by Ivy Jordan
I slipped into bed beside Tamara, who was already sleeping. It was late. Really late, and I hated to wake her. We had the shoot in the morning, and I was dying to know if she’d talked to Josh. I fell asleep not knowing if he would even be there.
My alarm blasted in my ear, causing me to jump up from my pillow in a panic. Today is the day. Fuck! I’m not ready. I can’t do this.
Tamara was already up, and even though I quickly dressed and ran downstairs, she was already gone. My heart raced as I assumed she’d snuck off, not wanting to face me for some reason. Was it because Josh wasn’t coming? Was it because he was?
I ran upstairs, showered, dressed, and fixed my hair and makeup, even though I knew Marcus would redo everything, saying it was horrific.
At the studio, Tamara worked on her camera and Marcus puckered his lips in disgust as he saw me walk in. “We have work to do,” he sighed, pulling my arm gently towards the dressing room.
“Is he here?” I whispered to Tamara as I walked by.
She smiled and nodded in the direction of his dressing room. “He’s here.”
I didn’t fight Marcus as he redid my makeup; I was too preoccupied with anxiety.
Once done, I stepped out into the studio to find Josh, gorgeous as ever, but more distant than I’d ever seen.
Tamara directed us on what to do, mainly because it no longer felt natural to either of us to start. Once in his arms, my body melted, my heart softened, and that familiar chemistry returned as it it’d never left.
Our lips met, only for camera’s sake, but feeling more like they were meant to be together. “That’s it,” Tamara said at the last shot. They were dreadful words that I hated to hear.
“Can I talk to you?” Josh asked, his blue eyes filled with that familiar emotion once again.
“Yes,” I agreed without hesitation.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” he said softly.
I dressed quicker than I’d ever done, anxious to hear what Josh had to say. An apology? An excuse? A lie? I was a mess.
Outside, Josh stood on the sidewalk, leaning against the concrete wall. My knees weakened as I approached him, my heart swelling in my chest with each step.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said softly.
“Me too,” I said, not sure what exactly I was apologizing for.
“My ex was extremely jealous. She kept tabs on my phone, snooped through my stuff, and even hired a detective to follow me at one time,” he explained.
“I get it. There’s no excuse for invading someone’s privacy,” I agreed, feeling horrible that I somehow was the one on trial, and not lying, cheating Josh.
“Tamara told me you weren’t the one who looked at the phone. She told me you didn’t want her to,” he said sweetly.
I couldn’t believe she threw herself under the bus like that. “She did it for me,” I said quickly, defending my friend’s actions.
“I know. But, that girl,” he said slowly.
I took a deep breath as I waited to hear who this woman was, what she meant to him, and why she was probably in his bed waiting for him at home. Home. Ugh!
“We hooked up a couple times after my breakup. She lives in Atlanta, but visits L.A. maybe once or twice a year. The last time I even spoke to her was over nine months ago. I don’t want her,” he said.
His hand reached out for mine. I didn’t hesitate to let his fingers curl into mine. His eyes didn’t break free from their lock on mine as he spoke.
“The only girl I want is standing right here in front of me,” he sighed.
I leapt into his arms, pushing my lips against his and feeling his heartbeat heavy through his chest. “I love you, Josh,” I whispered in his ear.
“I love you, too, Emily,” he gasped.
“Let’s go home,” he said softly.
Epilogue
The theater was packed as we took our seats in the front row. Jackie Lemay stared daggers through me as I walked down the narrow aisle with Josh on my arm and surrounded by friends.
It was my third movie in just four years, and the premiere was filled with some of the Hollywood greats. Til Death Do Us Part had taken an extra six months to produce, but it was a huge hit.
My role as Lucinda blasted me to A-list celebrity status almost overnight, leaving Jackie Lemay in the dust as her big film flopped.
Lisa fumbled with her phone while Amy shoved handfuls of popcorn into her mouth. The opening credits started, to which Tamara jabbed me in the side with her elbow with excitement, and Josh squeezed my hand.
It was all so real, so perfect, just as I dreamed it would be.
My father no longer had that disappointment and anger in his voice when I called, and I had the pride of knowing I’d accomplished everything I’d set out to.
The lights dimmed as the movie started to play. I still wasn’t used to seeing myself on the big screen, but it was pretty damn cool nonetheless.
I looked around the crowd, feeling a powerful mixture of pride, admiration, and humility as some of the actors, actresses, directors, and producers laughed at my lines, cried at my on-screen angst, and sat on the edge of their seats, waiting—no, hoping—for more.
A standing ovation was given with loud applause once the movie played to its finale. My cheeks burnt and ached from smiling so hard. I couldn’t imagine life getting any better than this.
The lights turned on, brightly filling the room as everyone’s eyes were on me. I turned to Josh, who mouthed the words ‘I love you,’ before bending on one knee.
My heart gushed with emotion, causing the overage to spill from my eyes and down my cheeks. He was doing it, he was really doing it.
