Somewhere Along The Line

10. James

I wake up before my alarm for the first time in years. Rubbing my eyes with a stretch, it hits me it’s Friday. That explains why I slept past 8 a.m.; I have the day off. This is only the second day I’ve missed at Trion in seven years. The other day was Mom’s funeral.

Tension crowds my shoulders as I roll out of bed, my muscles twisted up and angry this morning. I’m not anxious I’ll miss a fire drill at work—my bigger concern is how to function today without the usual pings to distract me from thinking.

When I’m at the office, I operate from muscle memory, knowing what to do and how to do it to get results. It’s comfortable and controllable. It’s why I never take time off. Freedom for my brain to wander doesn’t turn out well.

Facing the closet, I skip over my work clothes to swipe through the small section that houses everything else. When’s the last time I wore something casual? The thought sets my stomach in a knot to match my shoulders.

I pull on a blue knit sweater and some chinos, tucking in the shirt before threading my favorite belt through the loops. My hair is a mess from the rare good night’s sleep, and I weave some pomade through it to loosen it up further. It’s controlled but less uptight than my typical style. I grab my glasses, choosing to ditch my daily contacts.

Whether I think Piper will like the outfit has informed all my choices this morning, and it’s messing with me. I shouldn’t care what she thinks about my clothes. My logical brain knows I need to be careful with her, for both of our sakes, but my lizard brain doesn’t want to be.

My unrestrained self craves more of what we had on Monday—more time, more touching, more teasing.

I shake the thought from my head. Focus on keeping things friendly, James. Piper and I have fallen back into a pattern of daily waves and quips on the train since our date to the station, and it’s good. That’s what this whole charade was supposed to be.

Nothing more.

My car pulls up to Piper’s house two minutes before nine and she’s sitting on the stoop just like she was on Monday. She’s wearing jeans instead of a skirt along with a crew neck sweatshirt printed with Binghampton Class of ‘84 and (presumably) the college seal. It might be original based on how comfortably worn and well-loved it looks. Her hair is strung up loosely in a ponytail, a few waves hanging down near her ears.

Piper looks relaxed, an easy smile and soft eyes gracing her pretty face. I’m glad to see it.

She jumps as I lean on my horn, easily startled by the sound. The finger she raises playfully before grabbing the passenger side door is unexpected; the uncharacteristic boldness of it has my heart flying against my ribs. A loud gasp leaves her mouth before her legs hit the seat.

“Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with Banker Man?” Her eyes are wide as she takes me in, stopping at every difference from my usual appearance. She clocks my hair, my glasses, my sweater, and my pants, her gaze drifting from top to bottom and back again with a small exhale.

“Ahh yes, well, I’m not Banker Man today. I’m Errand Boy, and that requires a different uniform.” My chuckle makes her laugh as we pull out onto the street. The feeling in my chest is a lot like pride when I hear her giggle like this, stretching and warming me from the inside out.

I want more of it… if only to distract me from the fact that we are alone together in my car.

For all the vulnerable moments I’ve had with Piper, this may be the most dangerous. She angles her body toward me and I’m captive. It will be like this all morning—there is nowhere to escape whatever thought or emotion might materialize for either of us. It’s terrifying and thrilling.

Taking a Ziploc out of her tote like she does every morning, Piper tosses a bag of sausage balls my way. I catch it without looking, my eyes focused on the road and place it in the center console.

“Alright, I have to ask, though I may not like the answer…” She tucks one knee to her chest, a cautious curiosity rising in her face. A flash of nerves shoots through me.

“What’s your deal with the sausage balls?” she says. “I’ve never seen you eat one and yet every morning you’re eager to take them. You act like they’re God’s gift to breakfast, but you never indulge.”

I let out a laugh, turning toward her to take in an expression that’s intrigued, not annoyed. While I hadn’t planned to start the morning this way, I might as well be honest. I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Pipes, I am excited to take them, and I promise I eat them.”

That I need to keep my eyes on the road as we’re talking is a small mercy. I clear my throat.

“My mom used to make them when I was a kid. I hadn’t thought about them in years until I saw you eating one on the train.”

