Tonya Muir - Exposure Season 1

"No," she says forcefully. "No, you’re not. You are actually reminding me of how much I do have to be thankful for."

"Imagine that. Me, helping you, during the holidays."

"And, Kels," she whispers, staring at me intensely.

"What?" I breathe, taking in the scent of her, my emotions all in a whirl.

"You now have someone else who cares for you. Both on the holidays and off."

And then she kisses me. I’m surprised, but oh so very happy with this turn of events. God, it feels so right. Her lips are soft and moving against mine. It’s not demanding, but it’s certainly not just a friendly kiss.

I feel my arms move around her shoulders of their own volition. And when one of her hands cups my neck and pulls me even closer, I almost forget what we’ve been talking about for the last few minutes.

We break for air, but don’t move very far from one another. I can still taste her on my lips, mingled with the salt of my tears, and I want more of her.

Just as I am about to go back for a second helping, we hear Danielle’s voice from the open doorway. "Grandmaman! Tante Harper is kissing her girlfriend on the porch swing!"

Just when I was beginning to like kids.

<fade out>

Scenes from Next Week’s Must Read TV:

<voiceover>

Not all relationships are easy. Some start off on the wrong foot.

<cut to>

"I hear she’s a bitch on wheels," Conrad speaks up. "The whole news room hates to work with her. They fight over who has to do her stories and promos. The makeup lady dreads that part of her day."

"Yeah," Jimmy agrees. "I hear the same. Why did we have to get the bitch, Harper? That Samantha woman seems like a better bet."

"Every team needs a problem child." I shrug. "And we all know it ain’t one of us," I drawl softly, pleased with myself. It isn’t until that moment that I turn around to face the room.

Wouldn’t you know Kelsey Stanton is standing in the doorway? Her expression is frozen, her green eyes shuttered. She’s a woman used to hiding her emotions.

"Speak of the devil," I say to let the boys know she’s there.

<voiceover>

And stay there.

<cut to>

"Then it wasn’t making love, Harper. It was sex." I lean back in my chair and set my tea cup down. I hate how composed she looks. How it seems like none of this matters to her. I want her to feel as badly as I do. "You know sex. You’ve had lots of it."

Puzzled blue eyes meet mine. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Harper, the first time I laid eyes on you, you were practically fucking a woman on the seat of your motorcycle."

<voiceover>

But, sometimes, things do get better.

<cut to>

"Come here," I say, even as I take her into my arms. She hugs me readily. Our boundaries are forgotten in the midst of crisis, as per standard operating procedure with us. I enfold her in a strong embrace, rocking her gently, whispering calming words.

<voiceover>

And better.

<cut to>

And then she kisses me. I’m surprised, but oh so very happy with this turn of events. God, it feels so right. Her lips are soft and moving against mine. It’s not demanding, but it’s certainly not just a friendly kiss.

I feel my arms move around her shoulders of their own volition. And when one of her hands cups my neck and pulls me even closer, I almost forget what we’ve been talking about for the last few minutes.

We break for air, but don’t move very far from one another. I can still taste her on my lips, mingled with the salt of my tears, and I want more of her.

<voiceover>

How much better could it get?

<fade out>

I tighten my robe around me and roll my shoulders before entering the kitchen. I know Cécile will be in here. I could barely look at her last night after Danielle announced what Harper and I were doing on the porch.

What exactly were we doing?

I mean, besides kissing.

I was crying, she was trying to stop me, our lips got in the way. Right? That’s all there was.

Except it felt so damn good.

I could be in trouble here.

"Bonjour, chér," Mama greets me with a smile, looking up from her coffee. "Why you awake so early?" She gets up and moves to the stove to turn the burner on under the tea kettle.

"Restless, I guess." I take a seat at the breakfast table and smooth out the place mat in front of me so I’ll have something to do with my hands.

"Tch tch, what could get you that worked up?" she teases, dropping a tea bag in a mug. She seems to enjoy watching the blush spread over my features.

"Uh … I …" I wish I could crawl back into bed right now.

