Just a Massage
Jordy
Time passes faster than I want it to. Ashton no longer sleeps on the couch, but next to me in his bed every night.
We don’t talk about the limited time we have left—pretending we have forever feels easier than facing what’s coming.
We stop eating at Bob and Bec’s house for dinner, just so we can have our own time together.
If they’re hurt by this, they don’t mention it, and Bec still kisses me goodbye every morning when I drop Lottie off before heading to the shop.
The work at Timeless is just about done.
Construction was completed last week, and all of the fixtures are in place.
I’ve spent the past few days incorporating the finishing touches, but I’m in no rush.
I’m afraid that if I move too fast, the job will be done, and I’ll have to leave early.
So I spend most of my days arranging and re-arranging, taking photos and videos for Alexander’s approval and social media, and wishing I could stop time.
That my life here could be just as timeless.
But, this is not my home, and Ashton is not my boyfriend. My life is in New York, and I’ll be back there in just a few days. His life is obviously here, and that isn’t going to change.
Eventually, I have to call the job done though.
I place the final item, then step back to check out my handiwork.
The shop looks exquisite. A mix of modern and vintage, with the chandeliers, the minimalist displays, and the pieces and plants I purchased from surrounding shops.
There is still one spot left for Bernie’s armoire, which I haven’t completely lost hope for, but still can’t find it in me to ask Alexander …
or Bernie. Other than that, I’m done. Timeless has become a place I’d be proud to shop at, and one I hope the people in town will love too.
Ashton is setting up Lottie in the highchair when I walk in the door, chicken Alfredo simmering in the cast iron pan on the stove. I inhale, smiling.
“Man, that’s what I like. Coming home to a home-cooked meal.” For just a second, I forget about the time limit. In the moment, it feels almost like forever, like eating together as a family is just something we do every single night.
“Is the shop done?” he asks, moving to me and kissing me on the cheek.
Just like that, our limited time hits me square in the face, obliterating any good feelings I had. But I hide my troubled mind as I nod.
“It is. Just finished before I came home. All I have left to do is be there for the deliveries on Saturday morning when they hold the Grand Opening.”
It’s to be an exclusive event for the stakeholders and some out-of-town guests. I’d asked Alexander early on if he was opening it to the public, and the way he laughed let me know that the answer was no .
“I can’t believe we’re already here,” Ashton says, setting a plate in front of me at the counter, then one for himself. Lottie has a small bowl of chicken and pasta, which she happily paws with her hands.
“Me either. Time passed quickly.”
“Not timeless at all,” Ashton jokes.
It’s the closest we’ve come to discussing this time limit we have. A week ago, when we first admitted our feelings, it became this unspoken rule that we didn’t talk about the end. We both know it’s coming, but to talk about it means facing the facts that we have an expiration date.
But the lack of discussion messes with my head.
What if this is just a way to pass the time for him?
We’ve made good use of every night, sometimes wild and intense, sometimes so gentle it makes me want to cry.
But I’m starting to like him in a way that clouds reality.
It’s possible we’ll reach the end, and he’ll be fine while I’m an absolute wreck.
I want so badly to ask where Ashton’s head is at, if he’s as devastated by my pending departure as I am. I mean, I only have a few more days and he’s just sitting here, eating his chicken Alfredo, talking about the new calf as if the world isn’t ending.
“We finally came up with a name,” he says.
I force myself to be present, feigning interest on my face. “Oh yeah? What did you decide.”
“Sunflower. You know, because her mom is Petunia. All of Petunia’s babies are named after flowers. We had Morning Glory, Sweet Pea, and the twins, Dahlia and Daisy.”
Despite myself, I burst out laughing. Ashton looks confused.
“I’m sorry, but it’s so funny that you do that.
” I shake my head. “Not because it’s weird, but because my family did that too.
My grandmother named her daughters Poppy and Lillian, or Lily for short.
She had this whole flower thing going on, which she fully expected her daughter to take on, and they rebelled against, since my name is Jordan and my cousin’s real name is Antonina.
But Nina brought back the tradition with her daughter, Juniper.
