Chapter Six
Before I knew it, I was in the backseat of their car driving toward exactly what I wanted to forever forget. Mr. Clairborne worked it out with the country club so my car could stay there for the night. Not like anyone would want to steal it, and having it towed away wouldn’t be all that bad.
The car ride was eerily silent, but I noticed the glances between husband and wife. I was sure they had the ability to communicate without words. The question was, what were they saying?
Mr. Clairborne bypassed the resort and took a back road to their private bungalow with a gorgeous view of the Gulf and their own slice of the beach. The one-story bungalow, like most of Paradise, had a Mediterranean flair. Arches and columns adorned the beautifully lit up home. Palm trees filled the landscape. It was an oasis within an oasis.
We pulled into their four-car garage that was bigger and nicer than most homes. My apartment wouldn’t even consume half. Three cars and a truck filled the space. Each looked new or slightly used. The truck looked the oldest, but that could have been because it was dirty. I wondered where they had taken it. The mud on it was brown, not like the red clay we had in Alabama. I was too tired and nervous to ask. It had been a long day and I knew it would be a longer night. The most uncomfortable one of my life. If I slept at all, it would be a miracle. My plan was to get up early, call Sharon, beg her to come and get me, and find someone willing to haul away Lola for cheap. I couldn’t afford to keep fixing her. I would be walking and taking public transportation until I completed my doctorate.
Once the car was off and the garage door was coming down, Mrs. Clairborne turned back toward me. “We will put you in one of the guest bedrooms near the pool.”
One of the guest bedrooms? How many did they have? I had been in the house once, but it was quick. Porter had forgotten his wallet. Maybe not that quick; we made out in his bedroom. Porter liked to take his time with that activity. When it was with him, I had too.
“Anywhere is fine. Thank you.”
“This is going to be good,” she practically sang as Mr. Clairborne helped her out of the car. He opened my door too. Southern gentleman manners out in force. Porter had those too. Except for the kissing Demi episode. That wasn’t polite at all.
I followed them through the cleanest and best organized garage of all time into the house. We landed in a mud room that had not a speck of dirt in it. That led to a laundry room with shelves for days and gleaming appliances. Did anyone even live here?
“Do you remember Charlotte, our daughter?” Mrs. Clairborne asked.
I nodded.
“She’s down this hall,” Mrs. Clairborne pointed out. “She should be back in an hour or so. She had a big date tonight.” I think I remember Porter’s room being down that hall too.
The house was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside, with exposed wood beam ceilings and dark hardwood. Everything else was airy and light, including the furniture made of natural materials throughout the home. I felt like I was walking through a showcase home.
Mr. Clairborne parted from us and headed to bed. “Goodnight, Holland,” he said before giving Mrs. Clairborne a seductive glance. “See you in a minute, darlin’.” He sounded eager.
It was nice to see that love endured, even grew with age. It was apparent they were still very much in love. I noticed the way they touched each other all night and the soft words spoken. I didn’t grow up seeing those kinds of relationships. My parents were brutal to one another and my aunt and uncle may have loved each other, but they argued most of the time about anything and everything. At least they weren’t violent like my parents, but they were never soft. Not like the Clairbornes.
“I’ll get Holland settled and I’ll be right there.”
I wouldn’t be able to settle here, but I desperately wanted out of the heels. My feet were begging to be released from their three-inch captors.
Mrs. Clairborne took my hand. “Come. I want you to see your room. I recently remodeled it. Then I’ll get you a nightgown to change into.”
I followed along. No sense in protesting now since I was here. Our heels clicked all the way down the hall. We passed what looked like a den, then a closed door, which I assumed was a bedroom. The next door we came to was open and we entered.
Mrs. Clairborne flipped on the lights to reveal the prettiest room I’d ever had the pleasure of being in. A large wrought iron bed stood in the middle, covered with light linens and several pillows. There was a sitting area near the double glass doors with a view of the pool, and what looked like the most comfortable chair and ottoman ever. The dresser drawers were hand carved with ornate designs.
“It’s beautiful.”
Mrs. Clairborne beamed. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.” She pointed to the closed door to the left. “There’s a bathroom through there. There are already towels and any toiletry item imaginable in there, but if you find you need anything, let me know.”
I knew I wouldn’t be lacking for anything in this home. “Thank you. Really, you’ve done more than I ever expected.”
She gave me a little side squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Please make yourself at home.”
As soon as she left, I slipped out of my shoes. I was five feet five again. Oh, that felt good. My feet reveled in the feel of the cool hardwood floors. Next, I headed to the bathroom. I could use some cool water splashed on my face. I hoped to find some makeup wipes too. My face wasn’t used to the extra layer.
