Page 36 of Safer Alone
We pull our luggage from the overhead locker. I insert my book back into my bag, never having given it a second throughout the entire flight. At least it would be handy for the trip home. We exit the plane and make our way to the baggage claim. All of the passengers had gathered here and it was quite crowded. Like everyone else we wait for approximately twenty minutes for our bags to make their way around the snakelike conveyer belt. I see mine first and grab it. Elliot has to wait a little longer. He sees one bag first, which he collects and drops beside our feet, and then his second bag makes its way toward us a couple of minutes later.
With our bags now in hand, we walk the short distance to the pick-up area. More people are gathered around here, some getting into taxis, others embracing loved ones who are here to collect them. I notice one young girl run into the arms of a waiting young man. They hug and kiss quite passionately. A long-awaited reunion, perhaps. I drag my eyes away from them and just like Elliot said, there Price is, a few cars down, standing next to a black car with a small sign that read ‘Sands & White.’ I couldn’t help but silently laugh to myself. It was helpful to me of course as I wasn’t sure I would have recognized him, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that Elliot was rolling his eyes. Of course he would know what Price looked like. As we got closer, I notice that the car was indeed a black Mercedes SUV. I’m not into cars but I can identify most logos. Mercedes doesn’t really do it for me, but Sandra at work had a Mercedes, a red coupe.
We take the last couple of steps towards our destination. “Mr. Sands, Miss White, I hope you had an enjoyable flight.” He nods at each of us when he says our name. It just occurred to me, Price dropped us off at the airport in Nashville and now he was here waiting with the car.
“Mr. Price, how did you get here before us?” Elliot glances at me and then back at Price and nods at him, as if giving him the okay to reply to me. Why would Price need to be given the okay to speak? He must be a regular employee of Elliot’s, and not just a chauffeur.
“I caught the same flight you just did, Miss White.” he gives me a tiny smile. “Let me get your luggage for you.” He makes his way towards us and grabs our bags. He then places them into the trunk and opens the door for me to hop in.
It was easy to tell why this car was so expensive. It was lovely. The inside smelled new, the leather was soft and the windows were darkly tinted. So much so that it would be impossible for someone to look through the window and see me staring out at them. Elliot hops in beside me and then takes my hand in his. “Ready to go?” he asks with a huge smile across his face.
I inhale a quick breath and answer with my own smile plastered across my lips. “Let’s do it.”
~ Chapter Seventeen ~
Mr. Price took his position in the driver’s seat of the SUV. Once he had fixed his seatbelt in place, he turns to face us. “Are we going straight to Sands Manor sir?” obviously directing his question to Elliot.
“Indeed we are, Price” he answers. Nodding once to indicate he had heard Elliot, he turns back around in his seat and starts the engine. Elliot’s home has a name, that’s totally something rich people do. Sands Manor though. His office building was Sands Tower, obviously not a lot of thought went in to naming both of his properties.
Sands Manor did have a certain ring to it. It sounded fancy, not that I had expected anything less. I have found that when you have a certain amount of money, you tend to lead a certain lifestyle. After all I am sitting in the back seat of his fancy car right now.
Over the past couple of days, I have been giving some thought about where Elliot might live, whether he resided in a spacious condo in Manhattan, a brownstone close to Fifth Avenue, or even a house out in the suburbs. As a real estate agent, I have access to certain databases which allow me to see which suburbs are more expensive than others. Therefore, I knew that when we arrived at our destination I would have at least a little bit of an idea as to how much the property would be worth. Of course, different states are completely different markets from Nashville and during my time living in New York I wasn’t practicing real estate. I had only studied it. I decided to just wait and see and let it be a total surprise, mainly due to the fact that I didn’t care where he lived, or how much money the property was worth. What mattered was that for the next couple of days, I would be spending time with him.
Even though the back seat of the Mercedes provided ample room, we sit quite close. Elliot held my hand in his, stroking my thumb absentmindedly with his own. I enjoyed the feel of his hand in mine, the warmth of his skin against my own, the tingly feelings it sent through my body. It has been such a long time since I had allowed a man to touch me. At one stage I never thought I would allow anyone to touch me again. At least not in this way.