And I…” I pause, taking a deep breath. “Well, Violet would have been a part of it too.”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. No words are needed, but his smile reaches me in a million warm ways. Then he pulls out his phone, and after a few moments, he grins.
“Apparently, your mom doesn’t know her flowers.”
He hands me the phone and I look at it. “Jordan” is the name of a particular fig-bearing Ficus. And then he shows me another called Monardella Antonina.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I laugh. “Nina is going to be thrilled when she hears about this.”
“You’ll have to invite Nina and Juniper to the farm so they can meet Sunflower and…”
He trails off, his face appearing frozen for a moment. He inhales sharply, then closes his eyes. When he looks back at me, it’s everything and nothing.
Because there won’t be time to invite any of my family to meet him, the cows, any of this.
There wouldn’t be a point.
That evening, we both put Lottie to bed. She kept asking us to read one more story, and even though I was tired, and I could see in Ashton’s face that he felt the same, neither one of us argued. We read until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
I brush my teeth first, watching myself in the mirror as my doubts play ping pong in my head.
I can hear Ashton moving around on the other side of the door, shutting off lights and setting up the coffee for tomorrow morning.
It’s all so routine, the predictability something I once would have considered mundane.
Now, I find it comforting. In just these few short weeks, Ashton’s home, his routine, everything—it all makes me feel safe, like I’m finally home.
I wish more than anything I lived closer, at least close enough where Ashton and I could have a chance.
But staying doesn’t make sense, Ashton isn’t a career plan.
He’s a whisper of something that could be—if I’m willing to risk everything else.
While I wish that was enough, it won’t pay my bills.
It won’t fulfill the dreams I’ve worked so damn hard for.
My whole life is in New York. All the opportunities I’d hoped to achieve. All the connections I’m still courting. The chance to actually make something of myself.
Here in Lahoma Springs, I just don’t see how that can happen. If I stay…
I pause my brushing, just to linger on that thought for a moment.
If I stay…
“What are you thinking about?” Ashton slips behind me, looking at me in the mirror before kissing the nape of my neck. I feel the shiver go through me. The goosebumps. The electricity of his touch.
“I don’t know.” I rinse the toothbrush, suddenly too tired to play this game of pretend any longer.
But I can’t voice what I’m thinking—mostly because I can’t make sense of what I want.
Any changes I make have a flavor of forever, and I can’t tell if I’m thinking with a clear head, or from the impulse of a smitten heart.
“Now that the shop is done, there’s just a lot to think about with the Grand Opening. ”
Lies. Most of it is being handled by Alexander’s team. If it weren’t for that party, I’d be heading home now.
Ashton turns me around, his hands at my shoulders as he searches my eyes. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” I repeat, stepping away from him, feeling my defenses well up in me. “As if that isn’t enough? This isn’t kid’s play, Ashton. It’s my job. I take it very seriously.”
A flash of surprise crosses his expression. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes, feeling like the biggest idiot.
“No, I’m sorry.” I open my eyes again, looking at him, willing myself to not tear up or show any more emotion than I already have with him. “You know when you’ve been going so hard, and when you finally sit down, you realize how damn tired you are? I think my body is just letting down.”
“Yeah,” he says, “I know something about that.” He reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it. When I don’t move away, he moves to my shoulders, then my neck. I moan, stretching my neck to give him better access.
“Okay, maybe not that tired.” I lean into his hands, and he gives a low chuckle.
“Come on, let me rub out some of that tension. No ulterior motives, I promise.”
I look over my shoulder and pout. “None?”
“Well, I won’t stop your motives,” he says. “But if you just want a massage, I can just give you a massage.”
“I definitely won’t turn it down.”
We head to the bedroom, and I strip down in front of him. I love the way he watches me, how his eyes grow hungry even though he’s keeping his distance. I lie on the bed, and I hear him rummaging around in a drawer. I nearly jump when I feel a few drops of something land on my back.
“Sorry,” he says, smoothing his hand over my skin. I immediately smell lavender. “It’s infused oil,” he explains.
I soften under his touch, my body relaxing immediately as he begins to knead my muscles. He starts at my shoulders and neck, moves to my back, then down to my ass. Every section of my body he treats with the utmost care, taking his time.