Chapter 22

Truths

H ours later, Winter walked me to my room. My fellow authors had come by to convey their best wishes, and then I'd followed Detective Campbell, who went over all the details of the case and interviewed me on the events at the awards ceremony. He called for a medic to come to inspect me for injuries despite my insistence I was all right. She gave me some Motrin and an ice pack. Then the detective had me fill out some papers and sign them, and I was released to return home in the morning. I wasn't relishing the long drive, especially since the forecast called for rain.

For the second night in a row, I was bone tired but didn't want Winter to leave. I slid my keycard in the slot, opened the door, and invited her in. "Do you mind if I change clothes?"

"No," she answered. She bit her lower lip and shuffled her feet. "I want you to be comfortable."

"Please, go relax, kick your shoes off. I'll be right back." I pulled a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from a drawer, wondering when I'd pack, and carried them to the bathroom.

When I returned, my teeth and hair brushed, wearing lounging clothes, Winter sat stiff and still on one end of the loveseat with a single lamp casting the room in a romantic hue. She had laid her blazer on the back of another chair with her shoes tucked neatly under it. With her hands folded in her lap, she peered up at my entrance with a hopeful expression.

I slid in beside her, sank back into the cushions, and closed my eyes. What would I say? What would I do? I certainly wasn't up for anything that appeared in "Chapter Ten."

"You seem tired," Winter commented. "I should go and let you rest."

"Please stay." Prying my lids open, I draped an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you for sticking with me through all the craziness this weekend. It means so much to me."

"Well, sure," she answered as if it was nothing. "I like you, and, well, I mean, you're cool and all."

Sighing wearily, I pulled back a few inches. "I like you too."

"Then why didn't you ever, you know," she shrugged sheepishly, dropping her gaze. "Why didn't we get together?" Her tone dripped with as much disappointment as I felt. "All my life—which I realize isn't quite as long as yours so far—I've played it safe. My regrets don't stem from things I did wrong but from chances I didn't take, things I didn't do. I hoped to remedy that this weekend, which is why I kissed you. I didn't want to miss the opportunity."

"You kissed me?" I asked doubtfully and watched her expression morph into horror.

"You don't remember?" Her eyes widened, and her bottom lip quivered.

I laughed and hugged her. "Of course I remember, silly. If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget it, never forget the feel of your lips on mine."

"Then why didn't we do it again, or make out, or something—anything?" She blinked, a haunted look clouding her glasses and regret permeating her voice. "I know I'm not attractive like—"

"Stop it!" I ordered and covered her mouth with mine. My brain turned to mush, my mind a delirium of fog as I tasted her open lips. My tongue seemed to have a will of its own, diving into her mouth to savor the exquisite nectar nestled within. Delectable sensations overloaded my frayed system, and I surrendered to my desire. Lost in the dance, I hadn't noticed when Winter took the wheel. She drove me like she was piloting a rocket ship, with a thrust and vitality I hadn't predicted. Rather than quench my thirst for her, the passion of the kiss only intensified it.

Breathless, I eased back, keeping one arm around her shoulder. I realized my other hand had somehow gotten entwined in her silky hair. Easing it out, I cradled her cheek and gazed into her incandescent eyes with honesty. "I thought about it, about this, almost nonstop for the past two days."

"Then why didn't you?"

Disentangling myself from her, I shifted to the end of the loveseat to catch my breath, putting a few inches between us. My pulse throbbed in places it shouldn't. Someone needed to slow this juggernaut down before we careened over a cliff from which there would be no going back.

"When I was nineteen, the summer after my freshman year in college, an attractive older woman approached me at the beach. She was there alone on vacation and looking for someone to show her a good time. Well, she showed me a spectacular time indeed," I recounted with a suggestive inflection. "She was my first—to go all the way, that is. I'd had a couple of girlfriends, but anyway. The week was so magical—her laugh, her smile, her caresses. Then she went back home to Nebraska, or some such place, and that was it. I mean, I thought we had something special. I gave her my phone number and email address, but I never heard from her again.

"For a while, I was devastated. Then I just accepted it had only been a summer fling for her, not a life-changing experience. I remember how horrible I felt afterward, and I didn't want that for you."

