Page 115 of Perfect Assumption
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The two weeksWard spent at my place flew by. Things just clicked for us without interrupting either of our schedules.
More often than not, I’d be on my morning touch base with Sula when Ward would stumble into the kitchen seeking out caffeine. Muttering a haphazard “Good morning,” he’d press a kiss upon my lips before stumbling back upstairs.
The first time it happened, it took Sula a good five minutes to lift her jaw back into place. Stammering over his half-naked form, she shrieked, “His body is better than a Greek statue.”
“I’ve only seen the pictures of the statues. I’ve touched Ward.”
“You suck.”
“That too,” I volunteer helpfully.
Sula makes a face. “That does it. I refuse to date with another lame-ass loser.”
While I hold out hope she really means her words, I, of all people, know how deep wounds to the soul can fester.
Now, there’s a simple dance to our morning routine and an eagerness to be back at my place at the end of the day.
But the nights? Ward ignites my mind as well as my body.
In between, work has shifted subtly. We enter LLF holding hands before he disappears to get my morning coffee, then leaves it at my desk with a simple kiss to accompany the latte that feels ice-cold in comparison to his warm lips.
But as I scan a brief Carys asked me to review, I realize the biggest change that has occurred is in me. Stretching, I push to my feet and move over to the mirrored frame behind the guest chairs. It’s not my appearance; that’s the same as always. I tip my head to the side. Is it what Ward said that first night? Has my confidence returned?
With a small jolt, I realize it has when I never gave much thought to the fact I was hiding it. I never noticed before how I’d stifle my opinions during meetings, how I’d hide myself even in a roomful of people I claimed I trusted. Even though I knew I was out of reach of my abusers, I was still the victim.
No more.
Squaring my shoulders, I return to my desk when the phone rings. “LLF, this is Angela. How may I help you?”
“Hey, Angie. It’s Becks. Has Carys given me the high sign yet?” His anxiety-ridden voice comes through the line.
“Not yet, hon.” Just then, Ward steps out of the inner sanctum. I mouth to him, “Becks.” He nods.
“I suppose it’s better than a flat-out ‘no,’” Becks tries to joke.
“In your case, absolutely. But Ward just walked out. Let me hand you over to him?” I quirk my brow to him.
He nods, holding out his hand.
“Thanks, Angie. I appreciate everything.”
Without another word, I pass off the phone receiver to Ward. Listening to Ward calmly reassure Becks that the best thing he can have is patience, but he—Becks—is doing the right thing by keeping calm and staying under the radar, warms me deep inside. “So many changes in such a short time,” I murmur as I finish scanning the brief for Carys.
I send it back with a few formatting updates just as Ward hangs up. “What did you mean?” he asks.
“When?”
“While I was on the phone with Becks. You said there were so many changes in such a short time.”
I push to my feet and take his hand. Pressing it against the side of my cheek, I assure him, “All of them good.”
His fingers slip from beneath mine to comb through my hair. “I came out to tell you my condo’s ready.”
I can’t control the scrunch of my nose but don’t say anything.
“I kind of feel the same way. I’ve become too used to waking up with you beside me.” Suddenly, his eyes light. “Why don’t you pack a bag and come stay with me for the weekend?”
