by Jewel, Bella
Josh Holland: On my way. Spare key under the black flowerpot next to the front door. See you soon. I’ll bring dinner. X
The swarm of butterflies that took up residence in my stomach the day I met Josh take flight. I’m not sure if it’s the casual ease of the message or the kiss at the end. Perhaps it’s a combination. The man makes me feel alive, and when you know what it feels like to be a breathing corpse, you want to hold on to that feeling. You want to hold on to it and never let go.
Me: Thanks. I’ll let myself in. x
Is tonight the right time to tell him about Mereki? Perhaps I can play it by ear given he has a class to teach and see how it pans out. Is this cowardice or thoughtfulness? I have no idea, but what I do know is I don’t want to hurt this beautiful man who has been nothing but the perfect gentleman, unaware of my situation or inner turmoil. That must change, and it must be me who enlightens him. If he hears it from anyone other than me, we stand no chance of a future together. But the only person who knows my past and present is Madeleine, and she was kind enough to warn me. And she was right. I had my head in the sand hoping I could muddle my way to the day Mereki and I would say goodbye.
Lucky. The word Madeleine used to describe me is on repeat in my head. Despite growing up with an uncaring, distant mother and a cruel stepbrother, I do feel lucky. I’ve developed my own resilience to outside forces beyond my control, I’ve found my own art, and “lucky” sounds like the biggest understatement to describe how I felt about meeting Mereki. The unparalleled friendship, the unwavering support, the beautiful stories, the love. Without him, I was a resilient warrior. With him, I was more. I discovered what it means to be loved. I discovered what it means to truly love someone with all your heart and soul.
Despite preparing myself over the coming weeks to say goodbye to him, I believe our love is unconditional. We will love each other forever, and there is a big part of me that is fearful for myself and for Josh that you can only love like that once. Josh has made me feel again, and that has given me so much hope. That fateful day five years ago ripped Mereki and me apart, and it was stupid of me to believe he’d stay when he needed to go.
Swiping a few rogue tears off my cheeks, I stand and retrieve the spare key from under the pot where Josh had told me it would be. Once I let myself in, I lean against the door for a few beats. Memories of the day I delivered cupcakes come flooding back. I was awestruck by Monet’s painting hanging above the hall table.
Oh my God. My drawing is within these walls somewhere. Imagine if I’d seen it that day. I’m paralysed by the idea that it’s somewhere close right now.
I make my way down the hallway to the kitchen where I’ve been before and drop my bag on the island bench. Looking around, I decide to wait for Josh outside where I can’t accidentally come across my drawing. I know it’s just a piece of paper, but it holds so much significance, both good and bad. I don’t know how I’ll react to seeing it again in the family home of the man I’m falling in love with.
Sitting down at the outdoor table, I contemplate my feelings for Josh. Am I falling in love with him? Am I already in love with him? I shake my head, hoping to jostle the scattered pieces of my mind into some kind of manageable chaos. I can’t think like this. I need to say goodbye to Mereki once and for all before I can give myself fully to Josh. If I thought I could stay away from Josh until such time, I would. But I don’t want to stay away from him now that I’ve felt his lips on mine, his hands on my body, and his eyes stripping my shield. Instead of seeing broken pieces, he sees the warrior within.
The front door closes and the butterflies take flight again.
“Emerson?” Josh’s voice calls out down the hallway.
I stand and walk back inside. “In the kitchen,” I reply.
He appears seconds later, and the moment our eyes meet, I suck in a breath. He is so incredibly handsome in ripped jeans, a plain, brown T-shirt, and with his dark blond hair tied back in a short ponytail. All these superficial traits pale in insignificance to his smile reaching his emerald eyes as he closes the distance between us, barely pausing to deposit the takeaway food bags on the benchtop.
He stops directly in front of me and tucks a few loose strands of my hair behind my ears. I’m like a deer in the headlights, unable to move or respond, thanks to a heady combination of intoxicating lust, deep fear, and relief that he wants me.
