Bella Luna

by Sharon Struth

Rose’s eyes burned. She pushed aside the scotch after trying for an hour to drink it. “I’m sorry. This is gross. If a sexy Scotsman in a kilt were to spoon feed this to me and promise to spend the night, I still couldn’t finish it.”

  Sophie and Bernadette laughed. They were both sipping theirs on the rocks and with ease Rose couldn’t grasp.

  “You were brave for trying.” Meg patted her hand. “I’ll get you a glass of the wine I’m drinking.”

  Sophie speared another hot dog with her fork. “Back to our bitch session.”

  Rose had been listening quietly. What started as some honest remarks about their husbands had turned into a major upheaval of small problems mounting to bigger complaints.

  “I’m just tipsy enough that later I might tell Duncan what I think about the boost in his daughter’s school allowance that he handed over without even a bit of discussion. She’s got him wrapped around her finger, that one does.”

  Bernadette’s cheeks flared brighter crimson as she nursed her second glass. “I can top that. Dave was too tired to help me look over a problem with one of our bills when he got home the other night, but the second the church organist called, telling him she needed a ride somewhere, he got up and drove her.”

  “Well, Bern.” Meg shrugged. “He is the pastor.”

  “Yes. He’s not a taxi service, though. He’d just put in a long day and didn’t have time for me, but he did for a parishioner?” She raised a hand. “Before you all tell me I’m mean, hear me out. Dave gives one hundred and fifty percent to the church, which makes me proud of him. I ask for very little. That night I needed help and he said no.” Bernadette frowned. “Why does he have time for everyone else, but not me?”

  Meg patted Bernadette’s hand. “Honey, Dave adores you. He’s a good man. It’s sometimes easier to say no to the people we love.”

  Veronica nodded. “Good point.”

  Bernadette’s tense expression softened. “I know you’re right. Sometimes, complaining feels good.” She glanced at Veronica. “Please don’t tell me Trent’s still perfect?”

  The long-necked beauty laughed. “Okay. I won’t tell you. I also suggest that you not pour another glass of that lethal stuff.”

  Rose laughed with the others. Over the course of the night, she’d grown a little closer to these women. They loved their men but weren’t without issues. Meg’s closeness to Charlie had made her eyes sparkle with the mere mention of his name. Sophie’s second chance at love with Duncan showed how fate could draw two people together who’d always been meant for each other. Bernadette and Dave were the most unlikely match anybody might have thought of: a lawyer/political activist and her Methodist pastor husband. Yet before she’d started complaining, everything she said about him spoke to the kind of love that evolved over the passage of time. And Veronica shined like a beacon of brightness around Trent. Their romantic ballads sung at the vineyard showed such strong emotion Rose could feel their tenderness in her own heart.

  Yet it was real life, not all glamorous and problem-free. Because love wasn’t always easy. So what might they see if they tried out the experiment about love?

  Rose cleared her throat and they all looked her way. “I’m wondering if you ladies can help me. I’m taking an online psychology class.”

  She hated having to lie to these lovely women. If she used anything from their discoveries, Rose promised herself she’d tell them the truth about it being for the magazine. By then, she’d be done with this identity ordeal and hopefully have returned to her old self.

  “I never got to finish my degree. The divorce seems like a good time to work on finishing. I have to write about a study. A scientist claimed his experiment could make two people fall in love in a lab.”

  Veronica chuckled. “I never liked science, but would’ve found that an interesting experiment.”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “I’m thinking of taking this in another direction, expanding and seeing what happens when someone already in a relationship tries the questions. Like you all…well, you seem to have a variety of stories.”

  Sophie chuckled. “Variety is right. I met Duncan when he tried to buy the land that I wanted. And Ronnie”—she motioned to Veronica—“she got stuck in an elevator with Trent.”

