Get Your Flowers

a bonus The Fate Factor epilogue

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Some Years Later

 

          “I love you, Noe, but that doesn’t make it less creepy when you stare at me while I sleep.”

          I laugh quietly against the warm skin of Jamie’s shoulder. “I can’t help it,” I tell him, pressing a kiss there. “You’re doing it again.” 

          By “it” I mean sleeping on his belly, his arm bent where the pillow should be, hair flopped on his forehead—just like I first saw in a vision that night on the roof. It doesn’t surprise me anymore, when I find him this way, but it still makes me pause to take a mental snapshot that I store beside the hundred others just like it I’ve collected over the years.

          “I can’t help what my body does when I sleep,” he mumbles.

          “I’m afraid you’ll grow out of it someday.”

          I hear the snort he buries in the mattress before pushing up on his palms and shuffling to his right, hovering above me. When he smiles, the lines that frame the corners of his eyes dig in as deep as those dimples. I can’t decide which I like best. “I stopped growing long before we met,” he says, lowering himself until his weight and excessive body heat engulf me.

          “That’s not true.”

          He only hums in response, a puff of warmth where my neck meets my shoulder. He knows it’s not. Watching Jamie grow from an unsure fake-it-till-you-make-it brewery owner, to a comfortable-in-his-skin entrepreneur with three tap rooms and an inside distribution arm that he spearheaded alone has been one of the greatest experiences of my life.

          “Speaking of growing,” he says, pressing his emerging morning wood into my abdomen. I laugh, and his stubbly cheek scrapes along the top of my breast, left exposed by my flimsy sleep tank. It’s mid-June, and the room is becoming humid as day breaks. It would be a perfect day to spend at the cottage if we didn’t have places to be. 

          The year after we got married, Jamie and I moved into a little bungalow on a dead end road, away from downtown. It has hardwood floors and a gorgeous amount of light for my plant collection. More than one bedroom. And the attic space is just like the studio from the cottage but twice the size.

The cottage is still mine—ours—and it gets a lot of use from Memorial day to Labor Day. In the winter, we rent it to some local college kids, which pays for our summers spent oceanside. Sometimes I swear I’m living a dream.

          Jamie nuzzles closer, and my fingers find his hair. Habit. Muscle memory. More often than not, the start of something. It’s not that his spontaneity has waned over the years, it’s more: why fix what’s broken? The way we move together, the comfortable sequence of touches that tumble after one another—it’s the fate that’s been waiting for us.           And it means when he turns his head to suck at the skin on my neck, my hips rise, and my other hand grips the sheet. 

          Besides, we both know taking a chance on morning sex is as reckless as it gets these days. “Do you think we have time?”

          His voice is muffled by my cleavage when he says, “No way to know.”

          “You know I hate getting my hopes up.”

          “If we get interrupted, remember that it’s only an intermission—”

          As if on cue, the floor outside our bedroom door creaks at the exact moment his fingers reach the lace waistband of my panties. “Shit.” I slap his hand away, and we both scramble to sit up. 

          “Mama?”

          “Was it always going to end up this way, or did I jinx it?” Jamie asks, adjusting himself.

          “No way to know.”

          I wait until he gives me a nod, then clear my throat. “You can come in, sweetheart.”

          The knob turns slowly and our daughter toddles in, hair the exact same shade as Jamie’s a bird’s nest on top of her head, cheeks pink.

          “It’s so early, Briar.”

          She rubs her little fist into her eyes, unconcerned with my gentle chiding, and Jamie leans down and scoops her under the armpits, plopping her between us. It lasts the span of one kiss from me on her warm forehead and then she’s snuggled into his chest, thumb in her mouth.

          My heart pushes against my breast bone, too big for my body. It’s moments like these that I remember all of the times I thought my dreams had come true over the years, only to be given one more.

          “Is your brother still sleeping?” Jamie asks her.

          Or two more.

          When we found out we were having twins, everyone who knows the secret Jamie and I hold was sure I must have been warned in a vision, but it was as much of a shock to me as it was to everyone else. 

          “At least we’ll get it done all at once,” I’d said, my lip squeezed painfully between my teeth.

          “Maybe,” he’d replied with that mischief smile that always makes my heart kick.

