by Lisa Shelby
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why would you ask if something was wrong?”
“Because I can tell. You’re freaking out just a little bit aren’t you?”
“Well, this is moving pretty fast isn’t it?”
“Listen Emily, I don’t know exactly what’s happening here, but I do know that I am feeling more myself than I have in the past five years. Meeting you changed me forever and made me see how happy life truly could be. After watching you walk away, losing Matt and then my mom. Em, part of me died over there. I have felt empty for so long now but every second that I’m with you . . . I feel like that empty part of me is slowly filling back up. You are bringing me back to life.”
That was not what I expected to hear come out of those perfect lips, and I know he can see it on my overwhelmed face. He closes the space between us, takes my hands in his and rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of my hand.
“I’m not asking anything from you. Okay, that’s a lie. I am asking you to have an open mind and think about giving us a shot. But right now, all I am asking is to spend more time with you and Ireland. I’ve been given another week, Emily, and I don’t plan on wasting it. Please believe that I don’t have some dastardly plan to get you in bed and that sex is what this is all about. I won’t lie though; I meant what I said. I want to try again. My feelings for you haven’t gone anywhere, and they’re getting stronger every day. I’m not going to let another week with you go by without trying my best to stop you from walking away this time.”
And just like that he silences me. Another week. He’s right. We have been given another week. I had all the reasons in my mind why this was a bad idea. But after hearing him share his feelings and knowing that he still feels what I feel, well . . . that silences me. I don’t really know what to say. He’s so good at telling me he’s feeling while I fall mute. I feel like I can never get out what I truly want to say, yet he says it all with perfect clarity.
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
“For what?” He asks with another adorable tilt to his head.
“For being able to tell me how you feel. I wish I could give the same back to you, but I’m just not ready, Jonathan.”
“I know that, baby, and I’ll wait as long as you need me to. I’m not going anywhere.”
He gives me a kiss on the forehead and with a squeeze of my hands he lets me go. He kicks his bag to the side of the couch out of view and then bends down to give both dogs some attention as they lay there already comfortable with each other.
“These guys have met before so I knew there wouldn’t be a problem. How about Ireland? Is she really still asleep?”
And just like that he steps away from the serious conversation we were just having—well, that he was having while I stood gawking at him—and makes things normal without letting the situation stay awkward for too long. He is a natural at that.
“Yep, she sure is. Once she’s out she is a really hard sleeper. It was so nice when she was a baby. I cannot even imagine how much harder things would have been if she wasn’t a good sleeper. This doesn’t mean she isn’t going to wake up in the middle of the night. I am half tempted to get her up and make her go to the bathroom, but then she might wake up and not go back to sleep. You do not want to see her in the morning without enough sleep. She’s not so cute when she hasn’t had enough sleep.”
“Well, you’re the expert, so whatever you decide, momma. Now, pretend I’m not here and get that laundry going before Downton is on. I can’t wait to see what all the madness is about!”
Mess Is Mine
Jonathan
Downton Abbey was actually pretty good. The most entertaining part of the whole experience was watching Emily and how into it she got. Even though I promised not to ask any questions, and I didn’t, she would still pause the show to explain who Anna and Mr. Bates were, or why Lady Mary was scared to fall in love with the race car driver. As always, she was fucking adorable.
Another reason I loved Downton Abbey was because of my Goldfish. Before the show started, Emily got her snacks together and she pulled out that big old bag of fishies—as I now call them—and poured a huge helping into a bowl. She slid it across the kitchen counter for me with a smile and asked me if they were still my favorite. The day before, I wondered if it was just coincidence that she threw one of the crackers at me, but now knowing that she remembers, she gives me another slice of hope.
The other slice of hope is the fact she never stopped touching me in some manner the entire duration of the show. Most of the time, I had my legs propped up on the table while she was against the arm of the chair with her legs on my lap. It felt so natural and so comfortable; like we had spent years together, but we haven’t even had weeks.
She stands to get up and stretches her arms up above her head. I can’t help but notice the lift of her breasts or the bit of skin that peaks out at me when the hem of her shirt rises. I know she has no idea what she’s doing, but I feel like she is slowly torturing me to death.
“Well, thanks for watching my show with me,” she yawns. “I am exhausted. We’ll have to catch up on The Walking Dead tomorrow night, if that’s cool with you? 5:45 will be here before you know it.”
You gotta love a girl who watches Downton Abbey and The Walking Dead and loves them equally. That is just so fucking hot!
She’s about to leave the room for the night, and I suddenly have this surge of panic that I don’t want her to go. She starts to take her first step to leave but I grab her hand and pull her gently to me. I cup her beautiful fucking face in my hands, give her a soft kiss and whisper against her lips. “Night, Gracie.”
She puts her hands over mine that are still on her face and stays there for a moment with her eyes closed. It’s as if she is etching this moment into her mind to keep forever. I understand how she feels, because that is how I feel every second that I spend with her.
She finally opens her eyes and this time she leans forward on her toes, and softly kisses me and says, “Night, Georgia.”
