Jayson stayed with me until deep into Sunday evening after taking me to the estate sale on Saturday and spending the night. We shared meals and movies, made love and had long conversations about design, construction, love, life, and dreams that left me simultaneously satisfied and unfulfilled. Waking up without him this morning made me miss him more than I thought I would. More than I thought I could.
I’ve had boyfriends before. Well, one boyfriend. He went to the same prep school as me and took me to school dances and stuff. Mom liked him because his father was a neurosurgeon and his mother was a state senator. His name was Andrew, he was into Japanese culture, liked the tilt of my eyes, and that’s all I remember. Oh yeah, we kissed once. I wondered what the big deal was.
Other than that guy, I didn’t devote much attention to love or relationships because it seemed pointless. All my girlfriends ever talked about was how stupid their boyfriends acted. I guess I created a mental picture of men as either boring or brutish, needy or selfish. Why would I want that in my life while trying to accomplish my dreams? Yet, Jayson has me throwing out my preconceived notions. He’s not a part of my plans for my future, and now I can’t even see a future without him.
Sighing, I get to work. These notes aren’t going to write themselves. I put thoughts of my new significant other out of my head and spend the last half of the class actually focusing on what I’m supposed to be doing.
After class, Professor Schwartz beckons me up to the podium for a word, and I nervously step forward, wondering if I’m in trouble. Did she catch me daydreaming? Did she notice I wasn’t paying attention? Worse, maybe I dozed off during class. I did go to bed pretty late last night. “Yes, Professor?”
“Ah, Kit, we’re coming up to the close of the first semester, and I’m really looking forward to seeing your final project for Textiles.” I think of the assignment that’s half-finished and make a mental note not to get too wrapped up in Jayson to get it done.
“I think you’ll be pleased,” I say proudly. “I started working on it at the beginning of the year, and I put a lot of extra effort into it. I’m nearly done.”
“Wonderful, wonderful!” she coos. This is the woman who makes freshmen cry. She has to see something in me to be so dedicated to my success. That thought makes me smile. I have the It factor, and I intend to stay in her good graces. Professor Schwartz continues, “I’d like to see you in my office when you have a free minute, okay? I want to talk to you more about that internship. I only gave the application to students I felt would be best for the position, and I’m rooting for you in particular.”
I hesitate as I shift my backpack on my shoulder. Meeting with my mentor? “Um, I’d love to meet with you again. I’m sure I can free up some time,” I reply. I don’t know how I’ll do it, though. I mentally check my schedule. Between work and school and trying to be around Jayson Zephyr, I hardly have any room for very important talks with my college professors. I seriously contemplate what, besides Jayson, can be cut. Of course, I realize it’s completely empty-headed of me to prioritize a guy ahead of my schoolwork. It’s laughable.
Professor Schwartz seems oblivious to my inner struggle, for which I’m grateful. I don’t want to send the message that I don’t need her. She’s one of the few people who have shown any confidence in my dream of having my own show on HGTV. Not even my own mother has faith in that. I wave goodbye and trudge out of her classroom with the rest of her students.
It’s my last class of the day, and I drive across campus to the student union to meet Gracie so we can grab smoothies together. I spot her waiting outside for me, and we hurry indoors to escape the damp chill of early December. Once inside, Grace puts a finger up to stop me before I can say a word. “Nope, I don’t want to hear it,” she complains. I quirk a brow, half-smiling.
“What’s gotten into you?” I scan the smoothie menu as she grabs a tray and gets in line next to me. Grace keeps mum, making a point of ignoring me. “Grace…Grace!” She shakes her head resolutely. I’m bursting to spill the beans, but she gives me the silent treatment. I so want to tell her all about what happened with Jayson, but I have a hunch that’s why she’s holding a grudge. My psychic bestie probably had a vision or something. “Alright, what’d I do?”
We get our orders and get all the way to our table before she deigns to address me. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other, Kit?” she asks with mock sternness.
