I sit taller, my surprise evident. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t want any of your own?”
She shrugs. “Maybe it’s weird, but I don’t feel this overwhelming need to birth a child out of my vagina, especially in order for me to love them as mine, you know?”
Like Holden.
Like me.
I can picture it now—having little kids running around the greenhouse and gardens, Mags and Big H chasing after them. They would make great parents, foster and otherwise.
“I think Big H and I are at the point in our lives where we’d rather help kids who need it instead of creating a new life.” She hesitates a beat before adding, “Kids like you, you know?”
The emotions that hit me are instant and overwhelming, and suddenly, I’m forcing myself to breathe through the burn behind my eyes, in my nose. I fail. “Well, shit, Maggie,” I cry. “You’re just out here making me sob. No big deal.”
“Sorry,” she says through a giggle, reaching up with both hands to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
I rub my eyes, and when I lower my hands, I notice a familiar figure walking toward us. “Is that Holden?” I ask and rub my eyes some more. He’s on the sidewalk, carrying a large cardboard box, and I reach over, honk the horn. His head snaps up, spotting us instantly, and he jerks his head in a nod. He doesn’t move closer, though. Instead, he takes the few steps to the door of a gift shop, and I murmur, “What the hell’s he doing?”
Maggie stays silent, and when I look over at her, she’s grinning from ear-to-ear. “Watch,” she says, pointing toward the store.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see Holden placing the box on the counter, smiling—possibly flirting—with the middle-aged woman behind it. And then, he reaches into the box and pulls out one of the clay vases I created.
“What is he doing?” I whisper, watching him pull out another vase and then another. The woman takes a moment to inspect them, five in total, before looking up at Holden and nodding. Holden’s mouth moves, and then he’s turning, pointing to me. The fucker waves, and the woman joins him, and Maggie hisses, “Wave back!”
I wave back.
Maggie says, “The owner of the store came into the nursery the other day when you were at Jimmy’s and wanted to buy some of your work.”
I lower my hand, facing her with wide eyes. “Is that why he was asking if I had any sentimental attachment to them?”
Maggie nods.
“Is that why you brought me out here? To see—”
I break off when Maggie laughs. “Yep. So you could see for yourself how insanely talented you are. She was blown away, Jamie, not just with the vases themselves, but with your paintwork. She said she’s never seen anything so delicate and perfect.”
“Shut your pretty little face right now!” I look between Maggie and Holden, finishing on her. “There is no client with a check, is there?”
“Oh, there is,” she’s quick to say. “Holden had to research how much to sell them for since they’re one-of-a-kind, handcrafted, original Jamie-née-Taylor-future-Eastwood pieces.”
“Stop it!”
“He thought he’d have to negotiate, so he doubled the price of the ones he saw online. She didn’t even try to barter. She just wanted them.”
“This is insane,” I laugh out, my heart thumping against my ribs.
“It’s kind of a big deal… people wanting to pay money for your art! You deserve it more than anyone.”
I look back at the shop—where Holden’s now pulling open the door. I wind down my window, my smile unrefined as I wait for him. He doesn’t greet me in words. He simply hands me a check for hundreds of dollars. “Holy shit,” I whisper, looking up at him.
“Lunch is on you,” he states, all cool and relaxed as if he has no idea what he’s just done for me.
I once told him that art wasn’t my passion, that I didn’t love it, but over time, he changed that by encouraging me, by reminding me of how talented I was, how gifted.
It’s not a surprise, I suppose, especially considering my art spoke to him before I ever did…
51
Jamie
“So, what are you going to do with the check?” Holden asks, smiling to one side as he watches me from across the booth at the diner.
“Wedding or travel fund, probably.”
He groans, rolling his eyes as he leans forward. “Jamie, you’re officially a professional artist or creator or whatever. You should splurge your first paycheck on something completely useless and ridiculous like most normal twenty-three olds!”
“What would I splurge on? I literally have everything I want.”
“What do you have left on your list?”
I try to hide my grin, my excitement, as I grab my phone and pull up the list of Favorite Childhood Memories. I go through the items, one by one, until I find the perfect splurge. “Learning to do flips on a trampoline.”
“Hell to the fuck yes, babe! That’s perfect.” Now he’s on his phone, tapping away. For minutes, I just watch him, watch the boy I love finding new ways to show me he loves me in return. “Ordered. It’ll be here in a few days.”
“I haven’t even cashed the check yet!” I laugh out.
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “We have the money from Esme’s house… well, you have the money from the house. Mine’s all gone.” He fake weeps into his hands, and I giggle in response. He used the money to pay off his student loans and whatever was left over, he put back into the business. Construction on the new greenhouse starts next week.
“Speaking of money,” I say, and he lowers his hands to reach over and cover mine.
He says, completely straight-faced, “Don’t worry, I have a sugar mama on the side, so I won’t be dipping into your funds.”
“Well, shit, babe. You think she’d pay double if I were involved?”
He pushes my hand away. “One,” he says, pointing a finger in the air. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’d share you with anyone. And two—” he adds a finger to the one already up—“you’re supposed to be jealous.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “I don’t know how many times you have to hear this, but your dick activity does not define your worth. But, for argument’s sake, how much is she paying you and what’s my cut for sharing?”
He scowls at me, his head dipping low, causing a strand of hair to fall over his brow, landing just above those green-green eyes I love so much.
“Why are you so hot?” I deadpan.
He mumbles, glaring at me, “Helps when I need to sell my body.”
I snicker. “Are we done? Can we move on now?”
Leaning back in his chair, he nods once. “Go ahead.”
I inhale a huge breath, weary of how he’ll respond. “I was thinking I can put some of the money from Esme’s house toward the company’s online presence. We definitely need to update the website and market on social media. I can run ads and stuff. We can post pictures of the new greenhouse build. And, I was thinking, since we’re getting married in my garden, I could slide some wedding stuff in there, gain another audience, and maybe in the future, you can start hosting weddings again.” I take a breath. “You won’t need to do a thing, I promise… besides pose shirtless for photos…”