She leans in earnestly, her hand propping up her head as she rests her arm on her raised knee.

“She, uh, she died last year—my mom—and in a way, seeing you eating those sausage balls felt like a nudge from her. A sort of encouragement that maybe I should pay attention, that this mystery woman on the train shouldn’t be a stranger.

“I don’t know, it sounds weird and I’m not explaining it well, but every morning when you toss these to me,” I fumble with the bag in the console, “it’s like getting a piece of home I thought I’d never have again.”

I glance her way, nervous I’ve said too much with the whole day still ahead of us. She’s looking at me intently, her eyes misty, and it’s not pity or sympathy on her face but compassion. I didn’t know how much I needed it.

“Sorry to make things heavy by dumping that on you, but I wanted you to have context and to say thank you. For the breakfast and for everything else.” I leave the rest purposefully vague, keeping my eyes straight ahead. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not a stranger. Turns out my mom is still right even when she’s not physically here to hound me anymore.”

I let out a soft laugh, almost silent.

Piper reaches over and wraps her hand behind my neck, drawing circles with her thumb and pressing her fingers into muscle that’s been tense for a decade. It’s a reversal of our typical pattern, this moment in the car, with me baring my feelings and her comforting me with touch.

The house of straw I built around my heart starts blowing down without my consent, every pass of her thumb a puff of air that shakes the foundation.

“Your mom sounds lovely,” she says softly, turning further toward me as I move my right hand to the gear shift. “I’m sorry she’s not here. You must miss her a lot.”

There is no bigger understatement. The ache of losing Mom has claimed permanent residency in my chest for the last year and a half. At this point, the pain is almost welcome—it’s the thing still tying me to her. I sniffle up the moisture that accompanies the thought.

“I do miss her,” I say quietly. “Though the hardest thing has been watching my dad try to move forward. They got married when they were twenty; he’s never been an adult without her. I visit him when I can, keep him company, help him get organized—he wants to sell the house—but it’s difficult with work and everything.”

“I’m sure.” She nods, moving her hand from my neck and placing it on top of mine, gripping my fingers. “Thanks for telling me.”

She doesn’t try to make things better, doesn’t give suggestions about how to help my dad, doesn’t spout platitudes about grief. I’ve had enough of that shit for a lifetime. Piper just sits here with me in the heaviness, letting it hang in the air like she knows it’s the only way hard feelings can pass.

“Thank you for listening,” I reply.

We ride in comfortable silence, the heaviness dissipating just like Piper knew it would until we pull up to the address on Piper’s list. I can’t say I’ve been to a place like Shindigs before, but now’s as good a time as any.

“What are we picking up, P?” I ask, though it’s obvious from the window display that the answer is party supplies. She circles the front of the car before throwing open the shop door, too excited to answer my question.

“Mr. Ellis!” She squeals as an elderly man peeks up from behind the balloon counter, smiling like he’s won the lottery.

“Piper! How are you, darlin’?” The man comes around the corner and gives her a hug, her head towering over his—a wild sight since she can’t be more than five foot four. “And who might this young man be?”

He wiggles a finger in my direction before looking at Piper with curious eyes.

“This is James. He’s my muscle for the day.” She nudges me in the ribs before looping her arm through mine as we follow Mr. Ellis to the back room.

Her phrase, “my muscle,” has me tripping over my feet. I like the sound of being hers . I think I’d like to be hers in any way she’d have me.

Mr. Ellis points us to a stack of boxes piled neatly in the corner and we scoop them up, Piper carrying two boxes and me with the last three. We load them in the backseat of my car before waving goodbye and backing out of the parking lot.

The whole thing took three minutes tops, and I have no idea how Piper would have managed to haul five boxes by herself on a multi-stop train ride.

“So, I’m the muscle?” I glance at her slyly as I steer the car toward the highway ramp to head back to her house.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she replies, pushing at my shoulder with a gentle shove. “What was I supposed to say, that you’re my fake husband? I suppose I could have called you my partner-in-crime, though that might’ve invited just as many questions.”

“I’m happy to do the heavy lifting. So tell me, what’s the story with Mr. Ellis? He seemed excited to see you.”

