~ Clay

This is a big house, I note as I explore John’s house after a shower, a towel wrapped around my waist.

It’s a three-story house with an imposing stone façade and a cozy wooden interior. This contrast carries on to the rest of the house, each room having a mix of old-fashioned and contemporary to offer the perfect balance of comfort and design and especially in the kitchen, which is divided into two – one half small and homey with rustic pots and pans hanging over the stove and the other half huge, like that of a luxurious restaurant’s, with gleaming steel everywhere.

I quite like it.

I wish I had been here while John was still alive, though. I wish he had been able to show me around, to tell me how life here was. Now, I have to rely on the things he left behind to have an idea of how he lived during these past seven years when I didn’t hear anything from him, to form a picture in my head of how he was and piece that together with the John I used to know.

Maybe then, I can feel like I know John again.

I stop in the hall where Rose’s room is but I don’t go there. I don’t want to disturb her, not after what happened this morning. Instead, I stop in front of the door to the room next to it, a door that has a security keypad right next to it.

I haven’t really looked at the security system John used. All I know is that there are cameras in certain areas of the house and that the alarm seems to be on. As far as I know, this door is the only one with a security keypad, which probably means it’s the room where the security of the rest of the house, and maybe the whole ranch, can be controlled.

It also means this is likely John’s room, the room which might hold the answers to the questions I have about John.

I look at the keypad. Now, what code would John use? Definitely not his birthday. Rose’s birthday? I try to remember that from the file and type it in. No good. Maybe the birthday of Rose’s mother then? But I don’t even know that. Heck, I don’t even know her name or what she looks like.

Just for the sake of trying, I put in the numbers of the date when John and I started the company. To my surprise, the light on the keypad goes green, the door opening with a click.

Well, what do you know?

Taking a deep breath, I go inside, the creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet breaking the heavy, almost eerie silence in the room. It’s a large room, maybe even made more spacious by the fact that there isn’t a lot of furniture – just a bed, two bedside tables with lamps, a couch by the window, a desk with John’s computer, a bookshelf and a closet. John never did like clutter and I guess that hasn’t changed.

Another thing that doesn’t seem to have changed is his love of horses, paintings of them on the wall. I haven’t had time to explore the whole ranch yet but I’m guessing there are more than a few real horses somewhere out there.

Not all of the pictures hanging on the wall are of horses, though. One is of John and Rose, who looks like she’s about four, both atop a chestnut horse and wearing bright smiles.

I sit on the edge of the bed, sighing. Why did John leave Rose to me? He should’ve known I wouldn’t make a good father. I told him about how I didn’t have a father and about the stepfather I had once who didn’t care one whit about me. I told him about my mother, too, precisely about how she didn’t act like one until she was dying.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t know the first thing about being a parent and John should have known that. And yet, he still decided to leave Rose to me.

I look at John’s picture.

What am I supposed to do with your little girl, John? She doesn’t even like me. Heck, she doesn’t seem to like anyone apart from Hariett.

I guess I’ll have to count on Andrea to fix that.

As I walk to the window, my thoughts turn to Andrea.

Andrea.

So far, I can tell she’s been keeping her distance and even when she’s beside me, I can sense her discomfort, like she’s ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

I don’t blame her. It’s been thirteen years since we last met, after all, and the last time we were with each other, we were a couple. She was my girlfriend, my best friend, the first girl I ever fell in love with and the girl I was planning on building a future with.

That was before everything fell apart.

The summer before I was off to college, my mother, who I hadn’t heard from for four years, was diagnosed with cancer and wanted to see me. I went to her in San Diego, thinking I could drop by and then leave. But that wasn’t the case. I ended up staying and taking care of her for five months until she passed away. By then, it was too late for me to go to Cornell University so I stayed, worked for a bit and then in the fall, I started going to Caltech.

I never spoke to Andrea again. I didn’t have the heart to call her. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

The next time I saw her, she was on Good Morning America, promoting her first book. I’ve been keeping tabs on her since, amazed by how she actually made her dream come true and proud of what she’d achieved. I never thought we’d meet again, though.

