“I missed you so much last night,” I whispered, every nerve ending in my body on fire. “I touched myself and thought of you.”
“I did the same,” he said, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braced himself above me. “Twice.”
I smiled, deliriously happy. “You win.”
• • •
I spent the weekend working for Natalie and preparing for my interview. On Saturday after work, I went over to Jillian’s condo and she helped me put together my resume and print it on good paper. I wasn’t even sure Mia Fournier would ask for it, and it wasn’t terribly impressive anyway, but at least it had some references on it and accounted for my education and the last five years of my life.
Kind of sad I only needed half a page for that stuff.
“Are you sure I should list Miranda Rivard?” I scrunched up my face when I saw her name on the test copy we’d printed.
“She said it was fine, right?” Jillian set down a cup of tea for me.
“Yeah. I guess so.” I’d called her the day before to ask her permission, and she’d said it was fine and she’d be honest about my good performance and the reason I was asked to leave. I didn’t love that second bit, but I had to list someone from Chateau Rivard if I wanted to put my time there on my resume, short-lived as it was. “What do you think?”
Jillian looked over my shoulder, sipping her tea. “Let’s go a little bigger with your name and move your contact information here.” She pointed to a different place on the page.
“OK.” It was small stuff, trivial even, but everything about the way I presented myself would be important, I knew that. After making the suggested changes, I printed it again. “Now how does it look?”
She picked it up off the printer and studied it while I got up to fetch the honey from her cupboard. I spooned some into my tea and stirred it up, then I sucked on the spoon. Oh Jesus. My tongue is sore. I laughed quietly to myself, turning my back to Jillian as I recalled the spectacular feats of fellatio I’d performed last night in the rowboat, which we’d taken out for a late night cruise.
When I turned around, Jillian was looking at me funny. “What?”
“What are you laughing about over there?”
“Nothing.” I dropped my eyes to my tea and quickly sat down again.
“That is not a nothing face. That is an I-did-something-naughty face. Trust me, I’m the big sister. I know that face of yours.”
I grinned, lifting my tea to my lips. “Guilty.”
“So?”
“I have a very sore tongue muscle today.”
Jillian’s dark, high-arched brows shot up. “You do? And how’s his tongue?”
“I’d be surprised if he can talk normally. I can barely walk normally.”
“Oh my god,” she groaned, fanning herself. “You’re so lucky. Damn.”
“I know.” I picked up the resume. “So this looks good, you think?” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spill to her, I just felt protective of what Sebastian and I had together. It was so new, and felt so fragile.
“Yes. It’s fine. I want to hear more about the guy.” She propped her chin on her hand and looked at me dreamily. “I need to live vicariously.”
“Jill. Come on. You’re beautiful. You’re a doctor. Where are all the beautiful male doctors I see on soap operas?”
She rolled her eyes. “Married. Or fucking nurses. Or fucking anyone else they want to because they’re too busy to have a relationship.” Sighing, she sat up straight again. “And I guess I am, too. It just gets a little lonely sometimes.”
“So fuck a hot doctor for fun.”
“A year or two ago, I would have. I did. But now I think I’ll hold out for something better. What about you? Is this going somewhere, you think?”
I shrugged, but couldn’t keep the smile off my face. “I don’t know. Feels like maybe.”
“Like maybe? Is there long term potential there?” She brought her cup to her lips.
I rolled my eyes. “Jillian, it’s only been like ten days. I don’t even know what he’s thinking long term for himself. And he… once said something about not believing in the one.”
Her brow wrinkled. “The one?”
“Yeah, you know. The one. The idea that there’s one perfect person for you and you have to find her or him.”
“Ah, a soul mate,” she said. “Very romantic idea. But I’m not sure it’s real, either.”
Glancing around at her clean, modern condo, I wondered if she ever pictured living here with someone else, or if she was content to live alone. “I don’t know what I believe. But I do know he sends mixed signals…when he first talked about his cabin I got the feeling he really enjoyed the solitude, but he always wants me to sleep there now, even if I have to get up crazy early for work the next morning and he has to drive me.”
“Sound like he really likes you too, then.”
“I think so. I hope so.”
“It also sounds like you need your own car.”
I groaned, dropping my head back. “Yes. A car. An apartment. A job. Grown up things.”
“Well, here you go.” She set the resume in front of me. “Step one. Go get it.”
I took a deep breath. “You think I can?”
“I know you can.” She lifted her tea with two hands. “What’s with the insecurity? Since when have you ever lacked confidence about something?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Since Mom told me I wasn’t a special snowflake.”
Jillian choked on her tea. “What?”
“Don’t laugh! I know it sounds ridiculous, but Mom gave me this pep talk”—I made little air quotes—“last weekend, the day I moved out of the guest house, basically telling me that I need to quit whining, go out, and get a life for myself, because I’ve spent years getting everything handed to me and being told how pretty I am.”
Jillian shrugged. “Kinda true.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly. “Jeez, no wonder I like being around Sebastian. He’s always telling me how amazing and beautiful I am.”
“And you are.” Jillian patted my hand. “But you’re gonna have to work for what you want, too. Nothing comes free.”
Later that night and all day Sunday, I spent a good amount of time researching Abelard Vineyards, and consequently, the Fourniers. On the About the Owners page of their website, I discovered that they’d met while she was vacationing in Paris and married in Provence. There was even a wedding picture, and I gasped when I saw it.
“What a beautiful couple!” I angled my laptop toward the kitchen Sebastian so he could see. He was putting dinner together for us while I took notes on the winery. “This is her? The woman you met?”
“That’s her,” he confirmed, going back to slicing potatoes.
“Look, they got married at his family’s villa. Isn’t that romantic? A villa,” I said dreamily.
“Maybe you should start with an apartment,” he teased, throwing the potatoes onto a baking sheet.
“Hahaha. I don’t even mean to live in—just to visit a place like that would be amazing.” I clicked on the picture to make it bigger. “I’ve always wanted to go to France. Have you ever been?”
“Nope. That would require getting on an airplane.”
I looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t fly?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
“How’d you get back and forth from New York?”
“I wasn’t back and forth all that much, but when I was, I drove.” He stuck the tray in the oven and set a timer.
“Oh.” I stared at the picture for a minute, not really seeing it. I was kind of bummed about this. “Are you scared of flying? Or you just don’t like it?”
“I don’t like it. In general, all forms of transportation make me edgy. Too many possibilities for tragedy to strike. But driving a car, at least I have some control. There’s enough anxiety in my life without adding airplanes to the mix.” His movements had gotten stiff and his voice sounded a little testy, so I decided to drop it.