written by Shan R.K

F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote to his wife, ‘I love you and that is the beginning and end of everything’ and the world of literature called it one of the greatest romantic words ever said. Yet,I find Zelda’s Fitzgerald’s question the most fitting where love is concerned, when she asked, ‘Why is there happiness and comfort and excitement where you are and nowhere else in the world?.’

Because to question the small stuff, to notice the moment as one would a fine piece of art, or the after taste of a vintage wine longer after you’ve scented it, is the greatest experience of love I could think of.

All I ever wanted was a family to call my own. A flutter at an idea of someone loving me enough to say yes. I’ve wanted a reason to get angry that I scream with an immense amount of passion. I want to get lost in her eyes and not recall every word she said. I want someone who keeps me dangling on the edge of a cliff whenever I turn my attention too long away from her prying one. I want someone who picks on me, leaving my clothes on the floor, the crumbs I forget to wipe on the counter. I want someone to want me, as I want them, and spend hours obsessing over what to get me for Christmas. I want a wife, and children, a life partner to grow old with, kids to give me wrinkles years before its due date. What I don’t want is a complication, and the girl who just walked out my office a minute ago is a big complication.

But I find Zelda’s words in my head, and I wonder why in the few hours with Charlie I have felt more alive than I have these last six years. And why the thought of her spending even a moment in my presence makes me want to live just a bit longer, and smile a tad bit wider, as I sit up straighter. I wonder why in her presence there are in no others.

If I could count on my hand the times Lyle has looked at me during work this week, I would lose if I said a hundred. I believe it was a lot more than that.

We were spending more time together than I initially thought we would. The workload on the restaurant was no joke, and by my 14th day on the job, I was at least done with catching up with all the inventory, contracts and the restaurant’s backload. Lyle had a ton of back-load. He loathed admin, and without a proper secretary for six years, the task was daunting.

I had just finished scanning the last papers, when he walked in. I noticed he’d started bringing me lunch around 3pm, at first it was fish, seafood, but recently he started making me sandwiches, steaks, and tuna salad with pineapple. The food was great, but I found his company the best part of it all.

“You done?” He asked as he put our plates on the table, and pulled out a bottle of wine.

“Are we celebrating?” My eyebrows shot up as he answered me by opening the bottle and pouring a bit in two glasses. I got up from the floor and stretched my neck, and arms. His eyes lingered on my body as it had done these last fourteen days.

He wanted me, of that there was no doubt in my mind. But us together wouldn’t be simple. I was not a simple girl.

“You done?” he asked as he set the plates down.

“I’m done.” I lifted the last file, dropped it on the pile, and dusted my hands. “You’re welcome.”

“You’ve been useful.” His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“Useful? I just saved your ass from drowning in papers.”

“Fine,” he said, sliding a glass toward me. “Very useful.”

I took it, swirled the wine, and leaned against the desk. “Don’t flatter me, I might start expecting payment in more than cash.”

His eyes flicked down my body, then back up. He drank. “What do you want?”

“Depends.” I took a slow sip. “What are you offering?”

The air shifted. He was close now, close enough that his arm brushed mine when he set his glass down. His gaze didn’t leave my face.

“You’re trouble,” he said.

“Always have been.”

His hand came up, rough fingertips brushing my jaw, and then his mouth was on mine. Hard, claiming, nothing polite about it. I dropped the glass on the desk, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him closer.

The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine, his breath hot, his body pressing into me until I was bent back against the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but I didn’t care.

He lifted me, set me on the edge, his hands gripping my thighs as if he was finally done pretending. My chest heaved, my pulse wild. I reached down, tugged at the buttons of my top until it fell open. His eyes went darker, his breath rough.

“Charlie,” he growled, like a warning.

“Too late,” I whispered, dragging him closer.

He pinned me down against the desk, his mouth moving over my throat, my chest, his hands greedy on my skin. My legs locked around him as he ground into me, every ounce of restraint gone.

I arched into him, tugging his shirt up, needing skin, needing more. His lips crushed mine again, deeper this time, his body heavy over mine as he finally gave in.

His mouth claimed mine again, slower now, like he was trying to make sense of the madness we’d stepped into. My top slid from my shoulders, forgotten. His hands cradled my face, firm but careful, as though he was fighting not to lose control.

“Charlie,” he murmured against my lips, voice rough, almost breaking.

“I know,” I whispered, pulling him closer, refusing to let him stop.

He lowered me gently onto the desk, papers crumpling beneath me, but all I felt was the heat of him, the steady weight of his body pressing down. His kisses trailed across my collarbone, down the curve of my chest, each one lingering like he was memorizing me. My hands slid over his back, gripping the fabric of his shirt, feeling the tension thrumming in him.

When he finally pushed the shirt off, I touched his bare skin, warm and alive under my fingers. He exhaled hard, forehead pressing against mine, as if he needed the contact to stay steady.

“This is wrong,” he breathed, though his body told me he had no intention of stopping.

“Then stop,” I whispered back, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

“I can’t.”

His mouth crashed onto mine, and then there was nothing left but the rhythm of us. His body fit against mine, every shift and press pulling me deeper into him. The world shrank to the sound of his breath, the taste of his mouth, the way he whispered my name like he’d wanted to for years but never dared.

I closed my eyes, letting go of everything except the feel of him moving with me, the desk beneath us forgotten, the past forgotten, even the future. All that existed was the here and now, the heat between us, the unspoken truth we’d both been denying.

When release finally came, it wasn’t only the tension breaking, it was everything. Years of teasing, years of almost. His forehead rested against mine, his hand tangled in my hair, our breaths uneven, our bodies still pressed tight together.

For the first time, neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say. It was all there in the silence, in the way he didn’t let go, in the way I didn’t want him to.

The last chapter of this short story is coming soon. The next one is going to be about a mystery in Liston Hills. How many of you guys know of the my mystery book The things you teach me? The short story blurb will be posted with chapter 4 of Fishing for compliments. Happy Friday everyone.