Ten Days of Perfect (11 page)

Monica was able to connect with Tristan MacMillian, DROP’s community educator, and start a rapport with him as well. The four of us agr
eed that we would need to meet
sometime
soon
to see if we felt comfortable on a personnel level. Our boss was pleased.

“Ladies, you continue to amaze me,” Carrie congrat
ulated us in her office Tuesday

afternoon. “Your professionalism is stupendous, especial
ly considering that you two are

friends
;
it doesn’t always work out this well. I’ve
spoken with
David Bryson, and he said
he

would coordinate a time for the DROP team to come down and
meet us. I suggested that we’d

like a trip to New Hampshire, as well. We could see their community center,
and you
two could

meet
with William and Tristan. I’ll be o
ut of town for the rest of the
week for that conference in

D.C., but we can talk
about this more when I get back.”

I looked forward to seeing where Bo grew up, and it m
ade me realize how far into him

I’d fallen.
Shit.
Ethically, I needed to rein things in with Bo. Spiritually, I couldn’t force myself to do it. Realistically, I shouldn’t be excited to see the hometown of someone I was “just” having fun with, and might be working with in a professional capacity.
Double shit.

We thanked Carrie, wished her well on her trip, and headed home for the day. I went to Monica’s house for dinner. Josh was waiting for us; he’d spent most of the day hanging out and preparing dinner, since he didn’t work on Tuesdays. As I headed up her stairs my phone dinged
with
a text message.

Bo:
Hey, sorry I didn’t text all day-crazy busy. R we all
still meeting 4 lunch tomorrow?

I was both relieved and bummed
by his casual sounding message.

Me:
It’s ok- busy 4 me too. Boss will be out of town for the rest of the week. Tomorrow’s still good- come by office at noon. At Mon’s for din
ner.  Text you when I get home.

As soon as I hit send, I
wondered if I
should have asked him to come to dinner - what with the amazing sex we had and all. But, I needed a minute to clear my head and talk with Monica
,
outside of the office
,
about the possible ramifications of all of this
,
work and soul.

“Ember! Good to see you - get your nose out of your damn phone!” Josh hugged me with
the sincerity of a big brother.

“Shut up
Josh, I text maybe once a day.”

“Was that lover boy?” Josh elbowed me and I glowered at h
im just before Monica piped in.

“Shut it, Josh
.
”
She sounded as tense as I felt.

“What the he
ll?” Josh looked at both of us.

“Ugh.
It’s nothing, really,” I lied.

Josh laughed dismissively, “Oh, you mean because lover boy isn’t only rocker Bo Cavanaugh, but is
technically
the wealthy Spencer Cavanaugh - your future boss of sorts? You’ve gotten yourself int
o a real cock-up, haven’t you?”

“Seriously Monica?
!” My eyes widened in betrayal.

“
Relax
November. This is Josh, I tell him
everything
. Who is he going to tell? You had sex with a hot musician who happens to
be seeking our mad knowledge.”

“You guys had sex!” Josh half-cheered as Monica mumbled “oops” under her breath.

“You’re oh-for-two. Got anything else you’d like to spill?” My anger hissed inside as she continued to help with dinner.

I couldn’t reconcile if my anger was from embarrassment at my sex life being in Josh’s head, or at myself for knowingly entering into a sexual relationship with a potential boss. I’d never felt so torn. My practical, realist
side
-
the side with whom I chose to align most frequently
-
reminded me that the responsible thing to do would be stop seeing Bo until this collaboration deal was finalized. My free-love side told me to ride the wave with Bo; soak up his intellect, share music, share passion - have sex with the boy. I liked
her
more and more.

“Guys,” I broke the awkward silence, “I’m sorry for being all weird. I just feel disoriented, disjointed, all sorts of dis.” It felt weird being this vu
lnerable in front of Josh.

“Ember
,
it’s fine. I just can’t believe how shitty this is. This is the first guy I’ve seen you fall
uninhibitedly for since Adrian
, and this
thing
could get in the way.” Monica walked toward m
e and gave me a little squeeze.

“Hey, ladies, isn’t your boss out of town through the week
and weekend
?” Josh asked, and we nodded.

“Well, since
she’s
the one you’re worried will find out
. . .
” He looked at us w
ith wide eyes and raised brows.

“What, Josh?” I asked.

“Screw it! Enjoy the week with Bo and worry about it later - or not at all. Mazel Tov!
” He raised his glass to cheer.

Monica and I laughed and toasted Josh. With the clink of our glasses I willingly entered into a week of spontaneity.
The rest of dinner had a much lighter mood,
for the most part.

“You
OK
, Josh?” I sipped my wine, waiting for an answer.

“Yea. Why?” His eyes surveyed
the table, but never met mine.

“You
seem a little off.” I shrugged.

“Yea, babe. You OK?” Monica
placed her hand on top of his.

“I just feel bad for Ember, is all.” He looked at me and continued, “This guy’s really done something to you. I don’t know, you’re happier. I’ve never hea
rd you sing like that, either.”

“Josh, you hear me sing almost once a week.” I looked at Monica, who shifted her eyes side-to-side. She didn’t know where J
osh was going with this either.

