Love Notes

by Savannah Kade

  TJ was sitting in the same place, almost as exhausted, the next day when the call came through.

  “Hello?” He wasn’t all that hopeful this time. His heart had been pummeled a few too many times to just hand it over again. And he sure as hell wasn’t sure this time was going to work. But he’d tried anyway. He ought to get points for effort.

  Her voice bordered on shrill in his ear, and he had to hold the phone away. “You have to stop sending me gifts.”

  TJ sighed. He could feel yet another attempt biting the dust. “All I really want is for us to talk.”

  “We did talk. You don’t trust me.”

  “I didn’t trust you. It was stupid of me. I do trust you now.” He was grateful to even get that much out. It was more than they’d said in the times she’d called to tell him various incarnations of ‘no.’

  “TJ, I can’t do this.”

  “Good, then stop turning me away.” He was practically yelling. His insides were boiling. She got him churned up faster than any other person he’d ever met.

  So why was her voice so calm? Did she feel nothing for him?

  Norah was almost monotonous. “I can’t hand you my heart so you can break it again.”

  “Norah!”

  He’d fucked up. Big time. He knew that. But . . .

  He was getting ready to say so when she sighed and spoke again.

  “TJ, you have to stop trying to bribe me.”

  “Bribe you!?” God, that was the last thing he’d been trying to do.

  “All these gifts won’t buy me.”

  At least there was a little emotion in her voice there. Even if it was anger. He’d take what he could get. This was better than the flat voice.

  “I wasn’t trying to buy you. I just wanted . . .” He stopped. He didn’t just want anything. He wanted everything. He wanted them to talk, he wanted to hold her. He wanted her to press herself to him like he was the only one she wanted to be with. He wanted to go back in time and say “Norah, I believe you.”

  Her voice cut through his wishes when she realized he wasn’t going to say more. “I’ll return everything you give me.” And she hung up.

  Chapter 61

  TJ sat on the floor at the edge of the room, his back against the wall while he looked at the small screen on the phone. It told him that the whole conversation, from his opening ‘hello?’ to her final hang-up had lasted only a minute and twenty-two seconds.

  He sat there for a while, he wasn’t sure how long, trying to equalize his breath, trying to vent some of the extra burn inside him.

  Eventually, he stood and made his way to the shower, but he wasn’t able to scrub away his thoughts.

  There had to be another way to her. There had to be.

  Part of the problem was Norah. She had been in love before, and she’d lost. TJ would bet good money that she was scared. Just like she’d said at the studio that day. So he had to work around her fear, as irrational as it might be.

  The thing was, she’d been right, back at the beginning. Norah had yelled at him that she’d give up her arms and legs to have Jeff and Jordan back. She was right—he’d go back in that chair in a heartbeat if Norah would crawl into his lap like she had.

  Just the thought of her curling into him, trusting him, and wanting him, settled a sense of calm into his core. The outside of him—fingers, legs, mouth, and yes, his dick—burned for her. He’d rather watch the sun explode than have her leave him like this.

  Something about their conversation nibbled at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t catch it. In the meantime, he decided to start his assault. Cold determination had served him well in the past, and he could only pray that it worked on Norah, too. He knew if it didn’t, he’d curl up into a ball and stay there for who knew how long.

  He cranked off the shower knobs with a purpose and dried himself fast enough to turn parts of his skin pink. He didn’t care. He slid into jeans and a t-shirt, and padded barefoot and wet-headed downstairs.

  Langdon Davidson was easy enough to find in the yellow pages, and TJ called the office hoping he hadn’t gone home early. TJ knew their home number, by heart, of course, but he didn’t want to risk getting Norah.

  “Davidson.” The voice answered.

  “TJ Hewlitt, sir.”

  There was a pause, and TJ wondered what the man was thinking. It became clear in just a second.

  “Is this about Norah? I don’t know what to tell you. I can see she’s upset, but she hasn’t really told me anything.”

  Heat flooded him, and he found a smile. Of course she hadn’t. There was hope. She’d promised not to tell their issues to her father, and she still wasn’t, even though she sounded like she was washing her hands of him. With a deep breath, TJ forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. “Actually, I’m looking to hire an architect.”

  “Really?” Surprise wound through the line.

  “To be honest, you’re the only architect I know, sir. But I like your house, and I figure if you chose it then you might be the best man for the job.”

  “All right. You want a house?”

  TJ nodded as he spoke, smiling, and liking that the cold was at bay for a little while. “Yes, but I have special requirements, too. So if that’s too much, or not what you do, then you might refer me to someone else.”

  “Let’s see what you need first. It’s best if we talk preliminaries in person, so I can get an idea of what you want. You can come into the office or I can come to you.”

  “You might want to come here. There’s a room in this house that I need duplicated in the new one. It might be best if you just see it.” TJ paced while he talked.

  “How’s this evening look? I’m free after five.”

  TJ suspected that her Dad didn’t usually go out on Friday evenings to meet clients. Then again, this wasn’t going to be his usual job either. He bit back a small laugh. “I’m free. My date ditched me.”

