh no. Oh no.”
We cried together. No howls. No hysterics. That’s not who we are. A few tears streamed down our cheeks as the Swan Mountains looked on. An elk stared through the sliding glass door in the distance. I sniffled.
After I made sure my mother had lunch ready for her and that one of her sisters would be over soon, I headed to work, my mind filled with the terrible problem that Logan and me being together would cause. I also worked on all the details of the upcoming T and A show, including writing a formal, cool, totally professional email to Logan.
