Hearts So Big (Timeless Love Series Book 3)

by Mj Fields

  Ten minutes ago, he freaked me out by his tone and the harsh words on the phone to his father. Now … Well, now I feel at ease once again.

  “I’ll get you back in time to go with your bo—Elijah.”

  “Can you take me to the garden store to grab plants first?”

  “Of course.”

  “Or maybe you can go get them, and I can stage the house?”

  He narrows his eyes a bit. “You need a few minutes alone here?”

  “Maybe.” I shrug.

  “I’ll be back.”

  When he looks at my lips, I look down, and then he slowly stands. He walks to the doorway, looks back, and I wave. He nods then walks out.

  I hurry to the window and peek outside as he backs out of the driveway.

  My phone rings, startling me. I run over and grab it off the floor.

  “Mom,” I sigh out to myself, fighting the urge to hug my phone. I hit accept and answer with, “Mom.” My voice shakes.

  “Stella, what can I do to make this better?” Her voice mimics mine.

  A million emotions rush over me, making me sit down. The most prominent is guilt for the judgment I put on her for years. The blame for her leaving Dad. Even moments of bitter hatred for not leaving her husband when Dad was sick to be with him … us.

  “I can come—”

  “No,” I snap.

  “Okay.” Now her voice shakes.

  “Mom, I’m …” I swallow back my pride and continue. “It’s not the house. It’s them.”

  She sighs. “Elijah?”

  I sniff. “Yeah.”

  “Aaron?” she whispers.

  “Aaron and my connection is one of childhood friends and a long-ago one-sided middle school crush of mine. It was two parts of a triangle-shaped friendship that shifted, split, and irrevocably broke apart. I was so sure I chose the right side, Mom.” I start to cry. “Then, right before Dad became ill, there he was, and all was well. Now … Now I’m in that triangle again. But I’m the one shifting, breaking, splitting apart. Me! I don’t know what to do!”

  “First, breathe, Stella. Then listen to me without getting angry. Listen to me until you can hear my words in your mind and in your heart. You are so young. You aren’t married or bound to one or the other. But honey, I don’t want you to go through it later in life. I don’t want you to have kids with Elijah and wonder if Aaron was the one for you. As a matter of fact, it could be neither of them.”

  “That’s not helpful at all.”

  “I wish I could point you in a direction and know for certain that I was directing you down the right path.”

  “I’m pissed at Elijah for confusing me. I mean, I thought that I was choosing us by coming back to New York. Then he wants to take it slow? Then Aaron … Mom, you should see what he’s done here.” I leave out the stick figure pictures but tell her about nearly everything else. “I mean, why? Because now I feel like I owe him and—”

  “The only person you owe is yourself. And honey, he and your father were close. He and Bruno are close. Heck, he even calls me once every couple of months when he’s around to see if I need anything.”

  “He what?” I palm my face and fall back to the couch.

  “Both of those young men were part of our family for many years. One has always needed you and one just always seems to be there.”

  “Both were there,” I correct her.

  “Okay. Just know I’m here and I love you. But sadly, I can’t tell you what to do. Only your heart can. But I beg you, don’t rush either way until you know for sure. You owe it to yourself.”

  “But I feel like I’m cheating.”

  She sighs. “Sometimes you have to let your loyalties lie with you, Stella.”

  “I didn’t mean it—”

  “It’s okay.”

  Standing under the shower, knowing I have little time before Aaron gets back but needing to allow myself to cry out my frustration, my pain, my confusion … I do just that. When I finish and am walking toward my room for my bag to get clothes, I hear the door open and yell down, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Take your time. I’m in no rush.”

  16

  Stella

  “I can’t believe you bought this place.” I turn in a slow circle around the first floor, which is a storefront, taking in the beautiful yet simple architecture. The brick, the beams, the stained concrete floor. “It’s like a blank canvas.” I stop when my eyes meet his dazzling blues.

  “Been here a month now. Haven’t touched this place. The fourth and fifth floors are going to be loft apartments. The sixth floor for Dad if he wants it when he’s in the city. Seven and eight are mine.”

  “Your dad?” I ask, trying not to let on that I overheard this morning’s conversation.

  He nods. “Just giving him the option, you know.”

  No, I don’t know. Not after this morning.

  I change the subject. “So, what are you going to do with it?”

  He smiles as he looks around. “Haven’t decided yet. I’m sure it will come to me, though.”

  “Something brilliant, no doubt.”

  His eyes crinkle as he nods. “No doubt. But if I decide to lease it, then that works, too.”

  “It’s so clean.”

  “Well, yeah.” He laughs. “You wanna see my place?”

  “I’d love to.”

  We walk toward the back and through a door that leads to an open area with an elevator.

  He says the numbers as he punches in the code on the elevator keypad. “Seven, three, one, one, nine.” When the door slides open, he steps in.

  “This thing safe?”

  He nods and smirks.

  “I’m trusting you here, Esposito.”

  As the door closes, I stand with my back to him as the elevator ascends. I swear I hear him inhale and look over my shoulder as the elevator stops.

  “After you,” he says, placing his hand gently on my back, guiding me out before he takes it away.

