Wet

by Ruth Clampett

  Good thing you picked the Oxford one. The Bridge of Sighs in Venice had a prison on one end, and interrogation room on the other.

  Oh no! I picked this one because it’s really short, enclosed—so we’re protected—and it has great style.

  That’s my Elle—she’s more focused on the style than ending up in prison.

  It’s very inviting.

  Exactly . . . I wanted a short, inviting bridge for a reason.

  Yes?

  I was hoping we could talk in person tomorrow.

  Okay. We could do that.

  Could you come over after work?

  I’ll be there at seven.

  I’ll be ready.

  I’m not sure what ready means, but I sure as hell am going to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE BRIDGE

  When I pull up in front of her house early the next evening, I pause for a moment and run my fingers through my hair a few times. Even though it hasn’t been long since I was here, it’s like her house is a mirage and I’m not sure I should believe it’s actually there and she’s inside waiting to talk to me.

  I slap the dashboard with my hand. “Get a grip, dude,” I say out loud to myself right as some lady walks by with her dog. She looks back at me, alarmed. I sigh, roll up my window, and get out of the car to head in before I freak anyone else out.

  Of course Elle doesn’t answer the door. Well at least she’s consistent. I shake my head and walk to the back.

  I’m not even out of the side yard when I hear the hiss of sprinklers and cursing. What the hell? I round the corner.

  Not only are the sprinklers going, but the sprinkler that we first became friends over is a geyser and Elle is on her knees trying to force the sprinkler head into it. Why the hell are they even running at this hour?

  To top it off she’s wearing a dress that I’ve never seen and her hair is swept off her face. Why doesn’t she just shut the system off? She’s getting soaked for God’s sake.

  Her face is red and she’s sporting the biggest frown. I can’t help but feel sorry for her as she curses like a sailor and pulls the head back up and throws it in the bushes. It’s right after it disappears into the foliage that she looks up and sees me standing there.

  “On no! You’re here!”

  Wasn’t she expecting me at seven?

  I tip my head and glance over at the bush that swallowed the sprinkler head.

  “What are you doing anyway? Is this why you wanted me to come over?”

  I’m teasing but damn, this is weird. This isn’t the greeting I was expecting at all.

  She shakes her head with a grimace, then feebly stands up and tries to pull her wet skirt away from where it’s clinging to her legs.

  Stepping closer, I observe that she’s wearing nice shoes and she has make-up on. Or she was, but now her face is really wet and her eye makeup stuff appears to be sliding off.

  As I gaze at her with wide eyes, she seems to realize what she must look like. She runs a finger under her eye and cries out softly when she sees it’s covered with black goop. She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a wet tissue, and wipes off the worst of it.

  “I had plans,” she wails.

  “I’m sorry they didn’t work out.”

  Her focus moves from one end of the yard to the other, then back at the geyser and she lets out a sorrowful sigh.

  “Can I help?” I ask.

  She nods and so I retrace my steps to the side yard, open the panel, and shut the system down. There’s the slow fizzle of the sprinklers shutting off and then silence.

  After rejoining her, I nod toward the bush. “I’ll fix it later. I’m not really dressed for doing hard labor.” I grin at her and she seems to relax a tiny bit.

  “You look really nice,” she says as she studies me.

  “Thanks.”

  The corners of her mouth turn up a little. “You’re wearing tighter jeans.”

  I shrug. “I wanted to put my best foot forward, so to speak.”

  She nods, fighting back a smile. “Thank you for that.”

  I look over to the chaise lounges and gesture in their direction. “You want to sit down and talk?”

  “Should I change first? I must look awful.”

  “It’s up to you, but I think you look great all wet.”

  I love that I finally see her full smile. She walks toward the sitting area and points for me to sit across from her, but I settle down next to her instead.

  As we sit silently she twists her hands together. Damn, she’s going at it so intently that it looks like she’s going to pull her fingers off. She’s making me anxious. Reaching over, I wrap my fingers over hers.

  “Don’t be nervous. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

  She leans back and takes a deep breath before curling forward again. “Stella yelled at me. And she got really loud.”

  Okay. That’s out of left field but I’ll go with it.

  “I thought she was on her honeymoon?”

  “They were in the car on the way to the airport.”

  “I bet her new husband liked that.”

  She laughs softly. “He’s used to stuff like that with Stella.”

  “Well he’s a better man than me then. So what did she yell at you about?”

  “That I should get over myself.”

  I don’t respond. I mean, what the hell can I say about that? That I agree with Stella?

  “She also yelled that if I let you get away she’ll never speak to me again.”

  I raise my brows as I turn toward her. “Never?”

  “She tends to exaggerate. But I’m sure I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “Well I guess I’m glad to have her on my side.”

