Jolie shook her head. “Too late, Chlo. My hopes are up and soaring right now. And the reason is Todd.”
Chloe studied her, care and love and worry in her eyes. But then she smiled and held Jolie’s hands. “Then I’m happy for you, Jols. I really am. I want it to work out for the two of you. There’s not another set of people I’d like more to see it happen to.”
“And you, Chloe. You’ll find your happily-ever-after someday.”
Chloe shrugged, her grin wry. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
Just then the girls walked in and the mood lightened as they regaled Chloe and Jolie with rope-swing incidents involving an oak tree, a creek, and a bank of mud with so much hilarity that Jolie was almost jealous of their childhood.
Almost, but not quite, because where she came from had led her here. And ending up with Todd was worth all the pain, loneliness, and heartache she’d endured.
***
After a couple hours at the grocery store, Jolie pulled into Todd’s driveway, picturing herself coming home to it—and him—for the rest of her life.
Oh, darn. That’s what she should’ve done with Annie and Tom. Not had them drift off with the tide into the sunset, but put them on the porch of their own home. A big farmhouse like Chloe’s with room for kids to run around, a big ol’ gnarled apple tree with a zillion branches to climb or hang a rope swing from or build a tree fort in. A fireplace big enough to stand in and roast marshmallows. And enough bedrooms for a full-size family of their own—and perhaps a few extras.
That was it. That was the ending they should have. She’d have to re-do the last part for Annie and Tom before she put it to rest permanently.
She bypassed the studio. She’d catch up with Todd once she fixed those last few pages. It was going to be great, just perfect. All she had to do was get it on paper.
She unloaded the groceries, putting only the cold stuff and champagne away, then bounded up the stairs to her room, running the ending scene through her mind. What they’d say, how they’d touch each other, the whole thing.
She skipped up to the landing, fingertips trailing off the railing onto the wall, tap-dancing with twitchy energy. She had to get this on paper. Her muse was bursting with it. She did a little hop-step to her room. One or two more, then she’d get the manuscript out and put the words that would finally finish her dream—
“Todd!”
In her room. On her bed…
But with an expression that was not the happy, I-can’t-wait-to-see-her look she wouldn’t lived to have seen.
He just sat there, looking at her without saying a word, and her chipper mood evaporated in the amount of time it took her to see—
Her notebook in his lap.
Oh.
No.
“ ‘A rose just waiting to bloom, the moment before the petals unfurl, one touch of the sun and you’ll burst into beauty,’ ” he read from the pages.
Her heart rate tripled.
He flipped to the last page. “ ‘You never gave up on me,’ said Tom. ”
Todd looked up with haunted eyes and threw the notebook to the floor.
“ ‘I always wondered what it would be like to be famous.’ ” His lips curled as he threw her words in her face. “Is that it, Jolie? Is that what you did this for? Did you think you could take my story—my life—and make it fodder for the tabloids? Earn your own fifteen minutes? A big fat bonus from some tabloid?”
He pushed himself off the bed and strode to the window.
Away from her.
“Was that what the photographer at The Midnight Maiden was all about? Did you call him? Tell him you managed to do what no one else had—got me to go out in public? Tell him where we’d be?”
His reflection in the window glowered at her.
She couldn’t even shake her head. Not in the face of what he’d just read. Anything she’d say now would look like a lie.
He turned around. “My God. I trusted you. I opened up parts of me I didn’t even know existed. Laid myself bare before you. All my pain.” He raked his hands through his hair, then jammed them to his hips. He exhaled and it resonated with disillusionment, pain. “You’re good, Jolie. You knew just how to do it. A cookbook. Ha. I can’t believe I suggested you write a book.”
“Todd, I…” She didn’t know what to say.
Not that he waited for her to say anything. “I want you to leave.”
The words… She should say something.
But she couldn’t.
“I want you to leave now, Jolie.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
She wanted to—
And then—
But—
…
Chapter Thirty-Five
She would have liked to have left his house with dignity and grace, but she didn’t.
She would’ve liked to have come up with a beautiful speech about how he’d inspired her and she was so in awe of him and respected him and would never use him—that she loved him—but she didn’t.
She would’ve liked to have come up with something serene and pithy and mature to explain the pages he’d held, but, again, she didn’t. She’d given up explaining herself a long time ago and old habits not only died hard, they sometimes didn’t die at all.
What she did do was something she was very good at. She’d clamped the tears behind her clenched teeth, straightened her rigid shoulders, taken all her clothes—few though they were—out of the closet and shoveled them into her bag, picked up the manuscript off the floor, and walked out the door and out of that life.
That fantasy life.
Because the man was utterly and truly right. Who did she think she was to take his most private pain and lay it out there for the world to see? Whether or not she was actually going to carry through with trying to publish it was irrelevant. His life and his love story were his, and if he chose to share them with her, she should have taken them for the gift they were and left it at that.
She pounded Melanie’s steering wheel and the car coughed and sputtered. Great. Someone else she was losing in her life. She pulled over to the side of the road and rested her head on the wheel.
