Irresistible
Sophie
He’s an entrepreneur. A business owner. Not just a business owner, but one who owns a thriving café in downtown Toronto. One who rolls up his sleeves to do the work instead of sitting in the back office ordering people around for minimum wage. He did all that while pursuing a double degree and getting top marks in his graduating year? Despite our conflicting encounters, my level of respect for Boyd has increased tenfold.
“Your café? How did you…?”
He keeps his arms wrapped around me—which I appreciate because it’s freezing in here after shutting the water off—and rests his chin on top of my head. “Why don’t you get changed into something dry?”
If most other men suggested that, I’d probably stand here in my soaking wet clothes just to prove a point that I don’t have to listen to them. The exception being a select few men in my family. But I don’t get the impression Boyd is trying to boss me. He’s showing concern—something Henry hasn’t done a day in my life.
I agree and carefully slink out of the bathroom into my bedroom closet. My clothes sound like a pile of slop when I drop them to the floor because they’re saturated. But wow. Totally worth it. That was, hands down, the most passionate kiss of my life. I always thought people who said, “It took my breath away,” were either asthmatic or dramatic, but it is very much a real thing. Boyd stole my breath and performed mouth-to-mouth to give it back.
Quickly, I use a spare T-shirt to dry off my damp skin, pull on some dry pyjamas, then use the shirt to wrap my hair so it doesn’t get me wet all over again. I grab some extra clothes I’ve had stashed in my closet and rush back to the bathroom. When I fling the door open, I’m caught a little off guard. Boyd is standing in front of the sink, topless, wringing out his shirt.
“Oh. Sorry, I…”
“Sorry, I…”
We talk over each other, but he doesn’t look affected at all. My cheeks are burning, and it’s not because I’m embarrassed. It’s because I’m flustered, staring at this man who is so much more than a barista, but has a torso like a fit lumberjack. I mean, probably one who cuts down small trees, but still. Now his deep, rumbly voice seems to match.
“Caleb’s clothes.” I hold the T-shirt and joggers out to him. “I thought you might want to…”
“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He takes the two items from my hands and I rush out the door into my kitchen.
While he’s changing, I go turn on the load of laundry to clean all of my soaking wet linens so I can have a proper shower tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand in that shower without that very memorable kiss replaying in my head. What’s the opposite of an amnesiac? Because that’s what I’m going to be.
“Hey.” Boyd interrupts my daydreaming as I turn the washing machine on.
I’m going to have to write Caleb a thank-you card for leaving his clothes here. His Ecole de Cuisine shirt was from his early years in France and fits about half a size too small on Boyd. The grey track pants and no socks beats a tux any day.
“Do you want to put your stuff in the dryer?”
He walks forward with his damp clothes that he’s folded into a neat pile. “That will make getting home a lot more comfortable. If you don’t mind.”
He’s not implying he is in a rush to leave, but the reminder he will be makes me sad already. Having him in my space that is supposed to be my female sanctuary has been a nice short-term reprieve from the silence I normally have here.
I take his clothes and set them for a twenty-minute cycle. When I spin back around, he’s standing only a foot away. The biologically motivated part of me that is still reeling from his kiss wants to make a memory to implant in this room too.
He leans forward, placing one hand on the top of the dryer. Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, there’s a loud knock at the interior door to the hallway.
He smiles with one side of his lips, not looking nearly as disappointed as I am. “You should get that.”
Seconds later, I open the back door and find Celeste. Wilson comes to greet her with a wagging wet tail. Between my wet dog, the T-shirt on my head, and the chaos that has consumed my condo, Celeste looks a little confused.
“What happened? I thought I heard some noise, but I assumed it was your pipes acting up again.”
“That’s one way to put it.” I laugh at her wide-eyed expression. “My shower exploded and flooded my whole place.”
Before I can explain that Boyd helped me, Celeste peeks her head around me and spots him exiting the laundry room. “Oh dear. Look at you poor kids. Have you eaten?” The smile on Celeste’s face is so transparent, it’s laughable.
I’m about to tell her we’ll order in, but Boyd beats me to a reply.
“No, we haven’t. Have you?”
Him asking if she’s eaten catches me by surprise. I should have learned by now that I can’t assume when it comes to Boyd Edwards. He’s not eager to shoo away my elderly friend like I thought. It sounds like he’s welcoming her into our date. And I appreciate that so much more than a candlelit dinner for two.
“No, but I made paella. Sophie’s favourite. I was coming over to invite her for some.” She sends Boyd an exaggerated half-face wink. “It’ll be ready in ten.” Then she’s headed back next door with haste.
Boyd is scratching Wilson’s ears when I turn around. “Paella, huh?”
“My cousin Isla makes it all the time. I had it once and was hooked.” I watch as Boyd further bonds with my dog—who I’m convinced could bond with anyone—but it still means something. “That was Celeste’s way of ordering us over for dinner if you didn’t catch that.”
He steps forward, my Velcro dog close behind. “I figured.” He stops two feet away.
“You’re not disappointed we got interrupted?” I raise my eyebrows, issuing a silent challenge.
Boyd closes the gap between us. “Very.” He teases my lips with a breath, but doesn’t make contact. It’s torture. “But I hope I’ll have other chances to kiss you.”
Celeste could dump ghost chilis in this paella and it wouldn’t compare to the heat Boyd is bringing. I need a glass of ice water. Or a cold shower. Except the thought of my shower does the opposite of cool me down.
We walk the short distance to Celeste’s door, which she’s left open a crack. True to her word, dinner is served a few minutes later and we chat over Spanish cuisine and rosé until Celeste convinces Boyd to make tea for everyone. The number of times I tried to help with anything in this woman’s kitchen and she used actual violence, but Boyd shows up, and she insists we could both “use some tea.” I’m still so confused about this—especially when she gives me the same dramatic wink she gave Boyd earlier.
Celeste continues, asking Boyd questions about himself that I didn’t know answers to. She also asks me questions I know she knows the answers to, but asks for Boyd’s benefit. My favourite place in France—easy, French Riviera. My most cherished childhood memory—the day I found out Aunt Zara adopted two daughters and our grandparents took us to meet them. Where I see myself in twenty years—running McNamara Enterprises.
I learn that Boyd’s parents came from England decades ago, but have held onto their British roots. He was on the tennis team in high school, but gave it up before he started University. He’s never owned a pet, but you wouldn’t know that the way Wilson has become obsessed with him. And he hasn’t been in a relationship for seven years, but he sidestepped subsequent questions about that topic.
After we help Celeste clean up, we excuse ourselves and return to my place. Wilson needs a walk, and since it’s dark, Boyd offers to come with us. A likely side effect from our first phone call. He changes back into his clothes and leaves Caleb’s old stuff neatly folded on my dresser.
We stick to the well-lit sidewalks and tour my neighbourhood, commenting on holiday decor and curb appeal. There’s such a level of comfort and familiarity between us, it’s almost suffocating. Only because of my own fears of what could come from life after a second date. Things have never ended well for me beyond this point. His presence is a promise of inevitable heartbreak. Not to mention what will happen if Henry finds out.
Boyd stops walking. “What happened?”
I’ve lost count of how many times he’s asked that tonight. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Care to enlighten me?” he asks, continuing his steps forward at Wilson’s command.
“No. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”
He accepts that response, and that’s exactly what we do. Less than an hour later, Boyd leaves and I fall asleep wearing the shirt that smells like him, hoping I’m not setting myself up for heartache.