I erupt with laughter. “It’s impossible to keep anything from you,” I say with a snort. “How’d you find out? A tarot reading? My horoscope? Did you see it in a dream?” I tease.
“Humph!” Grace sips from her smoothie and studies me with a side-eye. “Well, I was talking about why you couldn’t take any of my calls yesterday. I figured you were trying to keep it a secret you spent the day with one of the lovely Zephyr brothers, but from the look in your eye, something tells me there’s more to that story! What should I have seen in the cards or your horoscope?” The late afternoon sun lights up her soft, golden-brown face, and she’s all eyes. And ears.
Giggling I cover my mouth. “Uh-oh! Have I given myself away?”
“Looks like you have!” Grace tosses her auburn ponytail and leans closer, pushing both our smoothies aside. “Tell me everything,” she presses with an excited smile.
I whisper directly into her ear what happened, glancing left and right to make sure no one hears what I tell her. Grace’s eyes get larger and larger. Her mouth drops open. She looks at me in scandalized amazement. “Oh, my friggin’ God!” she yelps. “You did what?”
“Shh!” I hiss, putting a hand over her mouth.
Grace shakes out of my hand and pins me with an incredulous stare. “Girl, this house thing…I think it was just what you needed to come out of your adolescent cocoon and embrace your fledgling adulthood. You’re transforming right in front of me. It’s amazing, Kitrina Ann!”
“Yes, it is! And, the s-e-x? Oh, Gracie, it was so…” I still don’t have the words. I sigh, tremble, look skyward and shake my head. Grace crows with laughter.
“I totally get it,” she says. “So, um, are you and him together-together now?”
“Eh…It’s complicated. I hate to throw around titles willy-nilly strictly because we slept together, but I got the impression he wants us to be together-together. He didn’t say it expressly,” I say with sudden doubt. It seemed to me Jayson was pressing for more than casual sex, based on everything he said, but on the other hand, it’s not like we set anything in stone. I groan. “Grace, I honestly don’t know. I might have to find out by checking his social media, see if he changed his relationship status or something. Ha! Damned twenty-first century dating woes. We kind of just have an understanding. Tell me I don’t sound like one of those foolish girls who overestimates their importance in a man’s life, Grace. I keep hearing my mother’s favorite words: big mistake.”
Grace reaches across the table and squeezes my arm. “Keep it together, hot stuff. Everything I know about Mr. Zephyr tells me you’ve met your match, in a good way. Only thing I worry about is how you’re going to have any time for him!”
“I’ll make the time,” I say brazenly. I don’t know how, but I will.
Grace and I leave the student union and head to work at Devil in the Details. Hanging out in the break room, I tell her more about how things got so serious with Jayson. I tell her about how he asked if we could be friends instead of client and contractor and how he took me to the estate sale and bought just about everything I wanted. I can confess to her my serious doubts about moving forward with him because I didn’t want to disappoint my mother. It’s stuff Grace understands. She doesn’t seem the least bit surprised that I ultimately went against the grain.
“You’re at a stage in your life where a lot of life decisions have to be made, and Mrs. Schneider can’t make them for you. You’re realizing that. I think it’s great you didn’t act rashly and just go on attraction alone from the get-go. It shows maturity that you thought it throu
gh and made a sound decision based on reasoning.”
“You think so? You’re more used to this doing it on your own crap. You got the hell out of Dodge as soon as you got the chance to go to a university out of state. You don’t have your mother breathing down your neck, making you question your decisions.”
Grace bubbles with laughter. “She tries. There’s not a lot she can do by phone. I had to show my parents they did a good job raising me. It’s as scary for them to let us do it by ourselves as it is for us. As for Jayson? I could tell right away when I met him that he had a thing for you, and it’s easy to see why. He’s got great taste. Remember that wallpaper he picked out?”
