The story of Josie and my time together so far begins to spill from my lips and the three of them sit, full attention on me. When I get to the part about Josie telling me all I’ll do is hurt her, Penny and Cassie exchange a look.
“What’s that look mean?” I ask, my eyes bouncing between the two of them.
“If she refuses affection from you, then she can’t get hurt,” Penny explains.
“Well, yeah, that much is clear. But what do I do about it? How do I show her that I’d never be like those other men?”
Penny studies me, eyes roaming over my face. “Are you falling in love with Josie, or do you feel an obligation to create a family with her for Abby and Jay? That’s what you have to decide. What do you feel?”
I take a few seconds mulling over her words. Admitting that I’m falling for Josie is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. There’s no denying every fiber of my being wants to exist in her orbit. I want to support her and be a source of stability for her and the kids. No, what I feel for Josie can’t quite be summed up with three words. Still, I keep it to myself, until the time is right. But Cassie must see the answer in my expression because she speaks up.
“You have to prove to her you’re different from past men. Words don’t mean anything. Words are nothing more than lip service. Show it with your actions. There’s a reason the saying isActions speak louder than words.”
“And how do I do that?” I ask.
“What have you done so far?” Austin asks.
I tell them about helping Abby, hanging out with Jay, and spending the day decorating the Christmas tree.
“And you signed up to coach Jay’s team,” Austin adds. “It sounds to me like you’re on the right track, man. Maybe this is one of those things that’ll take some time.”
We fall silent at Austin’s words, but then Penny’s face lights up.
“Tyler, you don’t know this about Josie yet, but she’s a hopeless romantic on the inside. The idea of romance enthralls her—she’s just given up on the idea for herself. Maybe you need to woo her. Like I’ve been saying,Operation Woo Josie.”
I lift a brow. “This again?”
“Oh, this could work!” Cassie jumps in. “Deep down, she wants to be cherished. She wants someone to make her feel beautiful and sexy. Josie wants to feel seen. To notice the little,seemingly insignificant things that only the love of your life would notice.”
I chew over this advice for a second. The seemingly insignificant things.
Like how, when she’s in the kitchen cooking, she stops mid-stir to pop an orange slice in her mouth. Or how her eyes lit up when I told her I love her curls. I think back to when I asked her favorite color and rather than naming it she had to mix it for me, because it lives in her head.
Casting my mind back fourteen years, I think about the song that played while we lay there on the floor of that library. How I hummed it, however off key, and sometimes she’d jump in and sing the words along with me. While she’s not that devil-may-care girl she once was, her laugh still makes my chest squeeze in the best damn way. She’s still funny and silly when she lets herself be. She’s exactly the splash of color my life has been missing. I might be jumping into her life, feet first, but she’s changing mine just as drastically, with her curls and chaos. Her silliness when her walls are down and she’s comfortable enough to be herself.
Josie wants to feel cherished, to be cherished. She already is, but doesn’t know it yet. I see her. Every version of her. The strong-willed woman who carries too much on her shoulders. The mother who loves so fiercely it’s woven into everything she does. The girl who once believed in love and fairy tales before the world taught her not to. Maybe she’s given up on the idea of love for herself, but I haven’t. Not when it comes to her.
Because if she wants someone to make her feel beautiful and wanted, someone to memorize the smallest details simply because they’re hers…then I’m already halfway there. And I’ll spend the rest of my life learning the rest.
“Mrs. Thomas, you have a delivery in the office,” comes the voice of the school secretary over my classroom PA.
“Thank you, Mrs. Archer. I’ll be there soon,” I reply, uncertain if she hears me.
My class is already packing up for next period, so I allow my mind to wander. I stayed up entirely too late last night finishing my final Etsy order of the season—packaged, labeled, and ready for postal pickup. Feeling exhausted, the only thing making lucidity possible today is the fourth cup of lukewarm coffee I grabbed from the teacher’s lounge between classes.
It’s possible I misheard Mrs. Archer, or maybe she’s mistaken? Whatever waits in the office probably isn’t even for me. Mrs. Archer’s vision might be going right along with her hearing. A package for me is odd. I haven’t ordered anything and I never receive packages unexpectedly. Unless it’s a letter from one of the grants I applied for informing me how un-grant worthy I am.
Depressed and confused about the whole Tyler situation, I’ve debated sending him a text saying something along the lines ofJust kidding. Ignore everything I said the other night. I can’t promise I won’t do this again, but I want you.
Then the first rejection letter came through. Well,rejectionis pretty harsh. It more or less informed me that while my program sounds impactful, all funding has been granted until next school year. And whatever. That’s fair. Art funding is scarce as it is, and mid-year is even worse.
The bell rings and once my students file out, I make my way to the front office.
A beautiful bouquet sits on the counter and I stop to admire each delicate petal. Dusty blue, trimmed in lavender. Forget-me-nots—very similar to the bouquet Tyler gave to Abby. Leaning in, I inhale their light fragrance, my eyes fluttering shut. Not too much. Just sweet enough. Lucky Mrs. Archer to have someone who still sends her flowers after so many years of marriage.
“Josie, I am dying to know who sent these to you. You got an admirer?” Mrs. Archer says with a conspiratorial grin.
My eyes pop back open, wide with shock. “These aren’t yours?”