"You mean, if you had—with me—it would have only been a fling?" Winter's voice was thick with despair.

"No." I dared to glance at her, afraid I'd see tears. That's when I realized the tears were mine. "I don't know if it was you or me I was trying to protect." I sniffed and wiped away a traitorous teardrop.

"Winter, you said you like me, and I've seen the way you look at me, the way you race to protect me and take my side. The truth is, you don't even know me. How can you say you like me? How can you have such faith in a total stranger?"

"You're wrong, Aspen," Winter professed with strength. She raised her chin, extended her arm across the back of the loveseat so that her fingers brushed my shirt, and peered at me defiantly. "I've been reading your posts and comments online for years, and I read all your books. You can't create such vivid characters and take them through tragedies and triumphs with such fervent emotion without pouring a good chunk of your soul onto the pages. Your writing brims with optimism and compassion, even when you may not realize it, and that's revealing too.

"Then I've paid close attention to you here," she continued as if she was the prime authority on Aspen Wolfe. "I know R.B. and Selina invited you to go out with them Friday night and you didn't because you'd already told Elaine you'd go on the Haunted New Orleans tour with her. You could have given her an excuse; I mean, you'd only just met her. Who wouldn't want to sit at the table with the cool kids? I know I always wished to and was never invited. Still, you displayed noble virtue by sticking with her and, by extension, the rest of us."

Winter was on a roll, and, just like with the kiss, she was going for broke.

"You stood up for Q.L. and the others some people looked down on, and you were nice to me. I'm used to people glazing over me like I'm a piece of furniture or something, but you actually looked at me. You saw me." Gratitude shone through in her tone and expressiveness, filling me with warmth.

"This weekend, you've been under stress and threats to your life yet took it in stride like the professional you are. When we were trapped in the room with the fire, I panicked—just for a minute, but all ability to think flew out the window and I feared I was going to die. Yet you kept your cool the whole time and didn't give up or give in. When one thing didn't work, you tried something else, just like your hero in Quick ."

I pointed a finger and squinted at her. "Now you know you were more instrumental in getting us out of that jam than I was."

"It was a joint effort," she conceded. "But my point is you didn't freeze up. You've been kind to everyone you've met and never once talked smack behind their backs. And when you had the chance, you didn't even punch Cary in the nose."

A zealous smile of pride broke loose, and my gaze softened on Winter. "I didn't need to. You'd already seen to that, my mighty protector."

"Hey, don't make fun!" An adorable pout pursed Winter's lips. I leaned over and kissed them.

"I'm not making fun." With a sigh, I leaned back and prepared to give my confession. "Everything you saw this weekend—the clothes, the makeup, the hair—was a fa?ade, a role I played of a character I created."

"I understand Aspen Wolfe is a pen name," Winter stated. "And I don't care about clothes or looks at all. Although I must admit, seeing you in that gown tonight took my breath away."

An exhilarating tingle ran through me as I recalled her expression of awe.

"I also know you can't fake your strength of character. Sure, I don't know anything about your secret identity as a mild-mannered schoolteacher who hides her superpowers from the world, but I know the superhero who shows up to save the day intimately well. You think you're that other person masquerading as Aspen Wolfe, when, really, you are Aspen Wolfe, who just spends part of her life hiding out as the woman you think is so ordinary."

Winter had thrown me completely off guard. How could she be so perceptive? Was she right? Had I unknowingly transformed into the person I had always aspired to be?

"Mary," I murmured. Fear rushed in, flapped hideous bat wings, and screeched at me. I'd lose her for sure … or maybe … "Mary Jones—plain old Mary Jones who never got to sit at the cool kids' table either."

She took my hand and raised it to her lips. "Chloe. Chloe Dziedzic."

An amiable laugh rumbled from my throat. "You'll have to spell that one for me, sweetie."

"How about I write it down, along with my phone number and email address?" She stuck her tongue in her cheek while her eyes danced with delight. "You see, I know my geography, that Milwaukee isn't next door to St. Pete. But being a bona fide scientist, I want to remind you that we have these little inventions called telephones and computers, this thing called Skype where two people can communicate at a distance. Maybe you've heard of them?"