Holding my face in his hands, he whispers, “I’ve missed you.”
I smile. A genuine upturn of my mouth that gives him the green light to take what he now believes is his.
His kiss is soft at first. Our closed mouths meet in a sweet reunion of past intimacy but with the excitement of new lovers. I wrap my arms around his neck at the same time his tongue seeks entry to my mouth. When I grant it, he groans, placing one hand on the back of my head to pull me impossibly closer to him. I’m crazed with lust for this gorgeous man who has held a part of me close for the past five years and is working on the rest of me piece by piece. I wonder how he’ll feel when I tell him there will always be a piece missing.
With that depressing thought, I pull back and whisper, “I missed you, too.” It is the truth, and I promise myself right then and there that Josh will only get honesty from me from this point forward.
He kisses me once more lightly. “How are you?” he asks. “And more importantly, did you bring me any cupcakes?”
I scrunch up my face. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot.” I had selected the ones I know are Josh’s favourites but hadn’t taken them with me when Madeleine asked to see me.
“I can think of something else I’d rather for dessert anyway.” He winks, chuckling to himself.
I roll my eyes. “How cliché of you, Mr Holland.”
“Cliché?” He gasps in mock horror. “You can accuse me of many things, Ms Hart, but cliché is not one of them.”
I move next to him and nudge his arm with my shoulder. “I never said you were cliché. I said that cheesy line was.”
“I’m kidding.” He kisses the top of my head, then proceeds to divide the takeaway between two plates. “Red or white wine?”
“White, please,” I reply, moving over to the open shelves where I spied the upturned wine glasses on display.
It’s turned a bit too cold to eat outside, so I follow Josh into the dining room. It feels far too formal for takeaway and ripped jeans.
“My lady,” Josh says, pulling out one of the twelve covered seats from the long, dark wooden table.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” I reply, chuckling at his over-the-top chivalry. I can’t deny how much I enjoy his attention.
I track his every movement, and I’m getting to know him with every gesture he makes with his brilliant hands, every smile he gifts, and every word that comes out of his beautiful, talented mouth. I’m not in love with him because I’m not ready yet, but I want to be, and that is a startling revelation.
He points his fork at the food on his plate. “I hope you’re not fussy because I had no idea what to order. I just made a few executive decisions.”
I shake my head. “Not fussy. I rarely get takeaway, so it’s a bit of a treat.”
He holds his hand over his heart. “This is the best Thai food in Melbourne. You have to try the green curry.” He picks up his fork and scoops some rice and chicken drowning in some sort of milky sauce.
I open my mouth and allow him to feed me. The second the flavours hit my taste buds, I wince. “It’s okay,” I say, reaching for the water glass.
Josh devours everything on his plate, and I find the more of the curry I eat, the more I like it.
“You know I don’t know if I can be with someone who doesn’t like Thai food.” He is joking, but he has put our relationship status on the table even if he didn’t mean to.
“Where do you see this going, Josh?” I ask, unable to resist turning the conversation serious. I wave my hand from him to me. “Us.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I feel the weight of his gaze on me.
I don’t know if he’s considering his response or analysing my question. Maybe both.
“You haven’t noticed,” he says. Not what I was expecting him to say at all.
“I haven’t noticed what?” I ask, confused.
He gestures to the right with his head, but his eyes never leave mine. “What’s hanging over the fireplace over there.”
I freeze, immediately knowing what I’ll see when I turn my head. “That isn’t an answer,” I say, unable to hide the tremble in my voice.
“You asked where I see this going, and I’m going to tell you.” He stands and walks over to the fireplace. “When my father died, I lost my way completely. I became a barely-functional shell as I tried to find reason in the mayhem. He was a young and seemingly healthy man in his prime looking forward to the golden years with the love of his life.”
I push my chair back and stand. Moving across the carpet without lifting my gaze, I stand next to him. I place one hand on the mantle and the other on his arm. “It must’ve been really hard for you and your family.”