  “Yeah, I’m the most conventional story here.” Bernadette snorted. “After a stint in the Peace Corps, I came home and Sophie dragged me to church. There I meet the new pastor. Never, in a million years, would I have guessed I’d find something so irresistible about Dave Felton that I’d marry him.” She frowned. “Now I feel bad for complaining earlier.”

  “No marriage is complaint-free.” Rose shrugged. “It’s normal. Living together is hard work. The trick is to communicate. Like you, Bernadette. You were just hurt because Dave didn’t have time for you, but did for someone else.”

  “You’re right.” Bernadette slapped her palm on the table. “That’s really all it was.”

  “Sharing makes us vulnerable. Which is why we don’t always talk about our feelings. But this study makes me wonder: When we hand our vulnerability to our partner—and they do the same—do you suppose that’s what leads to love?”

  The formerly rambunctious group stared at her, each holding deep, serious expressions.

  “I’m sorry. Heavy stuff?”

  “No, thought provoking,” said Sophie. “And pretty accurate.”

  “Except for me.” Meg twisted the ends of a napkin in her fingers. “Roy left me. I like Charlie but have no idea how to get him to see it.”

  “Would everyone be willing to set aside some time, about an hour, and try out these questions with your spouses?” She turned to Meg. “And can you see if Charlie would want to give this a try with you?”

  “What kind of questions?” Bernadette arched a brow, suspicion obvious.

  “As an example, an easy one might be, ‘Would you want to be famous and in what way?’”

  “Versus a harder example?” Bernadette eyed Rose skeptically.

  “These are a little more revealing, like talking about a terrible memory, for example. Or sharing an embarrassing moment.”

  “I’m game.” Sophie shrugged and lifted her scotch. “Why not? It can only bring us closer to the men in our lives.”

  Veronica turned to Rose. “Emma, what about you? Have you tried this?”

  “No takers at the moment. But if one shows up, I’m willing to give it a whirl.” She slipped on a cheerful face, but questions roiled inside her head. Would she put herself out on the precarious limb of love again if given the chance?

  Chapter 15

  Rose waved goodbye to Veronica, who’d insisted on driving her home from Sophie’s house. Everyone had agreed: unfamiliar dark roads and a little too much wine was a bad mix. She flipped on the kitchen lights and squinted. The multiple glasses of wine still swam inside her head, making her steps light and her balance tipsy.

  A soft beat pulsed through the ceiling. Leo must be upstairs.

  Tonight, while with the ladies, Leo’s visit to show her the dog bed would pop into her mind and leave a warm impression inside her chest. His over-anxiousness about the delivery showed it meant something to him. And when he’d realized she’d been upset before he arrived, his concern came across as sincere. Almost sweet.

  Lately, she’d been enjoying their banter, catching herself waiting for his smile when she’d tease him about how he loved old things. As she’d handed out the study questions to her new friends before leaving tonight, she’d pondered the idea of trying them with Leo. An idea she dismissed as quickly as it had formed.

  She started to walk by the kitchen table and paused. Several pages were lying there, the old typewriter print distinct. She lifted the small stack of papers.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  Was this the infamous book Leo needed to finish? Just last night, she’d reached the end of The World According to Stan. She’d found it well written, deep in very su
btle ways, and a work she’d happily recommend to others. With nothing else to compare it to, she couldn’t imagine what the critics disliked. If anything, the layers of the story reminded her of layers she believed Leo possessed. Complex layers, the top raw and frustrated, but beneath them a man who clearly wanted more.

  She skimmed over the first page then paused. What if writers didn’t like their unpublished work read by just anybody? Curiosity owned her, though, and she started at the first line.

  One page in, she dropped to the kitchen chair. By the time she reached the third page, she couldn’t deny how Leo’s keen observations about life and intimate details had her entranced and engaged. By the fifth page, Rose realized something…the woman in this chapter was a redhead running from a past and living under an assumed name. Like her.

  Only he didn’t know she was living under an assumed name or running from her past. Did he? She read further, worried she might find a senator husband in this tale or learn the character wrote for a magazine column. No other similarities jumped out, thank God.

