But she couldn’t let them. Twenty some years of anguish, loneliness, hurt, betrayal… If she let it out, he’d be running for the hills and she’d be left alone.
Again.
“Jolie, talk to me. I know you’re thinking something, I can see your brain moving at warp speed in those beautiful eyes of yours. But you need to talk to me.”
She turned her head. “I can’t.”
He cupped her cheek, making her face him. “Why not?”
Oh, please, he wasn’t going to make her do this, was he?
“Jolie.”
Yeah, he was. So she took a big breath. Maybe if she just got it out there in one big rush without thinking about the words it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Because, Todd, if I start, I may not stop. I just might have a complete breakdown and I can’t do that. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, control it. The emotions, the feelings, the abandonment, the… hurt.”
Damn, it was that bad.
But he’d opened the floodgates so he was going to get drowned.
“Fine. Here you go. My mother was a drunk, and that was on a good day. She thought she could narrow down my father to three guys, which is always a refreshing thing to find out when you’re eight.” She gripped the edge of her chair, looking somewhere over his right shoulder. “You already know the name thing. And then, one day, she just walked. Out to a bar and the next time I saw her she was in a box in a church. And then the fun really started. Let’s see, shall I start with the foster father who thought it’d be fun to chase a teenager around the dining room table when no one else was home for a little touchy-feely? Or maybe you’d like to hear about the bread and water rations I got when the corners of my bed weren’t tucked in properly? Or, I know, how about—”
“What about Mrs. Carleson?” He handed her a napkin.
Damn. He turned on her spigot with that one. Mrs. Carleson, the brightest spot in her adolescent universe. “Mrs. Carleson was an anomaly. The kind of woman every foster kid dreams of. I was terrified to let myself hope. But she made it so darn easy. So I did. I hoped and I prayed and I believed. And then Mr. Carleson got transferred. And while I knew it was nothing I had done, it was one more person I cared about, believed in, who was leaving me. So, yeah, when Chucky offered me a home and monogamy it looked pretty damn good. At that point I was just glad to have someone who remembered my name.”
She was slobbering all over the darned napkin.
“I’m sorry,” Todd whispered.
But she broke down anyway. Somehow he managed to coax her wiped-out body from her chair and onto his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin, his strong arms wrapped around hers and he wasn’t letting go.
But she was. The tears were flowing into hiccups. Her stomach hurt from holding back the racking sobs.
Why was she doing this? At any moment, Todd could have enough and get up, put her in the chair, and walk into the house. Hell, she almost expected it.
But he didn’t. He just linked his hand that much tighter to his other arm and stroked her skin. Soothing little circles. The crickets were serenading them and the irony was deadly.
The agonizing words burned her throat raw with salty tears. All she wanted to do was crawl inside the safe haven his arms offered and forget the world.
“I’m sorry,” he said against her temple. “I had no idea how bad it really was.”
She shrugged. He probably wasn’t buying the nonchalance of that; he was a smart guy. Which was why he should’ve been running in the opposite direction.
But he wasn’t.
Instead, he rubbed her arms and kissed the top of her head, his heart thudding in her ear.
“Jolie, do you realize how strong you are? How much of a survivor?”
“What?”
He tipped her chin up until her mouth was a whisper away from his. He stared into her eyes, those green eyes all swirly, and her insides followed suit.
“What it must have taken for you to remain strong, independent, clean. I’m in awe of you.”
“You are?”
He nodded, sweeping a hand down her back. “Yes. Do you know how many people would have folded under those circumstances? Turned to drugs, alcohol, other means of escaping?”
She nodded. Yeah, she knew. Could probably name quite a few of them.
“But not you. Look at you. Successful, smart, a good head on your shoulders, trustworthy.” The tilt to his lips started one on hers. “You should be proud of yourself, Jolie. Really proud. To know you, no one would think you’ve seen the things you have, lived the life you have. You’re so wonderfully normal.”
“What?”
“Um hmmm. But you’re not just normal. You’re above it. You’re empathetic and that’s a special quality to find in a person.”
“I am?”
He smiled. “You’re going monosyllabic on me again. And, yes, you are empathetic. And kind. And optimistic and sunny. That’s how you got through to me. How you reached me beneath my pain. How you brought me back to myself.”
“I did all that?”
He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “That and so much more.” His fingers swept her brow. “You’ve made me care for you, Jolie.”
Care. She could do care.
Suddenly, the look in his eyes swept the past and its pain away. She was here, pretty whole if one didn’t look too closely into her psyche, and she’d helped this marvelous man back into life. And he cared for her.
No one except Chloe, Bella, and Mrs. Carleson had ever cared for her. Certainly no one of the male persuasion. Not in any way that mattered.
But he did and he was here and she was here and her emotions were so wild at the moment that she didn’t know if she was coming or going, but she did know she couldn’t wait one minute longer to grab this man’s face and mesh it with hers, to turn in his arms so she was front to front with him, plastered together, their hearts beating as one.
And apparently he was with her on this, because his hands went around her, rocking her closer to him, traveling up and down her spine as if he was trying to commit her figure to memory.
