“What about the sleeping bags then, the ones that zip together?” I asked, teasingly.
“Body heat. Do you know how cold it gets here at night? We’re going to want to get up close and personal tonight to keep from losing feelings in our toes.” As if to emphasize his point, his toes curled over mine in the water. “Come on,” he said, tipping his head towards the shore. “Let’s get some dry clothes on. I need to start marinating the meat for the kabobs.” He pulled me with him out of the water, still holding my hand.
He had me change first inside the tent so I switched to my sweats and a long sleeved tee. The sun was dropping behind the mountains that surrounded the lake, which meant it would get cooler sooner. Since my sneakers were wet, I slid my flip flops on.
When I emerged from the tent, he was stoking the fire in the fire pit. Water was dripping down his arms, traveling his taut muscles. Water darkened his hair, dripping down the back of his neck to disappear under his tee. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
He looked up at me; his eyes traveled the length of my body, alighting with warmth. “Warmer?”
I nodded and tugged on my sleeves before sliding into one of the camp chairs he had set up around the fire. The cooler was open beside him, and I saw he had already mixed the meat in a bag of some kind of marinade. The wooden skewers were submerged in the water at the bottom of the cooler.
“Do you cook often?” I asked when he had returned from changing inside of the tent. He was also wearing sweats that hung off of his hips and a fitted thermal shirt.
He shrugged as he sat into the chair beside me and handed me a beer from inside the cooler, popping the top off for me first. “I was the oldest child in a house of girls. My mom worked a bunch of jobs, so it was the least I could do to help out around the house.”
My brow furrowed. “What about your dad?”
Julian took a pull from his beer. “My parents divorced while my mom was pregnant with my youngest sister. I didn’t see him much after he moved away from Colorado.”
I didn’t remember Julian talking about his dad before. “Do you talk to your dad?”
“Oh yeah. We actually talk a lot. Now that he’s accepted I don’t want a football career, he helps me brainstorm all the ideas for my novels.”
I took a sip of my beer as I contemplated that.
“What about your parents? Do you get along with them?” Julian started peeling the label off of his beer absentmindedly.
Ah. The question I avoided like the plague. I felt the lie crawl up my throat and a moment before I spoke, guilt settled in my chest. “We are estranged. I don’t talk to them.”
I felt Julian turn his head to face me as I started peeling the label off of my beer too. “Why?”
I settled my lips into a thin line at the prospect of further developing this lie. Lies were not tangible things, but they still made an impact. Once they passed from your lips, you couldn’t take them back. They settled in the space that trust was built on, rotting the foundation of the human connection. Stacking lies on top of each other meant adding more rot to what could be something good.
I was not inherently good. I knew that. My past was tainted. I didn’t spend time developing stable romantic relationships. My body had been treated like a toy, damaged. Yes, it was true that I didn’t believe in spending time with someone in the long run because I couldn’t take the constant lying. But a part of me also believed I didn’t deserve it. If someone else had treated me like I was nothing, why should I believe I was anything more than that? I was willing to have short term sexual relationships because that was easy, something that had been taken from me. So now, that was a choice for me to give. Anything deeper than that was unfair. I was dark. I was rot, corroding the good in others.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think I was a terrible person. I was a good friend, a good worker. But I couldn’t give anyone more than what they saw on the surface. Lies were more frequent than truth. I would lie for the rest of my life. How could I share a life with someone who didn’t know me, who believed the vinegar I spoke?
No, this was easier.
“Andra?” I was startled out of my thoughts.
I shook my head, clearing away my thoughts. “Sorry.” I took a drink from my beer and reminded myself of his earlier question. But before I could speak, he interrupted.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
This was my out. I knew I should take it, but I felt guilty. He’d shared about his family. Would it be better to tell him nothing or tell him a lie?
“Rosa is like my family. Everyone at the ranch, they are more than I deserve.” A truth.
“I don’t believe that,” he replied. I couldn’t help the bubble of laughter. He didn’t believe the one thing that I’d been truthful about. He looked at my quizzically at my outburst. “What makes you think you deserve any less than what you have?”
Oh. I hadn’t meant to let that part slip from my lips. I wracked my brain for an answer. “I’m just not an emotional person. I don’t let people in.” Another truth.
I watched Julian chew on his lip, deep in thought. He leaned back into the camp chair and rubbed a hand over his chin. I heard the rasp of his fingers against his stubble and flashes his stubble rubbing against my skin invaded my mind.
“Why don’t you let people in?”
I took another sip of my beer. Julian was unknowingly prying some of the first truths from my lips. “Because it’s easier not to.”
Julian didn’t reply to that, just finished his beer before getting up and heading to the tent. Before I could ask what he was doing, he returned with the guitar case. My heart thudded in my chest.
“Do you mind?” he asked as he pulled the guitar out of its case. I shook my head and watched, enraptured, as he started tuning the guitar.
A moment later, he started playing. The intro sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
And then he started singing. His voice was soft, yet full-bodied. It was deep, clean, and clear. He had no trouble when the pace of the song picked up. I knew he was singing the song he’d said was his favorite, “Name.” I listened closely to the lyrics while he strummed along on the guitar. I shivered, feeling transparent. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking directly at me while singing, so he didn’t see the nerves that flooded me, making me want to itch my skin.