With that she takes my hands off her face, kisses the palm of each of my hands, turns and leaves the room. Hearing her nickname for me leaves me with smile and a throbbing dick. Sleeping on the couch also means that she leaves me with no way to take care of the later. Just to hear the name Georgia whispered on her lips makes me hard, but for those same lips to touch even just my hands is enough to make me hard as steel. I hope I know what I’m doing by staying here because she may just be the death of me.
I use the half-bath in the hallway to brush my teeth and change into a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. I can’t go commando here like I do at home, so a t-shirt and shorts it is. I’m just getting comfortable surrounded by the smell of vacation—of Emily—when I hear her call Frank from down the hall.
“Frank, come on boy, let’s go to bed.” She’s whispering; as if she thinks I could possibly be asleep already.
When he doesn’t appear for her, she walks down to the edge of the hallway in her SDSU college t-shirt and another pair of boxers that make her long legs look even longer. It’s dark, but I can see her just fine with the tiny bit of moonlight coming in through the window. What I wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around me right about now.
In a vicious whisper, Emily tells Frank just what she thinks about him.
“Fine! Traitor!”
In a huff she turns and pouts all the way down the hall until her bedroom door is closed behind her.
I can’t help but laugh. She is so damn cute!
“Frances, I think I am falling into like with her. I mean serious like. I don’t just love her, but I like her a hell of a lot too. I may end up feeling just like I did last time. Then again, I might not. I think it’s worth the risk, old girl. How about you?”
We’re walking hand in hand on a California beach with the waves gently crashing over our feet. Just holding her hand and having her near me is enough to calm all the fear and anxiety I feel in my everyday life.
Fear that I will lose somebody else that I care about. Fear that I will let another person that I care about down. Fear that I will lose her again. When I’m here, in our place, with her hand in mine, all of that fear goes away. Tonight the dream feels more vivid than ever. I can smell her all around me, and the little things about her that were starting to fade over the years are back in HD and stereo. I can hear her laugh again, the way she calls me Georgia, or the look in her eyes when I tell her how I feel. Only there isn’t any fear, just love and trust pouring back from her.
Something new is happening in tonight’s dream though. In the distance I hear a low cry almost like a whimper. I can feel the panic start to rise in my chest as I hear her comforting words say, “It’s okay, baby. We’ll take care of this. Shhh . . .”
My eyes fly open in confusion and just like that I am back on Mick’s couch and see light coming from down the hall. I can hear Ireland crying and saying, “Sorry, momma.”
Rushing down the hall on high alert—because the thought of Ireland unhappy unsettles me in a way that is new to me—I reach her room and see that Frances and Frank have beaten me there. They seem just as concerned about the situation as I do.
Emily has stripped her out of her clothes and Ireland is standing in the middle of her room naked and crying. I quickly turn my back so that Ireland isn’t uncomfortable and ask. “Everything okay?”
“We just had a little accident. I should have woken her up and made her go to the bathroom. It’s totally my fault and she’s still half asleep. I’m just going to get her cleaned up and change her sheets. Go on back to bed, we got this.”
It’s clear that she’s used to doing everything on her own. It doesn’t even occur to her that she has another person here that can help her. Watching her with Ireland the last couple of days has been awe-inspiring. She is such a good momma she doesn’t even think about asking for help. I know that staying here with Mick isn’t easy for her. I’m glad to see that she has the self-worth to want to better herself by getting her masters, even if that means taking help from her big brother, so that she and Ireland have a better life. God, I want to be a part of that better life and would give anything to be there to support her through it all. If only she’ll let me.
“Why don’t you go get her cleaned up and I’ll strip the bed?” I offer.
As she walks Ireland past me and into the bathroom, she looks over her shoulder and mouths her thanks to me. While the girls are cleaning up and getting Ireland into some clean pajamas, I strip her bed, take the sheets to the laundry room, and start the wash. It feels good to be able to help, even in this small way.
When I return, Ireland is curled up in her pink bean-bag chair and Emily is scrubbing the bed. I ask where the clean sheets are and she directs me to the linen closet down the hall. Being pink, and therefore hard to miss, I manage to find them quickly. I deliver the sheets to Ireland’s room, and Emily and I quickly make the bed together.
Ireland has fallen back asleep so I pick her up, carry her to her bed and we tuck her in. I wish I could decipher the feeling I get carrying this sleeping beauty to her bed. It feels like I’ve known this little one her whole life. It just feels natural to take care of her.
Once Emily’s turned her light off and closed her door, I follow her to the bathroom where we wash our hands and Emily splashes cold water on her face. She seems unsure of herself as we walk back out into the hall and she lets out an exasperated sigh as she presses her back to the wall.
“See what a glamorous life I lead, Jonathan? You sure you really want to be spending time with a single mom whose wild nights consist of Downton Abbey followed up with changing a wet bed in the middle of the night?”
“I think you’re pretty lucky to fill your days and nights with that amazing little girl in there. Even if that means changing a wet bed in the middle of the night. Seems like a pretty good life to me. And yes, I am sure I want to try again and I know that includes that little Princess in there.”
