Chapter 13 Joanie
Joanie
Kieran drove the hire car through residential areas where sun glinted from terracotta rooftops and lively plazas bustled with tourists.
We rumbled over stones, blowing up clouds of dirt, through a patchwork of fields filled with cows.
The countryside became rugged and expansive, and the roads narrowed to white asphalt tracks lined with wildflowers.
An impressive colonial house with an apricot facade and huge white pillars loomed ahead.
I glimpsed a pristine turquoise pool shimmering beyond the house.
Of course it would be spectacular. This house belonged to Carlos Ramirez.
He’d been a hero of mine growing up. The Carlos Ramirez limited-edition, glitter-edged, holographic football card had caused many a bitter dispute between me and my brother.
Tires crunched on gravel as Kieran pulled into the driveway.
He turned off the engine. Stillness engulfed us like the first moment after a drill has stopped screaming.
I hadn’t realized how loud the world was until this moment of silence.
We followed the directions Ramirez had texted, dragging our cases over manicured gardens, past ornate tinkling fountains, to the back of the palatial house.
A smaller rustic white stone villa with a terracotta roof sat nestled in lush Mediterranean greenery and tangles of wild foliage.
Two twisting olive trees dominated an uneven paved courtyard, their trunks intricately entwined like lovers in an embrace.
The scent of sun-warmed lavender and thyme hit me.
Kieran retrieved the key from a lockbox he found inside a mossy plant pot and opened the door. We stepped inside a cozy living area. Wooden beams spanned the ceiling. Cheerful hand-painted tiles lined the walls, and the scattered couches looked comfortable and inviting.
He peered around the room and raised an eyebrow. “Just the two of us.”
It was an innocent statement, but it made my heart pound. A wave of awkwardness went through me. Had we really shared a bed last night? It felt like some weird fever dream.
He studied the smiling team photos on the wall. “It’s fine if you’d rather stay at the hotel. We can still arrange for you to meet Carlos.”
He was trying to give me an out, or maybe he wanted an out.
Ramirez’s house was enormous, but this guest villa was neat and compact.
Maybe Kieran didn’t want to spend this much time in such close proximity.
The truth was, I didn’t want to be alone at the hotel, and now that I’d had a taste of this kind of peace, I preferred it.
We’d have to work together on the commercial.
Logistically, it made sense to stay together.
There was plenty of open space to get lost in.
We didn’t have to be under each other’s feet if we didn’t want to be.
I rolled my case along the traditional stone floor to the stairs. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.”
“Good.” Kieran tried to take the case out of my hand. “Let me do that.”
His large hand brushed mine, searing my fingers with heat. “I can do it.”
“I know you can. I’d still rather do it.”
A glint of gold grabbed my attention. A spherical trophy that looked suspiciously like the Ballon d’Or propped open the door between the kitchen and sitting area. It couldn’t be, could it? I drifted to the door and picked up the golden football. Oh my gosh. It was.
I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. “This is the Ballon d’Or.”
Kieran looked nonplussed. “So?”
I held the heavy trophy up and admired it. “Ramirez is using one of the most prestigious awards in football as a doorstop . . . a Ballon-d’Oorstop. I mean, that’s cool, right? This is the guest villa. It’s not even a doorstop in his actual house. This guy is too cool.”
He frowned. “There are too many trophies. I keep mine in the downstairs toilet.”
I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “How terrible for you. I don’t know how you cope with all your shiny trophies.”
Kieran’s lip twitched, and it almost looked like he might laugh. He didn’t, of course. My cheeks heated. Where had that come from? I usually kept my sarcastic retorts in my own head. I scrambled to rectify my careless words. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like it when people sass me. It makes me feel normal.”
“Normal?”
“That’s the weird thing about becoming more well known. People start acting weird around you. At least I have Jack. My brother has made it his mission to keep me humble by calling me a dickhead as often as possible.”
“That’s very . . . considerate of him.”
His lip twitched again. “It is, isn’t it?”
I placed the heavy trophy on the mantel over the traditional stone fireplace, because there was no way I could return it to the floor. Kieran carried the cases upstairs to a small landing, where we found two bright, airy bedrooms and a bathroom.
“Two bedrooms,” he muttered.
