Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Standing in Roman’s bedroom, I thread my fingers through the ends of my hair. “This feels strange.”
“It’s not. It’s just creator and client chatting.”
“But I’ve never done it like this before. I’ve only sold a handful of things, and they were already made. I’ve never chatted first and created second. And I still stink!” My fingers get stuck in a tangle of my wavy hair. I yank, but only jerk my head downward.
“Stop that,” Roman says, pulling my hand from my hair. “You look great. Your work is great. This is going to be—”
“Great?” I offer, my jaw clenching.
“Yes. It is. If you’ll relax.”
I blow air through my puckered lips and roll my head in a half circle.
“Here.” He snatches something from his dresser, and then the man is literally spraying me with cologne. Cologne!
I wave my arms in the air, shooing away the spritz. “Now I smell like man skunk!” My nose wrinkles as Roman’s cologne, which actually smells quite dreamy, invades my nostrils.
“Stella,” he says, holding me still with one arm on each of my shoulders. “This is bigger than being let go from a job or your mom stressing about you surviving on crafts. Or about smelling faintly of skunk.”
I glare, because glaring feels empowering in this moment. “Please don’t call my work crafts.”
“Sorry.” Stepping closer until he is exactly three inches in front of me, Roman’s hands slip from my shoulders to my neck. “You need to stop underestimating yourself and trust your abilities.”
“That sounds easy,” I say. Snarky Stella is back. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to be Snarky Stella. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to help.”
“Stell,” he says, bypassing my apology. “I’m great at confidence. Sure, I’m not great at making friends or connecting with actual humans—”
“You used to be. You could be again.” Because I haven’t forgotten my revelation. I’m here for Roman. I can bring the old Roman back to life. I know I can.
He nods again. But I’m not even sure he’s listening to me. “But I am good at confidence.”
“Oh-kay.” I shrug. “How is boasting supposed to help me?”
“You don’t believe in yourself right now. Well, guess what? I do. I’m your confidence today. When you’re feeling unsure, you look at me. Because I’m going to be confident enough for the both of us. Got it?” Roman looks at me so intently, it’s like I’m not allowed to dispute anything he’s saying.
“Okay.”
“When doubt creeps in, you’re going to say, ‘I’m the best.’”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t want to say that.”
He shrugs. “Do it anyway.”
“Roman,” I groan.
“Then say, ‘I’ve got this.’”
I close my eyes, focus on Roman’s fingers, his skin grazing mine just beneath the collar of my T-shirt. “I’ve got this.”
“There you go.”
He doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve spoken the words with very little umph. I said them. That’s all that matters.
“When you doubt, you look at me. Okay? You remember that I’m not doubting.
” He cups my cheek, and while I am perfectly aware that this relationship is not real, and that my mini crush is one-sided, for five whole seconds, it doesn’t feel like that.
Instead, it feels like someone who loves me, boosting me up, caring for me, showing more faith in me than I deserve.
I nod my head in his hold, and with the movement, my eyes drop to Roman’s lips.
Is the man ever going to kiss me? Like a real, actual kiss?
It’s possible I’ve been dreaming of a kiss from Roman since my fifteenth birthday.
He sat across from me as I blew out my candles all those years ago, and that was my one and only wish.
A pointless wish—even married to the man, I can’t get a kiss.
I need to come to terms with the fact.
I’m busy not coming to terms when there is a knock at Roman’s door.
“Show time,” I say.
His hands fall to my upper arms, and he rubs once, then twice, over my T-shirt and shoulders. “No show. Just Stella. That’s all we need.”
Does he hear himself? Because sometimes Roman talks like we are a couple, and he does adore me. He says things and does things, and it’s like he’s fooling me along with the rest of the world.
He scrunches his nose. “And scented candles. Let’s light a few.”
I whimper.
“It’s not that bad. But candles will ease your mind.”
Leading me into the living area, Roman lights two pumpkin spice candles along the way. Where did he get those? He’s in no hurry. He isn’t worried about Fran and Rosalie deciding we aren’t home in the two minutes he takes to light the candles.
“I’ll get the door,” he says. “You’ve got your portfolio pulled up?”
By portfolio, he means the album in my photo app titled “Stella’s Pottery.” I hold up my phone and give it a little shake in answer.
I stand straight next to our monstrous tree and pull in a breath through my nose, reminding myself that creating and offering my services as an artist is what I’ve always wanted to do.