“Emily, love of my life, keeper of my heart. You are already my best friend, my soul mate, my inspiration in life, so would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Josh asked.
“Yes!” I squealed, jumping into his arms.
The crowd cheered, louder than they had for the movie. Josh pressed his lips against mine, kissing me passionately as if we were the only ones in the room.
I knew this had been the best day of my life so far, but I was optimistic enough to know it would only be the start of many, many, more.
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MR LIEUTENANT
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
Chapter One
“We need a new name,” my sister said with a solemn tone. She stared up at the tattered sign above the bakery we’d both spent so much time in as a child.
“What’s wrong with the name?” I asked.
Kayla swept her dark auburn hair from her shoulder as she contemplated my suggestion.
“Everyone knows this place as Nanny’s Cupboard,” I pointed out.
Kayla sighed. “Lucy, this is our place now. We have to make it our own.”
I watched her unlock the front door. I stood at the entrance as she walked inside. It felt strange without Nanny there. I still couldn’t believe she was gone.
Kayla ran her hand along the top of the stainless steel counter. Her eyes were bright blue in the sunlight, and as she turned toward me, it was obvious she was fighting back tears. This was her place, her dream. I wasn’t sure where I fit into it. Our grandmother left the place to both of us, but in reality, Kayla was the one who belonged here.
“This is your dream, Kayla,” I said softly, ready to bow out of the inheritance given to me.
“You said you wanted to open a business here,” she argued.
“Yes, one for my organic beauty products. Not a bakery. I don’t even know how to bake,” I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, but she knew it was true. She and our grandmother spent hours
in this kitchen concocting up new and exciting desserts. I loved being up front, talking to the customers, but baking wasn’t my passion.
“Why can’t we do both?” she asked.
“A bakery and a beauty supply store?” I snorted.
“Why not?” she asked.
While I was away at college, gaining a degree in education, Kayla had been here, already knowing what her goal in life was and figuring out how to make it happen. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life until my third year into college, and unfortunately, it wasn’t in the education field. I wanted to make organic beauty supplies, using ingredients from my family farm.
I rushed home after graduation, started my own bee yard, and spent my time learning how to make scented soaps using goat’s milk and fresh herbs and flowers.
I’d worked hard on remodeling the old barn into my own studio apartment, building a greenhouse, and starting my business. Kayla had bought a house in town, just a few blocks from the bakery. She knew what she wanted. I finally knew what I wanted. How could the two dreams be combined?
“Bee-U-Tiful Bakery and Beauty,” Kayla boasted with a side smile.
“I like it,” I admitted.
My products were already branded with the Bee-U-Tiful name. My labels had a honeycomb background, and a cute bee flying over the name. But it felt as though she was selling herself short by offering me such a prominent position in the business name.
“What about, Eppes Sisters’ Creations?” I asked.
She sat down at one of the old booths. “I like it.”
“Then we can add Bee-U-Tiful Beauty Supplies, and Kayla’s Kakes on the window.” I finally started to get excited about the idea of having a storefront for my business.
“We have a lot of work to do,” she said, looking around the outdated bakery. “But she left us plenty of money to do what we need,” she added softly.
There was a savings account attached to the bakery, one that our grandmother had said we should use to make the place our own. I sighed as I remembered how hard I’d pushed her to make changes in the place. She loved it just the way it was, she’d say. But I knew now, she didn’t change anything so she could save that money to leave to us. She wanted us to be the ones who made the changes.
We spent the afternoon drawing up plans for the new building and working on ideas for marketing our new business. We decided to use a small section for my products, displaying them in the left window, while her cakes would be displayed in the right window. It was perfect, actually. I couldn’t wait to get started.
By the time I left the bakery, my mind was swimming with excitement. I couldn’t wait to get back to the farm and start creating more products for the shelves we’d decided to buy. Kayla had all our grandmother’s original recipes, as well as the ones she’d helped her create. We decided to open the doors tomorrow morning, selling only her cakes until we were ready to remodel.
As I pulled up the long, dirt lane to my family’s farm, I noticed a strange vehicle parked next to the house. It was gold, an older model Cadillac, and once I was close enough to see the license plates reading ‘B Leive’, I knew it was my mother’s best friend Christine Collins.
Instead of rushing into my barn loft, I decided to check in the house to say hello. Christine was one of my mother’s oldest and dearest friends, and it was always a treat to see her. She spent most of her time travelling, speaking to large groups about the powers of positivity. Her influence in the field of motivational speakers was exceptionally strong, and every time she visited, she left my mom in a better place.
“Is that Christine I hear?” I called out into the empty living room.
My mother and Christine’s voices carried down the long hallway from the kitchen. “Lucy?” Christine’s voice echoed through the old farmhouse until she appeared in the doorway.
“My sweet Lucy,” she said, opening her arms to embrace me for one of her amazing hugs.
She smelled of vanilla as she pushed my nose into her shoulder. “Look at you,” she said, pulling me back to give me a once over.
