CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Violet
The next two days fly by in a blur. I’m floating on the high of the best date—and the best sex—I’ve ever had. There’s a spring in my step, a smile on my face and hope in my bruised heart.
I’m nailing the tour guide gig thing and nailing Jennings at the same time. In fact, I think I’m going to update my résumé and add multitasking under my useful skills.
In Williamsburg, while the group happily watches blacksmiths forge iron into tools the same way they would have during days gone by, Jennings pulls me around the corner and kisses me until I’m breathless.
In Jamestown, as the group takes a tour of a recreation of the three ships that brought America’s first English colonists to Virginia in 1607, Jennings drags me into an alcove past the ticket office, slips one hand under my skirt and makes me come, his other hand clamped firmly over my mouth the moment before I would have given us away.
In Richmond—oh, Richmond. Our stop in Richmond is to visit St. John’s Church, the spot where the American Revolution was ignited when Patrick Henry made the famous “Give me liberty or give me death” speech. While the group enjoys a guided tour of the church and sits in the original pews—pews George Washington and Thomas Jefferson themselves might well have sat in—Jennings and I are in the bathroom having sex.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think of Richmond without blushing.
We drive through the Shenandoah National Park and the Blue Ridge Mountains on our way to Gettysburg. The views are spectacular and the time spent sitting next to Jennings chatting about nothing and everything is—well, it is everything.
At one stop we find an arcade and I kick his butt in ski-ball. At another he takes me to dinner at an IHOP and I torture him by moaning as I stuff pancakes into my mouth, his eyes darkening as I try not to laugh with my mouth full.
We exchange stories from childhood, mine carefully edited not to include any mention of Daisy. I ask him questions about living in London and make him recite words I find especially attractive in his accent.
He asks me about my goals. I’ve never been with a man so interested in what I want out of my future. He even offered to look over my résumé—he mentioned he does some of the hiring at his company and would be happy to look over my résumé and give me some pointers. Only he called it a CV, so I’d no idea what he was referring to at first. Based on the conversation we were having at the time I sorta got that he wasn’t offering me a sexual favor, but it still took me a moment to catch on.
I deferred the offer, obviously. Even if I could have quickly changed my name to Daisy’s, I’d have had to add Sutton Travel on there somewhere and I’ve been avoiding any concrete answers about how long I’ve been doing this tour guide gig.
The point is that he cared enough to offer.
But still, I haven’t told him. That my name is Violet, not Daisy. I hardly remember it most of the time, the lie. I feel more myself with him than I’ve felt in a long, long time.
Somehow I’ve managed to justify it in my own head. It’s not even that odd to me that the guests all call me Daisy. I’ve heard the name my entire life. I’ve been called Daisy accidentally more times than I can count. In school, with friends, by my own parents. It’s second nature to respond to it as if it were my own name. The only person who really matters is Jennings, and most of the time he calls me ‘love.’ In front of the other guests he calls me Daisy. Or Miss Hayden. But when it’s just us it’s ‘love.’ And I convince myself that it’s a small technicality—as if my actual real name is insignificant. It’s me he’s spending time with, not Daisy.
I’ll tell him after—if there is an after. We haven’t talked about the future—not in specific detail, anyway. I’ve told him about my background in design, keeping it as vague as possible. I’ve mentioned that I’m looking for another job in that field and he’s questioned if I’m willing to relocate for work. Relocate to London? I’m not entirely sure that’s what he was asking. Perhaps he was asking if I’d move to New York or Los Angeles or Detroit if the right job came along.
But he did ask it.
He did mention a meeting he has in New York in a couple of months. And his cousin in Las Vegas. Were those invitations? Feelers?
And he suggested that I could look for a position at the parent company of Sutton Travel—which is located in London. He mentioned it twice, in fact. Reminded me about what an Anglophile I am—and I don’t think I was imagining the silent look he gave me when he said it, a whole conversation passing between us without words.
And…
I did it. I applied for a job in London. Two of them, in fact. I mean, fuck it, right? I’ve dreamed of living overseas my entire life. If now’s not the time, when? Most everything I own was packed into a storage unit when I moved in with Daisy and honestly, I don’t even miss my stuff, not really. It’s just stuff. I could sell off most of it at this point and not think twice about it. Pack up a few suitcases and move anywhere. What do I need besides my laptop, cell and some personal items?
Jennings.
I need Jennings.
But it’s not like I’d be moving just for him—it would be for me too. Because in the long run of my life, what’s more important? Playing it safe or taking risks? Playing it safe hasn’t gotten me what I expected. If anything, it’s the safe choices I regret.
Both with my career and my heart.
So why the hell not reach for the stars? Do something crazy? Crazier than a one-night stand. Something with no sure outcome.
We’ll see how things play out.
Until then, I’m on cloud nine.
Giddy about the possibilities. Optimistic about my career. Enchanted with Jennings.
It doesn’t last long.