“Todd,” she gasped when his mouth scraped across her cheek to nuzzle her ear. “Show me. Here. Now. Show me you care. Make the bad memories go away, Todd. Give me new ones.”
And, Lord, did he.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jolie was sore in places she didn’t know it was possible to be sore. But one place that wasn’t was her heart. Todd had taken that deep aching chasm inside of her that she covered with every conceivable excuse, rationalization, and hopeful “what if,” and filled it in.
She was not Rebound Girl. No, he hadn’t used the “L” word, but pretty much everything else. As they attempted to regain the professionalism needed for Todd’s artistic sessions in the attic, Jolie realized that, for the first time in longer than she could remember—if ever—she had hope. Real hope.
The modeling session ended up being full of heated blushes, silly grins, and way too many kisses and hugs to encourage good artistry skills, so they gave up any pretense of Todd painting her on canvas. There were, however, some interesting moments with him, her, a palette of beautiful colors, and a paintbrush.
Actually, when they were “finished,” the drop cloth looked more like a work of art than a means of keeping paint off the floor. Not that they’d been too successful with that either.
Who knew? Maybe drop cloth art could be his next medium.
She’d volunteer to help him with that for, like, the next fifty years or so.
“Let’s go out to dinner,” he said as they studied the patterns the waning sun made on the ceiling of the studio.
“Fine with me. Where do you want to go?”
“Some place new. Some place all our own.”
Some place all their own. She liked that. Liked that he wanted to have memories with her. That she didn’t have to play second fiddle to Trista.
“How about your friend Bella’s place?” He ran his han
ds over her stomach.
Her belly tightened and fluttered, the nerves twitching under the heat. Good thing the paint was dry or there’d be a smear there. Well, another one.
“Casteleoni’s is nice. Very homey.”
“Will it seem strange since you worked there?”
She rolled over to face him. “No. That’s the last place that seems strange to me. It’s one of the few places I think of as home.”
He rolled toward her. “I hope this is another one.”
Her breath got sucked all the way into her toes with that. “You do?”
He tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. “Crazy, isn’t it? We’ve known each other for what? Two weeks? But who cares? Time is irrelevant. So, yes, I do want you to consider this home. And we’ll go with a little longer than temporary, okay? I can’t promise forever, but for now and a little longer. Can you do that, Jolie?”
Uh, yeah? Hello?
Her “you betcha” got a big grin from him.
And yet another when she answered his, “Casteleoni’s, then?” the same way.
***
It was like a family reunion at Bella’s. They’d pulled up in the dream machine and Bella had drippy candles lit on the outdoor tables which were covered in red-and-white-checked tablecloths. The street trees’ twinkling lights were now year-round, the sky was that last shade of purple before it goes dark, and the ambiance was all Lady-and-The-Tramp-spaghetti-scene-romantic.
The whole crew had been there: Bella; her husband Reese; Giacomo and Giuseppe, the life-partner waiters who’d been there for like ever; Bella’s stepsister Staci and her fiancé; Bruno with the broken leg and Bella’s other stepsister, Drew. She’d known them all so long and so well they could’ve been her family. And she was there with Todd. Somehow everything just fit.
And now, sitting on the window seat in her room, with Boots snoring away smack dab in the middle of her four-poster, she was putting the finishing touches on Annie and Tom’s happily-ever-after. Amazing how easy it was to write theirs when she could feel her own coming together.
Her pencil rasped in the silence of the room, words flowing. She was going to finish this. She didn’t need to see how it ended since she already knew, but she’d worked so long on the story, had poured all her hopes and dreams into Annie and Tom, that she wanted them to find their happy ending before she put it aside. She had no intention whatsoever of trying to find a publisher. This was for her.
She never really needed to become published, she realized. Most authors didn’t become rich overnight with their writing, and, really, it was the hope she’d needed. The hope in a happily-ever-after in life. To see it was possible, and to know that she could craft one on paper, so she should be able to in her own life as well. And to do that, to begin her happy ending, she needed to finish theirs.
Just like Todd. He was in the studio without her. He had some kind of compulsion to finish the painting that had been consuming him ever since they’d woken up.
So they were both dealing with their compulsions, and Jolie could see the end in sight. Literally. All she had to do was finish the last scene, then tuck the manuscript back under her mattress to be taken out someday to share with her grandkids.
That she was even thinking about grandkids said a whole lot on the subject of Todd and her.
A few more sentences and voila! Annie and Tom were on the bow of a floating restaurant, two champagne flutes clinking together in the sparkle of the setting sun, a bottle of lemonade on the floor between them.
The End.
She studied the words. Maybe she should have written The Beginning.
Nah. It was Annie and Tom’s ending, but now off she was for her beginning.
She started to stash the notebook, but a whiney growl from Sleeping Beauty in the middle of the bed made her reconsider. She put it on the shelf of the bedside table so Kitty Boy could finish his nap while she ran over to Chloe’s to help with the girls.
She grabbed her cute little magenta purse—it’d been right next to the shoes at the store—and hollered up to Todd in the studio from the driveway.
“I’ll be a few more hours,” he called. “Think you can entertain yourself?”