“What brings you here?” I asked, blushing from her complimenting eyes.
“Well, as a matter of fact, you do, Lucy,” she said with a warm smile.
“Me?” I asked, confused as to why her visit would have anything to do with me.
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, gripping my hands tightly into hers.
She pulled me into the kitchen where my mother was enjoying a cup of tea. My mother smiled at me endearingly as Christine guided me into a seat at the table.
“I have news,” Christine said. “Great news,” she added.
I looked at my mother, trying to get a jump on this surprise. Annette Eppes was solid as a rock, not allowing me even a glimpse into her mind. I stared at my mother, her dyed-blonde hair making her look so much younger than Christine, with her salt and pepper locks, who was actually a year younger than my mother.
“I met someone,” Christine blurted out, taking the seat next to me.
Her eyes were locked on to mine, her expression excited, but confusing to me. “That’s great,” I said, still wondering why this had to do with me.
I chuckled under my breath as she continued to stare at me so intensely. Her energy was intimidating, which was making me nervous. Her grip was still tight on my hands, and her eyes still blasting through me. “I’m very happy or you,” I said softly, trying to gently pull my hands from hers.
She laughed. Her laugh was boisterous, wild, and infectious. She had the kind of laugh that you’d hear from several rooms away, and even though you didn’t know what was so funny, you’d laugh too.
My hands shook loose from hers as my laughter joined with hers, still not knowing what we were laughing about.
“Not a man for me,” she sighed. “I met the perfect man—for you.”
Oh, hell!
Christine Collins was notorious for her match-making skills. I had to admit her success rate had me intrigued, but with the bakery-and-beauty store, there was just too much going on right now for a man.
“I’m flattered. But I don’t need a man,” I said sternly.
“Of course you don’t need a man. I never set up people who aren’t ready for a real relationship,” she said with an eerie seriousness.
How did Christine Collins know if I was ready or not? I barely saw her, and when I did it was only for a short visit. She’d stop and say hello, sometimes stay a day or two before she was off to a booked hall where she’d speak about love, business, or even holistic healing.
“And I’m ready?” I laughed.
Her expression tightened as she stared into my eyes. “Yes. I believe you are,” she said.
My mother sipped her tea, barely lifting her blue eyes from the cup. I wondered how much she had told Christine about my life.
“After Jimmy, we were all proud of you for moving on with your life. You’re following your dreams, you’re finally on the right path,” Christine said.
Okay. It was obvious my mother told her plenty about my life.
I sighed. I pushed my head into my hands, giving myself a moment to absorb this intrusion into my love life.
“Jimmy was a deadbeat. I get it. But I have a lot going on right now,” I argued.
Christine pulled her phone from her designer bag, thumbed through her screen, and then pushed it toward me. “This is Silas,” she said proudly.
I took the phone from her, amazed at the image on the screen. He was muscular, chiseled, and wore a military haircut. The tight t-shirt he wore looked like it would shred from his body if he sneezed, and his dark, mysterious eyes that pierced through the digital image made my knees weak.
“He’s a hottie,” I admitted.
Christine laughed.
“Oh, honey, that picture doesn’t do him justice,” she said calmly.
My interest had been piqued. I hated to admit I was that shallow, suddenly interested by the man’s looks. “Where did you meet Silas?” I asked.
She scooted her chair close to mine, gripped my arm, and smiled. “I was speaking at a business seminar, and he came up after to ask me a few questions,” she said.
I was relieved it wasn’t one of her motivational rooms filled with people looking to find love.
“He’s a first lieutenant in the US Air Force, and a pilot,” Christine boasted.
“So, what makes you think he is perfect for me?” I asked.
She explained how she felt something when she met him, a ‘vibe,’ she called it. They talked about business briefly, but once she found out about his history, his hopes for the future, she knew instantly that he was my soulmate. I was trying to hold back my laughter from her over-the-top personality. “How do you know he is ready?” I asked.
“He is,” she said with a smirk. “He wants to open a crop-dusting business like his grandfather, so he loves the small town life. He loves animals, wants kids one day, and hasn’t found love because he’s been so busy with his military career. He did have one long relationship, just like you, but she ended up being an unmotivated gold-digger who only wanted to marry him so she could stay at home and spend his money,” she added all in one breath.
It was a lot to take in. He sounded like a genuine guy, and Christine did have an impressive record for creating perfect matches.
“I don’t know,” I stammered.
“I told him I’d give him your number, if you agreed,” she pushed.
“I’m going to be so busy with the new shop, I don’t think I’ll have time to even meet him,” I said.
“That’s no problem. He’s stationed at Sheppard’s AFB in Wichita Falls, Texas,” she said calmly.
“He’s over a thousand miles away,” I laughed.
I looked to my mother, who smiled warmly. “It’s the age of the Internet,” she offered.
“Yes. Skype is amazing for long distance relationships,” Christine said.
“I don’t know if I even want a relationship. But I do know I don’t want a long-distance relationship. How would that even work?” I asked.