The Definition of Fflur
Page 24
With my head on his chest, his voice is a low rumble.
“I love you, Fflur,” he declares once more. “No more hiding or doubts, no more hurting, and no more days apart. I can’t live like that. I wasn’t living at all.”
I push up onto my elbow and look down at the man I’ve loved almost half my life.
Lawn green reflects bright blue, no doubt in his eyes, no questions, no hesitation or uncertainty.
“Let’s live, Gal,” I say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s live and laugh and tell inappropriate jokes at the worst times.” Another kiss on his forehead. “Let’s travel the world, pick wildflowers on every continent, make joyful music, and songs of us.” A final kiss to the centre of his lips and his tongue traces mine for the briefest of moments, just a taste of the rest of our lives. “Let’s blow wishes on the wind and try to make them a reality. Let’s see beauty where others see weeds.”
“We will, Fflur,” he vows. “I promise.”
“I love you, Galen.”
“I know you do,” he whispers, gathering me up and tugging the sheets over our bodies. “My Fflur, my every flower and the definition of all that’s good in my world.”
Five
Years
Later.
Epilogue
My eyes flicker to the sheer white drapes that float on the warm ocean breeze. The last remnant of sleep dissipating as salty air fills my lungs.
I stretch, my muscles deliciously sore from a night of love-making, the smile on my lips a permanent feature on my face.
How can it not be? We are living a dream. Our dream.
The soft strains of a guitar drift across the breeze and my smile stretches wider. Even on a six-month break from music, Galen can never stop creating it. New songs spill from him faster than the band can use them.
He promises that some of them will never be given to the world; they will be kept for us.
I slide my legs out of bed and pad across the cool tile floor of the beachfront villa we’ve rented. It’s ours only for the next two weeks before the rest of our family join us.
Firstly, Dad and Kate for a week or two, then Rhys and Erin will bring Mum. I can’t wait to spend time with them all, but these two weeks are just for Galen and me.
When I walk into the open plan living room, the music gets louder, but he isn’t in here. I find him outside on the deck that overlooks the ocean.
His hair is a little longer now, long enough for my fingers to sift through and tug at the strands, and his jaw is dusted in darker blond stubble.
He looks more like Max.
As if I’ve summoned the man he looks so much like, the music Galen plays shifts and changes.
Max’s song.
And it’s not one of grief. It’s one of life—Max’s life—and it builds and builds until the memory of him grows, becoming tangible enough that I can hear his deep voice and raucous laughter. I can see him dancing around the kitchen with Mum or kicking the footy in the back garden with Gal.
Until later, I think as I open my eyes and, like always when we are near, Galen’s gaze finds mine.
Bright blue meets lawn green.
“Come here, beautiful girl,” he says, setting his guitar aside and opening his arms. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
I step into the circle of his spread legs and then straddle him, lowering myself easily into his arms.
“I have something for you” he whispers after a lingering kiss and leans to the side to pick up a single Plumeria flower. He brings it between us before lifting the delicate bloom and trailing it down the side of my neck.
“In Hawaiian culture,” he begins, the petals now tickling across my cheek to my lips. “When worn in the hair, the Plumeria flower indicates the relationship status of the wearer.” He trails the flower to one side of my face, circling it over my ear. “A flower over the right ear means she’s available.” He tickles the flower back across my lips to the other side. “While worn over the left ear means she’s taken.” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and tucks the small flower over my ear. My left ear.
“You seem to know a lot about flowers for a rock star,” I say with a cheeky smile.
His eyes flick to my lips before locking with mine.
“A girl I once knew told me all about them. Every variety, their scientific names, and their definitions. She told me stories of their meanings, and I’ve never forgotten. Not even one.”
With reverent fingers, he follows the path the flower made until they rest over my lips where he traces first the top, then the bottom, making them tingle.
“Should I be jealous of this girl?” I ask, mesmerised by his words and the little thought lines that gather between his brows as he uses his fingers to map the plains of my face.
“She’s not a girl anymore,” he says, his voice filled with awe. “She’s a woman now.” His attention returns to my eyes, searching, a little nervous, a lot hopeful. “The woman I’m going to make mine forever.”
A small duck egg blue box, so like the one he gave me for Christmas years ago, appears out of thin air. His palm flat and a slight tremble in his hand as he offers it to me.
“Marry me, Fflur? Be the only flower I’ll ever need to see bloom forever?”
The answer is simple. It always is with Galen.
“Yes.”
A summer sky meets fields of green.
Playlist
I’ll Stand By You – The Pretenders
All I Ask — Adele
Let’s Stay Together — Marvin Gaye
Golddigga — Kanye West
Nothing Compares 2 U — Chris Cornell version
You Are My Sunshine — Johnny Cash
Other Books by E.S. Carter
The Love By Numbers Series:
Nineteen
Twenty One
Nineteen & Twenty One Duet Box Set
Three
Thirteen
One
Eight
Two (Coming Soon)
The Red Order Series:
Feyness
Parasight
Faithless (Coming Soon)
Standalones:
The Bachelors
The Proof Is The Way It Hurts (Novella)
About The Author
ES Carter lives in Cardiff, South Wales. The home of castles, dragons and folklore.
Her family joke that she was born with a book in her hand, and the urge to write stories soon followed.
At eleven, she won her school's literary prize. At ages fourteen to sixteen - her poetry phase after falling in love with Dylan Thomas and e.e. cummings - she had a few poems published, but life, love and family overtook her dreams, and she was in her thirties when she began the scary journey of self-publishing.
Her debut and internationally best-selling series, 'Love by Numbers', are a set of interconnected stand alone romances, all with varying themes of love. From second-chance to romantic comedy and M/M romance. These stories do not need to be read in order, in fact, she is often guilty of advising readers to start at the last book and work their way back through.
Contemporary romance is not the only genre she writes, her second series, 'The Red Order', is as dark and twisted as you can get, but there is beauty there too if you can open your eyes and look.
With many more stories bursting to be set free, she hopes you stay along for the ride.
She loves to connect with readers, so please feel free to friend/follow her on Facebook, IG and Twitter or join her reader's group, E's Elite <3
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Acknowledgments
I wrote this book over ten years ago. My old laptop was about to die, and I was transferring files and documents onto a memory stick, hoping to save as much as possible, when I came across the earlier version of The Definition of Fflur.
> I opened it and started reading, and it took me right back to the day I started writing it.
I’d just listened to Johnny Cash’s version of You Are My Sunshine, and it got me thinking about love, and what it would be like to have to fight for a love for years, only to finally get it, but then to lose it once more because one half of that love died.
The story of Fflur began as the story of Max and Jenny. It tangled and weaved its way into the story you just read because my mind can never stay on one track, and Max and Jenny’s love became the back story to another pair of star-crossed lovers.
I’ve heavily reworked the story over the last few months, and changed parts because they felt dated, and parts because of what my family has recently lost.
Max’s story is one we’ve just lived. It was inspired by a man who fought bravely and with great dignity. A man who thought more about what his illness was doing to his family, than about himself. Who laughed, and smiled and joked until the very last moment he could.
Some may read this book and see a taboo (ish) love story, but for me, it was more than that.
It’s my little heartfelt mashup about a quirky girl and the boy who loves her. It’s about family, even the ones who don’t conform to standard ideals. It’s about love. It’s about loss.
People can hate it or love it.
I’m okay with that.
I love my little Fflur.
As always, big thanks to all the people that help and support me. You all know who you are and I love you long time.
The biggest thanks of all go to my husband and kids.
I’ve been completely consumed by reworking this story, and you’ve all allowed me this indulgence.
I love you more.