How could she have been so stupid? So utterly blind to what it would do to him? It wasn’t like she hadn’t had a clue. “I trust you.” Hello? What did she think he meant? “I trust you to do a good job of portraying me as a grieving emotional wreck?”
God, she’d even left her apron and Boots there.
And once again she’d been proven right. Nothing lasted forever. She’d always known it and should have started believing it could.
The car got a little less sputtery and she was able to make it back to Chloe’s, the only place she could think to go within sputtering distance. Good thing, too, ’cause poor Melanie ended up coughing her last at the end of Chloe’s driveway.
Jolie dragged herself to the front door and Dakota, one of the girls, opened it.
“You okay, Jolie?” she asked.
Jolie didn’t even bother to hide the truth. The kid was fifteen and could spot a lie a mile off. “No. I need to borrow a couch for a while.”
It was a damned shame that a fifteen-year-old had an instant understanding of complete devastation and the wherewithal to point her to the closest sofa, no questions asked. But then, Jolie would have at her age as well.
None of the girls asked why she was back for the second time in less than two hours and, for that, she was grateful. They just went about their normal Sunday, taking care of their home, helping Chloe when she returned from food shopping.
Food shopping. Oh crud. She’d left all the groceries on Todd’s counter. Well, she’d put the cold stuff away. He wouldn’t have a problem—
Forget it.
Right. She had no business worrying about him anymore.
“Jolie,” Chloe called out from the kitchen, “you want to warm up one of those dinner trays Bella sent? We’re going to have one band of hungry workers once we get all this stuff put away.”
“
Sure,” Jolie answered. Typical of Chloe. If she didn’t acknowledge the pain it’d go away.
Typical of all of them who’d dealt with shattered dreams on a daily basis. And it usually worked.
But not now. Because she was responsible for this pain. If only she’d thrown the damned thing away!
That said, she pulled herself off the sofa, rummaged through her bag for the notebook, and tossed it into the kitchen trashcan. The “Best” phase of her life was now over. Time to move on.
As she’d done a hundred times before.
***
Jonathan paced inside Raphael’s office, the twitch alive and not so well and thrumming on the side of his head. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. He’d only been trying to help, but he’d ended up messing up worse than when he’d burned down Jolie’s apartment.
If only he’d let Jolie put the notebook away, but he’d known the ending wasn’t right.
If only he hadn’t kept pretending to nap to get Todd to leave the room. Who would have thought Todd would’ve tried to make friends with a “pitchfork wielding” cat?
If only he hadn’t knocked the manuscript when he’d leapt from the bed.
If only… if only… It seemed his career was one big series of “if only”s. And now Todd and Jolie were both alone and hurting because of him. Maybe he should ask for a transfer to the paperwork section of Heaven. He couldn’t screw that up.
“So, Jonathan, Angela tells me there’s a problem?” Raphael entered the room so silently Jonathan hadn’t had time to compose himself.
But he really needed the archangel’s guidance now. It didn’t matter how this looked on his personal record; he had to make this right for Jolie and Todd.
He removed his felt hat, clutching it to his chest. “Yes, sir. I, er, I ruined it for them, sir.”
“You?” Raphael took a seat by the window and motioned for Jonathan to do the same. “How could you do that? The only way would be with malice in your heart. Do you have that for them, Jonathan?”
“Oh, no, sir. Not at all. Why, I love all my Charges.”
“Then there is no problem, Jonathan, only obstacles.”
“But it’s a big obstacle, sir. You see, I—”
“No, Jonathan.” Raphael held up his hand. “No obstacle is too big for a Guardian. You have the goodness of the Spirit in you. You’ll find some way to make it right.”
“But how, sir? I’ve split them apart. I’ve ruined their trust in each other.”
“Jonathan, no one can ruin another’s trust in someone else. The doubt had to have already been there. What you must do is foster their belief in each other.”
“But how, sir?”
Raphael smiled and Jonathan felt the stress leave him. Raphael was always so good about instilling faith. Why, if he were everyone’s Guardian, there’d be no war in the mortal world. But such a job was too great a challenge even for an archangel.
“Trust your instincts, Jonathan. You brought them together once, I know you can do it again. Go back to the basics. Use what you know about them to help them see the real person in each other.”
“The real person in each other?”
“Yes. Who they fell in love with. What they saw in that other person that fulfilled a need in them. Show them again what they’ve already seen and let their hearts guide them. That’s all any Guardian can do, Jonathan. We don’t make things happen. We facilitate them.”
Raphael rose, his magnificent presence such a comfort to an insecure initiate-in-training. “Come, Jonathan. I know you can bring them together once more.”
Jonathan stood. If the archangel believed in him then he’d be foolish to doubt his capabilities. If Raphael thought Jonathan could fix it, then he could.
He just had to figure out how.
“Thank you, sir, for your faith in me.” He settled his hat upon his head and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll make it right, sir.”
Raphael patted him on the back, leading him to the office door. “Of course you will, Jonathan. I never had any doubt.”
***
Raphael couldn’t keep the smile from his face after Jonathan left. The man was coming along well; he just needed some confidence.
