11. 11
11
LYLA
T he girls night had gone better than I anticipated and I spend the weekend in a state of euphoria. I couldn’t help but reflect on how the last two weeks have gone and smile. I love my apartment and friendship with Cassie, I love the bookshop, and I love getting close to Parker and his family. I can’t help but feel like I was meant to find this job because it’s truly feeding my soul being in Emerald Falls, surrounded by these amazing people.
It’s Monday morning and I have a pep in my step.
Until I realize what day it is.
I’d told Bev that I would come into the studio after work today and now I regret that decision. I hadn’t noticed the date when I made the plan. Of all the days, I couldn’t draw today . I had tried and failed many times, despite the guidance from my therapist and years of working through the feelings that came up every time. I feel my anxiety heighten as I try to figure out a way to cancel on her.
I don’t even notice how much time has passed until Parker walks through the door. He comes in every day with a smile on his face and my favorite coffee order. I was still getting used to this side of him but I had to admit that I was really liking that grump.
The smile on his face drops the second he sees my face.
“What’s wrong?”
I let out a breath through my nose and plaster on my best ‘happy’ face.
“I’m fine. What are you talking about?”
Parker sets our coffees down on the front counter and turns to face me. His gaze bores into mine. Searching, assessing.
“I call bullshit,” he sighs. “Come on, talk to me. You looked deep in thought and I can feel that something is off with you today. I want to know why.”
I mull over his offer and gnaw on the inside of my cheek. After some deliberation, I decide that I can give him at least a small truth.
“My dad left my mom and I. That was eleven years ago today.” I steady my breathing before continuing. “I was supposed to go to the studio today and I’m trying to figure out what to tell Bev. She was so excited.”
“Wait. Why can’t you go to the studio? I think it would be good for you to go and create something. Get out of your head and do something you love.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, that’s the problem..”
He eyes me curiously.
“My dad hated my artistic side, unfortunately. And I—I’ve never been able to draw or paint when the day comes up.”
I shyly look down at my hands, waiting for him to judge me or laugh at me.
“Tell me why.”
My head jolts up and I meet his stare. I didn’t expect him to actually encourage me to keep talking. Most people say they want you to talk to them, but when it gets a little too real, they regret it. As if it’s shocking that someone’s life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.
Parker’s eyes ooze sincerity.
“He thought I was weak-willed and being a sensitive and artistic soul was part of that. He tried to discourage art in any form and he would destroy my work. Despite the fact that he’s gone and I draw almost every day, it’s still a day that I can’t even bring myself to pick up a pencil or a paintbrush. Not without going into a full mental spiral.”
I chuckle. I’m rambling.
“I didn’t draw for a year and a half after he left, but they told me it would help me cope…” I trailed off.
Shit. Why had I said that?
I’ve been getting so comfortable with Parker that I slipped. It’s happened with Cassie as well. The people in this town are making me want to reveal my biggest secrets. Things I keep locked away, and for good reason.
But instead of questioning what I said, he asks, “How about I go with you tonight?”
I stand in stunned silence at the man before me. The same man who had all but growled in my face the day we met and had demanded I be fired the second he saw me standing in this very store. I couldn’t wrap my head around it some days, but he’s shown me that this is the true version of him. Past the grouchy exterior is a man that has endless patience and a huge amount of compassion.
“You would do that?” It comes out as a whisper.
“Of course. We’ll go over there together, after work.”
I can’t think of a way to express how much this means to me, so all I say is, “Thank you” as my eyes fill with tears.
Parker reaches for my hand and it all happens in slow motion as my breath catches in my throat.
His strong hands pull me forward, as his arms gently wrap around my shoulders. He lifts a hand to push my head into his muscular chest and begins running his fingers through my hair. He carefully cradles me to him as I inhale his scent and wrap my arms around his waist. He smells like honeysuckle, lemon and cedar. Slightly sweet, with a citrus and woody undertone. His heart beats steadily beneath my cheek and I pull him closer .
