Page 53 of Go Find Less

“I, uh…” Words. What are words?

The doorbell rings, and I let out a stuttered breath, able to use the momentary distraction to try and regain my composure.

Fitz just kissed me. In front of all of them. And he was smiling.

Fitz

The sound of the doorbell seems to knock some wind back into Piper as she sets the flowers down gingerly on the counter next to her bag, and turns to open the door. Dylan stands on the other side, wringing his hands anxiously.

I haven’t asked Piper about Dylan, haven’t probed her about much beyond what she’s given freely in conversation, but there was something in the way that he was quick to introduce himself at the game. And then, the way he spoke in the lobby at the hospital.

Sure, Carla had basically clung to him like an injured puppy, but she always had a flare for the dramatic.

Maybe it was the raging, possessive caveman piece of my brain that had been so quick to judge that first day at the dog park.

“Dylan, what are you…” Before she can finish her sentence, Dylan looks past her and sees Vic, Kyle and me. Carla pushes off her perch in the corner of the kitchen, eyebrows knit, and comes to stand behind her friend.

“Sorry,” Dylan mumbles. “I didn’t realize I was going to be interrupting a party.”

“What are you doing here?” Carla finishes for Piper.

“I can come back another time,” he replies, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to leave.

“No!” Piper says, and then steps aside, pushing Carla away to make room for him to enter the apartment. I feel my chest tighten at the eagerness of her voice. “You’re already here.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and then weaves through the doorway, giving me a confused look as he makes his way to the living room. He turns back, and looks pointedly at Piper. “Can we talk?” His eyes flit to the flowers on the counter.

Good. I’m even more glad I brought them now.

“Sure.” Her voice is gentle, and she gives a small smile. “Give me a minute to change, I literally just got home.” Piper turns back to me and gives me a similar smile, though part of me wants to think it’s a little brighter, before walking toward her room, Bex at her feet, clicking the door closed quietly.

Kyle lets out a low chuckle.

“I think she feels ambushed, dude,” he says to me, and I know he’s right. Just like the last time I’d been here, I came over unannounced, and to add to it, so had Dylan.

I hadn’t started out the day planning to go to Piper’s after work. But I had back to back meetings, a stressful lunch with my father and several of our business associates, and an email from Olivia that raised my hackles.

It’s a simple email - something about taxes and trying to wrap up an audit on her finances from when we were married - but it left me simmering and trying not to take out my frustration on an undeserving Georgia.

I need a dose of something. Of warmth. A particular person’s warmth.

“Is everything alright?” Carla asks Dylan, and he nods, sitting down on the couch with a huff while keeping an eye on Vic and Kyle. Something is going on, obviously. Before Carla can protest, I turn on my heels and make my way toward Piper’s room and knock on the door.

“Come in,” she says quietly, and I pause for a moment - surely she’s decent if she’s telling anyone who may be at the door to come in.

I realize, when I look up from closing the door behind me, that I’m wrong.

She’s got pants on, at least, yellow and wide legged and flowing. But above the waistband, which is tight around the drop of her waist, she’s wearing nothing but a light purple bra that I can just make out from beneath her dark curls, tied back with a green bow.

She looks over her shoulder when she hears the door close, and a moment of surprise floods her face, followed by a sly smile as she turns back and continues sifting through a pile of laundry on her bed. When she turns, I notice a tattoo weaving its way up her right side - a sentence written in script font, bordered by flowers similar to the ones on her bag from that day in The Pine. I feel a rumble in my chest as I cross the space between us, coming to stand behind her, and she pauses what she’s doing, leaning her body back into my chest and looking up at me.

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t felt more relaxed in the last several weeks, talking to her, than I have in years. It would be a bigger lie to say I haven’t thought about doing what I’m doing now, reaching out my hands and wrapping my fingers around her hips. I watch her eyes close momentarily, like she’s steeling herself, and she reaches up one hand to come and settle on the back of my neck, the other gripping my hand on her hip.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she breathes, and then looks back up at me.

With those wide eyes staring at me, I want nothing more than to lay her down on the bed and lose myself in her. But I settle for moving my hands forward, wrapping my arms around her midsection and resting my chin on her shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” I sigh, and breathe in whatever it is that she’s wearing that makes my mind wander to the night spent in this bed. Shampoo? Perfume? “Vic said you’d had a bad day.”

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