Young Love

by Alyson Santos

  “Yeah, girl! A week of getting our margarita on and ogling hot lifeguards? Yes, please.”

  I laugh. “What does Paul think about that plan?”

  “Eh, he’ll be fine with it. Gives him an excuse to go up to the cabin with the boys.”

  I shake my head. “Okay. Assuming my schedule’s clear, I’m in.”

  I’ve just pulled through the intersection after class when I see it.

  Heart racing, I get over into the right lane and turn into the strip mall. “Music Lessons” flashes in blue letters above a storefront. A guitar, a violin, and a drum set round out a display in the window. It can’t be a coincidence that this little burst of color is so close to my other one.

  “Hello. May I help you?” a woman asks from behind a counter. Music and voices waft from behind giant glass windows at the back of the building. Four, maybe five rooms in all, each brightly lit and in use.

  “Do you offer guitar lessons?”

  The woman smiles. “Yes. What level are you?”

  “Beginner.”

  She nods and starts typing.

  “Do you have your own instrument?”

  I’m about to say yes when I remember Jace’s sweet and unmistakable grimace. “I’ll probably need a new one.”

  “Well, that’s totally up to you. We also sell and rent guitars here, if you’d like to take a look.”

  She motions behind me, and I turn to face a rainbow of options. Which one did Jace have? Funny how I remember every detail of his face while he played and not a single thing about his guitar.

  “Which would be good for beginners?”

  She joins me in front of the display and pulls one from a hook. “I’d recommend this one. It’s good quality for the price. We can adjust the action however you like it.”

  I nod, vaguely remembering something about that.

  “Here, try it.”

  I take the guitar and balance on a nearby stool. The neck definitely feels nicer than my own. I squeeze the strings and place my fingers into a G-chord. Em. C. D. Four chords that could make a song, including a beautiful one written by a talented young songwriter.

  “How much are lessons?”

  “Forty an hour.”

  “And the guitar?”

  “Three-hundred-fifty and it comes with a cloth case.”

  I strum through another progression. “Do you have any classes on Wednesday or Thursday around six?”

  Wednesday night becomes my favorite of the week. Guitar lesson at five-forty-five, karate at seven. I might not have the natural gifts that Jace has, but by working my butt off, I manage not to embarrass myself. I soon find the daytime hours dragging in anticipation of my colorful nights.

  With everything I have going on, the decision about my career becomes easy. I maintain my existing clients, but I’m too busy with other adventures to worry about expansion. When I start turning down projects because it’ll cut into my personal life, I finally admit to myself that what I don’t want is to build a consulting empire. I get it now, passion is not synonymous with money. What do I want? To earn a comfortable living that allows me the freedom to explore the things I’m coming to love.

  I dye my hair the deep unnatural red I’ve also always wanted and begin dressing in an edgier style that makes me more comfortable in my own skin. Don’t hold back becomes my mantra, so much so that I’m now seated in a comfortable chair while a tattoo artist inscribes small words on my wrist. I can’t stop smiling through the pinch of the needle, watching myself transform into that person in a tangible way.

  When she finishes my design, she cleans the excess ink and asks what I think. I stare at the letters, beautiful and strong.

  “I think I’m ready to kick life’s ass.”

  Chapter 0 – 21 = -21

  I’m standing at the window on a snowy February evening, enjoying the rise of steam from my tea against the backdrop of falling snow. A desire to capture this moment sends my gaze in search of my phone. Turning back to the window I freeze at the image of a streetlight casting a spotlight on the fresh white blanket. Beauty. Potential. So much color for a dark, white landscape. A photograph isn’t enough.

  Rushing upstairs, I burst into my room and pull out a box from under my bed. It’s dusty but intact, and the tools inside are in good shape. A few pencils need to be sharpened, and I stop in my office to fix that. Then back to the window where I set up a chair and lap desk.

