Chapter 22

Amelia

The incessant trill of the telephone is like a metronome gone haywire, each ring accenting the thick tension of tax season at Sum Total Accountants. I balance the receiver between my shoulder and ear, scribble notes onto a sticky pad, and try to soothe another irritated client with promises of callbacks and consultations. I've been temping here for the last three weeks, and the frenetic pace is dancing on my last nerve.

"Amelia, can you please ensure that Mr. Henderson receives those figures by noon?" Nichole Chang, my current boss, doesn't look up from her mountain of paperwork, but her voice carries the weight of expectation.

"Of course," I reply, even as another call beeps in my ear. I juggle conversations like a circus performer, until the familiar ping of my cell phone cuts through the cacophony.

I glance down discreetly. A message from Kent flashes on the screen, his name an electric shock to my system. Since the debacle with my mom, he's been silent, and I've been too cowardly to tell him about losing my job. My heart sinks as I read.

Kent: I went by your office today, and they told me you'd been fired.

Embarrassment creeps up my neck in a hot flush.

"Amelia!" Nichole's glare is sharp enough to pierce the bubble of my personal humiliation. I shove the phone into a drawer and force my attention back to the incessant demands of the switchboard.

"Sorry. I'm here." My voice is steadier than I feel.

My mind isn't on the work, though. It flits between the calls and Kent's unexpected text. How could they just disclose my situation like that? To him, of all people? My cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and shame.

"Amelia, that was the wrong extension!" The reprimand comes from across the room this time. I'm spiraling, botching transfers, mixing up messages. I'm a mess.

"Sorry," I mumble again, feeling smaller by the second. This isn't me; I'm good at what I do, or at least I used to be.

"Take your lunch break now and get it together," Nichole says, not unkindly. Maybe she senses my unraveling.

Grateful for the escape, I slip outside, the cool air a slap to my overheated skin. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering, then type a response to Kent with shaky hands.

Me: Sorry about not returning your text. It's been crazy. My old company lost the account I was working on. So, I'm between things and working a temp job for now.

Between things sounds less pathetic than unemployed. Doesn't it?

His response is immediate, a call this time, which startles me.

"Hey," I answer, trying to sound casual.

"Can we meet for lunch? I want to hear how your mom is doing and about your job." Kent's voice is a reminder of normalcy, of times before this chaos and stress.

"I'm on my lunch break now," I say, watching a leaf tumble across the concrete. "And I'm working as a temp, so…"

"Then dinner?" There's something hopeful in his tone, and despite everything, it draws a reluctant smile from me.

"Sure," I say, thinking of the sad collection of frozen meals awaiting me at home. "Joey's Downtown? It's about halfway between where I am and your place. Didn't you tell me you liked it?"

"Yes. That's perfect."

Despite everything, there's comfort in falling into plans with Kent. "See you tonight," I tell him before ending the call. I pocket my phone, feeling a twinge of something like anticipation or maybe just the relief of not being alone this evening.

As I head back inside to the company lunchroom and my peanut butter sandwich, I square my shoulders. Just a few more hours of this chaos, Amelia. Then dinner and pretending everything is fine.

The clatter of phones and the hum of calculators finally fades as I punch out for the day at five-thirty and with an unexpected nod of approval from Nichole Chang. "See you tomorrow morning," I tell her. Maybe I haven't completely botched this temp gig after all.

After a stop-and-go ride through traffic, the rideshare drops me off, and I push open the door to Joey's Downtown. I'm immediately hit by the rich aroma of sizzling burgers on the grill. Servers glide between tables, their short, form-fitting dresses a stark contrast to my conservative office attire. A quick survey of the scene highlights my date in the back corner.

"Kent," I say with a raised eyebrow, sliding into the booth across from him. "I think I've figured out why you like this spot."

He chuckles, feigning innocence. "Honestly, I've never noticed."

"Noticed what?" I tease. "Sure, you haven't." I shake my head at his playful smirk.

A server with cleavage for miles approaches and pours water while giving us the evening specials. She pays special attention to Kent, and I can't blame her. His cashmere sweater hugs his torso, and his hair is slicked back with curls fighting to be free.

But Kent doesn't even seem to notice her attention. He only has eyes for me, and that's just what I need today.

"How is your mom doing?" he asks, gaze laced with concern.

"Honestly, I don't know. She checked herself out of rehab the next day, and I don't know where she is."

He reaches across the table and squeezes my arm. "I'm sorry."

