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“You are insane. What do you want from me?…Why am I still here?” I say to the wall, soft enough that Jake doesn’t pick up on my muttering.
“For you to come over tonight. I promise I won’t make excuses for lying. My reactions were immature. I’m sorry for everything I put you through.” He apologizes.
“There’s no selfish reason?” I lift a brow.
“Of course there is. I miss you like hell,Corazón. I want to hear what you’ve been up to and listen to the amusing way your voice trails when you talk to yourself the way you just did. I like the weird talking with your hands thing that you do.”
The cleft in Jake’s chin becomes pronounced when his cheeks bunch, catching me wringing my hands. I hate how handsome his confidence makes him look.
“Don’t be self-conscious. I picked up the habit and do it now, too.” He strolls over to the stage where I’m standing. “I also like how your voice gets louder when you get riled up, forcing me to pay attention to you—like you haven’t been the only thing I’ve seen since you barged through those doors.” He points.
Jake has overshadowed everyone else for me as well. I want the moments back when we kiss and stopping, breaking apart from one another, doesn’t seem right. But I don’t know if I’m ready for this version of Jake Ballentine.
His fingers tickle behind my ear, lower against my neck, sending chills up my spine. “There’s no one else like you, Paisley. No one else I’ve loved, nobody I’ve failed so completely, and no other person I’ve wanted to make changes in my life for so that I might be deserving of them. I won’t blame you if you run away from me now. But not running after you if you walk out that door doesn’t mean I’ll ever let go of making what I did wrong up to you.”
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36
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I scoop eight overstuffed grocery sacks out of my trunk. The weight of the handles pinch as I carry them to the front door. I fumble with my keys, stepping over the roses Paisley must’ve thrown on the doorstep this morning.
It is normal for Paisley to return my tokens of affection. There have been quite a few instances that she’s collected several days’ worth, throwing the roses at the door and scattering them on the porch.
I wait before returning to the entryway to retrieve them, not staggering back the way I normally do, feeling like I’ve done something wrong by reminding Paisley she still exists in my world. This is the first time her rejection isn’t matched by my pride that she won’t put up with my shit.
After sticking perishables into the fridge, I grab the bag I use to gather the long stems scattered on the porch. It’s full to the brim with petals and so is my hope that tonight will go well.
Paisley is still leery about my intentions, but she agreed to come over. Like every other time I’ve put one foot in front of the other lately, it’s a step in the right direction.
I turn on some tunes and belt out the lyrics while searching the spice rack for the savory herbs and the spicier ones. Then I grab a cutting board and start chopping vegetables to the beat of the song.
I’m making pan-seared salmon, and I was smart enough to ask if she ate fish. Unlike the coffee versus tea thing, I didn’t want to plop down a plate of something for Paisley to eat that she didn’t enjoy the taste of. Cooking is something I’d prefer doing with Paisley, but if I have any intention of getting my girlfriend back, then I’m pulling out all the stops.
I pat myself on the back for finding a low-carb substitution for Paisley’s Asian food habit. If I’d taken any time to see the forest for the trees, then we’d have gotten takeout less and eaten healthier more. Although, I was more of the noodle and fried wonton guy and she chose the vegetables.
I’m rinsing the spinach in the colander for the bed of greens when the doorbell rings.
Paisley gives me a brusque hug. It’s similar to the awkward goodbye we shared on the sidewalk when I walked her back to the boutique this afternoon. As if we haven’t spent the entire summer and fall separated by my stupidity, my head dips and her chin lifts. My stubble brushes her soft cheek. Both of us pull away before we kiss.
Kissing isn’t a bad thing. We’re exceptional at reading the other’s desire. I want to kiss Paisley. But our chemistry has overridden our sensibility a time or two.
I stuff the dishtowel I dried off with into my pocket. With too much exuberance, I pull her into the living room to continue our earlier conversation. A tug pulls my shoulder out of the socket. Paisley’s stopped dead in her tracks.
“Why do you have those?” Bewildered, she points to the brimming sacks of withered roses.
I have them for the same reason Paisley threw the long stems at my door. And the same reason I now know I kept the napkin. We’ve been connected by an indescribable force since the moment we met. It will take more than distance for either of us to fall out of love with the other. I’m willing to bet that it’ll take more than my appalling past.
After rising to the challenge to make better choices for my future, I want Paisley there. I don’t want to be Carver and give my girlfriend the finest of everything. What I want is to give her the best of me. Paisley needs to be certain I’m worthy of her.
Unspeaking, I beam at her because I never understood sentimentality until I saw the woman I love mystified that I’d save her garbage.
I twirl her on her heel, dancing towards the couch. She laughs at the dizzy spin. I’m about to ask her to sit with me when she shakes her head, becoming standoffish.
“I don’t want this to go too far before we clear the air.” Her body language doesn’t bode well for me.
Restoring harmony is why, when she showed up with the mill girls at the club today, I took the chance on inviting her over tonight. Staying away from Paisley was becoming too difficult. So much is happening with the new club. The only person I want to share it with is her.
