Jocelyn: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Sewing in SoCal Book 2)

by Sarah Monzon

  Gran placed her palms on my cheeks and forced my eyes to meet hers. “Don’t overthink it.” She patted my chest. “Let yourself feel the moment in here. The heart can say so much more than the lips can.”

  I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Okay, Gran.”

  No practiced speeches. No mental lists. I’d see Jocelyn again and let my heart communicate in any way that it could.

  25

  Jocelyn

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bill,” I called as I punched the down arrow on the wall outside the elevator.

  Bill waved distractedly from his office as the stainless-steel doors slid open with a ding and I stepped in. I pushed the button for the bottom level and waited as the doors closed and the elevator started its downward trajectory, making my stomach dip like always. A few seconds later the doors opened again, and I walked out. It had been a long day, and I couldn’t wait to get home. I wanted to make some tweaks on the design for Molly’s wedding gown, and I found my fingers itching to pick up a freshly sharpened sketching pencil.

  I glanced up, and my gaze collided with a pair of onyx eyes I’d know anywhere. Like a herd of stampeding wild horses, my heart galloped in my chest. What was Malachi doing here?

  He stood from a chair by the entrance, his tall frame overshadowing the men in power suits entering and exiting the building. I tracked the span of his brow, devoid of his black Stetson, and slid my gaze along the strong line of his jaw. My memory of this man had not been honest with me. He was even more attractive than I had recalled, though maybe that had something to do with knowing him better now.

  He studied me as I walked toward him, drinking me in like he’d been dying of thirst, left too long in the Mojave Desert on a summer’s day. It wasn’t possible to feel a look, but that didn’t stop a wave of awareness from passing over me. The directness of his eyes on me made my skin flush with a pleasant heat that settled in my belly.

  I stopped a foot away. “Hi.”

  His fingers twitched at his side, but he didn’t reach out to touch me. “Hi yourself.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  A flash of uncertainty streaked across his eyes. “I came to see you. I hope that’s all right.”

  I smiled. “More than all right. Just surprised is all.”

  “Do you…do you like surprises?”

  His stammering put me oddly at ease, and I found myself wanting to flirt with him just to see how he’d react. Would he duck his head or banter back? “If the surprise is you, then I adore them.”

  The tips of his ears deepened in color, but he didn’t avert his gaze. His lips slowly drew up into a charming smile. “Good.”

  The heat pooling in my middle became rivers that flooded my veins.

  He tugged on the lobe of his ear. “Would you, uh, like to go for a walk?”

  I looked down at my four-inch pumps. A few blisters would be an easy price to pay but… “I have a better idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Or a better location, rather. You did say you don’t get to the beach often. Nothing to stop us now.”

  His grin grew. “I like your thinking.”

  He turned toward the front door and opened it for me like a true gentleman. My shoulder brushed his chest as I passed, igniting me once again.

  Heavens, I’d internally combust at this rate.

  But what a way to go.

  I hid my smile in the crest of my shoulder as Malachi stepped beside me. There was so much left unsaid—or unvoiced rather—that I wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed.

  His large hand pressed into the small of my back, directing me to a dually truck parked along the curb.

  “Surprised I could find street-side parking so close, but here I am.” He opened the passenger side door for me.

  Four-inch heels and a fitted pencil skirt would do me no favors in trying to step up onto the runner that was more than two feet off the ground.

  “Allow me.” Malachi offered his hand, palm up like I had seen in so many period dramas. Duke so-and-so helping a lady alight from a carriage, except my landed gentry wore dark-wash denim instead of breeches and drove a Dodge instead of a landau.

  I slid my hand into his, his work-worn calluses rough against my smooth palm. His fingers curled over mine, strength and gentleness a heady combination as he lent me his support in climbing into the truck.

  Getting into a vehicle had never been such a memorable experience before, but at that moment, I converted into a Dodge fan. The bigger the truck, the better. I’d even endure Nicole’s rants about fuel consumption and climate change. The world wasn’t the only thing getting warmer by the second.

  I fanned my face with my fingers as Malachi rounded the hood then opened the driver’s side door and hopped in with ease.

  “Should I get directions from the GPS, or do you know the way?”

  I told him which way to go, and he pulled into traffic, heading west. It didn’t take long before the truck stopped again, this time in a small parking lot adjacent to an expanse of white sand and dark blue ocean.

  “Wait here,” Malachi said. He left the cab and went to the pay station. A minute later, he came back and put the receipt on the dash facing out then came over to my side and opened my door for me again.

  The briny scent of the sea, crashing waves, and distant cry of a gull tickled the back of my senses, but Malachi, standing in front of me with a shy smile, took center stage of my focus. A strong pull, like a rip current in the Pacific, tugged at my core, and I gasped in surprise at the realization of the depth of feeling I had for this man.

  It wasn’t falling. There hadn’t been a great hole that I’d stumbled into unaware, the jarring from the landing enough to take my breath away. Instead, it was as if Malachi had offered me his hand—as he was doing now—to help me down each step, leading me into something heart-deep and meaningful.