Raphael waved his hand over his desk and Todd and Jolie’s file appeared. Thumbing through the notes, he saw the notation about “Boots” scrambling from the bed, accidentally knocking Jolie’s notebook to the floor.
He read Todd’s reaction to seeing his own words there.
Well, yes, Jonathan did have his work ahead of him, but the experience would be worth it in the end. It wasn’t often they had such hurting people to heal—two on one assignment, no less—but when Jonathan pulled this off, he’d feel so much better about himself.
Raphael tucked the notes back into the file and whisked them to the file room with another wave of his hand. He needed to consult with Angela for any upcoming cases to see which one would best showcase Jonathan’s talents and his soon-to-emerge self-confidence when he was finished with this assignment.
Chapter Thirty-Six
He couldn’t believe he’d been so gullible. So damned stupid.
Todd stared out the kitchen window toward the garage attic. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks since his life had gone to hell. Again. Only this time it’d been his own fault.
He’d known not to get involved with anyone. He’d known it. People didn’t get a second chance like that. Not in the same lifetime. He’d gotten greedy and let it blind him to the truth. But he’d been so certain she’d been for real.
He gripped the edge of the countertop. She was good. Too fucking good. Had strung him along, even giving him good sex in the deal.
He swiped a hand over his face. That was an extra-special shitty part. The sex had been great. The sad part was, he’d thought it’d been making love, not sex. And now her story cheapened it. Cheapened him, what he’d felt.
God, could he ever trust anyone again?
Even Jasmine had turned on him. She’d been hiring the chefs, when all along, he’d thought it’d been Mike. She’d been hiring them to fix him up with them! As if he was some basket-case who needed a woman to make him whole. The utter gall of the woman still stung.
Well he was done with it. With everything.
Including painting. He’d tried to after he’d kicked Jolie out. Tried having the neighbor sit for him, Barbara, anyone but Jolie, but he couldn’t do it.
Even that was gone for him now. She’d taken it along with everything else.
The back of his eyes burned. No, damn it! He’d had enough pain. Todd pounded the granite countertop. Who cared if he broke his hand? Wasn’t like he’d need it anymore now that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—paint.
He raised his fist again, almost relishing the pain, when he heard the doorbell. Now what?
Too bad Earl and Jasmine weren’t here anymore to run interference, but he had asked them to leave. Jasmine’s heartfelt apology hadn’t changed anything. She’d betrayed him and his trust. She, of all people, had known how he’d felt about Trista. How could she have thought just anyone could replace her?
The doorbell rang again and Todd walked into the foyer. A quick word from him and whatever Girl Scout or newspaper salesman on the other side would get the picture.
He yanked open the door.
“Hello, my boy.”
The bookstore guy. What was his name again?
“Jonathan Griff. With the Holbein book?”
“Right. The book. I’ll get it.” He left the door open, took two steps, then turned around. “Actually, it’s in my studio. Why don’t you meet me there? Around the drive to the back.”
Mr. Griff tipped his hat. “Sounds good.”
Now he had to go into that studio. The one with half a dozen portraits of Jolie in various stages of completion. With Jolie in various states of undress. He should’ve stacked them all in a corner, or, better yet, burned them.
Todd’s running shoe caught on the tile grout and he almost stumbled. He couldn’t bur
n them. Who was he kidding?
Jolie might have disillusioned him—no might about it, actually—but she’d been the perfect model. Her portrait had flowed from his fingers as if he’d been tracing her—
He met Mr. Griff in the driveway. “If you wait here, I’ll bring it down.”
“Oh, that’s all right. The exercise will be good for me.” Mr. Griff plodded along after him up the steps.
Todd unlocked the room, keeping his eyes high on the walls, skirting the stacks of other canvases he’d tried and failed to paint. The ones of Jolie were lining the far wall. The Holbein book was back by the sofa. The sofa where they’d—
“What a lovely picture,” Mr. Griff said.
Todd didn’t have to look back to know where Mr. Griff was standing. The one finished portrait of Jolie was fourth down the line.
“I see you have a lot more of them.”
Todd grabbed the book from beneath a paint-spattered drop cloth.
The paint-spattered drop cloth.
Which he then kicked beneath the sofa.
“Here you go, Mr. Griff. Thank you.”
Mr. Griff’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed as he took it. “Did you find it helpful?”
Helpful? Todd snorted. Depended on what you called helpful.
“It was… interesting.” Todd headed back to the door. He didn’t want to spend one more minute here than was necessary.
“Eh, my boy? Todd?”
Todd turned around. Mr. Griff hadn’t moved from his spot.
“Yes?”
“These paintings—”
“Are going into a dumpster.”
“That’d be a shame. Pretty drastic, too, especially since St. Gabriel’s is having their auction. One of your pictures could fetch a nice sum for the church and its families. They did in the past, I remember.”
“I know, Mr. Griff, but these aren’t finished. The auction’s too close, and, frankly, I’m not inclined to finish these. Nor paint any others.”
“Well, like I said, it’s a shame.” Mr. Griff walked down the line of sketches and Todd bit back a groan. The man wasn’t going to let it rest.
Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) Page 28
