“Chuck, please put your arms around Kate’s waist,” Josiane directs us while the photographer, Louis, snaps shot after shot of me and Chuck together.
Mom’s kitchen is acting as the set, and Chuck and I look as if The Bluewater Springs Chocolate Company apparel store has exploded on us. Everything’s factory branded, from the shirts on our backs to the pot holders on the counter. But the cheesiest items by far are the his and hers aprons we’re wearing, decorated with male and female cartoon reindeer. Another one of Chuck’s designs.
Also, Chuck is wearing makeup. It’s barely noticeable, but he’s still fuming about it. And why does he have to be so cute when he broods?
They did my makeup first, and while the makeup artist was struggling to apply the thinnest layer of contouring to his skin, Josiane and I went through our winter catalog to pick outfits. And I was overwhelmed by the number of new products Chuck has brought to market. I always accused him of doing nothing other than play games, but where did he find the time to draw all these unique characters while still keeping excellent grades in school? Perhaps I haven’t been fair with him.
Also, why is apparel generally categorized as ugly Christmas wear making him ten times hotter than normal?
It’s not fair.
And looks aren’t even the worst part; the tactile aspect of all these poses we have to switch through is quickly becoming impossible to cope with. And it’s about to get worse. As Chuck follows Josiane’s instructions and hugs me from behind, my body temperature soars to fever levels, and not just because we’re standing near the lit oven.
“Wonderful,” Josiane encourages. “Now, Chuck, move your hands on Kate’s belly as if you were caressing her baby bump.”
“I don’t have a baby bump,” I protest.
“You will soon, and we want to document all stages of the pregnancy.”
Kill. Me. Now.
“Is this okay?” Chuck whispers in my ear, his breath a warm, distracting caress down my neck. “If you want to stop, I reckon she got enough pictures.”
“No, let’s do as she says and get this over with.”
I grab Chuck’s hands and place them on my belly.
“Perfect,” Josiane says. “That’s even better, keep holding hands. Chuck, bend a little and kiss her neck.”
Behind me, Chuck stiffens, so I squeeze his hands to let him know it’s okay.
Soft lips press on my skin a few seconds later, searing a burning patch in that spot just below my ear Chuck knows makes me lose my mind. Did he do it on purpose? Or was it an involuntary reflex to kiss me there out of habit?
“Hold… hold…” Josiane instructs.
If she doesn’t make us change positions soon, I’m going to ignite like a sparkler and begin to emit flashes of light. Which is weird, because Chuck hasn’t made me so hot and bothered in ages. My skin is tingling, my pulse is speeding, and, again, if Marco wasn’t in my life, once this photo shoot was over I’d probably drag Chuck to my bedroom and—let’s leave it there.
Is that why people often end up having sex with their exes after they’ve broken up? Because it feels safe but prohibited, new but familiar, wrong but right? I don’t know. Chuck has been my only serious boyfriend and my only serious breakup. Could it be that, since I’m not supposed to want him anymore, Chuck has become the forbidden fruit, and that’s why I’ve developed all these dirty fantasies about him?
Whatever the reason, if the air turns any steamier in this kitchen, I might turn into a dumpling.
“Okay, Chuck, thank you, you can straighten up.” Chuck follows the directions, letting go of me, and suddenly I feel colder than if I was running around the backyard in my underwear. “No, no, no,” Josiane hurries to add. “Keep your arms around Kate.”
He hugs me again from behind, and I’m ashamed to be relieved his arms are back around me.
“Now, Kate,” Josiane continues. “Dirty your hand with some flour and smear it across Chuck’s nose as you stare up at him adoringly. We’re going for playful and romantic, so don’t be afraid to have some fun with it.”
I do as instructed, even if it was ten times easier to deal with the awkwardness without the added stress of eye contact. I’ve always adored Chuck’s deep blue eyes and, apparently, the breakup hasn’t changed the effect they have on me. Not when he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. Heck, the only woman in the whole wide world.
My heart skips a beat, then positively stops as Josiane utters the next instruction: “And now kiss.”
Chuck’s eyes widen in panic, as well as some other emotion I can’t place.
“Is it really necessary?” I ask, looking at her. “We’re not that comfortable with PDAs.”
Josiane huffs impatiently. “I’m asking you guys for a peck on the lips not to make out in front of the camera. You’ll have to kiss in front of people at your wedding; might as well start getting used to it.”
With a heavy sigh, I turn back to Chuck and nod.
He closes his eyes and presses his lips on mine in the softest kiss ever. Gosh, I missed his lips, is the first treacherous thought that crosses my mind.
“Fantastic, guys, don’t move. Louis needs to shoot a few different angles. And relax, please, you’re both too rigid. Kate, reach up with your right hand and bury it in Chuck’s hair.”
I do as I’m told and, oh, gosh, Chuck’s soft hair is my other great weakness after his eyes. I can’t help but move my fingers between his silken dark locks while my other hand tightens on Chuck’s. In response, he pulls me in closer to his body from behind, positively knocking the breath out of me.
“All right,” Josiane says. “I think we have it.”
We pull apart, breaking the kiss, but remaining in each other’s arms. Chuck stares down at me in wonder, and a deeper emotion he tries to hide. Could it be longing? And I don’t know how I’m staring back at him, but it must be equally intense, because Josiane cheers, “Yes, yes, yes, don’t move! Keep looking at each other like that. That’s our money shot right there, exactly what true love should look like.”
I push back from Chuck as if electrocuted by Josiane’s words.
“Sorry,” I say, and blab the first excuse that comes to mind. “I’m going to be sick.”
Not even an excuse, as I might actually be sick.
I run out of the kitchen as Josiane comments, “Poor girl. I’ve heard the first trimester can be a real bitch.”
Chuck’s reply barely reaches my ears as I rush upstairs. “Right, I’d better go check on her.”
His words put a new sprint in my step, and I reach the upstairs bathroom and lock myself in before he can catch up with me.
As I stare in the mirror, my heart is racing in my chest, and not just because of the recent sprint up the staircase.
Fake engagements. Side effects might include nausea, sudden bouts of tachycardia, lust attacks, fever, regrets, confusion, disorientation… longing…