  I am immediately in awe of the two-story windows across the open area that allows the natural light into the expansive open space. It brightens the apartment’s rough, worn interior walls covered in distressed wood and brick. Between the two windows is a stone fireplace, which goes all the way up two stories.

  “Is that a working fireplace?”

  He nods, smiling.

  The floors are concrete, but when I slide off my sandals and touch my bare feet to it, it’s not cold as I expected. Above the fireplace, on the mantel, a large television is mounted. In front of the fireplace and windows is an oversized, brown, worn leather couch. On each side of it, two matching oversized recliners. Behind the couch is a long sofa table made of a beam, and on it sits pictures and a couple of candles in stainless steel candle holders.

  On the far wall opposite the windows is the kitchen. The most impressive part about it is the stone arch above the stainless-steel industrial gas stove that matches the fireplace. The cabinet’s wood matches the large workspace island with a built-in sink. On the opposite side, eight brown leather barstools sit against the concrete countertop. Against one wall is an industrial, two-door refrigeration unit, a large double sink, and more wooden cabinets and a concrete countertop. On the opposite wall there is a twelve-person wooden dining room table with chairs. Above the dining room and most of the kitchen is a loft of sorts, but it reminds me of a covered bridge; wood-sided with large windows facing the wall of windows surrounding the fireplace.

  I point up. “What’s that?”

  “Come and see.”

  We walk past the kitchen and through an archway. Directly behind the stove is a set of floating stairs, hidden from view from the main living area.

  “After you.” He motions to the stairs, and I walk up them.

  “Ohmygod,” comes out in one surprised word.

  He chuckles as he slides open a barn-like door. “Master bath is here.”

  The floor is stone and slightly slopes to a drain in the center
of the room. A black pipe runs across it, with four shorter pipes and showerheads attached to them.

  “No curtain?” I ask quietly.

  “No need.” He points to one end of the huge bathroom then the other. “Closet and toilet on each side.”

  “With doors,” I point out.

  He nods.

  “But not even a curtain in the shower?”

  A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he thumbs over his shoulder. “Jack and Jill sinks.”

  I step around him to see a long, concrete counter with two galvanized bowls sitting on them with black metal pipes for faucets arching over the sinks. The entire wall behind the sinks is a mirror. In the mirror, I can see the shower area without obstructions.

  “Good way to check yourself to see if you rinsed well enough in the shower.”

  “Come on.” He chuckles, nodding toward the doorway.

  We walk down a few feet and turn.

  Now, “Holyshit,” comes out of my mouth in one breath.

  I hurry over to the wrought iron, clawfoot bathtub in the far corner of his freaking bedroom that sits in front of yet another fireplace.

  I step over the edge and hear him laugh.

  “Sorry, Esposito. I’m not even going to pretend to have class and not just climb in here. This is the most amazing tub I’ve ever seen.” I sit down and sprawl out. “Oh my God.” I sit up and stare at the wall before me, then look at him. “Now, why would you have this facing a wall?”

  He walks over and puts his hand on the glassless window frame and slides it open. I sit forward and sigh as I look out past the buildings and at the Hudson River.

  “The view must be spectacular at night.” I smile as I watch him push the other side open. “And to think, you’ve been slumming it at Casa McCarty when you could have been here.”

  “I’d hardly call it slumming.” He laughs as he walks over and sits on his …

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I push myself up out of the tub and walk over to his bed.

  Aaron Esposito’s bed is huge.

  “Is this a king?”

  “It’s custom-made. A bit bigger than a king.”

  It’s a canopy bed, made of all-exposed beams with no fabric covering it at all.

  I run my hand over the softest, dark gray Jersey cotton bedding I have ever felt in my life. Then I lift the fabric and feel how heavy it is.

  “Is this a weighted blanket?”

  He shrugs. “Not sure really. I bought it overseas and had it shipped here.”

  “Well, it feels amazing.”

  “Slide in and check it out,” he suggests.

  I raise a brow at him.

  “I’ll tuck you in and go order an early dinner.”

  “I’m good.” I go back to running my hand up and down the blanket.

  He smiles. “How about I don’t tuck you in and go order dinner?”

  “Not really hungry,” I lie.

  “Mmhmm.” He chuckles quietly as he turns and walks out of the room.

  As soon as he is out of sight, I climb up on the beam across the foot of the gargantuan bed, turn, and face the window, crossing my arms in front of myself as I flop back. Sinking into the bed that is, in fact, the most comfortable I’ve ever laid in, I sigh contently. Hell, I think I may be purring.

  When the purring sound gets louder, I sit up, holding my hand to my chest and scream when I see something … alive coming out from under the covers.

  I hear the sound of feet pounding up the stairs as I scamper off the bed.

  “You okay?”

  “There’s a … a …” I point at the furry creature that is the same size as the pillow that it is now lazily stretching on.

  “Tois,” he huffs, “you aren’t supposed to be on the bed.”

  “Twat?” I gasp as I quickly move behind Aaron.

  “Tois,” he corrects, laughing as he steps toward the animal that is now turning toward him.

  “That thing’s a pet?” I gasp.

