For now, we’re…we’re a we. We’re real.
I’ll take on tomorrow when it gets here.
15
Aiden
It’s Christmas Eve. And while holiday music might be pumping through the speakers onto the main floor of Vivant, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra is the song I’m hearing in my head. The horn section goes for its big moment and I flash back to this morning, waking up next to Stella. Drinking coffee with our legs crisscrossed in the sheets, watching the sun come up over Manhattan. Coming out of the shower a while later and finding she’d made us breakfast. Toast and eggs and half a leftover donut. It was obvious she hadn’t cooked in a while and was self-conscious about her efforts, so I ate it all without taking a single breath and the smile…I can’t stop thinking about the bemused smile she gave me.
Now it’s late afternoon and I’m collecting sales reports from each department. Normally this task wouldn’t fall to me, but I let some of our managerial staff go early, despite the store being busier than I can ever remember seeing it.
On my way toward the back of the main floor, I have to weave through customers who are purchasing last-minute gifts for loved ones. They’re harried and red-cheeked from the cold outside. Indecisive. Classic last-minute shoppers that were brought in off the street by our new eye-catching window displays. I’d bet anything on it.
Our social media following has quadrupled in the last week, according to Leland. We’re getting tagged in pictures taken by passersby on the street. The new window, featuring makeup and skincare items, has been a particular favorite, inspiring people to pose like the mannequin and call it the #VivantChallenge. I can’t comprehend or predict that kind of thing, but I do know this: Stella’s talent is the cause. The renewed interest in our store is not an accident. There’s something special inside of her, she’s sharing it with the public and they’re responding.
Almost to the rear of the main floor now, I pass the jewelry case and an engagement ring twinkles up at me. Now, Lord knows it’s way too soon for me to stop in my tracks and casually, very casually, lean down to look through the glass. But sue a man for dreaming.
And that’s all I can do for now. Hell, Stella is still having a hard time committing to spending the night at my place. She has gone back and forth about it every night this week, right down until the last second when she finally lets me pull her into the backseat of my town car and buckle her seatbelt. There are moments when I swear we’re sharing a mind. That we’re looking at our soul mate and both of us damn well knows it. But there are other moments where I can see her looking for the parachute tab, prepared to pull.
I pat the glass of the ring case twice and walk away. I’m getting way ahead of myself. Of course I am. Just because I know in my bones that she’s mine doesn’t necessarily mean I’m hers, does it? Like she told me, she’s still finding her footing after the last four years. All I can do is be patient and support her…and hope that when she does get steadier on her feet, she still wants to stand beside me.
Massaging away the object in my throat, I take the elevator to the second floor, jolting a little when a dozen customers are waiting to board the elevator once I vacate. Younger clientele than we’re used to browse the aisles. Sales associates don’t have to pretend they’re busy when they see me coming, because they are actually busy. “Silver Bells” plays over the loudspeaker, paper shopping bags crinkle…and there’s a muffled sound of laughter coming from the dressing rooms. Glad the customers are enjoying themselves, I continue on my way—but I halt in the middle of the aisle when Stella’s laugh reaches me.
What is she doing in the dressing room?
Granted, she’s done working on holiday-themed windows for the year. This week has been spent sketching out ideas for spring designs and budgeting for materials. Historically, our window dressers have never had an office at Vivant, generally using the storeroom as their base and doing a lot of work from home. And I know it’s special treatment, okay? But I had Seamus clear some boxes from the storeroom and bring in a desk, so she’d have a place to imagine what’s next. Stella read me the riot act about favoritism, but hell if she didn’t kiss me in the same breath, so I’m standing by the decision.
Even if I was just desperate to make her presence seem more…permanent.
Relax. She’s not going to disappear.
Another round of female laughter kicks up from the dressing room and I reverse directions, walking backward a few steps. And that’s when I see her. My Stella.
In a dress.
Not like one of her sweater ones.
Not at all.
It’s emerald green. Shiny material—satin, I think. Tight on top where it hugs and plumps her tits, before coasting down over her hips. There’s a high slit on the right thigh that makes my fingers twitch. Makes me ache to take two fistfuls of the dress’s hem and slip it higher. The gold key chain necklace I gave her plunges down into her cleavage, visible for the first time while at work. I wonder if she’s noticed. Normally it remains hidden during business hours. Is it too much to hope for that she’s getting comfortable with everyone knowing she’s seeing the boss?
Because everyone does know.
Monday was the first time I needed to be inside her during business hours, but it wasn’t the last. People might not suspect that I’ve got her legs shaking around my waist in the filing cabinet room, but there’s no way to deny we’re spending our lunch hour together. Leaving together at the end of the day. And I don’t want to deny what this is or hide. There is no reason to anymore, save Stella’s hesitancy to be all in on our relationship. And I’m going to be patient about that. I am. I’ll give her as long as she needs. But I can’t pretend I don’t love seeing my gift resting on her skin right out here in the open.
Jordyn hustles Stella onto a platform in front of the full-length mirror, hushing her protests. My girlfriend stills completely when she sees her reflection, her lips puffing open in surprise.
It’s a wonder that my heart hasn’t climbed out through my mouth and taken off running on little legs toward the dressing room. As the man who has been seeing Stella naked on a regular basis since Monday, I am not surprised that she looks so beautiful. Not a smidge. Whether she’s moaning against the tile wall in my shower, drifting off to sleep to one of my Aunt Edna stories or staring out the window of my living room, brow wrinkled in thought, she’s never not messing with my pulse. Clothed, unclothed, the damn thing is erratic twenty-four seven. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’d cause an EKG machine to start smoking, so no. I’m not shocked in the slightest that she looks like an angel in the dressing room mirror.
But damn, watching Stella notice her own beauty? Watching her turn a little and look over her shoulder to see things from the back? I feel like I’m being let into the place where she’s afraid to let me go.
Our eyes meet in the mirror and just for a second, I am let in.
There’s surprise at seeing me, but then…it fades to wonder. Like she’s saying, “Can you believe this?” And I nod in response, because I can. I believe anything when it comes to her.