          Briar only needs to look at the door and Noah appears as if she’s summoned him. I’ve wondered more than once if it’s twin-speak that allows them to communicate like that, or a hint of something supernatural that’s been passed down.

          “Creepy,” Jamie whispers, and I push my face into his shoulder to keep from laughing. 

          “Come here, baby.” I wave Noah over and Jamie scoops him too, up and over his sister, right into my lap. Pixie, no longer a kitten, gets an airlift next. Jamie deposits her between the twins, and that thought I had only moments ago re-sorts itself—this, watching Jamie Bishop become a dad, has been the greatest experience of my life.

 

###

 

By three o’clock, the morning peacefulness has burned off like sea smoke, and it’s all hands on deck at the Bishop house. Noah, who is all Jamie, has been working on lunch now for two hours. He puts a new bite in his mouth every few minutes, then takes off to follow whatever detour his brain leads him on.

          Meanwhile, I’m pinning a curl above my ear one-handed, the other hand steadying Briar while she perches on the bathroom counter between me and the mirror, swinging her little legs. Our daughter is quiet and observant.     Everywhere we go, she takes in her surroundings like she’s cataloging them for future reference. Jamie is always saying he sees me in her wide, shrewd eyes, but it’s Nana I see. Something about my grandmother I hadn’t fully noticed until I saw it handed down to Briar. Something, I think, would have come out in me earlier if I’d been a braver child. Briar cases a room for things that spark her interest instead of things to be afraid of.

          I clip another plastic butterfly in her wild hair and get back to curling mine before I run out of time. In what was no surprise to me, the Best in Industry award Jamie received four years ago was no fluke. Tonight we’re headed to another award dinner. Fortune is being named Brewery of the Year, not just for Maine, but for the whole North East. The last few years have been a rush for his career. I’m practically vibrating with excitement. 

          Jamie appears behind me in the mirror, dressed already except for his tie which is thrown over his shoulder. He has Noah under his arm like a football, and he tips his head to Briar whose tiny fingers are now in my makeup bag. “Tag?”

          “Please.”

          He hooks a giggling Briar in the crook of his other arm, and we share a quick look of anticipation in the mirror before he shuts me in here alone to finish getting ready.

 

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By the time we get downtown, Casco Bay has rewarded us with the kind of sunset that belongs in a painting, ribbons of pink and red braid together beneath an orange sherbert fog. Jaime’s hand tightens around mine as we hustle across the cobblestones into the Ocean Gateway, but as soon as our feet hit the brick in front, his sure steps slow. 

I have a suspicion he’s thinking about the fact that he has to make a speech when he accepts this award. He’s been fretting about it all week. The way people gravitate to my husband, you’d think he’d be used to holding court. And he does, at parties, behind his bar, beer fest after beer fest. But put him on a stage with a microphone and the words kick up like a cyclone in his brain. He has a hard time lassoing them.

          Em and Cara greet us with one-armed hugs when we make it into the function room, already holding pints of Fortune’s newest brew. “Stop freaking out,” Em says, punching Jamie’s arm after we say our hellos.

          I don’t want to say Cara has softened Em because that would be ignoring the dichotomy that makes them kinda perfect for each other, but Em does follow her violent affection with a quiet, “You’re going to do great, J.” 

          She says it with so much sincerity that my nose burns a little with affection and pride, and this overwhelming sense of rightness for every special person in my life. It’s as if we all strapped into a zip line and let go at the same time, our rides going at different speeds and from different heights, but this place we’re in now is the platform, and everyone seems to have landed exactly where they were meant to be.

          Including Kate and Colin who arrive soon after. Kate looks like a movie star in green sparkles, and Colin looks exhausted but dapper. He’s a third year resident now, and sleep is rare. 

          And then Wes. He pulls Jamie aside as soon as he sees us, never missing an opportunity to talk business, and though I keep one eye on them until he’s back, my heart doesn’t pause the way it used to.

          There’s a small band playing instrumental covers in the corner of the room, opposite the stage, and Casco Bay is putting on a show with sailboats and the remains of that sunset outside of the wall of windows. The buzz of the evening is palpable, and I’d like my husband to calm down enough to enjoy it.

          “Hey.” I stretch to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “This is amazing,” I tell him, repeating his words to me from years ago. “Feel it, Jameson.”

          He breathes out an anxious sigh, then leans in to kiss me. “I love you.”

