by Daria White
“She can write somewhere else,” Lance said. “There are other magazines out there. All she needs to do is send out resumes.”
“Sounds simple to me.” Pete agreed.
Grant’s forehead wrinkled. “She’s not doing that. I love my sister, but she’s stubborn. She’s never backed down from a challenge.”
Lance nodded, recalling his own conversation with her. Though his skin itched at seeing her with another man, he kept his distance and even allowed Pete to change the subject.
“So… bachelor party.” Pete rubbed his hands together. A snake tattoo curved around one of his tanned arms.
Craig added. “I got it all planned out as we say goodbye to another member of the group.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grant asked, his mouth quirking up.
Craig gestured between Lance and Grant. “You two are off the market. Once you’re married, the fun’s over.”
Grant gulped his drink. “I disagree. It’s only the beginning for me.”
Pete asked. “What does that mean?”
Grant gave a slight smile. “It means, everything I thought it was, I was wrong. Spending every day with Elise is amazing. She loves me for me. I love her. It’s hard, but worth it.”
“Elise is an incredible woman.” Pete then swallowed a fried pickle. He nudged Craig’s shoulder. “This one’s just jealous.”
“Not jealous,” Craig replied. “It didn’t work out for me and Cassie, but it’s cool. I’m over her. I’m planning a life with Sylvia.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re over it to me,” Lance said.
Craig continued. “I missed the woman for a while, but she went her own way, and I went mine. Case closed. I met Sylvia and I look forward to the future with her.”
Pete bobbed his head. “So what’s all that talk about the fun being over?”
Craig dismissed his comment with a shove to his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a big deal, okay? I want to make sure I’m ready.”
Lance looked over at Chantelle once more. Despite the dim lighting, she glowed. Facing the bar again, he noted his own reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. He clutched his half empty glass as the laughter of the crowd echoed in his ears.
“What do you think, Lance?” Pete asked.
“What?” Lance said, straightening in his chair.
“More fried pickles?” Grant asked, lifting an eyebrow. “You okay?”
Lance sipped the remaining liquid left in his glass. “Sure.” He wouldn’t turn around to look at Chantelle again. “Everything’s fine.”
***
The following evening Chantelle admired the color-coded paint tubes on the shelf and the adjustable easel in the center of the room. A nearby table had sketch paper with a jar for pencils, markers, and pencil crayons. The fan whirred while the faint sounds of ambient sounds played in the background. Paints and oils filled the air along with pencil shavings. Inching closer to the table, Chantelle felt the smooth spindle of a paintbrush.
“What do you think?” Javier asked.
“I like it.” She moved to where he stood in front of the easel. The canvas was blank. “You haven’t started yet?”
Javier held a brush out to her. “After you?”
Chantelle shook her head. “Oh, no.” She stepped back. “I’m not an artist.”
“It can be abstract. No judging, I promise.” He smiled.
A slow smile built on her lips. She inched closer and took the brush from his hand. “I don’t know what to draw.”
“How about a bird?” Javier suggested.
“I don’t know how,” she said.
Javier stood close behind her and placed his firm hand over hers. He dipped the brush into the paint and brought their hands to the canvas.
“Start with a teardrop.” He instructed her. “This will be the head.”
Chantelle let him lead her with the brush strokes, listening as the brush swiped the paper. Drawing the teardrop, they dipped the brush into more of the navy blue paint. Were they painting a blue jay? Either way, she swallowed and followed his lead. Her body went still with his breath at her ear.
They had talked on the phone the last few days, getting to know each other better. Chantelle saw Javier had a passion for art. He loved creating pieces that reflected the world as he saw it. It was breathtaking to see his paintings scattered across his studio.
She also discovered his genuine heart. He was a man of his word. Javier didn’t keep her guessing either. She knew he was interested in her. If only the gnawing feeling wasn’t in the pit of her stomach. What was missing? She liked him. He was a nice guy. He treated her better in their short time together than Bryce ever did.
Chantelle blinked, focusing her eyes on the painting. Still, the thought wouldn’t leave her mind. She was with an incredible man. Why wasn’t it enough somehow? Was she expecting too much too soon? She sighed. Perhaps they needed more time. Javier deserved that much for being the gentleman he was.
“So far, so good?” He asked.
“Uh, huh.” The hairs on the back of her neck raised. The intimacy of the moment. No denying it. With him so close, all she had to do was lean into his embrace. Chantelle kept her composure.
“Now we’ll draw the body.” He swooped the brush in the form of an “S.” Chantelle followed his movements, staring at the canvas as it came to life with a bird. Once they finished the wings, Javier stepped away from her and allowed her to fill in the bird with more colors.
“What do you think?” She asked.
“Looks great,” he said. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but a grin escaped her lips. “Thank you.”
Javier wiped his hands with a paper towel and handed a piece to Chantelle. Wiping her hands clean, she admired her artistic skills.
“I guess it’s not too bad.” She smiled as her eyes squinted at the painting.