  “I’m sorry about that, son.” There was real compassion in the man’s voice, although he offered no other information.

  “Me, too.” He almost didn’t say it, then it fell out of his mouth anyway. “You know, sir, you are the strangest father I have ever met.”

  There was a deep laugh from the other end of the line, and TJ was glad it was taken well, he hadn’t thought before the words came out. Then he added, “but probably the best.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you at five-thirty then?”

  “Sure.”

  “Where am I going?”

  TJ gave him directions and instructions how to get through the gate.

  Five-thirty was the only thing on his agenda, but it meant he had to turn Kelsey down when she called and invited him over. He got the feeling that she and JD thought he didn’t eat well enough by himself. Then he remembered the peanut butter and jelly he’d been consuming with regularity the past week and thought maybe they were right.

  He went upstairs and banged on the piano for a while, writing something really melancholy to suit his mood. He kept at it, even though it sounded mad to his ears rather than sweetly sad, which was what he was going for. Maybe he wasn’t capable of sweetly sad right now. But his fingers kept pushing at the keys, pushing the time away, until he realized it was five-twenty and he needed to get off the piano, and wait for Mr. Davidson.

  As he hit the last notes, TJ heard the lingering chords in the air and his eyes widened. Tomorrow morning he’d hit the studio early before rehearsal and play it on the harpsichord Brenda had found them. A cheap ukulele had turned up as well and JD was threatening to compose Brenda a song on that. Quickly TJ played the piece through one more time, using the piano sounds only as a cue for what his brain converted to harpsichord. He’d have to hear it on the real thing to be sure, but he thought he finally had both this piece solved and the answer to what to do with the harpsichord.

  He pounded down the steps, not wanting to be late and wound up puttering around waiting for Norah’s father. TJ managed to get in the first of w
hat he suspected would be a series of calls. Norah didn’t answer, nor had he expected her to. So he waited for the beep and said, “Norah, I love you” then hung up. Mr. Davidson arrived five minutes late with a briefcase and an apology in hand.

  “No worries.” TJ let him in and led him into the dining room to the over-grand table and chairs for ten that he never used.

  Mr. Davidson hardly saw where he was going, he was too busy looking around. He didn’t sit, and his expression was a little odd. “Nice McMansion you have here.”

  “Yes.” TJ answered, “It’s the finest cheap construction and unimaginative architecture money can buy. You can see I had it decorated in generic opulence to keep the whole place unified.”

  The laugh that came out of the man put a smile on both their faces. Mr. Davidson finally pulled off his coat, settling it across the back of the chair before he sat. “All right. I think we can work.”

  “Thank you.” TJ pulled out the adjacent chair and got as comfortable as he could in the for-looks-only furniture. “I didn’t realize until recently that I really hate this place.”

  He pulled out grid paper and a keen looking mechanical pencil. “So, start talking. What do you want?”

  For someone who knew what he wanted, TJ found he couldn’t really put it into words. “Not this.”

  “That’s a good start. Style?”

  “I like your farmhouse. I hate A-frames. The land I just bought rolls, I want the place to look like it fits. No modern angles. I like the windows that come out of the roof.”

  “Dormer windows.”

  “Those.”

  The man was scribbling frantically. “Bedrooms?”

  “Yes.” What a silly question.

  “How many?”

  “Oh! Three or four.”

  “So,” Mr. Davidson jotted more, “two to three bathrooms? Anything special for the master bath?”

  “Yes. The big white bathtub with the . . .” TJ motioned with his hands.

  “Claw feet. Good choice.”

  “Do they come big?”

  Norah’s Dad tilted his head to the side. “Big enough for two?”

  Oh, shit. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But TJ squared up and looked him in the eye. “Yes, sir. Do they make them?”

  There was a small grin with his nod. “Yes, I’ll design it, and a good contractor can get you just about anything if you’re willing to pay for it.”

  “Let’s see how unreasonable it is, before we decide.”

  “Fair enough.” He jotted more. “Any special rooms?”

  “Oh, yes.” TJ stood up, pushing the chair back and attracting the architect’s attention from his papers. “Come with me.”

  He showed the studio, and discussed minor changes to the one for the new house, saying that some of the pieces here could be moved. The acoustic padding he had would come down and could go to the new place, he pointed out the special carpeting that would have to get replaced.

  They trailed back down the stairs this time with Mr. Davidson leading. “Any other special rooms?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Yes, sir. A dance studio.”

  The older man stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face him, leaving TJ a few steps up and curious if her dad was going to point out that he was betting a lot on an uncertain future.

  “Do you want a packed foam floor like she has at her school now?”

  No beating around the bush there. And no question as to why he wanted it, or for what. TJ answered. “Yes, sir, she loves that floor.”

  “That she does. It’ll change the options for where it can go in the house.”

  “So be it.” TJ followed as Mr. Davidson headed back through the kitchen scribbling frantically again while he walked. TJ threw out another gambit. “And a barn.”

  “Let me guess. Three horses?”

  “Make room for five, sir. I need a western trained horse to go out with her. She rides English and it’s just wrong.”

