Page 9 of Turbulent Fires

She laughs hard at this, holding up her hand for me to wait until she can speak. “That is so you, Aud.”

“Well, he didn’t even blink as I reached over to wipe off the wine, not realizing what I was doing until it was too late. I jerked back as if a snake bit me.”

She laughs more. “If it was a good snake, you’d have noticed,” she says with a raise of her brows. My grin grows.

“Oh, it was a noticeable snake, alright.” I pause as I think back to the moment. It was a great one among many great moments.

“And?” she asks, clearly impatient.

“He flirted. I flirted. He gave back better than any man I’ve ever put in their place before. There wasn’t an iota of meekness about him. It was hot as hell. He then asked me out... twice.”

She holds up her hand. “Okay, hold on, you have to back this train up a little bit. “You... Audrey Beach... flirted with a man for more than thirty seconds?”

I sigh. “Yes, I flirted... quite a bit, actually. I was certainly testing him like I do all men, and the more he pushed back, the more intrigued I became. The man was gorgeous, but there was also depth to him. He’s certainly used to getting his way with his looks, but he’s intelligent as well. He’s that golden wrapper all of the little girls and boys are hoping to find.”

“But you didn’t go out with him?” Now, she’s clearly confused. So am I. There isn’t a team of therapists strong enough to solve how my muddled mind works.

“Nope. You know I never accept a first offer.”

“But he askedtwice,” she points out.

“In the same conversation, so it doesn’t count.”

“What if he’s Mr. Right, and you never see him again?”

“Then it’s not meant to be.” I sigh. “I won’t see him again, but it did make me think that maybe, just maybe, I should try going on some dates again, though I’ll probably be disappointed. I had fun flirting with him, and I loved the little butterflies in my stomach. But I hate the disillusionment when my dates fail. Any man can be interesting for an hour or two, but they can’t hold up for an entire night, much less a week, month, or year.”

“I can’t believe you stayed with your self-sabotaging, not-accepting-the-first-offer rule. If you don’t risk disappointment, you’ll never have a happily-ever-after,” she scolds. We’ve gone round and round on this. However, she was pretty gun-shy not that long ago herself. It all worked out for her.

“I don’t think it’s sabotaging anything. It’s setting a standard that I care enough about myself to demand the best. I expect it of myself, so it’s not so bad to want it from a partner. I can’t be in a relationship with someone intimidated by me. It would make me a jerk, and I don’t want to dislike myself. A partner is supposed to lift us up, not pull us down.”

“You can tell yourself that all day long, but you’re still letting fear rule you. I haven’t heard you talk about a man like this in a long time. You should’ve seen where it could lead.”

“If it’s meant to happen, we’ll see each other again.”

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

I laugh as I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Well, too bad, because you’re getting it. You’re scared there might actually be a man out there who can break through your walls and make you flutter your lashes. You’re scared that a man might be able to... domesticate you.” She laughs as she ends her sentence while a shudder goes through me.

“Really? Domesticated? Are we suddenly living in the fifties?”

“I’d do great in the fifties. Okay, maybe not great, but I can have a strong man who can lift me up without losing who I am. You don’t want to let a man in because if you do, you might get hurt. That’s your real fear. But life’s about so much more than fun adventures, great sex, and traveling. It’s about family and love and a true partner to lift us up when the world’s pulling us down.”

“That’s what I have you for.”

“And I’ll always be here for you. But we can have each other,andstrong partners. I, for one, am not giving up great sex.”

I laugh. “When did you become my personal therapist?”

“When all others refused to take you as a client anymore because you broke them,” she says with a laugh.

“If you start quoting inspirational Pinterest boards again, I might have to puke.”

“I just want you to have what I have. I don’t want you to be too scared to accept something real and possibly chaotic because you’re afraid of being hurt. Sometimes, wine in the lap is simply fate in a merlot-colored disguise.”

I shake my head and am about to reply when a woman sitting at a table beside us leans over. “You should go for it,” she says, not even pretending she wasn’t listening in. “That man sounds dreamy, and they’re indeed hard to come by.”

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