  I work late into the night, the image in my head growing beyond the picture in the street. Something’s missing from that spotlight. It’s waiting for its star, and when I let go of my thoughts, my hands and heart fill in the gap. Just after midnight, fingers and back cramped and stiff, I hold my drawing up to the light. A grin spreads over my lips, along with an ache so deep I sink back into the chair.

  There, silhouetted in the snowy lamplight is a mid-twenties martial artist performing a tornado kick.

  He’s magnificent with the determination on his face, strength of his body, and perfect execution. The picture of power and control. Untouchable. Fearless. Free.

  I’m so moved I let myself do something I don’t allow often anymore: remember. His eyes. His lips. The feel of his skin. The way his smile formed a currency I’d horde deep in my heart. And then my brain goes off in an even riskier direction: speculation.

  Where is he now? Has he found love? True freedom? What if he’s hurt? What if Louis finally delivered a blow even Jace Beckett couldn’t withstand?

  I shudder, tears forming as I try to push the thought away. This is the danger of holding on. This is what I’ve fought so hard to avoid as I’ve searched for color in the rest of my life. Then again, maybe this is my last lie. Maybe freedom isn’t letting go but moving on.

  Wiping my eyes, I prop the picture against the window sill.

  I’ll make that decision tomorrow.

  I have my drawing framed. A week later I’ve added two more: a profile of a jump front kick and another showing a knife hand block. Once the floodgate opens, however, there’s no stopping the flow of color. Landscapes, portraits, even some experimental abstract pieces, I play with them all and find ways to incorporate the rest of my passions into my art.

  “These are incredible, Sienna,” Kristin says, sifting through the pile on my coffee table.

  Jocelyn pulls one from the cluster. “I didn’t know you could draw like this.”

  “Neither did I,” I say with a laugh. “It’s been years. I’m happy to see the bug is still there.”

  “I’m jealous.” I glance over at her tone, and she offers a sad smile. “I used to paint. Before the kids, I mean. I thought about starting up again now that they’re older but never did.”

  “Well, I’m going to the hobby store tomorrow to grab some supplies. Why don’t you come with me?”

  She bites her lip.

  “Oh, do it, Joc!” Alexa says. “I’ll pick the kids up from the bus stop and they can play at my house.”

  “Really?” A light flashes in Jocelyn’s eyes.

  “You don’t have to go nuts,” I say. “Just a few supplies to get started. See how it goes.”

  Her smile becomes a grin we barely have time to enjoy before Kristin shrieks.

  “Oh my gosh. Sienna, you need to sell these!”

  “What?”

  “Look, ladies.” She holds up my sketches of Jace in the snow. “How beautiful are these? You’d buy this right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “For sure.”

  “Definitely.”

  I shake my head with a laugh. “No way. No one would pay money for my drawings. Besides, then I’d need to declare the extra income on my tax return which means a whole other set of books to keep it separate from my consulting business…”

  “Um, hello. You start and run businesses for a living,” Kristin interrupts. “That would be the easiest part for you. Oh! And then I can sell my book art too.”

  “Those amazing flowers and stuff you make?” Alexa asks. Kristin nods, an
d the others clap in excitement.

  “Oh my gosh, we so need to do this. I’m going to talk to Paul tonight. He’s been on my case about finding another hobby anyway!”

  Hmm… I’ve spent years helping other business owners realize their dreams. What would it hurt to leverage my skills for my own passion for once?

  “We could open a shop or gallery, even! And Jocelyn could sell her paintings and—”

  “Okay, hold on,” I say gently. “If we do this, we need to start way smaller. Maybe we can talk more about it over coffee tomorrow?”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh hey, speaking of tomorrow. You have guitar lessons on Wednesdays, right?” Alexa asks, and I nod.

  “Do you think they have room for another student?”

  I grin. “I’m sure they do.”

  “Really? I’ve always wanted to play.”

