Chapter 51
Fifty-One
Can you fall in love with someone in only a matter of weeks?
True love?
Is that possible?
What if you spend every minute of every day with that person, does that take the short timeline of a mere seven weeks multiply by ten?
Can you fall in love then?
This time when we leave the Baxter’s home, Roman and I are hand in hand. We have talked to, eaten with, and celebrated with the other members of the Red Tails. Some embraced Roman and his new-to-them friendly nature while others exchanged glances as if they’d entered the twilight zone.
They’ll get over it.
My favorite part was when Lucca Cruz asked if he could still call Roman the Graveyard. Roman only snickered, which Lucca took as confirmation.
We pause at a stop light in town, just twenty minutes from home. I press my lips together and peer at Roman across the console of his Ford Bronco. “You seem happy.”
“I am happy,” he says. He returns my look, his eyes dropping to my mouth. He leans toward me, and I meet him halfway, my pulse quickening with his nearness. Just before Roman’s lips touch mine, my phone jingles with a call.
I brush my mouth over his before leaning back in my seat. Roman sits back too, taking off with the change of the light.
“It’s Willow,” I say. “FaceTime call.”
“Go ahead,” he says, eyes on the road. “I don’t mind.”
I hit the answer button and stare into the face of my friend. I miss her. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her in person. Willow’s dark pixie cut spikes out on the left side—as if she’s been laying on it. I can just see Jerry in the background of their bedroom.
“Hi!” Willow beams.
“Hey—ah, maybe tell Jerry I can see him. And while his Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer boxers are impressive, I don’t need any more of a show.”
“Willow!” Jerry gripes, just before bustling off screen.
“Sorry, honey!” Willow yells. “I couldn’t wait to call her!”
“I haven’t finished the last book you sent—”
“That’s not it,” she says, practically bouncing in her seat.
“What’s up?” I say. I’m not sure I’ve seen Willow this excited. “Did Jerry propose?”
“Not yet.” Willow peers behind her and when she’s satisfied that we won’t be overheard, she adds, “I saw a ring in his bottom dresser drawer, but he hasn’t asked yet.”
“Will!” I laugh.
“And he doesn’t know I’ve seen it. So, shh.” She slides one finger over her lips.
Roman smirks beside me and I angle the camera his way. “Hey, Willow.”
“Hi, Roman!” she says, that giddy smile still on her face.
“Will, what is going on? You’re like a kid at…” I bobble my head with the irony. “Christmas.”
“Stell, I have news. Big news. You’ll never guess. Ever.” She pulls in a breath and holds it for one second before—“Try to guess!”
I exhale a laugh. “Jerry proposing was literally my only guess.”
“Okay, fine.” She shakes her head, her grin beaming. “You know Marcus?”
“Nope.”
“You do. Jerry’s cousin. He’s working for that high end resort in San Francisco.”
“Right. Marcus.” I’ve never met the man. I would never be able to come up with a name or a face, but I have heard Jerry and Willow talk about the ritzy place his cousin is managing. Willow has high hopes for a family discounted honeymoon.
“He came by on his way through last week. He wanted to see Jerry.”
I glance at Roman, who can hear every word, but he’s quiet, hands on the wheel with a humorous smirk on his face.
“And?” I say, moving Willow along.
“When he was here, he saw your piece. Spiral Song.”
My stomach tightens thinking of my cracked, chipped piece and the award I never had a chance at. “So?”
“He loved it. Cracks and all,” Willow says.
“That’s nice.” I glance at Roman once more, he hasn’t seen my piece. I should show him a photo, I wonder what he’d say about it.
“No, like he freaking loved it, Stella. So, I showed him more of your work—just the few pictures I have on my phone. But he’s all in.”
“All in?” I say, not understanding.
“Yes! He’s been looking for an artist to hire on full time to create decorative pieces, wall installations, and functional art that will blend into the natural surroundings of the resort. He wants you. He said if things go well, he’d recommend you to other branches in other cities.”
Roman’s looking at me now—another stop light. I peer back and his brows raise. His lips form the silent word—Wow.
“This solves all of your problems, Stella! This would not only be a job, but a good paying job, a creative job. Marcus wants you in San Francisco—at the resort! The job even comes with a place to live. You never wanted to leave California. You don’t need to stay married with a good paying job and a place to live.
Your parents won’t have to worry about who’s providing for you or if you’re in a safe house. It solves everything.”
My pulse drums in my neck and temple. My jaw clenches. I hear her. And while it’s all good news. My body isn’t reacting to it the way it should. It’s cold, and thrumming, and suddenly overly anxious. “Solves everything,” I say like a robot.
“I gave him your contact information. He’s calling tomorrow, so make sure you answer!” Willow grins.
“Thanks, Will. It’s all… great. Great news.” I swallow, ready to hang up. Ready to reverse my life and not pick up that call.
My life has been a mess. A mess without Roman. A mess with Roman. But I like my mess with Roman.
“I better run,” I tell her. “But thanks. Really. I love you, Will.”
“Love you!” she croons.
The dimness of the night looms in the quiet of the car. Roman has silenced the radio and I hear nothing but breathing—in then out.
Someone wants me—for a big job, a creative job, something I’ve dreamed about for years.
And yet, all I can think about is Roman.
“Well,” he says, ending the silence and turning onto our dirt road. “That’s exciting news. Exactly what you’ve been wanting. A big break.”
I swallow, my heart beating in my ears. “I won’t take it, Roman. We have a deal. Your cabin—”
He breathes out a half-hearted laugh. “Baxter won’t take my cabin away. Not now.”
He’s so sure. How can he be so sure? Is this his out? I mean, we’d like to date—but marriage, that’s an entirely different level. One we no longer have a reason for, at least according to Willow.
He turns on to the dirt road that leads to our cabin. Er—Roman’s cabin. I have no claim on the place. Sure, it feels like home. And I happen to love it, but it’s not mine. Not technically.
I stare ahead, heart aching. “So, you think I should take it?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, this is what you’ve been waiting for, right? You want this. Right?”
“Is that what you want?” I say. Because I need to know. What does Roman want? And how could I ever blame him if he wanted a step back. Dating doesn’t automatically equal marriage.
“You kept your end of the bargain. I’ve got my cabin. You’re back on your feet—a little sooner than we planned. But that’s not surprising.” He smiles—but it doesn’t feel right.
I want to ask—And what about us? But the words won’t come. Because failing at my job, at my home, even in my award could never hurt as much as failing with Roman.