The bathroom was perhaps even nicer than the room. Some kind of fancy tile made up the floor. And the walls were made of stone, as was the large tub in front of the stained-glass window. The other side of the bathroom had a double sink counter and a rain shower. It was like staying in a five-star hotel. I only knew that because I had worked at one. One side of the bathroom counter held baskets filled with washcloths and various toiletries. The other side had the same, but there was also a man’s toiletry bag and a razor. It was then I noticed a door on the other side. It must be one of those Jack and Jill bathrooms. Was someone else staying here? I would think Mrs. Clairborne would have said something. Or did Mr. Clairborne use this bathroom? Just in case, I went to make sure the other door was locked.
That ended up not being necessary. I reached for the door, but someone was already opening it from the other side. I stepped back. Was I ever in for the shock of my life. Although maybe not as shocked as the other person—only in his boxer shorts—when I let out a tiny scream.
He blinked his eyes before they reached maximum capacity for width. “Holland?” He rubbed his eyes.
My sympathetic nervous system revved up and my parasympathetic system wasn’t kicking in to calm me down. I was bordering on a panic attack. “Porter? What are you doing here?”
He pointed at me, shock and delight filled his features. “What are you doing here?”
“Leaving.” I turned as quick as I could. Why didn’t his parents tell me he was here? I would have never come. That answered that.
“Wait,” Porter called.
I ran into Mrs. Clairborne when exiting the bathroom. Porter was right behind me.
Mrs. Clairborne steadied herself before looking at the both of us. She looked both pleased and worried with her impish grin. “I see you two have already run into each other. Excellent.”
Excellent was not what I was thinking. “I need to go.” I headed to get my shoes.
That wiped the grin off her face. “No. Please don’t.”
I stopped and looked between Mrs. Clairborne and Porter. My eyes lingered on him, his bare, defined chest had more hair on it than I remembered. And the stubble. He couldn’t really grow a beard the last time I saw him. His broad shoulders paired perfectly with his lean waist. His hair was mussed up like he had already been asleep. He was still Porter, but an older, more attractive version. I knew that from his posts, but they didn’t do the living, breathing him justice.
He too seemed to be fixated on me. His eyes roved over me, again and again.
I ran my fingers through my hair.
“Holland,” Mrs. Clairborne addressed me, “I’m sorry I didn’t mention Porter was visiting. I knew you wouldn’t stay if you knew, but I know you needed to.” She focused on Porter. “You both need this, so there will be no more talk of leaving. It’s late and we’re all tired.” She stood tall and proud, full of authority. “Here’s your nightgown and robe. If you need anything else, I’m sure Porter will be happy to help you.”
He nodded, still focused on me.
I took the black silk gown and matching robe from her but didn’t look at her either. Porter consumed me. He was always good at that.
“Goodnight. I’ll make breakfast in the morning.” She marched her tiny frame out the door and shut it with force.
That left Porter and me to stare at each other.
“I came for Jaycee's wedding and my car broke down.” I answered his earlier question, nervous.
“I’m here on a . . . break.”
A break? Did you get breaks in the working world? “That’s nice.” That sounded lame.
“I’m sorry about your car.”
“She died a noble death.”
He grinned. “I should let you change and get to bed. You can use the bathroom first.”
“Thanks.” My voice was breathy.
He nodded, and without another word, he went back to his room. I noticed he locked the bathroom door on his side before he closed it.
Once I swallowed my heart back down, I thought about what I should do. Calling a cab was still an option. But I didn’t exactly know the address here. I suppose I could walk to the Clairborne. My feet begged me to reconsider that. Would Sharon kill me if I called her this late pleading for a ride? She did hold the balance of my life in her hands, so it probably wasn’t a good idea. I supposed I could stay. I had a feeling Mr. and Mrs. Clairborne would be on the lookout for any escapees tonight. And what if I triggered their alarm? Okay. I would stay, but I wasn’t going to like it.
I stared at the closed bathroom door. Porter was behind it. How could that be? And what did Mrs. Clairborne mean by “we both needed this”? How did she know what I needed? I needed to forget him, not spend the night in the room next to him. I certainly didn’t need images of his half-naked body in my head. Not to say they weren’t pleasant or worth revisiting, but they were going to set me back a few years. The fact I gave up checking him out online was now useless.
On shaky legs, I walked back into the bathroom. At least I got to take off the ridiculous dress. I held up the black nightgown. My head dropped. I was going from one revealing outfit to another. The robe wasn’t all that long either. I hadn’t ever worn this much silk in my life. When I did take the time to wear pajamas, they were flannel in the winter and only a t-shirt in the summer. Who had time for nighties? I looked around me. People that lived in million-dollar-plus homes.
I took a moment to look in the mirror. The humidity near the coast had undone some of my curls. My pale skin was marked with red blotches of embarrassment. That was attractive. I ran my hand across my bare collar bones and breathed. Time to get out of this dress. I reached back to unzip the zipper. It was one of the reasons I chose this dress. I could get in and out of it by myself. It took some acrobatics, but it was doable.