“Jonathan . . .”
I cut her off by pressing a soft kiss to her lips to stop her from saying whatever doubtful words were about to come out of her mouth.
“Go back to bed, Gracie.”
Pink blossoms over her cheeks—as they did early tonight when I called her Gracie—and I turn to walk away leaving her leaning against the wall. Hopefully, she’s getting it through her head that I really do want to try, with or without wet beds in the middle of the night.
I land back on the couch and the moment my head hits the pillow, she’s all around me again. Not sure I will get back to my beach again tonight, but I’m here with her in the same house and that is still a great place to be. We may not be holding hands yet, but I’ll get her back on that beach, if it’s the last thing I do.
Hold Me
Emily
5:45 a.m. comes faster than I would have liked. After lying in bed thinking about Jonathan out on the couch, Ireland’s wet bed and then trying to fall back to sleep after Jonathan’s words in the hallway, there wasn’t much sleep to be had. I turn my alarm off, stick my feet into my slippers, and throw on my robe. I point myself in the direction of the shower that will hopefully wake me the hell up!
The moment I open my bedroom door I can smell the fresh brewed coffee coming from the kitchen.
I shuffle down the hall towards the kitchen to find a sight that I could get used to waking up to. Before me is a barefoot, Jonathan, still in his sleep shorts and t-shirt from the night before with slightly messed hair, a sexy as hell five o’clock shadow and a cup of coffee in his hand that he’s holding out to me.
“Morning, Sunshine. Coffee?”
“Why are you up so early? Are you one of those crazy morning people?” I ask as I greedily take the cup from his hands and bring it to my lips. So good.
“Nope, I’m a night-shifter remember?”
“Then why in the world are you up with coffee and a smile? You seem like one of those crazy, happy the moment I get up morning people.”
“You said you were getting up at 5:45 so I made sure I was up before you to get the coffee going.”
“Some vacation this is for you.”
“I don’t mind at all. Besides I want to drive you in this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
Does he think I need a chauffeur now too?
“Well, I figured I would go with you to drop off Ireland at the school so you could introduce me, and they could add me to the list of people that are able to pick her up. That way if you have things you need to do and need her to be picked up, I can help. Now, what do you normally eat for breakfast? I know you didn’t really do breakfast in the past but that could have changed. What’ll it be? I can get it going while you jump in the shower.” He says this almost as if he’s excited at the prospect of making me breakfast.
“Jonathan, you don’t have to become my manny. It’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to do all of this. You don’t have to make coffee, cook, do pre-school pick up . . .” as I am speaking I see the folded sheets on the table from last night’s wake up call. “ . . . And apparently do laundry too. Really, you are making me feel horrible.”
“I don’t want you to feel horrible. Especially when it’s making me feel so good to be able to help you and take a tiny bit off your plate. I’ll feel useless if you don’t let me help, and if I feel useless I’ll get bored and when I get bored, I get really annoying. More annoying than usual. I guess it’s your choice, but I’m not going anywhere. And I am driving you to work and Ireland to school. So, I think you might as well let me help.”
I’m still too hung up on his first sentence to laugh at his cute little joke about being annoying. Of course I heard him, but the first part is what stuck.
I have to know so I ask, “It makes you feel good to help us out? Why?”
“Emily, I don’t think you are ready to hear all the reasons why. The last thing I want is to scare you away.” He tucks a stray hair behind my ear with sincerity and a fear in hi
s eyes that I am not used to seeing. “I don’t want you to walk away again.”
Finally, being honest myself, I set my coffee cup down, stretch up on my toes, put my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder and nuzzle into the soft skin under his five o’clock shadow. As his arms come around me we just hold each other in silence before I whisper into his neck. “Thank you for everything the last couple of days, and thank you for wanting to give us another chance. Just so you know . . . I don’t want to walk away again either, Georgia.”
I can feel the tension fall from his body. “Thank Christ,” he says lightly before kissing me on the top of my head. Stepping away from our warm comfortable hug—that I could have stayed wrapped in all day—he hands me my coffee, spins me around, gives me a pat on the ass and says, “Go get ready for work, baby.”
I let out a little squeal at the slap on my ass and head to the bathroom as ordered. On my way, I can’t help but think about how much I love to hear him call me baby. I can remember the first time he did that in California. It still sends tingles through my body and gets me a little hot and bothered. When he calls me baby, it’s sexy. When he calls me Gracie, it’s his way of telling me how special I am to him. Both give me an incredible feeling but in two completely different ways. One is sexy and the other is sweet. I love them both.
I can’t help the extra pep in my step as I go through my morning routine. After getting dressed, I step out of my room and hear conversation and giggles coming from the kitchen. I follow the sweet sound and see an even sweeter picture. Ireland is sitting on the bar stool in her nightgown with her little bare feet swinging as she eats what seems to be a bowl of oatmeal. She hates oatmeal. It’s like he has magical powers and I can’t help but wonder what else he might have up his sleeves.