Liam was there for me in those early days; he was the one who encouraged me to move out to Nashville. Many nights during those twelve months that we lived together were spent at his apartment just watching movies and eating delicious homemade food. I recovered, so to speak, while living with Liam. It also helped having somewhere to stay while I saved for my own apartment. Liam respected my privacy and he never asked me to talk about what had happened with Dylan, even though some nights were spent with me crying into his chest, while he held me close. Never once did I feel uncomfortable. I felt safe with him, especially knowing that he only felt about me the same I felt for him. Friendship, the kind that you know will last forever. The kind of friend you know who will always be there for you. And so we have been.
Around three months after I moved to Nashville, I secured a job at a local real estate firm, the same one where I still sell real estate today. I had also made a couple of friends. James, who I work with, is just like Liam. Easy to talk to and not pushy at all, he still to this day has never put the hard word on me, besides asking me on numerous dates. When I say no, he just accepts it and I love them both for that.
A few months later Liam met Jessica and they got serious pretty quickly. He would often apologize for leaving me alone so much, but I didn’t mind at all. I was overjoyed to see him happy. After all, Liam is my best friend in the entire world since school, even if that meant watching them be all lovey dovey, all the damn time. I started to believe that one day I might be happy again. When I might meet that special person. I always believed it to be a long way in the future, though.
So here I am, three-and-a-half years later, back in New York City. This time my hand being held by a gentleman. And I’ll admit, it feels nice. I don’t feel like I am in danger at all. Instead, I feel safe. I don’t know if this is going to end up going anywhere. It does, however, show me that a male could hold my hand and it’s not the end of the world. I can have my hand in his without fear, fear that a simple hand hold would turn into my finger getting pulled back and broken or my hand getting squeezed in a vice-like grip causing extreme pain. At least now because of Liam, James, and Elliot, I am starting to understand and realize that not all men are jackasses. It was early days, though, and I am about to be completely alone with someone I hardly know.
I look up from our intertwined hands to his face. To my luck, he was looking out the window and would not catch me checking him out. He is very handsome, probably the most handsome man I have ever laid my eyes on. His blond hair is slightly unruly, his cheekbones and chin appear to have been carved from stone, his lips are perfect and soft, his eyes are the color of the ocean when I stare into their depths. He is perfect in every way, and here I am, feeling like plain Jane sitting next to him.
Feeling my gaze upon him he turns his face slowly to look at me, and with that, interrupting my gazing session. “We’re only about twenty-five minutes from my home, depending on traffic..”
“I’m looking forward to seeing when you live, Elliot.”
His answering smile was breathtaking. “You are?” he replied, looking like a child who had just been told he could go nuts in a candy store,
“Of course I am. I’ve been thinking about it, actually.” I offer him a shy smile and give his hand a small squeeze.
“You have?” His voice held question as well as statement. I simply nodded at him and I bit my bottom lip slightly. I felt nervous, he seemed surprised at my admittance.
I felt the need to change the subject a little. “Should we stop at a supermarket to collect some groceries for dinner?”
His smile returns to his face before replying. “We don’t need to. I have someone to cook for us this weekend.” It looked like he was enjoying his own private joke. I couldn’t help but tease him a little. It could also provide some further information about the way this man lives.
“Just this weekend? Or every weekend?”
He grins at me and nods. “Every weekend, I’m not much of a cook, personally. How about you Angela? Can you cook?”
I didn’t even consider telling him I was a fantastic cook. Instead I come up with the perfect response, I decide to give a little bit of personal information away “I know a few recipes, my friend Liam is a chef so I have learned a few things from him.”
His smile starts fading from his face. “Is Liam your boyfriend, Angela?” He asks. His tone serious. No trace of a smile remaining on his face. Instead, his features seemed to go completely blank, almost expressionless.
“No, he is definitely not my boyfriend. He is actually engaged to Jessica, who is a lovely lady. Liam and I have known each other since grade school. He moved to Nashville after we graduated high school. When I left New York I moved in with him for a little while, before buying my own apartment. I have actually just sold Liam and Jess their first place together” I don’t know why I felt the need to disclose this information to him. Maybe it was due to him asking me if Liam was my boyfriend.
