30. Jess
Jess
I sit in the parking lot of Piedmont Atlanta Hospital for a few minutes, watching the sun climb higher in the sky.
Around me, people come and go in waves—happy families clutching balloons, a woman on her own with a frightened, pinched expression, and, as I finally climb out of my vehicle, smoothing my yogurt-matted hair, a man carrying a little girl with a broken arm.
“Hello!” She waves her hot-pink casted arm, shooting me a gap-toothed smile, curly black pigtails bobbing.
“Hi, there.” I grin back. “Cool cast.”
“I’m getting it off today,” the little girl says, her expression now solemn. “Daddy says I have to be very brave.”
Her dad raises his eyebrows at me conspiratorially. “I told Daisy that she has nothing to worry about. Getting the cast off won’t hurt nearly as much as when she got it put on.”
“But they have to cut it off!” Daisy’s voice rises in panic. “What if they cut my arm?”
“They won’t,” her dad reassures her, tucking a stray curl behind his daughter’s ear. “Trust me.”
I fall into step beside the father and daughter, and smile gently at Daisy, who’s chewing her lip. “How did you break your arm?”
“Rollerblading.” Daisy turns shiny dark eyes on me. “I went down a big hill.”
“Wow!” I say. “You rollerbladed down a hill? I’ve never been brave enough to rollerblade down a hill.”
Daisy gives me a small smile. “Really? It’s pretty easy.”
“For you, maybe. But, I would be way too scared.” We reach the front doors of the hospital, and a chilly gust of antiseptic-tinged air conditioning greets us as we step into the lobby.
Daisy shakes her head at me. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Well, if you weren’t scared of rollerblading down a big hill, there’s certainly nothing to be scared of when you get your cast off.”
“I’m very brave,” Daisy declares, her little face screwing up in determination.
“The bravest!” I reply, as we step into a vacant elevator.
Daisy insists on pushing the button for the right floor, and as she busies herself, her father mouths “thank you” over her head. I smile, and when Daisy’s done, I scan the information plates and hit the button for the floor with the Maternity Ward.
“Can we get ice cream after, Daddy?” Daisy asks, her panicky tears forgotten. I grin.
“We sure can, honey.”
Ping!
The elevator doors open at their floor, and I wish Daisy luck while I wave goodbye. Now standing in the elevator cab alone, I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, shakily.
Because I know I need to take my own advice. I know I need to be brave, and trust. I’ve already fallen down, and I proved to myself that I could get back up again. The worst pain is over. I’ve been broken, but the bones are now reset. I can take off my cast and move forward.
The elevator doors spring open and, filled with a surge of adrenaline and purpose, I propel myself forwards. And run straight into a very familiar muscular chest for the third time in recent weeks.
“Oof!” I groan, as I put out my hands to steady myself.
“Jess!” Conor's eyes light up, and he puts his hands on my shoulders. His big hands feel warm and welcoming. “You’re here! I was just coming to look for you, I have to tell you something...”
It’s time for me face my fears head on, instead of running away. Be brave. Like Daisy.
“Why did you lie to me?” I blurt, cutting him off. “You didn’t have to lie to me, you know. I could have handled the truth.”
Confusion rivets itself into frown lines across Conor’s forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“The paintings! The silent auction! Why did you tell me there were multiple bids?” I continue.
The old Jess would have swept this under the rug, pretended that everything was fine.
I would’ve let myself be lied to. But, not now.
I know I deserve the truth. And, if Conor and I have any hope of a future together, we need to have the tough conversations, and do the hard thing when it’s necessary.
“There were multiple bids,” Conor says. A pretty nurse walks past and shoots Conor a flirtatious smile, but his eyes remain carefully trained on me, searching my face.
“So why were all my paintings on our front doorstep this morning? With a note from Karla saying she’s returning them to their ‘rightful owner?’”
Conor’s face turns red. Very red. Like, redder than I’ve ever seen him. I didn’t know the man was even capable of blushing—he’s usually cooler than a polar bear lounging on a glacier—but right now, he’s beetroot.
“Uh… because I’m the owner.”
“What?”
Conor smiles bashfully. “There were a ton of bids, and the lady who bought the house was the top bidder. But, I just couldn’t let them go. So, I submitted a last minute bid to the silent auction people.”
“You sneaky little hobknocker!” I am, quite literally, stunned.
He looks at me from under his lashes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I… I was going to hang them in my new place when it’s ready.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“Because I love your art, Jess.” Conor’s fingers tighten on my shoulders and he looks into my eyes.
“I love you , Jess. And, since the moment you threw that stupid fern at me, I knew that you were the one for me. There’s nobody I’d rather build a life, a future, a home with.
Home is where the heart is... and my heart belongs to you, Jessica Shaw.
” He smiles a small, hopeful smile that makes my heart ache with love for him. “If you’ll have it, that is.”
I let out a slow, shaky breath, the force of Conor’s revelation settling on me, slipping over my shoulders like a cozy sweatshirt that fits just right.
“I love you too, Conor Brady,” I say, looping my arms around his neck and pulling him close. Because Conor and I, together? We fit just right. And despite the million reasons we shouldn’t have fallen for each other, each of those pieces have slotted into place perfectly.
Conor leans in to kiss me, and I’m immediately lost in him. But, after a couple of seconds, he pulls back. Sniffs.
“Jess?”
“Hmm?” I say dreamily, still wrapped up in the sensation of our kiss.
“Why do you smell like yogurt?”