Risky Business

“Definite shocker,” he says nonchalantly, as if my dad isn’t who he is. “They seem nice.” His eyes are glancing over my face, cataloging every line as I react to his words.

“Wait, what? I’m gonna need more words on that one.”

He smiles lazily. “They seem nice. Your mom says there’s monthly dinners and we’re expected to attend.” He relaxes to the sand beside me, seeming wholly unbothered by anything now that we’re talking things out in each other’s arms.

I look at him incredulously. “You don’t care about who my dad is? You damn near froze up like an ice sculpture.”

“Well, yeah. It’s enough pressure meeting your woman’s parents, but to do it unexpectedly like that? Pressure. And then it’s Jameson Brooks? Even more pressure.” He lays on his back, his arms folded beneath is head as a makeshift pillow. “I didn’t understand why you didn’t tell me, especially after everything we’d gone through. But your dad explained a bit on the flight. He said your family has worked its collective ass off to stay incognito, and it’s like the ultimate and final test, which is understandable. I know I didn’t pass with flying colors, but I hope I’m at least passing the re-take.” He gives me a blue-eyed wink designed to charm me into agreement.

This is my out.

He wasn’t mad about my actions in dealing with Archer. And he understands why I didn’t tell him about my parents. I can simply move forward from here and Carson would never know the difference. He’d think that it was all a big misunderstanding that he accepted blame for, and I accepted his apology, and we can simply move forward.

But that’s not what I would tell a client to do. I try to encourage people to be honest as much as possible and as often as possible. That doesn’t mean being unfiltered or blurting things out, but speaking your truth thoughtfully can be a powerful freedom.

Or so I’ve told a client or two.

It’s time for me to take my own advice.

“I love you too.” Carson moves in to kiss me again, his lips upturned into a pleased smile, but this time I do stop him. “Wait. There’s more.”

He looks worried there’s going to be a ‘but’ after my declaration of love, but that’s not it.

“I love you, and I wanted to tell you but I wasn’t sure how because I’ve never felt like this before. And I’m still afraid you won’t want me stepping in front of you, but that’s what I do. I wanted to tell you about my parents too. But I was nervous and hadn’t worked up the guts yet. I know I’m a lot, and if you can’t handle it, that’s okay. I’ll understand if you want something easier.”

That’s true. I would understand. I’m mouthy with the brains to back it up. I’m bossy with no plans to change. I’m protective because it’s how I show that I care. And if I’m too much or push too many of his buttons, he can go. It’ll destroy me, but I’ll live. I’m scared I’m going to have to, though.

“Fucking badass.” He says it as though he’s talking about me, but that doesn’t make any sense when I’m confessing to all my fears. He lowers his voice, ordering quietly, “Say it one more time.”

“I was scared to tell you,” I venture. But he shakes his head. It’s then that I know exactly what he wants me to say. “I love you.”

“Yes,” he whispers, as if my words give him actual physical pleasure. Then we’re kissing again, and it’s different this time. No miscommunications or secrets remain. It’s just us, together, the reward finally worth the risk.

“As much as I want to make love to you, I think I’ve sworn off sandy places as an option. Think Taya would mind if we borrowed one of her guest rooms?” Carson whispers between kisses.

I nod, breaking the kiss. “Come on.”

I grab the blanket from the sand, letting the wind shake out the excess grains, and wad it up under my arm. Carson takes it from me, and then, holding hands, we make our way back to the house. We set the blanket outside to keep the sand on Taya’s floors at a minimum and go in the back door.

Taya and Carlo are sitting on the couch watching a basketball game. Their eyes don’t leave the screen as we come inside, but Taya calls out, “Guest room off the kitchen is all yours. I’ll leave pizza in the fridge for you for later.”

I see the box of pizza on the coffee table and think that if there’s a single slice left, I’ll be surprised.

“It’s okay. Just taking a shower and getting cleaned up,” I reassure her nonsensically because Carson is kissing and nibbling along my neck as he matches me step for step.