  “And then there’s your brother . . .”

  I decide I’m going to cover for Patrick and play this like I don’t know they talked. “What about him?”

  “He gave me a book.”

  “Really? What kind of book?”

  “Umm, inspirational, I guess? It’s actually pretty good. It’s helping me get over myself.”

  I stretch my legs out. “So are you over yourself yet?”

  “Not completely, but I want to be.”

  Okay. That’s something.

  “Well, that’s half the battle. And what does getting over yourself entail?”

  “Deciding that I’m not going to let the disappointments and failures in my past define my future.”

  I nod slowly. Sounds like that book Patrick got her was worth every penny. But still something bothers me. I don’t trust anything that feels like a magic fix.

  “And just reading a book is going to make you figure out what you want?”

  She shakes her head with an earnest look. “No. Anyone with half a wit knows this stuff already. The book just reminds us how to walk toward it—otherwise the possibility seems overwhelming and so far away. So I can take one step at a time. Right? I don’t have to figure it all out at the same time.”

  “Sure.” I nudge her shoulder. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  She smiles, and I notice that her eyes have their twinkle back.

  I wave to the wet lawn. “And what was this all about?”

  “It was my attempt at a grand gesture.”

  “It was grand all right.”

  She sighs. “I had the timer set so we’d be out here having our talk and then the sprinklers would go off. But the clock on the thing must not have been set right, so as I finished my hair I hear them start up in the backyard.”

  “Damn clock.”

  She nods. “And then when I rush out here, since I can’t seem to do anything without some kind of drama, the gusher is going. So I go to the control box and I’m normally good at timers and such, but I couldn’t get the damn thing to shut off, probably because I was so agitated. Then I tried getting that stupid head back into the hole so this wouldn’t be just a colossal failure and you saw how well that worked out.”

  I let ou
t a low whistle, secretly enjoying that at least that was a problem I could easily fix for her.

  I clear my throat. “So walk me through the grand gesture part of all of this. What part did sprinklers running have in that?”

  She bites her lip. “Well now it sounds kind of kooky, but at the time I thought it was a cool idea. It’s a lot of symbolism. We met over sprinklers.”

  I grin. “Yes, we did. And what a meeting that was.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I know. I was so classy. Me and my filthy mouth.”

  “Are you kidding? You completely captivated me.”

  “Likewise.” She gives me a grateful smile. “So see, it takes us full circle, we started out here not knowing that we could possibly have a future together . . .”

  “And now we’re here to decide if we do?” I ask.

  She takes a big breath. “Yes. But it’s not just that. Water is symbolic of cleansing.”

  I pull on the edge of her wet hemline. “And it looks like you were baptized.”

  She nudges me back with her shoulder. “Hmm, maybe I was.”

  She scoots away from me so she can turn and face me more head on. Her eyebrows knit together and she suddenly looks serious.

  “Sunday morning when you walked out of my house, I crumbled. I wanted to run after you but it was like my legs wouldn’t work. In my heart I knew I’d do anything to be with you, but my head kept stopping me with doubts like hurdles that seemed too high to jump over.”

  “Hurdles?”

  “Like what if I can never be everything that you want?”

  “What if you already are?” I reply.

  Her eyebrows relax and she sighs, but then she starts blinking.

  “But what if over time, I’m not enough for you . . . and you get tired of me?”

  I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. This handful of a woman thinks she may not be enough for me? Oh good Lord . . . does she have no sense of how extraordinary she is?

  I suddenly feel a fury burn in my chest. I want to beat the hell out of her dad, her ex, the Viking, and any man who ever made her feel that she wasn’t worthy . . . wasn’t enough.

  I reach out and take her hand. “We aren’t teenagers, Elle. We’ve both been out and about in the world and have known a lot of people. You’re the most exciting, fun, sweet, sexy, awesome woman I’ve ever met.”

  She tugs at my hand. “You forgot smart.”

  “Yeah, you’re smart, and I’ll add sassy, too.”

  “And you like that I’m sassy?”

  “Are you kidding? I love it.”

  She sits up taller. “You know what? I’ve started realizing that I deserve you. Some people may look at me right now and think, she needs this man but doesn’t deserve him. But I do deserve you.”

  I press my lips together so I don’t grin. “And why’s that?”

  “Because I’m a good woman and I love you with all my heart, and want to be my best for you.”

  “Yes, you deserve me and I’d be damn lucky to have you.”

  She glances down at our hands where my thumb is rubbing across her palm.

  “So do you think you’d be willing to take a chance with me, knowing I’ve still got all this stuff to work out?”

  “Yes. I’m all in. What about you? Are you willing to take a chance on me? I mean, I hate to break this to you, but I’m not perfect.”

