Of Happiness (12 page)

T
he rest of Thursday and Friday passed in a blur with Harris and me soaking up every moment together. We jogged along Lake Michigan together and read books on his terrace. I cooked while he watched. He cleaned the dishes while I watched. He sat on the couch and listened to me play piano, asking questions about the songs and why I learned to play and sing them. For two days, work and the outside world fell to the background. I rescheduled an appointment with Luke and Sean’s friend for next week, leaving no client meetings. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I ignored the blog—putting up a “Gone Vacationing” message. I let myself indulge in my new boyfriend. I sent Sarah and Sean text messages telling them that Harris and I were back on, and I would call them on Monday. These few days belonged only to Harris and me.

When we weren’t learning about each other, we made love. With one heated look he’d haul me into his arms and the rest of the world would fall away.

All the while I desperately wanted to confess my love, I selfishly didn’t want to be the first to admit how deeply my feelings ran. After all the hiccups, I still want Harris to come to me, to show me and tell me that I truly am his. So my lips don’t share the depth of my emotions.

Since my visit to Claire on Thursday morning Harris hasn’t heard from her. Claire’s driver Marcus did call to say he dropped her off at the airport. This time she flew commercial; Harris said he was unwilling to let up the family jet so she could potentially manipulate the pilot into taking her anywhere but the therapeutic facility that would help Claire, hopefully, find some clarity. Despite the nagging sensation that a trip to New England wouldn’t be the balm to all of her scrapes, I keep a positive face for Harris. Ultimately I want her to get better just as much as him.

The Saturday morning alarm arrives too early for my taste. Aggressive beeping from Harris’ clock shocks me into wakefulness and I nearly shoot out of his warm embrace at the startling sound. It felt like only a few minutes ago that we fell asleep. When I see that it’s 4:30 a.m., I realize that I’m right; we were up until one.

“Harris,” I moan, flopping back in the bed.

“You can sleep in the car and in the plane.” His voice is gravelly, but annoyingly alert.

There’s a change in altitude when Harris scoops of me off the bed and  carries me into the bathroom.

“Shower,” he instructs as he sets me on the countertop, causing me to yelp when cold quartz hits my skin. Within a second, he’s back, lifting me into the shower stall and setting me on my feet underneath the spray of warm water.

With his back to me, Harris pours some of his body wash into his hands, rubbing them together. Then with long, lazy strokes, he cleans my body. Soon I’m writhing beneath his touch.

“No time for that,” he murmurs, dropping a row of kisses along my collarbone. Just as quickly as they were on my skin, he removes his hands, washing his own body.

“Now I’m going to smell like a man,” I inform him grumpily.

“Correction, you’ll smell like
me
, and then everyone will know who belongs with whom.”

“Show me,” I demand, placing my hands flat on his chest.

He groans, sweeping me into an embrace. “As much as I want to”—his eyes flash with lust as he pecks my forehead—“we have a plane to catch.”

Glowering, I release him and make quick work of washing and conditioning my hair. “Fine,” I grumble with my back to him.

“Hey,” he says, fingertips digging into my hips as he spins me around. “What’s wrong?”

“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” I shoot back, but I really want to ask, “Don’t you want me anymore?” Insecurity found its way back to me. His actions say he’s in love with me, but he hasn’t told me. Meanwhile, telling him is all I can think about. With every kiss, every lingering eye contact, every touch of his fingertips, I want to shout the words. Deep down remains the niggling fear that Claire will return and tear us apart. The idea of Harris confessing his love gives me another layer of security that our relationship won’t be disrupted by Claire.  

He releases my body and maneuvers around me to turn off the shower. “That’s what’s got you cranky? Don’t be in a bad mood, baby. I’ve got a spectacular surprise for you.” The repetitive consonants make me smile, even though I try to fight it. He dips down, nipping at the shell of my ear. “I’ve worked so hard, won’t you let me have my fun?” His breath is hot on my ear, causing my now-cold body to erupt in shivers.

“Yes,” I murmur as my frustration diffuses.      

“Good. Move it along.” He swats my ass, and I yelp. Outside the shower he carefully wraps me in a plush white robe, pulling the belt tightly around my waist. “We’re leaving in twenty.”

“Twenty minutes!” I squawk. “That’s not enough time to get ready.”

He’s already left the bathroom and crossing the hardwood floors into this expansive closet. “One of the things I adore about you, sweet Edith, is how low maintenance you are. I’ve seen you get ready to go out in way less than twenty minutes,” he says, poking his head out to give me a teasing grin.

But his saucy expression doesn’t distract me from his word choice. He said
adore
, not love. Wrinkling my nose, I glare at him. “It’s not even five in the morning. Forgive me for being confused and… snappy.”

He sighs, emerging completely from the closet with only a towel wrapped low around his hips, and droplets of water glistening on his chest. With his long-legged stride, he’s standing in front of me quickly. “Would another clue make you feel better?”

“Yes,” I whisper, realizing how childish I must sound.  

