The next few weeks fly by in a haze. I spend every weekend with Tim, either screwing like rabbits at his house or else eating family dinners at mine. As he dropped me off one morning, my nephews insisted he join us for breakfast. I was surprised that he did, sinking into the couch afterward with my dad and brothers, watching the baseball game on television.
At work, I keep worrying that everyone will be able to tell there’s more going on between us, but as per usual, the pace is so hectic we are barely in the same room as one another. I’m pretty sure Juniper caught him kiss me one day when he stopped in for an afternoon snack, but she hasn’t said anything.
I’m finishing an inventory order in my office, looking over the schedule for the next week, when my desk phone rings. “Alice Peterson,” I say, not looking at the caller ID.
“What are you wearing?” It’s Tim. I blush.
“Well, I’m at work, so I’m wearing my chef whites and clogs,” I say. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got a big request for you. I’m scheduling an all-day meeting with the Cavs’ players union and I’d like to keep them happily well-fed.”
“The Cavs? Like from Cleveland? Do we get people from far away like that?”
He laughs. “Well, I certainly hope so, Alice. Stag Law is building quite a reputation. Can you have something together for Monday?”
“Monday?? Tim, it’s Friday afternoon. I wish you’d given me more notice!” I start to panic, looking at the clock and wondering how I’ll manage to place orders in time.
“Stay at my place this weekend. I’ll help you work on it.” His voice is smooth, but it doesn’t quite sound like a question.
I sigh. “How many people will there be?” We review the details and I’ve barely hung up the phone before I start poring over menu ideas.
I start organizing my ingredients lists by the different markets I’ll have to visit on the weekend. Most likely, I will stay with Tim this weekend, just to have easy access to the vendors in the produce terminal. I’m finishing my notes on a pesto for tortellini--must make a trip to the Italian market for fresh pasta--when my cell rings. “Shit. Amy, what time is it?”
“Alice, it’s 7 at night! Where the hell are you?” My sister is hopping mad. I was supposed to watch the boys for her tonight so she could go on a date.
“Oh god, Amy, I am so sorry. I’m still at work.” I sweep everything into my bag and start running toward the elevator. “Is Dan home? When do you need to leave?” It’ll be a half hour or more until I can get home. I remember that I took the bus today. “Shit, Amy, I don’t have my car at work.”
“Dan was supposed to go out tonight, he says.” I can hear my brother complaining in the background.
“Ok, but he’s home? Tell him to chill out for an hour and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I start to jam the elevator buttons. Of course, today it’s taking forever. Of course, our office is on the top floor of huge skyscraper.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” Tim slips up behind me. I didn’t even realize he would still be here. I turn around and quickly blurt out the whole scenario. The elevator finally arrives and I sprint inside, but he calmly follows and pulls out his phone. “I’ll have my driver take us to your house,” he says. “I’ll hang out with your nephews while you pack for your weekend at my apartment.” He grins, still not flustered.
“You’re going to come with me to babysit my nephews?” I raise an eyebrow at him. He’s such a renaissance man. Negotiating contracts with professional sports executives one minute and chasing preschoolers around the next. He nods.
“The town car is downstairs waiting for us.” He leans in to kiss me, and I forget about the stress of the last few hours, forget that he’s the source of the stress. “Tell me what you’re working on,” he whispers. “I love to hear you talk about food.”
He starts to kiss my neck and I lean against the elevator wall. “Well,” I say. “Mmm, that feels good. I’m going to make scones for the morning. Lemon...of course...Tim!” He bites my neck and presses me against the elevator wall.
The door slides open and he stands back, straightening his collar. I’m too flustered to walk, and he grabs my hand. “You were saying...lemon donuts?” He opens the door to the Town Car and I climb inside.
“You think donuts?”
He nods. “I don’t think this is the tea and scones crowd, babe.”
By the time we pull up to my house, we’ve tweaked the menu into something masculine enough for Tim’s standards--basically various cubes of meat served at regular intervals throughout the day. My brother pulls the door open as we hit the porch and he storms out. “At least one of us is getting some. I was supposed to be at the bar an hour ago, Al, and you waltz in here late because you’re out messing around with your damn boyfriend?”
“Dan, I was working late and lost track of time and--”
He scoffs at me and shakes his head. “Sure. Working. Save it, Alice.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Dan?” But he’s already in his car peeling out down the street. My nephews walk out onto the porch as I stand there, shaken up.
“Aunt Alice, what’s a boyfriend?” Elijah hands me a jar of bubbles, and I open it, squatting beside him to help him with the wand.
“Well, it’s…” I’m not sure what to say.
Tim squats down next to us. “It’s me, buddy. I’m your Aunt Alice’s friend, and I’m a boy, but I also like to kiss her.” He ruffles my nephew’s hair.
“My mom says you’re Aunt Alice’s boss at work, though. Can you have a boyfriend at work?” Eli’s eyes are big, and he pauses to blow a series of bubbles into the humid July evening.
“Well, I guess you’re not really supposed to,” Tim says. “But your Aunt Alice is just so awesome, I really wasn’t happy until I was her boss and her boyfriend.”
This seems to make sense to Eli, who scampers inside, but my brother’s angry insinuation has left me uneasy. This is the main problem with my involvement with Tim Stag. He’s my boss. Will anyone ever believe my achievements are earned? Tim leans in to kiss the top of my head, then helps me to my feet.
I head off to my room to change and pack for the weekend. When I come back to the living room, my heart melts to see Tim engrossed in a game of Jenga on our dining room table. My nephews egg him on as he slowly wiggles out a precarious brick and the three of them high-five when he successfully places it on top of the stack. I lean against the banister, just watching. He folds into my family so seamlessly. Maybe I should look for another job, I think, but I know I’ll never find a position that gives me the same creative freedom and independence as this one. This is my dream job, and I know I’ll never give it up without a fight.
My phone alarm sounds, my reminder to take my birth control pill. I walk to the kitchen for a glass of water and kiss each of my men as I pass. I won’t give any of them up without a fight, either.