Yet, here we are, finally reunited. It must be fate and yet, nothing feels right. The circumstances aren’t right. Andrea doesn’t feel right. Even I am starting to question if it was the right decision for me to have brought her into this.

Why did I bring her into this?

God knows I don’t have the right to ask anything of her. I left her behind and I’ve hurt her. I know I have. And yet, I still asked for her help.

Of course, her professional expertise has something to do with it, but that’s not all.

I still love her.

I’ve never stopped loving her. I realized that the moment I saw her on TV a few years ago. She’s the only girl I ever cared about and I want her back.

I want her.

Andrea has always been beautiful, her wavy, auburn hair reminding me of autumn and her brown, almond eyes warm as a summer day. Unlike me, she’s always been thin, too, her arms and legs toned from swimming. Now, though, she’s even more beautiful with her smooth skin and her perfect teeth. And she’s not just thin. She has an amazing figure – slender shoulders, firm breasts that are just the right size for her petite frame, a flat belly, a narrow waist with slightly wider hips for the perfect curve. Why, earlier, she could have passed as a swimsuit model for Sports Illustrated, the image of her in that black and gold one-piece with the crisscross back and the plunging neckline embedded in my memory.

Just seeing her in that was enough to make me hard and now, remembering it as I gaze at her, I find myself fighting off another wave of arousal.

Fuck, she’s hot and the fact that she was once my girlfriend makes her hotter than any woman I’ve ever known or slept with. Sure, I was teasing her before but I meant it when I said she’s special.

If only she can think of me the same way.

Suddenly, the alarm goes off, interrupting my thoughts.

Fuck.

I run out of the room, heading to Rose’s. She’s still there and apart from the fact that she now has her hands over her ears, she seems fine, not in any danger.

Good.

I head downstairs and rush there, feeling relieved and yet worried at the same time when I see who’s set off the alarm.

“Andrea?”

“Clay.” She gives me a sheepish grin and a shaky wave before clinging to the wall behind her. “Sorry.”

I give her a puzzled look. “What happened?”

“I was exploring. I ended up in the attic and I got locked in. Must be the security system. I don’t know. Anyway, I didn’t have my phone with me to call for help so I decided I’d find another way out.”

I touch my chin. “You decided to go out the window and walk on the ledge?”

“Yes. Without anyone noticing, I might add. The security system here is very good.”

Probably because John designed it himself.

“Then what?” I ask. “You climb down the vines?”

“I was looking for a nice place to jump, actually.”

“Fine.” I extend my arms. “Jump.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“With all due respect, you’re the one hanging off a ledge.”

“You’re not going to catch me.”

I move closer to the wall. “Try me.”

She looks around, frowning.

“You won’t find a better spot to jump,” I tell her.

“Fine. But you better catch me.”

“I’m flattered by your trust.”

“Here goes. One. Two…”

She jumps and I step back to catch her. She’s heavier than I thought, though, and I fall back on the grass, Andrea falling on top of me.

Well, at least, I caught her.

“Are you alright?” She lifts her head.

“Yes,” I tell her, catching my breath. “Though next time, I think you should tell me if you’re counting to two or three.”

“Sorry.”

“How about you?”

“I’m okay. A trampoline would have been softer, I guess.”

“I guess.”

I definitely can’t say I’m soft. In fact, with Andrea’s berry-scented hair draped over me and her perfect breasts squished against my chest, a part of me is…well, quite the opposite.

“But thanks.” She gives me a smile. “And again, I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” I tell her. “Think you could get off?”

I’d prefer it if she didn’t see my, um, problem.

“Yeah, sure.” She pushes herself off me.

Then all of a sudden she stops, a blush furiously coating her cheeks as she looks down. In the next moment, she runs off, screaming.

“Andrea!”

I get up to chase after her, only to realize that sometime during that fall, the knot on the towel, which wasn’t securely made in the first place, had come undone, leaving only a bit of the cotton draped over my thigh.

Well, that’s one way to break the ice.