“One minute he was here, laughing and holding Mum’s hand while they watched a funny movie together on the couch, and the next he was gone. Deleted. Erased. Just . . . gone.” He looks down at me with pain in his eyes. “How is that fair?”
I shake my head. “No one ever said life was always fair.” I bite my bottom lip, knowing I should be trying to broach the subject of Mereki, but wanting to see where he’s going with this.
“For years, I struggled to come to terms with Dad’s death. I went to art school, and I owe Madeleine an awful lot for her support, but I felt adrift.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this, Josh.”
“I’ll get there. Be patient, Ms Hart.”
I hold up my hands. “Sorry. Continue.”
He glances up at my framed drawing. “The day I saw your drawing for the first time was rock bottom for me. I was planning to give up on my art despite having an offer to exhibit at a gallery in London. I know it sounds odd, but I felt my world shift on its axis when I opened the packaging that was protecting your drawing. It whacked me in the face with the emotion. I’d never experienced anything like it.”
“It’s strange for me to hear this.” I glance up at it and stare, incredulous that a piece of paper with my pencil marks on it could mean so much, not only to me, but to this man, too. “I never meant to sell it, you know. For a long time, I regretted that decision so much, it consumed me.”
“I can understand you not wanting to part with something that is obviously personal, but I’m really grateful you did. You see, at the time, it felt like it had been sent to me directly. Kind of like a lifeline. I didn’t know you or anything about why you drew it the way you did, but it gave me something I needed.”
“I’m really glad it helped you, Josh.” I pause, trying to process everything he’s saying. “Do you feel indebted to me or something? Is that why you want to be with me?”
He jerks back. “Why would you say that? We’d already spent the night together when I found out you were the artist. Remember?”
I drop my gaze from the drawing to my feet, feeling guilty for my thoughtless question. “I’m sorry. I’m just coming to terms with all of this.”
“I still haven’t answered your question.”
I nod, barely remembering what it was.
“You asked me where I see this going,” he says as if he’s read my mind. “All I see is you, Emerson. Your drawing showed me how to find happiness in my life again, and it’s you. It held me over until I got the real thing, and I’m not letting you slip through my fingers.” I choke back a sob. “The light and shade, the strength, the resilience. The perfect imperfections. All you.”
“That was a very long answer,” I say, smiling despite my tears.
“The short answer is that I’ve been falling in love with you for years now, and I only see my future with you in it.”
Happy tears block my vision, but I feel his arms around me, and I feel his warm breath on my neck.
“We’re going to be late for class,” he whispers.
My whole body tenses. I’ve run out of time to tell him what I really need him to know.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling back and holding me at arm’s length so he can look me in the eye.
I chew on my bottom lip, madly debating in my head whether to broach it now. “I need to tell you something about my past.”
His eyes soften. “You can tell me anything, Emerson.”
I nod, still chewing on my poor, innocent lip. “We don’t have time now, but I want you to know I trust you and there’s something I’ve been keeping from you. I don’t think you’ll like it, but I’ll need you to try to understand if you really want me in your future.”
His brow furrows. “It definitely sounds like a conversation we need to have when we’re not running late.” Glancing up at the drawing, he sighs. “I trust you, too.”
We take the plates and wine glasses back to the kitchen where he hurriedly stacks them into the dishwasher. I give the bench a quick wipe down, then grab my bag. Part of me wishes I’d explained everything to him, but we moved forward, and I will tell him soon. Josh deserves my truth, and Mereki deserves to be released from my chains.
Chapter 29
This evening’s art class is different. I’m present and relaxed, able to enjoy it for what it is. Josh is a professional and gives each student equal portions of his time and attention, but he’s not even trying to conceal what we’ve become to each other. Earlier, when he was giving me some constructive feedback on my work, one of his hands rested casually on my lower back. It felt so intensely intimate, especially when his fingers found their way under the hem of my T-shirt and made tiny circles on my skin. I was unable to concentrate nor hear a single thing he said. My whole world was reduced to a square inch of skin for those seconds, and everything else faded to insignificance.