I nod a silent thanks, and I'm relieved when he shifts gears to talking about something else. We make our way through small talk, through my abrupt departure from Creative Seed, and then finally, laughter comes as we reminisce about the wedding—his brother-in-law's earnest but cringe-worthy serenade, Griffin's enthusiastic rendition of the YMCA dance with Tori, the fun we had. It's a comfortable bubble, one where we don't have to acknowledge the uncertainty between us.

"My mom would've loved that wedding," he says, and I can only nod. The last time we discussed this, we were as close as I've ever felt to him.

"Have you talked to her?" I ask.

Kent shrugs. "We've talked, but not much about the wedding. It's hard with the eight-hour time difference and my crazy schedule. I've been working every night for the last three weeks. We're short a doc, and someone else has been sick. I've been in a work all night and sleep all day routine."

The server returns to take our orders, and Kent goes for a cheeseburger while I opt for fish tacos. As she walks away, I muster the courage to breach the silence that's stretched between us. "How have you been? I haven't heard from you since my mom went to the ED."

He pauses, a hint of discomfort flashing in his eyes before he looks away. "You asked me for space, so I wanted to respect that. I thought you'd call, but you didn't. I texted you after I saw you in the admin wing the other day, and you didn't text me back."

"Oh, right. Sorry. That message arrived as I was getting fired on the front sidewalk of the hospital." I lean back. What are we even doing here? "What do you want from me?" I'm not sure why I'm being so confrontational. But my life is too much these days, and being played with by Kent isn't something I can do right now.

"Amelia…" His voice trails off, and there's something vulnerable in his gaze when he meets mine again.

"Why did you go to my office?" I press, my heart thumping.

"Because…" The word hangs between us.

"Kent?" My voice sounds softer than I intend, laced with a genuine concern that surprises even me.

He clears his throat. "You know, when I went by your office, and they said you weren't there anymore…I felt this weird panic." His confession tumbles out, his smooth demeanor crumbling.

"Really?" Warmth blooms in my chest. The thought of Kent being concerned—panicked, even—over me is unexpected. Yet it doesn't entirely make sense.

"Yeah," he admits, shifting in his seat. "I've been wanting to get in touch with you, but I didn't know what to do…" He trails off, shrugging helplessly.

It strikes a chord, the idea that I could mean enough to unsettle him. "I guess we both had a lot on our minds," I say, allowing myself a small smile.

"Amelia, I—" Whatever he intends to say gets lost as the server brings our food. The moment passes in a flurry of plates and bowls, but not the feeling it left behind. "I'm sorry about what's happening with your mom." Kent reaches for my hand. "It's not your fault."

"I know. I grew up thinking that if I was better, smarter, prettier—whatever I was short on—that it would keep my mom from using or drinking. But I know now that she's the only one who can do that. I will always love her, though. She took my father's death hard, and she's done the best she could."

Kent nods. "All you can do is support her, and sometimes, that support means walking away."

My eyes flare. She's my mother. I'm not sure I could do that. "She'll resurface. She always does." I finish my water and look for the server to refill my glass.

Kent takes a deep breath. He must sense I'm about to cry. "So, what are you doing these days for work? Are you loving it?"

I swallow hard and smile. "Not even close, but I'm paying my bills, and that's all that really matters. I'm working for an accounting firm. The busy season is almost over, so it may be coming to an end here soon."

"Are you looking for work in advertising?"

I nod. "Of course. That's what I love."

"Is that all you love?" Kent asks with an arched brow.

I sit back in my seat and look at him. "Kent, are you asking how I feel about you?"

"I'd be happy to hear that you've missed me."

"Really? Leah texted and asked me to join your Kent Alumni Association." I wait, holding my breath for his reaction.

He closes his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. She shouldn't have done that. Though she must like you to have reached out."

"She sent it right after my mom went to the hospital."

"I… Oof." He shakes his head. "I'm really sorry. I was not part of her decision to do that."

I shake my head. "It was a good reminder of what we told each other. We said we were going to have fun in Hawaii, and then that was it. And anyway, I did not join the group."

"Good for you." He fiddles with his napkin. "I did have fun, and I'm not interested in you being an alumna. I'd like to keep us on active status."

"Kent, what are you saying? You'd like to play some naked Twister?"

He nods and snorts a laugh. "That's part of it for sure. But I'd like to spend more time with you. We were great together in Hawaii, and it wasn't just when we were alone in our hotel room. I'd like to see about being part of each other's lives here."