Despite the whole being fired from one little job, fretting parents, and a near-empty bank account.
Because Roman is right. This truly is what I want to do.
Female chatter sounds from the open door. I brush my fingers through the length of my hair and breathe. I’ve got this. Roman is my confidence today.
Fran Fairchild and her bobbed brown hair peek around Roman to see me. She waves, a wide grin on her pretty face. “Hi, Stella!”
My jaw clenches, but I tell my mouth to smile. “Hi.”
“Rosalie’s here too.” She peers back at her friend, following in behind her.
“Hey, Rosalie.”
“This place is so cute,” says the tall blonde. “You’re not too far from town, and yet you’re alone.”
“Exactly,” Roman says. “You’re our first guests.”
Fran grins at him. “That’s nice, Roman. You aren’t nearly as grumpy as Callum says you are.”
“Oh, believe me,” he says, “I am.”
The pair laugh, but Roman is serious. I’m not the only one who needs to stop putting on a show. Roman isn’t this grumpy oaf that he’s made everyone believe he is. And while he’s busy shoving confidence down my throat, I’m going to help him remember that.
“You need to look at Stella’s portfolio,” he says, nodding his head at the phone still clutched in my grasp.
“Oh, yes. Please.” Fran claps, her eyes beaming.
“Sit down,” Roman says, already channeling his friendliness. But it’s me he looks at. And his earnest expression isn’t for Fran, but mustering confidence into each of my limbs—at least, that’s his agenda.
Rosalie sits, and Fran squishes next to her, so as not to sit on a tree branch.
“That’s one huge Christmas tree,” Rosalie says.
“For the space, yes.” Roman shoves both hands in his pockets. “Show them your photos, Stell.”
Clenching my jaw, I squint, telling him to hush. He’s rushing me. Still, I hand Fran my phone. “Just scroll to the left.”
“Make sure you find the tea set. It’s darling,” Roman says. The man has actually used the word darling.
“A tea set? Callum’s mom would love that.”
I press my teeth and jaw in a set smile. “Excuse me,” I say, then, planting both hands on Roman’s chest, I push my husband down the hallway. I push until his back smacks into the narrow wall that separates our rooms. “What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.
“I’m being your confidence.”
“Darling?” I say. “You have never in your life used the word darling.”
“Sure, I have.”
“No, you haven’t.” While I’ve backed him up as far as I can, I keep my hands firmly planted on his chest—just to keep him from escaping.
I can’t have Roman running back out there and calling more of my work darling.
Even if that tea set is the epitome of darling.
“You, to your room. I’ll let you know when we’re finished. ”
“But I’m your confidence. Remember?”
“I’ve got this,” I say, unintentionally repeating Roman’s hype phrase for myself.
His chin dips and his head tilts. He studies me. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Now, go before I show them the GOAT trophy you had me make.”
“Hey—it was a masterpiece. I’d still have it. But Mom threw out everything I’d left once she moved to England.”
There’s so much more to that sentence. So much that we need to unpack and discuss. Of course he couldn’t take all his possessions to college. But his mother just threw his things out? My poor Roman. He lost Brice and so much all at once.
I swallow, my hands slipping down the front of his chest an inch. “You don’t need to sit out here for this. I’ve got it. Okay?”
“Okay. If you say so.” Leaning down, he presses one small kiss to my head. “It’s going to be great.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing through his bedroom door.
My pulse races, but I turn back around, trekking back to the living room. I’ve got this. I’ll fake it if I have to. Because the fact is, I want to create and sell pieces. And with that comes customers.
I plaster on a smile for the women on our couch riffling through my photos.
Fran lifts her head, peering up at me. “Where do you work?” Her genuine interest, her kind expression—it all puts me a little more at ease. She isn’t doing me any favors. She wants something made, and she wants to know.
I’ve got this.
“I actually haven’t made anything since we moved in. But Roman set up a space for me on the back porch.” I walk the pair through the kitchen and into the workspace Roman set up for me.
“Wow,” Rosalie says. “This is beautiful.” She peers out the glass at the woods beyond. “It must be inspiring.”
It would be if I’d taken the time to work.
“Is that a pottery wheel?” Fran’s teeth clamp down on her bottom lip as she stares down at my wheel.
“It is. I do some hand-building work as well, but the wheel is my favorite.”
“Where does one get a pottery wheel?” she asks, still studying my equipment. “Do you ever loan this thing out?”
