Chapter 23
JAKE
A fter my morning run, I peeked into the downstairs guest room expecting to find Olivia. She’d decided to redecorate it now that we’d cleared out the boxes and the bad energy. But instead of Olivia hanging my old photos on the wall, I found Chantal dusting the shelves and humming to herself.
For some reason, she’d set the mystery album of my accomplishments on the dresser, and I found myself thumbing through it again. The album had raised a lot of questions that only my mother could answer. Whether she’d be willing to was another question.
Olivia had suggested I invite her over, convinced that the existential slump I’d been living in the past year had something to do with my father’s sudden death and all the things we’d left unsaid.
But I didn’t want my mother to visit now for obvious reasons.
I only had a couple weeks left with Olivia and wanted to enjoy them.
It would be over soon enough and then I’d have to get on with my real life.
Real life.
This wasn’t real life. I had to keep reminding myself of the fact or else I’d be tempted to indulge in pointless “what-if” scenarios: What if Olivia did stay in France? What if I did? What if we continued to see each other?
No, it was too complicated. This wasn’t long-term, it couldn’t be—our goals were too different.
She’d want someone who was around more than I was.
This summer was the first time I’d stuck around anywhere for more than a month.
Normally, I got itchy if I stayed in one place too long, and I didn’t want to check-in with someone, alter my schedule to fit theirs.
Understandably, no woman I’d ever dated had been happy with that.
And then one day she’d want a family. I’d never once considered the possibility, convinced that I’d be just as awful at it as my father was.
I could never figure out why someone would willingly create small humans who were entirely dependent upon them.
Olivia would be a wonderful mom though, and she deserved to have that.
Most importantly, she deserved the freedom to enjoy her time in Paris without the distraction of a cynical killjoy like me.
So, yeah, no possibility for this summer fling—or whatever it was—to turn into anything more than that.
I had to keep that in mind, no matter what my stupid feelings might try to convince me to the contrary.
Prolonging this would only be selfish in the long run.
God knows I could be selfish. But not about this.
I took the album to my office and set it on the shelf next to my old account books, then went in search of Olivia.
She wasn’t in her usual spot in the kitchen experimenting with new recipes, but the scent of lemon and basil hung in the air and a cake, dusted with powdered sugar and sprinkled with almonds, sat cooling on the counter.
I plucked a fig from the basket next to the sink and split it open, struck by the carnality of it with its fresh pink flesh splayed open, and the need to find Olivia became more urgent.
She was on her knees in the garden behind the cottage, a small shovel in her hand. The cat was watching her from its perch on the stone wall, and she was talking to him as if he was capable of real conversation.
“This should help with your hairballs. That was a nasty surprise you left me the other day, Sly. I thought it was a dead mouse,” she admonished.
The cat turned its gaze slowly to me as I snuck up behind her.
I glared at him. He needed to know who the boss was around here, even if I was pretty sure he could fuck me up with those claws if he wanted to.
“Talking to yourself again?” I asked. Startled, she fell backward and peered up at me from under the brim of her floppy straw hat.
“I was talking to Sly. He’s having digestive issues, so I’m planting some cat grass.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because regular grass isn’t good enough for him?”
“I didn’t think you’d like him eating your grass.
You don’t like to share, remember?” Memories of that day at the beach flashed through my mind, how I’d covered her glistening tits with her hair so no one else would see them.
I hadn’t given them much attention this morning.
I’d have to make up for that. I started to get hard thinking about it.
“Oh, I remember,” I said, and she flushed.
“Did you notice anything else?” She stood, dusting off her hands. My hand moved to the soft fabric of her little sundress—red with tiny white polka dots. “I like this.”
She swatted my hand away, laughing and then came behind me and positioned me so I was staring at the rows of herbs and vegetables that she’d planted. “What?”
“Haven’t you noticed anything I’ve done around here?” she sighed.
I noticed everything. But I couldn’t tell her that. It was best she didn’t know all the little ways she’d written herself on the house and in my heart.
Whoa, where did that come from? I shook my head to clear away the rogue thought and played dumb. “What do you mean?”