“Ooooh, he’s just the best. I used to visit his store each week to pick up stuff for my mom when I was unemployed.” Piper shifts uncomfortably like she’s worried I’ll think less of her after this story. I can’t imagine I will.

“Last year, I, um, spent a few months living at home, and I filled my time helping my mom with materials for her classroom. She’s been teaching first grade for twenty-three years. As a consolation when I moved back to the city, I’d get trinkets and craft supplies from Shindigs to send her for the kids. You’d be surprised by how much crossover exists between party favors and craft project materials.”

She beams as she continues like the memories of those days are warm and sunny.

“After I got my job, I had to tell Mr. Ellis I wouldn’t be coming in as much. He acted as proud as my own parents and made me promise to call him if I ever needed anything. When I started planning the fundraising gala and securing in-kind donations, I called him first. He was elated to donate all the stuff in the back.”

I steal a glance to take her in, all wild hair and tucked-up limbs in my passenger seat. Piper is the kind of woman who gets what she wants—not because she’s demanding or entitled, but because she’s so goddamn sweet no one would think to say no to her.

It’s a special kind of gift, this ability to disarm people and make them comfortable enough to engage deeply. She’s certainly had that effect on me.

“Can I ask you about living at home?” I’m curious, of course, but I want to be respectful if she doesn’t want to talk about it. “How’d you end up back there?”

I glance over to her but she’s staring ahead, her right hand resting on her chin as she picks at a fray on her pants with the left. She briefly catches my gaze before turning back to her jeans.

“You can ask as long as you’re okay with making things heavy again.”

She forces a laugh, but it’s guarded, like she could share more but is worried about my reaction. I stretch a hand to her thigh and linger, my signal to her that she’s safe with me. It’s becoming habitual, this casual gesture, and far too comfortable.

Piper relaxes under the pressure. The way she responds so physically to so little of my touch is exhilarating. I push down the desire for more—to inch my hand higher, to keep drifting up her thigh until her breath catches, to watch her arch into my seat and grip the armrest, her head falling languidly against the window.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I can’t continue the thought. It takes every ounce of strength to pull my thoughts back in the right direction, to win the tug-of-war between my head and my dick.

“I’m okay with that,” I reply, prompting her to continue.

“I used to work at a bank downtown. I was part of their internal accounting department, which, admittedly, wasn’t the dream, but Kent helped me get a foot in the door. The salary was great too.”

She sucks in a breath, miffed at the memory of making a livable wage for a job she didn’t like.

“For four years I did the whole corporate thing—long hours and designer shoes and constant crises that didn’t have to be crises.”

I nod, understanding exactly what she’s saying because it’s been my life for ten years.

“No offense, though!” she adds.

“None taken.” My chuckle acknowledges how soul-sucking finance can be.

“Things were fine enough. My life was on the path I thought it should be. I got promoted, felt like I was valuable to the team, and was making enough money to do the things I wanted to do—had I had the time to do them.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I dated a guy for a little over three years who worked in wealth management. He was the kind of man I thought I wanted. Or maybe he was who I thought I should want. I was happy enough.”

I stiffen at the words, the image of Piper being with someone else, even in the past, prompting a defensiveness it shouldn’t.

“Then one day I caught an error when I was running numbers, so I brought it up to management. Turns out it wasn’t an error at all but a purposeful fudging to hide the fact that my boss and my boyfriend were siphoning money from the accounts.”

Holy shit . This was major news in the industry about two years ago. My brain searches frantically through the details before landing on the one I want—she must’ve been seeing Henry Sierra.

That smarmy fucking asshole. My anger builds, rage growing red hot behind my sternum. Piper must notice—she grips my hand tightly before calling me back to her.

“James, it’s fine.”

I shake my head, the knuckles of my other hand clenching white against the steering wheel.

“I mean, it wasn’t fine—my entire life fell apart in the span of an afternoon, and it’s taken two years and a stint back in my childhood bedroom to put it back together—but I’m fine now. I’m here. I have a job I love, my apartment with Sami, my flea markets, painting classes, and sausage balls, and you.”