Well, it was. The zipper wasn’t moving. Oh, no, no, no. Not on top of everything else that had happened to me tonight. I turned around to see what I could see in the mirror. I tugged and tugged some more. Ugh. I grunted and yanked until I heard a knock on the locked door.
“Are you okay in there?”
He was listening to me? Forget about the blotches, my body was in full blown vasodilation. “I’m fine. Just a little problem with my zipper.”
“Do you need some help?”
“No!”
He chuckled. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“If you change your mind, just open the door.”
That wasn’t happening. I didn’t need him to undress me. Now I had to get those images out of my mind. I was going to scour through pictures of disease-ridden organs as soon as I got back to the lab. Anything to recover from the images of this day. I put all my might and energy into one more tug. It didn’t even budge. I looked for some type of petroleum jelly to lubricate it. All I could find was hair gel. That wouldn’t do. I worked on it for ten more minutes, huffing and puffing.
“Holland.”
“What?”
“Let me help you.”
I stared at the door for several seconds.
“You know I could always pop the lock.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You know I would.”
I knew that about him. Wait. I didn’t know him. “I’ll let you help me, but put on some pants or something.”
“If it will make you feel better.” He laughed.
I stood next to the door and waited for a few seconds, trying to get that parasympathetic system to kick in. “Are you dressed?”
“As dressed as I’m getting.”
“What does that mean?”
“Open the door and find out.” He hadn’t changed at all.
I unlocked the door and slowly twisted the handle. Hydrogen, helium, lithium…
“Are you reciting the periodic table in your head?”
Out of all the things for him to remember.
“Maybe.”
He laughed. “Same old Holland.”
I wasn’t the same. I was completely different and not at all affected by his charming laugh or lean muscle mass. I pulled the door open a crack and peeked on the other side.
His teeth gleamed in the dim light. “No need to be shy around me.”
“I’m not shy. I look at naked bodies all the time.” Cadavers counted. Why did I say that? I leaned against the door, even more embarrassed.
His left eyebrow arched like I remembered. “Is that so?”
I tucked some hair behind my ear. “For scientific purposes.”
He pushed the door open all the way, still laughing, bare chested, and wearing a pair of jeans that did his body good. “Are you a scientist now, Holland?”
I turned around so as not to stare at that chest that was once a safe landing place for me. Wanting this to be over and done with. Trying desperately to think of gut flora or the fact that our bodies made pints of saliva every day. Anything that disgusted me. Anything to get Porter out of my mind. It wasn’t helping. My mind wasn’t my own. My brain reminded me instead of all the saliva I shared with Porter. No. No. No. He was a lying jerk and I didn’t care how amazing he looked, I was over him. Completely. One hundred percent, not remotely interested. Who cared when he used to kiss me he could make my brain release mass amounts of dopamine?
“You didn’t answer the question.” He brushed my hair to the side, causing my arrector pili muscles to contract over every square inch of my body.
I shook involuntarily. “I am. I have degrees in microbiology and chemistry.”
“I’m not surprised.” He gently tugged on the uncooperative zipper. “Where do you work?”
“For the lab at Winchester. I’m a doctoral student.”
“I’m proud . . . I mean, that’s great.”
“What about you? What are you doing now?” Like I didn’t know, but I needed something to try and get my mind off the fact that he was touching me.
“Marketing for a ski resort in Lake Tahoe.”
“It’s the second deepest lake in the United States,” I blurted out like an idiot.
“Of course you know that off the top of your head.” The smile in his voice was apparent.
“I can’t help it.”
“I like it. Always have.” He yanked again. “What did you do to this zipper?”
“I don’t know. It’s not even my dress.”
“You don’t have a lot of occasions to wear cocktail dresses in the lab?” It was just like him not to call attention to the fact that I didn’t own the dress. He never once made me feel like I was less because he had more.
“Not really, no.”
“That’s too bad,” he whispered close to my ear. “This dress suits you.”
For the love of amino acids, he needed to quit doing that. “Do you have some lubricant or something?” Anything to get this over with.
“That’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think?”
I stepped away from him. Forget embarrassment. I was way past that. “I think I’ll sleep in the dress.”
“Come on, that was funny. Laugh a little.”
“It was immature.”
“I’ll give you that. But it gave me an idea. Hold tight, I’ll be right back.” He slipped back into his room. Or was it his room? It looked more like a guest bedroom from what I could tell.
“How come you’re not in your old room?” I braved asking.
He looked up from the bag resting on the bench at the end of the four-poster bed with crumpled blankets. “It’s an art studio now.”
“Oh.”
He went back to digging through his bag for what I hoped wasn’t anything with the initials K or Y on it. “That’s what happens when you don’t come home for almost eight years.”
“That’s a long time.”
His head popped up; his eyes locked with mine. “Too long.”
I nodded without thinking. I didn’t care how long it had been.
He held up a tube of lip balm without taking his eyes off me. “Let’s get you out of that dress.”