“What does Dinah do?”
“She’s a personal trainer and a graphic artist. I want to call it painting, but it’s more than that. Multimedia art, she calls it. One piece will have oil paint, watercolors, pieces from newspapers or magazines, feathers, beads, whatever. She has her own gallery and studio.”
“Wow. I feel like I need to meet her.”
“Oh, you will.” He smiles. “I actually haven’t seen her in a few days myself. She tends to sort of…go through these intense phases. She takes, like two and a half weeks off of work at the gym and locks herself in the studio and has her meals delivered and just works all day and all night for days and days. She’ll produce like half a dozen huge pieces in two weeks, in this crazy frenzy of manic creativity. Then she puts them up for sale at the gallery and goes back to work. So, when your TikTok went up, she was in the middle of one of those phases where no one sees her for days at a time.”
“So she doesn’t know either.”
“No one does but Jen and Marty.”
“Your assistant and your agent?”
“Calling Jen merely my assistant isn’t quite accurate. She does assistant-type things, like scheduling and screening emails and phone calls and making reservations and such. But really, she’s as much a manager as anything. She does what anyone else would hire like four other people for. And Marty is my agent, yes.”
This whole conversation has occurred at the bottom of my stairs, him a stair down from me.
I’m looking at him straight on, and suddenly all I can think about is that kiss outside. How soft his lips were. How his mouth tasted. How his tongue felt.
His eyes flick to my lips—does that mean he’s thinking the same thing?
It feels like I’m falling forward—my hands go flat to his chest, which is strong and firm and broad, and my nose slants against his.
And then my eyes are closed and his mouth is damp and hot and insistent against mine, and I’m kissing him and I’m up in the stars, and they’re wild and furious or maybe that’s my pulse—the blood in my very veins afire and scorching me from within.
“HO-kay!” I hear, in my dad’s voice, surprised.
I pull away, forcing myself to move slowly rather than abruptly as if guilty. “Hi, Dad.”
“This is all very sudden,” Dad says. “Not sure how comfortable I am with this.”
I don’t move my hands from Wes’s shoulders, and I realize his hands are around my waist, and now that I’m aware of them there my whole body tingles, but especially where his hands touch me.
I want to burst into inappropriate and slightly hysterical laughter, but I hold it back.
“It is all very sudden.” I smile at Dad. “And I understand that it makes you uncomfortable to see me kissing someone.”
Wes takes my suitcase. “I’ll just go bring this outside.”
“Thanks,” I murmur to him.
When he’s outside, and I’m alone with Dad.
“I’m still your little girl, Dad,” I say, sitting on the stair I’ve been standing on. “I’m just…not a little girl anymore.”
“I know. You’ve never been away from us, ever. You’ve never had a boyfriend. And now, just like that, you’re—” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble with it.”
“Would it help if you looked at this as me ticking off the last few things on my bucket list?” I say, reaching out to touch his arm.
He shakes his head. “No, not really. But I’ll adjust.”
“So.” I move past him, into the living room, gathering my cell phone and charger cord and block and put them into my purse. “Any advice?”
“Yeah,” he says immediately, “Don’t marry someone you just met.”
“Funny, Dad, very funny.” I eye him. “Seriously.”
He leans against the back of the couch, watching me go through the contents of my purse one more time, making sure I’ve got everything I need. “Expensive gifts don’t equate to love. Neither does…er, the physical stuff. Sex and all that.” His face reddens but he doesn’t slow down. “That can be an expression of emotions, but…love is an action—a consistent choice. It’s putting the other person first. Considering them before yourself. So…I don’t know if that’s where things are with you two, but I guess what I’m saying is don’t be fooled by pretty words and glittery things.” He pauses. “Nothing is expected of you, Jolene. Physically, I mean. In any sense, but especially that. Don’t do anything you’re not a hundred percent comfortable with. No matter what. Okay?”
“I know, and I won’t.” I put everything back into my purse. Face Dad. “It’s a few days in LA with Wes. I’m not—” I stop myself abruptly, because I was about to say I’m not leaving forever, which would have been in poor taste at best. I start over. “I’m not moving.”
Probably not? I don’t know. All I know is I’m living in the moment.
The moment is all any of us ever have, right? No one is guaranteed more than this very instant. But for me, the moment really is all I have.
And like heck am I gonna miss out on this opportunity with Wes.
“I just worry about you, babycakes,” he says.
“I know. And I’m not going to tell you not to.” I hug him. “I love you. I’ll call you a lot. I’ll be fine.”
Mom comes down, then. Her eyes are red, but dry. She hugs me. “I wish I could tell you I was okay with this, Jo-Jo. But I’m just not.” She clutches me to herself and clings hard. “You really feel like you have to go?”
I nod against her shoulder. “Yes. I feel very strongly that this is something I need to do.” I hold her away and make sure both she and Dad are looking at me, listening. “I’m smart, okay? If I feel like something is off, I’ll come home. You have to just trust me, now, okay?”
One more hug, this time from both of them at the same time.
And then, I shoulder my purse, head for the front door. Wes is on the porch, giving me space to say goodbye to my parents.
I open the storm door, and then pause and look back at my parents—I’ve never been away from them overnight. I’m a little scared, and a lot excited.
I blow them a kiss. “Bye, I love you guys. See you soon.”
“Call us right away if—” Dad halts. “If you need anything.”
“I will,” I say.
And then I’m outside and Wes is leaning against his big black SUV. He’s wearing tight black jeans with artful rips at the knees, slouched into the same calf-high, partially unlaced combat boots. A blindingly white T-shirt, just the front tucked behind a thick black belt. Black leather ball cap, no insignia or logo, with mirrored Ray-Bans.
Good grief, he’s gorgeous.
My stomach flutters just looking at him.
And then…he smiles at me; it’s like the world turned upside down, knowing that a smile that bright, that joyful, that brilliant and beautiful is meant for me. “Hey, you. Ready?”
I bite my lip, suddenly rethinking my outfit. “Yeah!” I say, a little too eagerly, a little too brightly.