          “I love you too, and I’m going to get drinks.” I extract my hand from his nearly painful grip and press it over his heart.

          Kate comes with me, and we sidle up to the bar. I order Jamie’s summer blond for me and a Red Bull in a rocks glass with lime for Jamie. Kate raises an eyebrow. “It’s eight pm.”

          “He’s nervous,” I tell her.

          “Jamie?” She looks over her bare shoulder to where he and Colin are standing with matching casual, hands-in-their-pockets postures, and I shrug. 

          “He hides it well.” I lift the glass, pointing it in his direction. “This will settle him a little.”

          She frowns. “I’d be bouncing off the walls. His brain is fascinating.”

          “I’ve been telling him that for years.”

          I carry both our drinks back and slide Jamie’s into his hand. His other arm wraps around my waist. He’s always affectionate, but in times like these, I've learned he needs at least two points of contact and I’m happy to oblige.

 

###

 

As was predicted by everyone who loves him, Jamie charms the entire room during his speech. The audience breaks into applause, and he lifts a hand in acknowledgment while making his way down the stairs, back into the crowd. He walks to me in solid, sure steps until he’s pressing the award into my hands and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. “Was it alright?”

          “You were so good, Jamie.” I’m breathless with excitement and pride, and also from the wood and glass pressing into my sternum where he’s trapped this big, bulky award between us.

          “I didn’t sound stupid, or like I was babbling or…?”

          “Baby, no. You nailed it.”

          His breath rushes out, and I’m suddenly lifted off the ground and spun around. “Can we leave?” he asks when he sets me back on my heels.

          I laugh. “Not yet.”

          “Okay.” He leans in to kiss me, knowing full well that would be my answer. “But soon.”

 

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We stay for one more hour. It’s a nice little compromise between professional obligation and self indulgence, and if you ask me, Jamie’s earned it. We have two more hours with the babysitter at home, and we silently agreed we wanted it for ourselves, sneaking out as soon as the dancing started. 

          Jamie is a step ahead of me on the cobblestones of Wharf Street, bent forward over a greasy paper plate while he walks, barely avoiding his tie landing in his dinner. 

          We got pizza at a late night food truck, and Jamie is absolutely demolishing his two slices. He’s placed them cheese-sides together like a discount calzone.

          I finish mine and toss the plate in a nearby trash can. A breeze has picked up off of the ocean, making my bare arms pebble, and I glance at the time on my phone. The twins will be asleep by now. I’m ready for Jamie to be done with that button up shirt.

          “Hey…”

          “I have an idea,” he says at the same time.

          “Your ideas are trouble,” I say just to tease him. He knows I’d follow him anywhere.

          “This one isn’t. I promise.” 

          “Okay,” I say. “Whatever it is. Let’s do it.”

          His eyes flash with surprise at my easy agreement, but he doesn’t waste it with questions. “Come on.” He tosses his own plate, then links my hand in his, leading while I follow. He’s taking me somewhere he’s been before based on his sure steps, down to the end of Wharf, to a cut-through between two brick buildings. It opens to the back of another block lined with secondary entrances to commercial buildings, unoccupied at this hour.

          “I’m getting fire escape flashbacks.”

          “I came to an event up here right before we met,” he says, pointing to a row of hedges ahead of us that separates one brick square from the others. “It was fancy as hell. Ice sculptures and shit.” 

          I laugh, but my mind flashes to my Instagram stalking when we met for the second time. There were a few pictures of Jamie in a shirt and tie, and I wonder if one of them was from this party. It’s a fact that he looks good dressed up. He’s gorgeous in a different way than he usually is, which is a dreamy let’s cuddle on the couch for hours sort of hot. But I remember thinking that in those pictures, he looked powerful. Competent. Grown up. Dashing, to use a word that has not been in my vocabulary until now. He looks the same tonight. Even more so.

          Jamie slows when we’re in front of a black iron fence, his grin curling up like the edges of a wet paperback.

          “What are you thinking?” I ask suspiciously.  

          “I was thinking you might like it.” 

          He turns us sideways to slink between the greenery and the side of a building until we pop out at the edge of a little courtyard that belongs to a hotel. “It was here,” he says. “The party.”