When he finished, his eyes met mine. He smiled sheepishly. “I love that song. First song I learned to play.”
Not wanting to dissect the lyrics, I tried diverting the subject. “How long have you been playing?”
Julian’s hands roamed over the neck of the guitar, a movement that made me antsy. “About ten years.”
I’m sure my eyes betrayed how surprised I was at that, because he laughed. “Remember how I told you I played football all throughout high school?” I nodded. “I joined the team to impress a girl I had a crush on. But turns out she was more into music than sports. So I joined a guitar class in high school. I had grand ideas of wooing her with music.”
I laughed. “So? Did it work out for you? Did you woo her?”
Julian laughed with me. “No. She saw right through me and was not impressed, to say the least.”
“What?” I was surprised. “What girl wouldn’t be impressed that you went out of your way to romance her?”
“Well that was part of the problem, actually,” he said. He set the guitar with its back on his legs. “She thought I was stalking her and spoke to a guidance counselor. Kind of embarrassing, actually. That killed my affection for her.”
“Maybe she was onto something.” I lifted my arms to emphasize my point. “You always manage to find me. Perhaps you are a secret stalker.”
“Nah, I think it’s just that you want to be found.”
His eyes met mine and though he was teasing, it felt like there was a double meaning to his words. I tried to play it off with a smile. I pointed to the guitar. “Do you do requests?” I batted my eyelashes, really playing up
my question.
Julian puffed out his chest in complete exaggeration. “Sure do.”
“Hmm…” I narrowed my eyes in contemplation and tapped a finger to my forehead. “How about some Poison?”
Julian’s lips spread into a boyish grin as he launched into “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” I sang along with him, adding as much drama as possible, and did the air electric guitar at the appropriate parts. It was more fun than I’d had in a long time, and Julian didn’t pause before he moved from song to song. He played a few songs I didn’t know, so I just leaned back and basked in his voice, in the sky darkening as the sun slid down the sky. His voice when speaking or when singing moved me.
He sang “Cannonball” by Damien Rice for his last song and his voice took on a different quality. Gone was his clear, crisp voice. He had more of a gravely sound, whether by design or from overextending his vocals, I wasn’t sure. But as with everything he did, I was mesmerized. It was at the end of that song that I felt goose bumps prickle my arms and something squeeze in my chest.
After he finished “Cannonball” he offered me the guitar so he could skewer the kabobs. I plucked the strings, not playing any particular song; just playing random chords.
Julian set a grate over the fire and let it warm up for a few minutes. He laid the skewers on the grate and then sat next to me while they cooked. Steak, peppers, onions, and mushrooms sizzled. I barely resisted licking my lips. “Those smell amazing.”
Julian nodded and washed his hands with water from the cooler and some hand sanitizer before grabbing the guitar from me and putting it back in its case inside the tent. “The marinade is one of my secrets, a concoction I made after countless attempts in the kitchen.”
I tried to imagine what it was like growing up with so many siblings and so much responsibility. “Were you in charge of your sisters growing up?”
Julian offered me another beer before grabbing one for himself. “Pretty much. I was the man of the house when dad moved out. We spent those first few years with the same thing for dinner every night: mac and cheese. When I was sixteen, I started doing the grocery shopping and watched a lot of cooking shows. Then we started eating food that didn’t come from a box. It was a revelation.”
He checked on the kabobs, turning them on the opposite side. I felt my mouth water at more than just the scent of the food. He was bent over, the shirt riding up an exposing part of his lower back. Just that tiny bit of exposed flesh was enough to make me tingle with need. I felt out of control of my body’s reactions. I knew what I was feeling, both physically and emotionally, was an anomaly for me.
Julian wanted more from me, I knew. I could tell when he lifted his head and looked directly into my eyes, his eyebrows drawn together. He wanted a peek inside my head. And the strange thing was, I wanted to allow him that peek. But at the same time, I knew allowing him in would only cause harm to us both.
“This is almost ready.”
That snapped my head out of its internal warring. “I cannot wait.”
Julian grinned, his funny little boyish grin. It was one of his many smiles, all of which tugged a reluctant smile from my lips in response.
“Do you like s’mores?”
“Don’t you remember? I would insert a feeding tube of chocolate if it were possible.” I settled into the chair, enjoying the warmth of the fire as the evening cooled.
“Of course I remembered. It’s unlikely I could forget. You are something else, Andra Walker.”
The compliment was unexpected, but appreciated. “Well you are thorough and thoughtful, Julian Jameson. What’s the catch?”
Julian looked at me in mock seriousness. “I’m afraid I’m a terrible kisser,” he said, sighing dramatically.
“Well I know that’s a lie,” I replied, sipping on my beer.
“Okay. I’m a shit writer.”
“Doubt that. I looked you up. You’re kind of a big deal.”
Julian seemed uncomfortable. “I’m just me.”
A thought occurred to me. “Why do you go by J.J.?”