After we've finished eating, we walk through the evening toward my apartment. Despite the battle that rages within me all the way home, I do invite him in, and before I know it, the door has clicked shut behind us, the space suddenly charged with the anticipation of what comes next.

Kent steps closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. He looks around my apartment. At least now that I'm keeping regular hours it's not too messy.

"You live here alone?" he asks as he surveys the three-hundred square feet of space.

"Actually, my three roommates will be back soon, so you should hurry."

His eyes grow wide until he sees the smirk on my face. "So, you think you're funny."

"The question is, do you think I'm funny?"

"I do. I also think you're stunningly beautiful, smart, and perfect." He kisses me softly, and I'm transported back to the time we had together in Hawaii, where so many things were perfect. "Can I?" His voice is low, almost reverent as his hands hover at the hem of my blouse.

"Please," I breathe, standing statue still.

His fingers are gentle as he lifts the fabric over my head, and then my skirt follows. I shiver with naked vulnerability.

"Sit," he instructs softly, gesturing to the edge of my bed while moving a chair across from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

I obey, my breath coming in shallow gasps, the air thick with the electricity of his stare.

"Open your legs," he says, his voice a command that I don't want to resist.

I part them slowly, every muscle tensing, then relaxing as I exhale. I know he likes me. I've seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. And knowing that gives me the courage to show him more of myself.

My fingers glide to my lips, wetting them with a slow lick as I watch his eyes darken. A soft, appreciative noise escapes him as my hand travels down, initiating a dance that's both familiar and exhilaratingly new under his watchful gaze. My circular motions start slow, a teasing rhythm that builds with each pass over sensitive skin. My other hand ventures up, tweaking a nipple into a hardened peak, and his breath hitches. The room is heavy with my mounting arousal, the sound of my own heartbeat thunderous in my ears.

"Stop."

The single word crashes into me, halting my movements as I'm teetering on the edge. Frantic, I look at him, my body crying out for release.

"Let me," Kent murmurs, voice laden with desire.

He kneels before me. His tongue is a revelation as it meets my flesh, a jolt of pleasure that reignites the fire within. The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue and fingers orchestrating a tapestry of sensation that spirals tighter and tighter. I grip his hair, anchoring myself as the crescendo builds.

And when it breaks over me, I'm adrift in a sea of bliss, the world narrowing down to the man who has unraveled me completely.

I'm still trembling from the waves of pleasure when Kent draws back, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. He brings his fingers to his lips, those same fingers that had just unraveled me, and licks them clean. "Amelia," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, "I've never tasted honey this sweet."

"Your turn," I pant between breaths, summoning a playful smirk as I crook my finger at him. It's a silent challenge, one I know he'll rise to meet.

He stands tall before me, the picture of poise in his sweater and jeans, a stark contrast to my disheveled vulnerability. "So handsome," I whisper, more to myself than to him, as my fingers explore his hard abs underneath his sweater. Easing the sweater up, I brush my lips against the skin beneath, tasting the faint salt of his cologne. The room feels electric, charged with anticipation, and it's utterly intoxicating.

"Naughty girl," he teases, a low chuckle vibrating from his chest as my teeth graze his nipple.

The words send a shiver down my spine, emboldening me further. I stand, slipping the sweater over his head as my hands trace the planes of his chest. "Maybe I am," I retort playfully, my hands moving to his belt buckle. The metal jingles softly as I free it, and his pants loosen. I let my tongue trace a line from his chest down his abdomen. "Ready for you," I say, my voice a husky promise as I drop his pants to the floor.

He steps out of them, and now he's the one exposed, vulnerable under my gaze. The power dynamic has shifted, but there's no imbalance, only mutual desire.

Kent sits on the edge of the bed, reaches into his pocket, and presents me with a condom. "Ride me," he commands softly, and everything else fades away. There's only us, only this moment.

The rest of the night is a blur of motion and sensation. My hands roam over his chest, mapping the planes and contours as I position myself above him. The feel of him, hot and hard beneath me, sends another wave of arousal coursing through my veins. I take him inside, our bodies joining in a rhythm as old as time.

We lose ourselves to each other, again and again, exploring and claiming in equal measure. Each movement is an affirmation, each kiss a revelation. As dawn breaks, casting its first light through the curtains, I collapse beside him, spent and utterly content. In the quiet aftermath, with his arms securely around me, I realize that this is where I want to be, where I belong. He's said that's what he wants too, and I guess I'll have to believe.