          I suck in an excited breath. I do like it. Very much. It’s like a secret garden tucked in between concrete and brick. A hidden oasis. There are string lights hung criss-crossed over a stone patio, potted petunias in purples and reds, cafe tables and chairs around the perimeter. The chairs are tipped onto their front legs, leaned against the tables. A few have umbrellas, but they’re closed and tied up tight. 

          In the center, sits an inground hot tub, steam curling up in ribbons through the evening  air. A bar cart looks sad and lonely beside it, covered and shoved against the wall.

          I turn to look at him. “I didn’t know this was here.”

          “It was one of those Thirty under Thirty things,” he says. “The event. I wasn’t one of the awardees, but they were serving my summer ale, so I got the invite.” 

          “I think you’ve been amazing far longer than you’ll admit, Jameson Bishop.” 

          He brushes off the compliment as usual, instead stepping closer until our chests brush, grinning at me mischievously. “What are you wearing under that?”

          I blink at him, then down at my black cocktail dress and heels. “I… what?”

          The dimple in his right cheek carves in deep. “It’s a logistical question,” he says. “I promise.”

          “That actually doesn’t make it any less weird.” He tips his head, patiently waiting. “A bralette and cotton underwear.” Now I wish I’d put more effort into my underclothes. I was just planning to take them off as soon as the door shut behind us. 

          “Wait here.”

          Jamie disappears back the way we came, and I shift to my left a few feet until I’m under the glow of a lamp of a parking lot light behind me, wrapping my fingers tightly around the fence. 

          The fence he’s now on the other side of. Holy hell. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

          He crosses the patio and swings open a gate beside me. “Jameson. This is not open. You can’t just—oomph.” I’m interrupted by his mouth on mine, his teeth pressed against my lip, and it’s like he sucks the fight right out of me. My knees go weak, and I melt. All traces of that diffidence from earlier are gone, and my husband is back. 

          “You said whatever it is, let’s do it.”

          “You told me this idea wasn’t trouble,” I shoot back, breathy and entirely unconvincing in my protest.

          “Come on. Please?” He holds a hand out and my blood rushes. God, he’s ridiculous. 

          “How do you even come up with these ideas? What is it like inside your brain?”

          “Sort of like a dog in a field of squirrels.”

          “Ughh fine.” I slap a hand over my eyes, jutting my other out blindly. Jamie grabs it, laughing, and pulls me inside. 

          “How did you even get in here?” I ask as he hurries us across the patio.

          “I hopped the fence.”

          I have no time to comment on that before he’s shrugging off his suit jacket and toeing off his dress shoes. His hair that was styled nicely for the event is back to wild with one swoop of his hand through it. It’s grown out over the years, curling where it lays across his forehead, and it’s like a ruler marking the months that I’ve loved him in a similarly wild way.

          “You have some very obvious tells, do you know that?” I glance over my shoulder and kick off my heels.

          “Oh, yeah?” Jamie shoves his pants down over his hips, letting them pool at his ankles.

          “You turn restless and antsy right before you start stripping in public.” He laughs, unoffended. “Get in please, before someone sees all…” I wave a hand at his thick thighs and gorgeous man chest. “That.”

          His eyes glint. “Would that make you jealous?”

          “Maybe.”

          “I knew it. I know your tells too.” 

          My face scrunches into a pout, and he taps my nose. 

          “Look, there’s one right there.” 

          Grinning, he turns and wades directly in, water bubbling around his thighs. I step to the edge and, oh, God. Can I really do this? Fully clothed trespassing is a lot different than in my underwear trespassing. 

          I take a deep breath, curling my fingers in the hem of my dress. Before I can talk myself out of it, I tear it over my head. I gasp at myself and the night air that has turned far too chilly to be standing here in my underwear. My nipples are tight peaks but the lace on this bra is thick and it covers more than my bathing suit top if I’m looking to clear my conscience. 

          Although, maybe it doesn’t cover as much as I think because when I look up, there’s a new heat in Jamie’s eyes. 

          “What can happen?” I ask, my thumbs in the waistband of my tights, hesitating. “If we get caught.”

          He clears his throat and meets my eyes. “They’ll tell us to leave. That’s it.” 

          I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. The stone patio is freezing on my bare feet and I dance on my toes, making a high pitched noise like a kettle hissing. 