Right. A significant improvement. I wandered to the small balcony and slid the glass doors open.
Warm air wrapped around me, and I took in the most stunning panorama of rural Menorcan countryside dotted with cows and traditional curved wooden fences.
At the edge of the world, the sea stretched as a dark band against a mellow pale-blue sky.
Kieran deposited my case on the bed. I unzipped it and flipped the lid. The sooner I unpacked, the sooner I could explore. We had one down day before filming, and I needed a dip in the pool.
Kieran retreated to the doorway. “I’ll go to the minimarket and pick up some lunch.”
I dug into the case for my swimsuit. “I can help you with that.”
“I’ve got it. You settle in.”
He disappeared out of the room. I deposited my wash bag in the adjoining en suite and pulled out the first neat pile of T-shirts.
A flash of silver caught my eye, and my sleek bullet vibrator slipped out of the sundress I’d wrapped it in.
I gave it a quick click to make sure it was still working.
It gave a satisfying little buzz in my palm.
Kieran popped his head back around the door. “Actually, I might try to get something delivered.”
A strangled gasp left my lips. I threw the bullet back into the case and slammed the lid. My face and neck were so hot, I couldn’t look at him. Be cool. He can’t possibly know what it is. It looks like a lipstick. But it had buzzed! Had he heard the buzz?
I held the case closed, my palms pressed flat as if it might start talking and spill more of my embarrassing secrets. “Fine. Whatever you like.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Tea?”
“Tea?”
“I never travel without a box of Yorkshire tea.”
I tried to switch my brain back into gear despite my embarrassment. He couldn’t have seen it. If I could just stop acting so weird, I’d probably get away with it. “Yes. Please.”
His tone was level. “I always miss a proper cup of tea.”
“Right. Me too.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“I’ll leave you to unpack. Don’t worry if you need some . . . extra time to yourself.” His gaze fell on my case and his lips moved subtly. Not quite a smirk, but almost. “I can wait.”
With my case unpacked, I hung my jacket on the back of the bedroom door. On impulse, I fished the folded fuck-it list out of the pocket. I’d told Skylar a few items to humor her, but they weren’t really the things I wanted to do. What did I want to do? Since the injury, I’d been in survival mode.
For months, I’d worked on the treadmill at the gym to rebuild my strength, but life had become a treadmill too.
Every day was the same. The admission I’d made to the lady in the hospital had given me a sharp lump in my throat.
The truth was painfully stark. I’d lost myself.
Maybe I’d never even known myself in the first place. I didn’t know how to be me anymore.
What did I do for fun? There was football, but that had been taken away from me.
Who was I without football? Mortimer Fox’s daughter?
Everyone had assumptions about Mortimer Fox’s daughter, but which of them were true?
I’d spent so much time focused on how I should be and none on what I wanted to be.
I crossed out crochet and violin, and stared at the piece of paper.
My head emptied. I rubbed my temples as if I could massage away the confusion.
Seriously? Not one idea? I had a brain that had elevated overthinking to an art form, but it couldn’t give me one useful snippet?
My fingers itched to ball this piece of paper up and throw it in the bin.
I dropped the pen onto the desk with a clatter.
How could I live my life to the fullest?
Not all those sexy things that Lana had put on here, and not the things I thought might please other people, but the things for me.
Why was this so hard? I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the overwhelming wave of frustration.
Maybe it didn’t have to be big things. I took a breath and steadied myself.
Animals. I liked animals. Ollie had done a zookeeper experience day once, and I’d regretted that I hadn’t gone with him.
It was a simple thing, but I’d enjoy it.
It could be a starting point. Volunteering?
I’d been involved in the club outreach program in the past, but I’d stopped going after the injury.
It had always felt satisfying to help others.
A flicker of excitement went through me as another idea percolated.
Sometimes, my sister went on her own to the cinema or for dinner at a fancy restaurant.
I’d always admired her for that. What would it be like to put on a beautiful dress, paint my lips bright red, and go out for a meal, solo?
It would take a confidence I couldn’t imagine.
Still, I wanted to be that person. These were small things, but maybe that’s how this thing would have to start.
The path back to Joanie Fox could be small steps, not giant leaps.
It didn’t matter, as long as I was moving forward.
I picked up my pen and started to write.