“Oh, speaking of which, your guest bedroom is finished!” I announce. Grace claps gleefully. “Late Sunday a delivery truck dropped off my furniture from the estate sale. Granted, a few repairs might have to be made, and it won’t hurt to reupholster some of the pieces, but finally everything is beginning to come together. So, as soon as we get out for winter break, you’re staying with me!”
“Hell, yeah! This is going to be the best Christmas ever! Wait, wait, what am I saying? What are you saying? You have a boyfriend now,” she pouts. “I love you and all, but it’ll be super weird to hear you guys bumping and grinding in the room upstairs while I’m trying to get to bed early so Santa can bring me a sexy firefighter for Christmas.” She waggles her eyebrows lecherously at the mention of her every Christmas wish. Grace has been asking for a firefighter for Christmas for as long as I’ve known her. I sniggle at the idea, especially the part about hearing Jayson and me “bumping and grinding.”
“I have a boyfriend but that doesn’t change anything. It’s not like he lives with me,” I protest. “You’re always welcome at my place, and—scout’s honor—you will never have to hear us doing the nasty. I’d be too embarrassed at the thought of you being subjected to my debauchery. I bet Jayson will bring over Castiel for you, so you won’t have to feel like a third wheel. I just better not hear you, either!”
She snorts in amusement. “Pfft! Me bump-n-grinding with Castiel? Why do you insist on lumping us into the same category as you and Jayson?” Grace puts her knuckles together under her chin and smiles at me, bemused. “I do think it’s so cute that you don’t know how these things work.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “How what things work?”
“I’m talking about relationships,” she says, glancing at her watch. “Oops, we don’t have time to discuss this right now. Gotta clock in. Just know, Kit, whatever happens, I won’t hold it against you when you get all wrapped up in the love and forget to make time for our friendship.”
“I’ll hold it against me. That’s why it’s not happening,” I adamantly deny. She hops up from her chair at the break room table and comes around to hug me tight before she pulls on her work vest. I put on mine, too. I don’t know where Grace gets the notion I’ll kick her to the curb just because I have Jayson in my life, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t operate like that.
We both dash out onto the storeroom floor where Grace takes up her position at the register, and I mill around, looking for anyone needing some assistance. The place is bustling with activity, rounding out the year with storewide sales that draw more customers than usual. Cinnamon and apple scent satchels blend with other holiday smells that permeate the air in Devil in the Details. The assortment of décor runs the gamut from style essentials like elegant lamps and mirrors to seasonal favorites like wreaths and Christmas decorations. The store’s soft, yellow lights make everything look enchanting, the sort of detail that elevates the boutique to a higher level of sophistication. It’s why I love where I work.
I come across a kindly older woman looking lost and overwhelmed by the vast selection in the fabrics department, a clear sign she could use help from me, the tastemaker. I tsk sympathetically out of her earshot and make a beeline for her. “Welcome to Devil in the Details. I’m Kit, your friendly sales associate. Can I help you find anything?” I ask brightly.
She squints at me through bifocals. “Yes, hello! I’m looking for doilies—you know, the adorable little lace circles? I can’t seem to find them anywhere. You see, I have a lovely antique coffee table with just a few coffee rings here and there, and I’ll be entertaining guests for Christmas. I want the house looking its very best. I imagine if I put the doilies over the watermarks, the table will be like new!”
She looks so optimistic that I hate to break it to her. “What a lovely idea! But I don’t know about it making the table look like new.” I gently grasp her shoulders and steer her towards our furniture section. “You don’t want to buy doilies, Mrs…”
“Irene. But, I most certainly do want to buy doilies. My mother, God rest her, used to make exquisite ones. I’d have them on hand if it wasn’t for the fire in sixty-seven. I know, I should’ve replaced them when I had the chance. I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, or I’d try my hand at making them myself. They seem to have fallen out of fashion. Do you even have any here?”