  “Then do it! You want to come with me to my lesson?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course not. You’ll love it. Mike is great.”

  My heart warms as I take in my friends’ excitement. Is this it? What it feels like to help others find the color? No wonder Jace pushed me so hard.

  Sienna Porter: Inspiration.

  Chapter 0 – 22 = -22

  “Can we just live here?” Kristin asks.

  “I’d say yes, but again, wouldn’t Paul take issue?” I tease.

  Eyes closed behind dark glasses and lathered in sunscreen, it’s not hard to understand why Kristin wants to relocate to the pool deck of a cruise ship. “Getting your margarita on” isn’t a figure of speech in this oasis.

  “Oh damn. Check out the hottie at four o-clock. Quick, Sienna, look!” Her whisper-yell has all the urgency of a fire alarm in a crowded theater. I peek over, and sure enough, a mature, human male rubs lotion on his bare chest and arms. Nice arms, I note.

  “I don’t see a ring or a companion,” Kristin continues, excitement building. “Go talk to him!”

  “That would require getting up,” I reply.

  “Sienna! When’s the last time you’ve been on a date? Don’t you think it’s time to find someone?”

  I shrug. “You’re convinced my soulmate is on this cruise ship?”

  She grunts and sinks back into her chair. “Oh my gosh, he’s coming over. He’s coming over!”

  I cringe. No way he didn’t hear that. I work to steady my pulse as the good-looking stranger makes his way toward us. Wow, yeah, very nice arms. Handsome too, in a classic kind of way that makes me imagine he’s a doctor in one of those fake TV beautiful-people hospitals.

  “Is anyone using this chair?” he asks, indicating the empty chaise to my right.

  I shake my head. “It’s free.”

  “Great.”

  To my surprise, rather than drag it away, he drops the folded towel he’s holding on the end and lowers himself into the seat.

  “I’m Spence,” he says, holding out his hand.

  I take it. “Sienna.”

  He nods, and I refuse to turn around and watch my friend’s attempt at hiding her inner shriek. For a brief moment, I think back to Karen and wonder how she’d react to this situation. There’s nothing forced about Kristin’s excitement, no expectations of a windfall for her if I have success.

  “Are you enjoying your time here so far?” he asks.

  “It’s been great,” I say, pushing my smile a little brighter when the long-dormant excitement of pursuit starts to work its way through my veins.

  How long since I’ve been with someone? Months? Almost a year? That question comes with a flash of aqua eyes I push back into the void.

  Spence seems nice, I tell myself. You’re allowed to have fun without committing to an eternity together.

  He asks if he can refresh my drink for me at the bar, and thus begins a week of flirting and remembering what it means to feel wanted.

  On the last night of the trip, Spence and I spend a romantic night alone under the stars. It turns out I wasn’t so far off with my initial analysis after all. He’s a pediatrician and runs his own practice about thirty-five minutes from where my mother lives in Florida. Small world, we decide. He’s fifty-one, widowed, and has a son in college. Like me, he came on this trip with friends, who, like mine, are always trying to set him up on a date. Turns out he approached me that day because he thought I looked fun and he didn’t want his friends hounding him the entire week. I’d laughed and accepted my role as cop-out since I was basically using him for the same reason.

  “This may have started off just for fun, but I really like you, Sienna. You’re so…” He studies my face, and I don’t look away. Waiting, not afraid. “Confident,” he says finally. “You just know who you are and what you want.”

  I smile, accepting the compliment. “It wasn’t an easy journey to get there.”

  “I imagine not.” He clears his throat. “I’d like to learn more about it. Even after we disembark.”

  My eyes widen and watch the moonlight reflect in his as we stand on the breezy deck.

  “But we live in different parts of the country,” I say, certain I’m missing something.

  “Well, yeah. We can figure that out if things go well. I have a big empty house—not that I’m suggesting we move in together,” he rushes out. “I just mean…” He releases a gentle laugh. “Wow, this is not going well. I’m sorry, it’s been a while for me.”

