I spend the next four hours unpacking my belongings, tucking things into Trevor’s drawers, and finding open spots in his closet. His room is large, and he has his own bathroom, so it’s really not much different from my apartment. Trevor is downstairs with his dad, watching football, and I hear them talking as I come down the steps behind them.
“You think Sumner’s going to come through?” Jim asks.
“It’s looking really good. I should know by tonight, tomorrow morning latest,” Trevor says. I thought his phone call earlier had been about his interviews. But hearing that there’s a good chance he’ll be heading to Washington in the spring has my heart thumping with panic. Then Jim’s words stop me frozen.
“You let this one know yet?” he asks, nodding his head toward the stairs. “She’s going to want to follow you, you know.”
I’m waiting for Trevor to swoon, to tell his dad he hopes I’m willing to uproot and move with him anywhere he goes, because he loves me, and can’t imagine life without me. But instead, he just shrugs and gives a short, “Yeah.”
Yeah? I play it over again and again in my head, trying to make sense of the tiny one-syllable word. It sounds so foreign coming off of his lips, so indifferent and so unlike him. I’m thinking about turning around, running—somewhere. But then I hear Jim tell his son that dinner’s going to be ready soon, and I notice him notice me from the corner of his eyes. I’m caught, without escape. So I swallow hard to settle my nerves, and then clear my throat so Trevor hears me coming.
“Hey, you get everything settled?” he asks, reaching for my hand and pulling me to his lap. I’m embarrassed to be so affectionate in front of his father, and Jim seems uncomfortable, too, as he gets up from the sofa and leaves the room. My mind is reeling as he walks away, trying to understand Trevor’s dismissive attitude about me just seconds ago. Before I can look dejected, though, Trevor tilts my chin to him and presses his lips on mine, tugging my tucked shirt from the back of my shorts, and running his hand up my bare skin, sliding his fingers temptingly under the inside of my bra straps. Chills cover my body instantly, and I know my cheeks are red.
“I’m going to like you living here,” he smiles, flashing his eyes suggestively. He nuzzles his nose on my cheek a little before he moves to my ear, where he bites softly on the lobe. “Mmmmmm, I get to do this anytime I want.”
Just as I’m about to lose myself in him, and forget about the strange conversation I’d overheard, I see his mom’s flowing dress whisk by to the kitchen, and I immediately scoot from his lap and straighten my shirt. Trevor laughs at me, and stands, reaching for my hand to help me up. “They’ll give us privacy. But I get it,” he smiles, kissing me once more on my cheek.
We walk into the kitchen where Shelly is pulling some plates from the cabinet, and another woman is assisting, prepping some food for dinner. I’m truly out of my element now—it seems the Appletons have a cook. When it came to dinnertime at the Hudson house, that job fell to me. I’m probably more at home with the help here.
“Oh, Charlotte sweetie, will you be a dear and reach the pitcher above the stove? I’m too short,” Shelly giggles. She’s short, quite short. I’m a good 5-foot-10, so I’m used to being called in for tall jobs. I smile, turn, and fetch the pitcher.
“Here you go,” I say, handing it to her. I notice her hand tremors a little as we make the exchange. She just smiles, realizing I saw, and trades hands, shoving the shaky one in a pocket briefly, pretending to reach for a tissue. The entire thing is strange, but she doesn’t let me dwell on it long.
“Thank you, dear. Why don’t you and Trevor go get ready? We’re having a special dinner to welcome you,” she says. I immediately feel bad; I don’t like to make a fuss. But I know this means a lot to her, and Trevor’s already dragging me upstairs to change.
I manage to fend off his very persuasive advances while I change into a yellow cotton sundress. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail, and spray a dash of my favorite perfume along my collarbone. I want to look nice, but not so overdone that I seem out of place. I feel better when I see what Trevor’s wearing. He changes into a pair of dress slacks and a plain blue button-down shirt, which I am instantly imagining unbuttoning later tonight.
Trevor and I have always had a very physical relationship. I trusted him quickly, and I liked the way my heart raced when we were together. To be honest, I also liked the jealous stares from other women when we were out. And I think part of me felt lucky—lucky that he picked me. And I wanted to make sure he was satisfied enough to stay.