FACE MASK
Jules
I’m stretched out on my couch, the sea clay mask on my face finally cracking—which is, incidentally, one of life’s great unsung pleasures—and the newest episode of The Dating Games hitting peak emotions, when my phone buzzes with a text.
It’s Friday night so I expect Camden with an update on her date. Eager for the news, I grab the phone, pause the show on my laptop, then click open the messages.
But it’s not my bestie. It’s from Hank, my doorman.
There’s a delivery for you. If you’re home, I can bring it up. Or them, really.
Huh. That sounds intriguing, so I call him. “Hi, Hank. Who’s the delivery from?”
Hank clears his throat, then sighs, like he doesn’t want to be a pawn in a game. “Um…it says it’s from…Your piano teacher.”
Electricity jolts through me, chased by fireworks. Then, a healthy dose of oh shit. I’m in sleep shorts, a tank top, and I look like mud is caked to my face.
Because mud is caked to my face.
Is Finn downstairs with the delivery? No idea, but I can get ready fast. “Is someone there?”
“Nope.”
But he might be nearby, and no man needs to see my mud face. “Do you mind bringing it up? Or them.”
“Might take a few trips, but sure I can do it.”
A few trips? Did Finn bring me a palette of perfume? A dozen boxes of panties? “Okay,” I say, already breathless with anticipation. “And thank you, Hank.”
“Of course, Miss Marley.”
I scrub the sea clay off my face at a record clip, finishing just as footsteps sound outside my door.
I’m slathering on lotion so I don’t look rubbed raw, when I hear footsteps again.
Next comes a knocking as I’m tugging on a crop top and jeans. What did Finn send that takes multiple trips? And will my doorman hate me?
I don’t have time to find out since his footsteps fade just as I reach the door and unlock it.
When I swing open the door, I gasp.
My doorway is bursting with blooms. There are boxes full of arrangements. Vases bursting with flowers. My doorway is filled with peach roses, lush delphiniums, fluffy peonies, gorgeous tulips.
My nose is in heaven. My mind is overwhelmed. And my heart is thundering as I take it all in. Easily a dozen bouquets wait for me. Tucked in one of them is a simple white card with my name on it. I pick it up, opening the flap as my pulse skyrockets.
I tug out the card, my skin tingling.
Don’t let this be bad news. Don’t let this be something terrible.
I take a beat, then a calming breath, letting any terrible thoughts float away.
I open the card. I don’t move as I read it. I barely breathe.
Jules,
When we were in Paris in the Luxembourg Gardens, you closed your eyes, and I asked where you went. You told me that you went to a memory of my hotel room. You painted the scene from your imagination. It was vivid and vibrant and told me exactly where you were and who you are.
Now, back here in New York, when I catch the scent of honeysuckle outside my kitchen window, I picture you. I see you walking down the street, coming up my steps, dancing for me.
But then again, my thoughts always go to you.
When I go to the bookstore, I imagine you’re wandering among the shelves. When I’m in the diner, you’re joining me. When I turn the corner, you walk toward me.
Wherever I am, you are.
But I don’t want to be lost in a memory, or caught only in a dream. I want to be wrapped in the present with you, and planning a new future together. I’d take you to Monet’s Garden to tell you this, but instead, I’m bringing the garden to you.
Can I come up and see you?
xo,
Finn
I clutch the card to my chest for several long seconds, then sway. I grab onto the doorjamb, so I don’t fall under the weight of the swoon. I’m going to need a fan. I’m going to need to pinch myself.
I grab at my phone and try to slide it open, but I’m so excited I can’t unlock it at first. Once I get it open, though, I stop.
I know Finn.
He’s not far away.
I bet he’s…
As if drawn by an invisible force, I head to the window and stare down at the street.
My heart slams against my ribs when I see him on the sidewalk, pacing, gripping his phone like it’s a lifeline to me.
Waiting for me.
He’s so unbearably handsome in the summer twilight, the day drifting away, the night coasting in. In tight jeans and a fitted T-shirt, he’s the man showing up for me.
I fling open the window, giddy. “Yes!” I shout it without thinking.
He turns, following the sound of my voice, staring up, then smiling slowly, like his smile is filling him up.
“Come up,” I add excitedly, in case it wasn’t clear.
“I’m on my way,” he says, then bounds up the steps.
I call Hank, tell him to let my piano teacher in, then I rush to the door, gingerly passing the flowers so I don’t knock any over. I turn down the hall and head to the staircase.
Then, I run, barefoot, ready, eager. I yank open the door, right as Finn reaches the top of the steps.
My man. My love. The guy who was off-limits for the longest time, till I ripped down the barriers—the ones inside me.
“Hi,” I say, bursting with hope.
“Hi,” he says, then sweeps me up in his arms, lifting me in the air, bringing me close. “I miss you too much to stay away any longer. I miss you too much to be without you. I miss you too much to let another hour go by without telling you,” he says, as I wrap my legs around him, thrilled to be back here, with him. “Tell me it’s the same for you.”
He gazes at me with such vulnerability, such passion that I wish I could capture this moment and remember it forever. The moment he declared his heart. The moment when I’m ready to do the same. I sneak a hit of him. Fire, leather, orchids. My favorites. But soap too. He just showered.
Even his hair is damp.
I eat up all these details, recording them so they become my photo albums and I never forget how I feel right here, right now. “Yes. I miss you. I want you. I need you,” I say, then I swallow, taking a fortifying breath before I say three more words. “And—”
But before I can speak, he says, “I love you.”
“You beat me to it,” I say, laughing, my whole body singing, my mind dancing.
“As a man should,” he says, then he sets me down and holds my face like he’s about to come in for a kiss, but he pauses.
Sweeps his gaze up and down me. Then finally brushes his lips to mine. I sigh happily against his mouth.
It feels like both a kiss and a declaration.
We’re choosing this. Choosing us. I know this in a bone-deep way. When he breaks the kiss, I take his hand and lead him out of the stairwell and down the hall, stopping at my open door.
“Want to see my place?”
“I bet it smells really good.”
“Like a dream that became real,” I say, unable to stop smiling.
His expression softens, his eyes gleaming as he cups my cheek. But before he hauls me in for another kiss, he lets go and gets to work.
“You brought the gardens to me,” I say as I pick up a vase and a box.