  He walks over, picks him up, and starts petting him. “I’m pretty sure I’m his pet.”

  “Wait. That thing is seriously yours?”

  “This thing”—he lifts him up, and its front paws hang over his shoulder—“Tois—is a blue lynx point Siberian cat.”

  “Oh my God, please stop calling him that.” I laugh as he turns his back so I can see Twat’s face. “He has blue eyes like you.”

  “So, he’s definitely mine then.” He turns and looks at me. “I was a little worried about that.”

  “When did you get him?” I reach out and pet his fluffy back. His purr gets louder.

  He shrugs. “He actually got me.” He pulls him up and looks at him. “Followed me around all day and then back to my place.” He sets him on the floor, and Tois jumps right back up on the bed. “He’s an asshole, though. He knows he’s not supposed to be up there.”

  “Well”—I walk over and climb up on his bed, sitting next to Tois and beginning to pet him—“he can’t help himself.”

  “Well, I should help him perfect the art of self-control.” His eyes do that flaring thing again as he rubs his chin.

  I lean in a bit to really figure out what the eye flare is, and I notice his pupils get larger.

  “Huh?”

  He smirks. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head, looking down at Twat.

  His snicker draws my attention back to him. “What?”

  He glances down at my chest. “Nothing.” He smirks again. “You have fun with Tois. I’m going to slave away in the kitchen to make us both dinner.”

  “I thought you were ordering?” I call after him. “I’ll come help.”

  He turns around as he walks backward out of the doorway. “You stay put. I got this.”

  “You cook?”

  “I have many hidden talents.”

  I bet you do, Aaron. I bet you do.

  As soon as he’s around the corner, I flop back down, and when the fabric of my tank top tightens when I inhale, and my nipples brush against them, I know exactly what he was looking at.

  “Kitty, your person is a pervert.”

  He rolls onto his back and spreads all four legs wide. I giggle as I rub his fluffy belly.

  When kitty is finished with me, he jumps off the bed and walks over to the railing that looks down over the apartment.

  I lean over as Aaron walks to the door and opens it.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he snarls.

  “You and I need to talk.”

  Elijah.

  Aaron chuckles haughtily. “Now is definitely not a good time.”

  “Listen, you smug bastard,” Elijah snaps. “I’m here as a courtesy.”

  “I don’t consider you showing up at my place without an invitation a fucking courtesy.” Aaron steps toward him and kicks a pair of shoes to the side.

  “My shoes,” I whisper as I crouch down and snuggle the kitty.

  “There’s an event tonight. Big investors will be there. We need a united front.”

  “So, you want me to go in there, stand, smile, and nod like my father did for yours?”

  “Your father killed—”

  “No, he didn’t.” Aaron pokes him in the chest. “And you know it!”

  “All I know is I have busted my ass since I was a kid, and you and your father have lived off my sweat—”

  “I want you to get the fuck out of here now!” Aaron roars, but Elijah doesn’t even flinch. He just continues anyway.

  “And I haven’t asked you for shit—”

  “You and I know that’s bullshit.”

  “Oh, please.” Elijah laughs manically.

  “Get out before I ruin you,” Aaron snarls.

  Elijah crosses his arms. “You may not know this, but Donovan and Hearst has been in positions like this many times before and it all works out just fine. I’m simply asking you to step up.”

  “One more fucking word,” Aaron threatens.

  “Seven o’clock.”


  “Fuck you,” Aaron spat before Elijah steps back into the elevator.

  I scoot back so he doesn’t see me, wondering what it is I just witnessed. At the same time, I’m so thankful Elijah didn’t see my shoes.

  I hear footsteps coming up the stairs and stand up from off the floor as he walks in.

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Oh, um, okay.”

  He turns to leave the room.

  “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

  He looks back at me. “No.”

  “Aaron …”

  “Stella, this is between him and me.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, apparently so am I.”

  He takes a deep breath then slowly exhales.

  “I can’t do this.” I throw my hands up in the air again. “I can’t watch two people I care about tear each other apart.” I walk past him, and he lets me.

  I hurry down the stairs with him following me. But when I walk around the corner, I pause when I see two plates on the island. Macaroni and cheese—the orange kind from a box—and hot dogs with the skin cut off.

  “French fries are in the oven,” he says from behind me. “Friday feast day, Lala. You can’t possibly walk away from that.”

  I look over my shoulder at him as he grips my hip possessively.

  “Please stay.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but—”

  “It’s long overdue.”

  “But—”

  “It’s long overdue,” he repeats while pulling out a barstool. “Sit and eat with me.”

  “If I do, you have to help him, Aaron. He needs us.”

  He narrows his eyes, his jaw tightening, his nostrils even flaring. “I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but he has never needed anyone but himself.”

  I sit and pick up a piece of the cut-up hot dog, pop it into my mouth, and then shake my head as I chew.

  When the oven timer goes off, he turns away and walks over to the stove.

  I swallow the piece of hot dog then tell him, “Not true. He just doesn’t know how to ask. Yet he asked you. That’s progress.”

  He drops the baking sheet onto the counter. “Fuck.”

  I jump up and hurry over to him, taking his wrist then dragging him to the sink, where I run it under cold water.