  When my feet touched the pavement, he didn’t release his hold. Instead he entwined our fingers, weaving them together in a beautiful pattern. We crossed the street then paused at the edge of the sidewalk as we both looked down at our shoes.

  “Ever feel the sand between your toes?” I eyed the leather-bound steel-toes peeking out beneath the hem of his jeans.

  “Haven’t you heard? Cowboys sleep in their boots.”

  I slipped my pumps off. “That must get uncomfortable.”

  “And messy,” he teased. He took my shoes and rethreaded our fingers together.

  The sand shifted beneath my feet as we walked, contrasting with the steady hold Malachi had on my hand.

  The sounds of the ocean filled the silence between us. The quiet didn’t grow into an uncomfortable divide but held within its breath a peace and calm. I’d wondered what being with Malachi again would be like—either uncertain reticence or bold declarations. Neither was true. Instead, he was a pillar of inaudible confidence. Even without words, I somehow knew where I stood with him: Cherished close to his heart.

  “There are…” He cleared his throat. “There are probably things we should discuss.” His gaze flicked down to me. Softened. “Things I need to say. Or that you need to hear.”

  We stopped walking, and I put myself in front of him. The breeze picked up, making my curls dance over my shoulders.

  Malachi’s mouth opened. Closed. “Jocelyn, I…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

  His gaze bore into mine. Though his tongue didn’t cooperate in forming whatever words he was trying to say, I could see them written in his eyes. Hear them in my heart.

  I pushed up onto my toes, wrapped my free hand around the back of his neck, and pulled his head down so his lips met mine.

  Words were not the only way to communicate.

  I breathed him in and gave him my own breath as well. Gently my mouth tested his, a brush of skin against skin. The small, barely-a-kiss contact reminded me of when we’d first met. The hesitancy between us. Improbability that anything would grow between a city girl and a country boy.
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  But things had grown between us since then, and our kiss followed—flaming to life like oxygen to a fire. Instead of a trickle, we poured our feelings into each other. He didn’t tell me how much I’d come to mean to him. No. He made me feel it with his kiss. And that was so much better than any declaration could be.

  When I felt as if I would drown in the confessions of his heart, he gave my lips one last peck—as if in punctuation—then lifted his head.

  My hand slipped from the back of his neck to his shoulder, and I leaned into his strength to help me keep upright. “That was…”

  He waited a beat, but I couldn’t find the right word to end the sentence.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve gone speechless too.” His lips hooked in a grin.

  I toyed with the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Hmm. Maybe we should try that nonverbal communication again.”

  His eyes flashed. “Now that’s a conversation I wouldn’t mind repeating.”

  His lips met mine, unhurried and sweet. This time his kiss wasn’t so much a declaration as a promise.

  One I knew deep in my heart would last a lifetime.

  Epilogue

  Two months later…

  “I missed my boys.” Scout pressed against my thigh, his weight threatening to make me lose my balance. Domino nickered, sticking his head over his stall door and rubbing his nose against my middle, breath fluttering in and out. He could smell the treat I’d brought him hidden in my pocket. I scratched Scout behind his ear and reached up to do the same to Domino.

  “First time I’ve ever been jealous of the animals.”

  I thrilled at the masculine voice behind me and threw a saucy smirk over my shoulder. “Want a scratch behind your ear too?”

  Malachi sauntered over and placed his hands around my hips. His chest warmed my back, and I pushed into my heels to shift my weight, leaning into him. His head dipped, and his nose grazed the curve of my neck, nuzzling.

  “I hope you missed all your boys,” he growled into the plane below my jaw.

  A shiver marched down my spine as I turned in his arms and threaded my fingers behind his neck.

  Oh, how I missed this. Missed him. It had only been three days since we’d seen each other but that was seventy-two hours too long in my book.

  Our eyes locked, and I felt myself blossom under the heat and tenderness of his gaze. He’d yet to say a certain three-word phrase, but I heard it every time he looked at me the way he did now. Like the world and everything in it ceased to exist except the two of us in that very moment. It was heady and defining and like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

  “You know I missed you most of all.” I pushed up on my toes and captured his mouth in a kiss. The distance—him living here at the ranch and me in San Diego—grew more excruciating each day. But the reunions… Oh, the reunions were Fourth of July fireworks combined with strawberry-covered cheesecake—explosive and the sweetest thing on earth.

  His hands on my hips pulled me in closer, anchoring me in place there in the barn aisle as if he were saying, This is where I want you. This is where you belong.

  I fisted the front of his shirt in response. I don’t want to be anywhere else. Only with you.

  The fervency of our kiss tapered to a gentleness that nearly brought tears to my eyes. Malachi’s way of showing me just how much he’d missed me while we’d been apart.

  One of these days I’d get brave enough to strut into Jayden’s—I mean, Mr. Weidel’s—office and tender my resignation. Maybe start a clothing line of my own or specialize in bridal fashions. But for now, I’d talked Mr. Whalen into allowing me to work remotely a few days a month, and Malachi had found it necessary to give Bill updates on his investment in person.

  We’d made the long-distance thing work and had shrunk the times between seeing each other, but one of these days…

  Malachi tore his mouth from my lips, his breathing labored. He rested his forehead on mine. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay.” If only I could settle the drumming of my pulse in my ears to hear him.