“You and Josh, huh?” Brooke leans across and whispers with a conspiratorial smile and a wink when Josh is on the other side of the room.
“Seems so,” I reply, grinning.
Her smile widens. “You go, girl. He is so hot.” She wipes her brow. “I honestly thought he was taken. He didn’t seem at all available, or I would’ve jumped his bones first night.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Shhh. He’ll hear you.”
She shrugs. “I’m an open book. Doesn’t matter anyway. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
I don’t tell her I would have no idea about that. I’ve never been fishing. Not in the sense she means anyway.
She adds a few more strokes to her painting before leaning back and asking, “Are you free on Friday night?”
I hesitate, not because I don’t want to go out and celebrate her birthday, but because it occurs to me that I’m making friends and planting roots for the first time since I moved to the city.
“Come on. It’s my birthday, and we’re going to Pulse for drinks and dancing.” She pouts and hits me with her puppy-dog eyes. “Please.”
She claps, then stands up. “I have a request.” She waits for everyone, including Josh, to look at her. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, and you’re all invited to Pulse to celebrate . . . well, to celebrate me.” She waves her hands in front of her. “I’ve got a bunch of my friends coming already, so just turn up anytime from eight-thirty.” Then she points to Josh. “I really want Emerson to come, and I know she will if you’re there.”
My cheeks heat, and I can’t look at him, so instead, I watch her in awe. She is so open and confident. I always had an inner confidence, but I kept it mostly hidden, reserved only for myself and, until recently, one other person. Due to my outer shield, I’ve been referred to as aloof, shy, vacant, and dull, but I never cared, and I never will. I rely on myself and I choose who I let in. I find love in my own way and on my own terms. And it seems I’ve found it again in a way I would’ve never expected.
When I hear a throat being cleared, I reali
se I’ve just been staring at Brooke, and I snap myself back to the here and now. I feel Josh’s eyes on me, and I lift my gaze to meet his. Even from the other side of the room, his emerald eyes burn with intensity and affection.
He breaks eye contact to address the room. “Happy birthday for tomorrow, Brooke. I’ll definitely try to make an appearance.”
At the end of the class when everyone has gone, Josh and I are alone in the gallery. I keep working on my last painting while he packs up the supplies and returns them to the shelves.
“Will you go to Brooke’s birthday bash with me tomorrow night?” he asks as he lifts the last box.
“I will,” I reply, adding some yellow flecks to my sunrise.
He walks across the room and pulls out a stool. Grabbing mine, he drags me away from my easel so we’re sitting face-to-face. “I want us to go together, and I want to spend the whole night with you.” He reaches out and runs his hands up my legs. “I want to wake up next to you on Saturday morning.”
All I can think about is how much I want that, too. Then it hits me that he might be thinking he’ll stay over at my place, and my blood runs cold. I don’t think I’m ready to have him there before I’ve said goodbye to Mereki. It isn’t fair. “We could spend the weekend again at your place,” I reply, placing my hands over his.
“Does it not make more sense to stay at yours tomorrow?” His hands move farther up my thighs. “Then you stay at mine Saturday night, or we could spend the whole weekend at yours.”
This is moving too fast. I’ve barely caught my breath before I’m planning a second weekend with Josh, and I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. All I can do, because it’s all I’ve ever done, is go with what feels right, but this whole situation is confusing. The idea of having Josh spend the night in my home . . . the home I share with Mereki, however cold and lonely I’ve felt there, is wrong on every level, but I have no way of making him understand. I can’t tell him everything because I don’t have the right words. I don’t know if I’ll ever have them. Memories of his arms around me, his lips kissing me, and his whispered words making me feel whole again bombard my muddled brain. All those things felt so incredibly right. “Okay,” I say, feeling anything but okay. “Sure.”