Chapter 9 – Vale
HAPPINESS IS A KISS AND A DANCING GIRL
VALE
When I wake up, Oliver’s gone. There’s a single blood-red rose, carefully stripped of its thorns, and a note on my bedside table.
I jump out of bed, then dance around my bedroom, stomping my feet like a crazy person.
Fist bumping into the air like everything’s finally right in the world, I pretend-scream out to the world, I kissed Oliver Byron!
I grab the note and hold it to my chest, smiling like an idiot.
Vale,
I hope you dreamed about me last night. I wonder what kind of story it’ll be next. Do tell. Please come for dinner tomorrow night with Nick. I’m cooking this time.
Yours,
Oliver
I focus on the word “yours.” What did he mean? Was Oliver Byron mine? No way, that’s impossible. He’s twenty-five. I can’t stake my claim to a man like that. Not yet. But I definitely want to. I want his kisses. I want his touch. I want him to be my first in more ways than one. Who wouldn’t?
Oliver’s tall with broad shoulders and a body I can only imagine is perfect under those fancy tailored clothes.
His overly long ebony hair is beautiful, especially when he leaves it down in those gorgeous waves that curl around his face.
He has pouty lips that lie like the devil and kiss like the divine.
He’s everything. I’m right to have a crush on him.
I feel justified after that kiss. It was spectacular.
I start to think about my past, my Pre-Oliver era as it would now be known, when I hadn’t been interested in guys.
I’d been curious but never drawn to anyone.
Kat and I used to sit out on the sleeping porch and chat about her crushes or how this or that guy had a future in her bed.
Then I’d pretend her crush was hot, and we’d giggle.
But really, I never felt it. I didn’t think I’d ever feel the way she did.
Katherine Ingram was popular. She never had to ask for a date, and she always seemed to have a boyfriend, even when we were thirteen.
Her life seemed so much better than mine, so exciting.
Her stories were so outlandish and interesting to someone as sheltered as I was.
I wanted my life to be just as interesting.
I wish she was here now so we could talk about Oliver.
I want to tell her about him and get her opinion and the advice I so desperately need.
Kat’s the only person I can talk to about him; she’s had the life experiences I haven’t.
It’s not like I can ask Gramps what to do when you have a crush on someone. He’d know who I was talking about.
More than once, I’ve thought about snapping a picture of him just to show her how gorgeous he is. I want to show her I’m capable of meeting a guy on my own. There’s also a little part of me that wants to show him off, to say, Oh girl, you have no idea how hot he is and He’s going to be mine.
I wish he was mine.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, then find the number he called me from last night. I add it to my contacts. I think long and hard about what I’ll say to him, writing, then deleting the text a hundred times. Finally, I leave it simple and press Send.
Vale: I’ll come for dinner. What’s the dress code?
I’m in the shower by the time he replies. I rush through my morning routine and still have my toothbrush in my mouth when I check for his reply.
Oliver: Ripped jeans and band T-shirts. What dress code? This isn’t the 1800s. How old do you think I am?
Vale: I thought you were so old it’d be appropriate to ask first. Just in case I needed to air out my petticoats and pantaloons.
Oliver: No petticoats or pantaloons. They get in the way. ;)
I’m startled by how quickly I receive a second text from him.
Oliver: How are you? Did you wake up smiling?
Vale: :) I just woke up. Someone kept me up late. It was great. Thank you.
I send the text and as soon as I sit the phone down, it’s ringing. I pick it up quickly, knowing it’s him as my heart speeds up, jumping with joy.
“Hi,” I say nervously as I sit my toothbrush down, a smile permanently set into my face.
“Hello, Vale. You’re so very welcome.” His voice sounds low, rumbly, and sexy.
“I’m sorry. I’m old-fashioned and can’t stand texting for more than a few messages.
I don’t understand why some people prefer that kind of communication.
Anyway, I’m serving pasta tomorrow, come prepared to eat because I always make too much. ”
I’m surprised he knows how to cook. I don’t know why I think that, but he does seem like the kind of man who’d have someone cook for him.
Some kind of full staff situation. Maybe all the ladies who are in love with him take care of him.
Sex slaves, of course. I’m shocked with where my mind goes when it comes to him. The stuff I think about . . . insanity.
“Can I help?”
“God no. What kind of host would I be? Come over, around seven. I imagine Nick will already be there. He’ll be going through the library, you know, the usual.”
“I’ll be there. Thank you for the invitation. I’ll see you tomorrow, Oliver.” I try my best to stay calm, though I’m not at all, not one bit.
“Hey, before you go, bring a swimsuit. I’ve got a pool, and Nick mentioned you enjoy swimming. Have fun being home alone.” With that he hangs up without a goodbye. Honestly, I don’t know how to take it.
I play music from my phone, then run down the stairs, dancing as I go.
I dodge around the house to the kitchen like a silly kid.
I jump up when I get to the hallway that enters the kitchen from the backside.
There’s a big, golden-framed photograph of Grandma at the bottom of the stairs. I blow her a kiss as I pass by.
“Love you, Grandma,” I yell as I enter the kitchen.
“Gramps made pancakes! Yes!” I’m so excited I’m near bursting with sunshine, as Grandma used to say.
I heat up the pancakes in the microwave, then grab the butter and the maple syrup from the fridge. When the microwave beeps, I load up my plate. I eat quickly, drinking the leftover coffee from the carafe. I’m surprised it's still warm. Gramps must have gotten out late today.
When I finish eating, I clean the kitchen.
Then I move from room to room, dusting, vacuuming, and tidying up the mess I’ve left throughout the house.
I’m kind of a slob when I’m at Gramps’s house, but that’s okay.
I clean it up . . . eventually. Gramps doesn’t seem to care unless I make a mess in his office, which I wouldn’t do because I love him.
I’m so full of energy today I can’t stop moving.
Every step is a dance, like I’m walking on air.
I feel graceful for the first time in my life as I pirouette dramatically, then giggle.
Music is blaring from the speakers as I belt out the lyrics to “Take Me Out.” I’m still smiling like a loon while I fold laundry for Gramps.
I’m happy, filled with such splendid joy it feels like it’s going to burst from my chest. I’ve never felt so happy in my life. Not even the one time Gramps let me drive the Mustang without a license.
I got to kiss Oliver last night!
That’s the excitement. That’s the joy. It was perfect.
He made a dream come true I didn’t know I had.
I’m glad it was him. I know he was with another person before, but I can accept that, even though it hurt to see it.
But she didn’t sleep in his arms last night, I did. He didn’t kiss her, he kissed me.
I told him the truth, that I wanted him.
It’d been scary being that vulnerable, but there was a part of me that needed to be.
I hadn’t wanted to tell him anything at first. I was worried it would scare him away, and I’d be humiliated.
But he didn’t laugh at my dream; he’d enjoyed it.
Then there was the kiss. I don’t think anyone in the world could have made me feel the way he did with just a kiss. It was amazing.
I’ve read the phrase, “He took my breath away,” so many times and always thought it was such an alien description because it never made sense.
But I understand those words now, in the depths of my soul, I get it.
As soon as his lips touched mine, I was lost. I was unable to breathe by the endorphins shooting into my brain.
The touch of his lips was all I needed to survive.
I felt free in his embrace, floating amongst the stars in the sky.
I would remember that kiss for the rest of my life.
Today, I float on those memories, filled by the joy it created inside my heart.
I feed from the memories, hungry for more.
Hours pass by like minutes as I do everything I can to make this house sparkle and shine.
When I’m done, it’s time to make something for dinner, so I make a sandwich and grab a copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula from Gramps’s office.