29. Jules
TWENTY-NINE
JULES
I grab the bowl of popcorn and the plates for pizza before following Drew outside into the backyard. Bailey follows me out. He’s turned it into a mini oasis for me. He’s set up a projector and a large screen, set up blankets and pillows on the soft grass. Fairy lights hang over our heads.
“I still can’t believe you did this,” I say, settling onto the blankets. Bailey settles onto her bed beside me.
“It’s our last night here. I thought we should do something nice.”
I don’t appreciate the reminder because it also means it’s our last night alone. We get back tomorrow, everyone returns from their vacation the day after, and then Drew returns to training. End of summer. End of us before we even started.
I’m choosing not to dwell on it.
“What are we watching?” I ask.
“You’ve Got Mail.”
I gasp as he brings the projector to life and the movie starts.
“Drew, you just might be my favorite person,” I say.
He smirks, sitting down next to me. “I haven’t even started yet.”
Setting a tablet down in my lap, he opens the pizza box and puts a slice on our plates. I don’t miss that he ordered pineapple topping even though he vehemently hates it and believes pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza.
I stare at the tablet. “Are you finally following through on your promise to let me read your story?”
He looks at me, his eyes shining under the fairy lights. “A deal is a deal.”
I sit up as my favorite song starts playing on the screen during the opening sequence and open the tablet. He’s already logged into his Instagram account and I scroll to the very end of his page. Picking up my slice, I start to eat as I read.
“Drew, where’s the rest of it?”
I look up an hour later. We’re halfway through the movie, the pizza has been demolished, the bowl of popcorn is almost half gone, mostly eaten by Drew because his sweet tooth came out and he added M&M’s to it.
I can’t stand sweet and savory together, pineapple on pizza being the only exception.
“I haven’t drawn it yet,” he says. He’s stretched out beside me, head propped up on the pillows.
I look at him in outrage. “You mean to tell me you’ve wasted the whole summer instead of drawing and completing this story?”
His eyes are full of mirth as he looks at me. “I had camp and home projects. How much writing have you done?”
I gasp, pointing an accusing finger at him. “That’s mean.”
“So are you assuming I don’t go through artist’s block,” he says.
“Are you in an artist’s block?” I lie down next to him, turning my head. This is the fourth time we’ve ended up on the same bed, not that I’m counting.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Like I said, it’s stress relief. I don’t do it all the time.”
Setting the tablet aside, I say, “I get that, but it’s not nothing. The story is really beautiful and I think it deserves an ending.”
For the past hour, I’ve been lost in the world he’s created.
So beautiful and vibrant, each character different from the other, each scene and interaction well thought out.
He’s given them proper backstories and trauma, and special talents.
The story takes place in an alternate version of Boston, one that’s darker and edgier.
Drew peers at closely. “You haven’t ended Serpent’s Reign.”
I gasp, leaning up onto my elbows. “What?! You read Serpent’s Reign? No one’s read Serpent’s Reign.”
It was my very first book series and sadly, I ended it with an open ending--while still giving the characters a happily ever after because I am a romance writer. Some of the characters didn’t get a full story and I left room for me to come back to it if I ever wanted.
“I’ve read it, so how can you say no one has?” Drew says.
“Even my publisher didn’t want to touch it. It’s so bad.”
Something else occurs to me at the same time. If Drew’s read my book, that means he’s read the filthy, dirty sex my characters have. Oh my god. I’m never going to recover from this. This and seeing Drew shirtless. Two things I will never recover from.
“I hope you know it’s not written from experience,” I say.
“Unless you were a siren in your past life who’s been reincarnated, I didn’t think it was.” Drew arches his eyebrows as he peers at me.
“Well, no, I don’t think I was a siren in a past life,” I admit, blushing slightly.
His eyes rake over my body in a slow perusal that I feel everywhere.
“In this life you might be,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine. “I bet you enjoy luring men to their deaths. One look and they’ll never recover.”