"Please, ma petite, don’t look so red. I must know something about that. I do have five children, you know." Mama goes to the refrigerator and begins pulling out breakfast fixings. "And I have heard she knows what she’s doing."

I moan and drop my forehead against the breakfast table.

Mama laughs. "If it makes you feel any better, she’s up already too." I hear her crack an egg against a bowl rim. "Went out for a run. Said she had excess energy to burn off."

I must be in hell.

The tea kettle whistles. The woman I once regarded as sweet pours me a cup and brings it over to me, along with the jar of honey. She brushes a lock of my hair back behind my ear, then moves away again.

"Jonathan and I have to go Baton Rogue today."

"Something wrong?"

"Mais, non. One of our foundations has its annual meeting today. Board meetings during the day; then a charity dinner/dance tonight. Personally, I look forward to the evening."

I laugh, enjoying the honesty of the admission. "I can understand. I don’t like meetings much myself."

"C’est la vie. If they somehow protect one more woman or child, then I don’t mind. But, I am glad Jonathan is there with me. He makes my life fun."

"I think your family specializes in that, Cécile."

"Harper is fun, is she not?" She begins to fry some sausage on the stove, its spicy aroma immediately filling the kitchen. Is this what mothers do in the morning? I certainly wouldn’t know.

Is Harper fun?

"Yes, she is," I admit. When she’s not being irritating, maddening or exasperating.

She can read minds, I swear. "Except for when you want to strangle her. I know the feeling. I am her mother." She turns the sausage, and pours the eggs into another frying pan. "But, she has a good heart. I have never seen her hurt anyone intentionally. Not in what is important."

"I see." This is my standard noncommittal answer.

"And you are important. To her."

Cécile keeps her back to me, allowing me the privacy I need to absorb her words. I take each one to carefully weigh and measure, knowing their importance instinctually.

"She’s never brought anyone home before," she continues after a long moment.

This surprises me and I admit so.

"Why? Do you think my Harper would bring home the usual women she goes out with?"

I try to imagine the woman from the motorcycle here in this home. It does not compute. "You know about them?" I ask weakly.

She begins serving up breakfast, putting a full plate in front of me. "Please." She sighs, retrieves her plate, and sits across from me. After a brief prayer, she resumes. "A mother knows her child. I have prayed long and hard for her to be as happy as her father and I are."

"I am sure she will be one day. With a family like this, she knows love."

"Merci. And, I believe you are right."

Now what did she mean by that?

* * *

Papa slows as we approach the house. His sweatshirt is stained with sweat, as I know mine must be as well. Nothing like a three mile run to get the blood flowing. "You’re getting slow in your old age," he teases.

"Yeah, right. Who was pacing who the last mile?" I give him a gentle backhand to the stomach. It’s as hard as a rock.

"I just didn’t want you to feel bad, runt." He flashes a huge smile, the one I know I inherited, and waggles his eyebrows at me. "What’s on your mind? Or should I say who?"

"That obvious?"

"Been through this four times before, Harper. I know the signs."

I shake my head. "I’m not there yet, Papa. I know Mama has plans for Kels. Dammit, she practically chained her in the kitchen yesterday. It wasn’t fair."

Papa laughs and grabs my forearm, slowing us down to a walk. "Mama doesn’t play fair, Harper. Ask Gerrard. She wants to see her baby happy. And Kelsey seems to do that."

Does she?

"What do you think of her?" I ask. My father is one of the best judges of character I’ve ever known.

"Mama or Kelsey?"

I glare at him.

"I think Kelsey is scared. But, I like her a great deal. She’s good people and darn pretty. You two would make beautiful grandchildren for your Mama. Or, at least, have fun trying," he adds with a wink.

"Papa!" I groan.

"Come on, lazy bones, let’s see if our women are up." He claps me on my shoulder and runs toward the house.

Our women. Maybe bringing her home wasn’t such a smart idea.

* * *

Okay. I came, I saw, I enjoyed. Now, it’s almost time to go back to LA, where we will go back to work and all this will be left behind.