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Clara took an obedient sip. “What about your family? Your friends? Did they support your decision?”
“I didn’t ask for their permission then and I don’t plan on asking forgiveness now. Even Wynn, who understands why I had to leave, can’t comprehend why I’ll never go back.” She held her hands up in front of her chest. “That is not an invitation to hug me again.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Most people will do anything to avoid change.” Naomi brushed her flame-colored hair over her shoulder. “Even the ones who try often revert back to old habits as soon as life gets hard. Remember that before you go doing something crazy. Sometimes we think we want something until it’s time to live with the consequences.”
The answer wasn’t pessimistic, just grounded in the firm dose of reality Clara had grown to expect from Naomi.
As the bitter coffee played across her tongue, Clara tried not to close her eyes. She wanted to believe in change. To believe she could leave her old life, her old responsibilities and baggage, behind for Josh, if he’d have her. She wanted people to say, Oh yeah. Clara can always roll with the punches. She takes big honking bites out of life.
But Naomi was right. It was easy to try. To swallow the insecurity triggered by working with so many beautiful women who knew so much more about sex than she could even imagine. To dodge calls from her mother and blame it on the time difference. To fan the fantasy of her and Josh living happily ever after while his performing hiatus helped stall the thousands of obstacles standing in their way.
This was summer vacation from real life, but sooner or later, summer would end. She’d have to face her family, would have to choose between the life she’d been groomed for and the one that hung at the edge of the horizon, outrageously tempting, but with a price tag of all she held dear.
“Change always comes with a closing cost,” Naomi said. “But it’s still worth trying. Not because the odds are particularly good, mind you, but considering the alternative. There’s value in the struggle. Value in touching the raw and bloody parts of our souls, opening them up to the sunlight, and hoping they heal.”
Clara got the message. If she wanted a future with Josh, she’d have to fight for it. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever met who I think might actually change the world.”
Naomi grinned over her shoulder as she walked away. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
chapter thirty
JOSH WOULD STOP at nothing in his quest to take Clara on a real date.
While he’d loved sharing breakfast food with her during the middle of the night, he wanted something more formal. An arranged outing versus the casual hanging out they’d been doing for weeks. Everything had changed for him last night. Now he needed to figure out if Clara felt the same way.
All day he’d felt like a teenager, green and unsure, pussyfooting around. He’d spent enough time with Clara before they got physical to know that this thing between them was more than run-of-the-mill attraction.
He wanted to plant a flag. To show Clara he was all in.
He didn’t mind that this movie marathon had been her idea. Ever since they’d first watched Speed, whenever he thought about car chases and standoffs, he thought of Clara. She was surprisingly bloodthirsty for a woman who, a week earlier, wouldn’t let him smush a spider that had showed up in the bathtub.
“I probably should have tried to take you somewhere more romantic than the megaplex.” He helped her out of the rental car.
“Are you kidding? I love Rocky. Sylvester Stallone taught me how to punch.”
“You know how to punch?”
Clara planted her feet and made tiny fists.
Her form wasn’t half bad. “Okay.” Josh held up his open palm. “Gimme your worst.”
Clara’s smile made him overheat and her punch landed with a resounding smack and not an insignificant amount of force.
He shook out his wrist. “Damn. You weren’t kidding. Sometimes you’re alarmingly scrappy.” Josh let his hand linger on her lower back as he ushered her inside.
Josh had dressed up for date night in a crisp white button-down and his nicest pair of jeans, but he still felt like a putz next to Clara. She’d taken off her cardigan and looped it over her arm, revealing a black dress he’d never seen before, held up by two tiny straps that he could, and hopefully would later, snap with his teeth.
He’d gotten used to her beauty on low volume at the house. No makeup, sweats, hair piled on top of her head like a cinnamon roll. All done up, in natural light, she took his breath away. He hadn’t used the right words last night when he’d confessed the way he felt about her. Certainly hadn’t used the one word that had been swimming in his brain ever since their barbecue.
But that was okay. He could make it right. Tonight he would issue a proper declaration. One that wasn’t based on her physical characteristics but told Clara how she made him want to recite epic poems. If she’d let him, he’d do his best to lay cities at her feet, to sail for fourteen years only to find his way back to her bed.
“Did you know Rocky is both an invigorating tale of determination and grit and a romance for the ages? You’re in for a real treat.” Clara used the know-it-all voice that drove him wild.
“You think everything’s romantic. You tried to convince me that The Mummy was a love story.”
“Of course The Mummy is a love story.” Clara thrust her hands on her hips. “You’re off your gourd.”