“We may, but why don’t you take a look at our coffee tables, Irene? We just got in a new shipment of furniture this week, and I can get you a deal too good to pass up, with this great twenty-five percent off sale we have going on. I know what you really want to do is replace that beat-up, old scarred thing you’ve got back home with something fresh and new to show off to your family and friends.” I beam confidently, positive I can convince her a new table what she needs. I know some people have a harder time parting with sentimental junk, thinking some pieces are antique simply because they’re old and falling apart. However, Irene looks like a sensible woman. She’ll be happier with the end result if she listens to me. “I bet I have something that will work perfectly. Check this one out.”
I show off a squat, square table painted white. It’s a table that would equally suit a modern living room or one with a more dated look. I’m guessing Irene’s leans more to the latter. I turn up the sales pitch, showing off the table’s versatility. “The future is here, Irene. No sense living in the past. This coffee table is made with a brand new plastic polymer that won’t stain or swell with moisture. You can do away with your coasters and even your furniture polish. Just a swipe of a damp towel is all you need to keep this surface glossy enough to see your reflection.”
She shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand—.”
“This is a steal at a little over five hundred dollars. You won’t find another one like it at that price, and I happen to know personally it comes from a reputable line of furniture. Sturdy as all get out.” Irene squints at it skeptically.
“No, no, no, dear,” she refuses again. “Like I was trying to say, my coffee table has been in the family for generations, and I don’t want to replace it. Besides, I’m on a fixed income; I can’t afford anything like this. Thank you, but I’d really like to see those doilies I asked about.”
I try a different tack. “You’re looking at the upfront cost, aren’t you? Let me put it to you this way. If you buy those doilies today, you’ll have to replace them in another few weeks. They’re so delicate they tear easily and stain easily. Add up the cost of all the replacements, and you’ve practically bought a new coffee table. Plus, we have wonderful payment plans.”
“I don’t want a new coffee table,” she says stubbornly.
“Or,” I amend quickly, “if you can’t swing the cost this evening, you can sell the coffee table you have to a salvage store.” It’s a great idea, in my book. (I admit I was only half-listening to what she said before about it being a family heirloom, or I never would’ve suggested selling it.) I picture her rickety old coffee table back home covered haphazardly with doilies and cringe. “Just think about it,” I urge.
She frowns deeply, trembling slightly. I pull back, surprised. She looks so upset. “Thank you for your help,” she says quietly.
I watch, dumbfounded, as she turns away from me and shuffles out the door of the store. Then, I re
alize she must be taking my advice. She’s going home to think about it. She’ll probably be back tomorrow.
Smiling brightly, I put my fists on my hips and scope out the store for someone else to rescue. As I speed-walk off in the direction of a frazzled-looking woman trying to corral three small kids, I barely notice Grace eyeing me with a concerned expression. Before I have time to wonder what that’s all about however, I’m on to my next task, finding the perfect wall mural for a kid’s room. On days like this, I really love my job.
Chapter 19
JAYSON
After the mind-blowing weekend with Kit I find it next to impossible to go back to my normal routine without thinking about her every five seconds, but in my busy life, I don’t have much room for distractions. I yell across the warehouse floor to my new hire to watch out for the forklift, mentally noting a safety meeting might be in order with all the new people on the job. Dev pops in my office to report progress on a job site out east with a demanding client. We shoot around ideas for how to keep the customer happy. Then, I take a break to do inventory and check with my assistant to make sure the invoices I dropped in her box got entered into the system.
Within a few hours, my humdrum life is back up to speed. I feel myself being pulled in a thousand different directions, exactly like usual. Castiel calls to announce he and his crew finished another room of Kit’s house, and I don’t mention that I had my own personal open house tour already, although I know he knows something is up. Ashby had to stay with Mamma while I spent the weekend with Kit.
I entertain the idea of telling Castiel about how things took a turn for the better between me and the comely college coed, since he’s the one who advocated hardest for me to get the girl. But, at the last minute I change my mind. In the back of my head, I wonder if it’s too soon to make any definite claims. Everything’s too new to say for certain whether it’ll last.
Jayson: A New Adult / Coming of Age Romance Page 15