“That’s what I love about art. It’s your own interpretation of the world. Each human is unique. Even our fingerprints don’t match, so we can affect the world in the different way. I like to think of art as leaving an imprint.” Javier’s eyes sparkled as he talked.
The side of Chantelle’s mouth quirked up at his enthusiasm. “That’s very poetic. I feel the same way about writing.”
“You paint with words.”
She shook her head. “Not really. Besides, it’s not as if I’m writing fiction.”
“You don’t think your stories have an impact?”
Her lips parted, his question catching her off guard. “I don’t think about that.”
Javier nodded. “I understand. I didn’t either, but when people tell me how my paintings make them feel, I keep that in mind when I make a new one. Someone’s affected by what we do, whether or not we know it.”
Heat radiated through Chantelle’s chest. “You sure you’re not a life coach or something?”
Javier laughed, throwing his head back.
“I’m serious. You seem to give expert advice.”
“I’ll think about it as a side career. How about that?”
Chantelle winked at him.
Then his look turned serious. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you still single?” He held up his hands. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Chantelle ran her fingers through her curls. “No one’s been... serious about me. Not for a long time.”
Javier pulled his eyebrows in. “Why? From what I can tell already, you’re amazing. I’m enjoying getting to know you. I hope to learn more.”
She ran a hand down her cheek. “Thank you, but I guess I’m… picky.”
“Picky?”
“I have in my mind the relationship that I want and I’m not willing to settle. I’ve done that before and I won’t do it again.”
“A relationship like what?”
Chantelle released a deep breath. “You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” His eyes were soft, as if he cared.
She wrung her hands together. “I’ve been told all my life how beautiful I am. I appreciate that, but I’m more than my looks.” Chantelle sighed. “I can remember the first time I tried makeup. People kept saying I looked even more gorgeous. Being beautiful is just the surface. I’m compassionate, generous, a hard worker, and I love and respect my family and friends. I’m not a trophy for a man to sport on his arm.”
Javier nodded. “I’m sorry you’ve felt that way.”
“Thank you. Me too. I’ve been working on not assuming that’s all people see, but sometimes I divert back to that.”
He inched closer. “I don’t want you to either. I think what makes you beautiful is what’s on the inside.”
Her breath caught. Did he hear her gasp? “I appreciate that.”
“So...”
“So...?” What did he want to say?
“Any chance of you hanging out with me again?”
“I’d like that.”
Javier shuffled closer and took her hand in his. Chantelle didn’t move, but stared at his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. His touch was gentle, but she couldn’t help but wonder what Javier was thinking.
Then her phone buzzed in her crossbody purse. She closed her eyes, but then released his grasp and dug into her bag to answer. “Can you give me a minute?”
Javier nodded.
Chantelle walked to face the window and stared at Lance’s name on her screen. She held the phone to her ear.
“Bad time?” He asked.
She looked behind her to see Javier scrutinizing at his nearby sculpture. “I’m not home yet, but I have a minute.” She heard a noise as if it was coming from a TV. “Are you out somewhere? I hear something.”
“Hold on.” A few moments passed, but she heard his voice again. “Is that better?”
“Yes. What’s going on again?”
Lance replied. “I may need you on call tomorrow. Since I fired June, I’m looking for another wedding planner.”
“I thought you found someone else already. Who can you hire on short notice?” She asked.
“No time with me traveling, but I will. Money is not an object.”
“Look at you.” She joked.
“Anyway, make sure you’re free tomorrow.”
“I’ll make a note of it. Thanks for the heads up.”
Lance cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”
“I am. Why?” Did she hear balls clanking in the background?
“No reason.”
“You’re worried about me? That’s sweet.”
“I have no reason to be. Goodnight, Chantelle.” He hung up with no other explanation.
Chapter 18
Lance stuffed his phone back inside his pocket. Chantelle was probably out somewhere in town or… with… Javier. He didn’t know that. Rubbing the back of his neck, he returned to the pool table with his friends. It wasn’t his business. It repeated in his mind like a broken record.
TVs played bolted in corners, while sports paraphernalia decorated the walls. Glasses and bottles set on tables as music blared through the system. Lance grabbed a few pretzels to eat despite his dry mouth. Between his parents and the wedding, he needed to unwind again with his friends.
“Everything good?” Grant asked.
“We’re good.” Lance then grabbed his chilled glass and took a gulp of his drink. “I can’t wait for the wedding to be over.”
“If it’s anything like mine,” Grant said, “Have your tuxedo. Know where the church is.”
“I think it’s all for the women, anyway.” Pete added.
“No more talk of weddings,” Craig said.
Lance ate a few more pretzels. He didn’t want to talk about weddings anymore either. He needed to call and check on Andrea.
“Alright.” Pete rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get back to the game. I think we were beating you two.”
Lance scraped the chalk cube against the cue’s tip. “Other way around.”
Grant nudged his shoulder. “I say let’s finish it.”
Lance took his shot, feeling the smooth slide of the cue shaft along the crook of his hand. The balls knocked against each other, while one shuttled into the pocket. “Need I say more?”
Pete rolled his eyes, leaning on his stick.