  On the last page, she caught her breath at a passage where the sexual attraction this fictional man showed for the redhead carried some serious heat. If his writing held any truth in reality, did it mean Leo watched her this way, too?

  She read on as the pair on paper engaged in a gentle kiss. One filled with such deep meaning Rose’s knees went soft. Flipping back a few pages, she again read the women’s physical description. Too close to her own appearance for comfort, but Leo couldn’t possibly have been thinking of her when he wrote this. But what if he was?

  When he’d given her instructions on his coffee pot, his touch left her craving more than the lesson. This afternoon, part of her wanted to fall into his arms at the doorway, enjoy the support found in someone’s arms.

  A creak in the house made her glance down the hall. The door to her apartment was open wide and Bella hadn’t come out to greet her. She went down the hall and walked inside, nearly stepping on a business card lying in the doorway. She lifted it and realized the PI’s card must’ve fallen out of her jacket pocket. She placed it on the coffee table. By now, Bella would’ve come out to greet her.

  “Bella?” Rose searched each room but couldn’t find her.

  She hurried back to the kitchen and stood for an agonizing moment thinking of her poor pup, possibly lost in the dark woods or wandering in town. About to go outside, she instead headed upstairs.

  The music grew louder and she recognized the raspy voice of an acoustic artist she enjoyed. Guess she and Leo had music tastes in common.

  A sliver of light sliced into the dark hallway from the partially opened door of Leo’s bedroom. She moved near and peeked inside. Leo lay on the made bed on his back, eyes shut, and chest rising with each breath. An open bottle of wine, used glass, and hardcover book turned upside down rested on his small nightstand.

  One arm lifted above his head with his palm tucked beneath tufts of his thick hair, raising the loose tails of his button-down shirt and exposing the hard planes of his abdomen against the waist of his jeans. The other arm draped over Bella’s shoulder as she stretched out on her side with her back to Leo. The hound slept as soundly as he did.

  Rose’s heart cracked wide open. He’d grown close to Bella. She’d noticed other signs. Maybe it wasn’t only her dog that had found the good beneath Leo’s guarded surface. He was starting to rub off on her, too. The power in his writing proved he didn’t show the world his inner self. At that moment, she wished the fictional redhead and the on-paper kiss were meant for her.

  She shifted and the floorboard creaked. Bella lifted her head and blinked. Her tail wagged then she lengthened her elongated body into a stretch. Leo stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He stared at Rose and rubbed the side of his cheek with his hand. A slow awareness settled over his face and his gaze filled with heat. He studied her, sweeping past her lips, lingering on her breasts, traveling to her hips. Each place he stopped created a warm and tingly sensation in its path.

  Rose stilled and lifted her chin, empowered by the craving in his eyes. Or was it from the wine and talk about romance? It didn’t matter. Let him look.

  He seized her in a hypnotic hold. His lips parted, almost touching her without touching. On reflex, her mouth did the same. His eyes softened with the subtle lift of his mouth into a sleepy, sexy smile.

  Bella rolled over and jumped off the bed, snapping Rose from her erotic trance.

  Leo lifted onto his elbow and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Bella wanted some company. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  He stood, the same rumpled man Rose had seen on her first night here. Only the way she saw him tonight wasn’t the same. No longer an angry ogre, but a man who lived behind some pain. Who’d had a rough start but found the love of a family to save him from a different path in life. And a man who’d snuggled with Bella, simply to keep her happy.

  He watched her carefully while running his palm over his unshaven face. His gaze dropped to the typed pages. “Oh. You have my manuscript?”

  The papers. She’d forgotten all about them. “It was on the kitchen table. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so nosey.” She handed them to him. “I’m sorry.”

  “My fault. I left them there by mistake.” He took it and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Did you read them?”

  She nodded.

  He studied the pages for a few seconds. “I was in the kitchen reading it over and over to make sure this scene has the emotional punch it needs. What’d you think?”