A throat clears and we look over to see Dennis standing at the back of the store.
“It’s nice to see you kids getting along finally,” he says, looking smugly between us before turning around and walking into the office, as if he isn’t surprised in the slightest.
After work, we make our way to Bev’s art studio. I halt just outside the door and my heart begins to race. It feels wrong to be here today. Memories of a darker time come flooding through my mind and I can almost hear my father yelling in my face. I recoil from the building and notice that Parker is staring at me, assessing as always. I feel so raw and stripped down in front of this man. Despite how close we’ve grown in such a short time, it’s an uncomfortable feeling to have someone be witness to these moments.
“Lyla.” He gently grasps my arm and turns me to face him. “Take it one step at a time. First, just walk through the door. We’ll see how that feels, okay?”
I nod and he drops his hand, but instead of moving away, he places it on my lower back and gives a reassuring nudge. I gingerly enter the front door and take in my surroundings. I nearly gasp because this place is amazing. Bev has everything you could possibly need, with pottery, drawing, and painting supplies scattered throughout, as well as three long tables lined with stools on either side. Everything is organized and labeled, and dried paint covers every surface. I spin around, taking in the space before me and feel temporarily at ease. I can imagine myself sitting on a stool for hours, painting with a tabletop easel or sketching on a pad.
“Stop crying! Dammit girl, toughen the hell up. See, Kathryn? Look what all of this artistic crap leads to? Her moods are all over the place and I’m sick of it! This tortured artist bullshit is OVER! You hear me, Lyla? You’re done.”
I cringe away from the paint brushes I had been running my hands over. I don’t know if I can do this. The memories were always so vivid when I’ve tried in the past, and today is no different.
I sigh, “I can’t do this, Parker.”
I turn around to find him standing with his hands in his pockets and a sympathetic look on his face. Not pity or discomfort, just empathy and kindness.
“Lyla, I’m right here. We’re going to do this together and work through it. You’re not alone this time. I’ve got your back.”
Just as I’m about to respond, Bev comes fluttering out of the back room.
“Lyla, sweetheart! It’s so good to finally have you here. Have you had a chance to look around?”
I nod, “Yes, it’s such an incredible space. Thank you for inviting me.”
She smiles and starts flitting around the room, showing me where everything is and letting me know the monthly cost artists pay to cover supplies. It’s ridiculously cheap, considering how much I spend on my own supplies, and I start to wonder where Bev gets the money to keep operating. As I follow her around, Parker stays leaning against one of the tables. I’m so grateful to have him here and still can’t believe how sweet he truly is. The Parker I met on my first day versus the Parker I know now are completely different men, but I decide he’s like a Skittle. Hard shell on the outside, but soft and sweet on the inside.
“Well.” Bev interrupts my thoughts. “I have some paperwork to do in the back. You may see me here and there as people begin to arrive tonight, but if you need me, just holler.”
With that, she leaves us on our own and the nerves start setting in yet again. My palms begin to sweat as I consider picking up one of the paint brushes.
“So, what do you want to do today? Paint, draw, sculpting?”
I continue staring at the materials in front of me and think it over. My dad hated all forms of art, but he hated one the most because he knew it was my favorite .
“Draw. I—I want to try and draw.”
He stands silently for a moment before saying, “Alright, drawing it is.”
We collect the supplies we’ll need and make our way to the table farthest from the door. I set everything down and methodically organize it the same way I always do. Pencils to the right of the sketchbook, with eraser, sharpener, and smudging tools to the left, and everything at a 45-degree angle. Parker watches as I lay everything out for him as well. Once I finish my ritual, he meets my eyes and raises a brow curiously.
“It’s just my artistic method. I don’t know how to explain it.” I nervously laugh.
“Alright.” He returns a chuckle. “What now?”
I suck in a breath, realizing what comes next, and my body physically freezes. I can’t lift my hand as I sit in a state of panic. My breathing becomes erratic and my body suddenly feels too heavy. Before I can register what’s happening, Parker grabs my hands and places them on his chest.
