My Last(68)

“I just don’t want to go yet,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. I don’t either.” He heard the need, the desperation coming through in his own voice.

She looked up at him. Without even thinking about it, he kissed her. Not to comfort her, not to try and make it better. No, he kissed her because he was a selfish prick and he needed to feel her lips, to taste her. He poured every ounce of unspoken emotion he had for her into that kiss.

All too soon she pulled away and then after a beat she stepped away, out of his arms. He felt the loss immediately.

“I’m gonna go let Randall and Mrs. Winders know that I’m leaving. I’ll meet you downstairs at the cab. Can you make sure everything is shut off and locked up?”

She didn’t wait for his answer. Just like that, she was out the door.



--- ~ ---



Chelle felt a teeny-tiny bit bad about the foul mood that had taken up residence and was steadily worsening. She had tried to shake it, but it didn’t seem like it would be leaving any time soon.

She attempted to reason with her own foul temper. Hey, she told herself, it isn’t Riley’s fault that you have to go back to work. It isn’t Riley’s fault that your time in San Francisco is over. It certainly isn’t Riley’s fault that you're madly in love with him!

She sighed. She recognized the logic in all of that. So why was she was giving him the silent treatment? Why was she avoiding touching him as if he were a leper? Why was she doing everything humanly possible to not make eye contact with him?

She honestly had no idea. He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, just the opposite, really. He had done everything right! He booked the flight, made breakfast, called a cab. And she'd acted like a spoiled brat.

She wished she could snap out of her funk. She was trying to will herself to do it. But every time he did something like take her luggage, or hold open a door for her, or kiss her silly in the kitchen...well, she just got madder and madder.

All of those gestures, as sweet as they might be, were just glaring reminders of what she would be missing out on when they got back to Harper’s Crossing. But, still, she didn’t want to spend the last few precious hours she had in their little bubble pouting. She needed to “snap out of it” as Cher had so eloquently put it in the movie Moonstruck.

Riley’s arm brushed against Chelle and she felt a ripple of desire flow through her. When she turned her head, she saw Riley staring at her, the look in his eyes conveying that he was feeling the same thing - or at least something very similar.

“How you doing over there?” Riley asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I’m good. I’ve never flown business class, it’s nice.” She tried to inject some life into her tone, to make sure that her voice sounded cheerful and upbeat. Unfortunately, she only managed monotone.

Oh well, she supposed, it was better than sounding maudlin or pissed.

The 'seatbelt' light came on and she reached into her purse to get her cell phone and turn it off before take-off. When she did she noticed she had six more missed calls, the same amount of voicemails, and eight text messages. A quick look to see who they were from confirmed what she already suspected.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Great. She was going to have to deal with yet another thing as soon as she got home. So much for a quiet evening to get acclimated back to reality.

She placed her phone back in her bag, clicked her seatbelt into place and leaned back in her seat.

“More work stuff?” Riley asked.

“Oh, no.” Chelle closed her eyes. “I wish.”

“What is it then?”

“Nothing.” She stated.

“Chelle.” He sounded impatient and serious.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head as she mimicked his tone, “Riley.”

“Who were the calls from?”

“Why do you care?” She snapped back at him.

Dammit! Why couldn’t she just talk to him civilly?

He didn’t speak, just waited, patiently looking at her. She sighed, feeling a little guilty and a tiny bit embarrassed for how she was behaving.

“They’re from David.”

“What the hell does that douchebag want?” Riley’s voice was now very low and menacing.

“To talk.”

“About what?” His tone remained intense.

“I don’t know yet.” She answered honestly.

“Are you going to talk to him?” He asked with disgust.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

This conversation was going nowhere and it served no purpose other than maybe to put her in an even worse mood, if that was possible. Better to just nip this in the bud.