Just Home for the Holidays - Deborah Cooke Page 0,22
number thirteen and don’t get ideas.
She could imagine Hunter grinning as he replied.
But I have the ideas already.
And so do you.
N.B. There is no rule about having ideas.
P.S. Are you naked?
She got tired of typing and called him. “Maybe there should be a rule about ideas,” she said when he answered.
“You just want to take all the fun out of it,” he complained but his voice was light, like he was teasing her and enjoying it. “I’m trying to put the fun back in. You could meet me halfway.”
“How would I do that?”
Hunter’s voice dropped low. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”
Chloe was surprised, then not so much. “You first.”
“Flannel pj bottoms,” he replied immediately. “Nothing else.”
“An old T-shirt,” she said. “Nothing else.”
“Mmm, that is a good answer. Let me think about that a bit. No glasses?”
“I was in bed! No contacts either.”
“Hair loose or in a braid?”
“Braid.”
“Tell me about the room.”
“You first,” she countered, feeling flustered.
“Oh, this is a great apartment. Yvonne and Nick have good taste and the cash to make it just so. It’s a one bedroom on the southeast corner of a great old building. Twelve foot ceilings, easy. It’s on the tenth floor, so I can just barely see the park over the shorter building across the street. Chef’s kitchen with granite counters and stainless steel appliances.”
“But you don’t cook.”
“I can still enjoy the eye candy. I feel like I could be on a home decorating show. King size bed, walk-in shower in a great four piece bathroom, fireplace in the corner and a massive flat screen television over it. Big black leather sectional. There’s a wrap-around balcony that must be awesome in the summer, and an amazing stereo system. Hardwood floors, too. I love this place. No doorman, but you get over it.” He dropped his voice low. “I’m starting to wish they never come home. Okay, your turn.”
Chloe surveyed the room. “It’s my bedroom from when I was a teenager. Hideous girl room fantasy.”
“How hideous?”
“White furniture, including a bed with a ruffled canopy. Everything is in shades of pink, but there’s a big window facing west. It has good light. Big closet, mostly empty now, lots of old beloved stuffies, a vanity with a mirror.”
“A visit to your former self?”
“No. I didn’t pick any of it.”
“What about where you live in San Francisco?”
“Three of us share the apartment. It was furnished, too. Kind of all modern, teak and green upholstery. I get the couch but half of one closet.”
“Why do you share? Don’t you make a good buck at F5F West?”
“Yes, but I’m saving it.”
“For...?”
“Just saving and investing. Ensuring my future financial security.”
“Taking care of tomorrow.”
“Exactly.”
“But what about today? Don’t you think you’ll look back in ten years or twenty and think how strong and young and gorgeous you were, but all you did was work and pinch pennies?”
“No. I like my job.”
“And what if tomorrow never comes?”
“Tomorrow always comes, Hunter.”
“Not for everybody. Your plane could crash on your way back. An out-of-control car could veer onto the sidewalk tomorrow on Madison and take you out. There could be a tragic incident in front of the Bloomingdale’s windows on Lex. What then? Would you have regrets?”
“How could I have regrets if I was dead?”
He laughed. “No afterlife for Chloe Richardson then? If there’s only the here and now, why don’t you enjoy it more?” His voice dropped low. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” Chloe said, knowing her answer was reflexive. Maybe a little defensive. “I’m just not an impulsive person. I like to be sure.”
“You like to avoid risk. But taking chances is what makes me feel alive.”
“Everyone’s different.” She felt her eyes narrow. “Is this about hating Christmas?”
Hunter didn’t answer her, but that wasn’t a surprise. “But you should try risk out before you abandon it forever.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you have a plan?”
“Just a suggestion. We’re both awake. We’re both half-naked. It’s late and no one will know if you sext me.”
Chloe felt her lips part in surprise. She knew that he expected her to refuse and that tempted her to agree, just to surprise him.
“It’s a fantasy,” he continued, his tone persuasive. “Think of it as practice for when you meet a guy you really like. Sexting is a useful twenty-first century skill.”
“You’ll tell.”
“Never. Scouts’ honor.”
“Were you a Scout?”
He chuckled. “No, but I’ll never tell. Just between you and me, and really, December 26 is only a few days away. I’ll forget the details in no time. Plus