"I might have heard something about those," I mused teasingly, then scooted closer, enveloping Chloe in my arms. The name suited her. It was cute, and so was she. "Long distance isn't easy, Chloe," I admitted.

"Neither is perfecting the schematics for a new robotic design, but it doesn't stop me from trying."

She was right there in my arms, offering herself to me, and it felt incredible. Every minute I spent with Chloe charged me with wonder and excitement. I wanted to make fly-me-to-the-moon love with her, right here and now. But more than that, I longed to do this right. I craved the same happy ending I always gave my leading ladies.

"What if I can't keep up with you?" I asked. "What if you get bored with me?"

"Ha!" she emitted and rolled her eyes with a pained expression. "Please! You're far too creative for me to ever become bored with you. Besides, I spend all day with mathematicians and scientists. When I come home, I'm ready for a break. And clearly, I took up writing because I had nobody to come home to. My stories have kept me company, but it'd be wonderful to spend time with you, Mary." Pausing, Chloe fixed me with a considering gaze. "It's a pretty name, but Aspen suits you, I think."

"I don't mind if you call me Aspen." Smiling, she leaned in for a slow, sultry kiss that lingered on my lips and in my imagination long after that night.

"Ugh!" Chloe groaned when she checked her watch. "I have to be at the airport in two hours to line up for security for my flight home."

Her news hit me harder than Cary's fist had. "Why don't you run upstairs and pack while I pack down here?" I suggested. "I'll set my alarm if you'll come back and snuggle in the bed with me until time. Then we can both check out, and I'll drive you to the airport." I hungered to spend every remaining minute with her.

"I'd love that," Chloe answered. "But I don't want to put you out. I can get a cab."

"You're not putting me out," I avowed. "I'm just not sure how I'm going to let you walk through the security check without me."

Chloe molested me with another searing kiss that could have fueled a rocket ship with its energy before pulling herself away. She slipped on her shoes, picked up her coat, and claimed, "Bet I'm back here with my bags before you're done packing."

"Not on your life!" I grinned.

When she returned less than fifteen minutes later, she was in jeans and her Literary Laurels rainbow T-shirt, and all my packed bags waited by the door. I was running on nothing but adrenaline and hope.

When she melded into my embrace, I clung to Chloe like I'd never let her go. Her body fit mine like a matching puzzle piece, and she smelled intoxicating. Our heartbeats found their duet just as they had when we hugged after escaping the fire. We assuredly had lit a spark; only time would tell if the fire would grow.

For an hour we lay in bed sharing caresses and kisses, tender exchanges of genuine affection. While a part of me was wanton with desire, wise judgment won out. It wouldn't be right to rush through mind-blowing sex and then pop Chloe on a plane. I wanted our first intimate experience to be unrestricted by time and to evolve naturally from a solid emotional bond, which meant patience.

Even without the abandonment of driving passion crashing into new heights of ecstasy, every sensory touch, every tender kiss, was an erotic expression flooding my body with delight and eager anticipation for what was to come. It was like Advent, building expectations with each box checked for the prize waiting at the end.

Unwilling simply to drop Chloe off at the departure doors, I whipped my car into short-term parking and walked in with her. We got her bag checked, and I stood with her in the security line chatting about mundane matters just to spend a few more minutes in her vibrant energy. They made me leave the line once she reached the checkpoint. I hugged her, brushed a kiss to her lips, and commanded her to call me as soon as she landed so I'd know she was safe. She promised, insisting I have plenty of coffee before heading down Interstate 10.

I hung around the airport for a while, my body vibrating after the lack of sleep and all the craziness that my writers' imagination could have never dreamed up. I watched planes take off, not knowing which one was hers, for about half an hour, still working on processing the events of a weekend that changed my life. Pulling out my phone, I thumbed through the pictures I'd taken and lingered over the selfie of Chloe and me pressed tightly together, sporting big grins at the table in the lounge after she'd performed her karaoke tribute. You could be right, Chloe of the unpronounceable Polish name. Maybe I do belong with you. I guess time will tell.