Is he…flirting with me? Is this flirting?
IS ANDREW CALLAHAN FLIRTING WITH ME?
“Do you want to be lured, Drew?” I ask softly, blinking at him.
He grins, teeth flashing white. “If you kill me, even death will be a sweet escape.”
My heart and mind can’t comprehend what’s happening right now. Why is he waiting until now to start flirting? If this is even flirting. Maybe he’s just teasing me and the part of my brain that’s lusting after him is misconstruing this as flirting.
“You should have told me sooner, I’d have mixed a little arsenic in your coffee.”
He laughs easily, and I notice how much I like the sound. I’ve heard it my whole life and just now realizing how beautiful it is.
“I’m sorry I spoiled your plans,” he says.
“Maybe next time.”
He hums in agreement. “We still have to live together.”
That we do. I never want to leave this place.
I like it here. I feel at peace, maybe for the first time since we came back from New York.
When we go back, I won’t be able to ignore the fact that I need to find my own place because I can’t stay with Drew indefinitely.
I’ll need to accept the fact that I am lonely and maybe I’m never going to find anyone who will love me the way I want to be loved.
“Hey, Drew?” I ask.
He looks back at me. “Yeah?”
“How come you don’t want to finish the story?” I ask.
Exhaling sharply, he looks back at the screen. We’re nearing the end and it’s the first time in my life that I haven’t paid full attention to a Nora Ephron movie. What would Gemma think?
He remains quiet for a long time, so I let my eyes drift to the movie as well.
New York in the fall and spring in the eighties was really something.
Sometimes I wished I lived in that era, or that the early nineties never ended.
Even though we’re so close to everyone no matter the distance between us, this world feels a little hollow.
Like in our race for development, we’ve lost pieces of ourselves and didn’t even realize.
“As long as I have the story, I have something that’s uniquely mine.” Drew’s voice is quiet, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s spoken.
I turn to him at the same time he turns to me, our eyes locking across the pillows between us.
“It’s not something I’ve borrowed, it’s not something where people can compare me to my father and sister. I don’t have to wonder if they’d have done it differently. If a scene doesn’t go well, I don’t have to review it again with my father and have him tell me how he would have done it.”
He sighs deeply, like he’s bone tired. “I realize I might sound ungrateful. I have a great family and I know I’m lucky. But sometimes, I just want to feel like I have an identity that I’ve built on my own, rather than one that’s shared with my father and sister.”
I reach out to grab his hand and chicken out at the last minute. I twist my pinkie finger around his instead.
“You are uniquely you,” I say quietly. “Your career is a big part of your identity and I know that’s tied to Mr. Callahan and Lavinia, but that’s not all you are. You’re also Bailey’s dad. You’re also very handy around the house. You’re a good friend.”
I turn over onto my front, Drew watching me closely. I love the feel of his eyes on me.
“You’re kind and generous. You let me stay at home when you didn’t have to.
You took me to New York just to please Aunt Constance.
You, Drew Callahan, contain multitudes and you are, and will always be, uniquely you.
Your parents may have shaped you, but they can’t take all the credit for the person you are. ”
He’s so close to me I can count his eye lashes. His lips part slightly as he licks them and I’m entirely too lost in the action. They look so soft and inviting. What will they feel like moving against mine? What kind of kisser is Drew Callahan?
I lean back, flopping onto my back again. I shouldn’t be thinking of kissing him. Not again. The sting of rejection from the first time still smarts inside me and I’d rather suffer in my lust than suffer rejection again.
I feel his pinky wrap around mine and I turn to look at him.
“I had no idea you liked me that much, Jules.”
I roll my eyes, biting off my smile. “Don’t let it get to your head. No one likes an overly inflated ego.”
“Too late for that,” he says, smirking at me.
We watch the rest of the movie in silence and fall asleep before the end, our pinky fingers still entwined.