The word tumbles out of her mouth like an afterthought, like somehow I belong in the category of things that make her life meaningful. Piper clears her throat when she realizes the word slipped past her lips.

She’ll want to say, “Wow,” and to start talking her way out of it… but she doesn’t. We let it hang in the air, just like the heaviness from before, and we sit with it. Or, at least, I sit with it, this realization that we’re starting to mean something to each other.

Is Piper thinking the same thing?

The thought buries itself in my brain, and I loosen my grip on the wheel, bringing my right hand over my left as I ease into a turn. A few deep breaths, either to offload my anger at Sierra or calm my nerves about Piper (or both) help me think clearly again.

We have twenty-five minutes until we’re back at Piper’s house. I want to use this time wisely. I don’t know if I’ll see her again outside of our commute, and I don’t want her lasting memory of us to be what just happened—her sharing her dating history, letting it slip that she might like me, and me unable to form a response.

How has the morning gone by so quickly?

“So, Pipes,” she glares at me for calling her that but can’t hide the smile creeping up her cheeks, “I never asked you about giving your statement on Monday. Obviously you did great, but how did you feel about it?”

She gives me a look that says whatever I’m envisioning is not quite right.

“Glad it’s done,” she replies. “I’m not sure anything I said will be helpful for the case. The details from the morning, at least after the bomb went off, are incredibly fuzzy for me. You may recall that I curled up into a catatonic ball for the remainder of the ride.” Piper pulls her lips together, rubbing them back and forth as she thinks.

“Hmm, I don’t remember it like that,” I explain, willing my eyes to leave her lips and meet her gaze for a brief second. “My memory is of you being a very brave, concerned, and cozy ball.”

I reach back over to rest my hand on her thigh, deciding I should keep it there because it doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Ahh yes, and that’s the account you gave the officer? That you didn’t notice anything either because you were busy wrapping me up so I didn’t hyperventilate?”

My head rocks from side to side, considering. “I told the officer we were huddled together, but I left out the part about keeping you cozy. Figured that wasn’t totally relevant for their purposes.”

She chuckles and I grin, high off the ability to make her laugh.

“The officer did circle back on the possibility of the case going to trial,” I add, “and that I could be called to testify. Did they talk to you about that?”

The color drains from Piper’s face immediately and it’s obvious the answer is no, the officer did not speak to her about that.

“P, hey, look at me.” She is slow to meet my gaze but comes around eventually, the white of her eyes more pronounced than usual. “A trial might not happen, and even if it does, I know you’ll be fine. It’s just another forum for telling the truth about what happened. That’s all.”

“You mean another day when I’m on the spot but this time in front of a room full of people with a trained lawyer asking questions with the expressed purpose of poking holes in my story and getting me to say something I don’t mean?”

She brings her hands to her face, the tips of her fingers pressing near her hairline as she continues. “Not to mention these folks think we’re married because we let them believe we are to cover our asses. I could play along for a morning at the station, James, but I don’t think I could handle being on the stand. I’d probably break down and confess this whole ruse when they’re asking me my name and age or something stupid.”

Piper is spiraling quickly as she considers the possibility that she may be subpoenaed, that she could be called to testify whether she wants to or not. I slow down my breathing, taking obnoxiously loud inhales and releasing obnoxiously loud exhales in the hope she’ll follow.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, P. I didn’t mean to make you anxious.” I hope I look as sheepish as I feel. “I was actually trying to keep this part of the trip light, if you can believe it. I didn’t realize the officers hadn’t talked to you about next steps.”

“You had no way of knowing because we hadn’t talked about it. That’s not your fault, and it’s also not your fault I’m incapable of keeping my shit together when I’m under pressure.”

She sighs, sounding defeated, as though whatever confidence she gained from Monday’s success has gone straight out with her breath.

“How about this,” I offer, trying to right the ship after being the one who capsized it. “We can do a practice run. Even if we don’t know whether you’ll have to testify, we can practice, and you can work out your nerves. Maybe it would make you feel better while we wait to find out if we’ll be called?”