  My own smile is warm as it draws his. “It’s been a while for me too. I don’t like games anyway. I prefer real.”

  He nods, clearly relieved. “So you’ll think about it?”

  I pull in a deep breath. Somewhere deep, a war rages, thoughts and emotions so complex, I couldn’t begin to sort through them now.

  “How about we exchange numbers and see what happens when we return to our lives? I like you too, but things might look different when we go back to reality.”

  I’m not sure he loves my answer, but it’s not exactly arguable. So we do. Exchange numbers, say goodbye with a long, decent kiss, and agree to see what happens.

  Shortly after our cruise, I earn my green belt. Nunchucks, it turns out, aren’t so hard when you learn the basics and practice your butt off. Kristin is promoted as well, while Alexa and Jocelyn cheer us on from the audience. We decide to celebrate with one of our favorite pastimes: sipping frozen margaritas at La Cantina.

  “To kicking ass,” Kristin says, holding up her glass.

  “Absolutely,” I say, adding my drink to the circle.

  We toast and settle in to devour chips and salsa while we wait for our meals.

  “Our server, though,” Jocelyn whispers. “I wouldn’t mind taking him home.”

  “What do you think, Sienna? Should we check his status?”

  I roll my eyes and reach for another chip. “His status?”

  “Yeah, see if he’s single.”

  I shake my head. “You know, just because I’m the token old maid of the group doesn’t mean you have to fix me up with every available man on the planet.”

  “You don’t think he’s cute?” Alexa asks.

  “That’s not the point,” I huff out, pointing a chip at her.

  “Besides, she’s got Spence now,” Kristin says. Even adds a dramatic eye flutter to be extra obnoxious.

  “Please. We’ve had a few phone conversations.” Interesting that there’s no quiver in my stomach when I say it. Have I ever stared at my phone, willing his name to appear? I take another long swallow of my drink, wincing from the cold burn that spreads through my head.

  And just like that the pain drops to my gut.

  “Sienna? You okay?”

  Kristin’s voice echoes in the distance. The clatter of dishes. Idle chatter from neighboring tables. Another dimension settles around me as I stare at the four young men following the host to an empty booth nearby. They laugh and joke like it’s just another Friday night and they’re just about to grab a taco.

  “Do you know them?” Alexa asks.

  “They lo
ok like a rock band or something,” Jocelyn says.

  I nod absently, disconnected and lost at another table. He doesn’t see me and won’t when he slides into the booth facing the other way. My heart hammers in response. His presence has consumed the restaurant, turned it into an entirely different place.

  “Okay, what is going on with you, Sienna?”

  I blink and force my attention back to Kristin. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” I shake my head. Clutch my phone in trembling fingers. My friends conspire in teasing tones but I don’t comprehend their words as I stare at my contact list. Should I? He seems happy, at the very least content. Will I survive a night alone in my room if I don’t?

  My brain loses anyway when my fingers start scrolling. Then clicking. Then typing.

  Me: Behind you.

  Blood pounds through my veins as I study his back. His head lowers to examine something in his hand, and I can’t breathe.

  One. Two—

  Aqua eyes lock on me. Everything freezes. Two souls rush across the room and crash into each other.

  For several seconds we’re alone, free, and then he looks away.

  My chest constricts, trapping a knot that swells into a deep ache. Worse than rejection was that same agony reflected in his eyes before he shattered our connection. Worse still, my satisfaction that he still suffers too.

  “If you know them are you going to say hi?”

  “What is wrong with her?”

  “I swear, she’s on another planet.”

  “Helloooo? Sienna?”

  I force a smile through the pressure in my throat. “Sorry.”

  “Are you going to say hello?” Kristin repeats.

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to interrupt them.”

  She continues studying me, and some tension lifts when our server arrives with the entrees. If only my stomach were capable of processing food right now.