Chapter 9! Yippee Skippy. I can tell that you are all just terribly excited. Ha :) Let me know what you think. This story is turning into one giant rambling, really, but as long as you guys like it, it's all fine by me. Review, PLEAAAAASE. I didn't get any reviews on chapter 8, and it made me sad :*(
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Chapter 9
I stepped into the warehouse several hours later, feeling much more comfortable in jeans, a tank top, and sandals.
I tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach, pleased, at least, to realize that they weren't butterflies of nervousness, but of excitement.
Vaughn's note had been the best present I had ever received. Some women wanted diamonds, roses, or chocolate. But the heartfelt words that Vaughn had given to me were worth more than any gift.
I loved him—his brilliant green eyes, his beautiful smile, his intelligence, his sense of humor. But most of all, I loved his heart. I had never met anyone kinder—more caring—in my life.
I scanned the room for him, expecting to find him in his normal spot. I had seen his car outside, but he was nowhere to be seen. I stood motionless for a moment, wondering if something had gone wrong. Unexpectedly, I felt a hand land on my shoulder, and I spun around, landing a well-placed punch squarely on the side of my attacker's face.
It wasn't until my eyes had focused and he had staggered back several feet that I realized my attacker was Vaughn.
"Oh God—" I said, approaching him quickly.
"Hell, Syd…" Vaughn said, removing his hand from his cheek to reveal the beginnings of an angry, red welt. "That wasn't exactly the kind of welcome I was expecting."
"I'm so sorry," I said, resting my hand against his sore cheek. "God. I didn't even think. It was just a reflex…"
"It's a good reflex, he said, chuckling as he opened and shut his mouth, testing his jaw. "You pack quite a punch." He laughed briefly at his joke.
"God," I repeated, not finding the situation nearly as funny as he seemed to. I pushed at the skin of his cheek, stopping immediately as he winced. "Does it hurt?"
He laughed. "Hell, yeah. Nothing an ice pack and an evening with you won't fix, though.
I blushed, looking away. I had just clobbered him in the face. How could he be giving me compliments?
"Come on," he said finally. "There's some ice in the other room.
"There is?" I asked, confused. I hadn't even known that the warehouse had another room. Vaughn nodded, amused, and grabbed my hand, leading me further into the warehouse, to what seemed more like a storage closet than an entire room.
But this was no ordinary storage closet, I realized as I glanced inside. At some point, Vaughn had brought in two folding chairs, which he had placed next to a rickety old table.
And there were candles.
Everywhere.
There had to be a hundred of them—covering every available surface, flickering, and filling the room with the faint scent of vanilla.
I think that I audibly gasped before turning to face him.
"You did all this?" I asked
Vaughn grinned. "Like it?"
I stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say. We stood in silence for several moments, before I stepped towards him grabbing his hand, and stroking his sore check with my free hand.
Without a word, I leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He returned the kiss, equally gentle, and I pulled away, resting my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me.
"What would I do without you?" I asked, my voice muffled by his shoulder.
"That," he replied, "you will never have to worry about."
I smiled into his shoulder. "I'm sorry I hit you." I mumbled.
"Not your fault. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."
"True," I said. He laughed, and I pulled back to look at him. "Still." I avoided his eyes. "Sorry."
"It's ok." He smiled at me, and any last traces of guilt I felt disappeared. "You hungry?" He asked.
"Of course."
"Good," he replied, leading me to a chair. "Sit down. I cooked."
"You cooked?" I asked. Vaughn had never seemed like the type who liked cooking. "Wow."
"Hey—" he said, pretending to be hurt. "Don't act so surprised. "I'm a good cook."
"Tell you what," I said, refusing the chair he had pulled out for me. "You let me put some ice on that cheek of yours, and I promise I'll enjoy—or pretend to enjoy—your cooking."
He glared at me, before nodding.
"You've got a deal. There's ice by the wine."
I grabbed the towel that had been wrapped around the bottle of wine, and placed several cubes of ice in the center.
Walking back towards him, I held the makeshift icepack up. "This is going to be cold. But it'll keep your face from blowing up like a balloon. Believe me. I know."
I noticed his eyes darker at my words, no doubt remembering the long list of injuries I had suffered through over the last few years.
His frown disappeared, though, as I approached him, planting a kiss on his already puffy cheek, before placing the icepack abruptly where my lips had once been. Vaughn jumped as the cold came into contact with his skin.