It sounds like a good idea coming out of my mouth until I remember I’m not a lawyer and have absolutely no idea what happens in a hearing. I’ll need to figure that out.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” I continue, using the same phrase that taunts me every time I say it, stepping further down this road I won’t be able to come back from. “I’ll ask you questions and you can answer. You’ll realize you do know what to say, and it’ll give you some peace of mind. We could do it before the gala or after, whatever feels better to you.”

I’m not ignorant of the fact that we keep proposing reasons to see each other even though we don’t need to. We were convincing enough at the station that no one suspected our ruse, and we could be as convincing during a trial.

But I want to keep seeing Piper, and it’s easier to suggest this is part of our game than to admit I’m starting to really fucking like her.

She mulls it over, her fingers still massaging her temples as she processes the idea and decides what to do. “How about Monday evening?” she asks. “We could get it out of the way so it’s not hanging over my head during the event next weekend. Is that doable?”

“Of course.” I try to think through my calendar, but the fact is I’ll make Monday work regardless. “Given that you live with Sami and this isn’t something you’d want to do in public—because the idea of testifying in front of people is what’s making you nervous—it likely makes sense to practice at my place.”

The suggestion sounds suggestive and I don’t mean it to be. Well, I don’t NOT mean it to be, but my house is objectively the most practical space for this sort of thing. I want this practice run to feel helpful because I want to be helpful for her… even if I also want to have her in my space.

One doesn’t negate the other.

Her breathing settles back into a normal rhythm which tells me it’s time for the last step in the Comforting-Piper-Pipeline. First touch, then encouragement, and then humor. There’s not much about her that fits my tendency to find and claim A+B=C patterns, but this one certainly does.

“If it helps, I can promise Sami I won’t murder you. She’s welcome to stake out the bushes if it would make you more comfortable. I can set out a chair and some coffee, and she can make a night of it. Though you both should know that I’m not interested in committing a crime… while trying to hide a crime… as a victim of a crime.”

Now that’s a series of words I could’ve never imagined myself saying. Frankly, a lot is happening lately I wouldn’t have imagined.

“Okay fine,” Piper says, a hint of amusement in her eyes showing I’ve been successful in my effort to lift her spirits. “But I’m not showing up to some random address in the dark. Can I meet you at your office? We could take the train together.”

“You know I would never miss an opportunity to take the train with you.” It’s sarcasm, on the surface, but it's also the truth. “I’ll text you the address; just let me know at some point when you think you’ll come by.”

She nods with a soft smile and some of the tension releases from my chest.

I’m going to see Piper again, and not just on the train.

The last few minutes of the drive are comfortable. My hand lingers on her knee as we pull onto her street and slow to a stop in front of her house. The question of how we wrap up the morning lingers between us—it no longer feels like our usual waves are appropriate.

“Well, you were right, Piper Paulson,” I turn to face her.

“I’m always right!” she blurts before I can finish my thought.

I shush her with a grin and continue, “I don’t regret being your errand boy for the day.”

She bites at the corner of her lip, and I wish it were my teeth there instead of hers. My car is off but neither one of us makes a move to leave. Her eyes glance to mine.

“That’s great to hear because I don’t regret having you. In fact, I may ask you to help again sometime. You set the bar too high, Mr. Newhouse. Made yourself invaluable. Laid your own trap if you will. Had you been insufferable it would’ve been easy to leave you alone the next time I need something.”

Piper offers a coy smile, rubbing her hands down her thighs like she does when she’s nervous. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It would be wise to end our time here, to say thank you and goodbye and “I’ll see you on the train.”

But my curiosity turns bold, a surprising need to find out what could happen if I lean into the feeling pulsing in my heart instead of out.

“Good thing I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

“Guess I won’t, then,” she replies, tiptoeing her fingers up my arm before resting her hand between my shoulders. Her head cocks to the side as she studies my face. I swallow hard as Piper’s eyes travel to my lips.

“Is that what you want?” It’s what I want. My pulse throbs wildly as she nods.

“Are you asking if I want to keep pretending you’re my husband so I can ask things of you?” Her pupils expand, her face flushed. “I do.”