“Haven’t lost your touch man.” Grant leaned over and took his turn. He missed.
Craig laughed. “I guess you lost yours.”
Lance didn’t think about wedding plans for the rest of the game. By the time he said goodnight to his friends, he walked downtown. It must have rained since the concrete glistened. The smell of wet cement filled his nose, but he paced along the streets, heading for downtown.
He bypassed the coffee shop, deli, and the post office. He spotted an empty bench and sat, grateful that the seat was dry. Lance sighed and grabbed his wallet. He hadn’t looked in a long time, but he pulled out a black-and-white photo.
A sonogram. His baby. Chantelle’s baby. The child that would have been here if things didn’t go wrong. Hearing his phone buzz in his pocket, he answered.
“I was just about to call you.”
“You were?” Andrea asked. “I guess I beat you to it.”
Lance smiled, staring at the picture still. “How are things going?”
“I’m exhausted and it’s only the afternoon here.”
His eyes widened. “What? Why?”
“Babe, as much as I love what I do, it’s tiring. You were right. I need a break.”
He chuckled, folding the picture back with one hand. “You’ll get one. I promise.”
“I’m thinking I can be there in a week at the latest. It’ll be cutting it close, but I haven’t accepted more modeling jobs. At least not until after the honeymoon.”
Lance swallowed. “You want to keep it up?”
“You aren’t expecting me to quit, do you?” Her voice sounded surprised.
“No, but... what if you wanted to take a longer break? You want kids, don’t you?”
Silence.
“Andrea? Babe?” Did she hang up? Did he say something wrong?
“I guess we never really talked about children.”
Lance’s breathing slowed. How would he respond if she didn’t want kids? “What is it?”
“I guess... I don’t know. I’ve thought about being a mom, but...”
Lance was practically on the edge of the bench.
“Do you think I’ll be a good one? I love my mom, but growing up, her career strained our relationship. She was always away acting or producing a new film. I grew mostly with live-in nannies. I wouldn’t want that for my child.”
The tension eased in Lance’s body. “You’ll make a wonderful mother. I bet you’ll look good pregnant.”
“But that’ll slow my career down too. I’m not sure if I want to give that up now.”
He reassured her. “We don’t have to have them right away. You know that.”
“But what if... it happens sooner than we think?” Andrea sounded nervous.
Lance smiled. “We’ll deal with it if that happens. You won’t be alone, anyway.”
“Now I see why I’m marrying you.”
Lance rubbed at his forehead with his free hand.
“Lance? Are you still there?”
“I’m here and don’t worry.”
“I won’t.”
They said their goodnights and Lance headed home to shower and go to bed. When his phone rang once more, he figured Andrea had forgotten something.
“Something else on your mind?” He asked.
“Lance, I beg you to reconsider firing June Myers.”
Lance rolled his eyes. He had to stop answering his phone without looking at the screen.
“Did you hear me, Lance?” His mother asked.
“I hear you.”
“You fired June Myers. I still can’t believe you did that. It’s too close to the w
edding date. Why would you fire—”
He stopped her. “I’m not letting some stranger call the shots at my wedding. This is our decision. Andrea doesn’t have a problem with it, so why should you?”
“What’s gotten into you, Lance? Many people are counting on this wedding. It has to be perfect. It’ll be in the papers!”
“I’m the one getting married. It’s my life. When will you understand that? Why can’t you support my decisions for once?”
“I’ve always supported you.”
“Not how I remember it. All I’m asking is that you respect my choices. This is the beginning of a new life for Andrea and me.”
His mother sighed.
“Mom?” He rubbed at his chin. “I know I’m your only son, but I’m not a little boy anymore. I’m a man.”
Did he hear whimpering? “I know.” His mother sniffled. “I won’t say any more about it, but… I found someone else.”
“Mom?”
“I think you’ll like her. She’s just as good as June.”
“Who is it?”
“Adelaide Cummings. You have an appointment with her tomorrow at lunch. Don’t be late.”
He couldn’t win every argument with his mother. “I’ll be there on time. I’ll talk to you later.” Lance ended the call.
***
“Since your mother informed me you want to keep the ceremony simple but classy,” Adelaide said. “I’m thinking of a black-tie themed wedding, since you proposed at a gala event.”
Lance straightened in his chair. “I’m listening.”
Chantelle leaned forward herself, admiring the vision board Adelaide had made. In a short amount of time, she laid out plans from the ceremony to the reception. A red carpet would lead into the venue with valet parking. Guests would receive gift bags on behalf of Andrea and Lance, and she would provide champagne as they mingled, waiting for the ceremony to start.
Crystal dishware, fine china, and cloth napkins would decorate each table covered in black cloth. Adelaide chose candles as centerpieces and name cards would designate seating. Chantelle’s mouth curved into a smile at the display. Would Andrea appreciate this gesture Lance was making?
Her eyes glanced over at him. Lance bobbed his head, listening to Adelaide. Chantelle’s fingers itched to touch the stubble on his face. Swallowing, she cleared her mind of such a thought.