  She shakes her head. “Damn. I thought you were.”

  “Nope. Not even close.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” she says winking at me.

  “Yup. We’ll take one step at a time and figure it out as we go along. So you’re going to be my girl?” I ask as I edge closer to her.

  “Yes, I’m all in.”

  My relief is intense as she presses her lips against mine. This is the kiss that steals my heart. She’s got me now, no matter what lies up ahead. It’s the kiss that closes the door on our past, and flings the new one open for our future.

  And believe me, I can’t pass through it quick enough.

  Within seconds she’s on my lap and we’re lip-locked, her hands in my hair, across my shoulders, on my chest . . . filling me up with love until I’m overflowing. It’s so emotional that we don’t even grope each other and start pulling off clothes.

  This feeling is more intense than that early morning a week ago when we shared all the feelings that we’d hidden from each other. This time we’ve been tested. We sunk to the bottom and separated, but now we’ve surfaced together and we’re moving toward the horizon up ahead.

  “I love you, Elle,” I whisper when we part to catch our breaths.

  She’s glowing, her joy palpable. I’m going to bronze that damn book Patrick gave her and put it on our future mantel.

  “I love you, too.”

  “So am I still your bridge?” I ask, only partially teasing.

  She places her hands on either side of my face and gazes at me with a look so full of emotion it overwhelms me.

  “You were never just my bridge, Paul.”

  It’s weird, but just like my parent’s way, I sense what Elle’s going to say next before the words leave her lips.

  “Yes, you’re my bridge but also my heart, my future . . . and my destination.”

  Those words are everything. I pull her back into my arms.

  She eases closer and lets out a contented sigh. “I’ve finally arrived.”

  I smile from the inside out as I take her hand in mine.

  “Welcome home.”

  Also by Ruth Clampett

  Animate Me

  Mr. 365

  Work of Art ~ Book 1 The Inspiration

  Work of Art ~ Book 2 The Unveiling

  Work of Art ~ Book 3 The Masterpiece

  Many thanks to those of you that

  take a moment to leave a review

  ~ it’s much appreciated.

  Acknowledgements

  I love our community of indie authors, bloggers and readers and am so grateful for the wonderful friends I’ve made that support and encourage me with my work. I’ve met the most amazing people who have embraced not just me, but my daughter Alex, and our lives have been richer for it.

  Thank you Lisa Fortunato, Glorya Hidalgo, Azu Sandoval, and beta Amy Marxen Jennings for reading and giving notes on the rough draft of Wet and making me believe I had something special with Paul and Elle. The continual encouragement from my dear Lost Girls has meant so much, as has cheerleading from Alex, DJ, Kellie, Suzie and Elli.

  I so appreciate my content editor Angela Borda who gives me tough love when I need it, and rewards me with side notes that make me laugh out loud. You make this challenging process of content editing something I look forward to.

  It was such a delight to work with Heather Maven on Wet. You bring such a smart understanding of characters and their voices to the beta process. Your feedback was a gift.

  Heartfelt thanks to Neda, of Ardent Prose PR, who shows great care and enthusiasm for my work and pushes me out of my promotional comfort zone—which is exactly what I need.

  Jada! You hit it out of the park with this bookcover! This is our sixth book to work on together and I think we make a great team. Thank you for approaching every project with passion and great ideas.

  Thank you Flavia Viotti and Meire Dias of Bookcase Agency for your continued support. You ladies rock.

  Many thanks to Melissa of There For You Editing for cleaning up the error of my ways…and to Christine of Perfectly Publishable for doing a terrific job formatting.

  I’ve been so lucky meeting amazing readers like you that I’ve connected with either through social media or at author events. If we haven’t yet met, I’d love to hear from you.

  With a full heart I thank you for inspiring me to share my stories.

  About the Author

  Ruth Clampett, daughter of legendary animation director, Bob Clampett, has spent a lifetime surrounded by art and animation. A graduate of Art Center College of Design
, her careers have included graphic design, photography, VP of Design for WB Stores and teaching photography at UCLA. She now runs her own studio as the fine art publisher for Warner Bros. where she’s had the opportunity to know and work with many of the greatest artists in the world of animation and comics.

  Wet is Ruth’s sixth book, following Animate Me, Mr. 365 and the Work of Art Trilogy. She lives in Los Angeles and is heavily supervised by her teenage daughter, lovingly referred to as Snarky, who loves traveling with her mom with a sketchbook in hand.

  Connect with Ruth

  RuthClampettWrites.com

  Twitter

  For book stuff:

  Facebook ~ Ruth Clampett Writes

  For a more general stuff:

  Facebook

  Instagram