He whisks me up into his arms, pressing the length of my body against his and holding me high enough that we’re face to face. “Tonight I’ve got what Jane calls a ‘glam squad’ to prepare you for the festivities.”  

“Glam squad?”

“Something about hair and makeup,” he explains. “Not that you need it, but Jane told me it would earn brownie points with you. Does it?”

Now I’m smiling for real, imagining Harris scrubbing a hand through his cropped hair and asking Jane’s advice to make this one night getaway enjoyable for me. “Yes, handsome Harris, I’m sorry for my sour mood. I’ll cheer up.”

“That’s my girl.” His voice is rough, deep. His words are brief, but there’s more lurking behind his slate-colored eyes. We stay frozen in the moment, only breathing softly, eyes locked.

“Do you remember the day I was a complete asshole to you?” he says abruptly, settling me back on my feet, but keeping his hands on my hips. He cringes. “Actually, I was an asshole more than once. But I’m referring to the night we went to dinner with Greg. I found you at your computer and I insulted you…”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly.

“You were looking at me then the same you look at me now,” he says softly, watching my reaction. “It terrified me.”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like I’m a man worthy of being yours.”

My heart squeezes painfully at his omission.

“We are worthy of each other.”

“I’m starting to understand that.”

Then his eyes flicker to the clock behind me, breaking the spell.

“We’re leaving in ten.”

I whirl into a flurry of activity, twisting my damp strands into a braid and then dressing in a comfortable cotton skirt and tank top. After brushing my teeth and slathering lotion on my face, I rush into the foyer where Harris waits patiently with our luggage. Luckily he insisted we pack last night.

“There she is,” he says huskily, giving me a once over. “You got ready in ten minutes with no problem.”

“With good reason,” I confirm. “I was hurrying to spend time with you.”

That comment rewards me with a wide grin.

Our things are packed in his matching leather suitcases, and I’m once again borrowing his Gucci travel bag.

“This”—he waves to our neat pile of luggage—“is a good look for us. Don’t you think?” he asks casually when we enter the private elevator.

I hum my acknowledgement.

“Like one well-matched package,” he muses softly.

As the elevator descends, my heart takes a flying leap into the air.

The Grant’s private jet waits patiently for us at Chicago Midway Airport. Max, Harris’ driver, parks the car no more than twenty yards from where the airplane stands proudly in front of the rising sun. It hasn’t set in until this moment that Harris’ decided to take me away for one night, and is doing so easily with the help of his family’s airplane.

“This is strange,” I admit nervously from next to him in the car.

“You’ll get used to it,” Harris announces with a peck to my forehead. “Come on, baby.”

Max opens the passenger door for Harris, who slides out of the vehicle easily like we haven’t only slept for a few hours. As I scramble to throw my travel tote over my shoulder and climb out of the vehicle, Harris extends his large palm to me.

“Ready?” He winks reassuringly when I’m by his side.

Now I am.

“Yes.”

While Max carries our luggage, Harris escorts me to the airplane steps. An older gentleman in a pilot’s uniform stands in the space of the aircraft’s open door, looking incredibly alert for such an early flight time.

“Good morning,” he greets us warmly when we’re at the base of the steps.

“Morning, Peter,” Harris says. “This is my girlfriend, Edith; she doesn’t know where we’re going. If you wouldn’t mind, keep the flight plan quiet.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss. Please don’t ask me where we’re going, I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. Just ask my wife.” Peter’s eyes dance playfully, and he has a cheek-splitting smile plastered across his face.

Good thing he’s chipper.

“Okay, I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble with this one,” I say, poking Harris’ waist with my elbow.

“My Edith knows me too well,” he says wryly. “After you.” Harris extends an arm ahead of us and I climb the short staircase. Peter has moved out of the entryway, back into the cockpit, I presume.

Inside the airplane I have to stifle a gasp. Sure, I thought it would be luxurious, but I never guessed the plush carpeting under my feet or the long stretch of a beige leather sofa against half the length of the cabin. Across from the couch is a cozy seat set on a swivel. There’s also a flat screen TV, and two sets of large leather chairs with a table set between them. In the back of the plane, there’s a galley kitchen.

I don’t realize I’m blocking Harris’ entry into the airplane until he speaks right next to my ear. “We can’t take off until we’re both inside.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” My cheeks heat and I take a few more steps inside the cabin. I drop my purse onto a leather chair and then my body onto the couch, curling my feet to my side. Harris puts his own travel bag down, then slides into the space next to me, stretching his arm along the length of the sofa. Immediately, I drop my head to his warm, inviting chest.

“Can we sit in these seats for takeoff?”

“Whatever you wish.” He drops a kiss on my forehead. “The flight is less than two hours, but why don’t you try and rest? We’ll eat when we get there, unless you want something now.”

A sleepy yawn slips out, and I don’t try to stifle it. My eyes begin to droop shut, lulled into relaxation by Harris’ familiar and comforting scent.

“Harris, we’ll be leaving in fifteen,” I hear the pilot say.

Before we take off, I’m fast asleep.