  “Oh, it had punch.” Her cheeks burned thinking about what he’d written. “What’s the story behind what I read?”

  Leo’s expression turned pensive. “Generally, she falls out of his usual choices.”

  “And that’s bad?” The room spun a little. Rose pressed fingers to her temples. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Rose sank to the small space on the bed at the same moment Bella hopped back up, hogging a huge amount of space. She shoved her dog gently over. Bella groaned. Leo scratched her head, laughing softly.

  “She isn’t a typical choice?” Rose asked.

  “To be with her is a risk.”

  “In what way?”

  “Being truthful about his feelings for her is a risk. Giving into his needs is a risk. Change is a risk.”

  Rose thought about her life, where the truth was rarely discussed and she ignored her real problems.

  Leo slowly rubbed his hand on his thigh. “He worries he might fall in love with her. And love…well, love changes things. Especially when it disappears.”

  The weight of his words made her chest tighten. The love of her own parents was something she’d questioned while growing up. Their self-involvement had formed the foundation for a distance she’d kept from people her entire life. She glanced up and caught Leo watching her. For the briefest second, she wanted to share about herself, but remembered her reason for being at this house in the first place so didn’t. “And her? What does she know of love?”

  “She’s finding her way, too, but is less afraid.”

  “Or so your character thinks.”

  “How so?”

  It could have been the effects of the wine, or a fast developing warmth for Leo, but she couldn’t shake the urge to open up to him to see what might happen if she cracked the door she usually hid behind. “I was just thinking about my own framework for adult love. It stemmed from childhood. My parents were self-involved people, leaving me to wonder about their love for me—they paid lip service to the idea but didn’t really act the part.” She chose each word carefully, not wanting to give away her real identity. “On the surface, those who know me think I have a firm grasp on love, but given who I learned it from…” Speaking the truth made her chest ache and forced her to stop.

  He’d studied her, his gaze hopping around her face. “What do you mean?”

  “
After what’s gone on in my life lately, I’d say your character should question his observations. Because what may come across as confidence could be masking a person’s uncertainty.”

  Rose, the queen of over-confidence. Her practice, specializing in relationship counseling, and her column for the magazine were reduced to nothing more than a ruse.

  “I see.” He said quietly and furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure if you caught this, but my character’s appearance…” He drew in a deep breath then let it go. “Well, I knew I wanted her to be pretty, a woman who would make it hard for him to resist, but I struggled to get a visual on the character.” The muscles around his eyes softened. “After we met, you seemed to fit the bill. Did I cross a line?”

  Had he said pretty? Rose reached up and pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks burned as he stared, waiting for an answer. “No, of course not.”

  Leo tipped his head, smiled softly. “I keep trying to picture those beautiful blue eyes of yours without the glasses.” He reached up with both hands to her frames. “May I?”

  She nodded and sucked in a quick breath, but he seemed not to notice as he removed them and skimmed her face, as though he was seeing it for the first time.

  “Yes, they’re exactly as I’d imagined them,” he said softly. “Too pretty to be hidden.”

  “I-I’m not hiding them. I thought the frames were different.”

  “They are different.” His gaze fell to her lips. “You’re different, too, Emma. Different in a way that leaves me so damn curious there are moments you are all I think about.”

  He cupped her chin with one hand and swept her lower lip with his thumb, awakening warmth between her thighs. The fog of the wine unlatched her usual caution. As his hands fell to her shoulders and he drew her close, she didn’t resist. He lowered his mouth over hers, kissing her with gentle strokes.

  He pulled back, hunger in his gaze. She pressed her lips to his thick neck, then along his strong jaw, then the corner of his mouth. He took hold of the fabric on her blouse, drawing her against him again. He kissed her, a slow blending of their lips. Soft and tender at first, then deeply, holding her head in his hands. She threw her arms around his neck, clung to him so tightly her heart pounded against his chest. A hard shell she’d formed years ago melted like butter resting in the sun.