My brow wrinkles as I try to make sense of her words. “Um—”
“No, Fran,” Rosalie says. “You’re not recreating a pottery wheel love scene. No.” She loops her arm through Fran’s and pulls her back one step.
I clear my throat, wanting to laugh at the friends—even if I’m not completely following this conversation. They’re difficult not to feel comfortable around. Willow would like the pair.
“I don’t loan it out,” I say, answering Fran. “This thing cost me a month’s worth of paychecks. I had a starter one my parents gave me when I was a kid, but in college, I upgraded to this wheel. I’d gladly give you my old one if I still had it.”
I watch Fran’s face brighten, then fall with my empty gesture.
“Did you want to learn?” I ask. I never meant to disappoint her. “I could help with that.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Not really.”
I’m about to question what she’d do with a wheel when Rosalie speaks up. “Wait. Are you considering teaching, then? I know at Thanksgiving you said you’d never given lessons before. But I’d love to give a couple lessons to my grandma. She loves learning new things.”
Roman’s voice sounds in my head—if I want to create and sell my pottery, I may need another form of income. This—teaching—is a possibility. One that doesn’t involve horrible hours making minimum wage at a superstore.
“I’d be willing to give it a try,” I say, with absolutely no idea how much one charges for a ceramics lesson.
“Serious?” Rosalie beams. “Here.” She thrusts her phone into my hands. “Add your number. I’ll text you, and we can talk dates you’re available. I’ll need after-school hours, but Gram can do it whenever.”
She’s so thrilled, so appreciative, it’s hard not to feel excited about the idea.
We sit on the park-style bench Roman added to the porch and search through my pottery photos.
I am feeling a little big-headed with the multiple oohs and ahhs Rosalie and Fran have given me.
Fran has pointed out three of her favorites in my album, and she tells me how her future mother-in-law loves flowers and entertaining, how she’s wise and kind.
And truly, it all fuels my creative juices. My head is already imagining a design.
“I’ll sketch something out tonight and send it to you for approval.”
Fran giggles, her grin bright. “I can’t wait!”
Rosalie reaches across Fran on this bench and taps my knee. “You and Roman should go out with us tomorrow night.”
“Um, tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Fran says, “we’re going to this karaoke bar in Reno where Callum and I first met.”
I hiss, air sucking through my teeth as I think those words over. “Ah, karaoke? That’s not really—”
“We aren’t singing,” Rosalie says. “Just some pool, some time out, and music.”
“Make Roman come,” Fran says. “He never comes.”
I smirk and think about how he just threw me to the wolves not all that long ago—and yes, Rosalie and Fran are some of the nicest wolves I’ve met.
But that’s beside the point. “You know, I think we can make tomorrow work,” I say, because if I’m going to bring the real Roman back, why not start at a karaoke bar with his teammates?
That, and I’m pretty sure Roman needs a dose of his own medicine.
“Yes!” Rosalie says. “I have school the following day, so it’ll be tame. We won’t be out too late. Nothing too crazy.” She winks at me as if she knows I need a little easing in.
Fran squeaks out a gasp. “And you have to come to the wedding. It’s Christmas Eve at eleven in the morning. Roman was invited, but never RSVPed. I am officially considering this conversation your RSVP, okay? The whole team will be there.”
“You’ll be there too?” I ask Rosalie.
Rosalie scoffs, her arm looping through Fran’s. “Fran is my Christmas plan.”
“Rose is my BFF. She is my maid of honor. And the sister I never had but always wanted.” Fran squeezes her arm to Rosalie’s. “She and Zev will be there together.”
Rosalie side-bumps her friend, silently telling her to hush.
“Stop guarding this,” Fran tells her. “I completely understand you have some relationship anxiety after that idiot Robert Pattinson broke your heart.” She pauses, peering over at me.
“Rosalie’s ex, not the vampire.” Then she’s back to her friend.
“I understand that you feel anxious about sharing how you feel with others, but Rose, Zev isn’t Robert. And he’s crazy about you.”
“Can we please get back to your wedding invitation?” Rosalie says with an eye roll.
“Oh!” Fran snaps her fingers. “Right. Christmas Eve. Eleven o’clock. The Episcopal Church on Fifth Street. Please come. Callum would be so thankful to have all of his teammates there. And I need my friends there, old and new.”
I swallow, warmed with her kind invitation and the way she’s already accepted me as a friend. Then, not thinking about my social awkwardness or Roman’s grumpiness, I hear myself say, “We’ll be there.”