  Langdon Davidson let loose a deep, head-thrown back laugh, and TJ could see where Norah got it.

  He added another contingency. “Oh, and no windows in the dance studio.”

  Her dad frowned at him. “That’s not right. It won’t look consistent on the outside of the house and there won’t be any natural light. Why are you insisting that there not be any windows?”

  “The back of the house is open to range, sir. The land isn’t entirely fenced. There are houses on either side, and while there are trees, there aren’t enough to keep someone from watching her.”

  “Would someone have perhaps done this while she was dancing at my house?”

  TJ swallowed. “Yes, sir. Accidentally, sir.”

  “Well, then we’ll have to come up with a solution. But I’m going to get around that ‘no windows’ thing.” Mr. Davidson sat back down and began sketching frantically.

  Chapter 62

  TJ worked frantically on the ‘Norah problem’ as he had now deemed it. He called several times a day, even though she never picked up, always leaving the same four words. His brain tracked the last conversation they’d had several different ways, knowing that there was some inherent clue in what she’d said.

  He did the homework her father had given him, and wondered if the man had mentioned any of this to his daughter. TJ suspected not, but was uncertain if there was some code of architect-client confidentiality. Still he faithfully jotted down other ideas he had for the house. He included hardwood floors, everywhere, thinking that Norah could spin and turn through the house as she had when they had lived together. He wanted a fence around the property—to keep people out, dogs in, and be low enough for a good horse to safely jump.

  Sunday morning TJ photographed the land he’d bought and emailed the photos, before hitting the studio and the harpsichord. He managed to make the song a little sweeter, but only after closing his eyes and imagining Norah in their new house. He refused to imagine an empty dance studio. He was building it. He’d wear her down if he had to.

  Monday morning, he woke up and rolled over, going back to sleep. It was maybe the best thing he’d ever done, because when he woke the second time the clock said 10:53 and he remembered what it was about their conversation that had been eating at him.

  He ate cheerios, not tasting a single bite. By noon he knew what to give her.

  He showered and dressed frantically before realizing he had no idea where to get what he needed. He speed dialed JD, who gave him Kelsey’s cell number.

  “TJ?” She had answered. He never called her.

  “Kelsey, I need help. Where can I get pretty boxes and tissue paper and that kind of thing?”

  Norah lay on the couch, watching soap operas. She didn’t answer TJ’s calls’ and he called about three to five times a day. Norah, I love you.

  She could hear it in her head. It sounded a little different each time. Her phone logged when the calls came in. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to delete them. Saving them would have been too active, so she simply hung up after listening.

  This morning she had been stupid and played through her ‘skipped messages,’ tormenting herself with Norah, I love you in fourteen different shades. So she sat on the couch with the TV playing and some woman crying because her soap opera lover had done her wrong.

  Norah should be eating lunch. She should be at the studio dancing. She could have run errands if nothing else. Instead she was on the couch with her phone in her hand like a lovesick fool.

  She reminded herself that he’d be leaving again in four days, and felt overwhelming relief mixed with overwhelming sadness at that. So she figured she deserved some good old-fashioned self-pity on the couch. She contemplated eating a lunch of nothing but ice cream.

  The door clicked as the show ended, and Norah bolted upright. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

  “Apparently, I’m catching you guilty of something. Want to tell me what?”

  “Not particularly.” She lay back down, sinking into the pil
low and down comforter she’d hauled out.

  “Are you sick?” He shrugged out of his long coat, hanging it on the stand behind the door.

  “No.” Yes. She was heartsick.

  Her Dad came over to the couch and shoved back part of the bedding, finding a seat for himself. Norah made room, knowing he was going to talk to her, because they were both here and awake, right?

  “Actually, this is why I came home. I thought I might find you here.”

  “Daddy, I’m often here during the day.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “On the couch in your jammies?”

  She didn’t say anything, but mentally she conceded.

  He pushed. “So you and TJ had a fight?”

  “He screwed up, Daddy.” She did not want to be having this conversation.

  “Norah, we all screw up.”

  “Big time.”

  “We all screw up big time.”

  Damn the man. “Too big.”

  “Norah, he’s determined. And he loves you.”

  That made her sit up. “How do you know that?”

  “Well, for starters, I found this stuck in the screen just now.” He held out a three-by-five index card with four words: Norah, I love you.

  She almost laughed, except for the part where she wanted to cry.

  Her father shrugged. “Maybe you should give him another chance.”

  “I did, Daddy.”

  “There’s always another.”

  God, her father could be exasperating. “What am I supposed to do? Keep letting him break my heart? Just keep handing him chances? I don’t see you handing Mom any more chances.”

  He tipped his head, like he was conceding. His words did anything but. “The difference is I don’t want to be with your mother. And I don’t think your mother ever really tried to save us.”

  “Daddy,” She sighed the word. “He sent me flowers, and then jewelry! He tried to buy me.”

  “You know, baby, he may have been trained by past women that that’s an appropriate apology. I know your mother thought the more I’d screwed up, the bigger the diamond she deserved. You have to tell him that’s not what you want. I’ll bet if you told him what you do want he might very well come around.”