Page 17 of Watching Ames

At least, that’s what I imagined since she hadn’t spoken to me about any of it. But what I did know was that Ames was strong, and smart, even if she didn’t act like she believed it most of the time. Despite her better judgment, she liked the gifts I sent her and how they were sent. Most of all, I knew she wanted to trust me, despite her head telling her she shouldn’t. So rather than unblocking my number - which I could do remotely with ease - I allowed her the space she needed. I just had to sit, and wait, and serve my penance until my chance came.

My chance arrived on day four of our fight, my phone pinging with an alert that Ames was visiting our coffee shop, and I jumped into action, hopping in my car and racing off towardIronwood, hoping the line was long enough to hold her there for the duration of my drive. I had gotten lucky, just finishing up a meeting in the city, putting me closer toIronwoodthan my usual drive from the house. I didn’t bother checking how I looked, knowing it was as miserably heartsick as I felt. My face was unshaven and my clothes slightly wrinkled after falling asleep in my suit the night before, working late on a project to keep myself from caving and tuning into her apartment cameras out of desperation to see her face.

I caught her just as she left the coffee shop, my voice cracking as I called out her name, heart skipping a beat when she stopped on the sidewalk instead of running away. I had never felt the level of desperation climbing up my throat - had never felt desperate, period - but it overwhelmed me now, the endless depth of my feelings for Ames hitting me as I reached her side. My fingers wrapped around her elbow and it felt right, having her skin touching mine, like it always should be, as I almost begged her, “Please let me explain.”

I saw the indecision in her eyes as she looked up at me, and I hated that I ruined some of the trust between us. Before I could begin to explain and lay my heart on the line in the hopes that she’d accept it rather than trample on it, she read me the riot act. Her eyes and voice were fierce as she tore into me, but rather than worry at the anger in her tone, I was proud of it. I liked that she stood up to me, that she stood up for herself, that she felt comfortable enough with me to do so rather than simpering in my presence like the asshole expected of her.

When she was done, I was all too ready to spill most of the truth, so I did, watching her all the while I explained how we first met and how the gifts started as a way to show her that someone cared, thatIcared. She seemed surprised when I admitted my attraction to her, and my stomach burned that anyone on this Earth could make her feel anything but beautiful. But when her cheeks pinked immediately after the admission, my cock swelled, pressing against the seam of my pants as I imagined what other parts of her might flush along with her face.

Forcing my mind out of the gutter, I admitted the truth about the envelopes, how I felt about her, almost everything. I omitted a few things, the ones that might scare her off, like how while I respected her right to choose a partner, I in no way respected the asshole she was with. Or how while I didn’t plan to push her unwillingly beyond a friendship, I did plan on showing her exactly what she deserved, and that I’d jump on any chance I got to turn our friendship into something more.

After she left, I immediately strode into the coffee shop, asking to speak with the owners, the idea that Ames paid for her own coffee in our time apart chafing at me as soon as I had seen the cup in her hand. Adam and Delon recognized me easily, my face having become linked with Ames in recent weeks, and I couldn’t deny the possessive pleasure I felt as being seen as a unit in their eyes.

They were all too willing to allow me to create a tab for all of Ames’s future coffee orders, hearts in their eyes as I explained my courting her in no uncertain terms. It didn’t hurt that I offered them a free upgrade to their security system as a thank you for taking such good care of Ames these past few months as she started to grow her business. They wished me luck as I left, no mention of Peter despite them knowing that he and Ames were somewhat-together. The idea that everyone hated him with her as much as I did bolstered me despite Ames’s lukewarm response to my apology.

As did my recall of the final part of our conversation, where I warned her that I had plans to keep winning her over, just to see her reaction. Instead of cringing away in disgust, the pink in her cheeks darkened in pleasure, and that’s when I knew: I had her. Maybe not today or tomorrow or next week, but I would have her. Ames was fucking made for me.

Chapter12

Her

The next fewdays felt less lonely. Even though I didn’t reach out to Alex, my grudge holding strong when I was out of his arms and he wasn’t within my eyeline, I felt less alone knowing that I could text or call him and he’d answer, anytime. If I were honest with myself (which I usually wasn’t), it wasn’t even the lying that kept me away from him anymore.

His explanation made sense, made me feel less like a fool for trusting and creating a friendship with him, but it also left me breathless and…excited. Knowing that Alex imagined me - imagined us - together, watched me from afar, and paid attention to my moods and what I seemed to like enough to buy me gifts I would appreciate, it meant something.

