My chin starts to quiver.
“Do you want to go through it before we donate it or toss it? To see if there’s anything you want to keep?”
My fingers twist together anxiously. “And you kept the important stuff? You kept all my mother’s cookbooks and my dad’s journals? And the newspapers from the years we were born and other important dates? He collected those.”
Luke nods solemnly. “I swear. But you can—”
I hold up my hands. “No, it’s better this way. I just need to lie down for a while and process.”
“Want me to bring you some tea?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know what I want. I feel…funny.”
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I hear him say before the bottom drops out. My stomach feels strange. Not like I’m going to throw up, but like it’s full of something intangible but very bad. Dread? And now I can’t breathe.
“I feel like I’m going to die,” I blurt out. I’ve had this feeling of overwhelming dread before, but I’ve never said that out loud to anyone.
“You’re having a panic attack. Come on, let’s go sit by the pool.”
The episode passes with Luke holding my hand, helping me focus on my breathing, reminding me that I’m safe. His calm, even voice brings me through to the other side, until I no longer feel like I’m going to die, but I definitely feel something else.
“I think I’ll take some tea now.” I stand up but my feet don’t touch the ground for long.
“Come on. Up in my arms, let’s go.” He carries me up to my room, where he’s already laid out my fluffiest bathrobe. He must have done it before I came home from work, and the thought makes me want to cry. How can one man be this good?
Then I remember. My dad was just this good to my mom. One of my favorite things about my dad was the way he treated her. I have clear memories of him fetching her favorite bedroom slippers every night as we sat around and watched the nightly news. She never asked him to; he just did it. And when she started to fall ill, he would put them on her feet for her. He did that for her even on the night she … oh god, don’t think about that now. Bottom line: It’s not that crazy to think this guy is for real.
Before I let him set me down on the bed, I reach up and kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank you.”
He sets me down and kisses my forehead. “You rest. I’ll be right up with your tea.”
I don’t have time to feel the warm, cozy feelings he creates in me. After I peel off my work clothes and don the robe, other feelings bubble to the surface. Here they come. For the first time since my parents died, I’m crying. Real tears. No, sobbing. Full-body, heaving sobs.
I’m right in the middle of it when Luke brings me my tea, which he quickly sets down before sitting down next to me to stroke my hair and hand me a tissue.
“Since when is a dude not terrified of a woman sobbing?”
“I’m your housekeeper. I’m here to look after you.”
I laugh in the middle of sobs. “Come down here with me, I need a hug.”
To my surprise, he hesitates. “I've been working hard all day, I don’t want to get my stink on your fancy bed linens.”
“I don’t care about that. Spoon me. Please?”
He laughs gently but then quickly has me wrapped up like the little spoon. I’ve never felt so small and protected in a man’s arms. I spend all day being strong and capable and, although Luke doesn’t take that away from me, there’s something to be said for feeling precious and delicate, with a big wall of muscle between you and the harsh world.
The memory comes back to me of him calling me “baby” when he first realized I was having a panic attack. The simple term of affection gives me butterflies.
This is so fast, but it’s right. I’m his to call “baby” if he wants to.
When I can finally calm down enough to speak plainly, I tell him, “I never thought anyone would stay with me while I’m having such a messy emotional breakdown.”
“I’m here as long as you need me.”
“How about forever?”
His belly laugh vibrates against my back. “At $20 an hour, even you might go bankrupt.”
I have to laugh in return, though through tears. “You’re going to charge me $20 for the time we were making out?”
“Oh no, that’s extra,” he says. I slap his forearm where it’s wrapped snugly against my rib cage, and he lands a kiss on the side of my head. Warmth spreads over me and I nestle in closer to him.
Luke strokes my hair until I stop crying. Until I fall asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke
Stella stirs in the middle of the night, rolling over to face me.
I haven’t slept; I’ve just been lying here holding her, listening to her breathe, making sure she’s OK.
I feel like such a dick, going crazy on her house the way I did.
She had given me carte blanche, but then I went beyond that. I’ll never forgive myself for putting her through that. I hope I’ll be in her life long enough for me to prove to her how sorry I am that I caused her pain. She didn’t deserve that.
But then, the blankets rustle and she takes my hand and fills it with warmth. Doesn’t take me long to realize she has opened her bathrobe and covers her breast with my hand. And her leg is rubbing up against mine.
Touching her warm breast, the nipple growing hard in my hand, makes me ache for her. Knowing she wants me, and that she wants me to be in the moment with her, floods me with more happiness than I deserve.
Her skin against mine stirs up all the feelings. My body is tight with need, the need to roll her onto her back and dive in. Fill her. Plunge my cock inside and take her. Kiss her mouth, her breasts, every inch of her. Taste her juices. Wring out every last ounce of energy in me, in the effort to make her feel good.
Gritting my teeth, I have to put on the brakes long enough to say something. As much as I hate it, I pull my hand away and cover her breast with her robe. She whimpers. I pull her up to sitting as we face each other on the bed.
“Before this goes any further, I want to apologize for pushing things so far this morning. Or, yesterday morning. I’m not sure what time it is.”
“You didn’t push,” she says.
“But we need ground rules. I can’t be in a relationship with my client,” I say.
Her face falls. “Oh.”
“So I quit. I’m already in a relationship with you. So I quit.”
Stella smiles. “Quitting two jobs in one day is some kind of record, I’m sure.”
I shrug.
A look of concern shadows her face. “But how will you live? You can’t pay rent with no job. You’ll have to live here. In the guest room.”
I shake my head. “No way can I let you be my sugar momma. I still have my job waiting tables.”
A sly grin takes over. “Then how about you quit your serving job and I help you start a business as a closet organizer?”
This throws me for a loop. “A closet organizer? Still kinda sounds like you’re my sugar momma.”
She shrugs and traces one finger across my cheekbone and over my lips. “Don't get too hung up on the idea. I think it’s kind of hot, the idea of letting me set you up. Does it threaten your manhood?”