“Where do you think I get all my fresh herbs?” She waved her hand at the herb garden she’d planted behind the cottage. “Just inhale. Doesn’t it smell wonderful?”
“Not bad.” I shrugged. Then when she put her hand on her hips, I smiled and snaked my hand around her waist, spinning her around in the air until she squealed and clung to me laughing.
“I believed you!” she cried when I put her back down. “So you did notice?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s hard to miss the intense scent of lavender near the kitchen.”
“Is it too much? It’s supposed to keep mosquitoes away. Although . . .” She displayed several large red bites on her arm. “I’m beginning to think that’s just an old wives’ tale.”
“Poor baby.” I held up her arm and pressed my lips to the bites, then kissed my way up to her neck. Then she placed her hand on my chest. “Not so fast, Gomez. You’re sweaty.”
“Is that a hint to take a shower?”
She nodded and patted me on the arm, turning back to the tomatoes lined up in a mesh box against the wall. “I’d join you, but I have work to do.”
I surveyed the neat rows of vegetables she’d already planted that morning. “I guess I should name the garden for you after you’re gone. Where should I put the memorial plaque?”
Once the words left my mouth, I regretted them. They sounded so perversely mean. She turned away but not before I saw the hurt expression on her features. “It’s up to you.”
I wanted to apologize, tell her that I wouldn’t need a plaque to remind me of her. Everything in this damn house held something of her now.
But instead, I turned around and walked away.
* * *
Days flew by. I hadn’t been conscious of time before, but now I was counting sunsets, holding greedily on to moments with a sort of anticipatory nostalgia. At times, I had the same sort of dread in the pit of stomach that I used to get on Sunday nights before school or the last day of vacation.
But I never talked about it with Olivia.
I still avoided any talk of the future, even plans for the upcoming weekend, possibly our last if she decided to visit her cousin in Italy before heading back to Paris.
I couldn’t wrap my head around my feelings and didn’t want to delve too deeply into them.
I just focused on the present and figured I’d deal with the consequences later.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Olivia’s voice came from behind me.
I turned around from where I’d mindlessly been studying the view from the upstairs balcony.
The sun was already hanging low on the horizon.
Golden light glittered over the sea in the distance and cast honeyed highlights on Olivia’s skin and hair.
In her white sundress, her eyes the color of the sea, it struck me how she looked as if she belonged here.
That was a very dangerous thought. I might begin to believe it was true.
“I was just thinking about redesigning the cellar before I go back to Shanghai,” I lied.
It was easy to hide behind work, although Olivia knew more than anyone how apathetic I was about it now.
Still, I kept hoping that something would come along to change my perspective and rekindle my passion for it.
I’d seen some interesting new systems for upgrading wine cellars and figured that would keep me busy for a few weeks.
And it would be physically exhausting. Just what I needed to sweat this dependency out.
“Seriously? You’re watching a gorgeous sunset while thinking about your wine cellar? I think you were lying to me about having lost your enthusiasm for wine.” She slid her hand around my waist, and I pulled her closer. I couldn’t help it, she just fit so well there too. “I’ll help you if you want.”
I smiled against her hair. “Why does that not surprise me?”
She threaded her fingers through mine, playing with them, and my cock twitched in response. It still amazed me how her slightest touch set me on fire. “Show me what you have in mind at least.”
“Why? So you can trick me into opening another rare and obscenely expensive bottle?” I teased, even as I took her hand and led her downstairs.
“Hey! That was your idea!”
“And a good one. Never had a better tasting.” I winked.
When we descended into the dim interior of the cellar, I let the cool air dance over my sun-warmed skin and inhaled the comforting scent of old stones.
“So? What are you planning to do?” Olivia nudged me. Right, the new project. I’d already forgotten why we’d come down here and had been instead contemplating the best spot to kiss her.
When I pulled my phone out to show her the magazine article, she laughed. “I think you’re the only person I know who still has the factory settings for his screensaver.”
“Really? What kind of screensaver do most people have?” I asked, staring down at the 3-D kaleidoscope image on the phone.
“I don’t know. A photo of something or someone they like to look at every day. Something that inspires you, reminds you of who you are.”