“It was different last weekend, Ember. It was
all
of you up there. No one else has ever brought that out of you before.” Josh bit the inside o
f his cheek and left the table.

“What the hell?” I whispered to Mo
nica as Josh washed his dishes.

“He really wants you to be happy, you know. He doesn’t want this to blow up in your face. He can see how good Bo is for you.” Hopeful sadness was the show pl
aying in Monica’s eyes tonight.

I furrowed my brow as I hea
ded toward Josh in the kitchen.

“Hey, Josh, it’s going to be fine, OK? And, even if it’s not - I’ve got great friends to help me out.” I gave him a playfu
l squeeze across his shoulders.

“I know
, Ember. You’re tough as hell. But what’s between you and Bo is obvious. It’s gotta work out.”

I patted him firmly on the back and headed back th
rough the living room to leave.

“He’s being weird. Tell him it’s fine, OK?” I whispered to
Monica as I left her apartment.

Walking to my car, I texted Bo
.

Me:
You around?

Bo:
Of course, why what’s up?

Me:
Can I come see you?

Bo:
I just left a dinner meeting, getting in my car. Can I come to your place? It’s
much nicer than a crappy motel.

Me:
True. Just head
to my place, we’ll meet there. :)

Moonlight beamed off the hood of my car as I parked it in front of my apartment, right behind Bo. He got out when I did and we walked to the stairs. I noted his tense movements; maybe he was fighting the same moral demons I’d wrestled all day.

“Where the hell have you been?” I lau
ghed out. “Your hair’s a mess!”

I roughed through his hair like he was a puppy
before unlocking
the building door.

He chuckled like a high school boy, grabbed my hand and kissed it with tight lips. Something was off, and I didn’t like it. 
Everyone is bizarre today.

“Hey,” I continued as we headed up the stairs to my apartment, “is everything ok? You’re all weird.” I dialed down the concern and took a more
get over it
tone so he woul
dn’t think I was getting crazy.

“Sorry. Everything’s fine. Just a little tense about our meeting with you guys tomorrow.” By
our
meeting,
he meant himself and David Bryson. He was defin
itely fighting the same demons.

I opened the door to my apartment and headed right for the wine rack. Sobriety had taken up enough of my time today. B
o thumped heavily on the couch.

“Do you want beer or win
e
?
” I hollered from the kitchen.

“God. Beer please,” he exaggerated with a hint of a smile in his voice. He was staring to relax, but I could tell this would be a
two-beer kind of conversation.

“You’re in luck. I’ve got a ‘Whale’s Tale Pale Ale’ from Cisco’s, the brewery on Nantucket - it’s awesome.” I handed him his beer and sat down on the couch, facing him with my knees bent toward the back of the couch. I swallow
ed half of my wine in one gulp.

“That bad, huh?” Bo looked into my eyes. It wasn’t just
at
my eyes; he really got in there and scrambled things around until I no longer knew if I was feeling him
or me racing through my veins.

“Not bad. Just . . . a lot.
I just want to get through this meeting with David Bryson tomorrow and have you all to myself for the rest of the week. Am I crazy? I feel a little crazy. You’re in the house of a crazy person.” I rushed to the kitchen
to retrieve more beer and wine.

“You’re not crazy, Ember. Don’t you realize what you do to me?  Ha! You know
. . .
”
H
e smiled as I returned with our refreshed drinks, “the second we sang that verse of “Heaven When We’re Home,” it was all I could do to
not
hoist you over my shoulder, hightail it out of the bar, and just drive around
the country singing with you.”

The thought speared me in the knees and I could no longer stand, tha
nkfully I arrived at the couch.

“Are you kidding? God, you’re a lot more ‘by-the-seat-of-your-pants’ than I am.” Guitar cases, hotel rooms, stages, and harmonizing with Bo filled all available spa
ce in my brain.

“Are you saying you’d
object
t
o taking that voice of yours and sharing it with all of humanity? You want to keep all of it for yourself?” He
seemed comically flabbergasted.

“Well, myself and you.” We wouldn’t be talking about work anymore tonight, so I let my already weakening guard
completely
down.

“Ember I can’t tell you how many times over the past four years I’ve wanted to just take my guitar and go
. . .
” His eyes were now c
louded with a different stress.

“Bo, I hate to bring this up, but the first time you came here - with Monica and Josh - you said you haven’t seen your sister in years; then two days later I find out you started a non-profit with her.” That detail nagged my brain for days.

“I was wondering when you’d call me on that. When I first met you guys it was easier, I didn’t have to get into it. I didn’t have to say that she was a recovering drug addict, and my parents died in the middle of founding an organization based on helping kids like her, and so on. She was really screwed up, Ember
. . .
” His
eyes
welled with tears
as he
looked to the floor.

Wordlessly
,
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders
and gave him the tightest hug
I’d ever given anyone.
H
e slumped forward and pressed his forehead to my bare shoulder. I was overtaken b
y his vulnerability.

The wetness I felt on my shoulder was the only indication he was crying.
Crying.
Girls make a production out of this; we let the whole world know with wails, throwing things, and we even stare at ourselves in the mirror while doing it. In front of me sat a gorgeous, hurt man who felt comfortable crying in front of me, and I froze.