“Sure thing. I’m going to run over to Chloe’s and take those leftovers Bella gave me. Then I’ll do some food shopping. Anything special you want for dinner tonight?”
He stuck his head out the second floor window, his hair falling around his ears in a bohemian, artistic sort of way. “You mean besides you?”
“Ssh, Todd. The neighbors will hear.” Not that that’d bother her too much, but she didn’t want to jinx any of this.
“Fine.” He brushed the hair back to no avail. “You did mention Lobster Newburg a while ago, didn’t you? Throw in a few oysters and a bottle of champagne, while you’re at it.” There was that wicked, wicked grin again.
“You don’t need ’em, trust me.” A spring sprang into her step on her way to Melanie.
“I do, Jolie.”
Something in his tone was awfully serious, causing the spring to fizzle to a stub-toed stumble. She turned around and stared at him. “Need them? Are you nuts? The last thing you need is an aphrodisiac.”
He shook that gloriously sexy hair. “Not that. I meant that I trust you.”
Forget quivery thighs—it was a good thing he popped back in that window or he might’ve seen her knees give way. Trust? He trusted her?
Those were words she’d never even dared to hope to hear from anyone before because no one had ever cared enough to give a damn whether or not she was worthy of their trust.
She would do everything in her power to prove she was worthy of his.
***
“So how’s life with Todd?” Chloe asked as Jolie stacked the last tray of food in the industrial-sized fridge.
That Jolie kept her face in the cool air had absolutely nothing to do with the question. Really. She just had to make sure the trays weren’t crushing each other.
“Jolie?”
Chloe had known her too long.
Jolie shut the door, trying to keep the silly grin off her face. From the one on Chloe’s, she guessed she hadn’t succeeded. “It’s good.”
“Just good?”
“Okay, it’s pretty great.”
“From what Bella said, it looked a bit more than great. Pretty amazing and homey, I believe were her words.” Chloe cleared half a dozen cereal bowls from the butcher-block island.
“Homey?” That had a nice sound to it. “Hey, wait a minute. What were you two doing talking about me anyway?”
Chloe snorted. “Come on. Like we didn’t gab ourselves silly during Bella and Reese’s courtship.”
“If you can call it that with her stepmother causing such havoc.” Jolie handed her seven glasses with residual amounts of orange juice in them.
“Whatever. You’re changing the subject.” She wagged one of the glasses at Jolie like a club. “So, what gives?”
Jolie raised her hands in surrender. “What gives is that he’s wonderful, and, well, I think he’s ready to move beyond Trista.”
“With you?”
“Well, if not me, then someone else is in the kitchen making some pretty awesome meals.” And in his studio and bedroom making some pretty awesome memories, but those were Jolie’s and she wasn’t about to share.
“And you? I thought you were all about starting your own shop, giving yourself some financial freedom and control over your life?” Chloe closed the dishwasher, leaning against it.
“Loving him doesn’t stop me from doing that.” Jolie leaned against the island.
“Loving him?”
Wow. She could keep her head up when she said it and there were no twinges of trepidation in her tummy. “Yes. Love. I love him, Chloe.”
“And he loves you?”
“Well, he hasn’t said the words, but I think the sentiment is there. If not just yet, the possibility certainly isn’t sending him running for the hills.”
&
nbsp; Chloe pushed off the dishwasher and leaned her hip on the island next to Jolie. “Are you okay with that, Jols? I mean, I know all about wishes and dreams. And how they don’t always work out.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve got this home, the girls. It’s what you’ve always wanted.” Jolie waved her hand in the general direction of the gingham-cushioned, ladder-back chairs.
“You’re forgetting the pain-in-my-butt developer who’s trying to take it out from under me, which would then throw the girls back into the system.” She shook her head and gave Jolie a hug. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”
“I thought you liked Todd?”
“I do.” Chloe straightened the placements on one side of the farm-style table. “I also remember him when his wife was alive. How much he loved her. I don’t know that he’s ever going to be able to feel that way about anyone else again and you deserve to have someone feel that way about you.”
Jolie fixed the placemats on the other side. “I’m not asking him to feel that way about me. Heck, I’m not asking him to feel anything about me. He did it on his own. And even if it’s different from what he felt for her, I can’t begrudge him the memories, those feelings. As long as his for me are true, I’m fine with that.”
They met at the head of the table. ”But will it be enough?”
Jolie gripped the side rails of the chair. “Enough? Hello? If the man loves me, it’ll be more than I’ve ever expected. I’d thought what I’d read in books was an idealized version, but I see now, with him, it’s possible. I know I love him enough to want to give it a shot.”
“What happens if it falls apart on you?”
“Are you trying to make me sad?”
Chloe pulled out a chair, motioning to the one Jolie still had in a death grip.
Jolie pulled it out and sat down.
“No, Jols, I’m not trying to make you sad. But you have to admit, past experience does count for something. It’s not like we have some guardian angel hovering over us, making things right in our lives. I mean, if there’d ever been such a thing, I would’ve hoped it would’ve happened when we were kids when we needed that sort of thing, not as adults. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) Page 27