I refused to dive too deeply into what it meant, instead throwing myself into work and preparing for the final presentation of theMorelline, the anxiety tying my stomach in knots for days until the morning finally came. I took the day off fromJuniper Potteryto deliver the plates to the restaurant, Bex sitting in the passenger seat after helping me pack the dozens of dishes into boxes and bins and loading them into the car. We arrived a couple hours before lunch, lugging the first couple of boxes through the front door.

Maya was there again, along with a couple of waiters preparing for the lunch crowd in the mid-morning sunlight streaming through the windows. She directed us to a back table where we could unpack, making stacks of plates ten high until the table was covered. By the time we unloaded everything, Maya had made her way over the table, and picked up a plate to inspect it, examining every inch so thoroughly that I almost broke out in a sweat from anxiety. This was the moment where my business could either flourish or be set back from a single order, all dependent on whether Maya was satisfied with my work.

“These are exactly what I was asking for. You met all my expectations, and with time to spare.” Her praise broke the ratcheting distress building in my body, and I breathed a sigh of relief when her focus turned back to the plates in her hand.

“I’m glad you like them. I was wondering if you’re willing, would you mind sharing some pictures of the plates so I can post them on my website? It’d be nice to show them being used rather than just empty.”

“Take them yourself. You should come to the launch. I’ll set aside a two-top for you so you can see your babies live and in color and take pictures. We can cross-post on social media to boost both of our followings. Yeah?”

“That would be amazing.” I turned to Bex, asking, “You’ll come with me, right?”

Bex rolled her eyes. “As if I would miss it.”

Maya smiled at our sisterly antics as she jotted a note on her iPad, marking my name with a plus-one, as Bex and I gathered up the boxes we used to transport the plates. After collecting the remainder of Maya’s payment we exchanged goodbyes, moving toward the front door.

“Oh, and Ames?” I turned at the waist, hands still resting on the bar of the door as Maya met my eyes with a serious face. “Make sure you get your own equipment. I’ll be in touch soon about the new restaurant.”

“Will do.” Bex followed me out the door, and we weren't able to make it to the car before I was squealing and Bex’s arms were wrapped around me in silent congratulations over Maya’s praise and allusion to future orders for her new restaurant.

“I can’t believe it,” I confessed, breathless with excitement as I already began to imagine creating an entire line for the restaurant.

“Psh,” the disbelieving sound came out of Bex’s mouth easily as she reassured me, “I can believe it. You’re talented, sis. Just because that asshole keeps tearing you down doesn’t mean you need to, too.”

I ignored the jab at Peter but was reminded again that she was going to find out about our moving in together at some point. I resolved to tell her atMorelthis weekend, hoping she’d be unable to stay mad over a dinner celebrating my achievements.

I drove us home, both of us still on a high at Maya’s praise and the first official large-scale success with my business. Bex tried to convince me to pull over to buy champagne to celebrate, but we settled instead on drinking the bottle of wine that had been sitting in my kitchen for months. I grabbed the bottle, peeling off the aluminum seal while Bex went searching for the bottle opener.

“What’s this?” I heard her murmur over the sound of various utensils clanging against each other as she dug in a drawer. I glanced over to find her opening the apology perfume Alex had given me, spritzing the scent through the air so we both could smell it. The smell reminded me of my bouquet - feminine with a darker edge - floral scents mixed with spicier tones that added complexity to the perfume. Bex nodded appreciatively at the smell, commenting in surprise, “It’s perfect for you. Your admirer has good taste.”

She was right, Alex did have good taste. Even more so, he hadmytaste. As Bex grabbed the glasses and moved them into the living room, I inspected the perfume a little bit closer, squirting it on my wrist and bringing it to my nose. It was a great perfume, one I would buy for myself if I could afford it, knowing solely based on the feel and smell that the single bottle was likely worth an obscene amount of money.

When I first saw the perfume box, still so angry over Alex’s untruths and the sudden revelation that he was my admirer, it had felt like a bullshit gift. The same type of gift any man would give a woman, an apology built on things rather than true admission of guilt. But now, smelling the perfume, I couldn’t help but imagine him searching for the right perfume, in distress over my anger and still finding the time to pick out a scent I would enjoy. Alex, imagining how the perfume would smell on my skin.

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