I lean in further, pressing dangerously against some imaginary line, the one supposed to keep us safe.

“What if I don’t want to pretend?”

Piper pauses, holding her breath as she pieces apart what I just said and considers whether to push the line further. Her fingers tense into the muscle at the base of my neck.

“Then you should kiss me.”

Adrenaline courses through my veins as Piper waits for my reaction.

I take off my glasses, set them on the dash, and then reach for her jaw, gently but with authority. My eyes search hers for a second, looking for doubt or nerves but instead finding an eagerness that makes my stomach drop to my knees.

With a thumb on her chin, I angle her mouth the way I want it before leaning in and brushing my lips below her ear. I drag my mouth across her jaw, trailing a warm path before I pull her bottom lip between mine.

Fuck, it’s a good kiss.

A soft sigh escapes her as I stretch my fingers through her hair, relief washing through me as tension melts before immediately building again. I keep Piper with me, my mouth on hers, as we learn each other.

We move slowly at first, with purpose, savoring each kiss, breath hovering between us when we break before coming back together. I nudge her lips open and our tongues find each other like magnets, deepening the kiss and increasing the urgency.

I’ve never had a kiss like this, the kind born from weeks of emotional and physical build-up. This is a kiss more intimate than much of the sex I’ve had, more intentional and effusive, and the thought—of what sex with Piper would be like if kissing her is like this —awakens a desire that’s been buried for years.

She wraps a hand in my hair and pulls as her mouth moves with mine, making a noise I’ll chase for the rest of my life if she’ll let me.

I want more of it, all of it, her sounds and her tongue, my hands on her back, my mouth on every inch of her skin.

She pulls away too quickly, resting her forehead against mine. Her breath is fast and heavy, our heart rates matching as I slide my hands down her arms to her thighs, closing my eyes against hers, her eyelashes tickling my cheek.

I’m desperate for another kiss, to continue what we started, but I want her to feel in control here, to be in control here.

“James?” she whispers, and the sound of my name on her lips makes me question my resolve.

“P?” I return, settling my nose under her cheekbone and pressing a peck just below.

“That was A-plus husband behavior.” Piper chuckles and I sigh, turning to drop my head to the back of my seat. I don’t know if this is real for her, whether this kiss was an extension of our game or a foray into how we could exist outside of it.

I’m too scared to ask.

“Happy to be your husband any time you need one.” I laugh, scrubbing my hand through my hair as I exhale, trying to redirect the blood from my groin to my brain.

“Thank you for doing this today. For helping me. For all of it.” She glances around the car, her eyes lingering on the items in the backseat before coming to rest at my mouth.

“Can I help you bring these inside?” I gesture to the pile of boxes in back. She seems to consider the offer, and while I didn’t mean to ask if we could take this inside, the suggestion is there.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how I’d get this stuff from my house to the event space next week. Any chance I could get you to drop the boxes there next Saturday? During the day, not when a bunch of guests are there. If not, I’m sure I can figure something out.”

She’s trying not to cringe, like asking for another favor makes her uncomfortable. Piper wants me to know she’s not using me, which is ironic because I’m finding I’m thrilled to be used. Any day, any way.

“Absolutely, just tell me the time and I’ll be there. Promise I’ll keep these things safe in the meantime—wouldn’t want anyone smashing my window to steal the placemats.” I give her a soft smile and she returns her own.

“Thank you, thank you. I guess I’ll see you Monday night, then? For the trial practice?”

I forgot all about that. Piper’s going to be at my house on Monday.

“ Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday morning on the train too, but also Monday after work.” She steps out of the car, smoothing her pants and brushing a rogue curl behind her ear. She gives her usual wave before turning and scampering to the coach house without looking back.

When she’s gone, I rest my head on the steering wheel to collect myself before putting the car in drive and starting down the street.

I have no idea what I’m doing with Piper, and it’s reckless in a way that should feel scary. Except this time, it doesn’t, not the possibility of being with her; only the possibility I may not get the chance.

I need to get my head on straight before Monday. I drive to the office to pour myself into work—even though I’m supposed to be off today—because it’s the only thing that will help.