  He put his hands on my shoulders then pushed back until we were an arm’s length apart. His eyes searched mine, and he licked his lips. “Jocelyn, I’ve never…You’re the only…” His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched.

  I reached my hand to trace the line of his cheek. “I know. Me too.”

  Like a flash, his palms cradled my face and he stepped into my space, kissing me with equal parts passion and tenderness. “I love you,” he mumbled against my lips. Kissed me again. “I love you,” he said louder, more confidently. He bent at the knees and lifted me up, twirling me in a circle as he shouted, “I love you, Jocelyn Dormus!”

  My hands rested on his shoulders, and I smiled down at him, beaming from an internal happiness that made me feel like I glowed brighter than the sun.

  He stopped twirling and slowly set me back on my feet, never moving his eyes from mine. He cupped my face again, his lips settling into the most contented smile I’d ever seen on him before. “I love you.” His voice was raw and tender, his heart in the timbre of his words.

  I reached up and pinched the brim of his Stetson, pulling his face down to mine. “I love you, too.”

  Maybe one of these days would be today.

  Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek!

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of the first chapter of book 3—Nicole! Preorder here.

  In the meantime…

  Thank you for being a rockstar reader! If you enjoyed this story, I’d be thrilled if you left an honest review on Amazon and, while you’re there, consider following me to receive alerts on new releases! Stalk away, please! And be sure to stop by www.sarahmonzonwrites.com/subscribe to sign up for my newsletter and receive a free novella!

  God Bless!

  Sarah

  Author’s Note

  Being a white writer, I was more than a little nervous to create two main characters of color. My heart was, is, and always will be in a place of respect and wanting to celebrate the diversity of God’s creation. We all have different experiences, backgrounds, and perspectives and can learn to be more empathetic towards one another—and isn’t fiction a great place to cultivate that identification? I never want to step into the waters of cultural appropriation, however, and if I did that in any way, I sincerely and whole-heartedly apologize.

  A special thanks to Toni Shiloh. You know.

  Sneak Peek into Book 3!

  Nicole

  Nicole

  It is a truth universally unacknowledged that not every woman who is single is in want of a husband.

  And I really wished my sewing sisters would get that through their thick skulls.

  Because of their endless urging, I entered the restaurant at the appointed time to meet one David Brown (age, thirty-five; height, five foot nine; body type, athletic; occupation, electrician—or so his online dating profile said) that day in October. If Molly, Amanda, Jocelyn, and Betsy hadn’t bribed me, I wouldn’t have been there at all.

  I’d been fine on my own the five years since my ex-husband walked out on me and our daughter. I really had no intention of letting another male mansplain to me why they were essential to a woman’s happiness. Newsflash—they’re not!

  No, my presence at that restaurant had nothing to do with romance or “getting out there” or trying to find “Mr. Right” and everything to do with the fifty dollars each of my friends had pledged to donate to a charity of my choosing every time I agreed to meet with some guy from one of the dating apps they’d set up in my name.

  Two hundred dollars, I’d reminded myself when I approached that table, David Brown exhibiting refreshing manners as I neared. His eyes lit on my face but then lowered to check out the rest of me. I got it. Outward appearances mattered to most people. Good thing my heart wasn’t set on this guy or anything happening between us, otherwise the way his eyes rounded when his gaze reached my hips would have wounded me.

  I’d warned him a
nd every other guy on that archaic yet high tech matchmaker app: body type, curvaceous. Pretty sure Amanda chose that adjective, but the word fit. I have curves. At 174 pounds, maybe some dangerous ones. But the headshot Jocelyn insisted on didn’t show the guys trolling and swiping left and right the full picture. My body was like a two-lane country road that all of a sudden exploded into a six-lane major city highway—pear shaped. My top half didn’t carry the bulk of my weight. Those pounds congregated around my hips and thighs.

  Did my thighs rub together when I walked? Yes. Was it ridiculously hard to find a pair of pants that fit my rear without having a huge gap at the small of my back? Yes. But that’s the manufacturer’s problem, not mine. I refused to feel shamed because my body didn’t fit someone’s mold.

  Two hundred dollars, I reminded myself again when David Brown’s bug eyes finally returned to normal size and he gulped, his cheeks stained red.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, but his stiff body language conveyed another message. He’d mentally deleted me from his prospective digital matches.

  I set my teeth and forced a grin. “You too.” The girls wouldn’t make their donation to the Nature Conservancy if I let this worm off his hook, so I lowered onto the seat across from him.

  A server approached our table and placed glasses of ice water in front of us.

  “Welcome to the Loft. I’m Jen and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start y’all off with some wine?”

  David looked at me, eyebrow cocked.

  My fingers hugged the cold glass of water, and I pulled it closer. “Water’s fine for me, thanks.”

  David turned to Jen the server. Even from his profile I could see the widening of his eyes. The upturn at the side of his lips. His gaze roamed from the top of Jen’s artful messy bun to the tips of her non-skid black loafers—the same once over he’d given me, but this time an appreciative gleam entered his gaze.