          Jamie holds his hand out, and I take it, stumbling forward from the sharp air into the scalding water. Steam wraps around my thighs, making my blood pump harder and my skin instantly flush.

          I can’t believe I’m doing this. But also, I can. This man has worked his way into my blood. He changed my DNA the day we met. Jamie eases himself onto the bench and I sit beside him. Close. Safe.

          The night sky is clear and still, scattered with stars. Bass booms from a car in the distance, and I can hear people chatting as they pass by on the sidewalk just over the hedge. The water feels amazing, and I tip my head back and pull it all deep into my lungs, letting it trickle down to my limbs.

          Jamie loops his arm around my waist, using the water to easily lift me into his lap. Spreading my knees, I sink lower until he’s fitted directly between my legs. 

          “Hey,” he whispers.

          “Hi.” 

          His hand slides up my neck, two fingers on my pulse, thumb on my chin. “Kiss me,” he says. “Let me feel your heart racing.”

          I do, and it does. It nearly bursts from my breast bone.

          “I’m so proud of you,” I whisper against his mouth. “You know that, right? What you've accomplished. This life we've made.”

          “It’s entirely mutual, baby.” His fingers slip around my once-sleek-now-frizzy ponytail, tipping my head back, then his mouth is on my neck. It’s a testament to what he does to my rational head when my hips start to roll. I’m instantly drunk on him, my inhibitions out of reach. 

          He pulls back and grins, miming taking the halo he still teases me about from my head, and frisbee tossing it. Then with some internal shift I’m not privy to, his gaze turns from playful to intense. Need buzzes through all of my nerve endings. The only thing that slips through is the foggy calculation of how many tugs on clothing it would take for him to be inside me.

          “Is the intermission over?” I ask.

          “As much as I would love for it to be, I promised you only minor consequences.” His hands dip into the back of my underwear, squeezing my flesh before retreating to the perceived safety of one layer of cotton. “Public indecency is a heftier charge.”

          “Mmm. I would not be happy with that consequence.” My head drops to his shoulder, teeth pressing into his skin. I'm both high and frustrated in a way only he can achieve. 

          “Somehow I knew that about you. When we get home.”

          “When we get home.” I take his face in my hands and kiss him gently while my heart sprouts wings and flutters into the steam. When the kiss turns deeper, his hands bolder, I almost change my mind about my willingness to incur a criminal record.

          “Excuse me!” A voice calls out from over the gate. 

          But it’s a good thing I didn’t.

          I freeze, the blood in my veins turning to ice even in this hundred degree water. Thank God Jamie’s fingers aren’t inside my panties anymore, but they’re still glued to my ass, so I can’t swim away. I flap a hand at his bicep until he lets me go.

          An older woman wearing a tan housekeeping uniform is standing in the doorway to the hotel. She is not amused. “The spa is closed. You’ll have to go back to your room.”

          “Right!” I squeak. “We’ll go back to our room.” I burst from the water. It’s then that I remember the underwear situation. “Uh… forgot to pack a suit. Last minute trip.” Shut up, Noel. 

          In my infinite grace under pressure, I reach under Jamie’s arms and attempt to pull him, which is silly because even if I wasn’t the world’s biggest weakling, I wouldn’t be able to budge this man. Good thing, because he’s shaking his head dramatically, his eyes darting between mine and his hands folded over his lap. God. 

          Ridiculous, reckless man. 

          The love of my life.

          Thankfully, the woman doesn’t wait, turning on her heel. The door slams and I gape after her, a little stunned that Jamie was right. They just told us to leave. That’s it.

          When Jamie finally stands, he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes, and in the middle of trying to be angry, I melt. That sound will always be my favorite thing in the world—his laughter. The first time I heard it from our son, I sobbed these big fat happy tears.  

          Now, I bite the side of my mouth to keep from joining him. “You’re the worst influence. What are we going to tell the babysitter when we come home looking like drowned rats?”

          He shrugs, retrieving his suit coat from the chair where he dropped it, and wrapping it around my shoulders, rubbing away the goosebumps. “We’ll tell her we got caught in a freak rainstorm.”

          I sigh and pull his coat around me. “I’m very angry with you.”

          “Mmm,” he mumbles. “Such a pretty little liar.” He gathers me against his chest, giving me all of his warmth, and yeah, I’m a big fat liar. 

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