“Feel my heartbeat? Focus on that. The feeling of it thudding beneath your palms. Look into my eyes, Lyla. Good, now take a few deep breaths.”
He begins demonstrating deep breathing, and I follow suit. I lose track of time, and get lost in Parker instead. I don’t know how long we sit there, my hands on his chest, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. But finally, my breathing comes normally and I’m grounded back to the here and now. We slowly pull away from each other and Parker clears his throat.
“Teach me.”
I look at him with confusion written all over my face.
“Teach me how to draw. Don’t pick up a pencil yet, just direct my movements using my hand.”
He picks up one of the pencils sitting next to his pad and begins drawing a mountain range. His movements are all wrong and I laugh under my breath. I reach out and grasp his hand, relaxing his grip. I reposition the pencil and place it gently against the page, making soft and fluid swipes. Our hands work together and eventually, I let him try on his own. I correct him a few times, giving reminders to relax his wrist and stop pressing the pencil to the page so harshly. We sit there for half an hour as he takes my directions and concentrates thoroughly on his project.
Finally, he lifts the pad and looks it over. It isn’t bad for someone who doesn’t usually draw, and I take note of things I can teach him to improve his skills. He places the sketchbook down and looks pointedly at me.
“Okay, this time, we’re going to draw at the same time. I’ll be right there with you.”
I reluctantly nod and look down at the fresh white sheet before me. I know exactly what I want to draw within seconds. I pick up the pad and turn to face the amazing man beside me. I place my feet on the wooden step that’s halfway up the length of the stool, put the pad on my knees, and get to work.
“What are you doing?”
I look up briefly before continuing my outlines.
“Drawing a portrait of you.”
He awkwardly chuckles and runs his hands through his hair before mirroring my position and beginning to sketch. We sit in companionable silence, only glancing up with a smile every now and then. We adjust our posture a few times as the sun began to set and people filter in and out. We spend the evening drawing and doodling before finally calling it a night. We gather the supplies and place them back in their rightful spots as Bev places our drawings in envelopes for us to take home. We say our goodbyes to her and make our way outside. I breathe in the crisp air and let out a contented sigh. Fall is approaching and I’m loving every second of these cool nights.
Parker walks me back to the store, where Cassie is closing down for the night. We stand outside the entrance and I can’t help the smile currently taking up residence on my face. I’d faced and conquered a mental roadblock that I’ve had for eleven years and it feels entirely freeing.
“Thank you, Parker.” I look him in the eye. “You have no idea how much tonight meant to me. I feel so at peace right now and I really couldn’t have done this without you. So, thank you. For everything.”
He gives me a megawatt smile and steps in for a hug, which I gladly accept.
“I’ve got you, Lyla. Always.”
I give him one last squeeze before I let go and make my way up to the apartment with Cassie. She’s chatting about her work day and how busy the store was tonight. I listen and laugh as she enthusiastically tells me about a party that’s coming up in two weeks. It’s for a townie’s birthday and he’s a friend of Cassie’s. She invites me to come with her and I happily accept the offer. Apparently a lot of people in town will be coming out, mostly in the twenties to forties crowd. Cassie lifts her brows suggestively at that and I let out a hoarse laugh. She’s been bugging me about my love life since my first night here and is relentless.
“I don’t really do the dating thing.”
She waves her hand dismissively, “Neither do I, but a girls gotta get laid. And there will be plenty of options at that party.”
She winks before making her way to her bedroom. With one last pointed look, she closes the door and I’m left standing in the living room.
She might be right. I hadn’t been laid in—oh god, had it really been a year? I mentally do the math and sure enough, last September was my last romp in the sack.
Parker’s face flashes in my head, his easy smile and calloused hands running down my body appreciatively. I shake the thought away. We’re friends, and I can’t be thinking about him that way.
With a frustrated groan, I go to my bedroom and spend the night tossing and turning, Parker’s eyes filling my consciousness.