He grabbed a couple paper plates and crouched by the fire, turning the skewers once more. “Because I wanted to disconnect my personal life from my professional one. J.J. is elusive. He’s kind of a dick, to be honest.”
I laughed, slapping my hand over my mouth to contain the noise. Julian looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “What?”
“That was the impression you gave off in your first email to the ranch about booking. I swore you’d be an uptight asshole.”
Julian didn’t seem surprised. “I wanted you to think that. Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of letting people in. I’m closed off, like you,” he said, meeting my eyes, the challenge in them daring me to disagree with his assessment.
I shrugged. “It’s not that I’m hiding anything. I just don’t feel the desire that everyone else feels; the desire to tell everyone everything about your life.”
“Which is why you don’t have a Facebook, I guess.”
Of course he searched for me on Facebook. “That’s part of it, yes. I like my anonymity. And besides, I don’t have much else outside of the ranch. I don’t travel, I don’t party, I don’t meet famous people – apart from you – so my life would be rather dull to some people. And I don’t want people to think that. I love my life. I don’t seek validation from anyone but myself.”
Julian was looking at me with an expression of complete understanding. “I really respect that about you, Andra.” He looked back at the skewers and turned them again. “I value my privacy too. It’s why I go by J.J.”
“So who calls you Julian?”
He pulled four skewers off and set them on a paper plate before handing the plate to me. “My mom, my sisters.” He pulled another four skewers off and set them on a second plate before sliding the remaining skewers to another plate. He settled in the chair next to me and slid a piece of meat off the skewer, popping it in his mouth. He smiled while chewing and looked over at me. “My friends. You.”
“You don’t introduce yourself as Julian? What about your book people?” I popped a small mushroom in my mouth and closed my eyes, groaning. Lemon, garlic, and pepper burst on my tongue.
“Do you always do that?” Julian asked, his voice husky. My eyes were still closed, but my lips stretched into a feline smile.
“Only when I taste something incredible.” I opened my eyes and met his eyes. “This is amazing. You’re wasting your talents writing.”
He laughed and popped a mushroom in his own mouth. I popped a piece of steak into my mouth and tried to suppress the resulting groan. “Holy shit, Julian.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, seemingly in thought, before saying, “I hope you let me cook for you again.”
“Let you? Hell, I will chain you to my kitchen if it means you’ll cook like this for me again.”
“Oh, bondage? I can roll with that.”
I knew my cheeks flamed red. Me? Blushing? What alternate universe had I just walked into? “You never answered my question, you know,” I said, clearing my throat. “Do your book people call you J.J.?”
“Yes. I don’t ever introduce myself as Julian.”
“Interesting.” I chewed another mushroom. “Would you prefer that I call you J.J.?”
“No.” The answer was quick and firm. I raised an eyebrow. “You’re more than an acquaintance, Andra. And you haven’t even read my books.” He laughed and tossed his finished skewer into the fire.
“True.” I chewed thoughtfully. “So, Heloise and Abelard. Why do you know so much about their story?”
“I’ve always found tragic love stories fascinating, believe it or not. I don’t subscribe to the belief that every love story is meant to have a happily-ever-after ending.”
“Why not?”
“Well think about it this way: would anyone care if Romeo and Juliet had lived happily? It was the struggles they faced that made the story iconic. Or Cyrano de Bergerac, another d
epressing tale of love. Sure, in the end she realizes it was him all along, but Cyrano is dead. Their love story ended the moment it began. Roxanne mourns Christian misguidedly, thinking he is the author behind the letters. But she realizes the truth at the end and now has to mourn another man.”
“If you’re so enamored with tragic love, why do you write mysteries?” I asked, tossing my skewer into the fire.
“Because I enjoy puzzles. I enjoy challenges. Which,” he reached the poker into the fire to adjust the burning logs, “is why I was so drawn to you at first. You made yourself a challenge to me. That’s like waving a bone in front of a dog. I had a compulsion to accept the challenge you unknowingly offered. So if you think about it, it’s kind of your fault.”
“I’m a challenge, a puzzle?” I took a moment to chew more steak. “What happens if you put the pieces together then? You’re done?”
Because he was looking at the fire, I couldn’t see his eyes. But his lips curved in a small smile. “Your story isn’t done. There will always be pieces to put together. See, when I write one of my stories, I know all the pieces to the puzzle. I am the one who separates them. I’m the one who creates and then unravels the mystery for my readers. I know the beginning and the ending.” He tossed another skewer into the fire, causing a spark to crackle from within. “I don’t know these things about you. You’re giving me a glimpse here and there, but you’re a mystery still.” He took a sip of his beer before continuing. “You’re also funny and intelligent. I can see you absorb what I say and reply thoughtfully. You’re more than just beautiful. And I’ve never met anyone like Andra Walker.”
Wow. I was speechless. Had that ever happened before?
“So now I’m the one wondering, what’s the catch?”
I laughed. “Well I wouldn’t call my cooking skills impressive. Or the results even edible.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Tell me something else.”
“I probably smell like horseshit most days.”
He Found Me Page 13