"So," I said, grinning as he reached up to hold the icepack to his cheek. "Where's the food?"
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Chapter 9
I stepped into the warehouse several hours later, feeling much more comfortable in jeans, a tank top, and sandals.
I tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach, pleased, at least, to realize that they weren't butterflies of nervousness, but of excitement.
Vaughn's note had been the best present I had ever received. Some women wanted diamonds, roses, or chocolate. But the heartfelt words that Vaughn had given to me were worth more than any gift.
I loved him—his brilliant green eyes, his beautiful smile, his intelligence, his sense of humor. But most of all, I loved his heart. I had never met anyone kinder—more caring—in my life.
I scanned the room for him, expecting to find him in his normal spot. I had seen his car outside, but he was nowhere to be seen. I stood motionless for a moment, wondering if something had gone wrong. Unexpectedly, I felt a hand land on my shoulder, and I spun around, landing a well-placed punch squarely on the side of my attacker's face.
It wasn't until my eyes had focused and he had staggered back several feet that I realized my attacker was Vaughn.
"Oh God—" I said, approaching him quickly.
"Hell, Syd…" Vaughn said, removing his hand from his cheek to reveal the beginnings of an angry, red welt. "That wasn't exactly the kind of welcome I was expecting."
"I'm so sorry," I said, resting my hand against his sore cheek. "God. I didn't even think. It was just a reflex…"
"It's a good reflex, he said, chuckling as he opened and shut his mouth, testing his jaw. "You pack quite a punch." He laughed briefly at his joke.
"God," I repeated, not finding the situation nearly as funny as he seemed to. I pushed at the skin of his cheek, stopping immediately as he winced. "Does it hurt?"
He laughed. "Hell, yeah. Nothing an ice pack and an evening with you won't fix, though.
I blushed, looking away. I had just clobbered him in the face. How could he be giving me compliments?
"Come on," he said finally. "There's some ice in the other room.
"There is?" I asked, confused. I hadn't even known that the warehouse had another room. Vaughn nodded, amused, and grabbed my hand, leading me further into the warehouse, to what seemed more like a storage closet than an entire room.
But this was no ordinary storage closet, I realized as I glanced inside. At some point, Vaughn had brought in two folding chairs, which he had placed next to a rickety old table.
And there were candles.
Everywhere.
There had to be a hundred of them—covering every available surface, flickering, and filling the room with the faint scent of vanilla.
I think that I audibly gasped before turning to face him.
"You did all this?" I asked
Vaughn grinned. "Like it?"
I stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say. We stood in silence for several moments, before I stepped towards him grabbing his hand, and stroking his sore check with my free hand.
Without a word, I leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He returned the kiss, equally gentle, and I pulled away, resting my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me.
"What would I do without you?" I asked, my voice muffled by his shoulder.
"That," he replied, "you will never have to worry about."
I smiled into his shoulder. "I'm sorry I hit you." I mumbled.
"Not your fault. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."
"True," I said. He laughed, and I pulled back to look at him. "Still." I avoided his eyes. "Sorry."
"It's ok." He smiled at me, and any last traces of guilt I felt disappeared. "You hungry?" He asked.
"Of course."
"Good," he replied, leading me to a chair. "Sit down. I cooked."
"You cooked?" I asked. Vaughn had never seemed like the type who liked cooking. "Wow."
"Hey—" he said, pretending to be hurt. "Don't act so surprised. "I'm a good cook."
"Tell you what," I said, refusing the chair he had pulled out for me. "You let me put some ice on that cheek of yours, and I promise I'll enjoy—or pretend to enjoy—your cooking."
He glared at me, before nodding.
"You've got a deal. There's ice by the wine."
I grabbed the towel that had been wrapped around the bottle of wine, and placed several cubes of ice in the center.
Walking back towards him, I held the makeshift icepack up. "This is going to be cold. But it'll keep your face from blowing up like a balloon. Believe me. I know."
I noticed his eyes darker at my words, no doubt remembering the long list of injuries I had suffered through over the last few years.
His frown disappeared, though, as I approached him, planting a kiss on his already puffy cheek, before placing the icepack abruptly where my lips had once been. Vaughn jumped as the cold came into contact with his skin.
"So," I said, grinning as he reached up to hold the icepack to his cheek. "Where's the food?"